On July 1, 2025, I stepped into something I’ve been circling for years — thinking about it, praying on it, talking myself in and out of it. But this month, I finally chose to move forward. I decided to turn my uncertainty into fuel for becoming.

Life has thrown me more curveballs than I can count. And like so many of us, I kept moving — head down, heart tired, barely getting by. But I want more for myself. I want more for my family. I want to leave a legacy for my children. While I know I can’t shape their destiny — that’s theirs to walk — I pray daily that they find their way. As for me, I’ve done what I could to get them this far. Now, it’s time to focus on me.

I graduated high school in May of 1990 with no real sense of direction. I wasn’t thinking about purpose or calling — I was just existing. It wasn’t until my 30s that I began to suspect I might be living with depression. And by my 40s, I knew: I had spent most of my life functioning through it, not really living. Tragedy after tragedy, setback after setback — I kept going, because stopping didn’t feel like an option. But deep down, I always knew I wanted something more. I just didn’t know how to begin.

After graduation, I enrolled in college. But I had no focus — and no emotional capacity to find it. I had just lost my little brother to a drowning accident. He was only nine years old, two weeks shy of his tenth birthday. There were only three of us: me, my brother, and my mother. And in trying to be strong for her, I completely lost myself.

Still, I was encouraged to go through with college. I didn’t want to. I didn’t have transportation and relied on rides from family — I felt like a burden. I struggled to keep up with classes and spent long, exhausting days on campus. I failed a class. I made friends. I tried. But home wasn’t a place of healing. My mother and I were both just… drifting.

Then came a turning point: I found out I was pregnant. The news brought fear, shame, and excitement all at once. My baby boy, Erick, was born in 1992, and he became my reason. From that moment on, it wasn’t about me anymore. Any dream I might’ve had quietly disappeared.

I began working as a dietary aide at a nearby nursing home. Within a year, I became one of the head cooks. Not great pay, but it was something. That was my life for six years — work, home, motherhood. In 1999, at the urging of a close friend, I applied to a local correctional facility. I was terrified. I didn’t want to do it. But the pay was better, and I needed that for my child. I got the job — and I stayed for over 13 years.

I started as a kitchen officer supervising inmates, then transitioned to full correctional officer. I did well. I learned quickly. I held many positions under my belt. But the same question kept knocking: Why can’t I apply this same determination to figuring out my purpose in life?

In 2003, my beautiful daughter, Ellesha, was born. Her arrival came through complicated circumstances, but she was a gift — and a wake-up call. By then, I knew I needed something more out of life. But I still did not know how to take that first step. I was stuck.

Eventually, my time at the correctional facility came to an abrupt end — not because I wanted it to, but because of emotional trauma, false accusations and betrayal. It broke something in me. I left that place wounded, confused, and uncertain of what came next. What followed were years of dead-end jobs — work that paid the bills but robbed me of joy and purpose. I kept asking God, “Is this it?”

The answer to why I had waited so long? Depression. And anxiety. These conditions don’t just affect your mood — they cloud your thoughts, your energy, your ability to believe in yourself. I’ve seen how they’ve affected not only me but also my daughter and others. I’m not a doctor, and I’ve only researched from the sidelines — articles, documentaries, personal reading. But living with it gives you a perspective that’s hard to explain.

Please understand, I don’t share this for sympathy. I’m naming it because it matters. Mental health is real. And while it has been a hindrance in my life, I’ve learned it doesn’t have to define me.

I was prescribed a mild medication for anxiety. For a time, it helped. Later, it didn’t. I chose to stop. I didn’t want to rely solely on pills. Instead, I turned to faith. And no, I’m not saying that prayer alone fixes everything. But faith gave me the courage to search for other ways — natural methods, emotional tools, spiritual grounding.

I know my story isn’t the most severe. I know others are carrying heavier loads. But I’ve learned that acknowledging your own pain is not invalidating someone else’s. It’s necessary.

This is the beginning of my new chapter — not a reinvention, but a reclaiming. I’m stepping out in faith, choosing growth, and allowing myself to want more. Not just for my children, granddaughter, and husband. Not just to survive. But for me.

There’s more to come. I hope you’ll walk with me as I figure it out — one post, one page, one day at a time.

With love,
Ree