I Had to Burn Everything to the Ground to Rebuild Myself

The first time I saw my own reflection and didn’t recognize the person staring back, I knew something had changed. Not in a small way—not in the way a new haircut or a different city does. No, this was deeper. Like watching a house burn down and realizing you were the one who struck the match.

I was sixteen when my world collapsed. When home became just another word, not a place. When love turned conditional, and I was told I didn’t belong. It’s a funny thing, really—how people decide which versions of you they can accept, as if love is a puzzle and you’re the piece that doesn’t fit. There was no time to grieve. No time to sit in the ruins of what once was and wonder why. Survival doesn’t allow for that. Instead, you learn how to move forward without a map. You learn that fear is a luxury you can’t afford. And so, I did what I had to: I burned everything that no longer served me. The need for their approval. The idea that love must be earned. The hope that they’d change their minds. Gone.

But here’s the thing about fire—it clears the way for something new. I didn’t just survive. I created. I built a life from nothing but grit and an unrelenting refusal to disappear. I worked jobs I never thought I’d take. Slept in rooms that weren’t mine. Wrote applications by streetlight. Networked my way into rooms I had no business being in. I learned to carve out space where none was given. There were nights when the silence felt suffocating. When the weight of loneliness was unbearable. When I questioned if the fight was worth it. But every doubt, every tear, every moment of despair became fuel. I was not just running from the past—I was running toward something greater. Toward the person I was meant to become.

SlayHood wasn’t just an idea. It was a rebellion. A declaration that voices like mine—like ours—won’t be silenced. That identity isn’t something to be negotiated. That survival isn’t just about getting by—it’s about thriving. And so, I built it. I wrote. I spoke. I reached out and found others who carried their own fires, their own scars, their own stories. Together, we turned pain into power. SlayHood is more than a platform; it’s a movement. A space for those who have been silenced, ignored, or cast aside. We are reclaiming our narratives and amplifying voices that deserve to be heard. In February, we launch—not just as a website, but as a revolution. A place for storytelling, art, and unapologetic expression. If you have ever felt invisible, SlayHood is for you. If you have ever been told you are too much or not enough, SlayHood is for you. We are here, and we are just getting started.

But that’s not all. Luminatrix Fashion is coming, and it’s more than a brand—it’s a statement. Fashion has always been about expression, but we’re making it about power. About identity. About breaking the mold and reshaping the industry into something that truly represents us. Luminatrix isn’t just about clothing; it’s about confidence, about walking into a room and owning your existence. It’s about fashion that speaks, that challenges, that empowers. Get ready, because in 2024, we’re rewriting the rules.

Starting over wasn’t a choice—it was survival. But survival isn’t enough. We deserve more. We deserve a world where we don’t have to prove our worth just to exist. That’s what I’m building. That’s what we’re all building. This isn’t just about me. It’s about every single person who has ever been told they are too much or not enough. Who has stood at the edge of loss and wondered if they’d make it to the other side. If that’s you, hear me now:

“You will rise. You will build. You will thrive. Not because someone will come and save you. But because you are the fire. And fire doesn’t ask permission to burn.“