“If I can survive everything that was meant to destroy me—so can you.”
The Beginning of a Fighter
I wasn’t supposed to make it.
My mom had endometriosis and underwent seven surgeries just to have me. I was born three months early at just 3 pounds, 4 ounces. A blood type incompatibility between us caused complications, and I was diagnosed with cerebral palsy. I came into this world already fighting. I also had a hole in my heart—but God closed it.
Doctors didn’t expect me to walk—let alone rise up and lead a ministry. But Spirit had other plans. I’ve had three surgeries in my life, and each time, I had to learn how to walk all over again. I didn’t take my first steps until after my first surgery at age 3.
I’ve been reclaiming my steps ever since—physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
Braced legs. Training wheels. And still, I soared.That Batman bike wasn’t just a ride—it was my rebellion against everything that tried to hold me back.
Even then, I was a fighter.I couldn’t ride like the other kids—but I kept trying.I had training wheels and leg braces, and I used to aim that Batman bike downhill just to feel like I was flying.Truth is, I hated those braces.They were heavy. They were loud. And they were a constant reminder that I was different.But that bike? That was mine.It gave me a sense of power when nothing else did.It wasn’t about keeping up. It was about not giving up.I didn’t know it then, but I was already rising.
Raised in Love and Chaos
I was raised by a mother I loved deeply. She battled addiction and mental illness, but she was also incredibly spiritual. She saw things other’s couldn’t. She talked to God in ways the world didn’t always understand—but I did. I carry her gifts.
I see angel numbers.
I feel Spirit in silence.
I just know when Spirit is speaking.
Even in her darkest moments, her spirit stayed tuned in.
Her life was complicated. Her love was real.
When she passed from an overdose, a part of me shattered. But another part awakened—the part that said: This pain will not define me.
Breaking Chains And Raising Light
Some stories don’t start clean. Mine started with chaos.
But I was sent to shift it all.
I carry my mama’s gifts.
I sense energy shifts.
When cats show up, I know I’m being guarded.
They’ve followed me through every storm, seeing what I couldn’t—and protecting what others didn’t even know was under attack.
I’m a generational curse breaker.
It didn’t start with me—but it ends with me.
I chose healing over hurting. I chose peace over pain.
Because of that, my kids will know a different legacy.
My mom didn’t die empty.
She passed me her fire.
And I’m using it to burn down every lie that said we were never enough
The Streets Raised Me, Too
I didn’t grow up feeling safe. My mom struggled with addiction, and I often had to fend for myself. But it was the hood figures that showed me love—not the ones in church pews or clean houses, but the ones who had survived hell and still had heart.
They didn’t pull me into gangs—they pulled me out of isolation. They protected me, taught me, and looked out when no one else did. Some were affiliated. But they still saw me.
Hood folks stepped in with grit, loyalty, and street wisdom. They didn’t judge my struggle—they understood it. And now I carry that same love in every prayer, every blessing, every time I say:
Still I rise—because I remember who lifted me when I had nothing.Even though I was born in white skin, I never fit in white spaces.
That’s just the truth. I was judged, misunderstood, and made to feel like I didn’t belong.
But in the hood, people saw me—really saw me.
They didn’t care about what I looked like. They cared about who I was.
That’s where I was protected. That’s where I was loved without conditions.
Two girls, one cat, and a whole lot of strength. Love was always there, even when life was heavy.
I did my best to protect her.Even when I could barely walk, I tried to be her safe place.We had a lot of animals growing up—but cats were always my favorite.Especially black cats. They understood me without words.They weren’t just pets—they were comfort, companionship, and quiet strength when the world was loud.
When God Showed Up
I’ve been in shelters.
I’ve cried on bathroom floors with babies in my arms.
I’ve hidden the truth with smiles and scripture.
But Spirit refused to let me stay in shame.
Healing found me. Love found me. And I rose.
My children are my greatest gift. Despite my past mistakes, we are still one strong, unbreakable family.
I was pregnant and homeless after a fire destroyed everything.
I lost my kids for 18 months because of that toxic relationship.
I slept behind dumpsters—pregnant and alone—until a quadriplegic man took me in. It was me, my unborn baby, and his cat.
Still—I rose.
With scars, but with wisdom.
With pain, but with purpose.
And a fire that says:
I will not be silent about what I survived.
From Violence to Victory
For 22 years, I lived in domestic violence.
Controlled. Silenced. Torn down behind closed doors.
People saw a strong woman—but they didn’t know I was fighting for my life from the inside out.
There were years when love came with bruises.
When the people who said they loved me also hurt me the most.
I stayed longer than I should have—thinking I could fix it, hoping it would get better.
But all it did was break pieces of me.
And I didn’t just carry my own trauma… I carried pain I passed down without meaning to.
But still—I rose.
With scars, yes. But also with wisdom.
With purpose.
And with a fire that says: I will not be silent about what I survived.
Because my story isn’t just about pain—
It’s about power.
It’s about turning violence into victory.
These are the ones I rise for.The ones I’m healing with, and healing for.
Hood and Holy
Everything I’ve been through shaped me, but it didn’t define me. This is who I am now:
That’s why I say I’m hood and holy
Because I am.
I speak street, and I speak Spirit.
And both are sacred.
I didn’t just survive—
I was carried. I was covered. I was seen.
Through my darkest days came my greatest blessings.
The moments I thought would destroy me were the very ones that refined me.
My Safe Place
And then… I found safe.
Not in a place, but in a person.
After all the chaos, I found peace in someone who saw all of me and didn’t flinch.
The homie who always looked out for me, who gave me real advice when I was broken… became my husband.
His love became my safe place.
And yes—I’m a prison wife.
That part of my story is what led me to the International Metaphysical Ministry.
This photo? It’s more than an image—it’s proof that love can still rise from the ashes.
Still I Rise
And I’m the voice behind Still I Rise Ministries—
a calling birthed through fire, forged by Spirit, and rooted in love.
The teachings of Dr. Paul Leon Masters deeply shaped my spiritual walk.
His work gave language to what I’d always felt:
That the Divine lives within us—
and true healing comes when we align with Higher Consciousness.
The Fighters. The Broken. The Rising.
My ministry isn’t for the polished and perfect.
It’s for the real ones. The raw ones. The resilient ones.
The fighters.
The broken.
The rising.
The ones who’ve been judged, overlooked, or told they’re too far gone.
The ones who love God but feel like they don’t belong in the pews.
The ones who still cuss , still cry at night, and still show up every day trying to heal.
I’m here to tell you:
You are not too much.
You are not too late.
You are not alone.
Still I Rise Ministries is for you.
Because if I can survive hell and still shine—
So. Can. You.
Still I Rise Again
I’ve been knocked down in ways most folks wouldn’t survive.
Life tried to take my voice, my power—my peace.
It had me questioning if I’d ever be more than the pain I came from.
But God had other plans.
When I had nothin’ left, Spirit pulled up.
And deep in my soul, something said, “You ain’t done yet.”
I didn’t rise pretty. I didn’t rise quiet.
But I rose—with fire in my chest and purpose in my steps.
Every blow tried to break me.
But instead, it built me.
Now I move different—
Not ‘cause I’m perfect, but ‘cause I know who I am.
Still I rise. Not to prove it to them—
but to remind myself: I was born for this.
Words That Carried Me
I didn’t always have stability.
But I had words.
Whispers from Spirit. Lyrics from Pac. Prayers from a broken mama who still believed.
Those words carried me when nothing else could.
They reminded me that even when I felt invisible—I was still chosen.
The Truth Is…
I wasn’t supposed to make it.
Not according to statistics, systems, or generational cycles.
But the truth is, I did.
And not just to survive—but to speak, to shine, and to shift everything that tried to bury me.
The truth is, I am a miracle.
And so are you.
Tupac
“I’m not saying I’m gonna change the world, but I guarantee that I will spark the brain that will change the world.”“No matter how hard things get, stick your chest out, hold your head up, and handle it.”—Tupac Shakur
Proverbs 3:5–6 (NIV)
Trust in the Lord with all your heartand lean not on your own understanding;in all your ways submit to Him,and He will make your paths straight.
This Is My Legacy
I’m not here just because I survived.
I’m here because I chose to heal, grow, and rise.
This legacy I’m building—it’s for my kids,
for every survivor,
and for the ones still trapped in silence.
I turned pain into purpose.
This ministry is my offering.
It’s the fire I inherited,
and the light I now pass on.
Still I Rise Ministries isn’t just a name.
It’s a movement.
It’s a healing.
It’s a home for the forgotten,
and a voice for the voiceless.
This is my legacy.
And I’m just getting started.
If I can walk through hell and come out lit with purpose—
so can you.
Don’t quit. Not now. Not ever.
Let the Hood Heal.
With love and light,
Rev. Angela July