There are some songs that feel less like music and more like an excavation — digging through layers of past hurt, survival, grit, and finally, fragile hope. Kesha’s “Praying” is one of those songs for me. It’s not just a melody; it’s a full body memory, a tremor running through the heart. A reminder that sometimes the most powerful thing you can do after being broken down is simply… to rise. To pray — not for revenge, but for peace.

There were times in my life when the weight of betrayal, of hardship, of cruelty, was almost too much to bear. Times when the people around me should have been protectors but instead became architects of pain. I have lived those moments — the ones where you’re gasping for air, where the floor feels like it might open up and swallow you whole. And yet… here I am.

All the truths I could tell. All the wounds I carry quietly beneath a fierce smile. But also, all the resilience I’ve stitched together from the ragged scraps of my own heart. When Kesha sings “the best is yet to come,” I believe her. I have to. Otherwise, what was all the fighting for?

This song isn’t just about surviving. It’s about something deeper: transcending. It’s about reaching a point where you no longer want to return pain with pain. Where you no longer want to carry the people who wronged you in your bones. Where your prayer isn’t for their downfall, but for your own peace.

And yes,  it’s about karma too. Life has a way of balancing the scales, often quietly, almost imperceptibly. You don’t always get to see it happen. Sometimes the justice isn’t in their fall — it’s in your flight. In your decision to build a life so beautiful, so honest, so untouchable, that no one who tried to destroy you even has a place in it anymore.

I hope you find your peace, she sings. Falling on your knees, praying.

It’s both an elegy and a wish. A benediction, maybe, for ourselves as much as for those we leave behind.

Today, I’m not weighed down by the ghosts of what they did. I’m lifted by the small, quiet promises I made to myself: to live, to love, to keep moving forward. Even when I had to crawl.

Still standing. Still believing. Still soaring.