The recent controversy surrounding respected astrologer Steven Forrest has sparked an important conversation that, in my opinion, is long overdue. While opinions differ about his intent, I find myself asking a different question altogether: Why are we still debating whether a white person should ever say the N-word?
Notice that I didn't ask whether someone is racist. I didn't ask whether harm was intended. I asked why the question itself remains open.
For me, the answer has very little to do with one astrologer. It has everything to do with boundaries.
As a Reiki Master Teacher, energy practitioner, and community healer, I don't often write about public controversies. My work is rooted in creating spaces where people feel safe enough to soften, breathe, release, and heal.
Yet this conversation has stayed with me.
I feel compelled to address it not because it involves a well-known astrologer, but because it raises a question that reaches into every healing room, every classroom, every spiritual gathering, and every community space.
I work with people from many racial, cultural, religious, and socioeconomic backgrounds. Every person who walks through my door deserves to know they are entering an environment built on dignity, respect, and emotional safety.
For me, that safety cannot depend on whether someone intended to offend.
It cannot depend on whether another participant believes they have a good reason to use demeaning language.
And it certainly cannot depend on the person most likely to be harmed deciding, in the moment, whether this particular situation qualifies as an acceptable exception. That places an unfair burden on the very people we should be protecting.
Healing asks us to lower our defenses, become vulnerable, and trust the space we're in. Trust always comes before healing. If participants are left wondering whether racial slurs or other demeaning language might be considered acceptable "under certain circumstances," that trust begins to erode before healing even has a chance to begin.
As healers, teachers, and spiritual leaders, we are not called to test the limits of what we are permitted to say. We are called to cultivate environments where people feel seen, respected, and safe.
That is why this conversation matters to me.
It is not about restricting honest dialogue. It is about recognizing that emotional and energetic safety is not created through clever exceptions. It is created through clear, consistent boundaries that communicate to every person in the room: You belong here. Your humanity will be honored here.
The Rule That Protected My Family
When my sister's children were young enough to stay home alone after school, they were given one simple instruction: Do not let anyone into the house while your parents are away.
Not Grandma. Not Auntie. Not a cousin. Not a teacher. Not the pastor. No one.
The rule was never about believing Grandma was dangerous. It was about removing the burden of making judgment calls from young children. They didn't have to wonder who counted as an exception. They didn't have to evaluate intentions. They didn't have to weigh circumstances.
My sister and her husband took an additional step that I think is just as important. They made sure the rest of the family knew the rule, too. They told us not to expect an exception—not even for us. They weren't asking their children to navigate uncomfortable situations on their own. The adults accepted the boundary as well.
And believe me, I've tested that rule more than once.
After an emergency bathroom stop while I was out, I found myself standing on the porch, dancing from one foot to the other, hoping my niece or nephew would make an exception "just this once."
They never did.
Not once.
No matter how much they loved me.
No matter how much they recognized my voice.
No matter how urgently I pleaded through the door.
The rule held.
As funny as those moments seem now, I was always proud of them. They understood that the rule wasn't about me. It wasn't personal. It existed because clear boundaries protect people better than confusing exceptions.
I've been thinking about that lesson a lot lately.
The Problem with Exceptions
Whenever someone argues that a white person should be allowed to say the N-word "in this context" or "for this reason," the conversation immediately shifts from the word itself to deciding who deserves an exception.
Who gets to say it? A historian? An actor? A professor? An astrologer? A podcaster?
Where is the line? Who decides?
The moment we begin creating exceptions for the "right" white people, we also create opportunities for the wrong ones to claim those same exceptions. That's how boundaries become blurred. That's how permission quietly expands.
Here's what I find fascinating. Today, content creators routinely avoid saying words like rape, murder, suicide, and sexual assault. They substitute phrases, self-censor, or use indirect language because they know algorithms may suppress their content or reduce monetization.
Think about that for a moment.
Society has largely accepted that adjusting our language for the sake of an algorithm is simply part of communicating responsibly on certain platforms.
Very few people complain that saying "unalived" instead of "killed" somehow prevents meaningful conversation.
Yet when it comes to a racial slur historically used to dehumanize Black people, suddenly we're told context matters so much that perhaps the word should sometimes be spoken aloud.
That disconnect is difficult for me to understand.
If we can collectively agree to modify our language for the sake of an algorithm, why does it become controversial to suggest modifying our language out of respect for people?
I believe intent matters. But intent is not the only thing that matters. Influence matters. History matters. Impact matters.
The N-word is not simply another offensive word. It was used to justify slavery, segregation, exclusion, violence, humiliation, and the systematic denial of Black humanity.
That history doesn't disappear because someone says the word while making a point about racism instead of expressing racism.
The question isn't always whether someone intended harm. Sometimes the better question is: Was saying the word itself necessary?
In almost every circumstance, the answer is no.
"The N-word" communicates exactly the same information. The point is made. The lesson is taught. The story is told. No one loses anything by exercising restraint.
Influence Comes with Responsibility
Steven Forrest is admired by many people. His decades of work have influenced generations of astrologers. That is precisely why this conversation matters. Public figures don't simply communicate ideas. They model behavior.
When respected people create exceptions for themselves, those exceptions rarely remain confined to thoughtful, careful people. They spread. They become licenses for others who may possess far less wisdom, humility, or understanding.
Leadership is not demonstrated by insisting on what we have the freedom to do. Leadership is demonstrated by recognizing what we have the wisdom not to do.
My Position
I don't believe this conversation is about censorship. I don't believe it is about punishment. I don't even believe it is primarily about one individual. I believe it is about creating clear boundaries that protect human dignity.
Some boundaries become stronger because they contain no exceptions.
Just as my sister's children never had to wonder whether this visitor or that visitor should be allowed inside the house, I don't believe we should ask Black people—or anyone else—to continually evaluate whether this particular white person had sufficient reason to say a word rooted in centuries of dehumanization.
Sometimes the clearest rule is also the kindest one. Sometimes the simplest boundary is the strongest one.
As someone entrusted with holding healing space, I have learned that the most restorative environments are rarely built on asking, "What can I get away with?" They are built on asking, "What helps every person here feel safe enough to heal?"
Respect isn't measured by what we insist on being allowed to say. It is measured by what we willingly choose not to say when restraint costs us nothing and consideration means everything.