I’ve lived approximately 298,056 hours.

And honestly?

I’m honored.

Today is my 34th birthday.

Not because I was reckless.

Not because I didn’t have goals.

But because somewhere along the way, life became heavier than I knew how to carry.

I remember sitting in my apartment in November 2021, crying so hard I could barely breathe.

My grandmother was sick.

My family was fractured.

My heart was exhausted.

And for the first time in my life, the rescuer needed rescuing.

So I dialed 988.

I never imagined I would be the woman on the other end of that call.

I had always been the strong one.

The fixer.

The helper.

The one people leaned on.

But that night, I needed someone to lean on.

“Hello… please help me.”

The tears wouldn’t stop.

The pain wouldn’t stop.

The thoughts wouldn’t stop.

And eventually the voice on the phone said:

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to dispatch a team to help you. I can’t leave you like this.”

I remember feeling embarrassed.

Ashamed.

Broken.

But mostly tired.

What would happen to my grandmother?

Why did my sister betray me?

Was I really going to do it this time?

The truth is…

I tried.

And if you’ve never heard that part of my story before, that’s okay.

Because this isn’t a story about death.

It’s a story about the God who refused to let me die.

But God.

Life was hard long before that phone call.

Not “we struggled sometimes” hard.

Not “we had to share a bedroom” hard.

I mean surviving situations a child should never have to survive.

My parents struggled with drugs.

My brother, sister and I were often left behind.

I was raised by grandmothers, relatives, friends, and whoever was willing to step in when my parents stepped out.

I learned abandonment before I learned stability.

Responsibility before I learned childhood

I became a caretaker before I understood what it meant to simply be a child.

There were shelters.

There was rejection.

There was incest.

There was molestation.

There was bullying.

There was loneliness.

And somewhere in all of that, I became convinced that my value came from taking care of everyone else.

I didn’t know it then, but I had become parentified.

I was raising people while trying to raise myself.

Trying to save everyone while slowly losing me.

Years later, that little girl became a woman.

Someone who now works with children and families.

Someone who understands behavior because she’s lived through what shapes it.

But none of those titles are the most important thing about me.

The most important thing about me is this:

God became my Father when human love failed.

He taught me how to heal.

He taught me how to forgive.

He taught me how to tell the truth about my life without letting my pain define my future.

My healing journey became my ministry.

My wounds became wisdom.

My story became service.

Today, I mentor elementary, middle, and high school students.

I help people understand the connection between language, behavior, identity, and healing.

I write.

I teach.

I ask questions.

I cultivate growth.

But before any of that, I am simply Denise.

A daughter who was pursued by God.

And on my 34th birthday, that’s what I want you to know.

Not when I was abandoned.

Not when I was rejected.

Not when I wanted to give up.

Not when I couldn’t see a future.

Not when I dialed 988.

Not when I couldn’t save myself.

He didn’t fail then.

And He hasn’t failed now.

I’ve got a story to tell.

If This Story Resonated With You…

→ The Spiritual & Emotional Impact of Trauma, Covenant & Family Decisions
→ Nobody Is Coming to Save You: Healing, Responsibility & Spiritual Maturity
→ Understanding Trauma Beyond Emotions: Spiritual & Behavioral Healing

→ Living with a Broken Heart: Healing Childhood Trauma & Emotional Pain

Listen.

→ The Pursuit of Truth Podcast