Self-Healing – Hey empresses,
Today at Unapologetically Caged, we’re doing something revolutionary we’re choosing to #SelfHeal. Not tomorrow. Not when conditions are perfect. Not when we’re finally “ready.” Today. Right now. Because here’s what I’ve learned sitting in this cell, separated from my two beautiful babies: transformation doesn’t wait for convenience, and healing doesn’t require permission.
I’m Phoenix Rising, a mother of two, currently incarcerated, and I’m about to get brutally honest with you about something that took me years and these concrete walls to finally understand. We are our own jailkeepers. Long before I ended up here, I had already imprisoned myself with unhealed trauma, unspoken hurt, and emotions I kept locked away so tight that they eventually exploded and landed me exactly where I am now.
Today is the day we confront the true issues in our lives that are holding us emotionally captive. The problems that have been hindering our metamorphosis into God’s plan for us. Today, we discover them, name them, and start the healing process so our transformation can continue. Because empresses, if a woman behind bars can choose freedom, so can you.
The Trauma We Don’t Talk About
When you hear “childhood trauma,” what comes to mind? Sexual abuse? Physical abuse? Most of us have boxed trauma into these narrow definitions, but trauma is so much broader, so much more profound, and so much more common than we realize.
Let me be clear about something: abuse doesn’t have to come from family to be valid. It happens in domestic relationships EVERY SINGLE DAY. Spouses come home under the influence and beat their partners like rag dolls. And ladies, listen to me carefully—when you say you’re NOT in the mood for sex and your boyfriend does it anyway, THAT IS SEXUAL ABUSE. If you didn’t say yes, it’s rape because you didn’t consent. Period.
Too many females get it twisted, thinking, “If we’re in a relationship and he wants sex, I MUST give it to him.” Empress, you don’t have to give him anything. If you aren’t feeling it, you aren’t feeling it. Who cares what he thinks? And if he hits you with that “I’ll get it elsewhere” manipulation? Then he’s not the one for you, and you should “Let him go, go, go” as Ayo Jay would say.
Then there’s verbal abuse. Remember that kid in 6th grade? Little Brian with the big geeky glasses and acne for days, who looked like his older brother, still played video games in Mom’s
basement at 35? Yeah, that kid who knew how to play in 12-year-old girls’ heads and mess with their egos. If you didn’t laugh at his weird jokes, he’d retaliate: “You’re ugly anyway.” “You’re fat.” “Star crunch face.”
What would my response be now? “Well, news flash, Brian—they might as well slap both of us in a wrapper and call us a twin bar.”
That’s verbal abuse at its finest, empresses. And hearing that does something to a child’s mind. It causes them to build a truly false persona. Carl Jung, the renowned psychologist, described the persona as the side of personality that people present to the world. He believed everyone had a particular role to play in society, like a judge who wears a robe in court and must be fair and unbiased to make honorable rulings. But when that judge takes his persona home with him, it can consume him and change his true identity.
That’s what happened to me. I built so many false personas to protect myself that I lost sight of who I really was.
The Silent Killer: Emotional Abuse
But let’s talk about the abuse people don’t discuss—emotional abuse. As children, we’re so sensitive to everything said and spoken to us. It imprints on our souls like permanent ink.
Last night, while praying in my cell, I finally found the courage to ask God: “What is wrong with me? Why do I not ‘like’ people when serving them is where my heart is? I get so frustrated doing your work because it always boils down to associating with people.”
Then God revealed it—the unhealed emotional trauma I’ve been carrying for the last ten years. The hurt of being rejected in middle school. Yes, MIDDLE SCHOOL.
How could someone hold a grudge from that far back? It’s easy, empress, because that hurt turned into fear, which eventually led to social anxiety that has controlled my entire adult life.
Being raised in the suburbs, I spoke what was considered proper English and didn’t curse at all. When I moved in with my mother, I felt like a stranger among my own peers. The Black girls bullied me because of how I spoke, saying I was “talking like a white girl.” I didn’t want them to think I was better than them, so to avoid more bullying, I started speaking in slang. It got so bad that I was afraid of them and began referring to them as the “mean girls.”
I carried that trauma all the way to this jail cell because I was rejecting people before they could reject me—without even knowing if I was going to be dismissed in the first place. And I love my Black Sistahs, because we are all one and everyone has a past, a present, and a future.
The same grudge infected my relationship with my white peers. In 7th grade, our neighborhood did a weird school rezoning. Out of the whole neighborhood, only five of us had to switch schools, yet we all lived next door to each other. Set up, right?
The school I was switched to was predominantly white, and they let it be known that I wasn’t welcome. I was already alienated from my brown Sistahs, and now my peach ones rejected me, too? I lost it. I went into full antisocial mode, which led to self-harm.
I remember the first time I was Baker Acted—I was 13 years old. I sat in the corner of the gymnasium and scratched my wrist until it bled while crying uncontrollably. I was put under a 72-hour Baker Act, and they extended my stay for 11 more days to monitor me.
The experience was excellent, aside from my schizophrenic roommate and her “pet chinchilla.” Witnessing how doctors and nurses cared for each patient is what made me fall in love with psychology. But after my release, I went downhill because of my psych meds. The antidepressant made me MORE depressed. I was Baker Acted two more times before my mom realized this was serious and switched me back to my original middle school.
The Bottle That Finally Exploded
Here’s the life lesson I learned the hard way, empresses: Keeping things bottled up doesn’t make you strong—it makes you a ticking time bomb.
For years, I collected every hurt, every rejection, every slight like poisonous pennies in a jar. I thought I was protecting myself. I thought I was being tough. But what I was really doing was building a prison inside myself that was far worse than these physical bars.
Suppressing our feelings doesn’t make them go away. They ferment. They rot. They poison everything they touch—our relationships, our opportunities, our purpose, our children. Those unspoken hurts turn into fear. Fear turns into walls. Walls turn into isolation. And isolation? That turns into self-destruction.
I know this because that’s precisely what happened to me. I held onto middle school rejection so tightly that by the time I was an adult with two babies depending on me, I couldn’t connect with people. I couldn’t trust. I couldn’t receive love. I couldn’t step into my purpose because I was too busy protecting wounds that should have healed a decade ago.
Over the years, I had always waited for people to invite me into group conversations, because that meant I was already welcome. I never cared to speak until I was spoken to, because I didn’t want my ideas to be unrelated to the topic and appear foolish. So, I would say I disliked the human race—not a specific type of person—but that was far from the truth.
I love country music, and if you give me some boots, I’ll go down to the saloon and line dance until my legs give out. I can vibe to Hispanic music—thank the Lord for my Caribbean roots, because I have the hips and rhythm for it. Hip-hop music? I’m turning all the way up, especially now that they have Christian rap. But going to the club? No, we won’t do that because it’s too hot for that, and I’m not about that life anymore.
When God gave me the calling to help people and share wisdom, I had to ask Him: “If I’m supposed to serve these people, why am I always uncomfortable around EVERY ethnic group?”
That’s when I realized: I’m the problem. Not them. ME.
The Freedom in Releasing
Here’s what nobody tells you about releasing your pain to the universe: it doesn’t just free others—it frees YOU.
When we hold onto hurt, we think we’re punishing the people who wronged us. But they’ve moved on. Little Brian probably doesn’t even remember my name. Those mean girls from middle school are out living their lives. Meanwhile, I was here, blocking my own blessings, sabotaging my own purpose, and keeping myself caged because of what someone who no longer even thinks about me did.
It’s not just mean. IT’S SELFISH.
I was blocking people from their blessings because I was too busy nursing my wounds to see that God wanted to use me. My babies needed their mother emotionally present, and I was too locked in my past to show up for their present.
When you release your pain to the universe, you make space for something better. You create space for healing. For growth. For an authentic connection. For the purpose God designed specifically for you. You stop being a prisoner to your past and become the architect of your future.
The #SelfHeal Challenge: #PhoenixRising2025
So today, empresses, I’m issuing a challenge. I’m calling it the #SelfHeal Challenge, with the personalized hashtag #PhoenixRising2025—because a phoenix doesn’t just survive the fire; she’s reborn from it. And that’s what we’re doing together.
Here’s your challenge:
Day 1-3: Identify Your Cage
Write down three traumas, hurts, or grudges you’ve been carrying. Name them. Give them power by acknowledging them, then prepare to reclaim that power.
Day 4-7: Write a Letter You’ll Never Send
Write a letter to the person(s) who hurt you. Tell them everything. Cursing them out is fine if you need to. Cry. Scream on paper. Get it ALL out. Then burn it, tear it up, or flush it away. This is about your release, not theirs.
Day 8-14: Replace the Lie with Truth
For every negative belief you’ve carried (“I’m not good enough,” “People always reject me,” “I’m unlovable”), write down the TRUTH. Speak it out loud daily. “I am worthy. I am chosen. I am loved. I am free.”
Day 15-21: Do Something That Scares You
Join that conversation. Apply for that job. Reach out to that friend. Wear that outfit. Speak up in that meeting. Whatever fear your trauma created, face it head-on. Start small but START.
Day 22-30: Pour Into Someone Else
Once you’ve started healing, turn around and help someone else. Share your story. Encourage a friend. Volunteer. Your mess becomes your message, and your test becomes your testimony.
Post your journey using #SelfHeal and #PhoenixRising2025. Let’s create a movement of empresses who refuse to stay caged by their past.
The Choice
I’m sitting in a cell right now, separated from my children, paying the price for years of unhealed trauma that manifested in destructive choices. But even here, even now, I have a choice. I can stay emotionally imprisoned, or I can choose freedom from the inside out.
If I can choose to #SelfHeal from behind these bars, imagine what you can do with your freedom.
So today, I’m letting go of ten-year-old hurt. I’m releasing the grudges. I’m tearing down the walls. I’m choosing to blossom into my purpose. Not for little Brian. Not for the mean girls. Not even for the people I’m going to help.
I’m doing it for me. For my babies. For the woman God created me to be before the world told me I wasn’t enough.
Empresses, are you ready to rise with me?
#SelfHeal #PhoenixRising2025 #UnapologeticallyCaged #BreakingFree #HealingIsNotLinear #FromCagedToFree
Until next time, empresses. Keep rising.
— Phoenix Rising
Mother. Survivor. Empress in Evolution.