“It’s called selfless—remember the self in selfless.” — Tasha Keys

Attending the Becoming a Balanced Boss conference felt like a divine connection. The structure was intimate, allowing each speaker to lead small groups of attendees, creating a deeply personal environment. I found myself in a group led by Tasha Keys, a wellness advocate whose energy and message seemed tailor-made for me. I don’t believe in coincidences; God knew I needed her words at that exact moment.

From the moment we began, Tasha guided us into deep self-reflection, challenging us with questions that cut straight to the heart: How full is your cup? Who are you? How often are you intentionally taking care of yourself? Who takes care of you? How many people do you take care of?

Her questions resonated deeply as I considered my own journey and struggles. Tasha then opened up about her life, describing how the “pillars of her house weren’t right.” This immediately caught my attention because it mirrored the metaphor I use in the first chapter of my memoir, Im’Possible. In my book, I compare my upbringing to a house built on a shaky, disproportionate foundation. Hearing Tasha use similar imagery made me feel an instant connection. We were speaking the same language, rooted in shared experiences.

She didn’t stop there. Tasha brought her story to life with another metaphor, patting her pockets as she said, “I’m looking for my spare battery!” She explained how, when she’s depleted and running on fumes, she often searches for that extra push, that second wind to keep going. This image of looking for a spare battery hit home for me—how often do I, too, feel like I’m barely running on reserves, desperately searching for the energy to keep moving forward?

One of her most impactful statements was about how trauma shapes us: “Your trauma and childhood play into your love language, but once you empower yourself, you can shape your own love language the way you want.” This rang true in my bones. As a trauma specialist, I know firsthand that trauma often stunts us at the age when we first experience it. I was seven when my first traumatic experience occurred, and in many ways, that child still lives in me. It’s as if I’m a child playing the role of an adult. My inner child—my demon—fights with me day and night.

In this vulnerable moment, I shared with the group my belief that we often defend accusations we don’t fully understand. I’ve been called selfish many times, and until Tasha’s words, I always felt the need to fight back against that label. But her statement—“It’s called selfless, remember the self in selfless”—made me realize something about myself. Yes, I am selfish, but not in the way people think. My selfishness comes from my upbringing, from a mother who, perhaps unconsciously, taught me to put myself first. I didn’t realize it until this moment, but I adopted her mentality, thinking it was necessary for survival. As a petite woman, often seen as frail, I’ve always felt like a target. I clung to selfishness as a form of self-protection. I feared that if I wasn’t selfish, I’d be left behind, forgotten, just an afterthought.

Tasha’s words spoke to a deeper truth about my journey. She said, “I’m healing, but I’m not healed,” and it’s as if she gave voice to the battle I fight daily. I am on this journey of healing, but it’s anything but smooth. The road is rocky, winding, and steep. I’m baptized, I cling to God, and I know change has been activated in my life, but that doesn’t mean the pain is gone. I’m still working through it, still trying to overcome the wounds of my past.

This conference, this moment with Tasha, was exactly what I needed to hear. Too often, I feel as though my friends, family, and even strangers expect me to be fully healed already, as if I haven’t been dealing with trauma since I was seven years old. The most recent event in my life—one that nearly broke me—feels like a death. In many ways, I did die. And people don’t understand that. Lately, I’ve found myself telling people, “You don’t know me. And I don’t know you.” It’s true. Healing is personal, and no one else can set the timeline for my recovery.

Tasha’s reminder to be patient with ourselves was a balm for my soul. We often race against an invisible clock, trying to meet others’ expectations, when those same people are often standing still in their own lives. But I’ve learned to focus on what truly matters: my relationship with God and my journey to healing. People will always have opinions, but they don’t know my story, and they don’t know my pain. It’s okay to take your time. It’s okay to hold some of the pieces of your pain while you work through them. Healing isn’t linear, and it’s not a race.

I’m far from healed. But I’m healing, and that’s enough for today.