The Fire Beneath My Wings

For a long time, I thought my anger was something to be ashamed of—something I had to silence, suppress, or hide behind prayer and politeness. But I’ve come to understand that this fire within me is not the enemy. It’s energy. It’s passion. And when shaped by faith and softened by grace, it becomes a powerful force for growth. The Fire Beneath My Wings is my space to reflect, wrestle, and rise. Here, I’ll share thoughts and stories about navigating emotion with intention—especially when anger flares—and how I’ve found peace not by extinguishing the fire, but by learning to fly with it. Because grace doesn’t always look like quiet surrender. Sometimes, it’s holding steady in the storm with a heart still open to God. If you’ve ever felt the heat of your own emotions threaten to consume you—or if you’re walking the line between fury and faith—I welcome, you to join me. We’re not broken. We’re becoming.

Do you ever want to just tell a person like it is. Especially when they make you mad. Like try to call you out. h yes, that moment when Mrs. Perfect—you know the one—decides it’s her divine duty to “correct” you. There’s a particular sting when someone assumes they’re smarter—not because they actually know more, but because they’ve got a shiny title or come from someplace, they’ve decided is superior. That kind of arrogance isn’t just frustrating; it’s dismissive. Because they studied more than you.  But here’s the truth: wisdom isn’t regional and intelligence doesn’t wear a name tag. You could have degrees stacked to the ceiling and still lack humility or emotional insight. And you could come from a small town or a humble background and carry the kind of discernment that transforms lives. Titles may open doors—but character keeps you in the room. But instead of exploding, you rise. You remember: their title may give them a platform, but it doesn’t give them the right to speak over you. So, you breathe. You stay rooted. And you let your wisdom unfold in stillness. Because nothing unnerves arrogance like calm, but instead of exploding, you rise. You remember: their title may give them a platform, but it doesn’t give them the right to speak over you. So, you breathe. You stay rooted. And you let your wisdom unfold in stillness. Because nothing unnerves arrogance like calm, unwavering confidence.

Let me tell you this some people don’t want to understand—they just want to observe. They show up when you’re down, nosey under the disguise of concern, whispering instead of reaching out. They act like heartache is contagious, like your situation makes you weak, and they could never be where you are. But life has a way of leveling everyone eventually. You work hard. You push through, show up, and give everything you’ve got. But the moment you’re down—when illness forces you to rest—some folks switch up. They check on you with sugar-sweet words, whispering “hope you’re feeling better” while stirring gossip behind your back. It's not care—it's curiosity laced with judgment.

Then there are the ones who stay nose-deep in your business, always asking, always watching... but never sharing their struggles. They act like transparency is a one-way street—yours only. Their life? Locked up tight. Yours? Open season. When you decide enough is enough, distance yourself, stop letting people feed off your energy—they call you dramatic, bitter, difficult. Suddenly, you’re the villain in the story. But here’s the truth: pulling back isn’t petty. It’s powerful. It’s the moment you stop giving people backstage passes to a life they keep critiquing from the audience. It’s choosing boundaries over burnout. And if walking away makes you “the problem,” so be it. I’d rather be labeled distant than stay close to what destroys me. Because the problem isn’t your silence—it’s their comfort with access they never earned. What we go through... it’s not always written on our face. And sometimes, the very person sitting next to you—nodding, listening, even judging—might not realize that the story you’re sharing could one day be their reality. Life has a way of flipping the script. You lose people. You struggle financially. You question everything. You battle things silently that others mock publicly. And the person who once whispered, “I’d never let that happen to me” eventually learns how quick life can change lanes with no signal. That’s why I don’t speak from arrogance—I speak from experience. I don’t share my story for pity—I share it because someone needs to hear that survival isn’t shameful. It’s sacred.

So, if you’re sitting next to me, hearing my truth and secretly judging it—just remember, no one’s exempt. The things I’ve lived through? Life doesn’t give immunity. It gives perspective. And sometimes, that perspective arrives when it's your turn to walk through the fire.

Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.” — Proverbs 4:23

Living by faith and hope. 

I’m a mother of three, a wife, and a woman walking boldly in faith. My journey began in the margins—poverty and addiction shaped the environment I was born into, but they didn’t write my future. Through grace, perseverance, and deep-rooted belief, I’ve grown into someone who breaks cycles and builds a normal life. My life hasn’t been easy—but it’s been full of purpose. I come from a place where hardship was the norm: poverty, addiction, and uncertainty were all part of my beginning. But I’ve chosen a different path—one rooted in faith, love, and relentless determination. This blog isn’t just about me—it’s for anyone searching for hope, healing, and a reminder that your past doesn’t define your future. If my journey resonates with you, I invite you to walk alongside me. Let’s grow, encourage, and inspire each other.