I stand,
on the battlefield of broken dreams,
where shadows once danced with whispers of defeat,
where the enemy’s claws dug deep,
marking me with scars of abandonment, pain, and lies.

But here I am.
Still.
Breathing.

Every tremor, every tear, every scream,
was a note in the symphony of my resurrection.
What the enemy wove to bury me,
I unraveled, strand by strand,
and spun into a thread of purpose,
a lifeline for the lost.

I faced the mirror,
saw the jagged fragments of “me,”
each one a reflection of survival,
a testament to the war within.
DID, they called it.
Multiple lives stitched into one body,
each shadow begging for light.

So, I shed.
Layer after layer,
I peeled back the skin of shame,
the armor of fear,
the mask of who I thought I was.
I faced my shadow.
And I found God there,
waiting in the wreckage,
saying, “Now, child, let’s rebuild.”

This skin—this new life,
is not without its cracks.
But every step,
every choice to rise,
is a strike at the enemy’s throat.
Every testimony,
a weapon forged in fire,
sharpened by hope.

Now, I walk,
not as the wounded,
but as the warrior,
every scar a map of victory.
I use what was meant to kill me
to breathe life into others,
to shine light into the darkest corners,
to whisper into shattered souls:
You are not alone.

The shadows will come.
They always do.
But I am no longer afraid to face them.
I know how to wield my pain,
to cut through the lies.
I am shedding skin.
I am peeling back.
I am creating life,
a new foundation of strength,
brick by brick, testimony by testimony.

So I step forward,
46 and 2 steps closer,
to the freedom I was always meant to find.