We Branch

 

We Branch

An event happens.
Then we branch.

Another event happens.
We branch again.

Over time, those branches turn into paths. Some lead toward contraction. Others toward expansion. And the difference is almost never the event itself—it’s the meaning we assign to it.

We love to point to circumstances as explanations. Venezuela. Cameroon. Leadership. Resources. Race. Power. History. These things exist, yes. They shape environments and outcomes. But they are not explanations for human worth.

Somewhere along the way, we confuse context with cause.

And in doing so, we let stories—often repeated by others—decide how valuable we believe we are.

Why do we do that?

Why do we choose interpretations that shrink us?
Why do we reach for narratives that make us smaller, quieter, more doubtful of ourselves?

Because reduction feels easier to explain.
Elevation requires responsibility.

Victimhood offers a script that says, “This happened to me, therefore I am limited.”
Growth asks something else entirely: “This happened—now I must feel it, integrate it, and move.”

And feeling is the part we try to avoid.

But life isn’t a verdict.
It’s a continuum of sensation.

Pain isn’t proof of inadequacy.
Joy isn’t permission.
Neither is permanent.

Feeling is not the enemy—it’s the engine.

When we refuse to feel fully, we outsource meaning. We look outward for confirmation of who we are and what we’re worth. Comparison creeps in. Jealousy. Control. Hierarchy. Even dictatorship—sometimes external, often internal.

That’s one end of the spectrum.

On the other end is something quieter but far more powerful:
Peace.
Clarity.
The knowing of who you are without needing to announce it.
Movement that doesn’t require justification.

Both ends are human.
Only one is free.

No one else gets to determine your worth. Not a system. Not a leader. Not history. Not another person’s gaze. Worth is not granted—it’s remembered.

The moment someone else’s opinion becomes the measure of your value, you’ve stepped into their branch, not yours.

And here’s the truth I’ve landed in:

No one can stop a person who has stopped asking permission to exist as themselves.

Once that knowing settles into your body—not just your mind—the noise fades. People will talk. Systems will shift. Old patterns will try to repeat themselves.

You keep moving.

Not away.
Not in defiance.

Forward—because that’s what growth does.

Happy New Year.
Not as a date on a calendar,
but as a declaration.