I think starting over is overrated.

That probably sounds weird, but hear me out. For someone like me, who’s addicted to starting over, it’s often just a cover for my perfectionism; the need to do everything perfectly on the first attempt.

Even in my walk with God, I’ve noticed this pattern. I can’t be the only one who’s given their life to Christ so many times that I can’t even remember the first moment I truly meant it or truly stuck to it.

After I fall it’s usually so hard to get up and continue. I’d spend long stretches of time before repenting because I thought I needed to be perfect.

But Scripture reminds us that:

“The righteous falls seven times and rises again and again and again.”

The righteous doesn’t wallow. They don’t sulk. They don’t go back to the starting line. They simply continue. They pick up from the middle and forge ahead.

You’ve probably heard this before: “Failure is the first step to mastery.”

Imagine if every time a baby fell while learning to walk, they gave up, waiting for the “perfect moment” to try again. None of us would be walking. Somehow, even as children, we knew the only way to get good at walking was to fall, get up, and keep going. Not restart, but just continue.

Think about it: if we keep starting over, would we ever make progress? Most times, starting over causes us to regress because we throw away all the progress we’ve made just to chase the illusion of perfection. Continuing is quieter and less dramatic. It doesn’t come with a dopamine rush.

And so the reason we lean toward starting over rather than simply continuing is because continuing exposes you. It reveals your inconsistencies, your humanity, your lack of discipline. It strips away the illusion that you’re about to “become better” and replaces it with reality.

Scripture doesn’t define righteousness as never falling. It defines it as rising again. Not restarting, but continuing. There’s no need to go back to the beginning, there’s just a simple rhythm: fall, rise, continue.

So, if you’re trying to break a habit, grow in a skill, or simply move forward in life; stop waiting for a perfect moment and stop starting over.

When you fail, don’t beat yourself up. Dust yourself off, take stock, and simply continue. When your dreams don’t work out the way you planned, take inventory, adjust, and forge ahead.

There’s no medal for getting it right the first time and even if there were, your only competition is yourself. Choose to keep going anyway.

So, let this be your reminder that growth isn’t found in fresh starts or new beginnings but a quiet decision to simply continue.

Let this be your new mantra every time you miss the mark; Fall. Rise. Continue…

Why does it take loss for us to become loud about love?

Decide to be the person who celebrates others while they can still hear you. Don’t wait for the applause to feel convenient. Don’t let pride, insecurity, jealousy, or fear stop you from speaking life into someone else’s journey.

I learned something early: the moments I feel the most jealous of someone’s accomplishments, or smallest beside their achievements, are the exact moments I choose to celebrate them the loudest. Because celebrating them doesn’t diminish me; it expands my heart.

If someone has the thing you’re longing for, celebrate them. See it as a sign that God is in your neighbourhood. What He has done for them may be meant to prepare your heart, stir up your faith, and remind you that your blessing is coming too.

So if you’re not married yet, rejoice loudly when someone you know gets married. If you’re waiting on a job, cheer for the friend who just resumed. If you’re praying for breakthrough, rejoice when others’ prayers are answered. Let their joy inspire, not discourage you.

Don’t let your waiting, your lack, or your comparison steal your capacity to honour others. Life is too short to leave love unsaid and flowers un-given.

Give people their flowers while they’re still here to smell them. While they can feel it, while they can carry it in their hearts. Because in the end, love spoken in time is the greatest gift of all.

With love,

Praise Fennom💐

It’s about 23 hours to my 23rd birthday and honestly it feels strangely quiet, like I seem to have lost the anxiety or that excessive excitement about getting older.

I mean don’t get me wrong, I am excited for this milestone. I made it to the age I daydreamed about when I was a teenager; an age that once seemed so far away.

The best way I can explain how I feel is “peace”, with a looming feeling of dissatisfaction with my current state. Not just financially (even though that’s a part of it), but more so in my character and general disposition towards life and what I deem as important.

Many happenings around me recently have led me to think about “death” more often than I’d like to, but I also recognise that it is not entirely bad.

Even the Bible talks about how:

Maybe because “death” has a way of keeping us sober and conscious of what truly matters in life.

I’m intentional about stewarding this awareness of how short life is with sobriety, and not allowing fear to take over.

I’m grateful for how far God has kept and brought me. He has been the only constant variable in the inconsistencies within and around me. He has remained faithful in every season; from the moment I was born to where I am now.

Unlike my past birthdays, often filled with a desire to surpass myself from the previous years, I feel a sense of thoughtfulness and a desire to remain conscious.

Hence why I am taking a break off my personal page, to build outside the need to be constantly validated by the applause of people, even on a day simply meant to celebrate the fact that God counted me worthy to be born and alive in Him.

Constant celebrations and enjoyment have a way of intoxicating us with the idea that life goes on forever and ever—it does not.

And so I cherish the fact that I’ve been given the gift of this awareness from God.

This new year, I want to live very differently. I don’t want to steward what He has placed in my hands poorly.

I want to be intentional.

No longer hyper-fixating on what I don’t have or daydreaming about some future where I have it all and everything is perfect.

This year, I want my measure of success to be defined by three things:

i. My relationship with God “loving Him”

ii. My relationship with my family and the people He has placed in my life “loving my neighbour”

iii. Stewarding all He’s given me with gratitude and a sense of responsibility

From this point on, I want to live slowly, quietly, and with intentionality; with zero competition or need to be seen constantly.

I want to make God proud with how I live, with Him as the only audience that matters.

I want to love like Him, be a servant like He was, and prioritise what He deems as important.

I want to live like Jesus did; loving, honouring, and being an extension of the Father’s love even if the world never knows me.

And for the first time, that feels like enough..

For weeks, I showed up before God with faith in my hands; praying, fasting, joining midnight prayers, holding on to every word of prophecy and every verse about healing and restoration. I truly believed that God would come through the way I imagined. I even started drafting my testimony in advance, convinced it was only a matter of time.

But in the middle of all that praying, I remember the Holy Spirit whispering softly to me: “Whatever the outcome, let your response be thanksgiving.”

I didn’t pay much attention to it then. I thought it was just one of those passing thoughts. But now, looking back, I see what He was doing; gently preparing my heart for an answer I didn’t want or expect.

When the outcome wasn’t what I prayed for, the silence was deafening. I felt shame and almost immediately, the enemy started his whispers: “If God didn’t answer this one, what makes you think He’ll answer the next?”“Maybe your faith wasn’t strong enough.”“Maybe you didn’t do enough.”

But here’s what the Lord has been teaching me: His goodness is not measured by whether or not my prayers are answered the way I want.

Even when my prayers don’t get answered, Even when I don’t understand, Even when the story doesn’t go the way I hoped. He is still good.

Sometimes, God’s goodness isn’t a conviction built on experiences but a firm decision that says: “I judge You faithful even when I don’t understand”.

To judge God faithful means to pass a verdict not based on what I see or feel, but on what His Word says. So when His Word says He is more than able, then He is; even when my circumstances try to convince me otherwise.

Because faith isn’t about seeing proof; it’s about choosing to believe that God is who He says He is, even when things don’t make sense.

I used to think my faith would grow when my prayers were answered, that an answered prayer would become my proof of God’s power. But in this, He was teaching me that real faith isn’t built on outcomes, it’s built on surrender and trust.

I thought the miracle of healing would be my “Paul moment,” like when he said in 2 Timothy 1:12, “I am convinced that He is able.”

But God was showing me that being convinced doesn’t always come from getting what you prayed for. Sometimes, it’s in the waiting, in the confusion, in the ache that refuses to let go ; that’s where faith becomes real.

And you see, grief, waiting, and disappointment; they have a way of revealing what you truly believe about God.

I realized how often I tried to stay composed, how I didn’t want God to see me broken. Even when I got the news, I couldn’t bring myself to cry before the Lord. I felt ashamed of my grief, of the doubt that tried to creep into my mind. But He wasn’t afraid of my brokenness. He was working through it.

Then He opened my eyes to see things clearly: all those times I prayed for stronger faith, what I really meant was: “Lord, if You do this, then I’ll believe You more.”

But that’s not faith. That’s bargaining.

Faith, by definition, is “the evidence of things not seen.” If I can only believe when I see, then it isn’t faith. True faith holds on to God when nothing looks like it, when the outcome hurts, when the silence stretches.

So now, I’m learning to live out what Hebrews 10:38 says “The just shall live by faith.” Faith that clings to God when I don’t understand. Faith that still calls Him good when life doesn’t feel that way. Faith that chooses trust over certainty.

Pastor Dolapo Lawal once said something that stuck with me: “When we begin to approach and pray to God as Father, we should be prepared to receive not always what we ask, but what is best for us.”

And now, I see it. God always answers, not always how I ask, but how He knows is best. Because even when things didn’t go the way I prayed, my faith didn’t collapse. It deepened. The very thing that was supposed to destroy my faith became the soil where it grew roots.

So here’s my verdict: God is good. Not because life always feels good, but because He always gives what is best.

Hey, My fellow Becomings,

Thank you for reading this to the very end, I hope it spoke to your heart as much as this experience has to mine. If there’s one thing this season has taught me, it’s this: Faith doesn’t always change the situation, but it always changes me. And boy am I different! And maybe that’s the real miracle; that in the not-knowing, I’m still becoming someone who trusts God.

With love, Fennom

I went online pretty early today and kept seeing a lot of videos around the rapture, the coming of the Lord, and so on. I immediately felt some sort of heaviness wash over me. I was filled with fear and then sadness, thinking about all the things I thought I’d miss out on: marriage, motherhood, wealth, and so on.

But then, while talking to God, I realized that this shouldn’t be a normal response for a child of God hearing about the coming of their Lord. I realized I even avoid sermons surrounding His coming, because in all truth, I didn’t want Him to. I immediately felt the need to repent — repent from desiring this world more than finally being with the Lord. I yearn for a time when my heart and soul will leap in anticipation, where though I have desires, none comes close to the desire of one day seeing my God in the skies. The truth is, whatever I never get to experience on this side of eternity will mean nothing compared to the dread of missing Him. Like the 10 virgins, may our lamps not lack oil.

Eternity is long! Longer than a thousand years! Longer than the lifespan of the oldest man. So why would I trade my eternity for the fleeting pleasures of this life? As believers, we’re well aware that life doesn’t end here — in fact, in many ways, this life doesn’t even scratch the surface of what is to come.

So I ask you: forsake the fleeting pleasures of this world, fix your eyes on the things above. Don’t get distracted! Don’t trade your forever for right now! Live as though your Lord will be here the next minute, because He might.

If you haven’t received Him into your heart, please do! If you have, drop the lukewarmness and follow Him

“Lord, My waist is too big. My hips are too wide. My skin isn’t smooth enough. My this. My that…”

I went on and on; “If only I looked better. If only I was smaller. If only I was different.”

It felt endless.

And then, in the middle of my rambling, I heard Him whisper so softly:

“My Prayer, How shallow do you have to make yourself to reduce your worth to what you see in the mirror?”

That stopped me.

So He went on;

“You are beautiful there’s no denying that. But you are more than this body. More than your reflection. More than your smile. More than your hips, your thighs, your skin. This body is just the house of who you really are.”

And I realized how right He was.

How foolish would I be to reduce the entirety of who I am to my appearance? My worth doesn’t come from my body. Not from whether I’m tall, short, small, wide, smooth, or flawless. The core of my worth has always been this:

“I was made by a perfect God.”

And so are you.

You are more than your body. More than the number on the scale, or the clothes you avoid because you don’t like how they fit. You are more than the selfies you delete because you hate how your face looks at certain angles.

You are more than the voice you sometimes think sounds too rough. More than the height you wish you could add or take away. More than the features you secretly wish were different. You are more than the quiet comparisons you make in your head when you walk into a room and immediately feel smaller, or when you scroll through your feed and think, “Why can’t I look like that?”

You are more than every insecurity that tries to convince you otherwise.

Because your worth has never been about your body. It has never been skin-deep. It has always been rooted in something greater in the unshakable truth that you were created intentionally, beautifully, and by a perfect God.

So take this as your reminder:

You don’t have to shrink yourself into beauty standards.

You don’t have to measure yourself by mirrors or angles or numbers. Your worth runs deeper. You are more than a body.

But God interrupted me. Through Pastor Dolapo Lawal’s sermon:

He made it clear that my refusal to move on from my mistakes wasn’t humility at all, it was pride. By constantly holding onto guilt, I was essentially saying, “Your blood isn’t enough to cover me.”

It wasn’t inconsistency that was my real struggle. It was that I couldn’t handle being imperfect, missing steps, leaving things unfinished, falling short of my own standards. And when I looked closely, I realized that what I was really chasing wasn’t Jesus at the center, but my own pride. Yes pride.

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Lately, God has been speaking to me about what it looks like to have a “performative relationship” with Him. Even when I knew He wasn’t condemning me, I would condemn myself. I’d replay my failures again and again, convincing myself I was disappointing Him. Instead of running back to His forgiveness, I’d sit in condemnation. Because somehow, it felt safer than grace.

Why? Because I couldn’t handle not deserving His love. Now you know why this seems to be a major theme in my entries . I always want to prove that God made a good choice in picking me; like an adopted child performing to convince their parents not to send them back to the orphanage.

I thought my awareness of my flaws was modest, even holy. But in truth, it was pride dressed up as humility.

So, here’s what I’m slowly learning in this season:

1. Falling off doesn’t mean failure. God isn’t asking me for a perfect retreat; He’s asking me to show up as I am. Even if it’s messy, interrupted, or short, His presence is enough.

2. Condemnation tells me to stay away because I’m unworthy. Conviction draws me close because I’m already covered. Every time I choose condemnation, I’m refusing grace.

3. Like a child trying to earn the right to stay in their new home, I was trying to prove I belonged with God. But adoption in Christ isn’t probation it’s permanent. He doesn’t regret choosing me.

4. God isn’t waiting for my perfect discipline, my perfect record, or my perfect prayers. He just wants my heart, even if it’s tired and incomplete. Sometimes the most powerful prayer is simply, “Lord, Help Me.”

I’m still processing this. It feels a bit fuzzy in my mind, but one thing is clear: God is calling me and maybe you too, to drop the act and let Him love us, flaws and all. Our relationship with Him isn’t an audition stage to earn approval, or a platform to prove ourselves worthy. It’s a home, where the Father tends to the orphan parts of our hearts. And until we realize and understand this, our walk with Him seem alot like striving.

I realize now that my heart is still broken in ways I don’t fully understand yet. But He’s patient. And I don’t need to be perfect to let Him heal me I just need to be His. To abide in Him and Him in me.

XoXo,

Fenn𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Flaws and All.

These days, I’ve struggled to appreciate myself. I’ve avoided thoughts like “you’re doing just fine” or “you’re a work in progress.” It has been hard for me to hold the tension between being imperfect and still being loved. In my head, when it comes to God being pleased with me, it’s usually an either/or situation.

But one thing God has so kindly been teaching me is:

“It is pride not to delight in the one I delight in.”

I don’t know but His words reminded me of a story in Isaiah 7 where God told King Ahaz, “Ask the Lord your God for a sign, whether in the deepest depths or in the highest heights.” But Ahaz refused, saying, “I will not ask; I will not put the Lord to the test.”

It sounded holy. It looked like humility. But it was really unbelief; a way of keeping God at a distance. Ahaz didn’t want to receive something he hadn’t earned or controlled.

And I realized I do the same thing when I resist His joy over me, it’s not humility, it’s pride in disguise. Deep down, I think I need to deserve it first.

As Humans we are wired like that. We like to feel we’ve earned good things before we receive them. It sounds noble at first, wanting to work before you earn; but it’s really just pride wearing humility’s clothes. Pride says, I don’t want to owe anything. Grace says, You could never pay Me back anyway, so just receive it.

I don’t even know to what end I’m writing this. Maybe just to remind myself and you that we will never deserve the love and kindness of God. A lot of times, we try to merit or measure up so we feel like God is getting what He paid for. But grace was never a transaction. It’s a gift.

So here I am, learning to stand still in the place of His delight not because I’ve earned it, but because to reject it would be pride, and to receive it, is worship.

What started this whole post was me wanting to share a picture of mine but immediately began to spiral with thoughts of “you don’t deserve to appreciate yourself.” I began to feel like I was being vain, like enjoying that moment was somehow dishonest. But maybe delighting in the one He delights in is not vanity at all. Maybe it’s obedience.

XoXo,

Praise Fennom,

The one He Delights in…

It’s been a while… but more on that later.

I want to do something a little different here for a while…

I’ll be sharing some of the entries I wrote between 2021 and now, things I’ve written in the past but never shared here.

Just bringing a few old words into this new space And maybe, if it feels right, I’ll add a few thoughts from present-day Fennom too.

Your Partner in Becoming,

Praise Fennom𝜗𝜚˚⋆

I’ve always felt… too big for God, not in the sense of pride, but in the sense of being too much.

Too much physically.

Too much emotionally.

Too much mentally.

It felt like I was caught in a contradiction— never enough, yet always too much. I carried this weight into my relationships, shrinking myself down to be lovable. And somehow, without realizing it, I carried that same weight into my relationship with God.

Deep down, I believed I was too much for Him, my sins too bad my emotions too unstable, my mind too messy, too filthy. Even though I called Him Father, I often felt like a stranger in His presence. Like a child, peering through the window of a home she wasn’t sure she belonged to.

Then one day, in the middle of all these thoughts,

I asked the Holy Spirit a question: “How does the Father see me?”

And in one gentle breath, He answered— “You are God’s beloved child. His little girl. His princess.”

I was stunned.

Little? I had never been called little before. I had always felt too big, like I took up too much space. Princess? That didn’t fit either. I had never thought of myself as someone delicate, someone fragile enough to be handled with care. I had always considered myself too broken to be protected, too messy to be cherished. But in that moment, God was showing me something I had never seen before— I had an orphan heart.

I had spent my life calling Him Abba, but I wasn’t actually letting Him be my Father. Somewhere inside, I still believed I had to earn His love, that He tolerated me but didn’t delight in me, that I was in His house, but not really His child.

An orphan heart looks different for everyone.

Sometimes, it looks like striving— always working to prove yourself, to be worthy of love.

Sometimes, it looks like fear— the worry that if people saw the real you, they would walk away.

Sometimes, it looks like independence—

the refusal to ask for help because deep down, you don’t trust that someone will come through for you.

And sometimes, it looks like shame— the overwhelming belief that you are unwanted, unseen, unworthy.

For me, it was all of the above.

I wanted God’s love, but I struggled to rest in it, I wanted to be held, but I didn’t believe I was fragile enough to be handled gently. I wanted to be seen, but I was terrified of being exposed. But the Lord, in His mercy, was leading me back to the truth—I am not an orphan; I am a daughter, and the only cure to an orphan heart is to believe the love of the Father, not just to know it in your head, but to let it sink deep into your soul.

This is what He has been teaching me:

I don’t have to earn His love, I am loved because I am His. I am not a burden to God, my emotions don’t overwhelm Him, my struggles don’t tire Him, my sins don’t make Him regret choosing me. I am safe in His presence, I don’t have to shrink myself down. He delights in me as I am, not as I think I should be and I don’t have to fend for myself, He is my Father. My Provider. My Protector. My Ra’ah. I don’t have to figure everything out alone.

Healing from an orphan heart is a journey and I’m still walking it. But every day, the Lord is teaching me what it means to truly live as His daughter. To receive His love without suspicion. To trust His care without fear. To rest in His presence without striving. Maybe you, like me, have lived with an orphan heart for too long. Maybe you’ve struggled to believe that God truly delights in you. Maybe you’ve felt like too much or never enough.

But hear this—

You are not an orphan.

You are His beloved child.

You don’t have to fight for a place at the table—

you already belong.

You don’t have to beg for scraps of love—

His heart is already yours.

You don’t have to prove your worth—

He has already called you priceless.

So take a deep breath.

Let go of the fear.

Step into the arms of your Father.

You are safe here.

You are home.

My Fellow Becomings,

I just celebrated my birthday (yay!), and with it came something really special—my very first YouTube video! You know how I’ve always shared my heart with you through words? Well, this time, I got to speak them too.

This piece was meant to be here first, but God had other plans. If you’d love to not just read, but hear it the way it unfolded, you can watch the video here ( The Orphan Heart ).

Grateful to be on this journey with you. Always.

With love,

Praise Fennom

“Rhythm in slow living is the whisper of time unfolding,

a gentle sway between breath and being,

where each moment lingers, soft and full,

like waves kissing the shore in quiet surrender”

I used to be a productivity junkie—if I’m being honest, some parts of me still are. But lately, I’ve felt a deep exhaustion, one that isn’t just physical but settles into my soul. And in this weariness, God is teaching me something: the fast-paced life isn’t one to be desired. Life is a process, and whatever happens quickly fades just as fast. Perhaps this exhaustion is His invitation to step away from the weight of striving and into the rest He freely gives.

“Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).

True rest isn’t just about slowing down; it’s about surrender—letting go of control and learning to move in rhythm with Him.

Life with God is a sacred dance—swaying gently to the melody He composes. It’s a slow, intentional rhythm, rising in highs and falling in quiet lows, yet always grounded in an unhurried pace, where there’s no need to rush.

Often, we speak of time as believers with a sense of urgency, as if there’s never enough. But what if I told you that God isn’t in a hurry with you? His presence is often found in the slow moments, those spaces where we pause and allow Him to unfold His plans in His own timing. While there are kairos seasons—those appointed moments when we must act—God also moves patiently, factoring in all our mistakes, missteps, and disobedience when He wrote our story. Remember Psalm 139:16?

Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth; all the stages of my life were spread out before you, The days of my life all prepared before I’d even lived one day.”

I think one of the hardest things for us to accept is that we can never do anything to make God give up on us. Deep down, we long to deserve His forgiveness, love, mercy, and presence—as if our worthiness could be earned. But God doesn’t meet us in our striving; He reveals Himself in the slow, steady rhythm of His time. Not in our rush, but in the moments where we surrender to His perfect pace, learning that His love was never about our effort—it has always been His gift.

So often, we find ourselves chasing success, recognition, and a future we’ve carefully crafted in our minds—one where we’re speaking to thousands, standing among kings and queens, influential and admired. And while these desires aren’t inherently wrong (even Paul acknowledged the desire to teach, James 3:1), the danger lies in what holds our hearts. Because of our humanity, even the purest desires can become idols. If God is not at the center, no matter how noble the pursuit, it will ultimately pull us away from Him rather than draw us closer.

I’m learning that if God isn’t at the center of my desires, those desires will ultimately lead me farther from Him. Here’s what I’m saying: you cannot desire your dreams or your “purpose” more than you desire Him. He is your purpose, He is your passion, He is meant to be everything.

As Paul said, “I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord” (Philippians 3:8),

We must come to the realization that nothing compares to the intimacy of knowing God. As Psalm 16:5 says, “The Lord is the portion of my inheritance and my cup; You support my lot.” He is our portion, our purpose, and the source of true fulfillment in every part of our lives.

Every single part.

If everything we do and desire isn’t an overflow of knowing His love and loving Him in return, then we’ve missed the point entirely.

Because at the end of the day, success will fade, recognition will pass, and even our grandest dreams will never be enough—but God will always be. And when He is our portion, our greatest treasure, we will find that we have lacked nothing all along.

“This is the life I want to live—a life unhurried, surrendered, and deeply rooted in the One who is my portion. Not just today, but every day. Because when I have Him, I have everything.

With love,

Praise Fennom

The Becoming Journal

Yet, just like the woman with the alabaster jar, I will still come forward.

It makes no sense that I am not only allowed to approach You, but that I should do so with boldness.

I’m realizing that one of the hardest parts of being saved—something I and so many believers struggle with—is truly accepting that there is no condemnation.

We know in our minds that Jesus took our sin, our shame, our punishment.

Yet our hearts still wrestle with the truth that we are actually free.

The weight of my past, the feeling of inadequacy, the deep awareness of my weakness—

It all makes me hesitate. Should I really be this bold?

But grace makes no sense.

It’s reckless love, undeserved kindness.

God doesn’t just allow me to come close—He wants me close.

He delights in me coming boldly, not because I have it all together, but because He already made the way.

Romans 8:1 still stands:

There is therefore now NO condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

Not less condemnation.

Not eventual freedom.

NO condemnation.

Right now.

Even in my weakness.

Even in my doubts.

Even when I don’t feel it.

And so, like the woman with the alabaster jar, I will bring everything—

My shame, my unworthiness, my love—

And pour it all out at His feet.

I resonate with her being there, because there are many moments I don’t feel worthy enough to lift my eyes and see His face.

But at His feet, I will be.

At His feet, I will weep.

At His feet, I will worship.

And instead of rejection, I will find love.

Instead of judgment, I will find rest.

And that is why I will still come forward.