photo by Lara Herscovitch

Two and a half years ago, I wrote my first CLP blog post: “Becoming a Poet.” I remember where I was then – uncertain, raw, doubtful, scared, discouraged. Yet, tired of excuses, I chose to be obedient to the voice I heard within during COVID, while I was home, still, and quiet: You’re a poet. You have poems inside of you.

One of the first poets who truly moved me was Dr. Maya Angelou; her ability to speak with power, vulnerability, and authority reminded me that pain has a voice, and so does purpose. I also appreciate that poetry doesn’t always follow the rules. It follows the moment, it follows the healing. 

At first, I resisted the call to write. I didn’t believe I had anything to say. But when I finally surrendered, the words started to pour out.

Writing is about returning to my truth, my voice. Poetry is a conversation with my soul. It’s where I say the things I never had the space or courage to say out loud before. I don’t write it just to be heard, I write it to become. It’s where truth and creativity meet, where silence finds sound, brokenness becomes beauty. Where I testify and remember that God speaks through me, not just to me.

I’ve written and spoken words I never imagined would come through me. Words that healed me. Words that reminded me who I am. Words that reminded others of who they are, too. Today, I am still becoming a poet, and I am also living as one.

On Monday, October 21 of last year, I heard the words in my spirit:

Be proud of yourself, Maria.
 Say something kind to encourage yourself, Maria.

So I did. I whispered, “I am…” And that moment became a turning point.

Something in me began to shift. I was no longer just surviving… I was becoming. I made a concrete decision to declare life over myself every Monday morning. I began a video recording, starting with my “Happy Monday” song from the front seat of my vehicle — a sacred space that became my starting place, my studio, and my sanctuary.

I shared my first video with a few people, those closest to me, through text. Every week, I texted my Happy Monday song and a new “I am” affirmation.

At first, it felt safe, sacred. Then it felt necessary to share. Every “I am” I spoke reminded me of who I am becoming, which helped undo all the false labels. Every Monday it sets my week with the intention and purpose of becoming.

Our stories hold power; how I see myself affects how I think others see me – it’s the inner vision that matters most. The affirmations are a mirror. A weapon. A seed. A strategy. They help me uproot lies, confront doubt, and grow with intention. 

I offered them to be a role model to my sons about overcoming. I spoke from the deep well of my faith, my growth, and my commitment to rising, even when the storm is still swirling around me.

The more I shared, the more I realized how much others needed what I was speaking, not just for me, but for themselves too. God kept nudging me: “Take it up a level. Your voice matters beyond this circle.” I couldn’t ignore it anymore, so I moved from texting to a public podcast. 

It was a leap of obedience and boldness. I didn’t start with a full plan. I started with a yes. I didn’t spend weeks researching platforms; I felt led to use Spotify because it was accessible, easy to share, and I knew people could listen without needing an app they didn’t already have. I wanted the experience to be intentional, not complicated.

On February 27, filled with excitement and holy fear… I uploaded an episode for the first time. The theme was “I am courageously READY” (and I know this is true even when I don’t feel like I am!). I paused and sat there in awe. It felt surreal. I had just opened a door I’d waited years to walk through. 

When the feedback started coming in, people saying “I needed this” or “I’m starting my week with this now,” I knew it wasn’t just about recording… It was about showing up. For me. For them. For someone who also needed to hear, “You are becoming, and you’re not alone.”

One of my favorites I shared was: “I am committed to showing up for myself with intention and effort. I may not have all the answers, but I have the ability, potential, and heart to show up, the strength to grow, and the faith to keep pursuing. And that is more than enough.”

Accepting the call of poetry has moved me deeper into my faith, identity, and healing. And owning my story means I can also offer it to others. I pray that my voice helps others feel seen, strengthened, uplifted, and reminded that their voice matters.  

I honor my spiritual leader and Pastor, Dr. Dharius Daniels — a leader who has equipped me to rise. Through his voice, teachings, and relentless faith, I’ve been waking up the version of me that once played small, the Maria who didn’t fully believe she had something valuable to say.

In a video titled “Cultivating Courage,” he asked a question that shook something in me: “What is one area where I need to take a courageous stand, even if it’s uncomfortable?” And the scripture verse he shared pointed the way: 

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened and dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go. -Joshua‬ ‭1‬:‭6‬‬ ‭(ESV)

It was a call to move forward with courage instead of comfort. I’ve learned to walk like a woman who knows she’s been assigned, not overlooked, challenged to grow, lead, and stand boldly in my purpose.‬‬

Pastor Dr. Alex Ellis, another of the incredible leaders at my church, met me at a pivotal moment in my journey, when I was standing between nervous obedience and bold surrender, hesitant to share my podcast on a second platform. I was battling fear. I didn’t want to obey the command God had placed on my heart. But Pastor Alex didn’t just pray for me, he prayed with me: “These platforms, these places, are the lampstands. And God needs your light to shine there.”

That moment wasn’t just comforting, it was confirmation. God was calling me to be seen, to rise and invite others to rise with me, even when it feels easier to stay dim. He reminded me that my light was never meant to be hidden, pointing me to:

A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine… -Matthew 5:14-16 (ESV)

That day, I stood on purpose.

This season feels different, not because I’m “there,” but because I know now that the process is the purpose. I’ve learned that effort is everything — even when the outcome isn’t instant, and the applause is silent. I’ve learned that even standing in a storm, I am still in a great place.

And my yes still matters. 

When I say yes to the calling now, it’s a softer yes–one that’s rooted, not rushed. It’s a yes to showing up. Yes, to becoming. Yes, to building a life where my poetry, presence, and purpose walk together.

Owning my identity as a poet means I have stopped rejecting my voice. I’m owning it, and I’m offering it, with faith and gratitude. I wanted to create a sacred space to speak truth out loud, boldly, and with love. It is more than words; it’s a declaration, a reminder that we can overcome obstacles, and how we speak to ourselves shapes how we show up.

This poem was written as a personal reminder that consistency and showing up matter, even when I don’t see immediate results. I needed to remember that trying is a form of faith, and effort means I still believe in the vision God gave me. It’s a love letter to myself and anyone who has ever felt unseen while doing the work.

Effort Is Everything

Effort is everything.
 Even when the outcome isn’t immediate.
 Even when no one claps.
 Even when doubt whispers that it’s not working.

Effort means I showed up.
 It means I believed in myself enough to try.
I’m not here to be perfect.

It means I honored the version of myself within the vision God exposed–
even when standing in it required more faith than comfort.

I’m here to be present.
 To give what I have.
 To grow from where I am now. 

To trust that my consistency is the fruit of my faith, evidence that I believe God is faithful to finish what He started in me.

Because every time I choose effort over excuses, I choose me.
 And that, right there, is everything. ?

This one came in a season when everything around me felt uncertain, but I knew I was still grounded in God’s peace. It’s about standing firm, even in chaos, and recognizing that storms don’t destroy me, they refine me. It’s a declaration of strength in the face of adversity.

Even When Standing in a Storm

The winds may rise, the skies may turn gray,
 But I stand firm and will not sway.
 Raindrops fall, cleansing and not drowning,
 Through every trial, I wear my crown.

Lightning flashes, and thunder roars,
 Yet peace resides within my core.
 The storm may shake, but it won’t break
 The faith-filled steps I choose to take.

Each drop that falls is a lesson learned,
 Each gust of wind is a page I turn.
 Even when standing in a storm so fierce,
 I hold my ground and persevere.

For even in the darkest night,
 I walk in grace and shine in light.
 I am anchored, strong, and free,
 The storm refines and strengthens me.

So no matter what I face,
 I am still in a great place.

This poem was written as a gentle reminder that growth is happening even when I don’t feel it. It’s about embracing the journey of becoming, even in quiet or unfamiliar seasons. It’s a call to remain open to purpose and beauty, even in the pause.

Don’t Forget to Bloom

Don’t forget to bloom and blossom.
 Your beauty within is full of confidence.
 You’re being introduced to a new chapter in your journey
 A chapter exposed to potential.

You are not behind. You are being prepared.
 Even in the pause, growth is happening.
 Your roots are stretching. Your petals are unfolding.

So bloom, even in unfamiliar soil.
 Bloom, even when it’s quiet.
 Because you are worthy of the sunlight
 And made to rise.

I am showing up. I got my high school diploma in 2017, I received my final pardon in late November last year (I shared the story earlier this month with the Independent). I’m working as a paraprofessional in the New Haven public schools and taking classes at Gateway, majoring in Human Services. Being a social worker is my dream job. 

I thank God for the storms that shaped me, the silence that grew me, and the effort that sustained me. Becoming is holy, and it is never too late to bloom. So, to anyone just beginning: speak it anyway. You never know who you’ll become when you do.

Connect with Maria on LinkedIn, listen to The Experience of I AM on Facebook or Spotify

To reach Maria directly: Myiamexperience@gmail.com

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