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What I did not understand then is that I was not just inviting people in. I was inviting their frequency. Their chaos. Their unaddressed wounds into the very environment where my soul was trying to grow. And then I would stand there bewildered wondering why my peace kept evaporating, why my growth kept stalling, why everything I was trying to build kept hitting a wall I could not see.

I tried to follow the script. I tried to be the version of myself that made sense within the mold that had already been cast. But the more I tried to fit into it the more my spirit felt like it was suffocating. Something in me kept pushing against the walls of what was expected — not out of rebellion for its own sake but out of a deep and persistent knowing that there was something more available to our bloodline than what we had been settling for.

The problem was that I was growing outward — chasing more titles, more accolades, more external markers of safety — without ever strengthening the foundation beneath my feet. I was building on sand and calling it bedrock because it looked solid from the outside.