✨ Reflection: I Never Learned How to Be Selfish ✨

I never learned how to be selfish.
Not once.
Not ever.

Selfishness was a language nobody in my life ever taught me —
not because it was sinful,
but because my childhood didn’t leave any room for it.

From the beginning,
I was raised to be responsible.
Raised to be needed.
Raised to be the one who carried.
Raised to be the one who handled.
Raised to be the one who made sure everyone else was okay.

I was a caregiver before I was even old enough to understand what care meant.
I was giving long before I ever learned I had permission to receive.

I didn’t have the luxury of being a child —
I had assignments.
A mother depending on me.
Sisters depending on me.
A household depending on me.

And what I didn’t realize until today
is that I became so used to carrying everybody else
that I forgot what it felt like to be carried.

I forgot what it felt like to be someone’s concern.
Someone’s priority.
Someone’s “let me check on you.”
Someone’s “let me help you.”

And that’s why this moment with my sons hit me so hard.
Not because the snow was deep,
but because the silence was.

Not because the driveway was full,
but because my heart was empty.

They didn’t call.
They didn’t check.
They didn’t notice.
They didn’t lift.
They didn’t show up.

And I realized something today I was never ready to admit:
My children have always had a mother — but I haven’t had adult sons who show up as sons when it matters. And sitting with that truth…
it aches.
But it also frees.

Because now I understand why I’ve felt so invisible in the places where I should’ve felt held.
Now I understand why I over-gave, over-supported, over-invested, over-loved —
I was doing for them
what nobody ever did for me.

I wasn’t being selfless —
I was being conditioned.

Conditioned to put myself last.
Conditioned to swallow pain.
Conditioned to never ask for help.
Conditioned to accept neglect as normal.
Conditioned to take scraps and call it “love.”

But today, God touched the part of my heart
that has never been allowed to exist:
the part that needs.
The part that wants.
The part that deserves.
The part that matters.

And He whispered,
“Daughter, it is not selfish to want to be loved.
It is not selfish to want to be checked on.
It is not selfish to want reciprocity.
It is not selfish to want honor.”

For the first time ever,
I finally understand that selfishness isn’t the enemy —
self-neglect is.

And I have lived a lifetime of self-neglect
because that’s what my childhood taught me was holy.

But God is rewriting that.
Right here.
Right now.

He is teaching me that strength doesn’t mean silence.
That motherhood doesn’t mean martyrdom.
That love doesn’t mean over-functioning.
And that honoring myself
is not rebellion —
it is obedience.

So yes,
I am grieving the truth about my sons.
And yes,
I am grieving the truth about my family.
But I am also reclaiming something I’ve never had before:

Me.

My needs.
My voice.
My space.
My peace.
My right to be loved in the same way I have loved.

I didn’t learn selfishness as a child.
But I am learning self-priority as a woman.
And God is walking me into it
one revelation at a time.

Le’Yonce

© L’Tanya Arhemaword Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.

✨When Truth Finally Shows Up at the Door

I didn’t expect to wake up to this kind of clarity.
Not today.
Not in a moment that should’ve been all joy, all celebration, all look what God just did.
And in a way, it is still all of that.
Because God kept His word.
God handed me an assignment.
I obeyed.
And the glory of this book — this birth — belongs to Him alone.

But truth has a way of walking in the door uninvited
and sitting right next to your joy.

And today…
Truth came in quietly.
Sat across from me.
Folded its arms.
And said,
“Daughter, look.”

And I looked.
And I did not like what I saw.

I came home from Detroit tired but grateful —
full of testimony, full of God, full of purpose —
only to pull up to a driveway covered in untouched snow.

No shovel moved.
No tire tracks.
No footsteps.
No “Ma, you good?”
No “You made it home safe?”

Just silence.
Heavy, cold silence that matched the weather.

And in that stillness, something inside me cracked —
not in anger, but in recognition.

A mother knows when something is wrong.
But a woman knows when something has been wrong for a very long time.

And today, the woman in me finally spoke up.

I realized I have been holding onto an image of my sons
that does not match the reality of their actions.

I have covered them, defended them, protected them,
given them grace they did not earn
and patience they did not return.

I thought that loving them hard
would turn into them learning how to love me back.
I thought raising boys meant I would one day be treated like a mother.
I thought the investment of eighteen years
would come home to me in the form of simple care,
simple presence,
simple concern.

But God flipped the mirror today,
and I saw the truth:

I raised sons.
But I have not been treated like a mother.

And that truth?
It aches.
Deeply.
Silently.
Honestly.

Not out of bitterness.
Not out of rage.
Out of realization.

Because I have supported every dream they whispered.
I have held every crisis in my chest.
I have covered every mistake in prayer.
I have shown up in ways nobody ever wrote down —
financially, emotionally, spiritually.

And yet today,
the first hands lifted to celebrate my dream
were not theirs.

And I’m allowed to say that.
I’m allowed to feel that.
I’m allowed to admit that the silence hurts.
Because silence is also a language.

But here is the part I did not expect:

The disappointment didn’t take my peace.
It introduced me to it.

Because somewhere between the snow and the silence,
God whispered something I wasn’t ready for:

“Daughter, stop romanticizing people I have already revealed.”

Whew.

So here I am —
hurt but awake,
aching but steady,
seeing clearly but still choosing peace.

Because yes, my sons are my sons.
But their choices are theirs.
And their lack is not my failure.
And their distance is not my punishment.
And their absence is not my reflection.

It is theirs.

My story is still holy.
My moment is still sacred.
My book is still a miracle.
My obedience is still an offering.

And the truth I met today?
It is simply part of my healing.

I refuse to keep pretending people are showing up for me
when the proof says otherwise.
I refuse to cover what God is uncovering.
I refuse to dim the truth to protect anyone’s feelings
at the expense of my own heart.

I’m not angry.
I’m awake.
I’m not hardened.
I’m honest.
I’m not bitter.
I’m finally balanced.

And as for the rest —
the distance, the disappointment, the realization —
I will let God deal with that.

Because I am a living witness.
I didn’t think that I would be one of those living to witness Revelation —
but here I am, seeing the Scripture unfold in real time.

As The Message Bible says in 2 Timothy 3:1–5:
“Don’t be naive. There are difficult times ahead.
As the end approaches, people are going to be self-absorbed, money-hungry, self-promoting, stuck-up, profane, contemptuous of parents, crude, coarse, dog-eat-dog, unbending, slanderers, impulsively wild, savage, cynical, treacherous, ruthless, bloated windbags, addicted to lust, and allergic to God.
They’ll make a show of religion, but behind the scenes they’re animals.
Stay clear of these people.”

It’s in the Bible.
I’m watching it.
I’m living it.
And God is revealing the truth in front of my eyes.

Today, truth showed up at my door.
And this time…
I answered.

By Le’Yonce

© L’Tanya ArhemaWord Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.

My Peace Is My Proof

The Week I Realized I Made It

(Weekly Reflection — November 25)

This week didn’t come quiet.
It didn’t come easy either.
It arrived with the weight of everything I’ve survived… and the grace of everything God brought me into.

Sometimes healing doesn’t announce itself.
It just shows up in moments —
small ones, ordinary ones —
and suddenly you realize you’re not who you used to be.

I sat with my book in my hands,
the physical proof,
the thing I cried over, prayed over, wrestled with.
And I didn’t feel the pain anymore.
I felt purpose.

I felt God’s fingerprint on a story that tried to break me —
and failed.

There’s a moment in every healing journey
when the wound stops talking
and the wisdom begins to speak.
And that’s where I am.
Not perfect.
Not finished.
But whole enough to tell the truth with clarity
and carry it with honor.

I don’t know what you’re facing.
I don’t know what tried to silence you.
But I do know this:
what was meant to destroy you
will one day sit in your hands as a testimony.

This week, I didn’t just publish a book.
I stepped into a version of myself I’ve prayed about for years.
Quietly.
Softly.
On God’s timing.

And I’m learning that sometimes the biggest breakthrough
doesn’t look like loud celebration.
It looks like peace.

My peace is my proof.

Le’Yonce

© L’Tanya ArhemaWord Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.

What God Preserved Me From

Reflection for November 22, 2025

Today, I found myself sitting with a kind of clarity I didn’t expect. There’s a certain kind of understanding that only comes when God knows you’re finally strong enough to hear the truth without breaking. And honestly… that’s where I am.

Last night, I sat across from someone connected to my past — a past I’ve healed from, a past I’ve written through, a past I’ve prayed myself out of. And even as I listened, even as I learned things I never knew, even as stories unfolded, my spirit stayed steady. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t jealous. I wasn’t longing.

I was simply… aware.

For the first time, I truly saw the reality of what God pulled me out of. Not just the man — but the lifestyle, the chaos, the cycles, the spiritual assignment that was designed to drain me. I always knew it could have been worse, but hearing the details made me realize it would have been worse… if God hadn’t stepped in when He did.

And you know what kept rising up in me?

I didn’t need him — I just loved him.
And there is no shame in loving someone honestly.

People can talk. People can twist the story. People can paint themselves as the victim. That’s life. That’s human nature. That’s the world God warned us about. But the truth remains:
I loved with integrity.
I gave with purity.
I showed up with loyalty.
I invested with sincerity.
And I didn’t give out of ego — I gave out of heart.

What I’m learning is this:
Some people don’t love you — they love what you represent.
They love what you open up in their life.
They love the doors that come with you.
They love the experiences they would’ve never reached on their own.
And if you’re not careful, you think they love you…
when really, they love the benefits of you.

Accepting that truth hurts, but accepting it also frees you.

And today… I am free.

I’m not ashamed of anything I did.
I’m not embarrassed by how I loved.
I’m not sitting here wishing I could erase the past.
Because everything I walked through shaped the woman I am now — awake, discerning, healed, and finally honest with myself.

I don’t need validation from anyone connected to the situation.
I don’t need apologies.
I don’t need explanations.

What I needed, God already gave me:
truth, clarity, and closure.

I also understand something else now — something deeper:
I need a man, but not that man.
I need a man who is whole.
A man of God.
A man who knows himself and doesn’t fear growth.
A man who values partnership, not opportunity.
A man who doesn’t depend on me to become, but comes to me as a man already becoming.

What I had before wasn’t that.
And I can finally say that without bitterness.
Just truth.

So this reflection isn’t about him.
It’s about what God shielded me from — the things I didn’t see, the things I didn’t know, the things my heart wouldn’t have survived.

I’m still processing.
I’m still unpacking the magnitude.
But what I do know is this:

God preserved me.
God saved me.
God freed me.
And God elevated me.

And for that, I am grateful. all begins with an idea. Maybe you want to launch a business. Maybe you want to turn a hobby into something more. Or maybe you have a creative project to share with the world. Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.

Don’t worry about sounding professional. Sound like you. There are over 1.5 billion websites out there, but your story is what’s going to separate this one from the rest. If you read the words back and don’t hear your own voice in your head, that’s a good sign you still have more work to do.

Be clear, be confident and don’t overthink it. The beauty of your story is that it’s going to continue to evolve and your site can evolve with it. Your goal should be to make it feel right for right now. Later will take care of itself. It always does.

Le’Yonce

© L’Tanya ArhemaWord Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.