You don’t know my story.

Not really.

You don’t know what I’ve been through, what I had to survive, or what it cost me just to still be standing here. A lot of what shaped me happened in silence, in private moments where no one was watching.

So when you see my worship, you’re not seeing something emotional or performative. You’re seeing survival.

Because what looks like praise on the outside is really remembrance on the inside.

There were seasons where I didn’t know how I would make it through....

Forty didn’t arrive quietly.

She came in rearranging everything I thought I had under control.

My time.

My energy.

My tolerance for things I kept calling “fine” when they were really just familiar.

She didn’t ask permission.

She just started showing me what no longer belonged.

Workplaces I stayed in too long.

Conversations that drained more than they gave.

Friendships that required translation instead of truth.

Versions of myself I kept shrinking just to make the room easier for everyone else.

Forty...

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