A life shaped by curiosity, resilience, and the art of re-learning myself.

This is the part of the story where the main character realizes she was never meant to fit inside anyone else’s outline.

That’s me. I’m tracing the shape of a life that keeps teaching me how to begin again.

I’m Tiffani Nicole Rozier: storyteller, audio whisperer, homebody world-builder, and woman currently renegotiating a peace treaty with her own body.

I’m shaped by questions, memory, and the quiet rituals that have carried me from one version of myself to the next.
Life has asked me to re-learn who I am—slowly, intimately, without shortcuts—and I’ve learned to meet that ask with curiosity, devotion, and a strength that doesn’t need to announce itself.

I move at a different rhythm now.
Softer. Truer. More loyal to my own breath.
And in that pace, I’m finding the beauty, the history, and the honesty I rushed past before.

This space gathers all of it—
the stories that made me,
the resilience that keeps remaking me,
and the becoming that refuses to let me stay small.

If You Met Me In Real Life

You’d probably find me:

taking notes in the corner of a café like an undercover archivist,
talking about a hotel lobby like it’s a character in a novel,
explaining why sound is a form of architecture,
or laughing at something entirely too dark to be as funny as it is.

I am equal parts auntie, archivist, and director: hospitable, observant, and just bossy enough to get the shot.

Curiosity as compass

Story is my favorite research method because it reveals deeper truths. I trust the power of questions far more than the illusion of certainty

I was not born into stillness.

I’ve run kitchens and hotels, fed strangers and friends, written about food with the kind of reverence usually reserved for church. I’ve stood in walk-ins at 2 a.m., doing inventory and reflecting on life at the same time. I’ve helped build spaces where Black women in food, beverage, and hospitality could speak plainly about their lives without having to shrink or translate.

My work has shown up as:

an award-winning podcast (Afros and Knives),
guest-filled dining rooms and hotel lobbies,
audio series that made people miss their subway stops,
and quiet consulting calls where someone finally says, “That’s what I’ve been trying to say.”

I’m skilled at crafting raw, messy, yet beautiful stories—especially those shaped by culture, food, migration, grief, and joy—and transforming them into something you can hear, taste, and remember.

But that’s the résumé version, and honestly, I’m a little bored with her.

Resilience, rewritten

A few years ago, my body introduced a new variable: vascular Ehlers-Danlos syndrome.

It wasn’t exactly “new”. It had been there the whole time, but I had been pushing back against it for years, and perimenopause hormone shifts changed that quickly.

Suddenly, I wasn’t just a woman who could push through sixteen-hour days on caffeine and adrenaline. I was a woman with a heart attack on her chart, aneurysms in her medical file, and a body that now negotiated every step, every project, every “yes.”

The story shifted.

Now the questions sound like:

How do you co-exist with a genetic condition that has started telling the story differently?
What color do you paint ambition when urgency has consequences?
How do you stay devoted to beauty when the days are heavy?

I didn’t stop being myself. I just had to meet a slower, sharper version of me—the one who moves at the pace of her nervous system, who treats rest as ritual, and who understands that presence is its own kind of achievement.