I Wasn’t Born to Whisper. I Was Born to Roar.



I’m not for everyone.

I’m not everyone's cup of tea.
I’m a lioness who was caged by fear and shame — and now? I’m fucking free.

For most of my life, I tiptoed through rooms, through conversations, through relationships, making sure no one felt uncomfortable with my truth.

Especially the religious ones.

Because when you grow up believing silence equals survival, it’s terrifying to even whisper the truth.

The truth that something inside you feels different.
The truth that you’re hurting.
The truth is that their version of love feels like control, manipulation, and shame.

Religious fear wasn’t just a message. It was duct tape over my mouth.

And you want to know the hardest part?

It wasn’t strangers who hurt me most. It was people who said they loved and cared for me.

People who held my babies. Shared holidays. Prayed over me.

The moment they heard I was with a woman, it was over.
Not a conversation. Not a question.
Just abandonment dressed up as righteousness.

And still… I stayed silent. For years.

But not anymore.

I expect judgment. I expect Scripture flung at me like stones.
But I also expect this: someone out there is going to read these words and exhale for the first time in years.

If you’re one of them, I want you to know this:

You’re not wrong. You’re not broken. You’re not too much.

You are powerful. You are sacred. And you do not need permission to live your truth.

No matter how loud the bullies get…
I will not go quiet.
Not now. Not ever.

 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Life I Almost Missed

Image
I remember my first car. For my 16th birthday, my brother bought me a big ass station wagon. It was everything to me. He paid $300 cash for that car for his little sister. I grew up with a father who refused to help my mom clothe and feed me while she worked two jobs my entire life just trying to support me. I went without clothes that fit. I went without food. I vividly remember us being completely out of food. Or… so I thought. We had one single piece of bread left. My mom got it out and gave it to me. I took that piece of bread, tore it in half, and gave the other half back to her. In that moment, I was so grateful. Grateful for my mom. Grateful for that half piece of bread. Grateful that I had food at all. I watched my mom buy shitty cars because that was all she could afford. They would break down, and my big brother would fix them. But somewhere deep within me, I knew… I would be the one. I would be driven. I would find my way. I would break generational curses. ...
Read more

When Living Feels Like Dying: Why I’m Finally Writing the Book That Might Save a Life.

Image
For years, people have told me I should write a book. But this isn’t the book they were expecting. I’m not writing a how-to. I’m not writing a memoir. I’m writing a survival guide for the soul—for the person who is this close to disappearing. The ones who scroll in the dark at 2am, silently wondering if it would be easier not to exist. The ones who begged God for help and got silence. The ones who wore the smile anyway. Who showed up. Who didn’t really want to die… but couldn’t bear to continue living like this . I’ve been there. And the book I needed didn’t exist—so I’m writing it now. It’s called The Suicide Solution , and it’s not about fixing you in ANY way. It’s about reminding you that you were never broken to begin with! It’s about sitting in the darkest room with you and whispering, “You’re not alone. I’ll stay here as long as it takes.” This book is being written in pieces—in pain, in power, in truth. And it’s coming soon. Not to shelves first, but to hear...
Read more

She Was a Teenager Living With a Suicidal Mom—What She Said Hit Me Like a Freight Train

Image
I’ve said before that the worst and best day of my life was when my husband left me in the driveway that day. That moment broke me, and I hated him for it. For years. I couldn’t wrap my head around how someone could just… leave like that. Especially after everything I’d been through. I wore that abandonment like a scar, always ready to point to it and say, “See? This is what he did to me.” But recently, while talking with my youngest daughter about something that hit close to home, I said something I’d never said out loud. I said, “Maybe he ran because he didn’t know what else to do. Maybe staying felt more dangerous than leaving.” And I meant it. It didn’t excuse what he did. He caused a lot of pain. But for the first time, I saw myself in that moment. And if I’m being honest? I would’ve been scared to stay with me too. I was in the darkest place of my life. Numb. Angry. Gone. I had just come back into my daughters’ lives after being away for the longest stretch I’d ever been,...
Read more