The Black Sheep’s Prayer

Being the black sheep isn’t just about being different—it’s about being targeted. It’s about being the one they blamed when things got hard, the one they compared when they wanted to feel better about themselves, the one they dismissed when they didn’t want to face the truth. It’s about being the child who was too loud, too emotional, too honest, too real. It’s about being punished for feeling deeply, for asking questions, for refusing to play along with dysfunction. It’s about being told you were the issue, when all you ever wanted was connection. And that kind of pain—it doesn’t just bruise. It buries. It buries your voice, your worth, your sense of belonging. You start to believe you’re the problem. You start to shrink. You start to silence yourself just to keep the peace that never included you.

And even now, no one really checks in. No one really asks how you’re doing. They’re just shocked the black sheep made it out. Shocked that the one they tried to break became the one who built. Shocked that the one they overlooked became the one who overcame. But I did. I made it. I’m seen now—seen by my fiancé, seen by my kids, seen by my college professors, seen by my peers. I created my own lane. I wrote my own word. I got approved for an independent study. I’m a business owner. I’m a student. I’m a creator. And best of all—I’m a child of Christ, our God, our Lord and Savior. I am seen by the One who never needed me to perform to be loved.

But I still pray things were different. I still wish I could share my fruits with the same people who tried to cut my roots. I love them so much. But it’s a love that needs distance. A love that forgives, but doesn’t forget. A love that protects me now. A love that doesn’t beg to be accepted anymore. Because I’ve accepted myself. And that’s enough.

The pain behind the black sheep is real. It’s not just rebellion—it’s rejection. It’s not just independence—it’s isolation. It’s not just strength—it’s survival. But here’s the truth they never saw coming: the black sheep is now the GOAT. The Greatest Of All Time. The one who rose. The one who healed. The one who built a life from broken pieces and made it beautiful. The one who didn’t just survive the storm—but became the stormbreaker. The one who didn’t just leave the table—but built her own.

So this is my prayer—for every black sheep who’s still in the fire, still in the silence, still in the ache. May you find peace. May you find purpose. May you find God. And may you never forget: you were never the problem. You were the prophecy.