The Sacred Story
Reclaiming the life I lost—and giving the pen to God.
⏳ 3 min read
Reclaiming the life I lost—and giving the pen to God.
The world is loud with plotlines.
Get richer. Get thinner. Get busier.
Get even.
Build a brand. Find your tribe. Monetize everything.
Look Strong.
Be visible. Be excellent. Be liked.
Be divisive. Be abrupt. Be right.
Don’t feel. Don’t stop. Don’t need. Don’t drop.
Don’t age. Don’t fall. Don’t make mistakes. Don’t ever apologize.
The irony?
We’re surrounded by stories
But starved for meaning.
Me?
I woke up barely clinging to life.
I don't know what exactly happened,
but I can piece it together from the wounds,
the blood,
the chaos stopped in time.
It was an overdose—or something very much like it.
I should not have survived.
But I did.
I did because I was living in a story I wasn’t writing.
I had become a ghost in my own life. Not haunted.
Just empty.
I wore the face of someone going through the motions.
A shell performing a life, not living one.
Fixes replaced friends. Fog stood in for faith. And the stunt double for heart was hustle.
I simulated connection, drowned and strangled the ache, trying to stay numb. To convince myself
this was as good as it gets.
My life had become a complete limiting belief—
an impossible story with no way forward.
Until I woke up.
We all live inside a story. Not metaphorically. Literally.
From the moment we can form thoughts, we start writing the lines of the script inside our heads:
Who am I? Why did that happen? What does it mean?
Stage Directions, Subtext, and motivations all form from that script.
But there’s a twist:
that script is not written by us.
We inherited it. Absorbed it. Maybe even tried to outrun it
Until we found ourselves relishing in the role of the B-character.
The sidekick.
The comic relief.
The tragic subplot.
We settled for being the footnote
in a different epic.
With the world happening to us.
Never realizing we were meant to be the protagonist, the hero of this story.
When, in fact, the world is happening around us.
We get to choose how to respond.
How to shape the character arc
How to ride the transitions
And when to turn the page.
You were always the main character.
Even when you forgot.
Even when you handed off the pen.
Even when you sat in the background, hoping someone else would carry the plot.
But then something shifts.
You take it back
word
by
word.
You say yes
to things that scare you.
You say no
to things that shrink you.
You trust when people speak to your soul over image.
And little
by
little,
the story begins to shift.
After I woke up, I didn’t feel powerful.
I didn’t have clarity or a sense of purpose.
I didn’t reclaim my story with poetic determination.
I could barely form a sentence.
The only thing I could do
was keep showing up
to this imperfect, still-in-progress church
where I felt safe.
Where no one asked for explanations.
Where my wounds didn’t have to be hidden.
There, in the gentle rhythms of community,
I was slowly taught how to write again.
I was taught how to live again.
How to make choices that weren’t just reactive or survival-based.
How to risk something better.
Not because I had finally become
strong or healed or wise,
but because I started to trust something
something more stable than myself.
Not my strength.
Not my instincts.
But my creator.
I learned to trust God.
I began making bolder decisions,
not because of how risky they were,
because of the trust and reliability they assumed.
It was story not rooted in performance, but in grace.
Over time, I realized I didn’t need to hold the pen so tightly.
God wasn’t waiting for me to figure it all out.
He was waiting for me to trust
Him
With the next sentence.
So I did,
And the story didn’t get easier—
but it became real.
It stayed Honest.
And it was so much better.
Because when God writes with you, He doesn’t erase your voice. He amplifies it. He doesn’t scrap the story. He redeems it.
You name it. You own it. You write it.
And then… You lay it down.
So it can become more than yours.
So it can become holy.
That’s when the impossible starts to happen.
That’s when the path begins to unfold— not paved, not always clear— but healing, rich, and unmistakably real.
“God wasn’t waiting for me to figure it out. He was waiting for me to trust him”. Ugh…. this got me
That's great. Love it.