You Were Never Here to Be Liked. You Were Here to Be Light.

I did not come here to be liked.

I came here to be light.

And light, when it pierces, can offend.

Because the kind of love I carry doesn’t perform

it purifies.

It burns through distortion.

It reveals what’s real beneath what’s convenient.

There was a time I bled for others.

Softened my truth to keep the peace.

Dimmed my power so I wouldn’t make them uncomfortable.

I thought it was love. I called it service.

But it was sacrifice.

And sacrifice without reciprocity becomes self-abandonment dressed in spiritual drag.

The world taught us that the feminine must bend to be beloved.

That leadership must come with self-erasure.

That holiness is proven by how much we can endure.

But I remember a different template.

One written in the stars and etched in the womb.

One where devotion didn’t mean depletion.

And love didn’t mean betrayal of self.

I am not a savior. I am a signal.

I do not bleed for the unwilling.

I do not coddle distortion.

I do not betray my flame to be palatable.

I lead because I listen to God.

I speak because my voice is a sword of remembrance.

I love because love is what I am—not what I trade for approval.

And if that makes me too much, too bold, too loud, too sovereign—

so be it.

Let the ones who can’t hold this light be blinded by it.

I am not here to carry the collective.

I am here to ignite it.

To the ones who feel too fiery to be understood:

This is your confirmation.

You were never here to be liked.

You were here to be light.

Not the soft glow that comforts.

But the holy fire that wakes the sleeping, purifies the temple, and ends the charade.

You are not cruel.

You are clear.

You are not selfish.

You are sovereign.

And the flame you carry?

It’s not for everyone.

It never was.

This is your permission slip to stop apologizing.

To stop sacrificing.

To stop translating your truth into something digestible for people still feeding on distortion.

You are not for their comfort.

You are for their awakening.

And that, beloved, is more than enough.