Last week, I made a decision that changed my life. A decision that had been sitting on my heart for a while, quietly growing louder every day until I finally stopped running from it.
I got baptized.
Even typing those words still feels emotional to me because I know this moment was bigger than a single Sunday or a single event. It was the result of years of questioning, grieving, healing, surviving, rebuilding, and trying to find my way back to myself and back to God.
It’s been seven days since my baptism, and I keep thinking about how different I feel internally. Not perfect. Not suddenly healed from every hard thing I’ve experienced. But lighter. More honest. More grounded. There’s a peace that comes from finally making a decision that aligns with your spirit instead of your fear. I think for a long time, fear was driving more of my life than I realized.
Before anybody says, “Teisha never used to talk about faith like this,” I want to acknowledge something important. Faith is deeply personal, and all of us come into conversations about God carrying different experiences, wounds, traditions, and memories.
My relationship with faith started in the Catholic Church. I grew up going to church every Sunday. I was an altar server. I understood ritual, structure, and service before I even understood myself. God was always present in my life, even during the seasons where I felt disconnected from Him.
But somewhere along the way, life became heavy. Depression became heavy. Existing became heavy.
There were moments during one of my depressive episodes where I truly felt disconnected from myself. Not just sad, but numb. I was functioning, showing up, smiling, getting things done, but internally I felt exhausted trying to carry everything alone.
When you’ve spent years being “the positive one,” people often don’t realize how tired you actually are. I don’t even think I realized it fully myself.
Coming out of that season changed me. Not because everything suddenly became easy, but because I started asking myself harder questions. Questions about purpose. About identity. About why I was constantly pouring into others while avoiding parts of myself that still needed care. Questions about what kind of life I actually wanted to live instead of the one I thought I was supposed to live.
Slowly , I found myself returning to God differently this time. Not through obligation. Not through performance. Not because I was trying to look spiritually polished. But because I genuinely needed peace. I needed grounding. I needed something deeper than survival mode.
One of the biggest things this journey has taught me is that directness is a form of love. I used to pray vaguely. I used to talk around what I really needed.
I would say things like, “God, help me,” but never fully sit down and admit what was actually hurting. I realized I was struggling to hear God clearly because I wasn’t even being fully honest with myself. The more direct I became in prayer, the more clarity I started to receive. Not always immediate answers, but clarity about who I was becoming and what needed to change.
Another thing I’ve realized is how much of my life I spent believing love was for other people. I carried this quiet belief that maybe I wasn’t meant to be a wife or a mother because of my past, because of adoption, because of the instability I experienced emotionally growing up.
I said those things so casually that I started treating them like facts. During this season, I realized those beliefs were rooted in fear, not truth. I started imagining a softer future for myself. One where love feels safe. One where family can look healthy. One where motherhood, partnership, and joy are still possible for me too.
I’ve learned I really enjoy being alone with myself now. That might sound small, but for me, it’s huge. There used to be so much noise in my head all the time. So much anxiety about what I should be doing next, where I should be, who I needed to become. But lately, I’ve been sitting in silence more. Going on walks. Drinking coffee slowly. Writing more. Letting myself breathe without feeling guilty for resting. My soul feels quieter now. Not empty—peaceful.
I also think baptism gave me permission to stop waiting until I feel “fully ready” to live my life. There’s this idea that we need certainty before we move, but lately I’ve been realizing that faith often requires movement before certainty arrives. So now I’m trying things. Posting the video. Writing the blog. Hosting the meetup. Speaking more openly. Creating more intentionally. Why not? Why spend another year shrinking myself because I’m afraid of being seen?
Last weekend, I had lunch with two amazing women, and one of them asked me something that stuck with me deeply. She said, “Why are you so comfortable staying in the same place?” And immediately I thought, I’m not. I’m really not. I don’t want to stay emotionally stuck anymore. I don’t want to stay spiritually disconnected anymore. I don’t want to keep delaying the life I know I’m capable of building. That conversation stayed with me because I realized how often we normalize stagnation simply because it feels familiar.
This year, my word has been implementation. Not just dreaming. Not just talking about purpose, but becoming disciplined enough to follow through on what I say I want for my life. And I think my baptism was part of that commitment. A commitment to obedience. A commitment to growth. A commitment to no longer getting in my own way.
I know my content will probably shift after this. Not dramatically, and not in a way that disconnects me from who I’ve always been, but there’s definitely more intention behind me now. More purpose. More honesty. I’ve spent so much time trying to survive that now I want to fully live. I want to create things that heal people.
I want to build community more intentionally. I want adopted Black girls who are navigating faith, navigating grief, rebuilding themselves after hard seasons to know they are not alone.
Maybe that’s why this baptism means so much to me. It wasn’t just about religion. It was about surrender. It was about finally saying, “I cannot carry this version of myself anymore.” It was about allowing myself to become new without shame for who I used to be.
So yes, I got baptized. And I’m excited about it.
If you’re in a season where you feel yourself changing too, I hope you trust it. Even if it’s uncomfortable. Even if people don’t understand it yet. Even if you’re still figuring it out as you go.
Sometimes the most life-changing thing you can do is stop resisting your own transformation.
From my writing corner with love,
Teish
Adopted Black Girl 