I Love Me Enough to Let Go: My Healing Bible

Growth doesn’t come with instant gratification.
There’s no applause when I show up as my healed self, and there’s no promise that vulnerability will lead to the outcome I want.

That’s why so many people quit before they ever begin.

But not me.
Not anymore.

I’ve been becoming her—the woman I always knew I could grow into. And that required me to ask myself a hard question:

Do I have a clear picture of who she truly is?

Because when I do, every decision—every moment of honesty, courage, softness, or self-protection—moves me closer to her. When fear rises in the face of my desires, I no longer label it anxiety. I call it excitement—a sacred sign that something new is beginning.

Not everything in life is meant to last forever. Some people don’t enter my story to stay; they arrive to reveal a version of myself I forgot existed.

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I’m Not That Girl Anymore

I used to stay quiet.
I used to shrink myself to be chosen.
I used to lose my voice, my identity, even pieces of my soul just to feel loved.

But that version of me is gone.

Now, I speak up.
I walk away when something isn’t right.
I practice my healed self every single day—even when it scares me.

I haven’t tested this stronger version of myself in love yet, but she shows up in every other part of my life. And when love comes, she’ll stand tall there too.

She is honest. She doesn’t lie to herself.
She whispers, “I may not know how things will turn out, but I trust who I’m becoming.”

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Self-Betrayal Isn’t Welcome Here Anymore

The moment I began loving myself—flaws and all—I stopped betraying my own needs.

No more accepting less just to avoid being alone.
No more performing to be loved.
No more proving I’m worthy.

Because now I know the truth: I already am.

I deserve someone who says, “Even on your worst day, I still choose you.”
I don’t need to be rescued. I saved myself.
Now it’s about finding someone worthy of walking beside me—nothing more, nothing less.

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Grieving What I Never Received

Part of my healing meant grieving my parents—not their deaths, but the fantasy of what I hoped they could be.
I had to grieve the version of “family” I deserved but never had.
I had to release Mildred and Ricky, and the hope that they would magically become the people I needed.

That grief split me open.

Because deep down, I wasn’t craving love.
I was craving value—wanting to be seen, chosen, trusted.

So when someone I cared for deeply told me, “I don’t trust you,” despite everything I gave… I broke.
It wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time I truly understood why it hurt so deeply.

Inside, a little girl was still waiting to be seen.

And I finally told her:

“You were never the problem. You’ve always been worthy.”

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Rejection Doesn’t Break Me Anymore

Rejection is no longer a reflection of my worth—it’s a signal to release what isn’t for me.

It only hurts when we’re still searching for proof that we were enough from the beginning.
But when I approve of myself—when I stand firmly in my truth—nobody can take that away.

So now I say:

“If I’m too much or too little for what you need, you’re free to walk away.
I won’t lose myself trying to keep anyone.”

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I Love Me Enough To…

This is my new mantra.
Whenever life gets heavy or hard, I start with:

“I love you enough to…”

…set a boundary.
…protect your peace.
…block the number.
…skip the family Thanksgiving.
…walk away from the hurt.
…use your voice.
…ask for reassurance.
…receive real, healthy love.

I love me enough to do what once terrified the little girl in me.

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To Little TERA

You’ve survived more than most people know.
You were misunderstood, silenced, overlooked, and used.
You were lied to about your worth.
But through all of it—you still shined.

You never needed to prove anything.
And now? You don’t have to.

We made it.
We’re safe now.
And we are never going back.

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Final Words

I don’t know what future relationships will bring.
I don’t know if someone will embrace the parts of me I’m still learning to embrace myself.

But I do know this:

Nothing is going to break me this time.
Not when I finally love myself enough to let go…
and enough to receive what’s real.

Because I’ve been rebuilt on a real foundation—one not made of pain, but of power.
This is what healing looks like.
This is what self-love sounds like.

And this—this is what it feels like to finally say:

“I’m proud of me.”

.💛

We have all heard it before….Flight. Fight, Freeze! It is followed by the questions, what is the norm for you? Well Lacey was sitting there with her irate ex hurling insults at her at her job. She could feel herself shrinking and shrinking. The anxiety filling her throat. Should she run? Where could she run? He was blocking her office. Everyone was gone so she couldn’t ask for help. Does she play tough with the risk of her ex striking her then she would be forced to call the police this time. Last time she just froze which made everyone upset with her. What does she do? A million-thoughts raising? Her temperature was rising. She was being triggered in so many ways and she had worked so hard to get to this point. Two years of intense counseling, losing several pounds, 1000s of hours of mediation and reprograming to rewire many years of negative thinking, irrational behavior and trauma response and now it had all come to this moment. The patterns had intensified. It was almost as if he had an inside spy. He knew her every move. Was he tracking her again? How could he get that nearby? She followed all the precautions. She created a safety plan. Who was the person she was trusting that was running back to him tell him her every moving? This person was knowing risking Lacey’s life. She felt betrayed. She had very few friends and very few people she trusted with the inside information about her next moves and step.

Let’s define a bully! A bully is a coward. A bully is a person with no power but seeks power due to insecurities. They have a false sense of security and Lacey was at point that she was tired of being bullied around. Something had to change because she was at her breaking point again. The continuous passive aggressive attempts to control, lack of financial support, and constant criticism on every move. Why are you doing that? Why are you buying that? Why do you live there? The constant reminders of lack of control.

However, when Lacey asked for help or advise there was never a response. No one ever stepped in! Nothing! Therefore, she decided to live her life on her terms and decided what was best for her children and herself. It was hard because Lacey always put the needs of others before her needs. It is something she had started at very young age, and it was very hard to break.

What do you want? How do you want to shape your life? What is your destiny? What were the promises God made to you at a young age? Now almost middle aged, it was very hard to think those dreams could be met. She knows that God promised her she would someday be a great writer. God promised her she would be an entrepreneur and a speaker! She would travel the corners of the world tell her story. She would encourage an influence woman and children. Those were God’s promises to her. She knew that and, in that moment, she realized she had to fight for that. Who cares what he thought? Who cares what the threats would be? Who cares? She had to put her foot down. Her life was and the life of her children was going in a direction that she did not like and she had worked too hard to turn back.

This is the moment the rubber hit the road. Therefore, she took a big breath and said “Hey, if you are upset go outside. The children are not here and when they get here, I will send them outside to you. I would like to request you go out the building (and advised him that cameras were present and recording). That was the first big step. The normal response was to run but this time she did something different. This time she was able to protect herself. This time she had a witness. She was finding her strengthen. One small victory however, in a right direction. It was in a different that put him on notice.

….to be continued

Based on a True Story: From “only child” to oldest child!

Adoption is confusing for most people. The internet defines adoption “as the action or fact of legally taking another’s child and bringing it up as one’s own, or the fact of being adopted”. In my case, that is exactly what happened. I was adopted at 18 months and raised with the same family until I was 18 years old. Adoption for me was a blessing in most cases. I think life could’ve possibly been much worse without my adoptive parents. I always wondered about my biological parents however, I wonder about them on my birthday and most special occasion when I experienced successful moments. Moments like my high school and college graduation, or my wedding day. I always wondered who I looked like. Mom? Dad? Both? The birth of my children always made me wonder about my biological mom and dad. These thoughts have run through my mind for 44 years.

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A month ago, I was online trying to get a birth certificate for my updated Passport and something said look at the adoption website to see if anything has been updated and I discover some of the laws in Arkansas have changed which makes it much easier for children and parents in a “closed” adoption to find out information surrounding the adoption.   Therefore, I called my best friend and gave him the update, and he said I think you should do it.   He stated clearly “that is 100.00 I would spend without hesitation.  The fee for the information was 100.00.   

My next step was to gather my information I need to submit to get the results.   I had to send over a copy of my birth certificate, a copy of my work identification, a copy of my W-2 and my driver license. I mailed everything off and in no TIME the results were returned!  I think it was less than a week and information was back.  I came home on a lunchbreak and package from FedEx was on my porch.   When I spotted the package, I was confused!  I was thinking to myself “can’t be”.  I am sure it is not what I think it is.   I was shaking!  I was shaking so bad as opened the enveloped.   When I opened the envelope, I saw My biological mothers name and I saw my original name.   Once I found my biological mom’s first and last name, I went straight to social media.   I found her on Facebook.  The moment I saw her I knew she was my mother.  We have the exact same smile.  The smile that my youngest son has that just melts my heart.  I didn’t know what to think or feel.   I was happy but then worry hit.   Will she want to me?  Will she love me?  Is she at place in her life to accept me?

After a peep talk from a dear friend, I had the courage I needed to make the call. I sent a direct message on Facebook and waited an hour and no response. I then noticed she was sending messages from Linked In. I thought to myself….Hmmm! I decided to find her on Linked In and see if she had a phone number. There was a number on LinkedIn. I picked up the phone and called. When she picked up, I was so nervous! However, I took a deep breath and said “Hello, my Lacey Johnson-Upchurch. I was put up for adoption in 1977. Before, I could finish my long drawn out spill…she said I am your Momma Baby! I had the biggest sigh of relief. I cried. I cried. I laughed and then I cried some more. My mother! I found her. I had so many questions. I wanted to touch her. I wanted to hold her. I wanted to see her. March 11^th was one of the best days of my life.

                Then March 12^th became the worst day of my life.  I was lying in bed and I received a phone call from my Bestie back home.   I answered and my Bestie told an ambulance is at my parents’ home and father has fallen.   I jumped and threw clothes and I grabbed a quick bag for the kids and I was on the road back home.  As I was packing us up I felt a strange feeling.  I felt unusually calm and it was as if I knew the man I knew as my father was gone. However, I kept moving forward to get the kids packed up and jump on the road.  As I was driving my Bestie called again and asked me to pull over.  I told her I could not pull over.  She said well I just wanted to tell you…your father didn’t make it.  I knew it was coming but I was still in shock.  It still hurt.  There were still instant tears.   I had to instantly stop and call my oldest son.  I wanted him to hear it from me.  My oldest son could receive the full “Paw Paw” experience.   He understands my father spirit like I do.  My father would carry him everywhere when he was younger just like I wanted to be by my dad’s side my son did also.  I remember my dad giving him a bath when he was a baby.  I remember my dad carrying my son to church with him with a baby bag.   My dad and my oldest son were so close.  I was almost jealous of their bond.  I wanted to say “THAT’S MY DADDY”.  However, I was willing to share because I know how important the relationship is/was between those two.  I was grateful my son could get grandfather- grandson experience.     

My son took it hard.  However, he was strong for me.  He was strong for his siblings.   My younger children loved their grandfather as well.  The nicknamed him Broccoli because he had curly hair that would fall over and look like broccoli.   My father always thought it was so funny and it was their little joke and they would all laugh.

I arrived at our home and there was wall to wall family. People I loved and had not seen in years (my cousins and uncle). It felt good to be around family. I continued to talk to my mom and she asked if I had met Robert Broadmore. Robert Broadmore? She said “yes” that is your dad. I went back to the internet and looked-for Robert Broadmore. My mother said he was in the Army and from the same hometown I was from. I found a handsome fair skinned man. My biological mother stated my biological father was tall. I was told he was 6’3. My original paper said he was 5’3. I thought to myself for year. My dad was 5’3 and my mom 5’10. It was a “typo”. I looked at the pictures to do comparisons to door and people. I thought to myself “this guy is pretty tall”. I also noticed he had children. Do I have more siblings? Mother told me I have one brother. He is 31 years old. I have not met my brother yet I was excited to have one sibling now I could possibly have 4!! I was ecstatic and then the same fears came back. What if they don’t want to meet me? What if they don’t want to accept me as their sister? I prayed about it and pushed on. I reached out to my father the same was I reached out to my mother. I went his direct messages and sent him a message. I told him who I was. I told him who my mother was, and I asked him to please call me. I then decided to reach out to my sister. I noticed we had the same birthday. I thought sure she is younger than me. I then looked at the year and thought “NO WAY”. My sister and I were born on the same day. We are in fact the same age! I am older than her by a few hours. I decided to send her a direct message and she and I could tell by her response she was a very sweet person. She simply stated, ‘she was going to reach out to my dad and get back with me”. She was not rude! She did not dismiss my claims. I was very grateful. She reached out to my dad and what seemed like no time she followed up and wanted to meet up the next day. I could barely sleep. I was mourning the loss of the father that raised me but excited to meet my biological mother and now biological father. My emotions were on a roll coaster and having to explain all this to my children. My children knew I was adopted. They understood I did not know who my biological parents were but they knew Granny and Paw-Paw raised. They were excited at the thought of more grandparents. They were mourning the loss of their grandmother on their father side when my dad past. This was another big loss for my kids which were already struggling in school and showing out behavior-wise with the loss of one grandparent. We were just gaining some type of normalcy.

I also reached out to our mutual friends on Facebook.  I asked do you know the Broadmores?  Everyone I asked said they were good people.  Another strange coincidence, I had a cousin on my adoptive side with the last name “Broadmore” that was murdered.  I found out later he was related to me on the biological and adoptive side.  God rest his soul.  I remember him being such handsome young man and remember my cousin’s being really devastated.   It was sad.  The other strange coincidence was I lived on “Broadmore” street.  The universe was sending me clues all these years.  Lacey Densie Broadmore!  I am so glad my adoptive parents let me keep my first name.  That was the connecting factor. 

One night I was on the phone, she told me she left me with baby doll (which was all she could give me).  I quickly said I still have my doll.  One thing my adoptive mom was great at was keeping everything.  She kept my baby doll for me that biological mom left with me.  My mom was so emotional.  She said you still have it.  I said “yes ma’am.  I still have my doll and one of our visits when she was in town I took the doll over it so she could see it.   She didn’t know how that doll provided comfort for me.  I would hold her.  My twin daughters played with it and my youngest daughter Ivy loved it so much I allowed her to take it to show and tell.   I was so nervous she would leave it.  However, I still have a my sweet baby doll to this day and I slept with the night my mother left and returned to Florida.  

The next issue to tackle was my adoptive mom! How will she take this?  Will she be mad?  Is this too much to soon?  I really didn’t know how to approach her but I knew I had to.  I did not want anyone in our family to tell her before I did.  I decided the best way to present this to her is with excitement so she was sitting on the sofa in her normal spot.  I hugged her and gave her a kiss.  I held her hand told her “mom I am here for you and as long as I am here you will always have somewhere to stay”.   We discussed it was not safe for her to stay alone and she would have to move out of state with me.  She was initially opposed to it but she came to the realization that she needed me.  I decided to capture this moment.  I told her Mommy, I contacted my biological mom.  She was happy!  She smiled.   I also then said I found my dad too.  She was even more excited.  I told her about my siblings, nieces, and nephews.  She was so happy for me.  She said, “Oh baby”.

I am so happy for you! This made me so happy.  We have had our differences.  I have overcome a lot of trauma and I am healed.  It was a long process but I am healed.  I am not mad.  I am not bitter.  I am happy and grateful.  I underwent almost 2 years of trauma counseling. I put in the work to prepare me for this moment.

My first meeting with my dad was great.  My sisters were present.  I was smiling and happy. I listen to his words intensely.   My oldest son was there.  He sat with amusement.  My father did not know of my existence.  It was my understanding he was away in the Military at the time of my birth.   However, he agreed there was no denying me!  Our height, our eyes, our lips and resemblance with my sisters is astonishing.  It felt so good to hug him.  It felt good to touch him.   I felt like a baby!  I could tell he has the same gentle spirit as my adopted dad.   I could see hurt and disappointment in his face (at the thought me being adopted).  It kind of hurt me because, I really want us to have a clean slate.   He was so apologetic.  I told him I am not mad.  I am not upset.  I am just ready to move forward.   45 years old and I have waited to long for anything to go left (wrong).

I met my brother.  He drove in from Texas.  My brother is the youngest and we look so much alike it is scary.  At our introduction, he stated “I am real brother and real uncle”.  He has already stepped in and made a bond with my oldest son which he needs right now.   I have a brother from my adoptive family.  He is the same age as my biological mom and dad and I feel because of age difference and geography we were never able to bond.  I was really raised as an only child which has its benefits and drawbacks (which is another story).

The next step was to meet my mother. She was driving down to help in whatever way she could. She drove 14 hours to see me. She stayed with me the next 17 days. I had my dad and mom. I couldn’t believe it. I sent a text or talked to my parents every day. I was then afraid to let my biological mom know I was in contact with my dad. I wanted that reunion to go smoothly if possible. I didn’t know if they were in contact with each other. I did not know if they left on bad terms and I knew all this was delicate. Therefore, I asked each of them if that wanted talk. The both agreed and I was so glad my Bestie could be there to help mediate this reunion. It was very smooth. I don’t think this transition could be more perfect. I was like a kid in candy store. I looked at my mom and then I looked at my dad. I looked like both them. The resemblance was unreal.

My mom arrived and I ran to the hotel. I was so nervous. I met my biological baby sister before our first meeting. She gave me some words of encouragement and I was ready. Our first interaction was just like we had been in contact for years. I could see her. I could touch her. I could kiss her. She was there! I laid on her. She held me. I felt like a kid all over again. The pieces to my puzzle have been put together. I was so proud of her. I was proud of my dad too. They were both doing well and looking well. I was thankful I was not leaving this earth without meeting them and to have relationship with them is just icing on the cake.

Both my biological parents attended my adoptive dad’s funeral.  They wanted to tell him thank you.  They both had an opportunity to hug my adoptive mother at the funeral and when both of my mother’s hugged at the funeral I knew my dad’s spirit was in the room.  My father loving spirit will always live on.  

The back story is this….my parents were very young. My mother 17 and my father 18 years old. I was happy that they could have successful careers in the military. My mother is retired from the Navy and my father from the Army. My adoptive parents were older and more settled with established careers. They were married 13 years before I was adopted. They were ready for someone to love on. My biological parents did not have the support they needed to take care of me as a single mom of 4 I can truly understand (with a college degree and a career). I still need support. It truly takes a village. Though in the beginning stages of our relationship; I am very optimistic. I don’t think there is anything more important than family. I text my biological parents and siblings daily and get to see my adoptive mom daily. I am at peace. I miss my dad so much. I just wish I could hear his voice or give him and hug or kiss one last time. He was truly my heart. He was truly the best human being I have ever met. I could not tell you the last time we have so much as a disagreement.

The love, the phone calls, the text messages, the money! My mother and I were showered with love. My dad was a good man and loved by so many people. His service was very simple and short. He was a man of few words. He was a simple man and I think his service was a representation of who he was. My mother made it a point to be that way.

Please note most of my stories contain some fictional elements and names have been adjusted and changed to protect the identity of characters in my story.

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3.03.1911

My grandmother moved to Little Rock, AR after my grandfather passed away. She was a single mom of 4 after my grandfather passed away. She worked in a domestic compacity for years. She moved from a small city of Callion, Arkansas where she was born and raised. The town grew around the Ouachita River Lock and Dam. It was incorporated in 1921 and named Calion after the first three letters of Calhoun County and the final three letters of Union County. The town was plagued with floods as simlar towns in near by Louisiana. I would often her stories of the whole family having to be rescued via boat and constant flooding. Her mother (my great granny) was bi-racial. Her grandmother was a squaw (Native American) and Caucasian with hair so long she sat on it. I remember my great granny sitting in a chair and my “toddler” self on the floor playing with her hair. She was well versed about natural herbs and berries. My mother recalls being ill and her grandmother (my great granny) going into the woods and pulling berries and creating natural medicines to heal them as kids over and over again.   My grandmother aka Mama Rose was a combination of Caucasian, African-American and Native-American. A few years back I pulled the census recording from Ancestry.com and for her race it read “Mulatto”. Mama Rose was beautiful and full of spunk. Her little laugh would light up a room. She had a smile that warmed my heart.  She loved Avon.  She kept an up to date Avon booklet right next to her recliner. The infamous recliner that she sat in daily. her Avon book, that recliner and her little dog (Tricksey) were a symbols of life as child She had beautiful soft naturally curly hair.  She was a plus size woman and her hands were soft as pillows. I loved to hug and give her a kiss on the cheek. I still remember her smell.  I called her Mama Rose but she was my grandmother.  Her favorite flower was a pink rose and I wish I could have given her one everyday.   We spent our summers together watching soap operas or “her stories”.   I loved her so much.  We laughed and played and talked all summer.  I would just sit under her all day.  Some days we would go out on her screened in porch and people watch. People watching was the best. She knew everything about everyone in the whole neighborhood.

   My mom was a teacher at local private school but they were “year around” so she would drop me off in the morning.   I would take my dolls over.  I would take my puzzles and other things and Mama and I would have a great time until my mother or dad came to pick me up.  We did this every summer for years until I was old enough to stay at home alone. We laughed. We played. She made sure I had breakfast and lunch.

   In junior high and high school. I was FOUR sport athlete. I played softball (every Summer). I ran track in the Spring. I played basketball and volleyball in the Fall. School and sports were my life from 7-12th grade. One evening after practice, my mom came in my room and she told me my Grandmother was sick and she was coming to live with us.  Our home was only 2 bedrooms. We had  large home but with no additional bedroom. My parents room and my room.  I was told that my grandmother would be moving into my room and I could sleep in my mother’s room (in her bed) or make a pallet in the living room.  I was 15 at the time so I decided to make a pallet in the living room and share my room with my Mama Rose.  I was happy she was coming to live with us but I was sad she was sick.  She was definitely the only person I could talk to about anything. She was not judgmental. She was stern yet loving and caring. She was the only person that truly understood my mother. She provided so much incite about life and my mother. She taught me to always be loving and caring. She taught me to be a person of compassion and the importance of finding my passion. She told me it was ok to be a tomboy. My mother at times looked at me with disgust with my big bulk tennis shoes, my gym shorts and smelly clothes. my grandmother would ask me how my practice. She would ask me if we won? She would ask me how many points I scored. She cared. She showed me care and concern when I needed it the most. What teenage girl doesn’t need an adult best friend.

My grandmother was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer shortly after she moved in. She fought it. She fought so hard. She had gone through the process of getting her breast removed.   She had been in and out of the hospital for two years by then.  They were going to do some experimental treatments on her.  The experimental treatment consisted of radiation.   The radiation was so strong all of her beautiful natural curly hair came out.  I remember nights she would cry and I would go in the bedroom to talk to her and try to comfort her.  I felt so helpless. The process of watching someone I love die was so painful. It hurt so bad. My heart was so broken to see her in pain.

I saw my beautiful plus size grandmother go down to 98 lbs.  It was so heartbreaking.  I would always tell her how beautiful she was to me.  It was like watching your best friend die.   Every evening I came home I would run to my bedroom to see her and tell her about my day.  My practice and my games.  My mother began to develop some jealousy around our relationship.  I love my mother but we have never seen eye to eye about anything.  She has never accepted me.  My mother is very proper and boogie.  I have always been somewhat tomboyish and goofy.  I love sports.  She wanted the daughter with the dresses and pig tails and ruffles and lace.  She did not get that and has trying to transform me into that since I was adopted.   This has always made our relationship strained.  My grandmother accepted me as I was.   She was my everything.  I could tell her anything.  I told her about all my crushes.  She was always laughing and smiling.  She was my mother.  She understood what it meant to be maternal.  Mother was very frustrated with caring for my grandmother.  My grandmother would cry most nights.  She was in a lot of pain.  Mother and I constantly fought because she was always yelling at her and I thought it was unfair.  I understood she had to work.  I had to go to school.  We were all up late.   We all missed sleep.  It was a long “few” years.   I look back and understand my other was doing the best she could at the time.

One morning I got dressed, kissed my grandmother and headed to the bus stop.  I recall telling Mama Rose I would see her that afternoon when I got home.  When I got off the bus that afternoon my uncle was there to pick me up.  That very odd.  My uncle never came to pick me up.  When I got in the car with him he said “Sweetheart, Mama Rose has passed away”.  I remember thinking this can’t be real.  I told her I would be back.  I had just saw her that morning.  As soon as the car pulled in the drive way I ran in my room.  She was gone!  The mattress was gone.  The box spring was gone.  The whole bed was striped.  I was devastated.  The only person that knew me.  The only person that understood me.  The only person that accepted me had left me.  She was gone!  

In the 90’s talking about anything was very taboo. I lost two grandparents in my teenage years and the life changing events were never discussed. I always felt like “i was missing” something. There is a human being, a loved one, my grandmother/grandfather loving here and now they are gone and NO ONE is talking about it. I know these were different times back then but I don’t feel like I never got a chance to process these issues and/or life changing events.

The funeral service for my Mama Rose was not a somber event! It was funny! Her spirit was all over the place. I think this was the only thing that gave me peace. She has come to visit me many time since her passing. She is always with me. She is my biggest supporter. She is my ‘shero”