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Honey, let me ask you something.

When was the last time you did something just for you?

Not for your kids. Not for your partner. Not because someone needed you to show up, hold it together, or be the strong one in the room. I mean something purely, unapologetically, deliciously for you.

If you had to think about it, this travel blog for Black women is exactly where you need to be right now.

I’m Terri. And I know what it feels like to lose yourself so slowly you don’t even notice it’s happening. One day you’re a whole person with dreams and a passport wish list and opinions about where you want to eat dinner. Then life happens — motherhood, grief, responsibility, survival — and somewhere in the shuffle, you get left behind.

Whew chile. I’ve been there. I’m still finding my way back.

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I Didn’t Start as a Traveler. I Started as a Woman Trying to Breathe.

I’m not going to stand here and pretend I’ve been globe-trotting since birth. Honestly? I was the complete opposite of a travel lover for most of my life.

My dad was in the army, which sounds exciting until you’re the kid who has to keep starting over. I had the experience of living in Germany for five years, moving through different states, building friendships and connections with people — and then leaving them. Or watching them leave me. Over and over again.

Growing up, I hated it. All of it. The packing, the new schools, the having to be the new girl again. Meeting people you genuinely like, building something real, and then having to say goodbye before you’re ready — that was too much for little Terri to process. So when I became a mother and started working, I did the opposite of everything I’d known. I planted myself in Baltimore and I stayed.

And for a while, that felt like peace.

Until it didn’t.

Somewhere along the way, doing the same things in the same places started draining me in ways I couldn’t explain. I wasn’t unhappy exactly — but I wasn’t alive either. And then, slowly, something strange started happening. I started missing it. Not the constant uprooting, not the goodbyes — but the aliveness of being somewhere new. The thrill of a different skyline. The energy of meeting someone whose whole world is different from yours.

I wanted the adventure. I just finally wanted it on my own terms — without someone else deciding when and where I had to go. And definitely without all that packing. (We’re working on that part.)

We deserve the soft life. And I mean actually soft — not the filtered, curated, “everything is perfect” version you see online. I mean the kind of soft that comes from knowing yourself well enough to choose rest. The kind that comes from booking a trip even when the budget is tight and the logistics are complicated and your mother-in-law has questions. The real kind. The messy, brave, honest kind.

That’s what Becoming Terri is about.

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There’s Something Else I Need to Tell You.

I lost my daughter.

I’m not going to go deep into it here because some things are too sacred for a quick paragraph. But I need you to know it happened, because it changed everything about who I am and why this space exists.

I was completely distraught. Hollowed out in a way I didn’t know was possible. She lives in my heart — she will always live in my heart — but she is no longer the loudest voice in the house. And learning to exist in that quiet? That has been the hardest journey of my entire life.

Grief moved in without asking. Didn’t knock, didn’t call ahead, just showed up with her bags and took the good chair. She is an unwanted permanent resident, and I am still — every single day — learning to live alongside her.

But here is what I’ve learned: you can grieve and still be alive. You can cry on a Tuesday and book a flight on a Wednesday. You can carry loss with you and still choose joy. Still choose yourself. Still choose the world.

Becoming Terri is me choosing the world. Out loud. On purpose. Even when it’s hard.

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So Who Is This Space Really For?

It’s for the Black woman who has been putting herself last for so long she’s forgotten what she even wants.

This space is also for the mom who loves her kids fiercely and completely and also needs to remember that she is a full person outside of that title.

It’s for the woman who has been through something — loss, burnout, a season of just surviving — and is now, quietly, starting to think about what living might look like.

It’s for the woman who wants to travel but doesn’t know where to start, doesn’t see herself in most travel content, and needs someone to say “honey, I got you, let’s figure this out together.”

Maybe you’re the woman who is ready — even if ready looks like scared and doing it anyway.

If any part of that sounds like you, pull up a chair. You found your people.

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Here’s What You’ll Find When You Stick Around.

Real, honest destination guides written with Black women in mind — because our experience traveling is not the same, and anyone who tells you otherwise has not been paying attention.

Hotel and experience reviews that tell you the truth, not just the pretty parts.

Style and outfit content that works for actual trips, not just photo shoots — from solo adventures to stroller-pushing family days.

Wellness tips and practices that help protect your peace before, during, and after travel, because the soft life doesn’t stop when you get home.

And underneath all of it — a community. A space where you don’t have to explain yourself, justify your dreams, or make yourself smaller to fit in.

This is the travel blog for Black women who are figuring themselves out one destination at a time. And I am right here with you, doing the exact same thing.

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I don’t have it all figured out. I’m not the most traveled person on the internet. I still get nervous before solo trips and still cry in airports sometimes for reasons that have nothing to do with delayed flights.

But I am here. I am going. And I am bringing you with me.

So wherever you are right now — grieving, growing, dreaming, planning, or just desperately needing a reason to believe your best days are still ahead of you —

Welcome to Becoming Terri, honey.

We’ve been waiting for you.

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