This will not be a performance.
It is a gift, a resurrection, a sacred offering of my scars turned into starlight, a clarion call to all the voices that tried to shrink me, berating,
“Who do you think you are?”
“Are you trying to be some influencer?”
“How can you be a real humanitarian doctor?”
For years, I swallowed those words— smiled, shrunk, bowed down low, to contort to a dimmer version of myself to win their approval, to be loved. For years, nightmares haunted me.
But healing has taught me this— I don’t owe anyone a lesser version of me.
I can be a humanitarian AND wear makeup.
I can be a mother AND take the stage.
I can wrestle with trauma AND turn it into laughter.
This show is not a performance.
It’s a declaration, my quiet rebellion—
my holy offering to the Church and the greater community in unholy disguise, when they refused to put a woman on the pulpit and said, “Not you.”
I let go of fear, of proving, of trying to belong.
I let my story breathe.
I let my girls witness what it means to rise, free.
Tomorrow, even if my voice trembles,
even if the laughter doesn’t land,
I will remind myself what Cliff always tells me— that I’m still worthy, still brave for showing up.
If you’ve ever been mocked for shining too bright, for dreaming too loud, for being “too much” or “not enough,” here is your reminder, my friend—
You don’t have to earn your place.
You don’t have to dim to belong.
You don’t need anyone’s permission to be fully you.
Your story is worthy, as it is.
Your scars can sing.
Our world needs your light— not a quieter version of it.
You can let the critics go.
✨Thank you to every one of you who made time to come, for your prayers and support, and to all the incredible volunteers who made this possible.✨ I don’t know how tomorrow will go (it seems like my cough returned too) but I’m grateful for your believing in me. Thank you 🥹😭