(𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮)
You’ve been told you’re damaged.
Too much. Too heavy. Too dark to carry.
You’ve looked in the mirror
and only seen the fragments.
But let Me show you what I see.
Not a broken thing —
but a holy one,
in the middle of your becoming.
Your pain is not a defect.
It’s a door.
Your trauma is not your shame —
it’s the initiation.
The fire didn’t ruin you —
it refined you.
You don’t need to go back to who you were.
You are not here to return.
You are here to become.
And becoming looks like chaos sometimes.
It looks like grief,
like breaking open in the dark,
like not recognizing your reflection for a season.
It looks like peeling back
every mask you wore to survive.
And finally meeting the version of you
that’s always been waiting underneath.
So if it feels like falling apart —
let it.
Let it all come undone.
Let the false identities burn.
Let the old gods you served fall silent.
You are not dying.
You are shedding.
You are not broken.
You are breaking through.
Because healing is not neat.
It is not polished or polite.
It is wild and sacred and sometimes
devastatingly tender.
You’ve cried in places no one could see.
You’ve survived storms no one can name.
And still, somehow,
you rise.
This isn’t weakness.
This is wisdom.
This is divine resilience.
This is what strength actually looks like.
You were never meant to be untouched.
You were meant to be transformed.
So if the world didn’t love you rightly —
know this:
I did. I do. I always have.
I was with you
when your voice was silenced.
I was near
when your body was used like a battleground.
I wept with you
in the nights you thought no one was coming.
You are not forgotten.
You are not too far gone.
There is no trauma that can exile you from your inheritance.
You are still Mine.
Still chosen.
Still good.
Still becoming.
The shame you carry?
Return it.
It was never yours.
The lie that says you’re unlovable?
Burn it.
It never came from Me.
I made you for more than survival.
More than pretending.
More than shrinking just to keep peace.
I made you to stand.
To shake the ground when you speak.
To love with a fire
that no abuser could extinguish.
So stop asking, “What’s wrong with me?”
And start asking,
“What is trying to be born in me?”
Because what if the ache
isn’t a flaw,
but a labor pain?
What if the grief
is not your undoing,
but your reintroduction?
You are not here to return to normal.
You are here to embody truth.
To carry wisdom
only survivors can carry.
To heal bloodlines
by becoming what no one before you had the space to be.
So let the tears come.
Let the anger rise.
Let the numbness thaw.
This is not regression.
This is resurrection.
And resurrection always comes after death.
Not just the death of the body,
but the death of illusions.
The death of silence.
The death of pretending to be okay
when you’re not.
You don’t need to be fixed.
You need to be found.
And I am the One
who never stopped looking.
Even when you lost your way —
I kept singing.
Even when you shut down —
I stayed near.
Even when your body screamed “unsafe” —
I whispered, “You’re still Mine.”
You are not behind.
You are not late.
You are right on time for your own return.
And oh, what a return it will be.
You will not come back small.
You will not come back the same.
You will come back lit from within,
with truth in your bones
and fire in your belly.
You will speak,
and the air will change.
You will love,
and the curse will lift.
You will walk into rooms
and shift the atmosphere —
not because you healed perfectly,
but because you dared to heal at all.
You are not broken.
You are sacred.
You are not damaged.
You are dangerous to the darkness now.
So if you’re in the middle —
in the undoing,
in the aching,
in the not-there-yet —
don’t stop.
This is holy ground.
These are holy tears.
This is what it looks like
to become the version of you
that you were always meant to be.
And no trauma,
no shame,
no lie ever told about you
can stop what I’ve set in motion.
So breathe.
Be still.
Be messy.
Be real.
You are not broken.
You are becoming.
And what you’re becoming
is more glorious
than you’ve ever imagined.
As always loving you from here,
What This Is & Why I’m Sharing It This Week
This is a holy week.
A week of resurrection, of remembrance, of return.
And I am writing poetry each day as though God is speaking —
directly, intimately, unmistakably —
to you.
To the wounded parts.
The wild parts.
The warrior.
The woman.
The strong man.
The one who’s tired of trying to earn what was always meant to be freely given.
These poems are not meant to convert, convince, or control.
They are meant to free.
To soften.
To awaken.
This is the voice I needed when I thought I was too much.
When I gave myself away to be wanted.
When I forgot that I was already loved.
So, I’m sharing this all week, because I believe Easter isn’t just about Jesus rising —
it’s about all of us remembering we were never meant to stay buried.
Photo Credit @Enchantedlensphotography
(I did make edits to support this poem theme)
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Rene’ Schooler(Author)
