Cue the song “F.U.B.U” by Solange.
As I sit here and daydream, the ideal table for me is an array of shades of Black women sitting together — from all walks of life — feeling seen, feeling safe, feeling heard, and most importantly, being celebrated.

The most beautiful part? None of the women look alike. They’re all different. From the homeless woman who just wants a chance, an opportunity, to the CEO on the brink of burnout who just needs a safe landing.

This is some good shit.

Okay, open your eyes — let’s build this table so every woman has a seat.

In today’s world, we aren’t creating tables anymore… we’ve got sections. Side-eye emoji. Standing on top of the table for Instagram photos, forgetting the real point — to keep the table sacred.

The table I’m talking about is the one at your grandmother’s house, the one you dreamed of sitting at but couldn’t until you were old enough to join the grown-up conversation. Back then, having a seat at that table meant you had arrived. And when you finally sat down, you felt seen, heard, and celebrated.

That kind of seat is more than a picturesque moment — it’s a still moment.

I remember being the girl who wanted to sit at the “cool” table — the girls with the newest cars, the athletic boyfriends, and the designer purses. I’d try to fit in however I could — sometimes lying, sometimes forcing myself to blend. But the puzzle pieces never matched.

I was too ghetto for the bougie girls and too bougie for the ghetto girls. Always in this awkward in-between space. I could mingle with anyone, but I never felt rooted with either side.

It was like I had my own seat, but no table where it truly fit.

Then, one day, God told me my ministry was fellowship.
I fought it.
Hard.

“Fellowship?” I asked Him. “How, Sway? Nobody in the Bible is famous for fellowship.”

Most people’s ministries are prophet, preacher, teacher… never “fellowshipper.” Even now, my computer tries to tell me it’s not a real word. But I heard Him clearly:
Your purpose is faith, fellowship, and flowers.

And I knew — this is what my community would be built on. A table where women feel seen, heard, and celebrated.

So I’m inviting you — yes, you — to join me at this table.

Take your shoes off, get comfortable. Today’s meal? Elevated soul food. The kind that hits your stomach and your soul. The decorative plates will keep you in awe, the glassware will invite conversation, but it’s the stories — the laughter, the healing, the truth — that will make you not want to leave.

This is a table where failures are healed, where tears are welcome, and where a homeless woman can sit right next to a Fortune 500 CEO. This table knows all the secrets… and keeps them.

Being from Memphis, Southern hospitality runs in my veins. I’ve always created spaces where people feel safe to be themselves. I’ve had strangers walk up to me and share their entire life story — and I’ve held it, protected it.

Now it’s time to build this for more than just me.

Closing Invitation
If you’ve been looking for a seat at a table that’s rooted in authenticity — not hype, not follower counts — this is it. A table where the food is rich, the conversations are richer, and the connections are the richest thing of all.

Pull up a chair. There’s a seat here with your name on it.

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