Strength did not arrive in my life like a trumpet blast.
It arrived quietly. Slowly. Almost invisibly at first.
I think one of the moments that made me realize I was stronger than I thought was not when I stood in a pulpit preaching, or when I led churches through conflict, or even when I survived years of silence. It was the moment I chose authenticity even though I knew it could cost me almost everything.
For much of my life, I learned how to survive by becoming what other people needed. Successful. Reliable. Faithful. Respectable. I built a life that worked from the outside. A career. A ministry. A family. A voice people trusted. And beneath all of it, there was still a frightened part of me hiding in the shadows wondering whether the real me could ever survive daylight.
Then one day, I stopped asking, “Will people stay?”
And started asking, “What happens to me if I disappear trying to keep everyone else comfortable?”
That question changed me.
Because the truth is, many people never choose authenticity once they understand the cost. They retreat. They perform. They slowly abandon themselves in exchange for approval. But somehow, even while grieving what visibility might take from me, I kept walking forward.
That is when I realized strength is not the absence of fear.
I was afraid.
Still am sometimes.
But real strength is trembling while telling the truth anyway.
Real strength is surviving the loss of certainty and still remaining tender.
Real strength is continuing to believe in God after feeling abandoned by people who spoke in God’s name.
Real strength is writing words from the deepest parts of myself after years of wanting to disappear.
I realized I was stronger than I thought the moment I discovered this:
The real me did not die when I became visible.
The real me finally began to live.
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