I've Decided To Live Out My 20s Unapologetically While Raising My Son

May 04, 2026

Hey y’all,

I had one of those serendipitious Saturdays where it felt like Solange was singing “Binz” for me personally. My sole mission? Lock down a location for the Black Women in Bloom book launch party. After a brunch kiki with my girls at our favorite cafe in Oakland, we were off. First, an art gallery in Old Oakland with a bonus outdoor patio; then, a Black woman’s apothecary that smelled of shea and lavender; and last, Kinfolx, the most poppin’ coffee shop for Black creatives. I had been emailing them for months to no avail—I was determined to make this happen.

We spotted the owner, busy in conversation, so we hung back. Then out of nowhere we ran into our friend Mike, the creator of Umber Magazine. My girl and I used to host a podcast, and he was a former guest. We caught up, got a preview of his latest issue, and I told him about my book. We’re now setting up time so I can pick his brain. He also said he regularly hosts events at Kinfolx. How Sway??

Mike leaves, and I spot the owner, finally free, getting water for his dog. I run over to intercept. I thank Mike for his good juju because the owner said yes!

To celebrate, we met up with a few more friends for drinks at Lucy Blue where, to our surprise, it was a Kentucky Derby-themed evening, and the aunties pulled up in their BEST. They had a fashion show, raffles, and, of course, hit the Tamia step a few times. I love Black people. What a great day.

This Week’s Story

May 6, 2026 is World Maternal Mental Health Day. Motherhood is one of those ‘hoods that you never really understand until you join it. In this week’s essay, South African writer Gugu Khumalo is navigating life as a 24-year-old single mom who is still finding time for adventure while she learns how to co-exist with her new son. She’s trading in tequila and cigarettes for sippy cups and baby burps. But what she’s lost in 20s debauchery, she’s gained so much more in her new bestie.

Take care,

Anayo Awuzie
EIC of Carefree Media

P.S. - We’re inching our way closer to hitting our June pre-order goal for Black Women in Bloom 🌸 This one is for all of us on our blooming journeys—a mirror and window into the lives of Black women across the diaspora.

Get Your Copy

I’m Letting My Inner-Child Do All The Parenting

by Gugu Khumalo

As the story goes for many little girls, I have always dreamed of becoming a mother. From bathing and clothing my baby dolls to babysitting my nephews and nieces—being a parent has always been in the cards for me. I imagined being a mother in my late 20s or early 30s with a house in the suburbs, a thriving career, and a loving partner.

My early 20s were a time of exploration. I had the classic college experience filled with great friendships, adventures, one too many drunken nights, and even a great love or two. After graduating, I took the year off to finish my novel.

But then something unexpected happened. I found myself pregnant, and my plans, my dreams, and my world flipped upside down. My envisioned career trajectory had barely taken off; I was far from my goal of a house in the suburbs, and my love life had gone up in flames. It wasn’t the situation I had imagined I'd be in when I got pregnant, but despite everything, I decided to proceed with the pregnancy.

I waded through my pregnancy under a veil of secrecy and fear, mortified at the thought of anyone finding out. Somehow, to my benefit or detriment, I still looked very small, just as if I had gained a couple of kilos. My hips widened, and my less-than-A-cup breasts bloomed to a conservative C, but there was no visible bump. As the time for his arrival neared. He felt heavier, but even though I had only gained minimal weight, looking back, it wasn't the pregnancy but rather the anxiety and guilt weighing down on me.

It seemed fitting; nothing about my pregnancy was the way I expected it to be.

I never did finish that novel.

His arrival.

Like falling asleep, he arrived slowly, gently, and then all at once. Labor lasted 20 hours, a wait that felt as long as the pregnancy itself. I had planned a natural birth with minimal intervention, complete with a big bouncy ball to de-stress, a warm bath, and no major drugs.

Around hour 18, the rug was pulled out from under me. The doctors told me he went into fetal distress, and to this day I’m not too sure what that means. I was taken from my initial room and thrust into a theatre adorned with glaring lights and a lingering clinical smell. The midwives in teddy bear scrubs were replaced with doctors in putrid green scrubs, and the soft and soothing voices of female midwives were replaced by various men speaking in robot-like technical jargon. And then, at 10:01, my baby was brought into the world via c-section. I begged the doctors to let me hold him or even see him. He was brought into one room, and I was carted into another. Is this normal? I thought to myself.

After an eternity later, they brought him back to me, scrubbed clean of all the vernix and afterbirth. He looked like one of those reborn dolls I longed for as a little girl—and he was all mine.

Home

I hate to say it, but for the first couple of days, he didn’t actually feel like mine. Instead, it felt like I was babysitting for a good friend. It wasn't until the two of us were truly left alone that it hit me like a ton of bricks. Holy shit, I’m 24, unmarried, a single parent, and I haven’t even found my “purpose.” The thoughts were spiraling like the Anxiety emotion in Inside Out 2.

While I felt unsure about the rest of my life and what it would look like, I accepted that my Zion was all that I had, and I was all he had. I wanted nothing more than to be a good mother to him. The only problem? I had no idea how to do that. The life I had come to know in my 20s did not seem to be featured in any of the parenting books.

Now

It was clear that the relationship that produced my son wouldn’t end in the white wedding dress fantasy I’d always dreamt of. I had some hope for a semblance of a functional co-parenting arrangement, a situation that would afford me a free day or two to have a moment to myself, socialize, and venture out into the world of self-improvement. Sadly, that wasn’t the case. So I made motherhood work for me.

I have thrown most of the advice, tips, and tidbits I’ve collected on parenthood out of the window. I have stopped trying to force myself into a box that I do not fit into. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to be a mother and was excited to start my life with my baby, but I feel I still had so much that I either had not finished or had not done in my 20-something adventures.

I could not leave the years of adventure and exploration my 20s promised to bring to sit on the backburner. I refused to shrink myself to try and be an unrealistic, idealized version of a mother that I had never known. And so, I’ve decided to live out my roaring twenties unapologetically while raising him.

He’s become a roommate of sorts. While I take care of the house, we enjoy each other's company over pudding and GRWM videos during the week. On Fridays, we may watch a movie—a cool glass of rosé for me and a tepid sippy cup of milk for him. While out shopping, he sits in his stroller and babbles at my mini skirts and crop tops, offering critique where it’s due.

We even went on a road trip together, albeit a short one. And like the best kind of friends, we split our time between each other's interests: quad biking and hiking for me and a petting zoo and sensory play date for him. It felt like a girls’ trip, without the excessive boozy nights and incessant flirting.

I’ve also started a ritual every month to try at least two things—something old and something new. For instance, when ordering a drink, I would order a margarita, something old, and an obnoxiously named (often expensive) drink, something new. I love this new practice and will be keeping it up.

While I miss my rambunctious 3-day ragers filled with cartons of cigarettes and tequila, I would like to think they aren’t completely gone, just replaced with a calmer and more tame sundowner or brunch. Since I’m not spending as much money on shots, I can now afford to splurge on car service and go to nicer places that I would never have thought of in my pre-baby days.

My friends have kept me going through all of this. Most of them are enjoying their 20’s, waiting to have kids later on in their lives, and then there are the empowered few who have already made the decision to be childfree. Despite their different feelings about becoming mothers, they have become a village of sorts in their own right.

As I journey through this new adventure that I’m only a year and some change into, my son and I make the rules up as we go—we’ll be just fine.

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