in my black cat era

a philosophy of self-devotion, soft rebellion, and sovereign seduction.

For months—maybe years—I’ve watched Black Cat TikToks with a kind of quiet recognition. A small smirk, a nod of knowing. These videos usually frame Black Cat Energy through the lens of romantic relationships, positioning it as the ultimate feminine power move. But recently, something shifted. I started wondering what would happen if I expanded the concept beyond romance—if I treated Black Cat Energy not as a relationship strategy, but as a way of being. A personal philosophy. (Doctrine? Ideology? Tenet? The right word eludes me—but you feel what I’m getting at.)

In case you’ve missed this particular corner of the internet, let me give you the gist: In the most common interpretation, Black Cat Energy is about stepping out of the role of the over-giving, overly-available woman and into something much more magnetic. Picture the sleek cat who doesn’t come when called, but might grace you with her presence if she feels like it. She doesn’t explain. She doesn’t overextend. She doesn’t chase, she attracts. Her focus is entirely on herself—her body, her mind, her rituals, her curiosities, her pleasure, her peace. She doesn’t waste time managing someone else’s emotions.

She is so thoroughly steeped in her own life, so quietly radiant in her self-possession, that people can’t help but be drawn to her.

She is sovereign. She receives. She chooses.

It’s not that she’s cold—quite the opposite. It’s that she knows her value. And that knowing means she cannot and will not stay where she isn’t cherished. In the language of TikTok, the relationship only works if he’s more in love with her than she is with him. (Sharp, I know. But also: true.)

The Practice and The Perfomance

To live in Black Cat Energy is to recognize that this isn’t just a vibe—it’s a discipline. A rhythm. A sacred kind of self-regulation. It’s a practice because it requires vigilance: noticing when I self-abandon, when I rush to soothe, when I dilute. It means setting the boundary before I’m exhausted, choosing silence when I used to over-explain. It means walking away from what drains me, even when staying would be easier. The practice is internal. It’s gritty, quiet, and sometimes lonely. It’s about building the muscle of self-trust.

But it’s also a performance—not in the hollow sense, but in the holy one. The way a priestess performs a ritual.

The rest of this letter is for paid subscribers. I’m talking about what it would look like to step fully into my black cat energy—what it would change, what it would call in, and what might get in the way. If you’ve been yearning for something slow, intentional, and devotional, I hope this space can be that for you. Thank you for supporting my work and for walking this path with me. Your presence here means the world. If this letter speaks to you, I hope you’ll consider subscribing to unlock the rest.