Meet Cherish Stephens-Vickers

We were lucky to catch up with Cherish Stephens-Vickers recently and have shared our conversation below.

Hi Cherish , thank you so much for joining us today. There are so many topics we could discuss, but perhaps one of the most relevant is empathy because it’s at the core of great leadership and so we’d love to hear about how you developed your empathy?

Sometimes the most important qualities are shaped in the exact places where we were most deeply hurt.
I have always been an empathetic person, sometimes to a fault. As a kid, I made a quiet pact with myself: If I ever saw someone hurting, I would never look away. That promise came from experiencing my own pain and knowing how isolating it feels when no one notices. It is something I have carried with me ever since.
That early commitment shaped the way I show up in the world, and it is part of why I chose the work I do. Working in aging in place programs, rebuilding homes after disasters, and supporting people whose lives have been turned upside down has deepened my empathy in a very real way. You do not just see someone’s house. You see the grief in their eyes. You hear the exhaustion in their voice. And you learn that sometimes the most important thing you can do is slow down, listen, and let them know they are not alone in it.
I have also spent much of my adult life moving through predominantly white progressive spaces, showing up as a Black queer masculine presenting woman, and learning that visibility does not always mean understanding. In those spaces I am often praised for my resilience while my softness is ignored. My presence is welcomed, even admired, but often as something to be observed more than truly engaged with.
People are quick to celebrate my survival, but reluctant to sit with my joy. There are moments when I share something vulnerable and it is met with silence, not because it was not heard, but because it offers no room for comfort or performance. I am constantly asked to translate myself, to shave down the parts that make people uncomfortable, and to carry the emotional labor of helping others understand what it means to exist in my skin. That kind of space turns your trauma into a talking point and your identity into something people can use to feel progressive.
Being in those environments sharpened my empathy. It made me pay close attention to nuance, tone, and silence because often the truth lives there rather than in the words being spoken. But it also taught me boundaries. I learned that empathy is not just about understanding others, it is about protecting your own spirit while you do it.
And it was not until I found myself in a relationship where my own pain was treated like an opinion that I understood the difference between having empathy and practicing it with intention. No matter how carefully I tried to explain myself in that relationship, my feelings were minimized or reinterpreted. I kept trying anyway, softening my words and shrinking my needs, until I realized I was carrying everything alone.
One night, after another circular argument, I sat with myself and asked what I actually needed. The answer was simple: to be seen without being corrected. In the moment I made another quiet promise that I would never make someone feel the way I felt in that relationship, unseen in plain sight.
So, I shifted. I still lead with empathy, but now it is grounded in boundaries and intention. I slow down, listen before I respond, ask that someone needs instead of assuming I already know, and make space for silence when there are no easy answers. My ability to empathize has always been there, but both my career and my personal experiences have taught me how to use it responsibly and never to weaponize softness when someone trusts me with their truth.

Let’s take a small detour – maybe you can share a bit about yourself before we dive back into some of the other questions we had for you?

I divide my time between creative work and community centered labor, and for me, they are deeply connected.

On the artist side, I am currently developing a poetry and visual art series titled ” I’ve been in White Spaces Too. It began as a personal exploration of what it means to move through predominantly white environments as a Black queer masculine presenting woman- how those spaces can be fascinated by you and still unwilling to understand you. Over time, the project has started to grow beyond my own experience. I want it to become a space where others can share their own stories of navigating those environments so that no one feels they are carrying that weight alone. The series brings together personal narrative, social critique, and ancestral grounding. Right now I am building a zine that includes poems, visual pieces, and eventually submissions from other people who see themselves in this work.

Outside of my art practice, I work as an Aging in Place Technician for Habitat for Humanity. I support older adults who want to remain safely and independently in their homes by coordinating home repairs, accessibility modifications, and long term support. It is meaningful work because it is not just about construction. It is about care. You are entering someone’s home, listening to their stories, and helping them stary connected to a place that holds their memories. A single ramp or grab bar can restore a sense of dignity and self sufficiency, and that is powerful to witness.

Both my art and my career are grounded in the same intention: to notice what is often overlooked, to hold space for people’s truth, and to respond with integrity. Whether I am writing about the emotional violence of progressive spaces or helping someone age with dignity in their homes, I want my work to remind people that they deserve to be seen and supported.

There is so much advice out there about all the different skills and qualities folks need to develop in order to succeed in today’s highly competitive environment and often it can feel overwhelming. So, if we had to break it down to just the three that matter most, which three skills or qualities would you focus on?

Looking back, the three qualities that have had the biggest impact on my journey are self awareness, boundary rooted empathy, and courage.

Self- awareness gave me the ability to tell the difference what belonged to me and what had been projected onto me. It helped me move away from performing for other people’s comfort and toward being honest about what I actually need.

Advice: spend time learning your own patterns and triggers. Pay attention to how your body responds in certain spaces. The more you understand yourself, the less power other people’s perceptions will have over you.

Boundary rooted empathy taught me that caring for others does not require abandoning myself. I used to think empathy meant absorbing everything. Now I understand that true empathy can only exist when you also protect your own spirit.

Advice: Practice listening without fixing. Offer presence without losing yourself. empathy is not just feeling for someone, it is knowing how to hold space with someone.

Courage allowed me to speak the truth even when it disrupted the comfort of a room. it gave me the strength to leave harmful spaces, even when they were familiar. And it helped me choose integrity over acceptance.

Advice: Start by doing the small brave thing. Say the uncomfortable truth once. Walk away from one situation that drains you. Courage grows every time you use it.

Alright, so before we go we want to ask you to take a moment to reflect and share what you think you would do if you somehow knew you only had a decade of life left?

If I only had a decade left, I would spend every year, month, and day choosing truth over performance. I would write until my hands ached, turning every quiet survival story into something loud and undeniable. I would gather the voices of other Black queer people walking through white spaces and build an archive so none of us ever have to feel like a lonely exception again.

I would return to the south as often as my body asked me to. Sit on porches, breathe slow. Let the cicadas remind me that sound can be both warning and praise. I would cook for the people I love, fill tables with spice and memory, and laugh so hard the ancestors lean in to listen.

I would keep doing the work that feeds people; not the work that makes me look productive, but the work that reminds someone they still deserve safety and tenderness. I would keep supporting elders and preserving the places that hold their histories, because I believe home is a kind of altar.

And i would love, deeply and unapologetically. Carefully, but without fear. I would let softness live beside my survival. I would choose relationships where my voice is not a translation, but a language already understood. If I only had ten years, I would make sure every one of them belonged completely to me, and to the people and places that make this worth carrying.

Contact Info:

• Instagram: cherishinretrograde