Track 11: Kindred Means Fam

Kin·dred (noun) – one’s family and relations.

Kin·dred (adjective) – connected by blood, spirit, or shared purpose.

One of the things I cherish most from my Dad is my name, Kindred. It’s more than my name. It’s what I create for. What I stand on. It’s the reminder that the people who really get me, the ones who feel my music in their bones and see themselves in my story, aren’t just listeners. They’re family.

I’ve had a few people who don’t really know me, or were just introduced to me, ask why I chose Kindred as my name when there’s already a group called Kindred the Family Soul. But that’s the thing. Family is who I am and who I do this for. The name isn’t borrowed. It’s lived. And lately, I’ve been paying more attention to what that really means. How the idea of family, connection, and belonging shows up in everything I create.

I was downstairs doing laundry when the moment found me. Just a regular Sunday. Groceries put away, chapter meeting done, phone in hand while the washing machine did its thing. I was scrolling, not really looking for anything, when I stopped on a video from Amanda Sabreah called The Cubby Framework.

Now if you don’t know Amanda, she isn’t one of those motivational talkers. She’s a strategist. An influencer who helps artists figure out where they fit in this crowded music world. She said something that made me sit up a little straighter. “Talent isn’t enough. The difference between breaking through and blending in isn’t about how good you are, it’s about where you belong in your space.” Then she broke down her framework about understanding your who, why, and how, basically learning who you’re really doing this for and what world you’re building around your art. When she said, “Identify your cubby in the market and build a universe around it,” I felt that. Like really felt that.

It wasn’t about competition. It was about clarity. About understanding that not everyone will get you, and that’s okay. You’re not for everybody. You’re for your people. And that’s when it clicked. I’ve been building this world, this universe, this vibe, for years without ever naming it.

See, my universe has always been bigger than just music. It’s that feeling when you’re with family who’s been through some stuff, but you’re all still laughing and loving on each other anyway. It’s the comfort of Mac and Cheese touching your Yams on Thanksgiving. It’s that walk you take with your cousins after dinner when y’all come back more relaxed and somehow hungrier than before. It’s the burn of a smoked Old Fashioned in the fall, the peace in knowing you made it through another storm. That’s what my world feels like. That’s the Kindred energy. The part that feels like home but still also challenges you to grow.

The older I get, the more I’ve realized that me building a world like I have means being seen for who I really am, not just the version that’s easy for people to digest. Growing up I would hear my elders say, “so and so is showing their slip.” And I always understood that to mean someone is showing their true colors. With creating a vibe like I do with my art, it feels imperative that I show up while showing my slip. Doesn’t mean I’m just out here telling all my business, but I reveal enough to heal, love, and guide others.

For me, showing my slip is about letting people see what’s real. The stuff under the dope fit but not the private parts of myself under my Carter Wear. The moments that don’t make it to the highlight reel but carry the most truth. I want folks to see God in my snap back, to know that no matter how many times life tried it, I bounced back. My slip is my vulnerability and my authenticity. It covers the parts of me that are sacred, but it also reminds me not to hide behind perfection.

For a long time, I learned to camouflage. To fix my posture. Deepen my voice. Code switch before I even knew what that word meant. I learned to tuck away anything that might be misunderstood as weakness, my softness, my sexuality, my truth. But every time I shared a truth that scared me, it made room for somebody else to breathe. The moment I opened up about my HIV status, I had people reach out to say thank you for saying what they couldn’t. That’s when I realized my openness wasn’t just about me. It was medicine. It was healing.

When I think about the people who rock with me, the ones who come to the shows or hit play on the songs, I don’t see one kind of person. I see light. I see people who’ve survived something and still found a way to love. I see the ones who walk through the world with a little scar tissue on their heart but still show up. They’re sippin and vibin, heads nodding, eyes closed, feeling seen in the music. They get it because they’ve lived it.

That’s who I do this for. That’s who I build this universe for. My people. My Fam.

Being part of that family isn’t about being a fan. It’s about finding a space where you can be yourself. Where you can be soft, bold, loud, quiet, healed, or still healing. Where you can love who you love and still see God in the mirror. It’s grace. It’s soul. It’s home.

So if you’ve ever been told you don’t belong, if you’ve ever had to fight just to feel seen, if you’ve ever been the one holding everything together while trying to keep yourself from falling apart, welcome home.

You’re Kindred too.

🖤 Read more unfiltered reflections at Kingfinity.org/rebelgent