Court Is Still in Session: He Ain’t Ask for My Help

He Ain’t Ask for My Help

I’m sitting here after one of the hardest years of my life thinking, Damn. I really didn’t think it could get much harder than what I had already survived.

Because if you know anything about the last eleven years of my life, you know.

The end of my twenties through the end of my thirties was filled with trauma, triggers, grief, advocacy, hospitals, emergencies, PTSD, loss, fighting, praying, surviving, rebuilding—and somehow finding enough strength to get up and do it all over again.

Then came 2026.

Whew.

2026 said, Oh, you thought you knew hard?

And somewhere in the middle of everything falling, shifting, dying, changing, being revealed and being removed, I was confronted with something I wasn’t prepared for:

Me.

Because I know how to fight for everybody else.

I fought for my children.

I fought for my grandmother.

I have walked into hospitals for people. Walked into homes. Answered phone calls. Read paperwork. Asked questions. Found resources. Made connections. Advocated. Prayed. Sat beside people in their darkest hours.

I have spent much of my life being the person who shows up and says:

Okay. What’s the problem? Let’s figure it out.

That’s who I have always been.

The fixer.

The advocate.

The problem solver.

The warrior.

The one who figures out how to make a way when there appears to be no damn way.

But baby…

Y’all folks done lost y’all damn minds in 2026.

😂

And yes, I said it.

Because some people mistook my lack of capacity for a lack of discernment.

Those are not the same thing.

Just because I didn’t address it doesn’t mean I didn’t see it.

Just because I didn’t confront you doesn’t mean I didn’t clock you.

Just because I allowed you proximity doesn’t mean I didn’t understand your posture.

Sometimes I simply did not have the capacity to deal with you.

I was grieving.

There is a difference.

And some people got entirely too comfortable because they met me during a season when survival required me to conserve my energy.

You thought quiet meant weak.

You thought grace meant gullible.

You thought Holy Ghost-filled meant I had forgotten how to check somebody.

Please.

Don't think because I'm filled with the Holy Ghost that I won't check your ass.

Both things can be true.

You may not have met the version of me that existed eleven years ago. Maybe you didn't know me before the assignment. Before motherhood. Before advocacy. Before grief introduced itself and then apparently decided it was moving into my damn house.

You may not know who I had to become to survive what I survived.

Hell, I didn't even know her yet.

I didn't know the assignment God was preparing me for.

I didn't know I would become somebody's mother.

I didn't know what motherhood would require from me.

I didn't know I would have to become a warrior for my babies.

And I damn sure didn't know I would one day have to learn how to keep living after two of them were gone.

Yet here I am.

Forty.

FOUR. ZERO.

A grown-ass woman.

Still somebody's child, though, because Regina will remind me QUICKLY.

😂

My mother has always been one of my biggest cheerleaders, but one thing about her?

She ain't just finna clap because I'm her child.

If I'm wrong, I'm going to hear about it.

Do I want to hear it?

Absolutely not.

Sometimes I'm like, Mama. Please. I'm forty.

And she is basically like, And?

Because real love doesn't require dishonesty.

However; she is WRONG sometimes too....BUT she won't talk about that....

That's something I've had to learn about relationships, too.

Everybody who claps for you doesn't love you.

Everybody who corrects you doesn't hate you.

Everybody close to you isn't for you.

And everybody God removes does not need to be replaced.

Some seats are supposed to stay empty.

That's where I am now.

God has been clearing people out left and right.

And for the first time, I'm not running behind everybody asking why.

I'm not begging anybody to understand me.

I'm not overexplaining my heart.

I'm not auditioning for love.

I'm not proving my loyalty.

I'm not presenting twelve exhibits, six witnesses and a PowerPoint presentation explaining why something hurt me.

Court may still be in session, but some cases have already been dismissed.

With prejudice.

Do not refile.

And please stop confusing access with entitlement.

You thought you were using me?

Okay.

You think you got something out of the deal?

Okay.

You think you won?

Baby, how do you steal something from somebody who gave it freely?

My generosity was never evidence of your intelligence.

It was evidence of my heart.

The blessing was mine to give.

The connection was mine to make.

The wisdom was mine to share.

The table was mine to extend.

And none of that diminished me.

Because God is my source.

I am a warrior woman.

Compassionate.

Grace-filled.

Beautiful.

Intelligent.

Strategic.

Spiritual.

Soft.

Strong.

And very capable of saying:

Enough.

Those things coexist.

I am not a pushover.

I am not stupid.

I am not crazy.

And I am not so kind that I have forgotten how to steward what God gave me.

That includes my gifts.

My resources.

My relationships.

My energy.

And access to me.

My mission is clearer now than it has ever been.

And if you insist on standing in the middle of something God has clearly told me to walk toward, please understand:

I am walking.

You might want to move.

Because this season isn't about convincing people to come with me.

It's about obedience.

And maybe that's why I'm finally getting to experience something I've needed for a long time:

People who just love me.

Not what I can do.

Not who I know.

Not what I can provide.

Not what door I can open.

Not what problem I can solve.

Not how much better their life becomes because I'm in it.

Just…

me.

People who love Shantrael when there is nothing on the table but Shantrael.

And I love them right back.

That village is sacred to me.

So no, I'm not abandoning people who have proven their love because somebody else is uncomfortable with my relationships.

Absolutely not.

You don't know me well enough if you think that.

I've stood too long on faith.

I've cried too many tears on faith.

I've buried too much on faith.

I've walked into too many rooms shaking and still stood on faith.

I've watched too many things die and somehow still believed God on faith.

So yes—

I'm going to faith this thing all the way out.

Because lately, God has been showing me something.

Something so beautiful that sometimes I'm almost scared to say it out loud.

Because disappointment will do that to you.

When you've heard not this time enough, you start protecting yourself from hope.

Don't get too excited.

Don't say it yet.

Don't believe it too much.

Don't celebrate until it's actually yours.

Because what if your number isn't called again?

What if everybody else's name gets called and yours doesn't?

What if the answer is not this time—again?

Maybe I'm not worthy yet.

Maybe I didn't do enough.

Maybe I wasn't good enough.

Maybe everybody else gets the thing except me.

But I understand something differently now.

Delay was never a statement about my worth.

Sometimes it simply wasn't time.

God said no.

Not this time.

Not this way.

Not yet.

And Lord knows that has felt like the story of my life.

My ticket number never getting called.

And when my name was called, sometimes it felt like it was for an assignment I never signed up for.

Shantrael?

Yes?

Come bury another dream.

Come fight another battle.

Come advocate again.

Come survive something else.

Come carry something you never asked to carry.

Come learn another lesson you didn't ask to learn.

And somehow—

I went.

I took the assignment.

I did the work.

I did it scared.

I did it angry.

I did it grieving.

Sometimes I did it pissed off at God.

Sometimes I did it questioning everything.

Sometimes I did it with tears running down my face.

But I did it.

And I did my best.

So maybe this next season isn't another assignment to survive.

Maybe I don't have to manufacture it.

Maybe I don't have to manipulate anything into happening.

Maybe I don't have to make the phone call.

Maybe I don't have to open the door.

Maybe I don't have to rescue the relationship.

Maybe I don't have to defend myself.

Maybe I don't have to convince anybody.

Maybe after all these years of sowing…

I get to reap.

Galatians 6:9 says:

"Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up."

At the proper time.

Not my time.

Not their time.

The proper time.

And maybe that's what God has been trying to teach the woman who has spent her entire life fixing everything:

Baby, sit down.

Because He doesn't need my strategy.

He doesn't need my connections.

He doesn't need my CPA brain.

He doesn't need my contingency plan.

He doesn't need me making three phone calls, sending four emails and creating a spreadsheet to help the miracle along.

😂

God is God.

And I am not.

So after everything I have survived, everything I have lost, everybody who has left, everybody He has removed, every door that closed, every not this time, every assignment I never volunteered for, every seed I planted while wondering whether I would ever live long enough to see the harvest…

I think I finally understand the assignment.

Sit down.

Rest.

Receive.

Watch.

Let God be God.

Because I've spent my whole life saying:

God, I got it.

And maybe He's finally saying:

No, Shantrael. I got it.

So I'm sitting back.

I'm protecting my village.

I'm stewarding my access.

I'm loving the people who love me.

I'm letting what's dead stay dead.

I'm letting what's leaving leave.

I'm allowing what God is sending to find me.

And I'm going to watch Him work.

Because the funniest part of all of this?

After all my fixing…

After all my strategizing…

After all my fighting…

After all my trying to help God bring me through what God already promised to bring me through…

I finally realized:

He don't need my help with nothing.

I ain't gotta help Him.

He ain't ask.

COURT ADJOURNED. ⚖️