Yesterday, I reflected on something deeply personal—something that could have ended differently. I thought about suicide. About what it would have meant if my story had ended there.

But here I am. My name isn’t on a tombstone 🪦. It’s on a book cover. And in that truth, I see a blessing. God didn’t allow my name to be buried; He made it public.

A tombstone marks an ending. It tells the world: this story is over. But a book cover? It announces: this story matters, and it continues.

There’s power in survival, in choosing to keep speaking, writing, creating, and living. The pain I endured didn’t get the final word. My voice did. My story did. My life did.

I think about the people who will read my words—who might never know me, who might never meet me—but through my book, they will know a piece of my truth. My name carries meaning. My experience carries purpose. And that is not an accident.

Sometimes, life gives us a second chance—not just to exist, but to leave a legacy. To transform what could have been tragedy into testimony. And for that, I am grateful.

If your name hasn’t been written on a tombstone, then your story isn’t over, remember: your life still has purpose. Your voice still has power. And your story can still touch the world. No one is crying over me, but rejoicing with me! 🥳Amen! No one has to visit me at a grave site, instead they’re visiting me through my book 📕