Some pain doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t kick doors or raise its voice. It learns how to live quietly inside you, how to make a home out of pressure. I grew up learning how to stay alert. How to read rooms before I read books. How to brace for impact even when nothing was coming because something always had before. There were moments my body learned fear faster than my mind could explain it. Moments I still haven’t given names to. Moments that taught me silence isn’t peace it’s survival. Later, when people called me absent, they didn’t see the nights I stayed awake fighting my own thoughts. They didn’t see the sickness stealing strength a little at a time, or how smiling became a skill instead of a feeling. I learned what it’s like to love someone you can’t protect the way you want to. To fight for a place in a life you helped create while being painted as someone who walked away. That kind of pain doesn’t just hurt it reshapes you. Faith didn’t leave me. But it did get quieter. Some prayers stopped sounding like hope and started sounding like endurance. I’ve buried friends in my heart who are still breathing in my memories. Watched laughter turn into absence. Realized too late that some people are fighting battles they never let you see. And through all of it, I kept going. Not because I was strong but because stopping felt worse than surviving. There are parts of my story I still haven’t said out loud. Not because I’m ashamed but because some truths need time to breathe before they’re released. This wasn’t the fire. This was the heat before it. Tomorrow, I’ll talk about what almost broke me and why it didn’t. 💬 If you’re reading this: What’s one thing you survived that still shapes you today?

I remember the heat. The fire. My uncle’s hands pushing me toward it, and the world screaming in slow motion. The scars aren’t just on my skin they’re carved into my soul, and some nights they still whisper that it’s over. I’ve lost people I loved the most best friends swallowed by silence and suicide. My body betrays me daily with a disease no one can see. And yet… I’m here. I breathe. I fight. I create. Music became my rebellion. Lyrics became my confession. Writing became my lifeline. And my son… he became the reason I refuse to break, the reason I wake up even when hope feels far away. But there are moments, darker than anything I’ve told, that pushed me to the edge choices that almost destroyed me completely. Choices that, somehow, sparked a fire I never knew existed. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you about the night that could’ve ended it all… and the moment that turned my pain into something unstoppable. 💬 If you’ve ever stared at the edge and refused to fall, share a line of your story. Every voice matters.