Healing takes time. Real time. It’s not something you can rush or force. Sometimes, you just have to sit with yourself, sit with the memories, sit with the feelings, and sit with the hurt. You reminisce, you cry, you breathe, you feel it all. You let the waves of betrayal, confusion, heartbreak, and brokenness wash over you. You feel shattered. You feel misplaced. You feel like you won’t survive it. But you do. Healing isn’t linear. It’s messy. Some days will feel lighter, like maybe the sun is breaking through. Other days will feel like you’re drowning all over again. And that’s okay. There’s no race. There’s no timeline. Just honor the process. Trust that in time, real time, your heart will find its way back to wholeness.

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"You’ll realize that you can waste half your life just wanting to be loved right. Until one day, you stop craving it altogether because the hurt, the betrayal, the tests, the trials… they harden you. You’ve been through so much that the love you once longed for no longer feels worth the ache."

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"A lot of times, we box people in because of our so-called preferences we say we want this, we want that, we need them to be a certain way. But in doing so, we might actually be closing our eyes to what we truly need. Sometimes, what sparks our heart comes from the places and people we least expect. What we think is our 'type' isn’t always what’s best for us, because many times, we don’t even see the small things that could truly matter. We overestimate what we know, based on who we’ve dated or what we thought we wanted. The truth is, we really don’t know until the right connection surprises us."

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“Be careful what you say when you’re upset, angry, or caught in a mood. Words spoken in the heat of the moment can’t be taken back, no matter how much you wish they could. People might forgive you, but that doesn’t always mean they forget. Sometimes, long after the anger has passed, your words echo in their hearts. They may smile, but deep down they remember what was said and it changes how they feel. So choose your words with care, even in your weakest moments.”

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“I’m not angry. I’m not bitter. I’m just done. Done overextending myself. Done explaining my worth. Done hoping people will change when their actions already told me who they are. This isn’t a goodbye wrapped in resentment this is me choosing peace over proving, growth over grudges, and alignment over attachment. I release what was, bless it for what it taught me, and walk forward whole, rooted, and quietly powerful.”

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There are moments when you sit down in silence, just to breathe, and suddenly your heart starts speaking louder than your thoughts. What started as a quiet moment turns into a full-on therapy session with God. No background music, no fancy words—just raw emotion, honesty, and tears that you didn’t plan to shed. That’s the beauty of being in His presence. You don’t have to explain everything perfectly; He already knows. And somehow, in that stillness, the weight you’ve been carrying begins to lift.
Those sessions hit different because they’re real. No masks, no pretending to be strong. Just you and God—your brokenness, your hopes, your confusion, and your trust. You leave those moments not always with answers but with peace. Because when God listens, He heals. When He comforts, it reaches places no person ever could. That’s what happens when a quiet session becomes a therapy session with the One who knows you better than you know yourself.

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There comes a point when you realize people won’t always give back what you pour into them. You love deeply, support fully, and still find yourself overlooked, undervalued, or even hurt. It’s disappointing sometimes heartbreaking. But over time, you learn that constantly expecting from others only leads to repeated letdowns. You begin to lower your expectations, not out of bitterness but out of self-preservation. You stop depending on others to validate your worth, and instead, turn inward to heal, protect your energy, and find peace in your own presence. In that space, you learn to choose yourself again and again. Because when people fall short, when love fades, or loyalty wavers, the only one who’s always with you is you and God. So no matter how many times life tells you you're not enough, remind yourself that you are. Keep choosing you, not because others don’t matter, but because your well-being can’t hinge on how they treat you. Your light was never meant to depend on their recognition. It’s yours. And it’s enough.

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If They Were Yours
Your person wouldn’t go the whole day without talking to you. They wouldn’t let the hours slip by in silence, not when they know how deeply your heart feels the quiet. They wouldn’t leave you on read, letting your thoughts run wild, wondering what they’re doing, if they’re safe, if they still feel the same. Your person wouldn’t let you sit in that uncertainty; they’d reach for you before the silence ever got heavy. They’d call just to hear your voice not because they had to, but because hearing you feels like home. They’d reply not out of obligation, but out of want, because you’re not just a message they care. Your person would move with intention, showing up in small, quiet ways that speak volumes. Ways that feel like warmth, safety, and consistency. They’d never let you question your place in their life, never leave you doubting. Because when someone is truly yours, you don’t have to ask for clarity, you feel it. They don’t become a question mark. They become your peace, your answer, your always.

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I’m officially in my quiet girl era—no longer feeling the need to speak so much, explain myself, or beg to be seen. Life flows, and I’m learning to flow with it. I’ve come to understand that God hears even the prayers I don’t speak, and peace now speaks louder than any defense. I no longer chase closure; I’ve realized that some answers are found in stillness, not in noise. I’m not cold—I’m covered. Not distant—just drawing nearer to God. This silence isn’t emptiness, it’s a sacred space. Sometimes silence is obedience; sometimes letting go is the purest form of trust. So now, I choose peace. I choose presence. Not because I’m tired, but because I’m aligned. This is not defeat—it’s my spirit’s soft retreat. And in this stillness, I know I am held.

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