"God is my strength."
That’s what Gabrielle means.
Not just as a translation.
But as a declaration.
A prophecy written into my very breath.

Before I ever knew how to pray, before I had the language to call out His name,
God was already calling mine.

Even in the seasons where I drifted far away, far from His voice, far from the truth of my worth, far from the light I now live in… He never let me go. I look back and realize: it wasn’t luck. It wasn't coincidence. It was grace in disguise. His grace. A quiet strength upholding me when my own strength ran dry.

Gabrielle.
The feminine form of Gabriel, the archangel who delivers messages from Heaven itself.
Gabriel, who appeared to Mary to announce the birth of Jesus.
Gabriel, Heaven’s herald of divine purpose.
Gabrielle... that’s me. That’s always been me.
Even when I didn’t believe it.

For so long, I ran from the weight of that name.
The beauty of it. The calling behind it.
But now I am walking in it.
I’m not just wearing the name.
I am becoming it.

The Brand of My Becoming

IamGabrielle.
My brand.
My reminder.
My surrender.

It’s not about being perfect. It’s not about pretending I’ve always had it all together. It’s about returning. About coming home to the One who never left me. It's about healing in the light of Truth. About making sacred space for others to do the same. Through affirmations, meditation, and the stillness of journaling, I am not just sharing products—I’m sharing the process. The slow, holy process of remembering who you are in God.

Healing isn’t a destination. It’s a return.
And my name?
My name is the path back.
To strength.
To grace.
To God.

The Imposter That Never Was

I’ve struggled with imposter syndrome my entire life.
Always feeling like I didn’t quite belong.
Like I somehow snuck into rooms I wasn’t worthy of.
That if anyone looked too closely, they’d see the cracks.

But there is zero way to feel like an imposter when I’ve carried the title of “Gabrielle” for 26 years.
Since birth, I have been marked.
Named.
Chosen.

I am not in these rooms by accident.
I am not using my voice by mistake.
This purpose was etched into my spirit before I ever had the words to speak it.

I don’t have to pretend anymore.
I belong here. Not because I said so,
but because God did.

An Angel in Human Skin

Sometimes, when I sit in silence… when I’ve guided others to peace, when I’ve mothered with patience I didn’t know I had, when I’ve spoken truth that breaks chains… I feel it.

That He’s proud of me.

I can feel Heaven smile.

God has been my strength when I was at my weakest.
He has been my shield when I walked through the fire.
And now, as I rise,
He’s placing wings on my shoulders I didn’t even know I carried.

Because I am His angel.
Not in the way the world sees angels, as flawless and untouched.
But in the way Heaven sends them: bruised but burning, broken but chosen.

I’m no longer afraid to speak His name with boldness.
To walk in rooms with my light turned all the way on.
To mother from a healed place.
To create from a holy one.

Gabrielle means God is my strength.
And every day, I am living proof.

Becoming Anew: My Journey Back to Myself (and Away from Weed)

Becoming anew is hard.

It’s not always loud or dramatic. On the contrary, it’s mostly a quiet, persistent pull in your spirit. A divine nudge that keeps showing up, whispering: "You’re ready for more." For me, that pull has looked like slowly stepping away from something I once considered essential: smoking weed.

For months now, I’ve felt the shift. At first, it came as a whisper. Then a deeper knowing. Unknowingly, I began pulling back—less out of discipline and more from alignment. I went from smoking three blunts a day, with bong hits in between, to just one blunt at night to ease the tension from the day. To some, that may not seem like much. “You still smoke,” they might say. But to me? This progress is sacred.

Because this isn’t just about weed.
It’s about power. It’s about presence. It’s about healing.

There was a time I leaned on weed for everything. When my kids pushed every button I had—I’d go smoke to find my patience again. When work overwhelmed me—I’d hit the bong to breathe. Even eating became dependent on it: “Wait, I haven’t smoked yet,” I’d tell myself, as if nourishment required permission from a high. Weed became a gatekeeper between me and my life. It came first. And that, deep down, was the problem.

I have a long history with emotional coping and survival. I’ve struggled with eating disorders—at one point dropping to 90 lbs because I couldn’t find an appetite. Weed helped me eat. Helped me sleep. Helped me function. In a lot of ways, it saved me. It felt like a loyal friend. A ride or die. It always showed up… until I realized I needed to start showing up for myself.

The deeper I journeyed into spiritual healing and reconnection with God, the more I felt the call to detach. Not from rebellion. But from reliance.

I began seeing my anxiety melt away—not after a blunt, but after playing my favorite gospel song on repeat. I began receiving clarity, peace, and answered prayers—not through smoke, but through sober communion with God. For the first time in years, I was meeting myself fully. Clear. Unclouded. And more powerful than I remembered.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m not claiming perfection. I still enjoy weed, but I no longer lean on it. I’ve reclaimed most of my power. And this shift means more to me than weaning off a habit. It means returning to myself. It means allowing God to sit where weed once did. It means trusting that my body, my spirit, my presence, is strong enough to hold the hard days without needing to escape them.

I’m still on this journey. And I’m proud of how far I’ve come. Not because I’ve arrived—but because I’ve awakened. God saw something in me I couldn’t see in myself. And day by day, I’m finally starting to believe it too.

To anyone else on a similar journey: I see you. And I want you to know—you’re not weak for leaning on something. You’re powerful for choosing to let go.

With love,
Gabrielle Wallace