Note to My Readers

Before you read, I want to say this —
some of what you’ll read may be sensitive.
But this is my truth — seen through my eyes, through my life, and through my heart.

Family abuse comes in many forms.
And this will be the only blog post where I will touch on this part of my life — not because I’m ashamed, but because I refuse to let it define me.

I’ve never lived as a victim, and I never will.
If anything, I’m the opposite of that.
I’ve been shaped, built, and strengthened by what I’ve lived through.
And for that, I thank God every single day.

I thank Him for giving me the gift of being different — for blessing me with dyslexia, because it’s part of the purpose He placed within me.
I continue to pray over my life and ask God to let His love and light shine through me so others can see His goodness.

This experience taught me to pray — not just for myself, but for my children.
Because I understand now that not every battle is one we can see.
Some are spiritual. Some are unseen.
And as a mother, I pray hard over my babies, knowing that the same God who carried me through my storms will carry them through theirs.

There was a time I asked God why He made me at all. I was just a little girl carrying pain too heavy for my age, but even in that darkness, He was shaping me into something beautiful. This is the part of my story where His light met my brokenness.

As a little girl, I always knew that I was born for a bigger purpose-- I was still trying to figure it out, like a road map, but deep down I knew I was from God. He made me feel safe.

I talked to Jesus in my closet and played there a lot when I was little. It became more than just a place — it became magical. When I started kindergarten, when school days and life felt overwhelming, my closet became my safe place. That’s where I realized my angels surrounded me. I could feel their loving embrace every time I needed it most.

I carried so much on my own,  I was so young — so alone — with my secret to carry. While my parents thought I was tucked safely in bed, I was often crying, whispering to Jesus and my angels, trying to process why my granny — hated me.

I couldn’t understand why the woman who was supposed to love me told me she didn’t. Why she called me names:  stupid, fat, ugly, - She reminded me I wasn’t like the other grandchildren. I was marked as different — and I believed her words because no one saw what happened behind closed doors.

And still, I loved her. That’s all I understood.

I’d ask Jesus why — why I was born, why I was made this way. But even through that pain, I never became a victim. I kept going forward. Because Jesus showed me love and light in that closet. He taught me how to become love, even through pain.

No matter if others loved me or not — it was okay. I knew I was loved by Him, and His love was what mattered most. That love is what kept me going.

When others looked, she treated me like I was her everything. But as soon as they turned away, that love disappeared. My light irritated her demons.  She didn’t understand my dyslexia and used it as a weapon against me. She treated me as if I was cursed, un-fixable.

She tried to bruise my heart, but couldn’t. Every time she tried to dim my light, I shined brighter. She taught me one thing — that even those who are broken still deserve love. And no matter how much she hurt me, I would not let her break me.

Yes, it hurt. I cried often in that closet between school and home, between my teacher and my granny. I didn’t understand why God would make a little girl like me just to go through this. It felt like punishment, like the ultimate test.

But that day — the day I walked into the kitchen and asked my mama why God made me —  I was at my breaking point, and I needed her.

She didn’t just comfort me.
She prayed over me.

Right there at that kitchen table, she lifted my life up to heaven. She thanked God for me — for who I was, for every inch of me. She even thanked Him for my dyslexia. She said she knew He had a bigger plan and a calling over my life.

We thanked Him right there — in that moment.

I don’t think she fully understands how much I needed that prayer. Because in that moment, I was fighting battles — spiritual battles — both seen and unseen. I was facing darkness I couldn’t name, but Jesus was already holding the light.

That prayer became my armor. It became the moment I stopped asking why and started trusting that God had a because.

Reflection: From Pain to Purpose

When I look back now, I see a little girl who carried battles much too heavy for her small hands, yet somehow still reached toward heaven. I see a child who cried in secret but was never unseen. I didn’t know it then, but every tear I cried became a seed — a seed of strength, faith, and love that would one day grow into something beautiful.

The things that tried to break me became the very things that built me. My dyslexia, my loneliness, my grandmother’s rejection — all of it became the soil God used to plant His purpose in me. Through every hurt, He whispered, “You are mine.”

Now I understand that God didn’t make me to fit in — He made me to stand out, to see differently, to speak differently, to love deeper. He made me to be light for others walking through their own darkness.

What once felt like punishment was really preparation.
What once felt like silence was really His teaching.

And now, when I think back to that little girl praying in her closet, I smile — because she never stopped believing. She never gave up on love. And today, I carry her courage with me.

I am still that little girl.
But now, she’s standing in the light she once prayed for. 

I was never broken — just being built.

God was shaping my cracks into windows for His light.

And through it all, I’ve learned —
some of the most beautiful callings
are born from the places we once questioned why. 

Author’s Note

My parents never knew what was happening between my granny and me.
I kept it a secret for years — buried it so deep that by my teens, I carried it like it was normal, like it was part of me. I wore it like skin.

For a long time, I didn’t even realize how much it shaped me, until one day it all came to the surface and I had to get help. Healing took time. It still does. But I’ve learned that the only way to truly move forward is through honesty, forgiveness, and faith.

And even after everything, I still love my grandmother.
We all have family secrets. And if anyone says they don’t, then they deserve an award — or maybe they’re just pretending to be perfect. But God never meant for us to be perfect.

My grandmother had her own battles, her own demons.
She knows I forgave her. I always did.
I never stopped loving her — even when she couldn’t love me back.
And today, I can say that with peace. 💛