Unaltered Voices

We’ve all heard about the five love languages: words of affirmation, acts of service, quality time, gifts, and physical touch. And while those are important, I believe there’s another one that rarely gets the spotlight: consideration . Consideration is a love language that doesn’t sparkle with grand gestures. It doesn’t always show up in roses, trips, or expensive gifts. It lives in the small, intentional acts that say, “I thought about you. I factored in your feelings. I cared enough to consider you.” And yet, considerate people are rare. When you find them, you know. They make space for you without you having to beg. They remember the details you barely mentioned in passing. They take your feelings into account, even when it’s inconvenient for them. Sadly, I’ve realized how rare this really is. I haven’t encountered true consideration in a long time. And I wish I had known then what I know now that when someone shows you consideration, you should treasure them, because it is indeed a...

  The water was calm, and so was I. There’s something about being submerged just me, the steady sound of my breath, and the gentle sway of the water that allows my mind to slow down. Swimming has always been my sanctuary, a place where clarity seems to find me. That day, clarity came in the form of a download I didn’t expect. It wasn’t something I thought applied to me, but I couldn’t shake it. The thought was simple, yet heavy: Some women want to have a man’s child because of how he loves his children. Not out of love for him, but because seeing him nurture his kids awakens something deep within them, the ache of a little girl who never felt cherished by her father. When I sat with that thought, it unraveled something profound. For some women, bearing his child isn’t just about starting a family. It’s about birthing the inner child she’s been carrying, hoping that in raising his baby, she’ll finally receive the love she’s always craved. It’s not strange when you really think abou...

Realizations they come to open our eyes, but sometimes, I want to close them again. They hurt. They’re sharp. They are truths wrapped in barbed wire that tear through illusions you prayed would stay intact. Realizations they sit heavy in your chest, an ache prescription painkillers can’t even touch. The doctor thought ibuprofen would do the trick, but they only “practice” medicine while I practice breathing through heartbreak. Realizations they can freeze a heart that once overflowed with grace. Knowing you were good to people only to be played that kind of betrayal activates a side of you you sometimes can’t come back from. Realizations they make you question everything: every “friend,” every “I love you,” every moment you thought was safe. They make you question yourself, too, and the parts of you that tolerated, that forgave, that kept hoping. But here’s the thing about realizations: they are not stumbling blocks, though they trip you. They are not...

As I cleaned up my Canva creations, I stumbled across so much of myself. Wisdom tucked into graphics. Jewels hidden in unfinished workbooks. Journal pages I left behind. I once created entire coaching materials for clients who wanted to turn their expertise into books. I paused. Memories surfaced, both good and not so good. I remembered the team of coaches I once built, the books we wrote together, and how my anthology process was unmatched. Smooth. Organized. Clear. If anyone felt lost, it was never because the system failed; it was because they didn’t read the posts, expected me to do the work for them, or simply didn’t care enough to follow through. And then the sting hit me: I had given people everything they needed to succeed, and yet some still refused to take hold. Some saw me not as a guide, but as competition. That season was wild. I worked alongside business owners who claimed they wanted to help others, yet couldn’t create their own content. Many wanted everything handed to ...

There’s a kind of praise that doesn’t feel like love; it feels like a setup. It’s praise laced with poison. I didn’t realize this was a thing until I slowed down and paid attention. The truth is, we will always find what we need to liberate us when we get quiet and observe. But before I learned to do that, I used to mistake every hand clap as encouragement, every smile as support, and every “you’d be great at this” as genuine belief in me. But some praise doesn’t come from a pure place. Have you ever had someone constantly praising you for something you never said you wanted to do? They bring it up in every conversation, encouraging you to pursue it, even though you only ever treated it as a passing interest. And strangely enough, the things you know you’re truly good at, the passions that keep you up at night, they never mention those. Almost like they don’t see them… or maybe don’t want to. I fell for this trap more times than I’d like to admit. I allowed praise to divert my course. ...