Life Audience – by Pheonix Rising
Hey there, beautiful souls. It’s Phoenix Rising here, a mother of two, writing from a place many don’t get to see—the walls that hold us, the quiet moments in between the shouts, and the truth that sometimes hurts to admit but heals when spoken out loud. Today’s post is a raw, unfiltered jam I’m calling Life, Camera, Action — Who Is Your Life Audience?
If your life were a silent movie, what side would people think you’re on? Would you be proud of the film you’ve lived, if you could defend yourself only with your walk, not your words? And in this era of social media, what are you promoting, really? Are you leading others toward light or into darkness? Are your followers lifting you up, or are you feeding the beast that thrives on negativity? These are not questions for the crowd; they’re questions for your heart, for your choices, for the narrative that’s becoming your legacy.
I’m writing this from a place of truth I’ve learned the hard way. I’m in a correctional facility now—a place many call harsh, a place that strips you down to your every fear and every dream. And yes, even here, I still choose to be honest because honesty saves lives when no one else will. My life used to be a movie that fed the wrong audience. It had a cast of delinquents, rebels, and excuses, and a villain named “I-can’t-quit.” My parents watched with worry, and the world watched with judgment. But the man I needed most to defend me was not a crowd, it was myself—in truth, in accountability, in a change that starts within.
Let me take you back to the moment I realized the audience had to change. My life had a new cast: the wrong friends, the wrong habits, the wrong beliefs about joy and freedom. The film was thrilling to the delinquent crowd, but painful and suffocating for those who loved me—the ones who would later fight to remind me that life is not a one-night premier but a lifetime of premieres you’re responsible for.
I want to be clear: this isn’t a judgment on where you come from or what you’ve faced. It’s an invitation to level up your awareness of who you are letting influence you—and who you are letting love you out of your own chains. If you’re a young woman reading this, please hear this beat loud: your audience should not be your past mistakes or the voice inside that says, “You’re not enough.” Your audience should be the future you want to meet every day in the mirror, your dreams, your health, your safety, your purpose.
Who was My Audience—and Why It Was Wrong
Before salvation, before any real solid steps toward healing, my audience lived in the world’s applause. It was the world that cheered for the thrill, for the fast fixes, for the drama that made you feel alive—until it didn’t. The scripting was simple: fit the role they handed you, don’t rock the boat, and never show weakness. Showing emotion, in that environment, felt like a liability and a vulnerability that predators could exploit. So I learned to hide: to perform strength on the outside while the interior cracked. The environment I describe isn’t just a place with concrete and bars; it’s a culture that teaches you to hide when you’re hurting, to preen when you’re broken, to chase what looks like power when what you really need is repair.
The “audience” who mattered to me shifted with every decision. My family who loved me were sent into the background; the world’s gossip and the delinquents’ approval became the foreground. And when you’re in that space long enough, you start to perform a version of yourself that doesn’t belong to you—the version that can bear the show but not the truth.
There was a moment when the carousel slowed enough for me to notice that the audience didn’t care about my soul; they cared about the drama I provided, the chaos I generated, the story they could tell about me in their own necklaces of gossip. It’s a cruel metric: the more dramatic, the more attention you receive. But attention is not transformation. It’s a mirror that can lie to you, showing you a reflection you think you recognize, while the real you slips away.
Enter the Sacred Pivot: The Audience That Keeps You From Falling Again
Something changed when my life circumstances forced a reckoning. My audience needed to become someone else—a person who did not need the validation of a volatile crowd, a person who could stand in a quiet room and say, “I choose better.” The transformation didn’t happen in a single epiphany; it happened when I stopped seeking feedback from the wrong voices and began listening inward, to the voice that always knew what was right, even when it hurt.
That inward voice is not about perfection; it’s about consistency. It’s about showing up the same way when the doors are closed as you do when the cameras are rolling. It’s about letting your walk talk for you because, in the end, your actions will outshine any façade you could ever wear.
So, who should your audience be? For me, the shift is toward a single, faithful, trustworthy voice: God, and the people who reflect that light back to me in the real world—the true friends, the family who never gave up, the mentors who tell you hard truths with love, and most importantly, my two children who deserve a mother who is alive, present, and healing.
The Power of a Single-Follower Audience
I once believed I needed millions of followers to feel seen, to feel powerful, to feel worthy of existing. The truth I’m learning in this season is paradoxical: you don’t need a crowd to validate your life. You need one, or a handful, of people who see you and show up for you even when you’re unlovable. When I finally admitted that I didn’t need the world to approve me, I found a clarity I’d never known before. If I can show up in the world with honesty, even in a place like this, then perhaps there’s a way to speak to one woman who’s watching this right now and needs to hear she’s not alone.
If your audience is God, your moral compass becomes non-negotiable. You learn to guard what you feed your heart with. You stop inviting negativity into your life as if it’s a form of entertainment. You quit chasing false compliments that fade with the wind. You begin to cultivate contentment in your present moment instead of chasing a future version of yourself that society says is acceptable.
My message to you, especially to the young women reading this, is this: your life is a movie, and you’re both the star and the director. You don’t owe any audience anything that compromises your safety or your soul. If you’re listening to this and thinking, “But I don’t know who I am anymore,” that’s not a failure. It’s a signal that it’s time to pause, breathe, and re-author your script with intention.
What Does a Rewritten Script Look Like?
1) The Audience You Choose
Choose an audience that reflects care, accountability, and truth: your future self, people who love you enough to tell you the hard things, your faith, and your children.
Distance yourself from those who celebrate your lows or weaponize your pain for entertainment.
2) The Content You Create
Do not post or share anything you wouldn’t want your younger sister, your child, or your future self to see years from now.
Use your voice to uplift, educate, and empower. Share your real struggles, but also the steps you’re taking to heal and grow.
3) The Way You Move Through the World
Let your actions be the loudest statements you make. If you claim to be “changing,” live like change is non-negotiable: attend appointments, keep your promises, protect your health, and show up for your responsibilities.
Practice restorative habits: prayer, therapy, support groups, mentors, and healthy routines.
4) The Relationship With Your Past
Acknowledge it, but don’t define your entire future by it. Your past is a chapter, not your title. Your future is what you write with today’s choices.
Forgive where you can, learn from where you must, and move forward with a plan to prevent old patterns from returning.
5) The Role of Faith and Hope
Faith is not a spectator sport. It’s a living, active relationship that requires courage to apply in daily life.
Hope isn’t a vague feeling; it’s a practice—a daily decision to believe in your capacity to change, even when the old you drags you back with familiar chains.
A Message for Young Women: Don’t Let Your Audience Write You Out of Your Own Story
To the young women reading this: I know what it’s like to feel unseen, to chase the glow of attention, to believe that the louder your life looks, the more your worth. I’ve been there. And I want you to know this truth: you are more than the screen you’re living on. You are more than the drama you’ve inherited or the mistakes you’ve made. You are a person with a future, a potential, a voice that deserves to be heard for the right reasons.
Guard your life like you guard your most valuable treasure. Do not grant permission for negative voices to speak into your heart. Build a personal circle of truth-tellers, those who push you toward truth even when it hurts. Pay attention to what you feed your mind—what you listen to, who you hang with, what you read, the content you consume, and the boundaries you set around yourself.
And if you stumble, as I have, know that stumbling is not the end of your story. It’s a redirection, a moment to pause, to reflect, and to rise again stronger and wiser. Ask yourself: Who is my audience today? Are they the chorus that cheers for the best version of me, or the crowd that applauds the version that’s falling apart?
A Call to Action
Reflect honestly: Who are you letting influence you the most right now? Make a list of your top five influences—are they lifting you up or pulling you down?
Recalibrate your social media use: Unfollow or mute accounts that trigger negativity, fear, or self-doubt. Follow accounts that feed resilience, education, self-care, and hopeful progress.
Create an accountability plan: Find a trusted mentor or friend who checks in with you on your goals, not just your symptoms or excuses.
Develop a simple daily practice: a short morning routine that centers your heart—prayer, journaling, or a moment of stillness before the day’s distractions begin.
Write your own mission statement: A one-paragraph reminder of who you want to be, who you’re serving, and the kind of life you’re choosing to invest in.
A Last Word from the Phoenix
I’ve learned that a phoenix rises not by pretending the fire didn’t burn but by choosing to transform the pain into fuel for growth. The audience you choose is the tool that shapes your destiny. If your audience is fear, regret, and the crowd’s approval, you’ll perform a version of yourself that fades away. If your audience is faith, accountability, love, and your future self, you’ll rise—scarred, yes, but stronger, wiser, and more whole than you ever believed possible.
To the mother who feels imprisoned by past mistakes, I see you. To the young woman who fears she’s beyond repair, I believe in you. And to all who will listen and take this message to heart, I’m here with you, a fellow traveler in the long road from broken to brave.
Thank you for tuning in to this Phoenix Rising jam. If you’re listening with an open heart, let today’s reflection be the moment you decide not to let the world determine your worth. Your life is not a silent film. It’s a living, breathing story that you can rewrite, scene by scene, choice by choice.
With love and courage,
Phoenix Rising
P.S. If you want to share your own stories of turning the audience away from fear and toward healing, I’d love to hear from you in the comments or via the message box. You’re not alone, and your voice matters.