Girls Love Beyoncé

73

BEYONCÉ KNOWLES

Thanksgiving was this week, and I felt like my life was finally reaching its peak.

The Dream and I had been going hard in the studio, working with more artists and producers than I ever imagined.

It was crazy to say, but I was done with my first album. I called it Dangerously In Love — it just felt right.

Putting that aside, I was still getting attention from my music. I decided to stop letting the past dictate my future.

I deserved another chance—not just from the world, but from myself. I'd made mistakes, sure. Letting people into my life who didn't have my best interests at heart. Letting fear and pride hold me back.

But I wasn't about to let those mistakes be the final chapter. I was ready to rewrite my story. I was really leaning into doing something for myself, and I was grateful for it.

Me, my momma, and Solange were getting ready to go see Ms. Carol. I felt horrible because we hadn't really spoken since our one-on-one a while back.

Regardless, I still loved her. We were bringing her some snacks and flowers—just to keep her company because we didn't know if any of her family would be coming down here.

I wasn't sure if Onika was coming back. She'd been here—I had a feeling—but I didn't know how to confirm it. The air felt different. I felt like I was being watched constantly... she was here.

"Beyoncé, come on!" my momma hollered, making me sigh. I threw on my hoodie, hospitals were always so cold. Grabbing my things, I met her and Solange downstairs.

My little sister was getting taller, and I couldn't lie—I panicked. I used to be able to pick her up easily now I struggled. I mean, she was almost thirteen.

"Why're you looking at me like that, ugly?" she asked, making me mush her head. We raced to the front seat, and of course, I beat her to it.

She made a big deal about it the whole way to the hospital, but I didn't care. I was too busy texting Zahir. He'd been giving me the silent treatment too, which irritated me. Ever since I mentioned Onika, he acted like I was telling him I was marrying her again—which I wasn't, by the way.

"So, are you going to do music after high school? Are you applying to colleges? What path do you want to take now that you're getting more attention?"

My relationship with my momma had definitely deepened since I'd been back. I trusted her more because, in the end, I knew she had my best interests at heart. I couldn't keep blaming her for how I interpreted what she and others said. We worked on it — I forgave her, and she forgave me.

We talked about stuff like this now, which felt kind of crazy. Onika wasn't the common factor in our conversations anymore. That space felt both freeing and strange.

"I really do love music, mama. Like, a lot. But I don't know... should I?" I asked, glancing over at her.

She smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "The world is your oyster, beautiful. If you want to be a full-time artist, do it. If you want a career where you study and go to school for it, you can do that too. And I'm sure there are schools where you can go for music. It's up to you."

Her words should have made me feel confident. But the truth was, I was scared. Scared of failing, scared of what people would say if I put everything into music and it didn't work out. Scared of losing myself in something that had already brought me so much pain.

Still, deep down, I knew I couldn't run from it. Music wasn't just a dream — it was who I was. It was the one thing I could control, the one thing that made me feel like me. I just needed to find the strength to own it, fully, without looking back.