Posts

Mourning Her, Becoming Me

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  Is it normal to mourn the version of me that no longer exists? To scroll through old photos and see the spark she carried, the fire in her smile, and wonder where she went? Although my flame is returning, there was something about her that died with the relationship that cracked her open. She didn’t end in destruction she awakened. But still, I miss her. Why do I miss her if I am better now? Why do I cry if she had to go so I could grow? Why am I grieving the one who settled, the one who silenced her own truth, the one who broke beneath the weight of what she thought was love? I think of her often. I wish I could offer her to someone else, untouched, unscarred, still shining in her innocence. It feels like her time was wasted yet without her choices, without her pain, I would not see life as I do now. She is both the reason for my tears and my awakening. I miss her, but I know she cannot return. It is time to release her, to honor her for the le...

Embrace the Shedding: Unlocking the Next Level of You

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A couple of months ago, I had a conversation that shifted my entire perspective. Someone was telling me about what they were going through, and they explained that because they had experienced a similar test before, they now felt mentally strong enough to handle it again. At first, I froze. I couldn’t quite process what was being said. My conditioning had always taught me that when life tests us, we either pass or fail . For years, I believed that if a situation kept showing up, it meant I had failed the test. I carried that invisible “bad report card” in my spirit, thinking I was being punished or held back. But in that moment, something clicked. What if these tests weren’t failures at all? What if they were promotions? The truth is, many of life’s “tests” are brand new material. In school, teachers prepared us for exams. In life, though, some situations appear without warning because the lesson is meant to grow us into something we’ve never been before. There is no literal pass or f...

Finding Your Voice Disrupts Manipulation

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  For a long time, I didn’t have a voice. My childhood shaped me to believe my voice didn’t matter. Anytime I spoke up, I was labeled as having a “bad attitude” while my cousins, who were allowed to explode in anger, were called “angels.” That kind of double standard breaks something inside a child. It trains you to silence yourself before the world ever does. A Life Coach on TikTok recently said something that pulled this all back to the surface: “The moment you find your voice, they get upset.” She’s right. It applies to family, friends, partners, and even coworkers. Finding your voice disrupts the pattern of how people use you. It shatters the comfortable script they’ve written for you; the script where you’re always the helper, the supporter, the one who never says no. This is why you can show up for someone repeatedly, but the moment you say, “I can’t this time,” all hell breaks loose. That’s not love. That’s not loyalty. That’s manipulation. And here’s the part people don...

Their Wounds Don’t Define Your Worth

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Someone once said, "Their wounds don't determine your value." That statement stopped me in my tracks. It pierced right through me because, for so long, I believed the opposite. There was a time when I let others' treatment of me dictate how I saw myself. If someone dismissed, mistreated, or devalued me, I thought it must have been because I deserved it. I believed I wasn't good enough, I could have done better, maybe I was the problem. It's a damaging way to think, and it cost me my youth navigating life under that mindset. When I think about it, I can see exactly where it started. I internalized the way my parents treated me. My mother's abuse made me feel unworthy of love. My father's emotional absence made me question whether I was even worth showing up for. If the people who brought me into this world couldn't treat me as valuable, why would I expect anyone else to? That was the seed, the lie I carried into every relationship. And so, I unconsc...

Don’t Confuse My Low Point With My Whole Story

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About three weeks ago, I was scrolling on TikTok and paused on a video that only showed half of a woman’s face. I’m not sure why I stopped, but I’m glad I did. What she said cut deep and sat with me: “Sometimes people catch you in an off-season, and they genuinely believe that’s all you are.” The moment she said that, I started smiling. Because that’s me. I’ve lived through it more times than I can count, and the minute I outgrew their expectations, the same people who once smiled in my face couldn’t stand me anymore. Here’s the thing: people are strange. They will study you when you’re low, when you’re broken, when you’re off your game. Then, they write a whole story in their heads about who you are, as if your struggle is permanent. They measure you by that moment, not realizing it’s just a season, not a life sentence. And when you bounce back? When you heal, elevate, and step back into your power? Suddenly, you’re “different.” Suddenly, you’re “the enemy.” I’ll never forget meeting ...

Awareness Is Salvation

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I came across a TikTok of a young lady boldly saying she refused to want to know certain information. Her words? “If I don’t know, it won’t hurt me.” That sounds comforting on the surface. But the truth? It couldn’t be further from reality. I’ve lived that lie before. I remember dating someone for years, convinced we were building forever together. When I discovered he was living a double life, it was crippling. Had I known sooner, I would have walked away long before the truth broke me. Awareness would have given me the choice to protect myself. It could have saved me from danger, because let’s be honest, some women will harm you over a man. If I had known, I would have been ready, alert, on guard. But I didn’t know. And not knowing didn’t keep me safe; it kept me trapped. Awareness is more than just knowing facts about people; it’s also about knowing yourself . On a psychological level, being unaware of how our traumas shape us is one of the most dangerous blind spots we can carry. B...