A Trophy And A Torch

I have spent years haunted by the fear that I would never be enough. That my words—these bones of who I am—would never be strong enough to hold the weight of the stories inside me. That my voice would remain buried beneath the doubt, the hesitation, the relentless whisper of "Who do you think you are?"

But I have burned that whisper to ash.

I am a writer. A damn good one. And I am a successful one. Not because someone handed me permission. Not because I was given an easy path or a golden opportunity. But because I built this with my own two hands, my own fire-forged soul. I have written my way through the darkness, through the doubt, through the days when it felt like I was screaming into the void. I have carried my words like a weapon, like a shield, like an offering to the person I used to be—the girl who was afraid, the girl who felt invisible, the girl who wondered if she would ever be enough.

That girl would cry if she could see me now.

Because I am here. And I am writing. And I am not afraid.

My success is not measured in fleeting moments of recognition or in arbitrary numbers on a screen. My success is measured in the way my hands move over the keys, the way my heart beats faster when a scene comes alive, the way my soul expands when I know—know—that I have written something that will stay, something that will echo long after I am gone. My success is in the people who have read my words and seen themselves, who have felt understood, who have whispered, "Me too." My success is in the relentless way I refuse to stop, in the fact that even on the days when the doubt creeps back in, I sit down and I write anyway.

But my success is in the numbers too.

I have fought for this. I have fought for myself.

I have walked through fire, through grief, through heartbreak, through the kind of pain that carves you into someone new. I have stood on the edge of giving up more times than I can count. And every single time, I have chosen to keep going. Because this is who I am. This is what I was made for. My words are not just ink on a page—they are the proof of my existence, the battle scars of a life that has tried to silence me and failed.

I am more than a writer. I am a force. My words are a storm. My stories are a legacy. My voice is a fire that will not go out.

And this? This is mine.

A trophy for every battle I have won. A torch for every story I have yet to tell.

I am Britt Wolfe. And I am unstoppable.