Gen X, Are You OK?

We lost an icon. And when I asked one simple question on Threads, “Gen X, are you OK?” the answers poured in. Hundreds of comments. Nearly thirty thousand views. The responses were honest, direct, and heavy with emotion. It was more than grief. It was recognition. Something bigger is happening in our generation.

Since November of last year, we have been on a kind of sabbatical. Not one we planned, but one our souls demanded. We stepped back from the noise, from society’s constant demands, from the endless pressure to perform and produce. It was not about giving up. It was about reflection. About survival. About finding a softer way to exist in a world that has always expected us to carry everything.

Then something shifted on November 6. The ancestors spoke. A quiet understanding moved through many of us. No matter how hard we work, how much we sacrifice, how far we climb, we may never be seen as the leaders. We are the blueprint. That realization hurt, but it also freed us.

So we exhaled.
We logged onto Threads.
We found each other in a quiet corner of the internet.

We watched TV together, checked in on each other, and created community that felt sacred. We reminded one another not to respond to the noise. Not to be provoked. Not to let the world drain our spirit again. We began to rest, not just the kind of rest that looks like a nap, but the kind that heals the soul. We turned inward. We created. We dreamed again.

We grieved together. Not only for an election we worked so hard for, but for the future we knew was about to change. We built this nation’s cultural foundation, and we are now watching pieces of it being dismantled by people whose connection to this soil is only a few generations deep. The anger, the sadness, the fatigue — it is all real. Yet in true Gen X fashion, we keep moving. Because that is who we are.

We are the bridge between two worlds. The first generation of Black Americans born into full citizenship. Our parents were born under Jim Crow. We grew up listening to their stories at the kitchen table. We integrated schools. We walked into neighborhoods where we were not always welcomed. We carried both legacies at once — the trauma and the triumph.

We were latchkey kids with encyclopedias, transistor radios, and big dreams. We were told to be seen and not heard. We learned early that no one was coming to save us. We had to save ourselves.

Now, in midlife, we are looking around and realizing that the world we built has been rebranded and repackaged. The corporate ladders we climbed. The industries we shaped. The movements we sparked. The world is living off the fruit of our labor, often without even saying our name.

We opened doors. We laid the groundwork. We carried the torch. And still, we are asked to prove our worth.

Kamala Harris stands as a symbol of what we built. The first Gen X candidate standing at the threshold of the presidency. She carries our energy — determination, creativity, and quiet fire. She is part of the proof that our generation’s impact is still unfolding.

When D’Angelo passed, it felt personal. He represented more than music. He was a mirror. He helped us see beauty and sensuality in ourselves when the world refused to. Angie Stone gave us language for our heartbreak and our healing. Malcolm Jamal Warner reminded us that intelligence and art could exist in the same breath. Their work shaped our identity. Their voices raised ours.

So when I asked, “Gen X, are you OK?” the answer came back clear. No.
But that is not hopelessness. It is true. It is clarity. It is the beginning of something new.

We are finally still enough to feel again. To reflect. To acknowledge how much we have given and how much we still have left to create.

These times call for reflection, not retreat. We do not need to hide in silence or push through pain. We deserve to tell our stories and to be heard. We did amazing work. Our contributions were never just about survival. They were about innovation, art, joy, and faith. And now, as we stand in midlife, still vibrant and full of wisdom, it is time to tell the truth about who we are and what we have built.

It is time to reframe our narrative.
To dust off the dream we have hidden.
To breathe life back into our voice.
To honor what we created and make room for what is next.

Before we rise again, we have to do the inner work.

That is why I created Reframe Your Narrative, an audio workshop for this moment in our story. It is for those of us who have been silent for too long. For those who have played small to keep the peace. For those who have worked hard and never felt seen. This is your time to tell your story with power and truth.

We are not broken. We are becoming.
We are not fading. We are rising again.
And the world needs our voice now more than ever.

Listen. Reflect. Reframe.
Your next chapter begins with your story.

[Link to Reframe Your Narrative]