Dear Young Anita,

I just want to tell you that this life you are about to walk into—it won’t be easy. It will be shaped by your search for love, by your desire to be seen, understood, and cherished. From the very beginning, you will long for a love that feels safe, a love that feels like home. And because of that longing, you will make mistakes.

When you step out of high school, the first boy who tells you that you’re beautiful will catch your heart. Not because he is meant for you, but because you’ve never had that kind of attention. Your father loves you, yes, but you never truly understood what love meant outside of him. You didn’t know that real love doesn’t make you question. It doesn’t make you chase. It doesn’t make you prove your worth.

You will go through life choosing wrong, thinking that love comes with sacrifice, with giving too much, with buying things, overextending yourself—just to feel wanted. You will bend, you will break, you will carry the weight of others who never deserved to hold you.

But God sees you.

God will hear your prayers, even when you don’t know what you’re asking for. And when He answers, it won’t come in the way you expect.

Your first child will be a boy. You always wanted a girl, but God said no. He needed you to experience unconditional love, not the kind of love that left you wondering. He needed you to feel a love that is pure, unshaken, and constant. A son’s love for his mother.

And when you still don’t get it, He will give you another boy. Because you still haven’t learned what love truly is. You were still searching for it in people, in places, in relationships that were never meant to last. But these two boys? They will teach you what love looks like—what it means to be cherished without conditions, without proving yourself.

Even through the heartache, the rejection, the loneliness, you will always have them. They will remind you of your strength when you feel weak, of your worth when the world tries to dim your light.

But Anita, here’s the truth that will set you free: The love you’ve been searching for has always been within you.

You are love.
You are enough.
You are worthy.

No man, no relationship, no outside validation will ever define you. You define yourself. And when you finally align with the right energy—the right love, the right peace, the right abundance—it will all come to you effortlessly. Because it was always meant for you.

You got this, Anita. Even in your darkest moments, you got this.

With the deepest love,
Future You

Life has a way of forcing you into stillness. When everything around you crumbles, when the weight of the world feels unbearable, when you’ve given all of yourself and still feel empty—you are left with two choices: break, or rebuild.

I won’t lie. There were moments I felt like breaking.

I have battled PTSD, bipolar disorder, mood swings, and depression. Some days, I could barely pull myself out of bed. Some days, I felt like I was drowning in emotions I didn’t have the strength to explain. And yet, the world kept moving. Responsibilities didn’t stop, expectations didn’t pause, and people still pulled from me, unaware that I was running on nothing.

Last year tested me in ways I never imagined. I ended a relationship I deeply wanted. One I poured my soul into. And it broke me. Not just the loss, but the realization that I had given so much of myself, yet I was never truly seen, never truly valued. I walked away with nothing but exhaustion, drained of my love, my energy, and my spirit. And then, life didn’t give me time to heal. The weight of being out of work, the unexpected surgery, the long recovery, the piling responsibilities—it all came at once. I thought I could handle it. I thought I could push through, but when my body failed me, when I could no longer do the things I once did effortlessly, I had no choice but to sit in it. To feel everything I had been running from.

Preparing for my son’s graduation should have been a moment of excitement, a moment of celebration, but instead, I found myself withdrawing. I just wanted to be alone. I couldn’t explain it, but I didn’t want to be around people. That’s when I knew—I had to go back to therapy. I had to see my psychiatrist, get back on my medication, and take control of my mental health again. Because no matter how much I prayed, I had to also take action. Healing isn’t just spiritual—it’s mental, emotional, and physical.

And then this year, the surgery happened. I thought it would be simple. Something I could bounce back from quickly. But this surgery was nothing like I expected. It forced me into yet another level of surrender, another layer of patience, another reminder that healing has no shortcuts. I cry a lot. I get emotional, and sometimes it feels like the world is changing too fast, yet somehow, it also feels like we’re moving backward. There’s so much hate, so much anger, so much division. And as I get older, I realize that time moves whether we are ready or not. I used to picture myself in a different place by now. I thought I’d be married, settled, moving in a rhythm that felt secure. Instead, I find myself constantly adjusting, constantly learning, constantly relearning how to exist in this world.

And January—it never gets easier. In 2020, I lost my father. In December 2021, I lost my child. That kind of pain never truly leaves. It lingers. It shifts. Some days, it’s a whisper. Some days, it’s a storm. I wanted that baby so bad. So bad. And sometimes, that grief still knocks the air out of me. No matter how much time passes, I still feel the loss. I still cry. And I still ask God why. But through it all, my faith remains my anchor.

I am deeply spiritual. I trust in the Most High. I believe in the power of prayer, in the power of divine alignment. Not a day goes by that I don’t pray. I pray through my pain, through my uncertainty, through my grief. I light my candles. I speak to my ancestors. I trust that even in my hardest moments, I am never truly alone. And my advice to anyone experiencing something similar—love yourself first, pour into you, work on your healing, seek therapy, sit with your emotions, stop running. Search spiritually for God, pray, meditate, trust in divine timing. Don’t let your situation break your spirit. You are stronger than you feel in this moment. Always take a break for your mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual health. You cannot pour from an empty cup. Love will always come. You won’t have to chase it. You won’t have to question it. When it’s meant for you, it will align effortlessly. And above all, life is short—so enjoy it. Live. Love. Heal. Breathe. Be present.

I am still learning, still healing, still growing. But what I know for sure is this: I will not break. I will rise. I will love again. But this time, from a place of wholeness. And when the time is right, when my spirit is aligned, when my heart is open and whole—love will find me. Not through force. Not through desperation. But through divine alignment.

Lately, I’ve been searching deep,
through silent nights and wounds that weep.
Reflecting on the path I’ve known,
the love I gave, yet stood alone.

This season of stillness, a destined pause,
life unfolding by divine laws.
Losing, healing, standing still,
learning that time bends to God’s will.

I’ve poured my soul into the hands of others,
lifted friends, lovers, sisters, brothers.
But now, I turn that love within,
where healing starts, where I begin.

No longer chasing, forcing, pleading,
just trusting life, trusting its meaning.
For what is mine will never stray,
it will find me in its own way.

Yes, I want love, but love is not a cure,
not a place where wounds endure.
No one should fix what they didn’t break,
love should build, not bend till it aches.

I seek a bond where spirits grow,
not a place where burdens show.
A hand to hold, not one to mend,
a partner first, a lover, a friend.

So I stand in truth, in light, in grace,
embracing healing, finding my space.
Celibate, patient, guarding my soul,
waiting for love that makes me whole.

No more weight upon my chest,
no more giving till there’s nothing left.
Love is balance, love is free,
love will meet me when it’s meant to be.

And when it does, I will not chase,
I will not question time or place.
For love aligned, by fate, by call,
needs no force—it simply falls.

Hold your head high and stand tall, no matter the storms around you. Ignore the noise, the doubt, the negativity—none of it defines you. Breathe deeply, let the weight of yesterday fade, and fill your spirit with the light of possibility.

Place your hand over your heart and feel its steady rhythm—proof that you are here, that you are chosen, that you are blessed.

This moment is a gift, another chance to step boldly into your purpose. No setback, no obstacle, no pain can take away what is meant for you. Walk forward with courage, knowing that every breath you take is an opportunity to rewrite your story, to rise, to shine, and to claim the life you deserve.

You are unstoppable. You are divine. Keep moving forward, Queen!

Love arrives without a sound,
like the wind that wraps around—
not something chased, nor something planned,
but fate that holds us, hand in hand.

It doesn’t knock, it doesn’t wait,
it finds you when your soul’s awake.
When wounds are raw, yet hearts still yearn,
love appears so we can learn.

I dreamed of you before I knew,
a shadow soft, a faded view.
Your presence lingered in my mind,
a love I’d seek, yet could not find.

I see things others do not see,
a love that’s rooted, wild, and free.
Maybe we were both unsure,
but distance made us need you more.

The years apart weren’t lost in vain,
they taught us how to love through pain.
And now we stand where fate aligns,
your heart beats strong—forever mine.

I can barely breathe—
the weight of this world is suffocating,
pressing against my soul,
choking the hope out of me.

I hear my ancestors weeping,
their cries carried in the wind,
echoing through time,
through the blood-soaked soil they once stood upon.
They fought, they bled,
so we could rise, so we could be free,
so we could have a chance at a life they only dreamed of.
But look at us now—
divided, shattered, drowning in hate.

I want to scream,
I want to cry until the heavens shake,
until the earth opens and swallows this pain whole.
So much beauty in this world,
yet it is poisoned with rage,
tainted with the hands of those who refuse to see
that we are all flesh, all breath, all bone.

This cannot be what the Creator intended—
for us to build walls instead of bridges,
to raise our fists instead of our hearts,
to bury love beneath the weight of our differences.

Why can’t we love?
Why can’t we see that none of us are staying?
That no skin color, no wealth, no power
will save us from the grave?
In the end, we all return to the dust.
So why do we waste this gift of life on hatred?

I close my eyes,
and I pray that one day,
we will wake up and see each other
not as enemies, not as strangers,
but as souls—
woven from the same light,
created to love,
not to destroy.

Have you ever wanted something so deeply, prayed for it for years, and finally had it within your grasp—only for it to be taken away? That kind of loss is indescribable, a pain that shakes your very soul. I’ve seen people in moments like this lose their faith, turn their backs on God, and cry out, “Why me?” But I’ve also learned that the real question is often, “Why not?” What if the denial isn’t punishment, but protection? What if it’s God’s way of preparing us for something far greater than we can see in the moment?

Sometimes, we carry unhealed wounds—trauma buried so deeply it shapes our lives without us even realizing it. Instead of confronting it, we move forward, adding layer upon layer to a foundation that isn’t stable. We pray for blessings, but how can God build something beautiful on ground that’s fractured? Before He gives us what we’re asking for, He often calls us to heal, to prepare for the weight of the blessing. That’s what I’ve come to understand through my own journey.

In 2020, my world was turned upside down. I lost my dad, a man whose presence was a constant in my life. That same year, I ended an eight-year relationship with my fiancé. At the same time, I received a promotion at work—a bittersweet high in the midst of so many lows. Life felt like a chaotic mix of gains and losses, but I buried my pain under work, pretending everything was fine. I kept smiling, kept pushing forward, even though my heart was heavy and my spirit was weary.

Then came 2021, and instead of taking the time to heal, I jumped into a new relationship. At first, it felt like the escape I needed, the fresh start that could make everything better. But I wasn’t okay—I hadn’t dealt with the grief of losing my dad or the pain of my broken engagement. I was running from myself, hoping a new love could fix what was broken inside me.

When I found out I was pregnant, it felt like a sign, like God was finally giving me the joy I had been praying for. My kids were so excited, especially my son with autism, who joyfully spoke about baby clothes and all the things we would do. For a brief moment, it felt like everything was coming together. But that joy was short-lived. The dream was shattered when I was told my baby had passed away.

The loss was devastating, and the weight of it all overwhelmed me. The day before the procedure to remove the baby, I finally broke down, letting out the tears and sorrow I had been suppressing. It was one of the hardest moments of my life, but in that pain, I began to find clarity. As much as I wanted to hold on to the hope of new life, I couldn’t ignore the reality of my situation.

The relationship I was in wasn’t right. My partner wasn’t ready to be the kind of father I needed for my child, and the foundation wasn’t stable enough to support such a blessing. It became clear that God wasn’t denying me; He was protecting me. He wasn’t going to bring new life into chaos or confusion, and as painful as it was to accept, I knew He was saving me from something I wasn’t ready for.

December 10th, a day I had always celebrated as my parents’ anniversary, became a day of deep reflection. Though it was marked by pain, I never lost my faith. Instead, I began to see the spiritual meaning in the loss. Sometimes, the blessings we pray for require preparation. They demand healing, clarity, and a solid foundation. God’s timing is perfect, even when it doesn’t align with our own. What felt like denial wasn’t punishment—it was protection, a reminder that some blessings aren’t meant to come into chaos.

This experience, as painful as it was, taught me strength and patience. It deepened my trust in God’s plan and reminded me that not all delays are denials. I’m still grieving, still healing, but I hold on to the belief that when the time is right, the blessings meant for me will come. And when they do, they’ll come on a foundation that is whole, healed, and ready to embrace them fully.

My life has been a rollercoaster of self-discovery and survival. From a young age, I never quite fit in. In school, I had friends, but I always felt like the outsider. They got the dates, the attention from boys, the spotlight. Me? I was just… there. Tall, skinny, with long hair and hand-me-down clothes, I came from a family that didn’t have much. My father was strict, even into my twenties, and our household lacked the freedom to explore or express who we were.

But the real challenge wasn’t just at home—it was the relentless bullying that shaped my self-image and, for a long time, my life. I was teased, mocked, and made to feel invisible or unworthy. And those scars followed me into adulthood. They left me questioning my value, my voice, and my right to take up space. They turned me into a people pleaser, someone willing to go above and beyond for others just to feel accepted—only to be used and discarded when my boundaries went unnoticed or ignored.

That need for acceptance shaped my choices in ways I couldn’t see at the time. I picked the wrong partners, made bad decisions, and ended up chasing validation from people who never had my best interests at heart. Even in the workplace, I sought belonging, only to be met with superficial acceptance that often turned into exploitation. The same patterns of feeling unseen and unvalued repeated themselves, leaving me struggling with depression, self-doubt, and an overwhelming sense of being misunderstood.

For years, I carried this weight, convinced it was mine to bear. I felt trapped in a cycle of trying to prove myself to people who had already made up their minds about me. But then, somewhere along the way, something shifted.

Now, in my forties, I’ve reached a turning point. I’ve had enough. I’ve realized that the reason I never fit in, the reason I was bullied and mistreated, wasn’t because I lacked something—it was because of my light, my aura, the favor God placed on my life. People weren’t pushing me down because I was weak; they were trying to dim the brightness they saw in me.

I came across a quote one day that struck me to my core: ‘Thieves don’t take from houses or stores that have no value.’ That’s when it clicked—I had value all along. That’s why I was targeted. That’s why I felt the weight of other people’s insecurities projected onto me.

Now, I understand that no amount of changing myself will ever make someone like me if they’re determined not to. And that’s okay. Their opinions don’t define me, and their insecurities aren’t mine to carry.

I’ve stopped shrinking myself for others. I’ve stopped trying to be the loudest voice in the room or bending myself into someone I’m not just to avoid rejection. I’ve embraced who I am—flaws, light, and all.

The journey hasn’t been easy, but it’s been worth it. I’ve learned to set boundaries, to value my own voice, and to love myself without needing outside validation. I’ve discovered the freedom that comes from knowing I am enough, just as I am.

For anyone reading this, who feels unseen, unworthy, or caught in the trap of trying to please everyone else—know this: You don’t need to change to fit someone else’s mold. You are valuable, and your light is worth protecting. The people who matter will see it, and those who don’t? They were never meant to stay in your story anyway.

Daddy, nobody told me the pain life would bring,
How the world would feel empty without your everything.
Birthdays now haunt me, and Father’s Day stings,
Each moment without you, sorrow sharply clings.

The day you left, my heart broke in two,
A piece of me faded, forever with you.
Every tear I cry, every ache I feel,
Speaks of a loss time cannot heal.

Call me selfish, but I need you near,
The one who gave wisdom, who chased away fear.
You lifted my burdens when troubles would rise,
Balanced my world and wiped tears from my eyes.

Daddy, you were my anchor, my first real love,
My guide in the storms, sent straight from above.
Nobody told me this pain would stay,
Missing you more with each passing day.

I am the proud mother of two incredible boys, Kaheem and Xavier. My journey into motherhood began with Kaheem, a blessing I never anticipated but deeply cherish. Kaheem, who has Autism, has faced many challenges, including bullying at school due to both his condition and other medical issues. Yet, through it all, he has shown immense strength, teaching me what it truly means to love unconditionally.

When I first found out I was pregnant with Kaheem, it was just four months and four days before my 25th birthday. I was scared, nervous, and unsure of what to expect. His father suggested abortion, but the moment he did, my maternal instincts surged. “No,” I said. I wanted my baby—he was a blessing from God.

At the time, I struggled with bipolar disorder, PTSD, mood swings, and deep depression. I doubted myself, wondering if I’d be a good mother. When the time came, I was in labor for two days before undergoing an emergency C-section. It was then that my mother faced an unimaginable choice: save my life or my son’s, as the doctors couldn’t stop my bleeding. In that critical moment, she chose both of us.

Even now, writing about it makes me emotional. When it was all over and Kaheem came home, I learned what love truly means. He became the love of my life, and for the first time, I understood the depth of a mother’s heart. My parents stepped in to help, especially my father, who became both a dad and a grandpa to Kaheem.

Three years later, I discovered I was pregnant with Xavier. I didn’t know until I was five months along. Fear surrounded me—everyone was concerned, urging me not to have him because of the complications with Kaheem. But I refused to let fear dictate my choices. Xavier was another blessing from God, and I embraced him with open arms.

This time, my C-section was without complications. I had Xavier on a Monday and, by Tuesday, I was out of the hospital, walking around and shopping for baby supplies. I’ll never forget the older woman at Food Lion who stopped me. “When did you have the baby?” she asked. When I told her, she gasped. “Girl, you need to take yourself home! You had a C-section yesterday—you’re not supposed to be out here!” But I had already endured so much; I knew I could handle this, too.

My boys, Kaheem and Xavier, have been my inspiration through everything. They’ve stood beside me through life’s ups and downs, giving me purpose and strength. Being their mother is the greatest gift, a beautiful duty I would choose over and over again. I love them with all my heart and am endlessly grateful that God chose me to be their mom.

Love has never been a friend to me,
Yet I keep hoping, blindly, desperately.
Thinking, just maybe, this time it’s real,
A love that will mend, a love I can feel.

A love to heal what others have torn,
To soothe the ache from promises sworn.
They vowed they’d never do what others do,
But left me questioning if love is true.

You claimed there’d be no pain, no doubt,
Said you’d bring joy where life ran out.
You’d lift me up where others had failed,
But like the rest, your promises paled.

You stepped in while my heart was sore,
Made vows, then left me hurting more.
No better than the lies of the past,
Your love, like theirs, would never last.

Love has never been a friend, it seems,
Just a thief that haunts my dreams.
It collects my tears, then walks away,
Leaving me broken, day by day.

All it gives are scars and strife,
A cruel betrayal disguised as life.
Love, the foe I thought was kind,
Keeps tearing apart my heart and mind.

I’m not mad, just deeply let down,
By the ones I let in who only pulled me down.
Every chance I gave, every risk I took,
Led to heartbreak in places I forgot to look.

I’m not mad, just disappointed in me,
For holding on to what was never meant to be.
Friendships I knew were never real,
Yet I clung to them, ignoring what I feel.

I’m not mad, just disappointed inside,
For letting family, friends, and love decide
How much peace I’d lose, how far I’d stray,
From the light I fought for, day after day.

I’m not mad, just disappointed in the time I lost,
The years spent paying such a heavy cost.
Loving those who never cared at all,
Their gains were plenty, but my heart took the fall.

I should’ve loved myself first, poured it all in,
Let go of the ties that kept me within.
Unnecessary bonds kept me from flight,
While my heart stayed tangled in endless fight.

I’m not mad, just disappointed in my fall,
For letting their darkness cover it all.
I’m stuck rebuilding, but never quite free,
Still chasing the growth that was stolen from me.

So no, I’m not mad—but disappointed instead,
For all the time wasted in a cycle I fed.