There’s a moment in Self-Care: Open Doors that has quietly lingered in my mind, one of many, really, but this one comes from a poem where a woman, alone in her small apartment, soaks her feet while slow jams play in the background. It’s not dramatic. It’s not climactic. But it’s the kind of detail that carries weight. It’s care, in its most intimate and overlooked form.
That’s something Sonya Daniels-Hines captures so well throughout her debut collection: the quiet rituals we cling to, the spaces we carve out when life gets loud, painful, or too much. This book isn’t filled with grand declarations or lofty abstractions. Instead, it speaks plainly and honestly about what it means to live, and keep living, through trauma, grief, injustice, and healing.
Self-Care: Open Doors is a blend of poems and short stories, but it reads like something more layered. At times, it feels like a communal journal; the kind passed between friends or family members who need to speak but aren’t always sure how. Daniels-Hines creates room for those voices, some joyful, some hurting, some still searching, say what they need to say.
One of the most striking themes woven through the book is survival. Not the kind with grand epiphanies or dramatic turnarounds, but the survival that looks like showing up for work while battling depression, parenting while silently mourning, or praying because you don’t know what else to do. The characters in these pages don’t always win, but they don’t disappear either. They endure.
In “A Young Girl’s Cry,” we meet a teenager caught in the brutal reality of trafficking. Her words are simple and devastating. She misses her brother. She wonders if anyone thinks about her. She’s still a child, even in a situation that has stolen her childhood. Daniels-Hines doesn’t offer rescue or resolution here, and that’s part of what makes it so powerful. She respects the story enough not to wrap it in false hope. Instead, she leaves space for the reader to sit with the discomfort, and the humanity, of that voice.
Motherhood is a theme that runs through the book, not just as a role but as a complicated relationship. Mothers are protectors in various works. In some cases, they are far away or not there at all. Some moms miss their children, and some children want their mothers to understand them. These pictures aren’t clean or simple; they show real-life problems. A lady in one narrative has to deal with her adolescent son’s silence, resistance, and choices. You can see how angry, scared, and in love she is. You can feel it in the spaces between the lines.
It’s especially striking how Daniels-Hines lets faith run through the collection, not as a doctrine but as a lifeline. There are references to the Bible, prayers said in the dark, and poems that sound like conversations with God. These times don’t feel like preaching; they feel very intimate. They show a spiritual connection that is lived, questioned, and relied on. This kind of religion doesn’t get rid of pain; it sits next to it.
That spiritual lens also extends to justice, especially in pieces that deal with incarceration, economic hardship, and betrayal. In “Burning Secret,” a man sits in prison for a crime he didn’t commit, haunted by both the silence of the real perpetrator and the betrayal of the system. It’s not a legal drama. It’s a meditation on conscience and loss. The final lines don’t offer redemption, but they do offer clarity, a painful kind of truth-telling that demands reflection.
What makes Self-Care: Open Doors socially relevant is that it doesn’t try to universalize pain in a way that flattens it. Instead, it gives individual experiences the dignity of detail. These stories are specific, rooted in Black womanhood, working-class struggle, spiritual searching, and that specificity is what makes them resonate. In telling these stories, Daniels-Hines joins a long tradition of women writers who have used literature not just to express, but to affirm.
There’s a clear through-line of empowerment here, though it’s not always loud. Sometimes, it’s in a woman choosing to forgive herself. Sometimes, it’s in the decision to walk away from a toxic friendship. Sometimes, it’s in remembering the strength of a mother long gone. These are not the types of empowerment that trend well on social media. They are slower, quieter, more interior. But they are real.
And that’s what this book gives us: a record of realness. Of living with open wounds, with unanswered questions, with hope that flickers but doesn’t go out. Daniels-Hines doesn’t promise healing in a straight line. She offers moments. And sometimes, moments are enough.
Reading Self-Care: Open Doors feels like sitting across from someone who’s telling you their truth, not for approval, not even for understanding, but because they need to. And as a reader, you feel compelled to listen, not out of obligation, but out of recognition.
You’ve heard stories like these before. You’ve lived some of them. You might still be living one.
And maybe, just maybe, this book helps you take a breath before you turn the next page in your own.