When I say this new year has really thrown me for a loop, it sure has. So many different layers of my life are moving and shifting and really forcing me to pivot or get run over. And best believe, even if I have to cry, and y’all know I’m a crier, the entire time, I’m going to do it.

Since my last blog post, there has been a shift. I had to let go of the pain and suffering I was causing myself through the transitionary period of the lesson I was being taught. The shift feels like a weight has been lifted off my chest and my heart once I finally allowed myself to let go and let God.

I naturally have a big heart. I see the best in people even if they do not see it in themselves. It is a blessing and a curse to see the potential in people and to understand that we are all a work in progress. No one is ever fully healed. No one is perfect. No one’s walk with Christ is perfect and no one is fully saved. We all make mistakes, act selfishly, and carry traumas that have wounded us so deeply we are still trying to navigate our way through the darkness.

But for me, my character along with my spiritual gifts allow me to see and feel much deeper. That is what they call an empath. An empath is someone who is highly sensitive to the emotions and energy of others. They do not just understand how someone feels, they feel it as if it is their own. That has been both a gift and something I had to learn how to manage.

I feel more deeply. I am not sure I have always been this way, but I know once I started my healing journey, my walk with Christ, and growing spiritually, certain things changed about me. I used to crave relationships but never really knew what it meant to truly get to know someone and accept them for who they are as they are, while being aware that they will change over time just as I would.

I thought I knew what love was based off the love I saw from my parents and other family members, along with what society portrayed as that perfect love. I was lost and confused and did not truly know what love meant, yet I was chasing it. It was not until my life hit rock bottom and I had to choose to love myself first that the dynamic had to shift.

It was not until I started to heal myself, heal my wounds around love and what that looked like to me versus what it actually means. It was not until I had to nurture the little girl in me who thought she was never enough, who believed she had to prove her worth and that being loved and chosen depended on how much she could do and give to the other person.

That led me to holding on harder, staying longer, fighting harder, and overextending myself over and over again until I broke. In the end, it was me who was broken. Trying to love and hold on to what was not meant for me to hold on to.

I am not saying there are not situations where things get hard and you have to put in more effort to come out on the other side. But when it is just you, when it is unilateral and one sided and you are giving more than you are receiving, that is not healthy love. That is anxious attachment.

Anxious attachment is a pattern where someone fears abandonment so deeply that they overextend themselves to keep the relationship. They overplay their part, overgive, overcompensate, and ignore their own needs just to try to keep the other person around. It is rooted in the fear of losing them, or sometimes the deeper fear of being alone.

The Shenelle I am today still has those wounds that want to help, heal, fix, and support the people I care about. Because when I needed support, I had to handle it all on my own. I know what it is like to heal alone and have to pick yourself up and keep going because what else are you supposed to do.

You have to keep going. Keep evolving. Keep shifting as you go through different experiences in life.

I went years in a period of isolation. Being alone. Doing the inner work. Praying, fasting, journaling, going to therapy. Working so hard to climb my way out of the darkness that tried to consume me.

I knew that I had to want my comeback to be bigger and stronger than anything else I had ever done because I never want to be back in that place of desperation. Walking unconsciously. Making poor decisions. Hurting people because I was hurting.

I wanted to heal and change my life because I wanted to. Because I know my life is not destined to be stuck in a cycle of repeating patterns. I wanted to learn the lessons that the Creator has in store for me so I can elevate and transition into a higher, more self aware version of myself.

Learning to love yourself is a mirror reflection of the love you will allow into your life. It is a lifestyle choice. It is easy to pretend and stay negative and stuck in our ways because of what has been done to us or what we may have done in the past. But making the choice to learn and actively choose differently once we have gained the knowledge that we are worthy and capable of so much more than staying complacent to our circumstances, that is growth.

If we know what we want and we have the tools and the support from the people who truly see us for who we are, with no lies, no manipulation, no ego, those are the ones we keep close to us. The ones willing to go the distance with you while you heal the wounds that told you that you cannot have it all.

Choose the ones that choose you too. Choose the ones that see you deeply, flaws and all. Choose the ones who know you are a work in progress but love you anyway.

Deeper connection is something that I seek now. I do not do well with surface level conversations, surface level people, or surface level ways of thinking. I want depth. I want to know your favorite foods. The movies that make you cry or question your way of thinking. What you consider the perfect love to be. What are your pet peeves. What are your dreams and aspirations. What mistakes have you made in your life and if you could change them, would you.

Tell me about your inner child wounds and how you plan to heal them. How do you plan to grow and evolve into the best version of yourself. I want to know it all. The good, the bad, the ugly, the work in progress. Because we are all difficult to be with, but with the right person we find purpose and patience and something worth trying for.

I hope we all find that kind of love. That patient, tender, caring kind of love. No matter how much pain and suffering we have gone through in life, we are worthy of being loved and receiving love.

If you know what you want, especially when it comes to love, go after it. We only have one life. And if someone truly sees you deeply, do not be scared and run. Be brave and go after it.

You do not know how long they will be there waiting for you.

Closing Mantra

I survived what tried to break me. I healed what tried to harden me. I am worthy of a love that sees me deeply and chooses me fully. I release the fear of abandonment and embrace the courage to be loved. I do not run from what is meant for me. I receive love with an open heart.

Asé

I want to have an honest moment right now. I have never read the Bible from beginning to end. I know I call myself a spiritual baddie, but I did not grow up with deep religious knowledge or personal study of scripture.

Let me give some context.

Growing up in Jamaica, like many Caribbean households, church was simply what you did. Every Sabbath, like clockwork, you were in church praising God. I was too young to remember most of those days myself, but I was always told I somehow found my way to the church people with the snacks. That part sounds about right.

When my family immigrated to the United States, that consistency faded. My grandmother remained the only one who stayed devoted to attending church regularly. My sister and I went for a while, but once we got older, we both decided it did not feel aligned for us anymore.

I always carried a quiet discomfort in church spaces. I struggled with the contradiction of people who preached holiness out loud but lived differently in private. I know not everyone is like that, but it affected how seriously I could receive guidance. As I have grown in my healing and spiritual journey, I realized something important. I no longer take deep spiritual advice from people whose lives do not reflect the fruit of what they teach. Not from judgment, but from discernment.

For years I looked outward for wisdom. I put people on pedestals. I thought insight only came from titles, positions, or loud voices. Eventually I learned that alignment matters more than appearance.

I went to church until about age fifteen mostly out of duty, not devotion. I did not feel closer to Christ. I felt condemned more than connected. I felt restricted and quietly ashamed. So I did what I used to do best. I shut down. I showed up physically but not spiritually. I was not absorbing sermons. I was not reading scripture. I could not quote verses. I was present but not engaged.

So yes, I can say honestly that I never truly read the Bible in my early life.

Ironically, it was spiritual warfare that pushed me to finally open it later. Pain became my invitation. Crisis became my doorway. Many people come to God through comfort. Some of us come through fire.

Over the last year I have read more spiritual material and scripture than I did in the previous twenty years combined. Not because of pressure, but because of hunger.

I share this because everyone’s walk with God looks different. Some call Him God. Some say the Most High. Some say Source or the Universe. Even now there are moments I feel insecure that I cannot quote scripture easily. I had to catch myself shaming myself. God was not shaming me. I was.

Knowing verses is not the same as living truth.

As scripture reminds us, “People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” 1 Samuel 16:7

There are people who know scripture front to back and still do not live with love, integrity, or humility. I am not claiming righteousness or perfection. I am saying that even without deep biblical scholarship, I still choose to live consciously and morally. I believe in consequence. I believe that what we sow we reap. I believe mercy is real and so is accountability.

As one spiritual teacher phrase puts it, “It is not about perfection. It is about direction.”

My direction is toward God.

Prayer is my anchor. I pray about everything. Before decisions. Before travel. Before meals. Over my daughter. Over my workplace. Over strangers. Over my own thoughts. I speak to God all day long in small, ordinary moments. I do not treat prayer like an emergency hotline. I treat it like an ongoing conversation.

Brother Lawrence, a Christian mystic, called this “practicing the presence of God” in everyday tasks. That is exactly what it feels like.

I talk to God like a friend because relationship is what I was seeking, not performance. I was not taught how to build that relationship in a way that felt alive to me, so I learned how to speak to Him directly. Honestly. Imperfectly. Frequently.

God is not distant to me. God is not just a figure in the sky. God is presence, breath, conscience, creation, order, and love moving through all things. Scripture says the kingdom of God is within you. Many spiritual teachers echo this truth. The divine is not only above us but also within us.

My devotion looks like this. Loving myself. Caring for my body as a temple. Living honestly. Admitting when I am wrong. Repenting when I fall short. Recalibrating when I drift.

Healing and holiness both require humility. As Thomas Merton wrote, “The spiritual life is not about becoming someone different. It is about becoming who you truly are.”

Let us also talk about sin in a way that is often misunderstood. The original meaning of sin is to miss the mark. It is not identity. It is direction. It is misalignment, not permanent condemnation. It is a signal, not a life sentence.

Shame says you are broken. Spirit says you are being called back into alignment.

Many modern spiritual writers and even theologians agree on this. Sin is separation from love and truth. Redemption is returning to it.

This blog is not about tearing down religion. It is about finding my way back to God through authenticity. Through openness of mind, body, and spirit. Through lived experience, not just inherited tradition.

Faith is often called delusion by those who do not feel it. But faith is simply trust in what you cannot yet see. Even Jesus said faith the size of a mustard seed is enough.

When I pray for removal of what is not aligned with my life, the answers come quickly. Sometimes uncomfortably fast. Relationships shift. Masks fall. Doors close. That is not punishment. That is protection.

I choose to live in love and light not because I am naive but because I am intentional. My intentions are not always perfectly executed, but they are sincere. Every day I choose again. Some days that choice is easy. Some days all I can say is, God, I am tired. Thank you anyway.

Gratitude is still prayer.

I cannot force my faith onto anyone else. I can only live it. Practice it. Refine it. I make uncomfortable changes because I never want to return to who I was when I was disconnected from myself and from God.

My path is simple. Evolve. Grow. Learn. Teach. Repeat.

Closing Mantra:

I do not walk perfectly but I walk prayerfully. I return to God daily, honestly, and willingly. Alignment over appearance. Relationship over religion. Growth over guilt.

There is a version of me who survived something she never fully had the words to explain.

She turned pain into lessons, fear into awareness, and heartbreak into healing. This is for her.

Do y’all remember when I came back home from Washington and started a little series called Surviving a Narcissist?

At the time, I felt like I had been silent for far too long. I carried experiences I did not yet have the language to process, so I turned to storytelling. Those videos became a release. I spoke about patterns, warning signs, emotional dynamics, and behaviors because I needed to make sense of a season that once left me voiceless.

Looking back, I realize part of my intention was to help others recognize what I could not see in real time. I wanted to protect people from confusion, emotional harm, and self-doubt. I wanted my pain to serve a purpose beyond myself.

But like many things in my life, I started that series and did not finish it. Not because I lacked care, but because fear shaped my silence. I worried about how my words could be interpreted, misunderstood, or used in ways I could not control. That fear carried more weight than I admitted at the time.

Still, every time I posted, there was an outpouring of support. Survivors felt seen. People shared their stories. That connection reminded me that storytelling can be both medicine and mirror.

At the same time, I questioned myself. Was I sharing to help others, or was I still trying to convince myself that my experience was real? I had not fully processed why it happened or how it reshaped me. I needed time to make sense of it all, and eventually I stepped back because continuing no longer felt aligned with my healing.

Fast forward two years. Two long years of growth, therapy, reflection, and acceptance. I came to understand a difficult truth: some people do not change, no matter how much accountability, honesty, or effort is offered.

At some point, I had to choose what I wanted to carry forward. Pain, resentment, regret, or healing. I had to grieve the life I imagined, the family I once envisioned, and the future I thought I was building. That grief was raw, messy, and humbling, but necessary.

I also had to take responsibility for my part in the experience, not from a place of shame, but from a place of empowerment. I asked myself hard questions. I leaned on God. I committed to therapy. I chose, again and again, to heal intentionally.

Most of all, I chose love. The love I have for my daughter became greater than any anger I carried. A quiet mantra guided me:

“I love my daughter more than I hold onto pain.”

This is not the life I once imagined, but it is the life I am committed to living with integrity, peace, and growth. I refuse to let past hurt define my identity. I refuse to lose myself to bitterness. I refuse to become someone I do not recognize.

I honor the version of myself who chose safety, who chose growth, who chose motherhood with courage, and who rebuilt from nothing. I do not regret choosing peace. I do not regret choosing my child. I do not regret choosing a healthier environment, even when it meant starting over.

What I choose now is evolution. Healing. Emotional maturity. Boundaries. Self-respect. And love that does not require self-betrayal.

Because this is the kind of love I believe in:

Quote attributed to Sade Andria Zabala (often miscredited to Edgar Allan Poe)

“Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway. Not blind love, but forgiving love. Not perfect love, but patient love. Love that can hold your darkness without trying to fix it. Tell me your sins, your regrets, the nights you wished you could start over, and I will trace them like constellations that led you here. I do not want the polished version of you. I want the truth, the messy, fragile, real you. That is where love lives.”

Motherhood taught me what unconditional love truly feels like. And while romantic love is still a journey of learning, I know this much: I want a love that allows honesty, accountability, vulnerability, and acceptance. A love that does not require me to abandon myself.

Closing — Diary of a Self-Lover

This chapter of my life is no longer about proving what happened. It is about proving to myself that I can heal, grow, and choose peace without losing my softness. This is what self-love looks like in real time.

For the first time in my life, I feel nothing. And honestly — that might be one of the best things for me right now.

When I first said “nothing,” I pictured what Elena did in The Vampire Diaries — like I’d turned my emotions off entirely. But that’s not it at all. What I’ve discovered is that this “nothingness” isn’t a lack of emotion… it’s presence without fear or desperation.

Why “Nothing” Isn’t Nothing

2025 was a year of rebuilding — of rediscovering me. I prioritized myself like never before. I learned my boundaries, my limits, what drains me, what energizes me, and most importantly — why I choose the things I choose.

In the past, I spent so much of my life people-pleasing that I didn’t even know what I liked. When someone asked “What do you want?” my brain went blank… not because I had nothing inside me, but because I was so used to mirroring someone else’s wants.

Putting myself out there romantically — even just through apps — was a step forward. Even though I never met these men in real life, the whole experience taught me a lot about myself:

What I was willing to tolerate What genuinely excited me What felt like peace vs. what merely stimulated my nerves

I wasn’t looking for surface-level chatter anymore; I was looking for depth. And ironically, most of those experiences showed me that depth wasn’t where I was looking.

The Peace That Comes After Chaos

Since stepping away from the apps — but not from love — real peace showed up.

No racing thoughts. No juggling multiple conversations. No wondering who said what and why they didn’t reply. No anticipation, ignoring, over-analyzing, guessing.

Just… stillness.

And that stillness confused me at first. Because we’re taught that connection comes with butterflies, or sweaty palms, or anxiety — you know, the emotional fireworks. But what if peace is a deeper kind of connection? What if regulated calm isn’t a lack of feeling, but a healthier feeling?

What Psychology Says About Nervous System Regulation 

Psychologists describe something called the “window of tolerance” — the range in which your nervous system operates without being overwhelmed or shut down. When we’re in survival mode (trauma, stress, unresolved patterns), we’re either overactivated — anxious, reactive, overwhelmed — or underactivated — numb, disconnected.

Feeling regulated means your nervous system isn’t in constant alarm mode. It’s safe. It’s grounded. It’s settled. This isn’t emptiness — it’s stability.

Some modern thinkers — including voices in wellness and psychology — talk about how relationships that consistently calm your nervous system are the ones worth keeping. It’s not about the intensity of butterflies — it’s about how safe your body feels in that person’s presence.

This echoes a point from the On Purpose with Jay Shetty podcast, where the host talks about relationships that calm your nervous system — versus those that only stimulate it. He suggests that when a connection truly meets you and steadies you, that’s real compatibility, and not just chemistry. 

“If they calm your nervous system, that’s care. If they make your heart race but never let your mind rest, that’s adrenaline, not alignment.” — On Purpose with Jay Shetty (paraphrased) 

This Nothingness Is Actually Peace — Real, Deep Peace

This nothingness I feel now… isn’t emptiness. It’s relief. It’s my mind finally at rest. It’s my body no longer in survival mode.

It’s a regulated nervous system — something I didn’t even realize I was craving.

I’m finally free from:

Racing thoughts

Gut knots

Overthinking texts

Pleasing for love

Craving validation

And it feels so steady.

Now Here’s the Real Question:

Do you ever meet someone and don’t feel frantic, jittery, obsessive, or over-stimulated… but instead feel seen and safe?

Not nervous. Not tense. Not trying to “perform.” Just… grounded.

That’s the kind of connection I wasn’t even aware I was missing — and maybe you didn’t know you were either.

It’s not fireworks — it’s warmth.

It’s not panic — it’s steadiness.

It’s not chasing — it’s presence.

A Reframing: Nothing → Something Real.

Maybe “nothingness” needs a new name. What I’m experiencing isn’t hollow — it’s emotional steadiness. Inner peace. A nervous system finally at rest. A body that feels safe.

And for the first time… I feel secure in the stillness of my soul.

I am safe here. And that feels like everything.

By the time this blog finds you, it will officially be 2026.

How insane is it that 2025 came and went — and here we are, standing at the very first chapter of a brand-new era?

So let’s talk about love, lust, and exactly what I’m calling into my love life in 2026.

Before I dive into the nitty-gritty, let’s take a step back.

As early as I can remember — maybe around 16 — I was lusted after. Groomed. Conditioned to feel desired by older men who had their eyes on me. I didn’t know any different. And like any immature, love-starved teenage girl or young woman, I welcomed those men into my life.

Looking back now, I see them for exactly what they were: predators. Master manipulators. Men willing to do anything to sink their teeth into someone young, naive, and unaware.

That pattern looped… and looped… and looped again — until it led to the most detrimental break of who I was.

I had been pulled so far away from myself that I could feel my spirit being crushed under the weight of wanting to be loved, wanted, chosen. I wanted my happily-ever-after so badly that I accepted any version of what I thought love was.

But none of it was love.

It was lust.

It was what they could see in me that I couldn’t yet see in myself. They wanted my light. My purity. My softness. My youth. My ambition. My ability to love and nourish naturally.

They wanted the light I carried.

I became the placeholder — the anchor keeping them from going over the edge. I attracted damaged men who needed love, softness, patience. Men who wanted someone controllable, immature, and unaware of the mental games being played.

Was it always intentional? No. But was most of it? Absolutely.

It was always about how much they could take from me before I caught on — or before they were done.

Being lusted over is nothing new to me.

And now, with my Hinge profile getting the majority of attention based on my photos, that dynamic has only intensified. Even on days when I don’t feel like the most beautiful woman in the world — even when I’m not trying to glorify my physical presence — I know I am beautiful. And yes, the body is tea, okayyy.

But after the growth I’ve done over the last few years, I am completely turned off by men who think they can just yap in my face about how attractive I am or all the things they want to do to me.

I didn’t make it three years celibate because I didn’t have options.

It was a choice.

And trust me — it could have been broken easily if these men knew how to hold a conversation, show genuine interest, and actually listen when I said I wanted connection first.

Give it a few conversations, and their true intentions always reveal themselves.

I’m wide awake now. And I’m ready to love again — on my terms.

2026 is my receiving era.

This is the year of:

Passenger princess energy Gift giving Healthy obsession with me A provider A man rooted in his full masculine energy

A man who allows me to be soft because he is solid.

I’ve given men versions of myself meant to save them from themselves. But who was there to save me?

That’s the love I had to learn how to give myself first.

And now that I’ve reached a place where I can truly open my heart again, I will only welcome a man who loves himself enough not to project his insecurities onto me — or use me as an escape from the demons he refuses to face.

I may have been a fool then. But the woman I am now? I can see you.

I can read energy. And if I don’t get a clear read, my spirit team will make it loud. And please don’t let me pray for God to reveal you — because He will. And when He does, I don’t hesitate. I leave.

I might be mad. I might talk my shit. But I move.

I do not repeat cycles that delay my purpose — especially not for a man.

There is a balance in love. Being someone’s safe space is beautiful. Being an anchor can be sacred. But there is a difference between partnership and being someone’s refuge.

I’m no longer interested in being chosen because of how I make a man feel.

The question I will always hold space for now is: Does he want me — or does he want the version of himself that exists when I’m around?

Time always tells.

I’m dating slowly. Intentionally. And with the right man, the fundamentals — respect, honesty, effort — won’t have to be begged for. They will be reciprocated naturally.

One of the hardest lessons I’ve ever learned was surviving a narcissistic, abusive relationship and choosing myself.

No matter how many times I have to start over, I will choose me.

This healing journey isn’t about becoming hardened or bitter. It’s about becoming the best version of myself without letting what I’ve been through define how I love.

Even now, when I feel ready, old cycles try to resurface. But every experience brings me closer — to my person, my people, my community.

I’m learning to take life one day at a time. To accept things as they are — not as I wish they were. And most importantly…

To trust God’s plan for me.

I originally had a different blog ready to post. I usually like to write a few weeks behind real time—purely to protect my energy and give myself space to process what I’m going through. It allows me time to sit with my emotions, understand the lesson, and move with intention instead of reaction.

But this one came out of nowhere.

And yes—the lover girl in me cried. Real tears. At this point, you should know I’m a crier, okay? So let’s just jump right in.

I started the New Year unexpectedly single. Not exactly how I envisioned welcoming 2026—especially after New Year’s Eve plans quietly dissolved into silence. So much for sitting under a table eating my 12 grapes, praying for love, abundance, health, and protection.

Though, if I’m being honest… I did receive all of that. Just not in the romantic form I was hoping for.

A Year Worth Celebrating

When I zoom out, this past year was actually incredibly powerful for me.

My health alone feels like a miracle. I spent the end of 2024 and the beginning of 2025 extremely sick—flu after flu, month after month, with no clear answers. My immune system felt completely depleted. But I made it through. I’m healthy now—mind, body, and spirit. I’m back in the gym, meditating, exploring Pilates and yoga, and committing to caring for myself in ways that feel sustainable and loving. 2026 is the year I truly show up for my body.

Financially, I’m proud of myself in ways I don’t talk about enough. After staying home with my daughter for over a year—no income, mounting bills, legal fees—I worked relentlessly to rebuild. I paid off debt, repaired my credit, created savings, and did the hard, unglamorous work of stabilizing my life.

And then… I bought my dream car.

That moment still brings tears to my eyes. Sitting in that office chair, praying quietly, asking God if this blessing was meant for me. And when I heard the word approved—I knew. That car wasn’t just transportation. It was proof of resilience, provision, and grace. I’m forever grateful.

My life is rich in so many ways: the love of my family, the unconditional joy of my daughter, new friendships, spiritual protection, and a level of awareness that keeps me grounded and guarded in this season.

And Then… There Was Love (or the Possibility of It)

I won’t recap every moment of the past few months of dating—it’s been a lot. But this connection stood out. It felt different. Easy. Intentional. Familiar in a way that felt comforting rather than chaotic.

We connected deeply. Conversation flowed effortlessly. It felt like we skipped past the surface and met somewhere more honest. I felt seen—not just for my appearance, but for who I am. That mattered to me.

I knew there was pain there—healing in progress. And I carry my own history too. But there was mutual understanding. A shared softness. And for once, I allowed myself to be open without overthinking it.

I didn’t expect the connection to end so quickly.

Plans were made. Communication shifted. And then… silence. The kind that makes you question yourself, even when you know better. Eventually, the answer came—not out of malice, but out of reality. Distance, time, priorities. He chose not to move forward because he didn’t feel able—or willing—to show up in the way a relationship would require.

What hurt wasn’t the honesty. It was the finality. The lack of conversation before the decision was made. Because from where I stood, there was potential—something worth discussing, even if the outcome stayed the same.

Still, I respect the clarity.

And I’m choosing not to sit in limbo or question my worth. I won’t wait around wondering why I wasn’t chosen. I was. Just not in the way that aligned long-term.

Choosing Myself (Again)

Every time something like this happens, I feel the urge to harden—to shut down, to care less. But that’s not who I am. I care deeply. I want love. I want partnership, romance, and connection.

Just not at the cost of my peace.

So for now, I’m pressing pause. Hinge is deleted—not paused, not muted—deleted. I need space to refocus, to recentre myself, and to continue healing without constantly inviting people in who aren’t meant to stay.

This first quarter of the year is about me. My body. My energy. My growth. Maybe even a physical change or two—because why not?

If love finds me in real life, organically, when I’m ready—I’ll welcome it with an open heart.

Closing Mantra

“I don’t chase what isn’t choosing me. I honor what came, release what couldn’t stay, and trust that what’s meant for me will meet me where I am—without hesitation.”

I really don’t even know what to say. And I think that might be the most honest place I’ve been in for a while.

Every time I feel creative—every time I feel the urge to share my life, my healing, my experiences—I feel a nudge from spirit telling me to reel it back in. And for a moment, that confused me. Because if you’ve been here from the beginning, you know this blog itself was once just a dream… one that came to me almost exactly a year ago and has finally come into fruition.

So why would I be called to pull back now?

At first, I interpreted it the way I always have: As soon as I open myself back up, I’m “saying too much.” And when that thought creeps in, I do what I’ve always done best—I isolate. I shut down. I stop sharing. I stop connecting.

But this is a dream of mine. And I refuse to let fear, trauma, or the lingering effects of being watched, judged, or misunderstood keep me hostage.

Because I didn’t come this far just to disappear again. And I didn’t build this space to show up as a diluted or unauthentic version of myself—to please who? Because it’s definitely not me.

A Misinterpretation of Spirit

Yes, my spirit team has been telling me to “shut the fuck up”…. but not in the way my trauma wants me to believe.

This isn’t about silencing myself. It’s about discernment.

Right when I started feeling comfortable again, the unhealed parts of me resurfaced. And that makes sense—because three years ago around this time, I was planning my escape from a narcissistic relationship. I had no money, no support system nearby, a newborn baby, and was deep in postpartum. I was terrified.

I packed what I could—my baby, a checked bag, a diaper bag—and I left everything else behind.

And even when I was thousands of miles away, I didn’t feel safe.

I truly believed I was being watched, tracked, monitored. I was afraid that anything I posted—no matter how harmless—could be used against me. That photos could give away my location. That visibility equaled danger.

And the hardest part? My instincts weren’t wrong.

So I disconnected from everything and everyone. I told myself it was protection. And in many ways, it was. But I was also disconnecting from me.

The Pattern I’m Unlearning

As a child, I learned that staying quiet kept the peace. That not rocking the boat was safer.

And without realizing it, I carried that same survival pattern into my adult life—especially when it came to being seen, heard, and known for the value of what I have to say.

So every time I try to step forward, that same feeling returns: You’re saying too much. This could be used against you. It’s safer to stop.

But here’s the truth I’m finally facing:

The narcissist will always be a narcissist. But my biggest fear was never really them.

It was me.

It was the fear that if I start something, I’ll have to keep going. That I’ll have to hold myself accountable.That I might actually succeed.

Because hiding removes the risk of failure—but it also removes the chance of success.

What I Know Now

Yes, my fears are valid. Yes, patterns don’t disappear overnight.

But I also know this: I am worthy of sharing my truth. I am worthy of success. And even if I stumble or fall, this is mine.

At least I kept going. At least I didn’t let fear dictate the ending of my story.

And the biggest lesson I’ve learned—especially now—is this:

Not everything is meant to be shared. But there is immense power and impact in what I choose to say.

That choice belongs to me.

And this time, I’m choosing alignment over silence.