𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗜𝗳 𝗙𝗶𝗿𝗲 𝗗𝗼𝗲𝘀𝗻’𝘁 𝗕𝘂𝗿𝗻?

‘Fire Doesn't Burn’, Imagined and Created by Carolina Migliaccio

The stories we live by shape everything.
But what happens when one of them breaks open?

We’re taught to believe fire burns.
It’s one of the first things we learn as children

don’t touch, don’t get too close, or you’ll get hurt.

And yet last week,
I walked barefoot across burning coals.
Not metaphorical ones.
Real fire.
Real heat.
And I didn’t get burned.

That moment unraveled something in me.
Not just fear.
But belief.

Because if 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 isn’t always true,

if fire doesn’t always burn,

then what other stories have I been carrying that never belonged to me?

What beliefs have shaped how I show up, lead, or hold myself back?

That you have to earn your worth.

That rest is laziness.

That softness isn’t strong.

That you need to have all the answers.

That success has to come at the cost of your soul.

Walking through fire didn’t just change how I move, it changed how I see.
It reminded me that many of our limits aren’t real.
They’re just rules we’ve never questioned.

What if this is the moment to question them?
What if everything you were told you had to be . . . isn’t required anymore?

What if there’s another way, one where you lead from what’s true, not what’s expected?

And that’s the thing about belief,

Once it cracks,

It doesn’t quietly fade.

𝘐𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.

You don’t have to walk through fire to wake up.
But you do have to stop living by someone else’s rules.
Safety isn't always safe.
Comfort can cost you your voice.

The real danger isn’t the fire,
it’s never letting it speak.
It’s holding it in when everything in you is ready to rise.

So if you feel something stirring, don’t silence it.
That’s not fear.
That’s you . . . becoming.
And it’s time.

Authors Note:

I didn’t write this piece to be dramatic.
I wrote it because something shifted in me that night
not just in my body, but in my beliefs.

For most of my life, I’ve followed rules I never chose.
Quiet rules. Inherited ones. Stories passed down like family heirlooms:
Play it safe. Don’t be too much. Earn your worth.
But walking across fire . . . real fire . . . didn’t just crack a fear.
It cracked the narrative.

This essay is a breadcrumb.
A marker.
A reminder that transformation doesn’t always look loud or flashy.
Sometimes, it looks like a quiet voice inside whispering,
"Maybe that rule was never meant for you."

I hope this piece helps you listen to that voice.

Because when belief breaks open,
truth has a chance to rise.

— Carolina

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