Have you ever wanted something so deeply, prayed for it for years, and finally had it within your grasp—only for it to be taken away? That kind of loss is indescribable, a pain that shakes your very soul. I’ve seen people in moments like this lose their faith, turn their backs on God, and cry out, “Why me?” But I’ve also learned that the real question is often, “Why not?” What if the denial isn’t punishment, but protection? What if it’s God’s way of preparing us for something far greater than we can see in the moment?

Sometimes, we carry unhealed wounds—trauma buried so deeply it shapes our lives without us even realizing it. Instead of confronting it, we move forward, adding layer upon layer to a foundation that isn’t stable. We pray for blessings, but how can God build something beautiful on ground that’s fractured? Before He gives us what we’re asking for, He often calls us to heal, to prepare for the weight of the blessing. That’s what I’ve come to understand through my own journey.

In 2020, my world was turned upside down. I lost my dad, a man whose presence was a constant in my life. That same year, I ended an eight-year relationship with my fiancé. At the same time, I received a promotion at work—a bittersweet high in the midst of so many lows. Life felt like a chaotic mix of gains and losses, but I buried my pain under work, pretending everything was fine. I kept smiling, kept pushing forward, even though my heart was heavy and my spirit was weary.

Then came 2021, and instead of taking the time to heal, I jumped into a new relationship. At first, it felt like the escape I needed, the fresh start that could make everything better. But I wasn’t okay—I hadn’t dealt with the grief of losing my dad or the pain of my broken engagement. I was running from myself, hoping a new love could fix what was broken inside me.

When I found out I was pregnant, it felt like a sign, like God was finally giving me the joy I had been praying for. My kids were so excited, especially my son with autism, who joyfully spoke about baby clothes and all the things we would do. For a brief moment, it felt like everything was coming together. But that joy was short-lived. The dream was shattered when I was told my baby had passed away.

The loss was devastating, and the weight of it all overwhelmed me. The day before the procedure to remove the baby, I finally broke down, letting out the tears and sorrow I had been suppressing. It was one of the hardest moments of my life, but in that pain, I began to find clarity. As much as I wanted to hold on to the hope of new life, I couldn’t ignore the reality of my situation.

The relationship I was in wasn’t right. My partner wasn’t ready to be the kind of father I needed for my child, and the foundation wasn’t stable enough to support such a blessing. It became clear that God wasn’t denying me; He was protecting me. He wasn’t going to bring new life into chaos or confusion, and as painful as it was to accept, I knew He was saving me from something I wasn’t ready for.

December 10th, a day I had always celebrated as my parents’ anniversary, became a day of deep reflection. Though it was marked by pain, I never lost my faith. Instead, I began to see the spiritual meaning in the loss. Sometimes, the blessings we pray for require preparation. They demand healing, clarity, and a solid foundation. God’s timing is perfect, even when it doesn’t align with our own. What felt like denial wasn’t punishment—it was protection, a reminder that some blessings aren’t meant to come into chaos.

This experience, as painful as it was, taught me strength and patience. It deepened my trust in God’s plan and reminded me that not all delays are denials. I’m still grieving, still healing, but I hold on to the belief that when the time is right, the blessings meant for me will come. And when they do, they’ll come on a foundation that is whole, healed, and ready to embrace them fully.

My life has been a rollercoaster of self-discovery and survival. From a young age, I never quite fit in. In school, I had friends, but I always felt like the outsider. They got the dates, the attention from boys, the spotlight. Me? I was just… there. Tall, skinny, with long hair and hand-me-down clothes, I came from a family that didn’t have much. My father was strict, even into my twenties, and our household lacked the freedom to explore or express who we were.

But the real challenge wasn’t just at home—it was the relentless bullying that shaped my self-image and, for a long time, my life. I was teased, mocked, and made to feel invisible or unworthy. And those scars followed me into adulthood. They left me questioning my value, my voice, and my right to take up space. They turned me into a people pleaser, someone willing to go above and beyond for others just to feel accepted—only to be used and discarded when my boundaries went unnoticed or ignored.

That need for acceptance shaped my choices in ways I couldn’t see at the time. I picked the wrong partners, made bad decisions, and ended up chasing validation from people who never had my best interests at heart. Even in the workplace, I sought belonging, only to be met with superficial acceptance that often turned into exploitation. The same patterns of feeling unseen and unvalued repeated themselves, leaving me struggling with depression, self-doubt, and an overwhelming sense of being misunderstood.

For years, I carried this weight, convinced it was mine to bear. I felt trapped in a cycle of trying to prove myself to people who had already made up their minds about me. But then, somewhere along the way, something shifted.

Now, in my forties, I’ve reached a turning point. I’ve had enough. I’ve realized that the reason I never fit in, the reason I was bullied and mistreated, wasn’t because I lacked something—it was because of my light, my aura, the favor God placed on my life. People weren’t pushing me down because I was weak; they were trying to dim the brightness they saw in me.

I came across a quote one day that struck me to my core: ‘Thieves don’t take from houses or stores that have no value.’ That’s when it clicked—I had value all along. That’s why I was targeted. That’s why I felt the weight of other people’s insecurities projected onto me.

Now, I understand that no amount of changing myself will ever make someone like me if they’re determined not to. And that’s okay. Their opinions don’t define me, and their insecurities aren’t mine to carry.

I’ve stopped shrinking myself for others. I’ve stopped trying to be the loudest voice in the room or bending myself into someone I’m not just to avoid rejection. I’ve embraced who I am—flaws, light, and all.

The journey hasn’t been easy, but it’s been worth it. I’ve learned to set boundaries, to value my own voice, and to love myself without needing outside validation. I’ve discovered the freedom that comes from knowing I am enough, just as I am.

For anyone reading this, who feels unseen, unworthy, or caught in the trap of trying to please everyone else—know this: You don’t need to change to fit someone else’s mold. You are valuable, and your light is worth protecting. The people who matter will see it, and those who don’t? They were never meant to stay in your story anyway.

Dear Kamala Harris:
I’ll begin by saying that this is not a letter about politics, we’ve all seen enough of that this year. This is more a letter of empowerment and hopes and dreams.
I met you, like most of the rest of the world, in 2021 when you were sworn in as the first black American South Asian female Vice President. You are seated as the highest ranking female official in U.S. history. That’s nothing to sneeze at.
When I sit and resonate about the steps it took you to get where you are, it blows my mind. Not only did you overcome being a female in a world dominated by men, but you rose to every challenge with grace, dignity and beauty. You never said it couldn’t be done, and you kept pushing.
This letter is brief. It’s just my way of showing gratitude to a woman who defied the odds, took the hits when they came and kept going. I admire your tenacity and grit, along with your grace and beauty. You’re the “complete package.”
Thank you, Kamila, for being an inspiration for those of us who may never get the highest-ranking position. We will live vicariously through you.
God speed.

Rest in Peace Pipita

Like a precious bottle of Malbec~ from the vineyards of Argentina Vintage 1928.
Her hair is stunning red, roots deep brown with traces of white.
The lines on her face emphasized the years of laughter and tears. So many stories of the old Argentine neighborhood she speaks about~ I see these stories in her lines.
Her expressions are truth.

Her hands remind me of an atlas map
Tracing veins like blue rivers with finely detailed “lunars” (known in English as beauty marks) properly positioned.
The jewelry she is adorned in brightly shines
Even after so many years without polish
Her gentle smile reminds me of her youth and vibrancy

“I am not afraid” she recited to me once “When God calls for me, I will answer”

Her spirit makes life worth living.

Looking forward to old age.
With my heart and soul, I am a reflection of her.

She is my GRAND-Mother.

Bendicion~ 🙏

never take love lightly

remember that
the world you know today
could, and will shift in an instant

be courageous enough
to love so deeply
that you’ll go the extra mile
to create beautiful memories
with the people you cherish
and involve all of your senses
in being present with them

tell them that you love them
but don’t stop there
learn what to do for the ones
who’s lives matter most to you
seek what makes them feel loved
listen to what touches their hearts
and see them shine brighter
as you learn to speak
their language

start with giving yourself
all of that care
because if anyone deserves it
so do you
then spread that love around you

Dear Tracy Chapman:

You and I became friends early on in your career. Your unique voice and storytelling style drew me in. “Give Me One Reason” and “Fast Car” were on repeat on whatever device I was listening to at the time.

When I heard “Fast Car” for the first time I was hooked. Those lyrics were so down to earth and touched me in a way that made me believe I could do anything, and that there was no where to go but up.

Even over thirty-five years later, when I hear that song, I crank the volume up (I think I’ve blown a speaker or two listening to that song), and sing at the top of my voice. Your and my voice compliment each other. But certainly not in the same fashion as you and Luke Combs.

Tracy, when I heard you and Luke sing together at the Grammy’s it was simply magic. Watching Taylor Swift and Jelly Roll, singing along, knowing every word, was a tribute to how your lyrics and voice can transform even the biggest stars into your biggest fans. I’m a huge Luke Combs fan so the fact that you and he collaborated on that song was music to my ears.

One of the things I admire about you is that fame never went to your head. You have, and still do, maintain a private life outside your career. That’s hard to do in this day of social media, and everyone wants to know everything about everyone. You’re an anomaly. That’s very cool.

I like seeing you pop up occasionally. It reminds me of my younger years. Your songs touched my soul in a deep way, leaving me feeling hopeful about life’s possibilities.

For now, I’ll say see you later. Hopefully we’ll bump into each other again soon. In the meantime, I’ll be working in the convenience store, stop in some time. It’s just ‘cross the border and into the city.

The storm had finally arrived after brewing in a silent sea of delusion for far too long. The wind of truth blew fiercely against us all and the rain that fell endlessly were indeed our tears. The clouds drifted across an amber sky of clustered thoughts that hid the sunlight that day.
Yet still I held her to me.
I spoke of angels and good Soul food, whispered love and affirmations in her ear, and kissed her lips. Memories like morning dew covered and saturated my heart.
Yet still I held her to me.
Not knowing that she felt me or even knew who I was any longer because the time was at hand. Her breathing was shallow and yet the life she had lived spoke volumes throughout her transitioning. There was no more time for abandonment issues or thoughts of past transgressions; no space for generational strongholds to reinforce trauma bonding. For soon she would be gone, embraced by the light and Angels she adored. “Thank you” she had told me a mere few days ago as I cared for her, cleaning her and playing her favorite music. “I love you” she had said words that I thought I would never hear her say again after our estrangement.
Yet still I held her to me.
The embrace gave us both the closure that we needed and sought from each other. This day the hospice nurse comes to pull us out of the dark room “Give her space to transition” she said, “often loved ones won’t transition when being watched.” At the time, and in my grief, I thought that was odd of her to say. However when we went back into the room, I touched my mommy’s cooling skin and her stillness almost frightens me, yet it was then that I knew she was gone.
Yet still I held her to me.
Emotions too deep to express escaped us as we gathered around the shell that once housed her spirit. She had joined the ancestors that now danced in the wind beyond this realm. And as the years and time attempt to comfort us all in her absence, as she comes to visit us in dreams to hold dear with our memories, when moments too big for explanation are captured – my thoughts are of our last hug, when still I held her to me.

The year is almost over,
And another will soon start.
This year, however,
I’ll begin with a broken heart.

I’m missing my loved ones,
My friends who’ve recently passed.
I miss their sweet voices,
Their smiles and their laughs.

It was supposed to be a Merry Christmas!
Another photo in the album!
Then suddenly that changed,
to the first Christmas without ’em…

I screamed up at God,
“CAN YOU JUST TELL ME WHY?”
“ARE YOU EVEN UP THERE?!”
“AM I JUST YELLING AT THE SKY?!?!”

I fell to my knees,
and started punching at the ground.
When suddenly I realized…
My loved one’s are all around…

They’re right here with me,
Feeling all this pain.
Does that mean they feel the sunshine?
Does it mean they feel the rain?

Maybe they’re not as gone,
As the world seems to say.
Maybe they’re right beside me…
Every night and every day!

If they’re here with me,
Guiding my every move…
Then I know that I can make it!
Because there’s nothing they can’t do!

This poem is dedicated in loving memory to my friends Alex Wisniewski, Joe Ewer, and Tammy Pouliot, but it goes out to anyone who has lost a loved one.

You are not alone. ❤️❤️❤️

Dear Jamie Kern Lima:

You and I are new friends. I met you this year when a peer brought your book, “Worthy” in to work. She placed it on her desk near mine and I grabbed it asking, “What is this!”. I was drawn by the title (great choice) and curious immediately. My peer explained she heard about the book and had just started reading it.

I downloaded it through my Audible app and couldn’t wait to start listening. Audible is my best friend. I’ve struggled with reading my entire life. Dyslexia does not have a formal diagnosis, but when I had my youngest son tested for a learning disability it became clear that both he and I have dyslexia. We’re in good company, though. Some of the smartest people in history were known to have dyslexia, and they made it through just fine.

I started listening to your book on my way home from work that day. I was instantly hooked. In your book you described what I, and many other women feel in this crazy world we live in. I loved listening to you tell the story of never feeling that the next promotion was where we needed to go, and all the other areas of life and love left us feeling unworthy.

Your book changed my life. Your words began to make me understand that I was worthy. Worthy of all I wanted in life. That word is in my vocabulary daily. As I work with young women to help them believe they can do whatever they want, professionally and personally. That the next promotion is as much theirs as their counterparts, that they deserve love and being in a toxic relationship is not where they could soar.

When I finished the book, it felt like I was letting go of a friend. But we continued our newfound friendship with your book “Believe It”. Here you brought me through your journey of starting a company from the ground up. When others turned you away, you did not give up. You continued to grow your business organically to become an extremely important cosmetic company. When you sold the company in 2016 for $1.2 billion, all I could think was, “How do you like me now.”

You were told no many times. But you never gave up on your dream. I am inclined to give up too soon. I tend to think I am not worthy of the next big promotion, or I don’t speak my mind for fear of making others mad. Your books have changed that for me. I’m less afraid of ruffling feathers or asking for what I need.

I follow you on Instagram. It’s my way of staying in touch. I love watching you as you continue your journey to help others believe they are worthy of whatever they want. You have a special gift.

Thanks, Jamie. We’ll stay in touch.

When a human dies, the world stands still for a quiet moment and no one on earth can breathe. Then each individual except for you takes their next inhale and I realize that the world was never still at all.

People say that they would die for you, but do people ever say that they would live for you?
I would live for you; I will live the life that you never got to experience fully and I will take you with me.

The sorts of things that people live for; I will chase exhilaration as a hungry ghost praying for its bones and flesh.
I will collect my insides begging to love them. I will watch fireflies and wonder what they mean.

I will curse the day that you had to leave this blip of mine.
I will dance until I cry, then I will cry until I laugh. I will throw myself into the depths of an ice bath just to miss the heat.

I will find joy in the little things because it’s what you would have wanted. And I will stop smoking cigarettes out of spite. I will celebrate the person that you were and the people that you healed and forgive you for letting yourself be so out of reach.

Since you disappeared, I’ve seen you everywhere! At the sight of tea, the sound of a sad guitar, in the eyes of those who loved you.
Those who knew the gift of knowing you and wanted you so badly to stay.

When a human dies, the soul searches the universe for a body to be held; what I would do to feel your warm tears wet my goose-bumped shoulder and squeeze your hand saying that we’re not that different from each other instead of this.

When a human dies, their friends and blood carry their body across the fields of a lonesome cemetery and place flowers to keep them company.
And for some people the world keeps spinning. But for some of us, the world is just as still.