Ashes to Wings

June: From Ashes to Wings

June didn’t come in easy. June came in with paperwork, appointments, deadlines, and a list that would have crushed me three years ago. But I did it. All of it. Independently. Not relying on anyone else to save me, fix it, or carry me.

This June, I handled my finances head-on. I filed bankruptcy with my attorney and sat down with a real monthly budget for the first time in years. Not the kind you scribble on a napkin to survive the week. The kind you build a life on. I started credit classes because financial responsibility isn’t a personality trait. It’s a skill. And I’m learning it.

This June, I completed my expungement in Marion County. That process takes 3 to 5 months, and every day of it meant living with my past while fighting for my future. When that court order came back, it wasn’t just a piece of paper. It was proof that dismissed means dismissed. That 2023 doesn’t get to define 2026. That God sees the whole picture, not just the mugshot.

This June, I got my passport and ID renewed. That sounds small until you’ve lived without valid ID. Without ID you can’t rent, you can’t travel, you can’t prove you exist in the systems that matter. I booked the appointment, brought my birth certificate, my Social Security card, my photo, my checkbook. I stood in line and walked out with proof that I am here, I am documented, I am a citizen. I am me.

This June, I worked on Rent Well and graduated. Six months of stable residency, paying on time, learning tenant law, learning my rights. For people like me, Rent Well isn’t just a class. It’s a key. It tells landlords, “She knows what she’s doing now.”

This June, I enrolled in school. PhD program at National University. After the break, after the MA in Organizational Leadership with an emphasis in Nonprofit Management, I’m back. I’m not hiding from the research methods gap or the publication pressure. I’m facing them. Because education is part of how I stay free.

The next step is permanent housing, and it’s coming. I can feel it the way you feel a season change. I’m not in shelter anymore. I’m not couch surfing. I’m not in the cocoon. I did all of this independently — the forms, the fees, the classes, the calls. No case manager did it for me. No partner co-signed. No one rescued me.

I rose from the ashes. I passed the cocoon stage. That stage was dark. That stage was wet with tears and tight with fear. In the cocoon you dissolve before you rebuild. You don’t look like a butterfly. You look like a mess. People don’t clap for cocoons. But that’s where the wings formed.

Now I’m the butterfly 🦋. Not because life is perfect. But because I can move. I can travel with a passport. I can sign a lease with Rent Well. I can apply for grants with financial literacy. I can walk into a classroom with my expungement behind me and my degree in front of me.

Rev. Cecil Williams always told us to love unconditionally. I had to learn to give that to myself first. Unconditional doesn’t mean I ignore the past. It means I don’t let the past cancel the future. God knows what led me to do certain things, and the people who did things that caused other things. He saw the whole picture. And He still gave me wings.

June was the month I proved it to myself. July is for flying. Permanent housing is coming. And this time, I have the ID, the budget, the education, and the cleared record to land where I’m meant to land.

I did this. Me. And I’m not going back.