Natasha Smith – författare

"Why are you still sad about that?"It takes time and space to grieve well, but often our culture doesn''t afford us these things. Drawing from her own experience with grief, Natasha Smith invites us into a reflection on what it means to grieve and how to cling to hope even in our darkest moments. Instead of providing quick-fix solutions, this book creates space for us to take time to just sit and grieve, learn, and heal in healthy ways.In Can You Just Sit with Me? Smith provides personal stories, biblical reflections, relevant research, practical tools, and prayers that point us to God, who always sits with us in our grief. Whether we are grieving a loss or supporting a friend who is grieving, this book reminds us that every loss is worthy of the space and grace to grieve.

"This excellent book skillfully showcases Smith''s method for identifying and healing from grief and finding wholeness." – Library Journal Review, January 2025Dear Black woman, you are not alone.God has not disregarded your pain and suffering. God sees you. God knows you. God understands.In Black Woman Grief, Natasha Smith unearths a painful reality that is tangled within our nation''s roots and DNA: trauma, loss, and grief are embedded in the lived experience of the Black woman in the United States. Smith talks about grief that is specifically applicable to Black women, providing them with affirmation and a safe place to exhale. Yet, amid a broken world and broken systems that have weighed down Black women for generations, Smith reminds us that there is hope because the kingdom of God is at hand. In Black Woman Grief, Natasha Smith- takes us readers through narrative and biblical truths- provides a space made by and for Black women to be seen and understood by God- encourages Black women to live a God-filled life in a grief-filled world

Hiding just behind the fragile skin of reality, like a parasite beneath the flesh, festers a world where nothing makes sense. Time doesn't move—it twitches, stalls, reverses in spasms, dragging you through the same moment again and again with subtle, sickening differences. Space twists into unnatural shapes, folding in on itself like a body contorted in agony, corridors stretching into infinity before snapping shut behind you. The very laws that govern existence—gravity, light, sound—fracture into chaos, whispering rules that change without warning. You've crossed into a liminal space, a rotting no-man's-land between worlds, where the familiar turns hostile, and every shadow hums with the promise of something watching, waiting. Here, nothing is as it seems