February Spotlight

When Service Becomes Survival

In higher education, there is an unspoken rule: be a team player at all costs. For Antwann, that rule meant late nights, emotional labor, constant problem-solving, and the expectation to return the next day as if nothing had been depleted. During the pandemic, that pressure escalated. Work followed him home. Boundaries dissolved. Gratitude came in the form of a single “free day,” after a year of physical, emotional, and spiritual strain.

The cost was not abstract. It showed up as anxiety attacks. Missed days. A loss of confidence. A growing belief that showing up, any way possible, mattered more than being whole.

That season became a turning point.

The Collapse of the Facade

What ultimately surfaced was not just professional burnout, but unresolved personal trauma that were rooted in a childhood shaped by emotional and verbal abuse, alcoholism, and the relentless pressure to be “enough.” Perfectionism became a survival strategy. Excellence became armor. Failure felt catastrophic. Rest felt unsafe.

When the structure holding everything together finally cracked, it revealed what had been buried for years: grief, fear, and a nervous system trained to expect chaos even in moments of calm.

Therapy became a necessary act of courage. Faith became a place of re-learning rather than performance. And boundaries, once feared, became an act of obedience to health and truth.

Faith, Healing, and the Choice to Be Honest

Growing up in a home marked by emotional volatility, and the unpredictable rhythms of a father who loved loudly but wounded deeply, he learned early to survive by being perfect, quiet, and small.

Antwann, who was raised in the church, had always known of God. But it was through trauma, therapy, and unlearning harmful distortions that he came to truly know Him.

Healing required permission to name what was not okay. To let pain hurt. To stop gaslighting himself for the comfort of others. Therapy and faith were not in opposition; they became partners in restoration.

Through this process, he learned that anxiety was not weakness, but a physiological response to prolonged instability. That calm could feel threatening to a body trained for survival. And that faith was not proven by endurance alone, but by the willingness to heal.

In his own words

“God became my lived experience of resilience, a keeper through years that could have broken me, but did not.”

A Voice Emerging

Today, Antwann is learning to speak without shame about the story he once hid. He understands now that testimony is not performance; it is permission. Permission for others to recognize themselves, to name their own pain, and to believe that healing is possible without pretending nothing happened.

His hope is simple and weighty: that others move from merely knowing of God to truly knowing Him. That they find courage in shared truth. And that silence is broken not for attention, but for freedom.

Looking Forward

Antwann’s next chapter is still unfolding. Professionally, personally, and purposefully, Antwann is stepping into a life marked by boundaries, honesty, and a faith that no longer requires perfection to prove worth.

His story reminds us that courage today may look like rest. That faith may look like therapy. And that healing often begins when we stop performing strength and start telling the truth

Gratitude

Thank you, Antwann, for your willingness to tell the truth aloud. For choosing healing over hiding. For reminding us that resilience is not about enduring silently, but about allowing faith to restore what was broken.

We are honored to share your story as this month’s Spotlight at Heart & Soul Beware.

Every Life Has a Story. Every Heart Holds a Truth.