When Choosing Was Never a Choice: The Inconvenience of Spirit That Refused to Shatter

When I wrote Childhood on Fire: My Journey from the Hell of Baltimore to High Water, I believed I was documenting survival. I did not yet understand that I was recording the first steps of a much longer journey, one that would force me to confront my bloodline, my inheritance, my beliefs, my fears, and the unseen questions that had followed the women in my family for generations. At first, I searched for answers in religion and spirituality. Then I explored the possibility that childhood trauma may have paved the way for what was to come. Then when I could not find concrete answers to my questions, I turned to ancestral memory and practices. Eventually, I found myself standing before a question that refused to leave: What if the suffering was never random? Why did isolation, little to no creation, prolonged suffering and mental illness, and hauntingly enough, mathematically indisputable generational patterns echo through the women of my maternal line? Why did heartbreak, silence, abandonment, and struggle seem to move from generation to generation like an unfinished story searching for its ending? Why were these women dismissed when they sensed something deeper unfolding beneath the surface of ordinary life? And then, like the women before me, something unfortunately found me. For more than a year and a half, I wrestled with a presence, an unseen entity that I believe is responsible for the ancestral and generational desecration of my maternal line. I challenged it. Argued with it. Fought it... day and night. And after energetic depletion and nearly losing everything I worked extremely hard to achieve, I ran from it, only to sadly enough return, demanding a response: Why me? Why them? Why us? What was left unsaid? What was left undone? This is the story of a woman walking a path that revealed a crossroads between choosing and choice and discovered that they were not the same thing. This is a story of strength, survival, and salvation... and a stern warning to others, particularly those in her maternal lineage that the veil between the seen and unseen has been pierced, to never seek what should not be sought, to be wary of unseen energies laced with velvet voices, fork tongues, lustful approaches of promises wrapped in smooth cadences. The devil has a name... and it is very crafty and wicked. Very wicked. Not everything that profess to be sacred and holy is of divine light. Remember that. Always. Do NOT let it have access to you because once it gets a hold of you, it will be utterly difficult to untether its grip.