Dear Millennial Black Woman: Why I Won’t Explain the Akashic Records Like a Job Interview

Something happened today. I’ve experienced it many times before. But this time, it landed differently. Maybe because it came from a Black woman. Not harder. Not softer. Just clearer. And I realize: it’s time to name a pattern that’s been quietly breaking my heart.

A Black woman, a millennial, reached out to inquire about the Akashic Records. Her tone was warm, curious, and polite. She asked, “What’s the normal process for a reading?” and “What should I expect it to do?” On the surface, harmless questions. On the surface, she was simply seeking clarity. But as a practitioner,  and a Black woman who has made this my life’s work,  what I heard underneath was something else entirely.

Because in the spiritual realm, there is no “normal.” No set template. No guarantees.

True spiritual work doesn’t operate like a therapy intake or a job interview. It’s not something you can blueprint or build with steps; it’s intuitive, nonlinear, and rooted in mystery.

That’s not how true spiritual work functions. It’s not a therapy intake or a job interview or a house you can build brick by brick with blueprints. The process of intuitive work  of receiving insight from the Akashic Records , is countercultural, deeply personal, and highly attuned to divine timing.

Yet over and over again, I’m met with people who want to intellectualize the sacred. Who desire to test it. Measure it. Compare it to something they read on Instagram.They don’t come to be guided; they come to see if their preconceptions will be validated. And when those preconceptions are rooted in whiteness,  in the Eurocentric framing of spirituality as something to consume rather than honor — it’s not just frustrating. It’s heartbreaking.

Especially when it comes from another Black woman.

The Harm of Whitewashed Spirituality

Because here’s the part that cuts the deepest: many of these millennial Black women come seeking “spirituality,” but the lens they’re looking through is not ours. It's been shaped by white authors, white aesthetics, and white frameworks that have sterilized and sanitized sacred work into something marketable. And they bring that framework into my space , a space rooted in ancestral work, intuitive integrity, and a lineage of reverence and expect me to play along.

They speak the language of whitewashed spirituality so fluently, they don’t realize how far it’s taken them from their own inner knowing.

They miss the microaggressions embedded in their tone, the subtle interrogations masked as “curiosity,” the unspoken expectation to perform softness.

And the hardest part? If a white woman addressed them the way they speak to me, they’d name it instantly. They’d call it what it is.

But somehow, when it’s me, that awareness vanishes. That’s what makes it so exhausting—this unwillingness to see that harm doesn’t have to come from whiteness to be real. It’s another parting gift of colonization and assimilation. Harm can come from within us, too.

​​And honestly, it hurts. Not just because it’s exhausting, but because I know how much possibility is lost in that moment, how close we are to something sacred, and how quickly it can be shut down by the need to feel in control.

To show up in a Black practitioner’s space , someone who has sacrificed safety, comfort, and cultural acceptance to walk this path and then ask them to explain, justify, or dilute the very work they’re here to do? That is not curiosity. That is spiritual colonization. That is you reenacting the same patterns you think you’re breaking.

You’re not escaping the past; you’re just embodying its mirror.

And the truth is, that mirror isn’t a curse,  it’s an archetype. One you can work with, study, and intuitively explore if you’re willing to surrender the ego.

Because that mirror shows up every time we believe we’ve evolved just because we’ve moved in the opposite direction. Every time we distance ourselves from the wounds of our upbringing without investigating how we’ve simply redecorated those same patterns with more palatable language. Every time we pride ourselves on being “more spiritual” than our mothers or aunties or elders, without acknowledging how much of their survival is still living in our tone, our doubt, our unspoken hierarchy of whose spirituality we trust most.

The Mirror is an archetype of confrontation. It asks: What are you reflecting without realizing it? Who are you becoming in reaction, not intention? And what would happen if you stopped performing evolution and actually sat in the discomfort of not knowing?

This is the point in a true spiritual path where ego must make way for soul.
Where posturing must give way to presence.
Where mirrors aren’t dodged, but gazed into gently, honestly, and without shame.

If you’re willing to go there, to meet the mirror with reverence instead of resistance, then something sacred becomes possible. Not just for you, but for your lineage. Because when we break the spell of inherited performance, we open the door to embodied truth.

But it only happens when we stop expecting spiritual work to flatter us and start allowing it to transform us.

Though millennials often pride themselves on being different.  More open, more expansive, more “spiritually free” than the generations before them. They criticize their Gen X or Boomer parents for being disconnected, emotionally unavailable, or deeply religious in ways that felt constricting. But in trying to escape that rigidity, they often swing into another extreme: ungrounded freedom, chaotic belief systems, and a spirituality built on mood boards instead of soul work.

It’s still disconnection. It’s still avoidance. It’s still inherited.

You don’t heal the past by performing the opposite. You heal it by sitting in the discomfort of not knowing. By respecting that some things can’t be explained in bullet points or timelines. By acknowledging that spiritual guidance isn’t here to impress you, it’s here to undo you.

This path I walk is not performative. It’s not a modality I “picked up.” It’s a lineage. It’s a responsibility. And it cost me something. For every insight I share in a session, there were months or years of personal unraveling, ritual, loss, and surrender.

When I sit with the Records, I’m not just accessing information. I’m sitting at the feet of elders whose names live in my bones. I’m listening for whispers that come from beyond time. This isn’t a skillset. It’s a devotion. It’s an offering.

I won’t offer a blueprint for what to expect, because this path isn’t built that way.

And I’ve learned that when we try to pre-measure sacred work, we miss its invitation entirely.

If that’s the energy you’re bringing; a checklist, a need for control, a quiet fear of not knowing,  I understand. Truly, I do. But I also have to say: that’s not readiness. That’s protection. And spirit doesn’t move through protection. It moves through surrender.

And as an ethical and deeply spiritual practitioner, especially as a Black woman, I cannot and will not allow sacred work to be treated like a novelty or a transaction. This is not a curated experience for your spiritual palette. This is lineage work. It is soul work. It is ancestral work. And it requires respect.

We have to be honest. Many white women in this space adopt the aesthetics and language of spiritual practice without understanding its roots. They are often rewarded with virality, high-ticket programs, packed retreats, and constant visibility. Behind much of that shine is performance.  What is often being sold is not depth. It is branding. It is a repackaged version of whiteness decorated with feathers and sage.

At the same time, Black women practitioners who are embodying this work with reverence and sacrifice are met with skepticism. We are interrogated. Dragged for our pricing. And we are asked to prove ourselves again and again.

So no, I will not over-explain. I will not cater to spiritual spectatorship. If you come expecting to be entertained or instantly affirmed, you are not seeking spirit. You are seeking control.

And that kind of energy does not belong in healing spaces.
It does not move mountains. It does not mend wounds.
And it will not lead you home to yourself.

To the millennial seekers who are Black and brilliant and still holding tight to unconscious white frameworks: I say this with love and truth.

Reverence is not optional.
Curiosity must come with humility.
And real guidance will not bend to your emotional convenience.

You want to heal? Start by unlearning the belief that spiritual work owes you anything.
Start by listening without needing to control.
Start by seeing Black practitioners as keepers of sacred fire,  not vending machines for affirmation.

You’re not just showing up to a reading. You’re arriving at a door that your ancestors have been knocking on for generations.

Enter it with care. Not because I said so, but because they are watching. And they know the difference between performance and presence.

If you’re a Black woman on a spiritual journey seeking grounded, ancestral guidance rooted in the Akashic Records, explore my offerings  or subscribe to my Substack to stay connected.