Category: Uncategorized

Choose Love Anyway

In this life, I hope you always choose love.

Even when it’s scary. Especially when it’s scary.

Choose love.

Choose connection.

Choose friendship.

Choose the things that make your heart race and your palms sweat—because those are the things that matter.

Those are the things that make life richer, deeper, and more worth it.

Choose the unknown.

Choose the harder path.

Choose faith over fear.

My God is love. He didn’t place me here to be paralyzed by uncertainty.

He placed me here to feel deeply, to love boldly, to live purposefully.

Yes, the enemy has sent people to break me—

But God has sent more to bless me.

And I’ve learned to tell the difference.

That’s where discernment comes in.

So now?

I choose to be the blessing. Always.

Not the curse.

Never the curse.

Because no matter what comes at me,

Love is still the bravest thing I can give.

And I’ll give it anyway.

June 10, 2025

god, life, love, passion, spiritual, writing
“I’m Done.”

I can’t seem to find the words to express how I feel.

I just want to let go.

I want to crawl out of my own damn head because it’s not real fun in here.

It’s cluttered with regret, with reruns of old conversations I should’ve walked away from.

I knew this was going to happen.

And I still did it anyway.

How do you not hate yourself a little for that?

Some days, I want to scream.

Other days, I want to hide in the dark and cry until it feels clean again.

But most days—days like today—I want to do all of it at once.

I want to give up.

Not in a “end it all” way—just in a “please fast-forward this bullshit part .

Because I’m tired of processing it.

Tired of replaying it.

Tired of trying to find the growth in a situation that just left me wrecked.

I hate these slow days.

The ones where the world quiets down just enough for the noise in my head to get louder.

And I swear, I’ve doing the work.

The journaling. The affirmations. Lots of praying.

But right now? I’m done.

Done dissecting.

Done pretending I’m fine.

Done with the pressure to “rise above” something that shattered me.

And maybe tomorrow I’ll be hopeful again.

Maybe next week I’ll see this as one more lesson on the road to becoming stronger.

Today I’m just done.

June 6, 2025
Even though it ended,

I don’t regret the hope I had.

Hope made me brave enough to try.

To believe.

To open my heart when fear told me to shut it tight.

It didn’t go how I wanted—

But that hope?

It was proof I still had faith in something beautiful.

And I’ll never be ashamed of that.

Hope didn’t break me.

It carried me.

Even if it was just for a little while.

June 5, 2025

blog, dreams, life, love, passion, writing
“The Middle” — That Godforsaken, Quiet Place Where Healing Hangs Out

I hate this place.

This place right here — the in-between.

The space after the heartbreak, after the goodbye, after the mental door has been shut, locked, and sealed with a whispered prayer you had to force out through tears.

You know you’re not going back.

You know it wasn’t meant to be.

You’ve accepted the truth — not because it’s easy, but because lying to yourself got too exhausting.

But you’re also not free yet.

You’re not skipping through life screaming “I’m healed!”

You’re not broken, but you’re not whole.

You’re functioning, but your soul still limps.

This place?

This is the middle.

And it’s a strange kind of hell, honestly.

You’re not deeply depressed anymore. You’re not crying every morning.

But joy feels… muted.

Distractions feel hollow.

And the idea of “just going out and having fun” makes you want to scream because fun feels like a betrayal when your heart is still recalibrating.

You don’t want to sit and reflect anymore — you’ve reflected your damn self into exhaustion.

And you don’t want to pretend everything is great.

You just want something real.

But what’s real in the middle feels so quiet.

The middle is where most people get stuck.

Because it’s not dramatic enough to demand help, and not healed enough to move on.

But let me tell you something hard and honest:

You’re not doing it wrong.

You’re not broken because you haven’t “moved on” yet.

You’re just in it — and it’s okay to be here longer than you’d like.

So what are we supposed to do in the middle?

We rest.

Not “lay around doing nothing” rest — but the deep, soul-preserving rest that says:

I don’t need to earn my healing by doing more.

I just need to be for a while.

We stop forcing reflection.

You don’t have to keep ripping the wound open to prove you’re dealing with it.

Some healing happens in silence.

Some of it happens while you’re washing dishes or folding laundry or taking a breath on your porch.

We stop trying to escape it.

Distractions won’t fix it.

Jumping into someone new won’t fix it.

Scrolling won’t fix it.

This isn’t about avoiding — this is about surrendering. Let the middle do its job.

And we stay grateful — not performative, not fake. Just… quietly aware that blessings still exist in the middle.

Because here’s the thing no one tells you:

You don’t wake up one day healed.

You slowly wake up piece by piece.

One day you laugh — and it’s real.

One day the song doesn’t sting.

One day you remember the love — and it doesn’t hurt, it just exists.

One day you notice: Hey, I feel light again.

Until then?

Just keep showing up.

Even if it’s just for coffee and breath.

Even if it’s just to remind yourself that you are not what you lost.

You are what you’re becoming.

And that middle ground?

It’s not a dead zone.

It’s the birthplace of your next chapter.

Keep going.

Even slowly.

Especially slowly.

June 4, 2025

heartbreak, love, writing
I write to heal.

I write to reflect.

With every word poured onto the page,

the weight inside me gets a little lighter.

The shadows lose their grip.

The pain loses its voice.

I write to stay free.

To release.

To breathe again.

I write in hopes that my truth

might echo in the hearts of those

who need it the most.

I write to remind myself—

I am not the story they tried to write for me.

I am not the lies I once believed.

I am not my worst mistake.

Every word I write reclaims a piece of me.

June 4, 2025

blog, life, love, passion, recovery, spiritual, writing
I know now—

love given is never lost.

Not a single kind gesture,

not a single selfless act

was ever wasted.

Even if it wasn’t received the way I hoped.

Even if it didn’t come back the way I gave it.

It all mattered.

It all planted something.

And it was never in vain.

Every ounce of love I poured out

was part of something greater—

a purpose bigger than just me.

June 4, 2025

blog, life, love, passion, recovery, spiritual
I love the person I am—

the one I’ve fought to become.

Through pain and sorrow, joy and tears, I’ve evolved. My heart is pure, my intentions are good, and I no longer shrink to be palatable. I’ve learned that sometimes my role in someone’s life had nothing to do with me—and that’s okay. Not every chapter was meant to be mine to finish.

I’m still growing. Always will be.

I remind myself often: pain changes me, but it won’t harden me. Even in the thick of it—when I feel like giving up, when hope feels like a ghost—I know I’ll rise.

Maybe bruised.

But never broken.

June 4, 2025

addiction, blog, life, love, mental-health, passion, recovery, sobriety, spiritual
The Truth I’m Finally Learning to Accept

Trigger Warning: Raw thoughts, grief, heartbreak.

This isn’t a pity post. It’s not some desperate attempt for attention or sympathy or comfort. It’s just the truth—the kind that tastes like blood when you speak it out loud. So if you’re looking for inspiration or silver linings, turn back now. This is the part of the story most people skip over because it’s too damn uncomfortable. Too real.

The world keeps confirming a truth I’ve fought my whole life:

That I’m the exception to the fairytale.

That I’m the one who gets passed over.

That love—true, safe, stay-when-it’s-hard, build-something-real love—was never meant for me.

And don’t hit me with the “You’ll find someone” speech. Please.

I’ve heard it. I’ve said it to myself. Hell, I’ve tattooed it on the inside of my soul just to have something to hold onto. But there comes a point when hope starts to feel like delusion. When waiting for someone to prove you wrong starts to feel like a setup for disappointment.

I wanted to believe. I really did.

Because I do see the good in people.

I do want to believe that love is possible and lasting and honest.

I did think I found it.

And now I’m grieving something that feels like a death.

Except the body’s still breathing.

It’s just not mine to hold anymore.

I’m grieving what I thought I had.

The intimacy. The possibility. The connection that I swore was different.

I went through sadness. Depression. Then rage.

Then back to sadness again like I’m stuck on some carousel of pain that doesn’t know how to stop spinning.

But here’s the truth I’ve been avoiding, choking on, resisting:

Maybe love—the way I thought it should feel—just isn’t coming for me.

And maybe that’s not as tragic as it sounds.

Maybe the sooner I stop bleeding myself dry to chase a dream that was never written in my story,

The sooner I’ll stop hurting over it.

This doesn’t mean I hate life. I’m not numb or empty or hollow.

I’m fascinated by the world. I want to live.

But I have to let this version of love die.

The one that’s broken me more than it ever built me.

So this is the beginning.

Not of some “new chapter” wrapped in sunshine and self-help quotes.

But of the truth.

Brutal. Honest. Grounding.

I will accept the hand I’ve been dealt.

May 24, 2025
Minute by Minute

I know—minute by minute, hour by hour—the sharp edge of your absence will dull.

I know the tight knots in my stomach when your face flashes through my mind won’t stay forever.

Someday, I’ll think of you and it’ll feel more like a memory than a wound.

Grieving someone who’s still alive—who still breathes, still walks this earth—is its own kind of heartbreak.

It’s the kind that haunts quietly.

Because their energy still lingers.

You can still feel it.

Even though you haven’t heard their voice in days,

Even though their arms haven’t held you in weeks,

They’re still here.

Just not here.

But that ache? It fades.

The silence stops screaming eventually.

And the longing loses its grip.

It gets better.

It will get better.

It has to.

Because holding on to a ghost never resurrects the love.

It just keeps you from coming back to life.

May 24, 2025
“You Knew—and You Let Me Love You Anyway”

How long did you know?

How long were you going to let me think we had a future—while you were already walking away in your mind?

How long were you going to let me believe I was something real to you, something steady, something safe?

How long were you going to stand there, let me look you in the eyes, and pour out everything inside me—while you quietly braced to leave?

I said things to you I had never even let myself say out loud. Things I never planned on giving away to anyone, let alone someone who saw them as disposable.

How long were you going to let me love you with everything I had, while giving me only the parts of you that cost nothing?

You let me believe in us.

You let me dream.

You let me build a life in my head that you had no plans of staying in.

That’s the part that guts me.

You didn’t just break my heart.

You watched me hand it to you, trembling but honest, and you still took it.

Knowing damn well you were going to drop it.

You could’ve stopped.

You could’ve been real.

You could’ve told me before I buried pieces of myself in you.

But you didn’t.

And now I’m standing here in the wreckage you left, wondering what parts of it were ever real.

So here’s what I’m done doing:

I’m done romanticizing confusion.

I’m done accepting crumbs and calling it care.

I’m done mistaking “almost” for effort.

Next time, I’ll trust the silence more than the words.

I’ll trust the patterns more than the promises.

And I’ll trust myself more than I ever trusted someone who couldn’t choose me with their whole chest.

Because I loved with my whole damn heart.

And you? You played pretend with someone else’s future.

But I’ll heal. I’ll rebuild.

And you’ll always be the one who knew—and didn’t stop me.

May 23, 2025

heartbreak, life, love, mental-health, recovery