Misread From the Start: David, Saul, and Me. Notes From My Reading Today | Part 1

I sat down today to read the story of David and Goliath because our Bible study is about faith. I thought I was going to read something familiar and keep it moving.

I kept reading about David and Saul, and it started feeling like a mirror. David’s story isn’t just about a giant. The deeper thread is what happens when someone is misunderstood, underestimated, and treated like the problem when their heart isn’t the problem. The story also shows what it feels like when a room decides who you are before you ever get the chance to speak for yourself.

I want to say this up front because I don’t want anyone reading this thinking I believe I’m perfect. I’m not perfect. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve made decisions out of survival, out of fight-or-flight, out of anger, and out of exhaustion. Those decisions didn’t come from wanting to intentionally hurt people or be mean or ugly. Those decisions came from trying to make it through seasons where I didn’t have the tools, the language, or the support.

Two things can be true at the same time. Gratitude doesn’t cancel truth. Truth doesn’t cancel gratitude.

I’m sharing this because when I read David’s story, I realized the pain didn’t start when Saul picked up a spear. The pain started when people decided who David was without seeing his heart. That part felt too familiar.

The family video that still messes with me

There is a family video of us at my aunt’s house on Christmas Eve, and I had beads in my hair. I was hopping around, flopping my beads, and being a very whimsical, outgoing kid.

I watched the video later in life and saw my mom’s mom with a belt in her hand. She kept striking me on the video because she wanted me to sit down. The video shows my sister sitting quietly. Other kids and other people were around, so it stands out that she kept getting on to me.

That moment makes me emotional to the point of tears. That little girl needed so much from the adults in that room. She needed so much from her family. She needed to be affirmed. She needed to be free. She needed somebody to nurture her creativity and make her feel good. She needed somebody to look beyond what annoyed them or what made them tired and ask what was really going on with her.

My family responded to the behaviors they could see. The adults didn’t look beyond that to understand what I was dealing with, including trauma at home that I suppressed until I was 27 years old. My heart was always sad, and I never showed it. My creativity, my personality, and my love for people made it look like I was okay. The truth is that I was a very angry child who carried a lot of hurt.

ADHD and how I got mislabeled.

This part matters, too. I was diagnosed with ADHD at a young age, and a lot of my bouncing around makes sense when I look back.

A lot of Black kids were getting diagnosed with ADHD during that time and given medication, and my mom was against that. She didn’t believe medication was what I needed. She felt like discipline was what I needed, and she got me to adhere to it by tearing my butt up so that I could fall in line and behave. She also didn’t have time to keep coming up to the school reinforcing why I needed to push through my homework, stop getting distracted, and complete the tasks she told me to complete. She didn’t have the energy to tell me a thousand times to sit down and be still.

That approach shaped how my energy was interpreted. Movement became “disobedience.” Struggling to focus became “acting out.” A child who needed structure and understanding got treated like a child choosing to be bad.

“Too grown” and being judged by appearance.

Misunderstanding didn’t only show up in behavior. It also showed up in how adults talked about my body and my appearance. Comments came that weren’t appropriate for a child. The label “too grown” got attached to me, even though that wasn’t who I was.

That kind of judgment does something to a kid. It makes you feel misunderstood in your own skin. It makes you feel like you’re being talked about instead of cared for. It makes the outside louder than the inside.

The “bad” label and what it did to me.

The troublemaker label followed me around. Assumptions got made about me because of my parents, and those assumptions shaped how I got treated.

That label made me feel overlooked a lot. It made me feel like the extra one, like David in the field while everybody else was inside. Creativity and a big personality got treated like I was being “extra.” My ideas got suppressed because the people around me weren’t that type of thinker or doer.

One of the things someone said about me as a child that stuck with me in a bad way was that I was bad and “too grown.” One of the good things I remember someone telling me is that I was talented, a hard worker, creative, and that I had a good heart.

The teachers who poured into me, and the ones who did not.

Middle school was bad when it came to my peers. Middle school wasn’t as bad when it came to a couple teachers who poured into me. Those moments mattered because not many people were taking the time to see me.

I also had an after-school program leader who wanted me to do Phenomenal Woman for a Black History Month program. I remember thinking, me. I didn’t even know what a phenomenal woman was at that age. I knew who Maya Angelou was, but I didn’t understand the meaning behind it.

She explained it to me. She told me what it meant. She made it clear that I was a phenomenal woman and that I was going to be one. Her presence was intimidating. She was the kind of woman everybody noticed. People were surprised she even noticed me.

That invitation did something to me. I got excited. I talked about it at school once I understood what it meant.

A Black female teacher questioned why someone would ask me to do that, like I was definitely not that. I won’t name her, but I’ll never forget that moment.

High school had a similar moment. I had a math teacher who helped me. Math isn’t my favorite subject, and she did help me get better. That part is true.

I also remember being so interested in AKA Teens during that time. I wanted to be in AKA Teens because I heard her talking about it to some of my other classmates and friends who were a little bit more eloquent at school than I was. I wanted to be around something bigger than what I was used to, learn some new things, and see what I could become outside of my environment.

She overlooked me. She didn’t have to say it out loud for me to feel it. “Too ghetto” was the message, even if it was never said directly. My grandma (dad’s mom) didn’t play about how I carried myself at home. She really didn’t want me acting like that in public. School and home were two different worlds, and I was figuring myself out in real time.

I succumbed to the ghetto life, and I liked it there during that time, if I’m being honest. Now, my perspective is different, and some of those moments feel cringe, and that is why I say I can’t stand it. Growth will do that to you. You grow beyond your environment, and you look back like, whew, I can’t believe I used to move like that.

A rough upbringing gave me some things I’m still glad I have. I’m more relatable because I can connect with people from different walks of life. I can survive in any setting. I can walk into a room with polished people and still belong. I can walk into a room with people from the trenches and still belong. That kind of range comes from experience.

Those moments sting because educators are supposed to help people see more in themselves, not write them off with labels, especially when someone is already carrying a lot.

Life is funny, though. She overlooked me back then, and I’m an AKA today, so I guess it worked out exactly how it was supposed to. The girls she would have chosen back then aren’t even the girls who represent what our sorority is supposed to represent today. That isn’t shade. That is just life in hindsight.

Honoring what my family gave me.

I don’t want my grandma to read this and feel like she didn’t have significance in my life, because she did. I’m talking about my dad’s mom. She gave me a lot. She taught me financial smarts that I’m getting back to now. She taught me how to read when I was three.

My dad’s mom also gave me a journal when she was deployed or PCSing and she had to leave, and I had to grieve her being gone. It was a pink journal or diary with a little gold lock on it. She told me to pass the time by writing creatively, writing about all the things I could potentially write about, so my mind wouldn’t sit in negative stuff. That sparked my creativity, and it stayed with me.

My mom gave me strength too. I learned how to push through, how to not be scared of a challenge, how to not be scared of people, and how to get up after you fall and keep going.

My dad taught me that life can happen to you. He also taught me mental toughness through what he endured.

Why I see myself in David.

This is one of the reasons I see myself in David. I didn’t come from a silver spoon family. I came from a hardworking, dysfunctional family, and my grandmother raised me most of my life.

Underestimation is familiar to me, and it was familiar to David too. David was young. David was small. David wasn’t who people expected. David ended up making a liar out of everybody’s assumptions.

David being left in the field is the part that sits with me. That isn’t only a location. That is a feeling. That is being present but not considered. That is being treated like you don’t belong in the room where decisions are being made about your life.

God still chose him.

Saul teaches me that hate isn’t always coming from someone who lacks. Sometimes it comes from someone who already has the seat, the title, and the resources. Insecurity doesn’t care what you have.

When I say haters, I mean I’ve always had haters.

When I say haters, baby, I’ve always had haters. I was telling my husband about Saul and David, and the story really frustrated me. David didn’t ask to have the gift he had. David didn’t ask to have strong faith. David wasn’t hell-bent on proving people wrong. David believed God and trusted God to see him through.

Saul was a king. David wasn’t a king. David started as a shepherd, then he became a musician in Saul’s court, then he became a soldier and a leader in battle. Saul still had more than David. Saul had the position. Saul had the title. Saul had the resources. Saul had everything David didn’t have yet, and Saul still couldn’t stand him.

That is what makes it so crazy. People can have everything and still be a hater. People can already be chosen, already be elevated, already be sitting in the seat, and still be threatened by someone who is simply walking in what God gave them. The receiving end of that kind of hate will have you confused, because the logic doesn’t logic. You already have what it takes. You already have everything. You still decided to hate on me.

Saul had strength. Saul had the ability to lead. Saul also had jealousy, frustration, and anger he refused to deal with. David started shining, and David started surpassing even what Saul had accomplished. David started getting recognition, and Saul couldn’t handle it. Saul went to great lengths to harm David, and it was really crazy to watch.

The story made me think, haters have existed since the beginning of time. The story also made me think about middle school. David was just trying to be himself. David was doing what God equipped him to do. Saul was an older man whose son was David’s best friend, and even Jonathan was basically telling him, “This is my twin. We locked in. Please don’t hurt him.” Saul still wanted David dead.

That part hit me because it reminds me of how it felt when I was younger. I didn’t even feel like I was all that back then. Guys liked me, and I guess my light was visible in a way I didn’t understand. Some girls didn’t like that. Some guys didn’t like that either, especially the ones I wouldn’t give play to because we were young. Those people tried to kill me internally with rumors, shade, and public embarrassment. Those people tried to make me feel small for simply being me.

That is what Saul does when he can’t control his insecurity. Saul tries to destroy what he should have nurtured.

The question I used to carry.

My mind connects things in a way that might seem random to other people. Music does that for me sometimes. Megan Thee Stallion has a song called Flip Flop that I love because it is relatable. She has a line that says, “They be asking why me and not them, and I be asking the same.”

That line used to feel like my whole life.

People would look at me and wonder, why her. People would look at my background, where I grew up, where I came from, and they would look at my parents. People would make assumptions, and I know they did because it always got back to me.

I asked the same question when I was younger. I used to be like, why do I have to keep going through things. I used to want to live my life and do my thing without all the extra stuff that comes along with being misunderstood, being underestimated, and always having to prove you are not what people decided you are.

God kept blessing me and kept putting me in positions I didn’t even feel ready for. I would tell Him I was tired.

The difference now is that I don’t ask that question the way I used to. I asked it when I was tired and younger and trying to survive. I understand now that God’s choices don’t have to make sense to people who don’t know what He put in you.

The point I’m closing with.

Labels can ruin a person if they start believing them. Labels can also expose the heart of the person using them.

That is why I’m careful now, especially as an educator and as a therapist. Patience gets tested in classrooms, in offices, in families, and even in therapy rooms. A person can show up in a way that makes you want to write them off, and that is usually the moment where you should lean in with discernment instead of deciding who they are forever.

Therapy is personal. People sit across from you in a vulnerable position, trusting you with their deepest, darkest, or even the things they don’t understand about themselves yet. Labels carry weight. Words carry weight. The goal isn’t to put someone in a box. The goal is to help them understand themselves and move forward with truth and care.

Part 2 is about the Goliaths people didn’t see, including teen motherhood, loneliness, school, depression, rebuilding confidence, and losing a close sibling.

Read these if you want to go deeper:

• David’s anointing and being misread: 1 Samuel 16:1–13

• David being questioned and underestimated: 1 Samuel 17:28–29

• Saul’s jealousy and the shift: 1 Samuel 18:6–9

• Saul escalating to violence: 1 Samuel 19:9–10

• God holding you when people fail you: Psalm 27:10 (optional)

My Brain, My Nervous System, and My Freedom

I’ve Always Been Me

There are a few things I know for sure about myself now that I didn’t know when I was younger.

One, I’ve always had my own path.
Two, I’ve always been creative.
Three, my nervous system tells the truth before I can always find the words for it.

When I was younger and didn’t know myself, I used to follow trends. Honestly, we all have at some point in our lives, whether we want to admit it or not. Kanye said it first: “We’re all self-conscious. I’m just the first to admit it.”

As I grew up and got to know myself, I realized, girl, you’ve been that girl all along. You’ve always been the one to follow your own path and do your own thing. You just weren’t always in spaces that made room for you to be yourself, and it showed, because I suppressed who I knew I could be. Hard love and mean girls will do that to you when you’re young, especially if you don’t have older women in your life teaching you how to be a friend to yourself first or how to love yourself first. No disrespect to my mom or my granny. I love them in the ways I’ve learned to, especially after understanding more of their life history.

God has truly allowed me to follow my own path, and when I found myself, it felt like my nervous system got freed too. Now that I know myself, I like what I like. It doesn’t have to be loud, overhyped, or everybody’s favorite for it to be good to me.

Quiet Isn’t Ingratitude. It’s Regulation.

I’m learning that I’m not someone who wants to isolate because I’m ungrateful for my life. I’m not someone who wants to pull away because something is wrong with me. I’m someone whose nervous system needs quiet. I need low sensory moments. I need space. I need softness. I need music. I need stillness. I need a shower and some peace before my thoughts can line up and introduce themselves properly.

As a counseling director in education, surrounded by a lot of personalities, people, and energies, and as a therapist who is deeply in love with the work, this requires another level of lock-in and attention to detail with my words. That’s exactly why I need those low sensory moments. They help me come back to myself so I can pour out with intention, care, and clarity, and when I reset, I can show up fully for the ones I love.

That matters.

ADHD, Hyperfocus, and the Need to Reset

One thing I’ve learned about ADHD is that a nervous system reset isn’t optional for me. It’s critical. It’s how I come back to myself. It’s not TV. It’s not extra noise. It’s not more stimulation piled on top of what I’m already carrying. It’s usually a period of doing nothing. Literally nothing. Just letting my body and mind come back home to each other.

That was comforting for me because it helped me realize that God didn’t bless me with this beautiful life and this beautiful family just for me to want to isolate all the time. It made me stop asking, what is wrong with me? Does He think I’m not grateful?

No. My nervous system just gets overloaded, and I need a reset.

Once I started learning more about ADHD, especially adult ADHD, it made some things make sense. ADHD is an executive functioning disorder, but for me it also shows up in this very specific way. My hyperfocus lives in creativeness. If I have an idea, if I’m helping someone open up their mind, if something clicks in me creatively, I’m gone. I’m all in.

That’s how my creative hyperfocus works. I can get a dopamine spark so strong that I’ll forget what I was doing while I’m still doing it. Right before writing this blog post, I was in the shower brain-dumping what felt like million-dollar thoughts into my notes app and completely forgot I still had conditioner in my hair. Then I dried off with my crispy, dry towel, realized my hair still needed to be rinsed, and had to get back in the shower. The worst part was knowing my towel was already damp from the first dry-off, because damp towels on my skin give me the ick. I don’t know if that’s an ADHD thing or just a me thing, but ew.

That’s the kind of stuff I’m talking about.

Where My Ideas Actually Come From

I also realized something else. Shower thoughts are not a joke for me. They’re real. Right when I get out of the shower, my ideas disappear. It’s the craziest thing. I really believe I’ve had some million-dollar ideas in the shower, and then the second I get out, they’re gone. The music stops, I step into the next thing, and my mind just closes the tab.

That’s why I have to write it down right then and there. My mind moves too fast, and if I don’t catch it in the moment, it’s gone.

What I’ve realized is that I’m a low sensory person. I don’t know if that’s the perfect term, but it fits. I like brown noise. I like neo soul. Music and my heart are just a perfect marriage. Add a long warm shower, with the water hitting my skin in that soft, soothing way, and my nervous system settles.

That’s where the ideas come.
That’s where the clarity comes.
That’s where I come back to myself.

Writing Is Where I’m Free

I think part of what I’m finally learning is that I don’t need to force myself into being the loudest, most visible, most always-on version of myself. That’s not where I do my best thinking. That’s not where I hear myself clearly. The world is too loud for me.

My nervous system is at complete ease when I freely write. Writing is therapy for me. I’m free in my thoughts when I write.

My Instagram name is free.dom.

Freedom, but also Dom is free.

It’s layered, just like me. It’s not just about being free in life. It’s about being free in my mind, free in my expression, free in my thoughts without shrinking them to make other people comfortable.

Those who get it, get it.

I’m Listening Differently Now

I’ve contemplated blogging for years. I stopped and started because I believed people don’t read. Now I understand something different. All it takes is one. One person to feel seen. One person to feel understood. One person to breathe easier.

That’s enough for me.

There are ideas I had years ago that I didn’t have the maturity to carry then. Now I’m in a different place. I’ve done the work. I’m learning God for myself.

I’m in a different place now, so when ideas come to me, I pay attention. When that voice in my head starts speaking, I listen differently now. The voice in my head is God (Two Chainz), and obedience hits different when you know that for real.

Even this writing feels different.

What a Reset Day Looks Like for Me

Today was one of those reset days. I got up slowly. I took a friend to run an errand, came back home, and relaxed the rest of the day. I checked in with my mom, my dad, my granny, my sister, my husband, and my daughter. I sent my son encouragement for finally starting to believe in the ability God gave him, on the court and in life. He’s awesome, and I know God is going to take my kids far. I believe in them.

I drank my rose-flavored Poppi, drank some water, and took my probiotic. I listened to music for hours, even songs on repeat, and it felt so soothing. I laid across the bed doing nothing. No sound. No pressure. Then I got in the shower for a long time, letting the water hit me, listening to music, and that’s where the ideas came.

Later, I cooked. I made ground beef, potatoes, bell peppers, and used one of those Trader Joe’s sauces. I ate a mixed salad with Brussels sprouts, bean sprouts, kale, basically a Cava-style super greens mix. Then I did my skincare routine.

To somebody else that might sound simple.

To me, that was care.
That was regulation.
That was me living the hope I try to give other people.

Music is one of my biggest regulators. If they took music away, I really don’t know what I would do.

I’m Not Scattered. I’m Layered.

So no, I’m not scattered. I’m layered.
No, I’m not doing nothing. I’m resetting.
No, I’m not too much. I’m just finally honest.

This blog, this writing, this mental mixtape, is me choosing to leave the world with an honest piece of me. It’s me choosing freedom.

They still matter.
I still matter.

This time, I’m not trying to write like anybody else.

I’m writing like me.

If you followed everything I just said in this post, you either have ADHD or you love somebody who does.

The POV of a Healing Therapist: Soft Life, Heavy Truths: The Weight of Doing the Work

This came to me at 12:03 AM. Nothing was wrong, and I was not spiraling. This is simply how my mind works. I reflect, I process, and I write when everything around me gets quiet enough for me to hear myself clearly.

That night, my mind landed on one thing: the weight of doing the work. Not the polished version people post, and not the version that fits neatly into a caption. I mean the real work. The internal work, the relational work, and the kind of work that changes how you carry yourself, love, protect your peace, and show up with other people.

Healing is beautiful, but it is also heavy. Growth is freeing, but it brings clarity. Clarity changes everything. That is what this mental mixtape was really about.

The Weight No One Sees at First

For a long time, I believed I had to carry everything. Every role, every expectation, and every responsibility felt like mine to hold. I thought being good at life meant being able to handle all of it at once. Looking back, that mindset was heavier than I even realized at the time.

At different points, that looked like trying to be everything to everybody. It looked like showing up fully in every role and trying to meet the expectations placed on women, mothers, professionals, and people who are used to being dependable. That level of pressure becomes normal if you sit in it long enough. Many people do not even realize how heavy it is until they finally put something down.

That realization shifted everything for me. Nobody can carry it all, and nobody is supposed to. Relief came with that truth, but so did perspective. I started to look back at who I was, what I was holding, and how long I had been holding it.

Growth became visible in a different way after that. I know I have grown, and I know I am more grounded, peaceful, and aligned than I used to be. There are still moments when I am learning how to fully trust that version of myself. That tension does not mean the growth is not real. It simply means growth has weight too.

The Weight of Knowing Yourself

Self awareness brings freedom, but it also brings discomfort. Knowing yourself makes it easier to articulate your thoughts, your feelings, and your boundaries. It also makes it easier to recognize when others are not in that same place. That difference can create tension, especially when your clarity makes other people uncomfortable.

There is a difference between being defensive and being self aware. There is also a difference between being combative and being able to communicate clearly. I have learned how to express myself with intention, and that has created space for peace. It has also revealed that not everyone knows how to receive someone who knows themselves.

Authenticity has felt both peaceful and isolating for me. There is peace in no longer performing and no longer shrinking to fit spaces that were never designed for you. At the same time, awareness increases. It becomes easier to recognize when other people are still performing, and that can make connection feel more complex.

There is peace in being yourself. There can also be loneliness in realizing not everyone else is. That does not make authenticity less valuable. It just makes it honest.

The Weight of Survival, Resilience, and Softness

Survival shaped me early. It taught me how to adapt, how to push through, and how to stay alert. That experience created resilience, and resilience taught me how to keep moving when life required it. It became part of how I learned to function.

Resilience has served me well, but it is not the full story. Softness does not always come naturally after survival, and rest does not always feel safe right away. Peace can feel unfamiliar even when life becomes more stable. The body can still respond as if it is in survival mode, even after the danger has passed.

There is a real weight in learning how to soften after years of being strong. I have had to learn how to rest without guilt and how to exist without constantly being on guard. That process takes intention. It takes unlearning, not just insight.

Resilience still matters to me, and it is part of how I move through the world. I also recognize that not everyone has had the same experiences, and not everyone has been required to develop the same level of adaptability. That difference can feel heavy at times. My role is not to rush anyone’s process. My role is to honor my own while respecting that growth looks different for everyone.

The Weight of Protecting Peace

Flow state feels aligned. It looks like listening to your body, honoring your capacity, protecting your energy, and moving with intention. It also requires boundaries. Boundaries are where a lot of people begin to feel the shift.

Boundaries can feel like distance to people who were used to a different version of you. They may have known a version of you that was more available, more dysregulated, or more willing to carry things that were never yours in the first place. That shift can be uncomfortable for others. It can also be necessary for you.

Protecting your flow is not abandonment. It is responsibility. It is choosing to show up for yourself in a way that makes you better for everyone around you. That is part of the weight too. Healthy choices do not always feel easy when people are still adjusting to your growth.

Spiritual alignment has deepened that awareness even more. Clarity has increased, and discernment has become sharper. It is easier now to recognize what feels genuine and what does not. Clarity is a gift, but it also comes with responsibility. It sometimes requires distance, and it requires trust in what you sense even when it is uncomfortable.

The Weight of Relationships Changing

The work does not stay internal. It shows up in relationships. It changes what you notice, what you tolerate, and what no longer feels aligned. Growth does not just shift your inner world. It shifts how you move with other people too.

Confidence brought me peace, but it also revealed discomfort in others. Confidence is often misunderstood, and it has been labeled as arrogance when it is actually alignment. I used to shrink myself to make others more comfortable. That is no longer a choice I make.

Standing fully in yourself can feel lonely in spaces where people are not doing the same work. Being different carries its own weight. There was a time when I moved with the crowd because it felt easier. Growth taught me that individuality brings peace, even when it also brings separation.

Standing out can make you visible in ways that attract both support and projection. That reality requires discernment, not shrinking. Competition has shown up in ways I did not expect, too. I do not move from comparison, and I do not operate from watching others. I thrive in collaboration, shared growth, and aligned creation.

Uninvited competition feels unnecessary because I am not even in that race. I am just being myself, doing my work, and staying in my lane. That lesson has helped me keep my focus where it belongs. Not everything requires my participation. Some things just require my discernment.

The Weight of Loyalty, Friendship, and Transparency

Loyalty has been a significant part of my story. I was raised to value loyalty deeply, and that shaped how I showed up for people. It also led to moments where loyalty was not returned. That realization is heavy, and it changes the way you see relationships.

Discernment has grown from those experiences. Loyalty still matters to me, but I recognize it more clearly now. I no longer confuse history with safety or closeness with consistency. That kind of clarity may come through pain, but it still matters.

Friendship has evolved in similar ways. Being a good friend has always meant showing up, communicating, and being present. Not everyone operates that way, and not everyone knows how to support the strong friend. That reality can feel lonely, but it can also be clarifying.

Friendships change. Some deepen, some shift, and some reveal what they were always going to be. Growth makes that easier to see. Part of maturity is allowing relationships to be what they actually are instead of forcing them to become what you hoped they would be.

Transparency has remained one of my strengths. There is intention behind what I share, and it is not about oversharing. It is about connection. It is about helping people feel seen and reminding them they are not the only ones carrying what they carry.

There is risk in being transparent. Some people misunderstand, and some may attempt to misuse what is shared. Even so, truth spoken in alignment remains protected. I trust that fully. God shuts the mouths of lions for me.

The Quiet Weight of Being Proud

Pride has its own weight. There have been environments where celebration was not fully received, and that teaches you to minimize your wins. It teaches you to move quietly even when you have earned the right to be proud. That pattern can become familiar if you are not careful.

That pattern no longer serves me. I am mindful of what I share and who I share it with, but I am no longer interested in dimming my light to keep other people comfortable. Hard work deserves acknowledgment. Growth deserves recognition.

There is wisdom in being discerning, but there is also freedom in allowing yourself to shine. I do not have to hide what I worked for just because everyone cannot celebrate it properly. I can be thoughtful and still be proud. Both things can exist at the same time.

Closing

This reflection came from a quiet moment, but it revealed a lot. The weight of doing the work is not always visible. It can look like peace, boundaries, distance, or discernment. It can look like softness that had to be learned and clarity that had to be earned.

The work changes how you move. It changes how you connect. It changes what you carry and what you release. That is the weight. That is also the freedom.

If any part of this resonated, it may have named something for you.

Signed,

Dr. Dom Thomas, LPC, PSC

Not Every Client Will Be Ready

One year ago, while waiting for my license, I sat at my kitchen island and mapped out the vision for stepping into private practice. Just a month earlier, while sitting in church, I felt an assignment placed on my heart. My immediate response was, “Oh naw.” Yet here we are. Starting this practice was not something I stepped into alone. I am deeply grateful for a close friend who encouraged me, poured into me, believed in me, and gave me the support and tools I needed to get this practice off the ground. I will always be thankful for her. She is a real one. This first year has been filled with learning, growth, challenges, and deep gratitude for every person who has trusted this space with their story.

Reflections From One Year:

Not Every Client Will Be Ready. After one year in business, and after following an assignment from God that first connected with the 26 year old version of me, I have learned that some people are simply not ready for therapy. Some may not come back, and that does not always mean it is about you. Sometimes it is timing, finances, readiness, or the reality that you are not the right fit for where they are in that season.

Grace, Growth, and the Mission. Whatever the reason, give yourself grace and make peace with it. Stay focused on the mission, learn from your mistakes, and keep growing in your craft. Study your clients with care, knowing that each person is unique even when their stories and challenges may sound similar.

Honesty Creates Better Care. Being honest with yourself allows you to be honest with them. If someone is not a good fit for you, it is okay to admit that and refer them to someone who may serve them better. You will help some people deeply, and you will not be the therapist for everyone, and that is okay.

Therapists Need Grace Too. Healing is not linear, and growth takes time. That truth applies to our clients, and it applies to us as therapists too. The same grace we offer others, we have to learn to offer ourselves.

Continue to Focus on Your Business. I have never been someone who stays focused on what everyone else is doing. My mom used to tell us all the time, “Mind yo business.” That lesson stayed with me, and it still applies today, especially for anyone building something meaningful. This is a reminder for clients, business owners, and anyone walking in purpose: no one will ever do it the way you do it. Everyone has something within them that no one else has. It is unique to your DNA (Dr. Hope Udombon, UWG).

Bigger is not always better, and taking your time still matters. Success is not measured only by money or material things. It is measured by impact, by joy, and by the fulfillment that comes from doing work that feels aligned. When you practice with fidelity, integrity, and purpose, what is meant for you will come in abundance. Learn to lead from where you are. Do not shrink yourself. Trust who you are, because you deserve a seat at the table, or the opportunity to build the table yourself.

Signed,

Dr. Dom Thomas, LPC, PSC