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Hi, my name is Liz Toussaint—that’s what I go by. However, I was named Muniefa at birth. My first memories are of kindergarten at Park Manor Elementary School in Chicago, IL. I remember the smell of the wood and the gritty consistency of the soap in the bathroom. There was a community sink in a circular shape that we could all stand around to wash our hands. I remember the heaviness of the chairs; they were solid wood. I remember the isolation. Quiet time. There was a voice that used to talk to me when I was alone. It had a warm tone, both masculine and feminine in vibration, and it was with me in every moment of every day.

I remember lying on the couch after having another experience where I was getting on my sisters' nerves, and they created an incident that made me want to leave. I went to the next apartment, which, in a regular home, would be considered the living room. I lay down on the couch, and I heard a voice say very clearly, “You don’t have to do what they say; you are the master of your universe.” I didn’t fully understand what it meant, but it felt like absolute freedom—something I’d never experienced. I said to myself, “I’m about to Shut. Them. DOWN!” I got up off the couch, which was a big jump for me. I walked over to the next-door apartment, also known as our bedroom, stood firmly in front of them as though a group of grown-ups were behind me, and said to my sisters, “YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! I AM THE MASTER OF MY UNIVERSE!” My sisters looked bewildered for two seconds, then looked at each other and burst into laughter. They repeated what I said to each other in my voice and told me to get the hell out and go watch TV.

That day, I vowed never to listen to the voice again.
I had a new voice I listened to. It gave warnings and signals to let me know when I was in potential danger. It was a silent language. I could stand next to someone, and it would send me a quiet signal about what the person was experiencing. I knew to get out of the way because, if they blew up, I didn’t want to be around. Much of my childhood was spent managing the emotions of everyone around me to ensure I could have a peaceful day. However, the only thing I knew about myself was what other people said. I didn’t even know I was small until someone pointed it out.
Every time my mom took me out, people would swoon over me. I didn’t know why, but I could feel their hearts when they looked at me. Sometimes their hearts didn’t feel good, so I would try to separate myself from those people. Maybe that’s why babies don’t like certain people—because their hearts don’t feel good. But I noticed that some of the people whose hearts didn’t feel good felt better after smiling with me. So that’s what I did—I smiled because it helped some hearts feel better.

You’re probably wondering how old I was, having these thoughts. Well, these are my earliest memories, and during a healing session, I went back to the original experience of a trauma I had as a child. I didn’t know how old I was, but it was connected to the death of friends that made the news. I looked up the name Sharah Ziyad. She was so beautiful. Her whole family was attractive, but Sharah was beautiful inside and out. Her heart felt pure. It made her shine in a way that even famous people can’t channel. It’s a way of being that you can’t fake. When I pulled up the article, the date read December 20, 1982. I was 4 years old. I felt her heart stop. I experienced death at 4 years old. On that day, a voice showed up to protect me, and I spent the majority of my healing journey trying to identify it so I could discontinue my agreement with it.

It wasn’t until I experienced my BIG LOW that I could no longer blame anyone for creating an experience for me. I had to own my power, take responsibility for what I had created, and give myself grace for not knowing what I didn’t know. I don’t have the ability to know something before I know it. So why beat myself up for working with the information I had? If I’d been given different information, I might have made a different decision. But I made this decision, and I respect the result of it. I take responsibility for whatever contracts I created out of that decision.

When I say decision, I mean the decisions you make every day to speak: how you speak, what you say—especially when speaking about yourself. No one has the power to speak anything into your life that isn’t aligned with your expectation for yourself.

When you have a destination and are intentional about the direction, the method, and the commitment to reach the end, you are in alignment with your true self—God. When they say, “Follow your heart,” they mean go in the direction of relief. Whatever you’re carrying, you must put it down. Think of your heart as a stagecoach. You’ve been riding directionless. You’ve changed course a couple of times. You enjoyed the experience most of the time, but after arriving at the destination you were told held what you were looking for—and not finding it in money, recognition, or status—you really feel the absence of what you’re looking for. What you’re looking for is a feeling. And no machine, drug, or outside source can give you that feeling. Only you can. When I understood that, I understood, “You are the master of your universe.”