There was a season when I thought being busy meant being productive. If my calendar was full I felt important. If my days were packed, I felt accomplished. Now I see things differently. Slowing down has taught me to listen to my body, my spirit, my intuition. It’s the quiet moments that I hear what actually matters. The clarity. The gratitude. The joy I used to rush pass.

I’m learning that moving slower doesn’t mean falling behind. Sometimes it means finally arriving✌🏽

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Somewhere along the way, I realized I take myself a little too seriously. Not in the “I have standards” way, but in the “why did I replay that awkward moment from five years ago” way. I overthink what I said. How I said it. Whether I smiled enough. Whether I smiled too much. Then today I laughed. Not because everything was perfect, but because none of it was that deep.

I’m learning that laughing at myself is a form of freedom. It softens the edges. It reminds me that I’m human, still learning me, still growing, still figuring things out as I go. Life gets lighter when I stop demanding perfection from myself and start allowing grace. A little humor goes a long way.

Turns out, laughter isn’t me being careless. It’s me being kind to myself.

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When you work out, something interesting happens. You’re not just strengthening your body you’re breaking it down. Muscles grow by tearing. Resistance creates strain. Progress comes through discomfort. At first, that idea felt strange to me. Why would breaking something be part of making it better? But the more I’m learning about fitness, the more it is mirroring my relationship with God. Growth has never come without pressure.

While working out, I’m learning that if I stay comfortable, nothing changes. The body only transforms when it’s challenged. When it’s pushed past what feels easy. Those microscopic tears in the muscle aren’t damage, they’re preparation. They make room for strength that didn’t exist before. Faith works the same. God has a way of allowing seasons that stretch us, humble us, and sometimes wear us down. Not to harm but to rebuild stronger, wiser and more aligned with who He’s calling us to be.

There are moments when life feels heavy, when I feel tired emotionally, spiritually, even physically. Moments when I wonder why growth hurts so much. But just like training, I’m learning that the discomfort isn’t a sign of failure, it’s a sign of transformation. The body needs rest to rebuild. The soul needs trust to heal. After a hard workout, rest is where the growth happens. And in my relationship with God, surrender is my rest. Letting go. He can do what I can’t. Trusting that even when I feel broken down, He’s working behind the scenes.

I don’t rush the process anymore. I honor it. Because every stretch, every strain, every prayer whispered in exhaustion is shaping a better version of me. One that’s stronger in body, steadier in spirit, and more dependent on God than my own strength. I’m learning that breaking down isn’t the end of the story. It’s the beginning of becoming. I trust God enough to know that whatever He’s building in me physically, spiritually, emotionally will be worth every moment it took to get there.

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Hurt can change you. Betrayal can mark you in a place no one else can see. There are wounds that don’t come from strangers, but by people you trusted. Prayed with. Believed in. When that kind of pain happens, it shakes more than your heart. It shakes your understanding of love, loyalty, and even faith. I’ve wrestled with the “WHY” I’ve sat in the confusion of doing right and still being hurt. I’ve cried over moments that felt unfair and undeserved. And yet… here I am.

What I’ve learned is that pain doesn’t cancel GOD’S presence. And betrayal doesn’t negate HIS purpose. Some blessings don’t arrive wrapped in joy, they come disguised as heartbreak. Through hurt, GOD revealed what needed to be exposed. Through betrayal, he removed what could not come with me. Through disappointment, he redirected my steps toward something purer, safer, and more aligned.

I didn’t see it in the moment, I only felt the loss. But now I see the PROTECTION, CLARITY AND THE GROWTH. I see how GOD held me when I felt abandoned. How HE strengthened me when I felt broken. How HE reminded me that my worth was never tied to how others treated me. There were moments when rejoicing felt impossible. When praise felt heavy on my lips. But rejoicing isn’t pretending the pain didn’t happen. It’s choosing to trust that GOD was still working while it did.

I REJOICE because what tried to break me didn’t. I REJOICE because I walked away with my heart intact and my faith deeper. I REJOICE because GOD didn’t waste one tear, one prayer, or one painful lesson. The hurt is real. The betrayal is real. But so is the blessing. And today, I don’t rejoice despite what I am going through, I REJOICE because GOD is carrying me through it.

There are moments when a song comes on and I’m no longer where I am. I’m somewhere else entirely-a different season, a different version of me, a different life. I remember what I was doing. Where I was standing. Who I was loving. What I was losing. It’s never just the song. It’s the memory wrapped inside it. For a long time, I wondered why this happens. Why certain melodies unlock entire chapters of my life without warning. Why my mind replays moments so vividly, like they’ve been waiting for permission to return.

What I’ve learned is this- our brains store memories next to emotion and music lives right there too. Songs don’t just remind us of the past. They carry it. Especially for people who feel deeply. For those who have lived through transitions, heartbreak, healing, and becoming. The mind doesn’t archive those moments quietly. It preserves them carefully. There were seasons when I thought I needed to suppress these memories to push the away so I could “move on”. But suppressing never worked. It only made the past louder. So instead, I’m learning to do something different.

I let the memory surface… and I don’t chase it. I remind myself: that the version of me did the best she could with what she knew. That chapter already gave me its lesson. That moment doesn’t need to be relived to be honored. Sometimes the memory brings grief. Sometimes gratitude. Sometimes relief that I’m no longer there. All of it is valid. What grounds me is returning to the present- to this version of my life that feels fuller, steadier, more aligned. I notice where I am now. Who I’ve become. What I’ve built

I don’t shame myself for remembering. I don’t rush myself to forget. Because these memories aren’t proof that I’m stuck in the past. They’re proof that I lived. And now, when a song plays and the past knocks, I quietly say… Thank you for what you taught me. I’m here now and that’s enough.

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Let me just say I can’t take the credit of this. With that being said it just landed on me today and I felt every word.

“If you’re going to be in my life, you have to add to the environment that pulls out what GOD placed in me” 🙏🏽

Just gonna leave this here

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I’m not entering 2026 quietly. I’m walking in with intention, clarity, and a heart that’s been through enough to know what matters. Last year taught me that joy isn’t accidental-it’s chosen. That peace is something in you and growth doesn’t always look loud….sometimes it looks like consistency, boundaries and trusting yourself even when no one else sees the vision yet.

I’m carrying forward with what feels aligned and I’m choosing that on purpose. 2026 isn’t about proving anything. It’s about living fully present in the life that God is providing me to build-love, healing, purpose and all. I’m excited, not because everything is perfect, but I finally understand myself.

And that changes everything!

Here’s to momentum. Here’s to becoming. Here’s to a year that meets me where I am-and rises with me.✨

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This year changed me. Not in loud ways. Not in ways that need explaining. But in ways that settled deep into my spirit and rewrote how I love, how I trust, and how I choose myself. I walked into this year carrying lessons from chapters that once felt heavy. I didn’t know exactly what was ahead-only that I was committed to growth honesty, and peace. What unfolded was more beautiful than I could have imagined. This was the year I stood in love and said yes-not just to my husband, but to a life built on safety, patience, and unconditional love. After everything I’ve been through, that moment felt sacred.

A reminder that healing is real and joy doesn’t have to be rushed or earned. Sometimes it arrives quietly and stays. This year taught me that love can be gentle. That peace can feel like home. That the right partnership doesn’t demand that you shrink or perform-it meets you exactly where you are and grows with you. I also learned how to release what no longer fits. old versions of myself. Old explanations. Old expectations I learned that I don’t need to revisit every chapter to honor how far I’ve come. Some things are understood-and that’s enough.

As this year comes to a close, I’m not rushing to define what’s next. I’m entering 2026 with intention instead of pressure. With faith instead of fear. With gratitude for every lesson, every ending, and every beginning that shaped me. I’m stepping forward softer, stronger, and more aligned than ever.

Here’s to the year that healed me. Here’s to the love that found me. Here’s to the peace I protected.

And here’s to 2026-may it meet me with clarity, abundance, and continued grace.

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P.S. GOODBYE STRANGER THINGS

There was a time when I felt the need to explain myself. My choices, growth and silence. I wanted to be understood so badly that I overextended my voice-trying to make people see what they were never meant to see from my perspective. But healing has taught me something sacred: what’s UNDERSTOOD DOESN’T NEED TO BE SAID. When you grow, your life becomes the explanation. When you heal, your peace speaks louder than your words. When you align with who you’re becoming, clarification becomes unnecessary.

Not everyone deserves an explanation. Not everyone is meant to understand your journey. Some people only know the version of you they had access to-and that’s okay. There is a quiet confidence that comes from no longer needing validation. From letting your boundaries speak. From trusting that the people who are meant to walk with you will feel the truth without you spelling it out. I’ve learned that silence isn’t weakness. It’s discernment. It’s maturity. It’s knowing that your energy is precious and your peace is not up for debate. Especially since God gives it to me.

What’s understood lives in the eyes, the pauses, the choices you make when no one is watching. It shows up in how you move differently. In how you respond-or don’t. In how you choose peace over proving a point. I no longer chase being understood by everyone. I trust that the right people😏will feel me. And the rest? They don’t need an explanation.

Because what’s real doesn’t announce itself. And WHAT’S UNDERSTOOD DOESN’T NEED TO BE SAID

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