I’m still standing, I’m still strong.
Peace Fam,
I took some time off last week after a life transition, but I’m back. Thank you to my beautiful wife, Tamisha, for stepping in and carrying forward this joy.
I name it joy because that is what I feel when writing these messages. They come from a space of real life and good intention. It’s me sharing my experiences and expressing the thoughts that are shaping who I’m still becoming.
Becoming is our theme of the month—a journey we’re inviting our entire community into. In last week’s newsletter, Tamisha described becoming as “the sacred process of unfolding into who we’re meant to be.”
In December 2002, the film Antwone Fisher was released. Directed by the great Denzel Washington and starring Derek Luke, it portrays a young Black man forced to confront his anger through mandatory counseling. His therapist, played by Washington, patiently guides him through the layers of trauma, abandonment, and pain that shaped his life. As Antwone begins to open up, the film reveals a powerful story of resilience, identity, and healing.
Toward the end of the film, Antwone is encouraged to confront what had haunted him his entire life. And when he finally stood face-to-face with the pain that had swallowed his voice for so long—he did not whisper.
He stood tall, shoulders square, chest open like someone reclaiming their time. His voice was steady but thunderous—not just heard, but felt. His posture said what his heart had always known: This did not destroy me. His eyes held the fire of a soul that had been cracked but not crushed. And in that moment, he said what so many of us know but don’t always name:
“I’m still standing. I’m still strong.”
A bold declaration that I often call on now. As someone who has experienced the realities of life—some good and some not so good—I know what it’s like to be in the thick of it, wishing there was a time machine to fast-forward to our healing. I know those moments where the best part of the day is when it’s over, and you can crawl into bed, protected by the covers draping your face from the pain of your reality.
And yet, even in that moment, there is life. There’s a sacredness in simply being—in breathing, in feeling, in existing. That moment, however heavy, is still part of your story. And your story matters. Not just the highlights or the healed parts, but the entire journey. You deserve to live. To feel. To be held by your own presence. Your life has value in every chapter—not just when things make sense, but even when they don’t.
Despite those harsh realities, I’ve learned that there’s beauty in the becoming. Not because the pain disappears, but because we discover strength we didn’t know we had. We learn to hold complexity. We learn to keep moving forward without rushing our healing. We begin to see ourselves more clearly—not as broken, but as whole, even in progress.
As Tamisha said last week, the greatest version of you isn’t hiding in the past or waiting in the future. It’s the one who is still here. The one who has endured, adjusted, kept going. The one who has chosen presence over perfection. The one who has felt joy again after sorrow, laughter after silence. The one who has made it through what once felt impossible.
The one who is still standing.
Still strong.
And most importantly—still becoming.
So wherever you are today—whether you're in a moment of clarity or caught in the middle of something heavy—I want to remind you: your becoming is not behind you or ahead of you. It’s happening right now. You are enough, right here. You are worthy, right now. Keep breathing. Keep walking. Keep becoming.
With Love.
~Marcus