Our Cocoon; From Rock bottom to Rebirth

"This Door Was Our Lifeline-Now We're Ready to Fly"

Three years ago, I walked into our first home with shaky hands and a heart that had been through hell—and honestly, as a woman of faith, I lost so much hope. We had just come from a season of deep loss. No roof. No stability. Just prayers, borrowed spaces, and the kind of exhaustion that lives in your bones.

Friends became family, and somehow, through the chaos, I kept showing up.

That front door wasn’t just an entrance—it was a lifeline. It proved we made it through. But behind that door, I still cried in silence. I smiled through heartbreak so my daughter wouldn’t carry the weight I was drowning in. I begged God for answers in the middle of the night, wondering how I’d make it to morning. I felt the sting of rejection, the ache of abandonment, and the shame of being judged by people who never knew the full story.

But I never stopped fighting. I saw her dancing in a sparkly dress, carefree and safe—and I fought like hell to give her that. Even when we were homeless, I gave her peace. I gave her joy. I gave her a version of childhood that didn’t mirror the chaos I was surviving.

We were kicked out by people who were supposed to protect us. That betrayal shattered something in me. I lost my business, my job, and the foundation I was building. I even thought I lost myself for a moment, but I was rediscovering who I truly was underneath so much pain and programming. Every day, I chose to rise. Not because it was easy—but because she deserved a mother who wouldn’t give up. And I deserved the life I wanted for us. And when I was at my lowest, she’d look at me with those big blue eyes and say, "Mom, you can do anything you put your mind to, man.” Her love for Eminem makes her say it with this bold, funny confidence—but it hits me like truth every time. She believes in me, even when I struggle to believe in myself.

This home was never meant to be forever. It was a cocoon—a place to heal, to grow, to prepare. And I did just that. I’ve spent the last decade peeling back layers of pain. The last 3 years in MY safe haven releasing the pain that I have peeled back by grieving and feeling it all to rebuild my spirit and learn to love the woman I’ve become. I’ve cried, screamed, broke dishes, collapsed, rushed to the hospital in an ambulance. lost hope, prayed, but still chose to dance and laugh. I’ve healed. A lot of pain.

We’re still here. Still dancing. Still breathing. Still believing. And now, I’m ready. Ready for the next chapter. Ready to walk into it with my head high, my heart open, and my daughter by my side.

We didn’t just survive—we transformed.

To be continued…

Love & Light

Soldier Mom