I’ve decided to stop using the N-word so much because, at its core, it’s an ignorant term.

But let me not sit up here and lie.

I get my sick kicks out of using it.

There’s a spark in it for me—something rebellious, something familiar, something that rolls off the tongue a little too easy. And I had to ask myself… why?

So I had a conversation with my son about it.

I asked him why I seem to get such pleasure out of using that word, and without missing a beat, he said it probably has something to do with the rap music I grew up on in my teenage years.

And I had to sit with that.

Because he was telling the truth.

So I did a little experiment.

I went back—way back—and listened to Straight Outta Compton by N.W.A..

Whew.

That album is ignorant as hell. Raw. Loud. Angry. And unapologetically sexist.

And yet…

Back in the day, my best friend and I wore that record out. I’m talking about playing the seven-inch vinyl of “Gangsta Gangsta” like it owed us money. Rewinding it, laughing, living in it.

Then there was Too Short with CussWords.

And baby… every time he said “bitch,” we screamed it right along with him like it was a choir rehearsal.

No hesitation. No reflection. Just rhythm, repetition, and release.

And that’s when it hit me.

When you feed your spirit something long enough—especially when it’s wrapped in music, memory, and youth—it don’t just stay entertainment. It becomes language. It becomes habit. It becomes a reflex you don’t even question.

So now here I am, years later, trying to unlearn something that once felt like joy.

And I won’t pretend it’s easy.

Because there’s still a part of me—that little ignorant streak—that remembers how fun it felt. How free it felt. How normal it felt.

But I also know this:

Just because something feels good coming out of your mouth doesn’t mean it’s good for your spirit.

So this is me… doing the work.

Not perfectly. Not overnight.

But intentionally.

Now don’t get it twisted—I’m still me. That ignorant streak ain’t packed up and moved out; she just got her bags by the door. But every day, I’m getting a little stronger at telling her, “Not today.” Because I refuse to let a word have more power over me than I have over myself.