The Gift

When the Fire Is the Gift

I’ve walked through a season I didn’t see coming.

One that stripped me.
Shook me.
Shattered some illusions I was still holding onto—about love, about people, about myself.

And I’ll be honest: I didn’t handle it perfectly.
There were days I questioned everything.
Days I wanted to silence the ache, prove something, go backwards…
But there was something louder in my spirit. Something I couldn’t ignore this time.

A knowing: You’re not meant to repeat what you were called to rise from.

So I stayed.
I let it all fall apart.
And in the ruins of what used to be, I found a deeper version of me waiting.

Not harder. Not colder.
Just clearer.

I stopped begging for clarity from people who never gave me peace.
I stopped trying to fix things that God Himself was shaking loose.
I stopped shrinking myself to keep what was already slipping.

Because the truth is, I heard something once that changed everything:
No one has it all figured out. But someone else needs your notes.

And maybe, just maybe, the notes I’ve been writing—through disappointment, through detachment, through the quiet courage of letting go—will be the lifeline someone else needs.

So I didn’t run from the fire this time.
I let it do what only fire can do—
burn off what wasn’t real, what wasn’t mine, what was never going to last.

And as much as I grieved,
I also grew.
I outgrew the versions of me that accepted half of what I was created for.

That old version of me… she fought hard to stay hopeful.
She held on longer than she should’ve.
She believed in potential more than reality.
And I love her for that.
But I’m not bringing her with me.

I’ve come to understand that peace isn’t passive—it’s a decision.
And joy isn’t something you find. It’s something you build.

So here I am—new.
Not perfect. But free.
Not finished. But becoming.
Not waiting for closure. Just walking in clarity.

And if you’re in the middle of your own undoing—
if something you thought would last just didn’t…
Don’t run. Don’t numb. Don’t settle.

Let the fire refine you.
Let it reveal you.
Let it release you.

Because what feels like an ending may be the beginning of the version of you you’ve been praying for.

The fire isn’t the punishment.
It’s the gift.

-Kye