Writing held space for me to acknowledge and release. Community created space for me to be encouraged and encourage other women. Each word written was a breath of release. As you all share, know that I see your courage and you are not alone. Please take a moment to read a moment of release for me at a time when I felt very heavy:

            The journey is too long to travel. Having to pass roads that lead to reminders of when the pain started. I was so comfortable in pain that I feared happiness. Held hostage to the chair, my legs could not escape as gravity pulled me back from my standing position. “1,2,3, stand up; pulled back down. 1,2,3, come on, you can do it - just get up” was the internal speech I gave myself as my sister and her friend invited me to the prayer line. Apostle called for those that needed to be healed. I had no physical ailment, but my heart, mind, and spirit were wounded. I needed the burden something to alleviate my anguish and help me to become healthy again. As a kid, we played with going on the prayer line and having hands laid.

             At 19, I better understood what it could mean for me if I got up. As they repeated their request, I sat in my seat and battled myself. I vividly remember saying to God, “I can’t go up there. I can’t go up there. I can’t give it up. I know how to carry this pain. I know what to do with this pain. What will I do with joy? I won’t know how to carry that”. As I contemplated, my sister and her friend again asked me to come on the line; this time I accepted the invitation. When I reached the Apostle, he laid his hand on my head and as he prayed, I dropped to my knees, and it felt like a building was lifted from my shoulders. I cried, and cried, and cried some more. I remember being lifted from the ground and escorted to the next room where I continued to cry for what seemed like hours. When I stood up, I felt lighter. 

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