Tag: healing

I think my biggest curse is being able to feel and love so deeply.

Now don’t get me wrong—I don’t feel that way about everyone. Only those I allow into my inner being. The ones I trust enough to see the worst parts of me and still love me anyway. The ones who get to see the good and the broken. The strength and the exhaustion.

When I allow someone to access that side of me, it’s a big deal. I don’t let just anyone in. You have to be special. You have to leave a mark that stays with me. You have to stir my thoughts, my spirit, my motivation.

But if I’m honest, in the past I’ve allowed access to people who never deserved it.

I ignored my own discernment.
I ignored the quiet voice inside me that was trying to warn me.

Those were painful lessons—but necessary ones.

And strangely enough, I’m thankful for them. They reminded me that not everyone deserves access to my heart, my loyalty, or the depth of love I carry inside of me. What I give is rare, and it should be protected.

Recently, life has changed me in ways I didn’t expect.

There was a time when I could stay numb. Nothing really touched me. I built walls so high that nothing could get through them. I thought that made me strong.

But now… it’s like the walls are gone.

Now I feel everything.

And honestly, sometimes I feel like a big crybaby. But maybe it’s not weakness. Maybe it’s just what happens when a heart finally starts living again.

When I love someone deeply, their peace matters to me. Their happiness matters to me. And when I sense that something isn’t right in their world, it shakes me in ways I can’t always explain.

Because when you love deeply… you feel deeply.

And sometimes that kind of heart feels like both a blessing and a curse.

But if I had to choose between feeling nothing and loving with everything in me…

I’ll take the curse.

So yes, my heart loves deeper than most people are comfortable with.
And maybe that has been my greatest pain in this life.
But I would rather carry a heart that feels everything…
than live with one that feels nothing at all.

Tonight, I find myself asking a question I’ve been asked more times than I can count: Am I ready for the dating world?
Some days I believe I am. Other days, I’m not so sure.

People say it’s too soon. But is it really? I grieved my marriage while I was still in it. I mourned the loss of us long before it officially ended.

Before my husband ever told me he was unhappy, I prayed a dangerous prayer. One night, I asked God to expose anyone who was not meant for me. I never imagined that prayer would include the man I married—the man I supported without question, the man I believed was my forever. Our entire marriage wasn’t bad; we shared real joy and genuine memories. I still don’t fully understand what changed. All I ever asked for was his time.
I’ll save the rest of that story for another blog.

I’ll be honest—I haven’t always made the best choices in friendships or relationships. I see the good in people, sometimes to my own detriment. I love deeply, care wholeheartedly, and give others what I so desperately hope to receive in return.

My greatest fear in this dating world isn’t rejection—it’s starting over.

For years, I was made to feel like I wasn’t good enough. Not pretty enough. Like my very existence—my breathing—was an inconvenience. That kind of damage doesn’t disappear when the relationship ends. It settles into your bones. It makes you question your worth, your voice, your right to take up space.

I’m afraid of failing again. Afraid of opening up. Afraid of letting someone see the most fragile, unguarded parts of me—the parts that were once dismissed, minimized, or ignored.

So how do you start over after ten years with someone you thought would be your forever?
How do you trust again after trust cost you so much?
How do you heal trauma that rewired how you see yourself?

I don’t have the answers yet.
But I do know this: asking these questions doesn’t mean I’m weak. It means I’m aware. It means I’m healing. And maybe—just maybe—it means I’m learning to choose myself this time.

And perhaps readiness doesn’t mean being fearless…
maybe it simply means being brave enough to try.

Looking at this picture, you would never know that 56 days ago, my life cracked wide open.

Fifty-six days ago, my husband told me he wasn’t happy anymore—that he needed to find himself and God. And while it hurt, it wasn’t shocking. The truth is, the last three years slowly erased me. I lived in survival mode for so long that I forgot what it felt like to breathe. I lost my confidence. I lost my voice. I lost myself. I stared in the mirror and didn’t recognize the woman looking back. I wasn’t searching for myself anymore—I was trying to survive myself.

The first two weeks after he left were brutal. I cried until my body ached. I barely slept. Food felt impossible. People asked if I was okay, and I lied without thinking. “I’m fine.” But I wasn’t fine—I was empty, shattered, and carrying a kind of sadness that doesn’t scream, it suffocates.

Then something inside me snapped—in the best way.

I stopped abandoning myself. I chose me. My peace became non-negotiable. My needs mattered. And if something disturbed my peace, I didn’t explain myself—I said no. No guilt. No apology. No fear. I stopped walking on eggshells. I stopped pretending. I stopped shrinking to make someone else comfortable. And for the first time in years, I slept through the night.

Fifty-six days ago, I was broken.
Today, I am breathing again.

What felt like rejection was actually release. What felt like loss was freedom. Him leaving didn’t destroy me—it gave me my life back.

I made a promise to myself: no one will ever again have control over my body, my mind, or my worth. I am no longer surviving—I am rebuilding. Becoming the strongest, healthiest, most whole version of myself isn’t optional anymore.

It’s my responsibility.
And this time, I’m choosing me.