Everything I own, packed tightly into crates and duffels, sits in the corner of a home that isn't mine. Clothes and memories remain untouched ever since I said goodbye, having left behind the past five years and the one I spent them with, two weeks ago. Half a decade and a partnership unparalleled is now past tense. For my sanity perhaps, it has been business as usual – word docs, blog posts, interviews and emails from sunrise to sunset for the past fourteen days, propelled by dry eyes and productivity. But there is no shortcut through and beyond the stages of grief. And sometimes, such as in an event like this, it happens all at once.

On Saturday, April 23 at 9PM, there was a thematic, personal and cultural shift that opened the emotional floodgates and validated such journey. Beyoncé Knowles Carter suddenly premiered her twelve-track visual album Lemonade on HBO, accompanied by an audio premiere exclusively on TIDAL, welcoming Bey's sixth full-length project and a safe outlet to tangibly pine. Billed as "a conceptual project based on every woman's journey of self-knowledge and healing," pop culture's reigning diva appeared in raw form - a vulnerable mess and unapologetically enraged as she thematically confronted her husband and father's alleged infidelity publicly, through visceral imagery and emotionally loaded sonic offerings.

Lemonade, as bitter and sweet as the contradicting truth it declares, travels with Bey through her conceptual play on Kübler-Ross' stages of grief, formed shamelessly into eleven poignant acts - intuition, denial, anger, apathy, emptiness, accountability, reformation, forgiveness, resurrection, hope, and redemption – eventually making it through to the other side unscathed and at peace.

How is a strong, intelligent, independent woman supposed to mourn a man, anyway? How much of ourselves do we allow to be consumed in the necessary process? By establishing her own multifaceted space to be fearless, feminist, sexual, maternal, crazy and jealous simultaneously, Beyoncé has manipulated the former narrative structure surrounding what that accurately entails, alternating past partial concepts and boxed-in contexts of female self-identity through brash funk, combative blues-rock and proudly aggressive alt-R&B, (assisted by new collaborators Father John Misty, Vampire Weekend’s Ezra Koenig, Diplo, Kendrick Lamar and Jack White.) And while her pain is singular, it's supported in solidarity through intersectional feminism and Black Girl Magic, as individuality and community coexist, particularly within the opus' visual accompaniment. Here, stunning Somali-British writer Warsan Shire offers compelling poetry that best represents Beyonce's mantra in the Khalil Joseph-directed, New Orleans-based southern goth-hailed clip: "If we're going to heal, let it be glorious."

Pain is claimed, womanhood is nurtured, blackness is celebrated and family is prioritized and used as weaponry within the textured, often times profane and deeply contextual offering. The album title comes specifically from a quote via Hattie White, Jay Z’s grandmother, on her 90th birthday, who says, "I was served lemons but I made lemonade." It's an overtly simple analogy for starting over with only the sour particles of the past, while approached in greater detail within the fervent album cuts Bey delivers. "What a wicked way to treat the girl who loves you," Beyoncé declares quite specifically, as she walks through the street smashing car windows with a baseball bat on the reggae-influenced 'Hold Up,' while on the flippant and fierce electro-infused Melo-X and Wynter Gordon co-produced 'Sorry,' she regrets the night she married her husband. Yet after all the necessary terrors, tears and revenge tactics, Beyonce eventually finds refuge in reconciliation with her unfaithful partner, breaking the belief that forgiveness is weakness. She finds 'Freedom' alongside Kendrick Lamar on the album's personal and political pinnacle - a triumphant reclamation of acceptance and the autonomy accessed through it.

"This is your final warning," Bey snarls on Jack White-assisted album cut 'Don't Hurt Yourself.' "If you try this shit again, you're gonna lose your wife." Whether there's room for reconciliation or not, I think I'm now ready to unpack.