Meet Mo: The Voice, the Vulnerability, the Vision

The Lo Down: Today, I’m human. Tomorrow, I am too.

You know that song by Cardi B, Be Careful With Me? It’s the hook for me — she repeats, “Be careful with me.” It’s about a man, sure, but I use it to remind myself: Mo, be careful with yourself.

That includes how you talk to you. Your inner dialogue matters.

Whenever I imagine what Tumble Dry Mo’s inner theme song might be, I think of that one.
The rest of the lyrics don’t apply, but it’s catchy! lol

To begin things — I am Monique.
Depending on when you met me in life, you might know me as Monique, Mo, or one of many other pet names.

But when I think of the most vulnerable, raw, unfiltered version of myself — the one who shows up with no apologies? Her name is Mo.

Mo is wonderful and rough. Brash and warm. All over the place, yet somehow together.
She is a product of her environment, but not the product of it.

She’s a loving daughter. A wild auntie. A fierce colleague. A fun competitor.
She’s systems-oriented, quirky, real, deeply thoughtful — and also quite forgetful.
Overly expressive. Sometimes just awkward.

No, seriously. Let me give you context.

I still cry during The Lion King — yes, the part where Mufasa falls.
But when my 49-year-old grandmother passed away unexpectedly, I didn’t cry. I laughed.
Not because I wasn’t grieving — but because my body didn’t know how to access the “appropriate” emotions in that moment.

I’m a first-generation college student turned first-generation professional, turned senior executive, now CEO.
I’m all things make it make sense (metrics, outcomes, purpose), and all things this doesn’t feel right (interactions, energy, policy, practice).

I feel deeply. Love deeply. Think deeply. Collaborate deeply.
And honestly? I try not to be so deep.
But it’s hard not to be when you start noticing just how connected everything is — people, systems, memories, decisions.

I’m an Aries. I don’t know much about zodiac signs, but I try to know a little about mine.
It tickles me. Makes me feel seen.

I’m also neuroatypical.

Maybe we all are — but discovering I had ADHD a few years ago helped me understand myself better.
And I do love me. I love you, too. Yes — you, stranger. And yes, you, friend.

I love God.
I love my family.
I love my squad. (Some of y’all are already in it. Others are just one “join” button away.)

I know I’m rambling, but before I go, I want to share one story about my name.

A few years ago, during my last full-time professional role, I was asked to give a talk.
It was a Black Congratulatory-type ceremony. The kind that meant a lot.
They gave me 10–15 minutes, but honestly? Could’ve been 2. My anxiety was sky high.

I was an Assistant Vice President speaking to a room full of students — some I knew, most I didn’t.
I wanted to keep it real. I wanted to strip away the title and speak human-to-human.
Because that’s how I connect. That’s how Mo connects.

I told them how I went from being near the top of my high school class — National Honor Society, graduation speaker — to nearly flunking out my first semester of college. I earned a 1.8 GPA.

It got so bad, I was warned: get it together or be gone by spring.
So I got it together.
I stopped hiding in my dorm. I limited the parties. I asked for help.
I joined the Black Student Union. I went to the library. I learned to study.

In high school, I thought I was “just smart.” I didn’t realize the system was just soft.
College humbled me.

I told them that being in college felt like being a wet t-shirt or a pair of jeans straight out of the washer.
I knew I’d get through it, but it was uncomfortable as hell.

That’s the thing about the dryer cycle — it reshapes you.

Even all these years later, I still feel like that t-shirt. That pair of jeans.

The Lo Down is that life is one long, unpredictable dry cycle.
Sometimes, the only constant is the heat.

It’s rough.
It hurts.
I still don’t know what I’m doing all the time.

But like our favorite clothes, if we give ourselves care — and manage the time and settings right — we’ll come out less wrinkled.

It’s up to us to decide how we respond when we’re tumbling.

So here I am: Tumble Dry Mo.
The imperfect, self-reflecting, room-to-grow brain behind Tumble Dry Lo.
The future podcast. The current blog.
And whatever else this wild, tender, powerful brain does next.

With Care,

Mo 💓