Monáe's Musings | Fabulous and Fortunate Podcast

In my solitude, I’ve been made aware of how much noise exists around us on a daily basis. The hum of the world never quite fades—the ceaseless notifications, the unspoken expectations, the silent yet deafening pressure to always be on. Even in stillness, the echoes of what I “should” be doing reverberates through my mind.

And yet, in the quiet, I have also come to recognize how much I have already shifted, how much is already in motion beneath the surface. There is transformation even in what seems like a pause.

At the same time, I find myself navigating the complexities that come with being not only a muse but a living vessel—an artist, a thinker, a woman fully inhabiting her experience. To be perceived and yet to remain sovereign. To create and yet not be consumed. It is a delicate, constant balancing act.

In the moments spent wandering, wondering, and pondering, I ask myself: Where is the space for gratitude? Where is the space for the full range of emotions—the ones that are often dismissed, the ones that don’t fit neatly into curated captions or perfectly framed narratives? There is a peculiar kind of grief that comes with existing in a world that often refuses to make space for the complexities of Black women’s lives. The pressure to perform, to excel, to always be inspiring while simultaneously battling erasure, lack of support, and silent competition is exhausting. I see it, I feel it, and lately, I have chosen to disengage from it.

I recently made the decision to use the unadd button on social media more often. Not out of bitterness, but as an act of self-preservation. I have watched too many Black women creators suffer—burnout from the constant demand to produce, dwindling engagement despite their brilliance, and the unspoken tension that arises when the algorithm pits us against one another. It’s a cycle I refuse to participate in.

Social media, for all its potential, can be an interesting thing. It convinces us that our worth is measured in numbers, that our creativity must be a competition, that visibility is a currency we must fight for. But I am choosing something different. I am choosing real connection over forced engagement, presence over performance, and the knowing that my value exists beyond metrics.

So in my solitude, I am finding my own rhythm again. I am reclaiming my joy, my time, my peace. I am creating, not for an audience, but for the sheer love of expression. And I am reminding myself that stillness is not stagnation—it is a quiet kind of revolution