MEET THE LABELED CREATOR

For years, I lived my life as a loud, boisterous character—the kind you only see in movies. My story was a full cinematic whirlwind: a mother battling addiction, an absent father, and being raised by my grandmother in North Philadelphia. It had all the ingredients of a compelling Tyler Perry play. Throw in manic depression and bipolar disorder, and it’s almost Oscar-worthy—well, that is, if my Blackness wasn’t considered “too much.”

At 21, I started showing signs of mental illness, but I had no idea what was happening or why. Without knowledge, language, or guidance, I convinced myself I was under spiritual attack. I hadn’t been to church in a while, so naturally, I thought God was “dealing with me.” It made sense in the moment. Except…God doesn’t work like that.

What was really happening was that years of unresolved trauma had finally caught up with me, and I had no tools to manage any of it. So, I did what many Black women with emotional baggage did: I went back to church. I prayed, sang, shouted, and tried to worship the depression away. It worked—until it didn’t. I mean… what? Having sex with strangers I met at CVS isn’t normal? Oh. Who knew?

It took another twelve years before I was diagnosed with Bipolar 1 Disorder and manic depression.

Those twelve years were spent unmedicated and spiraling. My drinking escalated. Drug habits formed and worsened. Risky behaviors piled up. And unlike my hidden struggles, my mental breakdown was anything but discreet.

Receiving a mental-health diagnosis unleashes a flood of emotions: desperation, confusion, anger, sadness, and a kind of loneliness that feels unreachable. It’s a place where no one can touch you, help you, or share the load. Your foundation cracks, and you’re left defenseless. I needed support. I needed understanding, empathy, reassurance. I needed to hear, “You’re not crazy. You’re going to be okay.”

And while I had a loving family and caring friends, it took time for them to learn how to support me—just like it took time for me to understand how I needed to be supported. I created LABELED to remove the guesswork, the stigma, and the confusion around supporting someone on their mental-health journey. I created LABELED to be a source of education, knowledge, and understanding—for the ones who are struggling and for the ones who love them. 

I created LABELED to be a village, a community, a place where we don’t walk this alone.

I created LABELED because for twelve years, I didn’t have it.

I created LABELED for me.

And most importantly, I created LABELED… for you.