🏠 "This Is My House" — A Birthday Reflection at 46
"46 isn’t just a birthday—it’s a breakthrough.
I’m not reflecting on where I’ve been.
I’m standing in who I’ve become.
This is my house. I built it. I own it. And I rise like I belong here."
Read the full birthday reflection → [link in bio]
#WatchMeRise #ThisIsMyHouse #HealingIsTheGlowUp
By Deryl Richardson | #WatchMeRise
Another year.
Another month.
Another day.
But today? I turn 46.
And for the first time in a long time, I’m not just reflecting on where I’ve been — I’m fully standing in who I’ve become.
This birthday feels different. Not because of the number, but because of the man behind it. I’ve carried so many versions of myself through life. The boy who survived, who showed up for everyone else, who gave more than he received. He was strong. He was resilient. But he was never supposed to stay forever.
This year, I’m letting him rest.
I'm stepping into the man that God created me to be — whole, powerful, and unapologetically rooted in my purpose. No more shrinking. No more proving. No more permission slips.
I dressed up this year, not for attention, but to honor the glow-up I fought for. To remind myself that the healing is the celebration. That the breakthrough is the style. That rising is the reward.
I’ve learned that true growth requires release — of roles, expectations, and old love that can’t reach you anymore. And to those who still don’t know how to love themselves… I see you. But I won’t bend for you.
“I will always love you, but I’ll never expect you to love me when you don’t love yourself.” — Beyoncé, My House
That line sits deep in my spirit. Because I’ve tried to carry others while carrying my own pain. I’ve waited for understanding that never came. But not anymore.
This is my house. I built it. I own it. And I walk through it like I deserve to be here.
So today, I’m not just putting on a show —
I am the show.
I have always been the show.
I will always be the show.
Happy Birthday to me!
🕯️ Journal Prompt for You:
What parts of yourself are ready to rest… so that your next chapter can rise?
✨ Ready to rise with me?
If you felt this message — visit the Watch Me Rise Store to explore gear, journals, and affirmations that reflect your own journey.
Every product is designed to celebrate resilience, reinvention, and the bold choice to keep going.
#WatchMeRise
Silence Isn’t Stuck–It’s Sacred
For most of my life, I’ve lived in noise.
Busy schedules. Loud rooms. Nonstop movement.
People everywhere. Distractions everywhere.
But I realized, that noise was never peace—it was camouflage.
It kept me from hearing what my soul had been whispering all along. My dreams. My fears. My future.
Silence Isn’t Stuck—It’s Sacred
In a therapy session, I was asked a question that hit me harder than I expected:
"What are you afraid of?"
Without even thinking, I said, “Sometimes... I’m afraid of being alone.”
That silence? It can feel loud.
So loud that I can’t hear myself think.
So loud that I confuse it with being stuck.
But my therapist looked at me and gently said:
"Being alone—and the silence it creates—is an opportunity."
And just like that, everything shifted.
For most of my life, I’ve lived in noise.
Busy schedules. Loud rooms. Nonstop movement.
People everywhere. Distractions everywhere.
But I realized, that noise was never peace—it was camouflage.
It kept me from hearing what my soul had been whispering all along.
My dreams. My fears. My future.
When I had ACDF surgery, most people thought it was just a routine procedure. But it wasn’t small for me—it was everything.
Because I was forced to stop. To be still.
To sit face to face with the truth:
If I didn’t make a change, I was going to live with chronic pain, maybe even disability, for the rest of my life.
It wasn’t just physical.
It was emotional. Spiritual. Transformational.
I had to ask myself:
“What tools am I still using that once protected me—but now prevent me from healing?”
And the biggest one?
Being overly independent.
That armor I wore for years?
It didn’t serve me anymore.
I couldn’t do everything alone—not this time.
And that meant facing the question:
Who can I depend on?
The recovery revealed what I needed to know.
Some people disappeared—and that’s okay.
Some people showed up—fully, boldly, quietly—and that’s sacred.
The real ones didn’t ask for credit.
They just ran toward me when I couldn’t walk alone.
That kind of presence can’t be faked.
In March, I was invited by my young friend, David, to see Kylie Minogue perform in Montreal.
But it was her opener, Romy, who cracked my heart wide open.
She sang a song called “Strong” that I didn’t know I needed to hear.
Tears fell before I even realized they were coming.
"You've been strong for so long...
You've learned to carry this on your own.
Let me be someone
You can lean on...
I'm right here…You don’t have to be so strong"
That moment—just like this season—isn’t about being stuck.
It’s about finally hearing what the whispers have been saying.
💭 Journal Prompt:
Where in your life are you still carrying it all alone?
What whispers have you ignored because life got too loud?
And how can you start listening again?
This post pairs with the Healing Through Reinvention journal prompt:
"Learning to Let Go of Old Tools"—available now in the
👉🏾 Watch Me Rise Journal
When Friendship Fails the Test
Some friendships aren’t meant to last forever. Here’s what I learned when silence spoke louder than words. #WatchMeRise
By Deryl Richardson
There’s something I’ve learned during recovery that hits harder than the pain itself: what people say when you’re in crisis—and what they actually do—are rarely the same.
So many people say, “You’re in my thoughts and prayers,” and honestly, that’s good enough. It’s kind. It’s real. It’s human.
But what’s not okay is when people say more than they mean.
“Let me know what you need.”
“I got you.”
“You know I’m here.”
But when I did let them know… nothing. No follow-through. No check-ins. No help. Just excuses or worse–silence.That’s not kindness. That’s character exposure.
Distance should never be an excuse for absence.
If you claim someone as a friend, and they tell you they need support—even if they’re in a different city—you show up in whatever way you can. That’s what friendship is. You don’t add disclaimers like, “If you were in my city, I’d help.” No, you wouldn’t. If convenience is your condition, that’s not friendship. That’s performance.
The truth is, some people were never really friends to begin with. They were just familiar faces in familiar places. But healing exposes that. Silence exposes that. Recovery makes it impossible to pretend.
This season has revealed something powerful:
I used to think friendship was about proximity. But now I know—it’s about presence. And presence isn’t about being in the room. It’s about being in someone’s life when it matters most.
I’m not bitter. I’m better.
Better because I see clearly now.
Better because I finally stopped excusing people who didn’t show up.
Better because I know what real support feels like—and what it doesn’t.
This is part of the rise.
This is how I reclaim my peace.
Not with anger, but with clarity.
So to those who disappeared: I release you.
And to those who stayed: thank you.
This story is mine now.
And I’m telling it—out loud.
#WatchMeRise