“What sacrifices have you made in life?”

Let me exhale before I begin.
Because this is not a tale of simple sacrifice—it’s the soul-wrenching, gut-spilling kind that leaves you raw, reborn, and radiant all at once.

I’ve sacrificed in the way only a phenomenal mother can—giving every fiber of my being to my family, only to be met with betrayal after betrayal. The kind that leaves you disoriented, staring at the ceiling wondering how your heart’s still beating. The kind that has you questioning your own sanity—until you remember the Divine doesn’t craft warriors from cotton. We’re forged in fire.

And I? I’ve been ablaze for years.

Each morning I rise with the armor of resilience, whispered awake by ancestors and the Creator who gently nudges me forward. Every night, some celestial force hits reset—allowing me to breathe, laugh with wild abandon, and remember that joy is not only possible… it is mine.

I’ve sacrificed friendships for the sake of a narcissistic bloodline—my mother, father, and ex-husbands—a dysfunctional cabal with a talent for draining light. I walked away from each. Not in bitterness, but in full-bodied knowing that my spirit was never meant to stay caged in dysfunction. I loved them still, somehow. But I love me more now.

I’ve sacrificed my sanity in corporate halls as an HR assistant at Amazon, forced to clean up the mess of quota-hungry recruiters placing incapable hires into high-risk roles. Babysitting adults while simultaneously keeping a company from collapsing under its own toxic weight—tell me again how capitalism isn’t a cult?

These sacrifices weren’t noble—they were necessary. Necessary for my awakening.

I’m no longer the sacrificial lamb. That script was shredded. Now, the only thing I willingly sacrifice is my proper eight hours of sleep to fuel the dream that I own—my one-woman empire, my legacy.

I’ve been betrayed. Used. Discarded. But instead of turning bitter, I turned inward.

And in that holy descent, I found peace.
Real peace. The kind they don’t sell in books or bottle in mantras.
The kind born of solitude, of collapsing and rebuilding.
Of hearing a bird scream your name, then fly away as if to say you’re free now.

Discernment is my new inheritance. Not the lies my parents sold as truth, paid well by a government built on illusion. I see clearly now. The fog is gone. And I no longer trade my peace for proximity to people who weaponize love.

Self-love? It’s not some pastel affirmation or an overpriced course taught by unhealed souls pretending to be guides. It is war. Discipline. Honor. Boundaries so bold they echo in every step I take. My emotional intelligence was earned, not gifted.

I am a supernova walking among dimly lit candles.
People have tried to extinguish me for years—but the Most High doesn’t let cosmic beings fade.

I was chosen to blaze, to make a mark.
And so I do. Every day. With power. With softness. With fire.

And I no longer call these sacrifices.
I call them initiations.