12/10/2026
There was a time I thought surviving meant pretending. Pretending I was fine. Pretending the past was silent. Pretending faith erased memory.
I was wrong.
Survival was never about pretending. It was about staying.
At the beginning of my story, I was afraid of myself.
I loved God—but I didn’t trust that He could love all of me.
Not the parts I had given Him. The parts I hid. The memories I buried beneath service, discipline, and silence.
I walked with Scripture on my lips, but fear in my chest. Every day felt like a negotiation between who I was becoming and who I used to be. And sometimes… I lost that negotiation.
My past didn’t knock politely. It whispered. It reminded me. It waited for moments of weakness.
I fought it with fasting, prayer, and sheer willpower.
Some days I won. Some days I didn’t. And the days I didn’t win nearly broke me.
Because failing after knowing God feels heavier than failing without Him.