Welcome to Bloom & BE
- Susan Small

- May 8
- 3 min read
Updated: May 23

I’m Susan—mother, writer, creative, and the founder of Bloom & Be.
It’s taken me 45 years to start truly easing into myself. Not the version of me shaped by expectation or survival. Not the polished, presentable version. But the one who is layered, intuitive, tender, and bold. The me I had been circling around for years without ever quite settling into.
When I turned 40, something shifted. It wasn’t sudden, but it was sure. I stopped craving rooms that made me feel small. I stopped trying to shape myself to be palatable or pleasing. I let go of the belief that I had to earn rest or prove my worth through constant doing. I began to crave something more honest: to exist as I am. In time, in space, in fullness. And in that quiet awakening, I returned to words. I started writing again—poetry, mostly. Not to publish or perform, but to listen to myself. To tend to the parts of me I had abandoned.
The parts I had deemed “too much.”The parts I’d buried beneath motherhood, busyness, or fear.The parts that didn’t make sense to anyone but me.
In that space, I started to bloom.
But even as I found language again, I found myself aching for something else, something I didn’t always know how to name: sisterhood, mentorship—a space of warmth and wisdom. Somewhere I could ask questions without being judged. Somewhere, I could show up messy, gifted, unsure, and still be held. The truth is, I’ve spent years searching for that kind of connection. Sometimes, I found glimmers of it. Other times, I walked away from rooms that left me lonelier than when I arrived.
So let me be clear: Bloom & Be is not a mentorship program. But I do hope it feels nurturing. Like a handwritten letter from a friend who sees you. Like a deep exhale after holding your breath for too long.
This space was born from my own need to feel rooted and seen. And I know I’m not the only one.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that Black women deserve to be in a healthy, nourishing community. Not just spaces that ask us to be strong, productive, or “resilient”—but spaces that invite us to be soft. To be complicated. To be still. To be heard. We need places where we can unlearn the myth that we must always hold everything together, where we can rest without apology, where we can speak our joy and our grief in the same breath, where we can be sanctified and sensual. Sacred and undone.This & that. All of it. All of us.




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