Honoring the Space In Between

The feeling of a pen in my hand dressing a blank page is foreign to me.

It is perhaps the greatest irony and embarrassment for a woman who identifies as a writer. But, it is also the reality of a woman who identifies as a blogger. A woman who has told the Internet a lot of her secrets. A woman more comfortable typing within the four walls of a WordPress frame than penning on a piece of loose leaf. A woman who hasn’t kept a steady diary of her inner thoughts since freshmen year of college. A woman who just recently took up a self-discovery course, hungry for it to catapult her back into journaling. A woman who now knows that public wounds still require private healing. A woman trying to find her way back to writing off the record.


A woman who has been transforming and watching her tides turn for some time now. A woman at the juncture of who she shared with the online world and who she became when they weren’t watching. When they weren’t reading. When they weren’t there to bear witness.

Five years after breaking ground on this blog, I am less wedded to the trademark of being in my twenties. I have foregone impassioned rants about rent and the relentlessness of adult responsibilities. I feel less compelled to preach and pontificate, all too aware of how that approach diluted so much of what I wrote early on. I do not need to shout from the mountaintops that I am a feminist or a millennial or any of the other labels I once wore so proudly. I simply need to live the life I am convinced is mine for the taking. Some times, I need to write about it. Other times, I just need to walk in it.

Tyece – 2014 [photo by Jazzmin Awa-Williams]
Nowadays, I am more wrapped up in my womanhood and all of its complexity, fragility, and multiple dimensions. What started as a coming-of-age outlet brimming with angst has transformed into a sea of thoughts and ideas about what it means to shape one’s place in the universe. What it means to feel lost and found in the same body.What it means to experience life in a way that often times feels different and unconventional from the way those around me live it. What it means to honor the past without allowing it permission to dismantle the present. What it means to be a woman who aims to thrive with intention, substance and self-possession.

I also crave a more private life now. A more full-bodied life. A life that takes shape off the screen. A life that doesn’t beg for documentation. A life and a set of memories that can stand on their own two feet. There are times when I thumb through my book or scroll through my blog archives, cringing at how I made parts of my personal life so public. But, perhaps all I can do is appreciate that version of myself from afar, a girl who gave the digital world all of the fearlessness and chutzpah she had. She is the reason I now know how important it is to snatch some of that fearlessness and chutzpah back from online airwaves and return it to myself.

So, this blog anniversary is not like the others. It’s a milestone that arrives with the most bittersweet blend of celebration, reflection, nostalgia and vision. I always knew I would not wait until I turned thirty to answer the question, “What happens to the blog when you’re not in your twenties anymore?” I would not wait for the arrival of a new decade to force my hand; I would only wait until the Universe whispered that it was time to begin again.

Tyece – 2017 [photo by Jazzmin Awa-Williams]
The Universe started to whisper a few years ago, prompting me to register a domain that’s been waiting in the wings. There is still a bit more left here at Twenties Unscripted to do. But, I’m assured that when I move out of this Internet home, I will be ready to start construction on a new place. A place that will evolve over time. A place that will give me new layers of purpose and meaning. A place that I will pour parts of myself into. A place that will come alive with my signature blend of poetry, prose and power. Another place that I can call my own.

Five years feel right. They feel round. I feel ready for a new leg of the marathon.

But, for now and the balance of the year, I will honor the space in between. Between Twenties Unscripted and her successor. Between being a woman well on her way while still a work in progress. The space in between a shrill life on the Internet and a rich existence outside of it. The space in between the vastness of the ocean and the stable sand of the shore. The space in between then and now, past and future, yesteryear and everything that’s still to come.

Here I am, at the space in between, prepared to honor it with my whole heart.

Happy 5th Birthday, Twenties Unscripted.


Introducing the New Meet Tyece Video + Updates to TyeceWilkins.com

In 2013 I wrote, “You write about the tough moments. The foolish moments. The beautiful moments. You write and write and write. And, then, it reaches someone. Just one person. And, that is why you keep writing.”

I have kept writing on Twenties Unscripted for nearly five years. But so much has shifted, blossomed, tossed and turned since I started Twenties Unscripted – and even since I filmed the original “Meet Tyece” video at the end of 2015. So, I decided it was time for a spring refresh.

[VIDEO] Meet Tyece Wilkins 2017 -filmed and produced by Roconia Price

Check out the video below to hear my perspective on how things have changed since I started Twenties Unscripted and what’s on deck for the next step in my creative journey.

[Refresh] Updates to TyeceWilkins.com

In addition to the new video, I’ve made a few updates to my second home – tyecewilkins.com.

  • New cover page
  • Updated bio
  • Streamlined offerings on the Work With Me page

Mad love goes to my friends Jazzmin Awa-Williams and Roconia Price for making magic when it came to the photography and video for this refresh. My presence on the Internet has certainly evolved over the years, and they’ve both been incredible in bringing that transformation to life.

And, whether it’s your first or 500th time on this site, thank you for rocking with me. It’s always exciting to see what will come next. Happy Spring.


Something About Turning 27

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My feet are on a different sidewalk of solid ground. I don’t know when it happened. It seems foolish to say that there was something about turning 27 a few months ago that picked me up from the rubble of earlier days and dropped me in this newfound place. Because there is hardly anything special or magical or definitive about turning 27. I am still new. Green. Young. Impressionable. Prone to making mistakes. I’m still following a compass that sometimes sends me into deep seas and dark oceans.

So, yes. It seems foolish to say there was something about turning 27 that reshaped the world and my precious place in it.

And, yet, there was something about turning 27.

There was something about driving up to the sunset of this first decade of adulthood, something that has pushed me to trim the fat, face the facts, and apologize less for the spaces I inhabit. There was something about this age that yanked the curtain up on the woman I am instead of the woman I spent one too many years trying to be.

There comes a point where you can’t run away from yourself; that point both liberates and elevates you. Maybe that is the something about turning 27.

I’m through with running away from myself. I am through with sitting under dim lights as I lean coyly over the table, saying one thing to a man while my spirit screams another. I am through with barricading myself behind walls and praying they won’t crumble. I am through cutting emotional deals with the devil or pouring gasoline on my wildfire heart just to keep up appearances. My portrayal of the cool girl while I was in my early twenties deserves a standing ovation, but she has performed her final act.

Sometimes knowing what you’re not is just as important as knowing who you are.

I am dense and intense, fragile and flammable, a woman with her heart turned up two volumes higher than recommended. I am the sum of all of the goodbyes I ever said and all of the scars they ever left. I am equal parts concrete and shattered glass, whole and broken, complete and wildly unfinished.

And, yet, here I am. Because there was something about turning 27 that summoned me to start singing all of the notes on my staff.

I want to fall hard. I want to dig deep. I want to dive under. I want to taste love on my lips. I want to live big. I want to apologize less. I want to take up all of the space the Universe already carved out for me. I want to stop wanting and instead start soaking up the distance in between then and now, before and after, the things that were and the things that will be.

Maybe therein lies the sweet something about turning 27.


No Resolutions, Just Evolution

year end post 2015

I peeled the workaholic label off of my forehead, ripped it up, and let it fall on the sidewalk. April’s rain poured all over it. I lifted the perfectionist boulder from my back, dropped it under the hot July sun, and watched it bake. I abandoned a fear of change somewhere around September and listened to it crunch under freshly fallen leaves.

See, this year has been about letting go. This year has been about making room. This year has been about gracefully falling into failure. This year has been about planting my feet in purpose and standing on solid ground. This year has been about turning a blind eye to everything the experts say about branding and building and boosting my name. This year has been about mastering my craft. This year has been about embracing autonomy, breathing authenticity, and writing without apology. This year has been about creating work born from sunshine in my spirit and tear stains on my pillow case. This year has been about getting to the heart of the matter.

I can’t quite put it all into words. I can’t scoop up 365 days and plop them into paragraphs that relay a complete narrative. This time around, I do not have a list of neatly packaged lessons. Like most of us, my story is far from complete. The ends are still loose and the bows are not tied. Because it does not matter how much I let go. And it does not matter how much room I make. I will wake up on my friend’s hardwood floor on January 1, rosé and pinot grigio still alive and well in my system, and my evolution will still brew. The Universe will still be in the middle of whisking my perfect blend. I will still be building my dream from the ground up. This life is a boundless lesson in shedding our layers and facing our demons and making our way.

And, still, the stakes are high and fear nibbles away at my ankles, sometimes making it tough to walk. Still, I fight the urge to plan and steam the imperfections out of every detail. Still, I battle what feels like a natural inclination to shovel out my own path without leaving much room for the Universe to have its way. Still, I have to remember that rest does not reflect weakness, but rather radical self-awareness. Still, I have to remind myself that sometimes my plans are simply promises to myself that I easily break. Still, I have to recognize that there is something bigger and more beautiful out there, somewhere, that believes in me. There is something bigger and more beautiful out there, somewhere, that I absolutely have to believe in.

I can’t make any promises for the year ahead. I know I will continue to tell the stories and write the words that rise from that temple at the bottom of my belly. I know that rain will pour, and sun will shine, and wine will still fill my glass. I know that I will lament love lost and stare at the ceiling remembering all of the words I never said to the men I can’t quite forget. I know I will twerk off beat and cackle with my mouth wide open. I know that I will cry and laugh, sometimes in the same day, and occasionally in the very same breath. I know I’ll search for God in the corners I used to overlook. I know that this thing called life and these things called dreams will still tug relentlessly at my tiny beating heart. I know that purpose will still stream through me and the Universe will not allow me to cower or play small. I know that I will continue to be a spark. A blaze. A voice that stirs souls and sets passion into motion.

So, for the year ahead, I do not have any resolutions. But, I fully believe in the unfolding of my own evolution.


A Demand to Evolve

a demand to evolve v2

She told me it was going to be an amazing year. But, my mind was already numb from the champagne and my feet already hurt from the high heels. So, I probably just sent back some incoherent text, laced with one too many emojis, telling her how much I loved and appreciated her.

She told me it was going to be an amazing year.

But I probably didn’t believe her back in early September. I probably didn’t believe her when I moved into a new apartment and only three days later found myself sitting on the living room floor, wanting to shred all of my plans and shatter this facade that I have it all together. And I probably didn’t believe her back in early May when it felt like I didn’t know how to do anything other than burn bridges and torch tunnels. And I definitely didn’t believe her in late August when the book sales dried up and the soldier in me burned out.

Because what she didn’t tell me is that an amazing year is usually disguised by setbacks. Screw ups. Moments of reckoning and hours of the Universe’s recklessness. An amazing year throws its punches and swings its bat. An amazing year doesn’t always feel good. Or comfortable. Or sure. Or amazing.

But, an amazing year is one that demands you to evolve. Let go. Take a risk.

Everyone likes to tell the story about wanting to give up. It’s a popular one. A magnetic one. A glamorous one. One that shows people we can grow wings and fly above the flames of our pasts. We like to tell the story of how we rise above and arrive.

This isn’t a story of how I’ve risen above. Or arrived.

Because some days I still want to give up. And some days I still wonder what crazy yet sacred pull keeps bringing me back to this place. I wonder precisely what work God is doing. Some days I cock my head to the sky and stretch my hands to heaven and ask for a sign, any sign, that I am on the right path. Some days I don’t want to drag myself to a computer to slay the dragons for everyone else to scrutinize. Some days I want to come home, heat up leftovers and watch reality TV until I fall asleep on my old futon.

Some days I still want to give up.

But, then I remember this amazing year. This year that looked at me straight on, raised its brow and asked if I was going to stretch or remain stagnant. This year that revealed if you want the good, you must stomach the bad. This year that proved to me you can make the decision without having all of the answers. This year that laughed at me for thinking I could ever have all of the answers. This year that forced me to reach beyond any comfort zone and  dance outside of every box.

She told me it was going to be an amazing year.

But, all I could do was tug at a dress that was too short and convince myself that is what people tell their friends on New Year’s Eve. I didn’t want to believe her. Because believing her would mean knowing this year would be a yin of beauty and a yang of battle. And believing her would mean knowing I wouldn’t leave 2015 unchanged or unscathed. And believing her would mean imbibing the lightness of a Riesling and the heaviness of a Cabernet when it comes to this life. Believing her would mean believing in myself and a God I was convinced I had given up on. Believing her that night, with my heels hurting and my mind swirling, would have been too much back then.

But it’s not too much for me anymore.