A sacred reminder for the ones who dared to keep breathing. My survival was never a sin.It may have looked messy. Loud. Unpretty.But it was
A sacred reminder for the ones who dared to keep breathing.
My survival was never a sin.
It may have looked messy. Loud. Unpretty.
But it was sacred work.
While others looked away, I kept reaching for life.
Even if all I could hold onto was the sound of my own heartbeat.
They didn’t see the nights I stayed awake so a child could sleep.
The moments I whispered, “Not today.”
Not to the violence.
Not to the silence.
Not to the death that tried to make a home in me.
Let me say this out loud so the world cannot forget:
“I survived, and I carry no shame for that.”
“I survived, and I do not owe anyone a prettier story.”
I am not here to perform palatable healing.
I am not here to explain why I chose to live.
I am not here to water down my truth just so others don’t choke on it.
I am here—alive, whole, and sacred.
Just as I am. Just as I made it.
I protect children because I know the cost of being unprotected.
I speak because silence almost buried me.
I live because I chose me, even when no one else did.
Let this affirmation rise in your bones, Survivor:
“My life is not a problem to solve.
My life is a prayer answered.
My life is a story I get to write—fully, freely, and without apology.”