There are people who spend their lives trying to become one thing. Then there are people who become many.
I’ve had a front-row seat to watch Dr. Keisha Simpson do both. Long before the letters behind her name, there was Squirky, then came Nova. If you grew up in St. Charles Parish, you may know her as Poppa Beck’s granddaughter from Ama. Others in New Orleans simply know her as Nova; the singer whose voice could fill a room long before she ever stepped onto a stage. I just know her as Keisha.
She’s a few years older than me, which meant I spent a good portion of my childhood insisting I was old enough to go wherever she was going. Whether she agreed or not was beside the point. I was coming.
Somewhere between tagging along and trying to keep up, she taught me things no textbook ever could. How to dress for the occasion. How to survive the awkwardness of puberty. How to recognize jealousy without becoming it. How to carry yourself when people misunderstand your light.
Looking back, I realize she wasn’t just growing up. She was quietly teaching me how to.
Every era had its own soundtrack.
We’d spend entire afternoons trying to learn choreography from Aaliyah videos, arguing over who got to be the girl on ballads, then somehow ending the night convinced we were Brandy and Monica. The living room became the stage, the mirror became the audience, and Keisha always swayed in a way that signified that there was room for one more performer.
Looking back, I don’t think she was teaching me how to dance.
She was teaching me not to be afraid of taking up space.
Life, however, has a funny way of rewriting the script.
Keisha didn’t originally plan to become a therapist.
Though the original goal was to be bigger than The Supremes, she was building a future in nursing. She had done the work. She had earned her place there.
Then life did what life sometimes does.
It didn’t gently redirect her. It interrupted everything.
One professor, one impossible situation, and one decision that wasn’t entirely hers to make forced her to start over. There was nothing quiet about that ending. It was devastating. The kind of ending that makes you question not only your future, but yourself. What looked like the death of Plan A became the birth of a calling she never could have planned. She pivoted. Not because it was easy. Because standing still was never an option.
Today she’s Dr. Keisha Simpson, a licensed clinical social worker helping people navigate life’s many unexpected transitions.The pivot that forced her to confront her own anxiety, trauma, burnout, and grief is the very thing she’s most gifted at helping others carry. Funny enough… It makes perfect sense. She’s always been carrying people.
She’s always believed there was enough room for everyone to shine. She’ll celebrate you loudly, but don’t mistake her kindness for permission to stay small. She’ll cheer for you and hold you accountable in the very same breath. That’s a rare kind of love. The kind that says, “I know who you are… but I also know who you’re capable of becoming.”
Now life has handed her another pivot.
Motherhood.
Watching her become a first-time mom in her forties to two beautiful, but busy toddlers has reminded me that becoming never actually stops. Every season simply asks a different version of us to show up.
The singer. The student. The woman grieving Plan A. The doctor. The therapist. The mother.
None of those women disappeared.
They simply made room for the next one. I’ve learned something by watching her. The strongest people I know aren’t the ones who never have to pivot. They’re the ones who refuse to believe the story ends when the plan changes.
When people ask what makes a great therapist, they usually talk about education, credentials, or clinical hours. I think about a little girl following her older cousin everywhere she went.
Because long before Dr. Keisha Simpson helped strangers survive life’s hardest seasons… She helped me survive mine. And somehow, after all these years, she’s still showing people that becoming isn’t about getting everything right. It’s about refusing to stop growing after everything goes wrong.
That’s why this month’s C.O.P.E. Spotlight begins here.
Because sometimes the greatest thing we can offer another person isn’t advice. It’s proof that a different ending can still become a beautiful beginning.
