There are some lessons that stay with you.
Not because they were loud.
Not because they were fancy.
But because they were true.
One of the lessons I keep thinking about is this:
Don’t forget the bridge that carried you across.
That means something to me.
It means do not forget the people who helped you when you could not help yourself.
Do not forget the people who prayed for you.
Do not forget the people who stayed when life got heavy.
Do not forget the people who loved you when you did not even know how to love yourself.
Do not forget the people who helped you make it from one side of pain to the other.
Because sometimes we survive things, and when we finally start standing, we can forget how much love carried us when our own legs were shaking.
I do not want to forget.
I do not want to become so focused on becoming Antoinette that I forget the people who helped me become.
Because I did not get here alone.
I had bridges.
I had people.
I had hands.
I had prayers.
I had love that stayed.
And some of that love is still here.
Some of it is in heaven.
But all of it helped carry me across.
Some People Are Bridges
Some people are not just people in your life.
Some people are bridges.
They help you get from survival to healing.
From fear to safety.
From shame to self-worth.
From being lost to slowly finding yourself again.
They may not always have perfect words.
They may not always know exactly what to do.
But they show up in ways that matter.
They help you breathe.
They remind you that it is not all on you.
They hold you when you feel like you are falling apart.
They love you through seasons where you do not even feel lovable.
And I think that kind of love is sacred.
Because when you have been hurt, rejected, or made to feel like you are too much, the people who stay become something deeper than just support.
They become proof that love can still be safe.
They become proof that not everybody leaves.
They become proof that you are not as alone as pain tried to convince you that you were.
That is why I believe we should not forget the bridge that carried us across.
My Mom Was a Bridge
My mom has been one of my bridges.
She has always been there.
Even when life was hard.
Even when things were heavy.
Even when she was scared too.
Even when she did not have all the answers.
She was still there.
And she still is.
That matters to me more than I can explain.
She has helped carry things that were heavy.
She has been there through sickness, fear, homelessness, pain, and moments I did not know how I was going to keep going.
She has loved me in ways that I know came from her heart.
And I know things have not always been easy.
We have had hard moments.
We have had moments where words hurt.
We have had moments where both of us were scared and overwhelmed.
But when I look at my life honestly, I know my mom has been one of the people who helped me survive.
She has been part of the reason I am still here.
She has been part of the reason I made it through things that could have broken me.
Sometimes I think about how much mothers carry.
Not just physically.
Emotionally.
Mentally.
Spiritually.
Sometimes mothers carry fear quietly.
Sometimes they carry guilt.
Sometimes they carry worry.
Sometimes they carry the weight of trying to protect their children while also trying to survive themselves.
And I do not want to forget that.
I want to give my mom her flowers while she is still here.
Because my mom’s love is part of why I am still becoming.
She is part of my bridge.
She is part of my story.
She is part of the love that stayed.
Aunt Rosie Has Carried More Than She Should Have
Aunt Rosie has been one of my bridges too.
But honestly, she has carried more than she should have.
Not just for me.
For the entire family.
She has been carrying people her whole life, and she has done it without complaining.
She has carried stress.
She has carried responsibility.
She has carried fear.
She has carried love.
She has carried things that were never light, and somehow she kept showing up anyway.
And I truly appreciate that more than I probably say out loud.
Sometimes people can be right beside you, helping you, loving you, holding everything together, and because they are always there, you forget to say thank you enough.
But I do see it.
I see the way Aunt Rosie has been there.
I see the way she has helped our family through hard seasons.
I see the way she has carried more than one person should have had to carry.
And I do not take that lightly.
When life got heavy and I felt like I was carrying too much, Aunt Rosie was there.
When I broke down and cried, she held me.
She did not shame me.
She did not make me feel disgusting.
She did not make me feel like I was too much.
She stayed.
And that matters to me.
Because when you have been taught to hide your tears, being held while you cry feels like something your body does not even know how to trust at first.
But safe people teach your body something different.
They show you that crying does not make love leave.
They show you that breaking down does not make you bad.
They show you that you can be messy and still be loved.
Aunt Rosie has been part of that lesson for me.
She has been part of the bridge.
She has been one of the bridges that helped carry us across.
Not because everything was perfect.
Not because life was easy.
But because she stayed.
She showed up.
She helped.
She loved.
And I want her to know that even when I do not say it enough, I truly appreciate her.
Grandma Rosie’s Love Still Carries Me
Grandma Rosie was one of my bridges too.
Even though she is not physically here anymore, her love still carries me.
Her wisdom still carries me.
Her faith still carries me.
Her softness still carries me.
She taught me lessons that I still think about.
Love will do something for you.
Do not hold your hand too tight, because nothing can come in.
If God blesses you, pass it on.
Do not throw stone for stone.
If someone is mean to you, still give them bread.
If you do something for someone, do not go around talking about it.
Give people their flowers while they are alive.
Do not forget the bridge that carried you across.
Keep the faith. Keep pushing.
Those are not just sayings to me.
Those are pieces of her.
Those are pieces of the bridge she left behind.
Grandma Rosie taught me that faith was not just about going to church, even though she went. She believed God was in your heart. She believed love had to show in how you treated people.
And that is something I carry with me.
Because her love did not die when her body left.
It became part of me.
It became part of how I understand love.
It became part of the woman I am becoming.
And when I think about not forgetting the bridge that carried me across, I think about her.
Because Grandma Rosie’s love was one of the bridges that helped me believe I mattered.
Safe People Help You Cross
Not every bridge is family.
Sometimes the bridge is a safe person who shows up at the right time.
Sometimes it is a therapist.
Sometimes it is a friend.
Sometimes it is someone who says the words you needed when you were about to fall apart.
Sometimes it is someone who does not touch the wound, but helps you breathe through it.
Sometimes it is someone who says, “It is not all on you.”
Sometimes it is someone who says, “You are safe.”
Sometimes it is someone who does not run when you cry.
Safe people are bridges too.
They help you cross from old fear into new safety.
They help you see that your body’s reactions make sense.
They help you understand that you are not broken.
They help you believe that maybe love does not always have to hurt.
And I think that matters.
Because healing is not just something we do alone.
Yes, we have to do our own work.
Yes, we have to choose ourselves.
Yes, we have to learn, grow, and become.
But sometimes God sends people who help us cross.
People who help us make it through the part we could not get through by ourselves.
And when we finally make it to the other side, we should not forget them.
I Did Not Survive Alone
I think sometimes people want to tell survival stories like they did it all by themselves.
And I understand that.
Because there is strength in saying, “I made it.”
There is power in knowing you kept going when life tried to crush you.
But I also think there is humility in saying:
I did not survive alone.
I had help.
I had love.
I had people who stayed.
I had people who prayed.
I had people who held me.
I had people who saw me when I could not see myself.
I had people who carried parts of me until I could carry them again.
That does not take away from my strength.
It tells the truth about my survival.
Because being strong does not mean nobody helped you.
Being strong does not mean you never needed anyone.
Being strong does not mean you crossed every hard place alone.
Sometimes strength is being honest enough to say, “I needed help, and someone helped me.”
Sometimes strength is remembering the bridge.
Becoming Does Not Mean Forgetting
Becoming Antoinette is about healing.
It is about self-worth.
It is about losing weight, but also gaining myself.
It is about learning to stop disappearing.
It is about learning to cry without hating myself.
It is about learning safe love.
It is about becoming the woman I was always meant to be.
But becoming does not mean forgetting.
It does not mean forgetting my mom.
It does not mean forgetting Aunt Rosie.
It does not mean forgetting Grandma Rosie.
It does not mean forgetting the people who helped me breathe when I felt like I could not.
It does not mean forgetting the hands that held me.
It does not mean forgetting the prayers that covered me.
It does not mean forgetting the people who loved me before I knew how to fully love myself.
Becoming does not mean leaving the bridge behind like it never mattered.
It means honoring it.
It means looking back and saying:
“You helped me get here.”
And that is important to me.
Because I do not want to become a person who only remembers pain.
I want to remember love too.
Give People Their Flowers While They Are Alive
One thing Grandma Rosie taught me is to give people their flowers while they are alive.
Do not wait until someone is gone to say what they meant to you.
Do not wait until the funeral to speak love over them.
Do not wait until they cannot hear you anymore to say, “Thank you. I love you. You mattered to me.”
Love people while they are here.
Tell them they matter.
Show up for them.
Appreciate them.
Give them kindness while they can still feel it.
That lesson means a lot to me because I know what grief feels like.
I know what it feels like to wish someone could hear you one more time.
I know what it feels like to want to say more.
So now I want to do better.
I want to give people their flowers while they can still smell them.
I want to tell my mom she matters.
I want to tell Aunt Rosie she matters.
I want to honor Grandma Rosie by loving people better while they are still here.
Because one day, all we will have are memories.
And I want mine to say that I loved people out loud.
Don’t Use the Bridge and Then Act Like It Was Nothing
This is important too.
Do not use the bridge and then act like it was nothing.
Do not let people help you survive and then pretend they did not matter.
Do not let people pray for you, feed you, hold you, protect you, support you, and then erase them from the story.
That does not mean you owe people your whole life.
It does not mean you stay connected to unsafe people just because they did one good thing.
It does not mean you ignore harm.
But it does mean that when someone truly loved you, truly helped you, and truly carried you in a healthy way, you remember.
You honor it.
You do not take it lightly.
Because everybody does not stay.
Everybody does not love gently.
Everybody does not help from the heart.
So when someone does, that is sacred.
That is a bridge worth remembering.
Sometimes You Become the Bridge for Someone Else
I think one of the beautiful things about healing is that eventually, you may become a bridge for someone else.
Not because you are perfect.
Not because you have all the answers.
Not because you never struggle.
But because you know what it feels like to need someone.
You know what it feels like to be scared.
You know what it feels like to need a soft place to land.
And when God helps you cross something, maybe part of the blessing is helping someone else cross too.
That does not mean carrying everyone until you collapse.
That does not mean having no boundaries.
That does not mean saving people who do not want to be helped.
But it can mean sharing your story.
It can mean being kind.
It can mean listening.
It can mean helping quietly.
It can mean giving bread instead of stones.
It can mean passing on the love that carried you.
And maybe that is part of what Becoming Antoinette is becoming for me.
A place where my story can become a bridge.
A place where what I survived can help someone else feel less alone.
A place where the love that carried me can keep moving.
What I Am Learning Now
I am learning that gratitude is part of healing.
Not fake gratitude.
Not pretending everything was okay.
Not ignoring pain.
Not saying hurt did not happen.
But real gratitude.
The kind that says:
“Yes, I was hurt. But I was also loved.”
“Yes, I suffered. But I was also carried.”
“Yes, I had people who failed me. But I also had people who stayed.”
“Yes, I am becoming myself. But I did not get here alone.”
That kind of gratitude feels honest to me.
Because my story has pain in it.
But it also has love.
It has survival.
It has women who stayed.
It has family who helped.
It has safe people who reminded me I could keep going.
And I want to remember all of it.
Not just the wounds.
The bridges too.
A Message for You
If you had someone help you survive, do not forget them.
If someone loved you when you were broken, remember them.
If someone prayed for you, remember them.
If someone fed you, held you, helped you, protected you, or spoke life into you, remember them.
Give them their flowers while they are alive.
Tell them they mattered.
Tell them their love helped you.
Tell them they were part of your bridge.
And if the person who helped carry you is no longer here, honor them by how you live.
Pass the blessing on.
Keep the faith.
Keep pushing.
Give bread, not stones.
Help from the heart.
Stay soft without letting people destroy you.
And do not forget this:
You may be strong.
You may be healing.
You may be becoming.
But there is nothing weak about remembering the bridge that carried you across.
Don’t forget the bridge that carried you across.
Give people their flowers while they are alive.
Keep the faith. Keep pushing.
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