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Ever find yourself on the verge of quitting right when you're about to breakthrough? That's exactly where I found myself recently, walking through rain—both literally and figuratively—while wrestling with personal struggles and professional milestones simultaneously.

The hardest truth I've learned is that resistance isn't telling us to stop—it's actually our compass pointing toward growth. When my world felt like it was falling apart while reaching a business milestone I'd worked toward for years, I had to make a choice: let circumstances break me or let them transform me. On that rain-soaked walk, nothing around me changed, but everything within me shifted.

Through this experience, I've discovered three powerful strategies for pushing through resistance that I'm sharing with you today. First, reframe resistance as a sign you're on the right track rather than a signal to retreat. Second, commit to doing the small, hard things anyway—those uncomfortable actions build your capacity rep by rep. Finally, anchor yourself in faith and vision, remembering that even messy steps count toward your growth. The only people who don't reach their breakthrough are those who quit in the middle, letting their ego convince them that avoiding disappointment is safer than embracing discomfort.

What resistance are you facing right now? What breakthrough are you chasing? Take a screenshot of this episode, tag me, and let me know—because naming it is the first step to moving through it. Your comfort zone will lie to you, but the life you want is waiting on the other side of resistance. Stop quitting on yourself before it gets good.

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The moment I opened my mother's handwritten prison journal from 1993, I knew this wasn't just about uncovering her story – it was about breaking generational chains of shame that keep us all silent.

Reading her perfect cursive now as a 43-year-old mother myself feels wildly different than anything my 11-year-old self could have processed when it was happening in real time. Her words leap off the page like she's sitting across from me, coffee in hand, catching me up on everything I missed. What's uncanny is how the dates in her journal – June and July 1993 – align perfectly with our calendar today, 32 years later to the day.

Through her eyes, I'm witnessing not just her experience at Mariana Women's Federal Prison Camp, but the stories of forgotten women like Opal, a grandmother who received a 54-month sentence for a first-time offense while men sentenced before her for attempted murder got mere probation. My mother's descriptions capture both the dehumanizing aspects of incarceration and the beautiful ways women showed up for each other – sharing toiletries, finding humor in brown uniforms and orthopedic shoes, discovering discarded tennis shoes in trash cans, and building community when everything else was taken away.

This mini-series isn't about redemption stories with neat endings. It's about exposing what still needs change in our justice system, giving voice to the voiceless, and creating space for your story too. Because the question remains: who is hurting because you're hiding, and what secrets are keeping you sick? We don't heal in hiding around here. So whether you're carrying something that was never yours or a chapter you've been too scared to open, let this be your invitation to finally break free.

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What happens when you finally open the box you've been dragging for 19 years? That's exactly what I explore in this deeply personal episode as I reveal a family secret I've held close for decades—my mother's prison journal.

When I was just eleven years old, my world changed forever as my mother was sentenced to federal prison for embezzling money from a Birmingham coal company. That day in the courtroom remains crystal clear: the judge's bench, the discussion about shackling, the crushing weight of confusion and fear. Weekend drives to see her at Marianna Federal Prison. The smell of popcorn in the visiting room. The crocheted bears she mailed home. And beneath it all, the suffocating silence of shame I carried, terrified my private Christian school friends would discover my family's dark truth.

For nearly two decades since her passing, I've carried her prison writings from apartment to apartment, city to city—a manila folder filled with loose-leaf pages of her raw, honest reflections. Something recently shifted, compelling me to finally peel back these layers of generational trauma. I'm only three days into transcribing her words and already it's both wrecking and healing me simultaneously. Her humor, faith, and humanity shine through experiences ranging from cafeteria shoes pulled from trash cans to spiritual breakthroughs beside prison bunk beds.

This mini-series isn't about drama or backstory—it's about breaking cycles of silence and shame that perhaps you recognize in your own life. Maybe you're carrying your own version of boxed-up trauma, thinking if you just keep moving, you'll never have to open it. But those unopened chapters wait for us, and I'm discovering they don't always destroy us—sometimes they set us free. Join me page by page, truth by truth, as we explore how family secrets shape us and how confronting them might be our path to healing. If you're holding something heavy, perhaps this is your sign to open it too.