I made a zine.

Okay so, technically, I made it a couple months ago. Which tells you something about me because I have a habit of making a thing, being excited about it, and then almost immediately turning my attention toward whatever I want to make next.

In my world, there’s always another essay, book idea, event, or project sitting in my Notes app begging for attention. I’m realizing I haven’t always been very good at staying with what I’ve made long enough to really enjoy it, talk about it, or remind people that it exists.

So, before I run off and make another thing, I want to come back for this one.

I’m lying, y’all. I’ve already made the next thing. But I’m going to do better… promise.

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Womanist Wonder, Issue 01: Gathering Ourselves started as an experiment. The phrase “womanist wonder” came from one of my writing instructors, who used it to describe my work. It stayed with me because it named something I’d already been reaching toward. I followed it into a literary zine filled with essays, photographs, womanist thought, pieces of the archive, and reflections on the Black women who’ve shaped my thinking.

Since making it, I’ve taken copies with me to festivals and pop-ups. I’m usually there as a bookseller, sharing and promoting the work of Black women, but people almost always ask me where my work is. It’s right here.

Everything I create doesn’t have to arrive ready to change the world, but it also doesn’t have to disappear the minute I finish making it.

So this is me putting Gathering Ourselves back on the table.

I made it. I’m proud of it. And it’s still here.

And before you ask, yes, copies are available online. I’d love to send you one.

Womanist Wonder, Issue 01: Gathering Ourselves is $13, shipping included.

Grab Your Copy

And now I’m wondering about you.

What have you made, finished, or become that you moved past too quickly?

Perhaps this is your reminder to go back and sit with it for a minute. Celebrate it. Share it again. Let it keep living.

I’m trying to do the same.

Nyshell Watson is a Michigan-based writer, filmmaker, and story keeper. Her work includes essays, poetry, and documentary storytelling centered on Black women’s lives and stories.

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I collect things.

Books, mostly. But also Black Barbie dolls and Funko Pops of my fave Black girls. Records. Okay, I only have one. It’s Sister Rosetta Tharpe, but it’s mine and I collected it.

I’ve got plenty of screenshots. Articles I swear I’m going to come back to. Quotes that eventually make their way into my everyday conversations. TikToks I send to my sister with barely any context. Tabs. So many open tabs.

And questions.

I collect a whole lot of those.

Womanist Wonder was always meant to be a space to hold the what if’s and whys, but I’m realizing it can also be a place for the little things that lead me to them, too. I want to share the things I read and immediately underline. What I see and can’t stop think about. What makes me happy and of course, what get’s on my last nerve. And probably some other stuff I don’t really know how to categorize yet.

So, Wednesdays are for wonder.

Y’all ever been to a baby shower and played that game, What’s in Your Purse?

Yeah, I’m not really a games person either, but let’s just pretend like I’m emptying out my bag.

Here’s what I’ve got this week:

What I’m Reading

MIDDLE GRADE BOOKS

Adulting ain’t what they promised it would be. There are way too many responsibilities. So in search of wonder and a little whimsy, I’ve been pulling books off the middle grade shelf.

I’m currently obsessed with all things Renee’ Watson. I read All The Blues In The Sky as part of my bed routine a couple weeks ago. It’s a novel in verse about grief, and exactly what my 40-year-old-heart needed.

Next up: What Mama Left Me

I’m a few pages in but can already tell I’ll be recommending this on for years to come.

What I’m Watching

Toni Morrison: The Pieces I Am

I love a good documentary, and Toni Morrison holds a special place in my heart. This is one I come back to often, partly because I love hearing her talk about her own life and work, but also because every time I watch it, something different catches me.

There are some women whose words keep meeting you in new places. Miss Toni is one of them for me.

What I’m Noticing

I’ve been noticing how much I’m drawn to things I can hold.

I love the convenience of everything living on a screen, but I still want the actual thing sometimes. I’ma listen to the book but I still need to own the hardcover, flip through the pages, and take a few notes in the margins.

My Gram’s handwriting is tucked into the header for Wednesdays Are for Wonder, and I love finding new places for pieces of her to live.

That might be part of why I’m so drawn to making and collecting things we can hold. There’s something about the physical thing that feels like proof. That this happened. That somebody was here. That somebody loved us enough to leave something behind.

What do the things we keep remember for us?

What I’m Wondering

I’m only, what, two posts into this thing? But someone left a comment on my first essay that’s got me thinking.

I gave my answer, but I keep twirling with her question.

Sometimes I don’t think we need another system or somebody else telling us how to get things done. We know what needs doing. We just need to sit down and do the thing.

So now I’m wondering if we need a room.

I’m thinking about trying a monthly virtual Womanist Wonder Workroom. Nothing complicated or fancy. We’d just show up with whatever is already on our plates, say what we’re working on, hit mute and work for a while. Then we’d come back together, see what moved, and go on about our business.

No workshop, homework, or preparation. Just some protected time to actually do the thing.

Would a room like that be helpful to you?

Before I Go

I think that’s everything in my bag this week.

If you missed Sunday’s essay, you can read it here:

That’s where this week’s wondering started, and I have a feeling these Sunday and Wednesday conversations are going to keep talking to each other.

That’s part of the wonder of Womanist Wonder. I love that I get to build this in real time, pay attention to what resonates, follow the questions that keep showing up, and, of course, make room for the things I couldn’t have planned for yet.

I’m glad y’all are here while it becomes.

P.S. Some of the books I share are linked to my Bookshop. If you buy through my links, I may earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. So if you were already planning to buy the book, I’d really appreciate you buying it with me. ✌🏾🪩

Here’s what you need to know: I’m going to start over.

Ain’t nothing I’ve ever built that I’ve been too afraid to burn down and start from scratch. The business, the brand, the marriage… baby, nothing is safe.

There’s a meme floating around the internet that says something to the effect of, Some of y’all are afraid to start over, but I’m already on my fifth or sixth life. My sentiments exactly. I’d love to say this started when I turned 40, that something shifted and suddenly I had clarity about who I am and what I want, but literally, this is the story of my life.

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In the past, there’s been a lot of shame around that. Around seeming inconsistent. Around constantly starting new projects, changing my mind, changing direction. I’ve had Instagram friends reach out and say, “Girl, if you archive your feed one more time…”

And listen. Fair.

But lately I’ve been wondering: What if the goal isn’t to stop starting over? What if the goal is to know when it’s time to begin again?

I’m no expert. I could definitely be doing this all wrong. But the way it’s worked for me is that sometimes you don’t get the answers until you start doing. You can think about it. Pray about it. Make the vision board. Write the business plan and make it plain. And still, there are some things you won’t know until you move.

Sometimes you have to do the thing long enough to realize, Wait. This ain’t it.

Maybe the idea made sense when you started. You probably meant every word when you said yes. Perhaps you built something you genuinely loved. You prayed for it. Worked your behind off for it. And then somewhere along the way, you learned something. The circumstances changed. What you want changed. What you’re willing to live with changed.

And once that happens, you’ve got a choice to make. You gonna keep going just because you already started, told folks it was coming, launched the thing, or invested years in it?

Baby, no.

Sometimes you’ve got to start over, and I think there has to be some grace in that.

I’m a big fan of Lucille Clifton. I discovered her through the poem won’t you celebrate with me where she wrote, “what i have shaped into / a kind of life”. I keep coming back to the wonder of a kind of life. Not the finished life. Not the life where everything went according to plan. Just the life she shaped from what she had.

I know something about shaping a kind of life.

As a matter of fact, I come from women who take what we’ve been given and make something out of it. That may be one of my favorite things about Black women. We gon’ make something out of nothing. I’ve learned how to keep going regardless of circumstance. How to make a home, raise my girls, build things, dream things, believe God, lose things, grieve things, and still wake up asking, What’s next?

Grace might be the ability to look at the lives I’ve already lived without needing to call any of them a waste. Realizing I’ve needed every version of the woman I’ve ever been to be who I am today.

The business wasn’t a waste because I’m building something else now. The marriage wasn’t a waste because it ended. The ideas I’ve moved on from weren’t a waste because they never became what I imagined. I don’t have to make the old thing bad to give myself permission to begin again.

It was a kind of life.

It was mine.

And now I get to shape another one.

That’s growth.

I imagined I’d have it all figured out by adulthood. When we were growing up, didn’t it seem like mama ‘nem knew exactly what they were doing? Yeah, I’m not sure we talk enough about how life doesn’t really work like that. There’s trial and error. There are detours. And often, the polished version of folks you see in public is powered by private tears, prayers, and possible failures.

And we gon’ leave those so-called failures in the possible category because says who?

Listen, in 2025 I closed the physical doors of my bookstore, left the church I was attending, and filed for divorce after 12 years of marriage. I’d built my life and identity around all three. And it ain’t take but one shaky little year to burn them all down.

I’ve been to therapy. I’ve cried. I’ve prayed. I’ve had to sit with choices I made and choices that were made for me. Last year should’ve killed me.

Instead, I’m taking my alleged losses as lessons and going on about my business.

Literally.

Because there’s still business to tend to. I’ve got 4 daughters watching me live, bills that care nothing about the state of my mental health. There are things I want to write, places I want to go, work I believe I’m supposed to do, and a whole life that still requires my participation.

And maybe that’s what I understand about starting over now. You don’t always get a clean slate.

Sometimes you’re starting over with kids and responsibilities and debt and memories and a calendar full of things that still need to get done. Sometimes you’re starting over while still grieving what ended. You can be excited about what’s next and still sad about what was. You can also know you made the right decision and still miss parts of the life you chose to leave.

All of that gets to be true.

I think I used to imagine starting over as this big, dramatic thing. Burn it down. Reinvent yourself. New year, new me. Archive the Instagram feed, apparently.

But most of my starting over these days looks extra regular.

It’s deciding what I’m going to do today.

And then doing it again tomorrow.

Because I can burn something down. We’ve established that.

Building is another story.

So, back to my original question how many times are we gonna start over?

As many times as it takes.

Until I get it right.

P.S. All these fresh starts are cute, but eventually we’ve got to do something with them. See you next Sunday.

Nyshell Watson is a Michigan-based writer, filmmaker, and story keeper. Her work includes essays, poetry, and documentary storytelling centered on Black women’s lives and stories.

Still wondering?
Womanist Wonder is a home for questions about faith, feminism, Black womanhood, and the women we’re still becoming. Subscribe to get the next note in your inbox.

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