There is an aspect of freedom no one talks about, and that is grief. The quiet ache that follows liberation. The grief is not only of what it might have cost you to get there, but the grief of who you had to become while surviving bondage. The grief of finally putting your arms down after carrying invisible battles for years. The grief of the emotional, mental, and spiritual armor you had to wear just to keep breathing. Sometimes, it even looks like survivor’s guilt, being free while your friends and family are still entangled in chains. I’m not just talking about abstract concepts, I’m talking about tangible, daily realities. Financial freedom. Relational freedom. Emotional, spiritual, and physical freedom. Because what good is my liberty if the people I love are still shackled? What good is a trip to Turks and Caicos if my loved one’s name is still buried on the Section 8 waitlist? What good is being unbound if my people are still tethered to a single state line, a broken system, or a bruising relationship? This is the grief I’m talking about, the ache of freedom when it’s not collective.

Being a liberator and a revolutionizer has always lived in my DNA. I’ve never been one to bow to systems, strongholds, or man-made cages. I’ve always bucked up against powers and principalities that tried to tame me. I refuse to allow anyone to control my mind, my spirit, or my body, and I refuse to watch the people I love live in bondage while I breathe freely. Maybe you can call it a Harriet Tubman complex, but for some of us, it is not enough to be free. We don’t stop running until the whole village gets through. Until the generation and generations to come are free. I will continue to fight in the Spirit for my friends and family to know real, lasting, embodied freedom. Even the ones I had to let go along the way. Even the ones who didn’t understand the fight. May we be free from division and discord. May we be free from competition and comparison. May we be free from the crabs-in-a-bucket mentality. Free from binding one another. Free from scarcity. Free from gatekeeping. Free from Uncle Tom complexes and the desire to appease systems that were never made for us. Free from turning a blind eye to injustice. May we be free indeed.

The Scripture tells us that faith without works is dead. And while we often personalize this verse to measure our own progress, the truth is, it was never just about us. In its original context, it’s a call to the community. If you have the power to help and you turn away, choosing silence or self-preservation instead, the Word is clear: your faith is dead. If you’ve been blessed with provision, financial, spiritual, emotional, or intellectual, and you hoard it while those around you suffer, your faith needs resuscitation. This isn’t about guilt. It’s about alignment. It’s about integrity. Faith requires movement. Faith is action. Faith shows up. So may our faith be awakened again. May we not rest until we are all free.

“My dear brothers and sisters, what good is it if someone claims to have faith but demonstrates no good works to prove it? How could this kind of faith save anyone? For example, if a brother or sister in the faith is poorly clothed and hungry and you leave them saying, ‘Good-bye. I hope you stay warm and have plenty to eat,’ but you don’t provide them with a coat or even a cup of soup, what good is your faith? So then faith that doesn’t involve action is phony.”
James 2:14–17 TPT