Writers 
MY ROOTS ARE DRINKING IN SECRET
Nobody sees it.
But my roots are drinking in secret.
While they clap for the flowers,
I’m underground.
Learning how to hold water.
Learning how to grow without an audience.
They think I’m stagnant.
Because I’m not posting.
Because I’m not announcing.
Because I’m not forcing blooms in dry season.
But what they don’t know
is that God is teaching me depth.
And depth takes time.
I used to rush.
Rush to prove.
Rush to be chosen.
Rush to be called “successful.”
Until I got tired of fake fruit.
Fruit that looked sweet
but had no taste.
Fruit that died the moment the camera turned off.
So I went quiet.
I went back to the soil.
To prayer.
To healing.
To the boring work of becoming.
Some days it’s lonely down here.
No likes. No validation.
Just me, my Bible, and a God
who whispers, “Keep going. I see you.”
And I do.
I keep showing up.
I keep healing.
I keep building when no one is watching.
Because I’m not growing for applause.
I’m growing for assignment.
I’m growing for the people who will need my shade later.
I’m growing for the version of me
that my 15-year-old self prayed for.
So let them talk.
Let them think nothing is happening.
My roots are drinking in secret.
And when I rise,
I won’t just bloom.
I’ll become a forest.
