Plane Jane

When Silence Moves In: Reclaiming Connection A reflection on two kinds of silence — the sacred hush that allows deep reflection and the fearful quiet that grows from hurt and avoidance — observed during a visit to the National Museum of African American History and Culture.The episode argues that relationships erode through unspoken moment...

Leave a Light On: Faith, Boundaries, and Finding Peace at Home This Sabbath reflection explores what “home” truly means—its memories, wounds, roots, and the ways imperfect families shape who we become.Using examples from 2300 Jackson Street and the story of Joseph and his brothers, it holds space for reconciliation that acknowledges pain while trusting Go...

Quiet Altitude: Choosing Presence Over Performance Inspired by Psalm 119:97–104, this episode finds Plane Jane slowing her pace to listen for God's voice above the world's noise. She reflects on Scripture as nourishment and strength, asking for wisdom, discernment, and steady wings when life feels heavy. Choosing obedience, peace, and presence ove...

Hurt people, hurt people. Let’s both just walk away 🌈

Imagine hurting your child so deeply that their only path to peace is distance.

Not rebellion. Not punishment. Not spite.

Distance.

That is the part people refuse to sit with when they talk about estrangement like it is cruelty. They make it about loyalty, blood, forgiveness, respect. They make it about the child being cold, dramatic, selfish, influenced, broken.

Anything except the obvious question:

What happened inside that relationship that made distance feel safer than love?

Because a child does not usually grow up dreaming of cutting off a parent. That is not the fantasy. The fantasy is almost always the opposite. To finally be seen. To finally be believed. To finally feel safe. To finally have the kind of mother or father whose presence softens the body instead of tensing it.

So when distance is what remains, it usually comes after years of trying not to choose it.

After minimising.
After explaining.
After going back.
After hoping this time will be different.
After swallowing what should have never had to be swallowed.

By the time someone steps away, it is rarely because they stopped caring.

It is because staying kept costing them too much.

Their nervous system.
Their sanity.
Their ability to trust themselves.
Their peace.
Their body.
Their life.

That is what so many parents, families, and bystanders do not want to face.

They want the image of family without the accountability family requires. They want access without repair. They want the title of parent without having to look at what their child had to become just to survive them.

So the story gets rewritten.

Now the parent is the abandoned one.
Now the child is ungrateful.
Now boundaries are abuse.
Now distance is betrayal.

But none of that changes the truth.

If the only way your child could stop drowning was to swim away from you, the tragedy is not the distance.

The tragedy is what made it necessary.

And that truth cuts so deep because it exposes something unbearable: some parents would rather mourn the loss of access than face the damage that created it.

That is why so many adult children carry such complicated grief. They are not just grieving the parent. They are grieving the fact that the parent still does not understand why it came to this. They are grieving the fact that even now, the focus is still on the distance, not the pain that made distance the only honest option left.

If this is your story, let this land clearly:

Choosing peace is not an attack.
Choosing distance is not cruelty.
And protecting yourself from what repeatedly harms you is not proof that you failed at love.

Sometimes walking away is the only way a person finally stops abandoning themselves.

And if that is what it took, then the failure was never in the child who left.

It was in the parent who made leaving feel like the only safe place left to go.

🧬

Until we meet again, may our paths be guided by hope and possibility.

Finding Yourself at 14: A Candid Talk with Antoine In this episode Latrese interviews 14-year-old Antoine from Baltimore about growing into his own identity as a freshman, navigating family expectations, school drama, and staying authentic. They touch on sibling relationships, favorite foods, how upbringing shapes choices, and the challenge of decid...

Emerging: The Black Butterfly’s Return After 11 days of quiet and spiritual retreat, Latrese Monique Campbell reflects on loss, waiting rooms, and the reclaiming of her voice and worth beyond systems that once defined her. She emerges as a "black butterfly," renewed and unapologetic—returning not to explain herself but to simply be her...

No More Cha‑Cha Slide: Choosing Stillness Over Performance This episode explores stepping away from performative emotional dances and embracing a new season of stillness, self-trust, and intentional living.The host discusses choosing selective relationships, filling her own cup, and moving boldly with joy, purpose, and courage.