Back to My Roots

People often ask me how I turned out the way I did after the childhood I had.

They're usually asking because they've heard pieces of the story.

The abuse. The poverty. The hunger. The chaos. The things a child should never have to carry. For years, I didn't know how to answer that question.

Now, I simply smile my PJ smile and say, "Because it's part of the reason I am who I am today."

Not because any of it was okay. Not because I would wish it on anyone.

But because somewhere along the way, I stopped seeing my past as something that happened to me and started seeing it as something that prepared me.

A few years ago, I was hiking on a trail, miles away from what any reasonable person would call a restroom. And I had to pee. Badly.

You know the kind where you start calculating distances and wondering why hiking sounded like such a good idea in the first place.

I finally gave up and ducked behind a massive boulder, hoping no one would appear around the bend at exactly the wrong moment.

And that's when I saw it. A tiny wildflower growing from a crack in the rock. I remember thinking,

How on earth does that happen?

No rich soil. No carefully tended garden. No perfect conditions. Just a crack in solid stone. Yet somehow, it bloomed. The older I get, the more I think about that flower.

Not because of the bloom. Because of the roots. People look at my life and see the bloom. They see the author. The speaker. The podcast host. The woman who lost 140 pounds. The woman who smiles and talks about resilience.

What they don't see are the roots.

They don't see the little girl growing up in the Piney Woods of East Texas. They don't see the years spent trying to earn love, prove worth, or become whatever version of myself I thought others wanted me to be.

They don't see the exhaustion. The therapy. The journals. The hard conversations. The tears. The prayers.

What they also don't see is how much work goes into a single sentence. For most of my life, I reacted first and thought later. If I felt hurt, I reacted. If I felt rejected, I reacted. If I felt afraid, I reacted. I didn't know there was another way.

Then therapy taught me something that did not come naturally to me.

Awareness.

I learned to pay attention to what I was about to say. What I was about to do. How I was about to react. Instead of immediately responding, I learned to stop.

Pause. And choose the next right thing.

These days, I think at least three times before I write or speak. Not because I don't know what I think. But because I've learned that every reaction becomes a choice once you're aware of it.

There are emails I've never sent. Text messages I've rewritten. Conversations I've replayed in my head. Moments when I wanted to defend myself. Explain myself. Prove my point.

And instead, I paused.

Not perfectly. Not every time. But more often than I used to. Later, when I found Jesus, another layer was added. Not just: What am I about to say?

But: Is this who God is calling me to be?

That question changed everything. Every story I write. Every conversation I have. Every message I share. There is usually a pause before it reaches you.

A moment where I decide who I really am. I think that's why roots mean so much to me now. Roots are invisible. No one celebrates them. No one takes pictures of them. People admire the flower. They rarely think about what it took to grow.

The Piney Woods still call me home.

My parents are buried there. My grandparents. Generations of family members whose stories became part of my story. Those woods hold some of my hardest memories.

But they also hold my roots. And I've finally learned that healing isn't about pretending those roots don't exist. It's about honoring them. Understanding them. Learning from them.

Because our past does not define us; It prepares us.

Sometimes people ask how I turned out the way I did after everything I've been through.

I still smile when they ask. I know the answer now. The person I am today wasn't built in the bloom.

She was built in the roots.

Author's Reflection

If you're in a season where growth feels slow, remember this:

Roots grow in places no one can see.

Long before the flower blooms, something important is happening beneath the surface.

Keep going.

Your past does not define you; It prepares you.

And if this story encouraged you, please share it with someone who may need the reminder that difficult soil does not prevent beautiful things from growing.

— PJ Hamilton