Praying for my Downfall..

It still amazes me how easily people can look you in the eye and promise support — promise prayers, promise loyalty, promise they’ll stand in the gap when things get hard. And I’ve learned — sometimes the hard way — that when you stop fitting their comfort zone or refuse to shrink yourself to keep the peace, those same prayers can start sounding different.

Not protection.
Not favor.
But quiet hope for your fall.

That realization hurts. And when you’ve read Angel on a Bridge, you will know I’m no stranger to walking through fire. I’ve lived what it feels like to have your name misunderstood, your motives questioned, your strength mistaken for arrogance. But what people don’t always see is where that strength was born.

They see the heels.
The polish.
The way I carry myself.

What they don’t see are the summers on the farm. The creek banks. The dirt under my nails. The sweat of baling hay in the heat. They don’t see the little girl who learned that strength isn’t loud — it’s steady. It’s showing up. It’s doing the hard thing without applause.

When my spirit needs grounding, I go back to the mountains of Kentucky. Back to where my great aunt, well into her 90s, still plants her garden like faith is stitched into the soil. Back to where my great-great grandfather built church benches with his own hands — benches that held generations of worshippers until the flood of July 2022 swept most of them away.

And when that flood came, we didn’t debate. We didn’t posture. We went. I took my children with me so they could see that when family is in trouble, you show up. You rebuild. You clean. You love with your hands, not just your words.

That’s the legacy in my blood.

I am not afraid to take the stilettos off and step into the mud. I’ve done it my whole life. The heels don’t define me — they just walk with me. Strength and softness. Grit and grace. Dirt roads and bright lights. Both can exist in the same woman.

If you want to understand why I stand the way I do, speak the way I do, fight the way I do — you have to understand where I come from.

That story — the real roots, the real resilience, the angels who carried me when others tried to count me out — lives inside Angel on a Bridge.