The Window and The Well: When Love Isn’t Enough to Heal You 🧡

My heart was crying for a soul that couldn’t see the world outside of his window.

My soul was aching for peace from the world that could only be provided from within.

Two sentences.

But when I read them back, I realize—I wasn’t just writing about heartbreak.

I was writing about awakening.

There’s something soul-crushing about loving someone who refuses to look up.

Someone who watches life from the sidelines,

who dreams in theory but never applies it in real life.

Who keeps the blinds closed and calls it safety—

while you’re out here praying for vision, for movement, for more.

And still…

you try to love them through it.

You shrink your light so it doesn’t blind them.

You quiet your joy so they don’t feel triggered.

You sit beside them, at their window,

hoping your presence will inspire them to open it.

But after a while—your oxygen gets low.

And you realize…

you can’t save someone who’s decided they don’t want to be free.

That’s when the ache shifts.

That’s when it moves from your heart

to your soul.

Because while your heart was begging to be seen,

your soul?

Your soul was screaming for peace.

Not the peace that comes from having someone next to you—

but the kind you earn

when you finally stop abandoning yourself

in the name of love.

I used to think I needed someone to pour into me.

To tell me I was worthy.

To hold me when I couldn’t hold myself.

But I’ve learned:

Peace is an inside job.

No one can hand it to you.

No relationship can create it for you.

And no man—no matter how charming or broken—

can complete you

if you haven’t first reclaimed the parts of yourself you gave away.

It hurts.

God, it hurts.

To watch someone you love

choose fear.

Choose passivity.

Choose the window

when you were ready to walk into the world together.

But sometimes, love is not enough.

Sometimes love asks you to leave—

so that you can finally meet the version of yourself

who doesn’t need to beg for reciprocity.

So here I am.

No longer waiting at the window.

No longer pleading for eye contact through the glass.

No longer explaining how to love me to someone

who only loved my effort—not my essence.

I’ve turned inward.

I’ve gone to the well.

The one where God waits with living water.

Where healing whispers back when you’re finally quiet enough to listen.

Where peace doesn’t have conditions.

It just is.

If you’re reading this and it resonates,

know this:

You are not crazy for outgrowing a connection you thought would last.

You are not wrong for wanting to be chosen—fully, loudly, without hesitation.

You are not asking for too much.

You’re asking the wrong person.

Let them keep the window.

You’ve got a whole world to explore.

🕊️ Reflection Journal Prompt:

Where in your life have you been sitting at the window, waiting? And what would it look like to walk away and draw from the well within?

🌿 Affirmations:

• I release what no longer reflects who I’m becoming.

• I trust myself to know when it’s time to walk away.

• I choose peace, even if it comes wrapped in solitude.

• I am worthy of a love that matches my depth.

• I no longer beg to be seen. I see myself—clearly.

Grace Under Fire: Showing Up When You’re Barely Holding On

 You ever have a week where everything hits at once?

The kind that asks you to be brave, bold, vulnerable, focused—and still somehow functional?

Yeah. That kind.

There are seasons that ask a little of us—extra patience, more focus, maybe a little overtime.

And then… there are seasons that ask everything.

The ones that stack grief and deadlines on the same calendar.

That schedule joy and fear back-to-back.

That demand your presence while your soul is still catching up.

The kind of season where your to-do list feels like a trap door.

Where people keep expecting you to be “on,” when all you want is to be offline.

You know the one:

• Someone’s waiting on an email.

• Another person’s texting “you good?” with a question mark that feels like pressure.

• There’s a meeting. An appointment. A family event. A grief day creeping up on the calendar.

• Life is life-ing. Hard.

And yet—you show up. Not because it’s easy. But because you’ve trained yourself to.

Because people depend on you.

Because disappearing feels more dangerous than pretending.

That’s not weakness.

That’s resilience with edges.

That’s grace under fire.

People expect presence, even when you’re emotionally absent.

They want quick replies. They want you to keep the same energy.

They want the version of you that’s funny, available, and comforting—even when you need comfort.

And if you don’t deliver it fast enough?

They notice.

They get quiet.

They get distant.

Sometimes they even get mad.

But what they don’t see is that you’re holding it together by the last thread— sometimes literally by the one chin hair you forgot to tweeze that morning. 🫠

This isn’t a cry for attention. It’s a call for compassion.

So many people are walking around with weighted hearts and invisible burdens.

Some are silently grieving.

Some are dealing with health scares.

Some are starting over—again.

And some… are just tired.

Really, truly, bone-deep tired.

Not lazy. Not unmotivated. Just worn the hell out.

So if you’re reading this and you feel like life is asking too much right now — this is your permission slip to be a little slower, a little softer, a little selfish.

You don’t owe constant access to people who don’t notice when you start to fade.

Here’s what I know for sure:

You’re doing the best you can with what you’ve got. And that? That’s enough.

You are enough.

Even if the texts go unanswered.

Even if you don’t show up to everything.

Even if all you managed today was survival.

That’s not failure.

That’s grace—even if it’s under fire.

🕊️ Written with love for the ones quietly carrying it all.

Reflection:

Have you ever had a season that asked everything of you? 

Share your heart in the comments below.

Not All Grief Wears Black

Grief wears many faces.

We’re taught to associate it with funerals, black clothing, flowers that wilt too quickly, and casseroles brought to quiet houses. But some of the hardest grief doesn’t come from death. It comes from absence. From silence. From people who are very much still alive but no longer accessible, emotionally or physically.

It’s the friend you thought would be in your wedding, but now you don't even follow each other on social media. It’s the ex you still dream about even though the relationship ended with no explanation, no closure—just distance. It’s the sibling whose number you still have, but you don't feel safe dialing. It's the parent in the hospital bed who looks like them, but isn't quite them anymore.

This is the grief that doesn’t always get a ceremony. The grief that lingers in quiet corners and awkward silences. And it deserves to be named.

Grief isn’t limited to death. It finds us in:

* Friendships that faded or fractured, especially childhood bonds.

* Romantic relationships that ended without closure or conversation.

* Family ties strained by estrangement, mental illness, addiction, or unresolved conflict.

* Watching a loved one decline due to health issues, slowly losing the person while they are still present.

There is grief in confusion. Grief in the unspoken. Grief in the *what-ifs*.

Elisabeth Kübler-Ross gave us the original stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. But when grieving the living, the cycle isn't so neat. It bends, loops, and boomerangs.

* **Denial**: "Maybe they’ll come back. Maybe it’s just a phase."

* **Anger**: At them. At yourself. At the universe for how unfair it feels.

* **Bargaining**: Replaying texts, wishing you said or did something different.

* **Depression**: That ache of emptiness, mourning what never even got a proper ending.

* **Acceptance**: Not peace, necessarily. But a moment when you realize you have to live anyway.

These stages don’t follow order. Sometimes they crash in all at once. Sometimes acceptance shows up quietly, only to slip away again.

**The Grief That Lingers**

When someone dies, we hold ceremonies. We cry. People check in. We wear black and speak in hushed tones. But when someone walks away, fades out, or disconnects—we’re often expected to just carry on.

That lingering grief is harder to explain. Harder to justify. But it's real.

You may:

* Isolate because explaining the loss feels embarrassing or complicated.

* Doubt your self-worth, wondering what you did wrong.

* Feel haunted by memories, unable to detach.

Grief—especially unresolved grief—reshapes how we show up in relationships. It can make us more guarded, more anxious, or even emotionally unavailable. It may make us hold tighter or let go quicker.

It challenges our ability to trust. To hope. It carves new scars where soft spots used to be.

But it can also deepen our empathy. Refine our boundaries. Teach us to honor what was *and* what must be let go.

Not everyone will say goodbye. Not every relationship gets a closing paragraph.

So we learn to:

* Write our own endings.

* Accept silence as its own kind of answer.

* Grieve what could have been, and still bless what was.

* Forgive, even if only for our own healing.

Closure isn’t always something someone else gives us. Sometimes it's something we create, stitch by stitch.

Give yourself permission to:

* Mourn without apology.

* Speak their name if it brings you comfort.

* Block, mute, or release if it brings you peace.

* Celebrate how far you’ve come since the ache began.

You don’t need a tombstone to grieve.

You don’t need permission to feel.

Grief isn’t a weakness. It’s evidence that you loved, that you hoped, that you cared deeply.

And even when closure never comes, healing still can.

💭 Journal Prompt:

1. Who or what am I still grieving, even if no one else sees it as grief?

Allow yourself to name the loss—without shame, without justification. Just honesty.

2. What would I say to the person I’ve lost (through distance, silence, or change) if I knew they’d never respond?

Write the words your heart needs to say, not for them, but for you.

3. How has grief reshaped me—for better or for worse—and what am I ready to reclaim?

Explore who you’ve become in the aftermath. What parts of you are stronger? What parts need gentle tending?

4. In what ways can I give myself the closure I never received?

Think about rituals, boundaries, or affirmations that can help you move forward.

5. *What does healing look like for me right now? Not someday—now.

Write about what your next step toward peace could be. It doesn’t have to be big. Just real.

Letting Go of What Was Never Mine

There’s a strange kind of grief in releasing something you never truly had. A friendship that only existed in your effort. A relationship where you were the only one holding on. A version of your life you clung to because it felt familiar, not because it felt right.

I’ve been learning that sometimes the hardest things to let go of are the things that were never really mine to hold. The comfort I tried to find in uncomfortable places. The people I tried to keep who were never meant to stay. The roles I played in lives I no longer belong to.

But letting go doesn’t always mean losing—it can mean choosing.

Choosing to grow.

Choosing to explore new memories, new connections, and new parts of yourself.

And maybe, just maybe, choosing to finally feel free.

Lately, I’ve been sitting with the idea of change — real change. The kind that stretches you, pulls you out of your familiar places, and asks you to trust what you can’t yet see. There’s a job opportunity that might mean relocating, and while it excites me, it also scares me. Not because I don’t believe I’m capable, but because it would mean leaving behind a city that’s given me a sense of comfort — even if I’ve never truly been comfortable here.

There’s something about being in a place where you know all the streets, all the routines, all the faces—but still feel unseen. Still feel like you don’t fully belong. I’ve called this place “home,” but if I’m honest, I’ve only ever settled here. I’ve built safety around what I’ve survived, not what’s made me feel alive.

And then there’s friendship. The ones that give me momentary happiness, quick laughs, shared memories — but lack depth, honesty, or purpose. I’ve been clinging to connections that feel good in passing but leave me lonely when I need to feel known. And I think I’ve stayed because I didn’t want to face what walking away might reveal about the spaces I’ve outgrown.

I’m even learning to grieve old versions of myself—the one who needed constant validation, the one who people-pleased out of fear of rejection, the one who stayed small to make others comfortable. I want to let her go, but I don’t fully know who comes next. And that unknown is scary. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe the new version of me won’t come from certainty, but from courage.

I’m learning that the unknown doesn’t have to be something to fear—it can be sacred. A blank page where God can write something new. A space where I can meet parts of myself I’ve never known, or maybe forgotten. I don’t have all the answers, and I’m not supposed to. That’s what faith is for.

Letting go and letting God isn’t always graceful. Sometimes it feels like crying in the middle of the night, whispering prayers that don’t have words yet. Sometimes it’s sitting in silence, heart open, hands unclenched, choosing to trust even when I don’t understand. But other times, it’s peace that surprises me. It’s a stillness in my soul when I realize I don’t have to hold it all together. It’s knowing that I’m guided—even in the in-between.

I’m opening myself up to new things. New environments. New connections. New ways of living and loving and being. I’m allowing myself to hope again—not just for what I want, but for what’s meant for me. And I’ve decided that if I have to leave people, places, or versions of myself behind in the process, then I will—with love, not bitterness.

Because anything or anyone truly meant for me will never be threatened by my growth. They’ll celebrate it. They’ll cheer me on, even from a distance. And if they can’t, then maybe they were only meant for the version of me that stayed small.

I want to grow into someone I can be proud of.

Someone who walks in purpose and peace.

Someone who feels whole—with or without the people I thought I couldn’t let go of.

And if you’re here too…

If you’re in a season of letting go—of people, of places, of past versions of yourself—I want you to know that you’re not alone. It’s okay to grieve what never fully belonged to you. It’s okay to feel scared about what’s next. But don’t let that fear keep you from becoming.

Give yourself permission to grow. To heal. To change. To chase the life God has for you, even if you don’t yet know what it looks like. Trust that He’s already gone ahead of you and made the way. You don’t have to have it all figured out—just be willing to take the first step.

Affirm this with me:

• I release what no longer serves me.

• I trust that what’s ahead is greater than what’s behind.

• I welcome new beginnings with an open heart.

• I believe that I am safe to grow, even if it means outgrowing.

• I am whole—becoming more of who I was always meant to be.

“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?

I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” — Isaiah 43:19 (NIV)

Let go.

Let God.

And let your life become the beautiful, unfolding story it was always meant to be.

Whispered Promises: Hopeful Hearts in Seasons of Waiting

 

A waiting season is a period when someone is waiting for something to happen, such as a spouse, child, or healing. Waiting seasons can be challenging, but they can also be a time of preparation and growth.

There’s a special kind of ache that comes with waiting for love. It’s a quiet longing, a mix of hope and uncertainty, and some days it feels like the wait will never end. But here’s what I’ve learned and continue to learn daily; the waiting season is not a punishment – it’s a gift. It’s a chance to grow, prepare, and hold space for the kind of love worth the wait.

I’ve had moments when I wondered if love was meant for everyone except me. Watching others find their person while I stood still felt lonely. But then I realized – this season isn’t about comparison; it’s about one’s own journey.

I am starting to see this season as preparation. I asked myself; What kind of love am I hoping to find, and am I ready to give that kind of love in return? This season became about learning to love myself. Taking myself on solo dates, exploring hobbies, revisiting old hobbies I let die, and discovering strengths I didn’t know I had. By doing this each day it became less about what I didn’t have and more about how I could live my life full … right here, right now!

Always be reminded that love doesn’t have to come on anyone else’s timeline but yours. Every step you take now – every dream you chase, every lesson you learn – brings you closer to the love that’s meant for you. It’s always easier to see the negative of things and at times we may feel like love is slipping through our fingers. But the truth is, every season has its purpose. If you’re waiting, it’s not because you’re unworthy or forgotten – it’s often because something beautiful is being woven together for you, one thread at a time. The Bible says that God creates seasons in our lives to help us become who He wants us to be.

Bible verses that relate to waiting include Psalm 37:7, Psalm 40:1, and Psalm 130:5.

Let us be reminded that:

• Abraham waited 25 years for a son.
• Jacob waited 14 years to marry his beloved.
• Joseph waited 13 years for his sufferings to be redeemed.
• Jesus waited 30 years before fulfilling His Father's will.

One day this waiting season will make sense. You’ll look back and realize that the time you spent here was the foundation for the love you’d always hoped for. Until then, stay hopeful. You are worthy of love, and it’s already on its way. 💕 

It’s going to hurt until you heal …

 

Have you ever been in a dark place yet somehow God still used you to be a light for others? Every time I mention this line to others it’s mixed signals; some are confused as to how the two can be and others believe they know exactly the feelings that lie with what I ask. But have you ever been in a dark place? I mean so dark that even the smallest amount of light can’t creep inside. So dark that any ounce of sunlight doesn’t feel normal. It Takes Everything You’ve Got to Get Out of a Dark Place!

For weeks I have been comfortable in a dark place YET still found time to be a light for others. Celebrating others, making time for others, attending events, traveling, being of service, being a listening ear for others, consoling others, sending gifts, loving others, speaking life into others, making others smile and so much more. YET, here in this dark place, I was still being a light for others. In this dark place where you feel helpless. Where days blend into each other and time has no value. Self-care isn’t important and rest is the escape from reality. It’s a place where you don’t care too much about anything. It’s a period in your life when the world could hurt, and you don’t seem to care.

It’s going to hurt until you heal … When I felt uncomfortable, I would find a way to occupy my time and distract my heart. But distractions only last so long and the heart can only take so much! Many of us desire what we give to others yet don’t receive it. We count our blessings while waiting for blessings that feel like they may never come. We become weary from worrying about what’s next instead of focusing on what’s going on right now. For several days I sat in a dark place … with my thoughts, my feelings, God, my tears, and fears! Darkness has a way of recapping the light you’ve been allotted on all those other days. In these past several days post-hospital, post-doctor’s, post-darkness, work, and everything in between I have learned that sitting in darkness is beneficial, as long as we are able to find hope and give it purpose. I was prepared to let mine suck me in because I became content in such a space that provided me comfort.

Then I had a moment and it came to me as such … The darkness can feel very consuming, and often we feel as small as the stars in the night sky, but there is something else that is really significant for us to remember. At some point, every day, the darkness slowly shifts into light, the moon and the stars keep traveling, and the sun rises and night turns into day. In a Biblical sense to me, it means this

 John 1:5. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” 

The good news is that regardless of how bad things may seem or how bad things could get, there's always hope. You don’t need to sink in the darkness with light. You don’t need to replace negativity with positivity. You bring the darkness to the light. Like an offering. That means you honor what is first before you try to change it. Sit in your hurt. Wallow in your hurt. Feel your pain. I KNOW IT SOUNDS INSANE! But in my darkness, I have learned that you must meet yourself where you're at, before moving forward. Regardless of how many times you run from it, it will always meet you again until you sit in your darkness and heal … for some of us it will be harder than others but as Nora Roberts said, “There’s no reward without work, no victory without effort, no battle won without risk.” 

“To see a candle's light, one must take it into a dark place.”

 

 

... it's hard not to give up

 

"Sometimes it's hard not to give up on finding true love." - Unknown 

Finding love isn't always easy. Some days it feels like a mission impossible and then many days it feels like "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me!" Looking for love is like finding eggs for under $3 in this economy and even then you begin to question the quality of the eggs. Are they expired? What's wrong with them? Am I being punked? The list goes on and on. It's all an adventure! You get to go out on dates, experience new venues, learn new things, meet new people, and possibly maybe the love in which you seek. But the downside of it too is that sometimes you experience horrible dates, and questionable venues, learn things you wish you didn't, and meet people you sometimes wish you didn't! As we get older the journey absolutely becomes more frustrating than fun and the focus isn't about really having a good time but whether or not we're finding the right one. 

Love teaches us lessons whether we want them to or not. Failed relationships are heartbreaking, depressing, frustrating, and draining. Nothing is worse than wasted time and when dating it hurts to invest so much time and energy into someone only to walk away empty. 

Some of us get weary and we begin to settle. WE DESERVE MORE THAN SETTLING!

Finding the love that we desire requires sticking it out and waiting for just that to come along. Find someone who you're attracted to, who makes you laugh, respects you, can communicate openly and effectively, and enjoys spending quality time together. If you haven't found that yet, then why settle? We all deserve the best relationship possible and every time we choose to settle we lose a piece of ourselves and what it is we really desire. 

Finding love isn’t always easy. It can be disheartening and may even feel like a full-time job sometimes – but don’t give up! It's always easier said than done because personally speaking I have given up and tapped out. I am very well aware that giving up on love makes me feel that I am incapable of finding true happiness with someone; but sometimes the givers are tired of giving and for once would love to be on the receiving end of the stick. In the past self-protection has always been my defense mechanism and eventually, I begin to alienate myself from others.

I am a firm believer that none of us are here to be alone. Everyone we meet teaches us something whether we know it or not. It can be an ex-boyfriend, ex-girlfriend, ex-spouse, an old friend, a current friend, a colleague, etc. Every person we meet is an opportunity to learn something new if we allow it to be. In the past my bad experiences use to leave a bitter taste in my mouth, but what it has taught me is how to move accordingly with people moving forward and that didn't happen overnight. 

It’s easy to be harsh on yourself when your love life is struggling. If you’re thinking about giving up on love, then you’re telling yourself that you’re simply not worth the effort — and that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Maybe we are trying too hard ... maybe we aren't trying at all. 

Whenever you have those moments like I do remind yourself: 

You Are Worthy of Love

"It only takes one!" 💕

Growing through Grief

I've learned that grief is a process, not an event. There is no instant fix to suffering. There are no words for times like this or the moments one experiences. Neither pretty nor subtle words can ease your pain, take away the origin of what you suffer. Every loss is different. Grief is hard work and there is no blueprint or timeline that works the same for everyone. We all approach, handle and express grief differently. Some days will be harder than others. Some days you will feel as if you're barely existing. The one thing I am continuing to learn daily is to be patient with myself. 

Most of our pain comes from wishing things were different. That our lives didn't have to change from the pain. In grief, there may be many days when we feel devastated, preoccupied, empty and, yet, filled with loneliness. Other days may be a bit brighter, and it feels possible to grow from grief even though we know that growth may take time. Growth is rarely easy and almost always brings with it at least some measure of pain.  

When we are in midst of grief, the very idea that we can grow through this devastating reality seems so unacceptable, it seems unreal, and unattainable. We have no choice about loss. We have no choice about the grief that ensues. However we do have one choice within our grief. Grief will change us ... whether we want it to or not. Things will never be the same. We will never be the same. The choice we have is not whether we will change—but how we choose to change. We can choose to grow up or grow down. ✨

"There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief." 

"Tears are the silent language of grief." 

"Happiness is beneficial for the body, but it is grief that develops the powers of the mind." "There is no grief like the grief that does not speak."

🕊 We can have all the time in the world with people and sometimes it’s never enough and sometimes we aren’t given enough time for people to show us the world ... 🌹 in grief, there is no stage called closure. Little by little we let go of loss BUT NEVER let go of love 💕 We’re never ready to let go. I read something that said “life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It’s the transition that’s troublesome.” Because we often look at death as the opposite of life instead of apart of it. This thing we live called life is nothing but a brief intermission between life and death. I’m happy he uses me asmouthpiece from time to time. I’m dying inside to get there now instead of later. But praying my words to others suffice ✨💙

💘 Love Isn't Complicated ...

 

​​It may be safe to say that no one has ever loved anyone the way that person wanted to be loved. We just have to accept the fact that some people are going to stay in our hearts even if they don’t stay in our lives. ​Love isn't complicated, people are. ​People make love more complicated than it should be. Love should be easy and fun. If you are loved and love someone, I see no reason why you should​n'​t be happy. ​{Alexa play Mary J. Blige "Be Happy"} ​I think that every female has been in a ​position​ where she has liked someone, but isn't sure as to whether or not he likes her as much as he may say he does. So, her mind tells her to step back and see if he will​ seek​ her. Sometimes it works in love and sometimes it doesn't.

The truth of the matter is - when someone wants to be with you ... you'll know! ​They​ will make sure you are aware of ​their ​intentions and ​their​ interest​edness​ for you AND ONLY YOU! ​Th​e​y​ will put in the effort and it won't go ​overlooked​. There are no games, no drama, no stress/pressure. I promise you that it is SO simple; people make it complicated. We are all guilty of going after people that are wrong for us, trying to make those people THE ONE, allowing ​ourselves to be stringed along because it feels right in the moment but in your heart it feels so wrong. Sometimes it's hard to walk away ... but always remember your worth. Always find the courage to get up and leave the table if respect is no longer being served! ​There's never anything wrong with having to eat alone for a while. ​Too often many of us waste our time with ​human beings​ who aren't sure whether we are the right one for them and one thing we can not get back is time, so why waste it! Relationships really aren't that complicated. ​People ​make them that way! Real love is simple. Real relationships are simple. When you’ve only had that complicated kind of love, when that’s the only kind of relationship you’ve ever known, you won’t know the difference until you’ve experienced a different kind of love - the real kind.

It hurts to love someone and not be loved in return {LIKE HELL - Alexa play Whitney Houston Why Does It Hurt So Bad} but what is most ​hurtful is to love someone and never find the courage to let the person know how you feel. A lot of times when we are in a relationship we love, we go through the ​unacceptable​, knowing that the ​acceptable​ that we get out of the relationship greatly outweighs anything else. Love is the easiest thing there is. Again I repeat ... Real love is simple. Real relationships are simple.​ Love isn't complicated ... people are!​ It’s the layers of doubt, fear, and expectation that make it complicated and the heart has reasons that reason does not understand. Always remember that the game of love and the people who play it is complicated, but love itself is not complicated. 💘

 

** Love is never complicated. Ever.​ **​​