After the dust settled and the tears had dried, I found myself at a crossroads. Starting over was never easy, but this time it felt insurmountable—more painful emotionally, mentally, physically, and financially than ever before. The laughter and life plans were gone, leaving me with just my three children and the internet.
Despite the skills and knowledge I had acquired, I felt trapped in a hole that seemed to grow deeper every day. Lying in a full-sized bed with my two daughters, my back turned so they wouldn't see my tears, I struggled to find the inspiration to climb out of my financial despair.
I reminded myself to stay present, taking one step at a time. I found solace in nature walks and sitting by trees in the sweltering heat of Houston's summers. Sometimes I cried, and other times I gave praise to the Most High, still confused about where my life was headed.
With no job, no business, and no income, I felt defeated. The weight of my situation pressed heavily on me, but I kept my pain hidden, suffering in silence and praying for better days. Back at my mother's house, where my trauma, anger, and feelings of unworthiness had begun, I realized that the pain I thought I had left behind at 17 had been building up, waiting to explode.
In that small bedroom, with my children sleeping nearby, my emotions finally erupted. I broke down, realizing that my traumas had been controlling my life, pushing me into accepting societal lies and staying in toxic relationships. I had listened to others instead of trusting myself, and now it was too late to ask why.
With only Wi-Fi and the resolve to start anew, I faced the daily grind of parenting and self-care. I meditated, prayed, wrote, and even microdosed with mushrooms to surface and heal my suppressed trauma. The most profound realization came when I confronted the lack of nurturing I experienced as a child. My inner child cried out, and I understood that nurturing her was essential for my healing.
I learned to navigate life at home with my mother without being moved by her actions. I practiced self-care, focusing on my needs and maintaining emotional control. As I observed my thoughts and reactions, I became more resilient, even when external circumstances tried to disturb my peace.
Embracing physical activity, I got serious about working out, both at home and at the gym. I honed my skills through classes and reading, shifting my focus entirely to myself—spiritually, mentally, emotionally, and physically. As I mastered self-care, my reality began to change.
To symbolize my transformation, I cut my hair. While the new look helped, I still saw remnants of my old self. Four months later, I dyed my hair, finally seeing the version of me I aspired to be. The me who stood tall, spoke with confidence, and accepted love without sabotage. Typing these words with tears in my eyes, I realized I had shifted into the person I always knew I could be.
Is this the end of my story, or just the beginning? The journey of healing and transformation continues, but for now, I celebrate the woman I have become—the woman who rose from the ashes.
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