The Steeple in Your Chest, the Power They Can’t Name, and Why They’ll Try to Destroy You for It

By Julie Tourangeau | julietour.com

Have you ever noticed that when you walk in light…

some people treat you like a threat?

It doesn’t matter how kind you are.

How generous. How true.

When you carry something pure—something unshakable—

it will rattle those who’ve built their lives on pretending.

What they feel isn’t arrogance.

It’s not ego.

It’s not “too much.”

It’s the divine power you carry.

And in ancient Egypt, they had a word for it:

Heka.

Heka was not superstition. It was sacred force.

The power to heal, speak, manifest, create.

It wasn’t tricks or illusions.

It was alignment with divine law—Ma’at.

It was the vibrational reality of truth made flesh.

And centuries later, when early Christians spoke of the Logos—the Divine Word that created all things—they were speaking of the same force.

Heka in Hebrew flesh.

The Word that breathes life.

The power that moves mountains.

The frequency that stills storms.

And Jesus didn’t just carry it.

He embodied it.

He was raised in Egypt—not by accident, but by design.

Egypt was the spiritual womb of the world.

It preserved the sacred teachings while empires chased gold and blood.

Jesus didn’t reject that wisdom.

He fulfilled it.

“The Kingdom of God is within you,” he said.

That wasn’t poetry. It was spiritual physics.

It was the same truth Egypt knew:

The sacred is in here. Not up there. Not locked away. Not controlled by priests or politics.

But in your breath. In your bones. In your spoken word.

When you carry that—when you live it—

you will be misjudged.

People will project their shame onto your peace.

Their cowardice onto your courage.

Their bitterness onto your beauty.

They’ll resent your freedom because it reminds them of the chains they haven’t removed.

They’ll say, “Who does she think she is?”

But what they really mean is, “I forgot who I am.”

And that’s where it gets ugly.

Because when love is true, when it’s not codependent, performative, or manipulative—

when it shines and roars and walks away from what doesn’t honor it—

it will be hated.

Real love is not soft.

It is not silent.

It is not submissive.

Real love flips temples.

Real love calls out injustice.

Real love protects the innocent.

Real love walks alone if it has to.

And when you live that kind of love,

they won’t just misunderstand you—

they’ll smear you.

They’ll call you too much.

They’ll call you unstable.

They’ll call you a b!tch.

But let’s tell the truth:

B!tch… is a love story.

It’s the story of every woman who refused to play small.

Every soul who wouldn’t conform to keep the peace.

Every radiant being who walked in favor—and paid for it.

They call you a b!tch because they don’t understand your heart.

The one with a steeple in it.

The one that rings like a bell in stormy places.

The one that loves without lying and leaves without begging.

You are not cruel.

You are not mean.

You are not dangerous.

You are sacred.

You are ancient.

You are love that remembers its worth.

And when you carry that, yes, you’ll be despised.

But for every life that turns on you,

a million more will be touched by you.

Across time. Across space.

Across generations.

Your job is not to explain your favor.

Your job is to walk in it.

To speak with it.

To bless and release what can’t receive it.

And to ring the bell of truth inside your chest

until every slumbering soul begins to stir.

So let them talk.

Let them twist your story.

Let them call you names.

You—

you ring the bell.

Because b!tch is not an insult.

It’s a badge of survival.

A declaration of fire.

A synonym for truth.

And yes—

a love story.