They say ‘no good deed goes unpunished.’ In my old neighborhood, that was the law of the land.
It started with a bag of groceries. A guy tried to follow me into my house under the guise of ‘helping,’ but I knew better. I shut the door. When I went back out to settle the disrespect, things escalated. He played the race card; I played the man card. He hit me, and where I come from, you hit back. I put his shirt over his head and handled my business in front of his friends.
But the streets don’t play fair.
The next night, he came back with reinforcements. They caught me and beat me until my body gave up. I was airlifted to a trauma center, and I flatlined twice. I died on that table, but twice, the universe decided it wasn’t my time.
I woke up black and blue, unable to move for months. While I was fighting to learn how to live again, the mother of my daughter left. I was broken, I was alone, and I was physically shattered. But I was still breathing.
I’ve died six times in this life. This was times two and three. I was learning that no matter how hard they hit me, I wasn’t meant to stay down.
Have you ever been at a point where it felt like everything—your health, your family, and your spirit—was taken from you at once? How did you find the strength to keep going? 👇