Dear World,

From winter’s hush come buds anew—
life reborn and soft growth too.
Through shadowed days I walked alone,
grief and sorrow clinging bone to bone.

I lost my cat—too soon, too fast,
a gentle soul I thought would last.
Her warm paws and soothing purrs
helped me bear life’s daily blurs.
A confidant at night, a friend by day,
the furry light to keep my fears at bay.
She saw my quiet flaws with care,
but only reached to meet me there.

But World, through death, comes life.
How, you ask? A question rife with strife.

Left with a hole, yet something grew—
a seed of hope, a pulse brand new.
Within me now, a heartbeat forms,
growing strong through shifting storms.
Little fingers, tiny toes—
a child who somehow already knows
that I will love them through all things,
through restless nights and joyful springs.

Grief and joy beneath one sun,
fueled by love, and songs unsung.
Still healing, still growing,
still blossoming, still flowing.
The universe gives what we need to know—
a gift of light when shadows grow.

A body that aches, a heart that wakes—
to hold the weight and all it takes.
These maternal veins carried tender love
for a kitty I once called my baby dove.
Happy memories rest within my chest,
where new life stirs and builds its nest.

Through buds and spuds and blossoming souls,
the world begins to make me whole.
So I open my heart for a new bloom to rise,
following its petals toward open skies.

Still blossoming,
Whitney

P.S.
To my baby dove—
I will see you again,
in this lifetime or the next.

To the one I’ve yet to meet—
I can’t wait to hold you.
You are already teaching me
how to love through sorrow.
You are my winter’s hope.

ProWritingAid Style Score = 80%

When you think of spring, does the word blossom come to mind? We eagerly await the tulips blooming, the monarch butterflies emerging from their cocoon, and a warm breeze after our winter slumber. Mother Nature enforces change, regardless of our desires. Do we not have the same rhythms in our internal world? Our cells are constantly renewing, our hormones are varying, and we’re all familiar with getting older. All of this happens without our choice. However, we can decide whether we embrace this change or resist it with all our might.
Life has brought me a plethora of experiences with change lately. But if I really think about it, so much has remained the same. I live on an island where the weather doesn’t vary too much with what we consider the seasons. It leaves me to focus more intently on the internal changes. Much of my recent growth comes from both leaving things behind and carrying others with me. My newest companions are awareness and appreciation. Their encouragement is the reason for leaving judgments and expectations behind. Just as a bee encourages a flower to reproduce by spreading its pollen, my companions are encouraging me to blossom by sharing my story.
My life has blossomed lately because I’m finally exploring my interests and passions. When I’m creating, it brings me back to myself. I’ve spent much of my life taking information in and appreciating others’ creations. With this new chapter, I can embody the creative being that I am and find the vulnerability within to share that with the world. When I’m sharing my creations, whether it’s crochet, writing, or digital art, I find my life blossoming. Embracing a fear of judgment and removing expectations offers the courage needed to take a leap of faith. Now I blossom from self-appreciation without waiting for it from someone else. I’m learning to appreciate whatever I create and have learned to love the creative process since dropping judgments and expectations.

Style Score: 100%

For nine months I was unemployed,
Long enough to make a baby,
But no human grew inside me.
Rather I was pregnant with possibilities.
The possibility of full-time teaching.
The possibility of a new career path.
The possibility of becoming a paid writer.
But also the possibility of life-long dead-end jobs
Or accepting I was too ill to work at all.

My first – and last? – teaching position
Wore me down to the bones of my soul.
I had spent sleepless nights planning spectacular lessons
That turned into chaos in the classroom.
Staff who welcomed me with gusto
Soon turned their backs
As I flailed to manage student behaviors.
Nine-year-olds cursed my existence –
“Stupid dumbass bitch!”
“Fucking racist cunt!”
And the unforgettable, “Crooked eyeliner wearing, emo wannabe, cracker bitch!”
So I gave, gave, gave more of my heart
Until those same kids showed me love.
Hugs in the hallway,
Pictures, cards, and candy started flowing in.
They got me through.

But it wasn’t enough to garner the grace
Of admin, who,
At the end of the year,
Told me I wasn’t up to snuff,
That they didn’t want me another year.

Doubt grew inside me
As the passed stress formed into trauma.
Time lingered on,
My hands shaking at the thought
Of ever teaching again.
Those who can’t do, teach, they say.
But how about those who can’t teach either?
Giving up – really giving up –
Crossed my mind.
But I didn’t.
I had help to pull myself back up.
I worked my weakened muscles.
I dove into the inner recesses of my mind,
Dug up the dirt and revitalized forgotten parts.

After three long seasons,
Just as the ice was melting,
I re-entered the classroom.
First as an occasional sub,
But then as something more.
A teacher up and quit and I was the most equipped
To take her place.
Afraid, but brave, I stepped up to the plate.
Tender-toed and wary still,
I didn’t quite trust at first my abilities.
I needed the encouraging words
Of my new cohort.
And they delivered.
“The students love you!”
“What a great lesson!”
“Good job thinking on your feet!”
I found again my confidence
And trusted my instincts.
I remembered why I love teaching.
There were still the challenging behaviors
And occasional curses from angry children,
But it wasn’t breaking me down.

This time I wasn’t holding back either.
I had the best school subject,
A ton of ideas,
And enough passion to infect the most apathetic teenager
With enthusiasm.
I got permission to take students to the garden –
Our garden! –
The one my husband and I started for the community,
But until then, was mostly unappreciated.
Every week, each class learned firsthand
The wonders of growing your own food.
Prima donnas in high heels saved worms.
The outcasts found fame in the ever-impressive broad fork.
The boys who refused to work in class
Shoveled the hardest.
It didn’t take long before my students
Begged for garden days.

I continued the education on classroom days too.
They learned the meaning of organic,
The difference between selective breeding and genetic engineering,
And the adaptations of wild plants.
I collected all sorts of materials for projects and experiments.
There was no money in the school budget,
But the community donated everything
From tape dispensers to gardening gloves.

I wasn’t just blossoming as a teacher,
But was also finding my own important niche
In my hometown –
Where I had only lived for five years
And was usually known as my husband’s wife.

My nerves still stir at times,
Like an actor approaching the stage.
Stress is no stranger either.
But for the first time,
I’ve found belonging.
Like the marigold seeds
Kids unfurled from dead pods,
I have landed upon rich soil
And am only now beginning to bloom.

(ProWriting Style Score: 100%)

Once upon a time, I was a single woman. Then I met the man of my dreams. We had one or two big fights and even broke up for a few years. We reconciled in the year 2013 and got married. The day that I got married is the day that I became a step-mother. The first 2 years of our marriage went well. We really started struggling in 2016. We got hit with the “Perfect Storm”. My husband became unemployed, I started drowning in credit bills and it started becoming almost impossible to keep food in the house. I made too much money to get food stamps, but not enough to keep from running out of food in between paychecks. I grew tired of putting myself in debt just to buy groceries in between pay checks. I started doing some research because there had to be a better way to live. I discovered the wonderful world of gigs, couponing and rebates. I learned how to earn Walmart gift cards from mystery shopping at Walmart. I have learned that I could get paid in gift cards to take surveys about products that I buy at Walmart. I have learned that I could then combine those gift cards with coupons. When I combine coupons with a gift card, I pay next to nothing. I can get vital foods and supplies for next to nothing. I could get cereal and toilet paper for almost free doing this. Then I would use a rebate app to take a picture of the receipt. I would generate more gift cards and even cash from buying things that are on rebate. I would repeat this process repeatedly until my family had everything that they needed. We never ran out of toilet paper or milk again. I blossomed into an extreme “couponer” and now I teach other mothers how to do the same. God gives us all that we need to survive. We just have to figure out how to use what he gives us.

80%

Dear Unsealers,

There was a time when every reflection felt like an inner confrontation. The mirror didn’t just show my face—it amplified my flaws. Every scar, the extra weight on my body, every part of me I didn’t love, stood out louder than anything else. I’d mentally pick myself apart, measuring my worth by standards that were never mine to begin with. I avoided the mirror. Ironically, without noticing what I was saying to myself.

I didn’t see beauty—I saw my imperfections. But life has a way of forcing you to see something different.

It took a tragedy to strip away the noise. To silence the bashing I had rehearsed for years. You see, about 8 years ago, I had a massive heart attack. In facing death, I found life, stronger faith, and clarity. My views of everything, including myself, changed. I learned that it’s not about how the world sees me, but about seeing myself as I am.

That was the beginning. The beginning of seeing beyond the surface. The beginning of grace.

Today, I am blossoming in self-love.

It is not the kind you put on for a show, not the kind rooted in perfection or performance, but the kind that holds you on the hard days. The kind that whispers, You are enough, when everything else tells you, you’re not.

Now, when I look in the mirror, I still see the flaws, the evidence of survival—but instead of turning away or avoiding my reflection, I honor and thank them as I see the woman who has walked through fire and come out with a light in her eyes.

I no longer seek approval—I give it to myself.
I no longer shame the girl I used to be—I embrace her.
And I no longer try to edit my reflection to match the world’s standards—I’ve created my own.

Loving myself didn’t come easily. It took work, tears, forgiveness, patience, and unlearning years of self-criticism.

This love I have for myself is quiet but fierce. It shows up in how I speak to myself, care for my heart, mind, and body, and refuse to shrink to fit into spaces I’ve outgrown.

So, Unsealers, if you see a glow on me, it’s not makeup, filters, or anything else. It’s healing, truth, and a reflection of a woman who finally, fully, loves and embraces herself.

And if you’re still standing at the mirror, struggling to see your worth—I get it. Someday, your inner voice will learn a gentler tone. And you’ll see yourself not just as you were, but as you are becoming. You’ll realize that you’re God’s masterpiece.

I am becoming enough by embracing my beauty on the inside and out.

Style Score 100%

With love and light,

Hi friends,
It’s been a while.
I know I kind of disappeared for a bit. When you reached out, I kept saying I was going through something and just needed time—and that I’d reach out when I was ready.
I think I’m ready now.
For the first time in what feels like forever, there’s no knot in my stomach.
Not yesterday. Not today.
Just… peace.
These past few months were heavy. My body and mind were reacting in ways I hadn’t felt in years, maybe ever. And because it had been so long since I felt that kind of darkness, I didn’t know how to handle it. I panicked. All I wanted was to fix it—fast. So I doubled down. Medication. Therapy. Exercise. Diet. I threw everything at the knot in my stomach, desperate to make it go away.
And sometimes, it worked—for a moment. I’d be on the row machine and everything would feel okay. But the second I stopped, that knot would come back. Tight. Loud. Unrelenting. I didn’t know what else to do, and everyone kept saying, Keep going, it gets better. And there was some truth in that. Therapy helped. Medication took the edge off. Exercise gave me a few breaths of relief. But it still wasn’t clear. It wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t enough.
So I turned to something more.
I went back to my spiritual roots—brujería. Not the aesthetic kind, but the kind that lives in bloodlines and whispers, in dreams and signs I’d been ignoring for too long. The kind that connects me to something deeper than logic. The moment I started listening again, everything changed. My mind quieted. The knot loosened. I started to feel like myself again.
With that clarity, I could finally see what I hadn’t wanted to admit: Someone had been treating me with disrespect. They were making decisions that affected me without my input—despite our agreements to work together. And I kept adjusting. Silently. I was so used to swallowing my discomfort that I didn’t even recognize it as a boundary being crossed.
But I’m not doing that anymore.
I’m not stewing or second-guessing myself. I’m calling it what it is. I’m standing up for myself. Whether I’m finally being respected or simply being left alone, I’ve reclaimed my peace—and I won’t give it up again.
I’ve also been writing. A book. It came out of all of this—the mess, the reflection, the healing. It’s raw and still forming, and I’m giving it space to breathe. But even in this unfinished stage, it’s teaching me things. Watching it grow is like watching myself grow, too.
I turned 40 recently. And something about this season of life has pushed me to want more. More meaning. More creativity. More courage. I’ve always been scared—scared of failure, scared of being seen. But now? Forget that. I have stories. I have truth. Whether it’s this book, or something else entirely, I’m ready to share it.
And I’m doing it for me.
And for my daughter.
That’s another layer of this blooming: figuring out how to love and guide her without losing myself in the process. It’s not easy, and it’s not linear. But I’m showing up—honestly, fully, and with as much compassion as I can hold. I’ve made mistakes, but I’m learning. And I’m proud of that.
So yes, my life is blossoming. Not in a picture-perfect, social-media-ready kind of way. More like a wild bloom in the desert—tough, slow, sacred, and real. Rooted in survival. Rooted in spirit. Rooted in brujería. Rooted in me.
Thank you for waiting on me.
I’m still here. And I’m coming back.

Style Score 89%

I tried to be
many things
because I loved you—
because I knew
you believed in me.
So I stretched.
I risked.
I reached for parts of me
I never knew I had.
And in that stretch,
I found new strength—
rooted in your
sweet believing.
Then, look!
Look here—
a blossoming!
I outgrew the ceiling
I once stared up at
from the depths
of insecurity,

and climbed—
step
by
step—
into the bright, expansive sky
of possibility.
No masks.
No shame.
Just me—
as I am—free to be.
And you—
with your steady eyes,
your quiet smile,
your yes-nods,
your joy-filled voice—

stood back,
in awe,
and gratitude.
That’s how I knew:
I had found you.
A Good Love.
As I grow,
and you grow,
we grow—
upward,
together.

Dear Unsealers,

I wasn’t initially planning to participate in this prompt because I haven’t felt that my life has blossomed in any significant way.

You see, I’m twenty-eight, and I don’t drive, work, or have children. I often face judgment for that, but I remind myself that my path is just different from most people’s. Recently, I started reflecting on my life outside the conventional goals I haven’t achieved, and I realized that I have blossomed immensely over the past year alone. Approximately five years ago, I withdrew from life. I stopped going out, dressing the way I liked, and doing the things I enjoyed. I felt like nothing more than a shell of a person—a complete stranger to me. Anxiety had taken hold of me, and at one point, I was okay with that. But then I wasn’t okay anymore.

A year ago, I felt a renewed desire to live, which terrified me. By that time, I couldn’t even sit on my porch without having a major panic attack. Whenever I heard a car or saw someone walking by, I would run back inside. My embarrassment and confusion were overwhelming. How could a girl who once independently explored a foreign country be so afraid of sitting on her porch? When I was avoiding going out, I would still make it to the doctor’s office. I thought to myself, “If I can be out for an hour at the doctor’s, I can be out for an hour doing whatever activity I need to do.” That realization became a turning point for me.

I also started therapy, where my therapist introduced me to various exercises to help manage my panic, many of which I still use today. At first, I could only visit familiar places like stores and my parents’ house. I was improving and getting out more, which felt great, but I eventually hit another plateau. Although I was comfortable in my routine, I still panicked at the thought of going somewhere new or further than I was used to.

In September 2024, my favorite artist, Bob Dylan, was performing less than two hours away on my birthday weekend. I had never wanted to do anything so badly. Given my recent improvements, I thought I could go, but I panicked instead and didn’t push myself. I regretted not going and beat myself up about it. I resolved to keep working on my progress and take baby steps, hoping that if he performed again, I would be ready.

By February 2025, I was getting out more and had even traveled an hour away without experiencing a major panic attack. I was attending all family events and feeling so much better that I could take my first-weekend vacation in over a decade with my sister! I had an absolute blast until bedtime, when the panic set in. I cried, felt sick, and wanted to find a way home. My husband was ready to drive two hours to pick me up, but I worked through it. Eventually, I fell asleep and could enjoy the last day of my trip. Although I was upset that I couldn’t fully handle a night away yet, I reflected on how far I had come since my starting point and realized it was okay to experience setbacks. With the support of my family, I got through it.

I am still blossoming, but I’ve made incredible progress this past year. I’m enjoying the little things that used to make me happy, learning new hobbies, going on small adventures, and dressing for myself again. When I look in the mirror, I no longer see a stranger or a shell of a person. The best news? I’m finally going to see my favorite artist, Bob Dylan, perform this September! I admit I’m anxious, but I know I can do this, and it will be an experience I’ll never forget.

I’m twenty-eight years old; I thought I was supposed to have everything in my life figured out, but I don’t. I am still growing, and there’s nothing wrong with going at my pace.

Style score 90

It’s springtime, but I’ve yet to bloom.
Changes are happening, but I feel out of tune.

I’m full of passion and determination,
There’s a world of possibilities, but I’ve yet to find my station.

I’m doing my part, but my life doesn’t reflect it.
Life’s not fair, but it’s not an exception.

I’m immovable, trapped, and I feel hopeless.
I’m trying my best to shake this doubt and find my purpose.

I was so lost at one point, but I’m slowly finding myself.
I can’t do this alone, so I’m asking for your help.

I don’t know what I’m doing; I feel like screaming!
Am I awake, or am I dreaming?

I’ve grown and changed, so I’m not the same.
Not knowing what’s next is all a part of change.

I feel like I’m blooming, and other times I feel stuck.
I think I’m just having a case of bad luck.

No matter what comes my way, I’ll come out stronger.
I can’t bear this pain much longer.

I feel like a flower that’s yearning to bloom.
I’ll wait patiently to see who I blossom into.

(Style Score: 100)

At this moment in my life, I can say that I am Happy with who I am and grateful for the things I been through. The things that are blossoming the most for me right now is my RIGHT NOW! And I know that may seem generic to you, but if you could see my life a few months ago then you would understand. I’m just happy to be here and at a place where I can see myself rising, so the growth I have been experiencing. And when I say growth I mean spiritually, mentally, and emotionally. The continuous growth that is happening in my life right now is blooming. Because no matter what obstacles or adversity I am faced with or have to deal with daily I am still able to get up each day and put one foot in front of the other one and keep pushing forward. By all means I don’t have it all together, but I am a working progress. Everyday I get up and smile, because somebody today didn’t have a chance to. Take a moment right now and inhale and exhale. I still have breath in my body, and you obviously do to because you’re reading this.
Most people dwell and want sympathy for things they go through when they’re down, and they also want to be recognized and shine when they’re up. Most of the time they want someone to agree with them, and it’s a hard pill for them to shallow when you don’t, but it’s good to give people the raw truth and tell them exactly how it is, because if not this world will swallow you whole. I could give you a sample of things I am going through or the challenges I face everyday just to give you a glimpse of my life. I’m divorced, and boy how I don’t look like what I been through. I lost a job recently, but not long ago I started a new one with better pay. My customize 1985 cutlass supreme just was caught on fire from something internal and OMG she was my baby girl, BUT my kids and I was able to make it out without a scratch or a hair missing and I am still able to get from A to B and even Z if I wanted to, I AM BLESSED. My kids grow out of clothes daily, we just moved into a new place, I don’t feel like I have the support and comfort that I’ve had all my life because my parents are deceased, there is just not enough time in the day, and I can go on and on and complain about problems and things I go through in my life that is inevitable to happen, but all in all I am thankful and grateful for my life. For the Right Now and for my growth. And the acceptance of the things I been through, that don’t keep me down. I actually appreciate the things that happen in my life good or bad because no matter what my life is blossoming, because everything I been through made me who I am, and I wouldn’t change not a thing. You never would have known anything about what I am going through if I didn’t tell you, because you would have been on the outside looking in and somehow, I make it look easy without my own strength. I have nothing to complain about. You know I can sit and complain about everything, and it will drain all my energy. I just feel no matter what I go through I never let it break me, even when I fall, I make sure to get myself right back up and keep moving. I can’t cry over spilled milk. Finding the good in something in every single day is what is blossoming in my life. Even in the rain, they say it pours, but somehow my light weathers the storm.
It took me a long time to get to this place in my life and I am grateful for the journey. I don’t want life to pass me by, so being that I am able to live no matter what I have to go through to keep thriving I am all for the movement just as long as I am not staying still. It’s my growth. I am not consumed to my circumstances, my past, my family ties, or anything that is hindering my continuous growth. It’s all a part of who I am, but I am on a mission, and it has nothing to do with anybody else. This growth spree doesn’t have to do with what I don’t have, what somebody else has, or what going on in the world, it’s a simply a self-reflection journey and I can see it blooming. I feel as long as I get ME together then everything else will be together around me and I’m ok with just that.
Sincerely, From an overcomer.
By: Dominique Fuller
(Score Card 73%)

adversity, lessons, and resilience:
2024
started with petals
on the floor
one for every moment
that our memories went dormant
if I could see the path
that would lead us to the past
maybe then we could be
happy
but for now
silver petals
are running down my face
gently touching the ground
as I’m trying to erase
the pain of the instance
if only I could watch
from a distance
but I’m right here with you
and there’s nowhere I’d rather be
more than in a room,
together
how easy
was it to think
we would only know
moments of bliss
how I’d roll my eyes
sometimes
when you’d ask me to call you
more than once a day
that would rub me the wrong way
but today
what would I give away
in exchange for a phone call?
knowing that
your voice,
someday,
I might not recall
I realized a few weeks ago
that I threw away
an envelope you had signed
and it broke me back
to think that I didn’t foresee
how your signature
would become a mystery to me
how even your name
could never be written the same
again
one more petal drops
as I think back, in crops
souvenirs into bits and pieces
fragments of what they once were
still
they hold their beauty
but that’s not how I want
to remind you
I want to remember your smile
your laugh
… even when it wasn’t appropriate
to laugh or smile
I want to record
the love in your gaze
the emotions you left us with
are an endless river
always pouring
always giving
and
despite the pain
there is so much love left
almost like it’s renewed
through each day
through each laugh
through every sign
confirming you’re still here
with us
through us
and that
you can still be a part of the conversations
addressing those words to you
makes me feel somewhat connected
it reminds me that your name
doesn’t have to be silent
I might not hear a response
through your voice
through your own words
but writing about you
and creating my poetry
around your life
is a way for me
to stay with you
to be wrapped up in your arms
and feel the comfort you instilled in me
so this year
I hope that there won’t be
as many petals on the floor
I know
I won’t miss you any less
but I have cried enough
I don’t want to
associate my love for you
with any kind of sadness or lack
if I did,
my sight would just close to black
but I won’t let it happen
you’re in the sun
you’re in every bit of light and hope
my eyes and heart can collect
if anything
you’re even more divine now
than you could ever be in our 3D world
thank you for watching over us
thank you for those memories
those moments of love
of care
of lullabies, stories
and drawings of my favourite TV cartoons
you knew just how to reassure us,
didn’t you?
you were always so sure
of us
and all I can do
all I can think of,
as a way to say thank you,
is to sublime in my best way
and learn to share kindness my way

transforming and igniting:
from every snowflake that has fallen
I will build a bridge to reach a warm beach
the last few months have been leading me
to this mid-season
a jar filled with fears on my mind
but right under the anxiety and discomfort
lied so much hope
and a blind confidence
that everything would somehow
click into place perfectly
and last week,
the mid-season started to shift
to a rich, beautifully chaotic reality
I’m still far from the sea
I might not even get there this year
but what if I told you
that even through this summer’s heat waves
my motivation in itself
will turn the snow bridge into ice?
what if I told you
that the roots that were passed on to me
have always been growing
in the sand?

blooming era:
confidence.
I have always thought of this concept
as a distant strength
a country I would perhaps get to visit
someday,
if I worked hard enough.
I perceived it as a mysterious quality
of the soul,
like a magic trick that could illuminate any room.
I thought that confidence meant
perfection.
what if
you don’t need to possess
everything
to be confident?
what if confidence needs errors and losses
to grow?
what if confidence was actually
creating a mess,
but taking the first steps anyway?
what if
“Be yourself”
“You’re not alone”
and “You are enough”
were full sentences after all?
what if
confidence
was here, growing all along,
patiently waiting to emerge?
Style Score: 100%

M: Hey, kid!

KM: Hey…

M: How are you? You seem a little sad.

KM: I’m okay, life’s just life, ya’ know?

M: *nods* I know, life doesn’t stop being life though!

KM: …

M: Sometimes you’ll have ups and downs. Right now, you’re going through a lot. Sometimes you’ll set it down, carry it again, and set it down again. That “a lot” doesn’t ever truly stop being a lot. But that’s okay. You get stronger. You learn things. You keep going. Sometimes you rest.

KM: Thank you for that.

M: Of course! Anytime!

KM: You’re not doing too bad for us, you know? I’m glad we pulled through. Thank you for raising me. Maybe we can chat again sometime?

M: Yeah, maybe we can. I plan to, anyway. Even if you don’t always answer right away. I’ll keep in touch.

KM: Hey, uh, before you go…?

M: Yeah?

KM: How much more do we lose?

M: I can’t tell you everything, as there would be nothing left for you to learn. We lose a lot.

KM: …

M: But we also gain more than we lose. Keep your heartbeat strong, kid, for both of us. Our future will thank us.

KM: Hey, I’m glad you visit me. You’ve made a lot of progress. I know you didn’t believe in yourself, but how could you not? You’ve been through a lot… like UH LOT UH LOT. But you still have faith and hope in humans, you still love, and you’re still working for me, for them. Give yourself more credit. If I have to keep our heart strong, you have to give yourself credit where credit is due.

M: I’ll work on that.

KM: …

KM: You say that.

But mean it…

M: …

KM: Mean it…

M: I’ll try my best to give myself more credit. No promises.

KM: Sounds about right. See you around, bigger me. I love you.

M: I love you, too, little me. Thank you for waiting.

Dear The Unsealed,

I had some drab nonsense of a poem thing written up for this, because you asked us in what way we are blossoming, or what is blossoming in our lives. Don’t get me wrong, I kind of liked some of the words I was using and the “true” meaning behind them. But, in order to answer your question with authenticity, I’d have to actually answer it in writing, which is the best way I speak, the loudest I think. In most other areas of my life, I’m quiet. So, I can’t answer your question with pretty poetic words, or beat around the bushes that I usually beat around. Not without losing parts of me, the parts of me that make that answer unique and closer to being understood, or at least conveyed in a well-meaning way.

What is blossoming? Well, in every way I am. It’s I who is blossoming. In May, all my life, everything I’ve done, I’ve prepped for this Month. This one Month, that… could change everything, hopefully for the better. Hopefully, in the way the smaller version of me wanted. This is for her now.

Of course, I don’t want to sound like I’m on a high horse, or like I’m pretentious and snobbish, and cruel. If I do sound like I’m on a high horse, there is a good chance I’ll knock myself down. I don’t want to be the smartest in the room, I want to learn from the smartest in the room. I don’t want the light shown on me. I’m okay in the dark. It may be cold, but I’ve been there a lot. I guess you could say we’ve become friends, the dark and I. However, having spent time there, a lot of time there, I know how necessary and vital the light is. I’d like to reserve the light for others who need the warmth, and maybe aren’t as comfortable with the dark. I’ve always said, “Don’t be like me”. Maybe not out loud to a crowd, but at least to myself. *Don’t be like me.*

I’m writing my first book. It is actually happening. Not the empty promise I made to my teachers in high school. Or myself when I was younger and found out Paolini was 15 and thought I’d be 15 knowing DAMNED well that wasn’t going to happen. I knew one day it would come. I knew I’d write a book and plan many others right after that. I don’t know how, but I knew, and it is a belief, a foundation, an unwavering truth, that is finally happening. 20 years in the making, and I see what so many before me have seen. The fun part? There is still more to see. There will never not be more to see, especially if you believe in infinity in any aspect.

The story I’m writing is truth-turned-fiction. It’s my story, and others were included. Getting back into reading after losing it, it’s true what they say – you don’t use it, you lose it. I realized so many small players play a part in our everyday lives. It’s never just one person, or two or three, sometimes, it’s ten. So many characters, they can last seconds in your story, shape our paths. Sometimes when you’re used to doing things alone, you forget that. But none of us ever did anything entirely alone, none of us. We may be on our own paths, we may be “alone,” but everything, even some original ideas, and yes, I do believe we can have some original ideas still, is part of the human condition, involves other people. Do you know how many people it took to get us here today, right now?

I’m blossoming. I’ve been learning from other people how to water myself. I’ve been learning the hard way, through observation and experimentation. Life has always been an experiment in experience for me. Life is also very hard. That’s why I still fight with my brain and my thoughts, but it’s different from before. I still want to leave, so badly do I want to just disappear, cease to exist, but also, I want to see things, see people just as much. See the turn of the century, which would only be 102 for me, and living that long could be possible. See people. We have the internet now, and travel is changing, and even though money is still very stupid, and useful, and stupid, conversations for another day, all things are easier and harder. I can see people thrive now. Even after hard times, and that’s nice, that is so damn nice. What’s keeping me here? People. No one special. No one in particular, just people.

I’m doing the things I never thought I’d do.

I’m seeing results in ways I didn’t think possible.

I’m probably thriving.

Because here is the thing, anything is better than 85% of my life so far, before these moments.

I may be barely surviving in other ways, but in some of the big ones… I’m alive.

I hope by watering myself, others learn to water themselves too.

This isn’t a perfect science.

I’m still going to have to learn, change, endure, and grow,

and sometimes I may even wilt.

But it will be worth it.

I feel the light, the warmth, over here in my cozy nook in this dark place.

From ashes, I built a way to see the light. So, yeah, I do come out of this place from time to time.

But it’s okay. Take the light, humans of Earth, take the light, keep going, and carve your path.

Just keep going.

 Hey World

Under a layer of soft earth, a little sprout reaches for the warmth of the sun and the brush of a soft breeze. This little sprout is here, alive and growing in this time and place. It is a miracle. A small child is born, a body filled with potential, a life filled with promise. A miracle.

I was born a long, long time ago. My body grew as bodies do, following a timeline of normal progression. My childhood was a mix of experiences, each laying the foundation of knowledge and beliefs. As a child, I saw the world from a child’s perspective. I regarded everything around me with curiosity. Each experience, each touch, taught me something. I learned all lessons well, each making me who I am today. 

My life has had times of growth and rest, ebbing and flowing with the seasons and the cycles of the universe. There were glorious smells of the places, the foods and the things that are anchored forever in my brain, making connections to memories and feelings. There were colors that created a feast for the eyes and sounds that played a soundtrack for my life. 

People have come and gone in my life, each for a purpose. Each person leaving indelible marks on my soul. Places and careers have come and gone. With each new beginning, the thought, “how did I get here? I didn’t see this coming” crossed my mind. My vision and understanding increased in scope and gained depth with each change. Pets and animals have been constant companions and protectors every step of the way. They have offered unconditional love, clear communication, and boundless opportunities for impromptu adventures. 

A perfect storm has twisted, scattered, (never lost) and bonded each experience into the exceptional blossom that is me and my life. With mindfulness, I planned a trip to sort my feelings, to understand experiences, to give myself grace, and the peace only understanding can provide. My trip included quiet and explosive times alone. Possibly sharing too much information with trusted friends and family. On the way to where I am I wrote, I took pictures and painted. Looking around my home and my brain, it is an explosion of colors and feelings. Life, just like art, is a process. You can’t hurry it along. There were moments of travel—brief trips, long hikes and times floating between trees in my hammock, swinging softly, listening to the whisper of the wind and the songs of the birds. With my dogs, of course.

A blossom is a thing of great work, of casting off the old and accepting the new. Of honoring the past, living in the present and holding space for walking bravely into the future, as it becomes my now. I fill my life with authenticity, intentionality, and responsibility. I have claimed ownership of my body and thoughts, and in doing that I have realized safety I have never known in my life. My life is blossoming with a sense of self worth that I have never had, and the fleeting thought that I don’t need to be perfect to be loved. I have forgiven generational trauma. I turned it into fertile ground for growing. Along the way, came the realization that judging past events by the knowing of today is not good practice.

Life is blooming everywhere around me, lifting me up, showing me the panorama of beauty that exists. This time it’s the whole vista, not just one leaf at a time. 

Your smile seems so real. How have we turned out? Do you still love her? Is she still your everything? Is mom still alive or are we talking to her ghost? I bet you’ve done something amazing with your life. Been better than I could ever imagine. Do your eyes still light up when thunder strikes? Or do you fear the way it booms like she did? Do you dress the same way, or have you chosen to be “normal” like the rest? Do you think you’re pretty?

My smile is genuine this time, not something to please others. We’ve turned out alright, but I’ve realized that 28 is still a child compared to how long I want to live. I still love her, and she loves us. Everyone knows now and I hope to call her my fiancée one day. She is my world.

Mom died last December, cancer like dad but so different I suppose. We don’t talk to her ghost much, not like how we did with dad. We miss him more, I think, then her, maybe because her death feels like a void that was already there. I’m actually a teacher; it’s hard work but I think I’m doing amazing at it. They make me smile. It’s not the life I thought I might have had, but I think that’s okay. I still love thunder and rain; It washes away the heaviness of my soul. It hasn’t rained the same in years. I miss it, like an old friend. I dress in what makes me happy which hasn’t changed much, but now I’m learning to love my body even it’s a hard thing to do. Normal is still overrated, but that’s okay, too. I have days were I catch myself in the mirror and I can’t believe this is me. I look beautiful and I’m glowing. There are days I feel like a gremlin and some I am just happy I have someone who loves me in every fashion.

My life continues and I’m glad you were apart of its journey.

Style score 82%

Dear Old Me,

Wow. If only you could see where you’re going. Where you are now is nothing compared to where you will be. You would never believe how much you—and your life—will change.

Things seem scary right now. You’ve lost more than you ever could have bargained for: your job, your spouse, your sense of self-worth. You have no idea who you are, what you want, or where you are going. You feel as though you have hit rock bottom and are crawling around in the dark, looking for something to grasp onto.

You reached the point where the only way was up. Fumbling in the darkness, you grasped onto hope, to the light up ahead. You looked toward faith and not your fears. No matter the hardships weighing like an anchor on your chest, you knew that there was more to your story.

I’m grateful you didn’t give up on yourself. I’m grateful you kept your faith despite feeling torn down. I’m grateful you chose the path of taking care of yourself and understanding the pain that hurt you, but has not defined you.

You are not your mistakes or your past hurts. You are worthy of love. You are worthy of second chances. You are worthy of great things.

You didn’t understand and perhaps never will, why you had to go through what you did. We often ask why, but the question to be asking is, “Where?”

Where am I being asked to go?

Where do I need to change?

Where do I need to trust?

Where do I have to let go?

Where do I need to set boundaries?

Where is my intuition leading me?

Where is my faith calling me?

There are many “where” questions you will ask yourself in this healing process, and in doing so, you will discover you have more strength than you ever knew.

The old you will be a distant memory, and pretty soon you will realize a new version of yourself that you will be proud of. And that is worth celebrating every single day.

Love,

New Me

Style Score: 82%

Dear me,

Spring has brought about a wonderful change — you are a newlywed!

The wedding at the waterfall was stunning, with the magnificent cascading falls pouring down behind you, illuminating the radiance of all the good things happening in your life. The rain came right before the ceremony, just like some of the hard times you have recently been through with navigating loss of family and major changes in your life. But just as the rain cleared, and the sun came out at just the right time, so did the opportunity for joy in your life.

You’ve met an incredible man who loves and supports you, who makes you laugh every single day. He has been a true partner, lifting you up and being there for you in every way you’ve needed.

Despite the challenges of navigating a new blended family, you have the opportunity to grow, to become a stronger version of yourself for your girls. You’ve found a church community that uplifts you and your girls are thriving in and out of school.

Your life is blossoming because you are surrounded by love and support, which gives you the courage and strength every day. With this love as your anchor and faith as your guide, there is much to be thankful for.

Keep shining!

Love,
Me

Style score: 74%

Dear Unsealers,
I never imagined, even in my wildest dreams, that I would one day write these words—but today, I can say with confidence and gratitude: My life is blossoming. Not because it is perfect, but because, against all odds, I have found strength, purpose, and even beauty in what once felt like an endless storm.
My name is Lova, and I am a single mother raising a neurodivergent child—one whose very existence seemed to challenge everything and everyone around him. For years, he cried and screamed to express anxiety, frustration, or insecurity, and flinched at the flutter of a fly. His intense tantrums led to rejection from neighbors, expulsion from schools, and eventually, eviction from five homes. Strangers judged us, and many misunderstood him. He carried four lifelong diagnoses—autism, ADHD, behavioral disorder, and speech delay—and each day felt like a battle for understanding and acceptance.
When I arrived in Canada in 2015, I had nothing but dreams in my suitcase and faith in my heart. I had followed the promise of love, leaving behind my life in Paris to begin a new chapter with a man I had met seven years earlier—and married two weeks after landing. In the years that followed, I went back to school, earned two degrees, gave birth to my beautiful son, and began writing.
Then, when my son was diagnosed at four, everything shifted. I became more than a mother—I became his therapist, his advocate, his safe haven, his teacher, and his life coach. I had to leave my job, as his teachers and the school board said he couldn’t make it through a full school day due to a limited attention span. His hours were reduced, and I had to be home by 1:00 p.m. to welcome him. I had just started a PhD, but I had to pause it. I lost my jobs and my income—but I refused to lose my child.
Some days were so tough that we slept in hotels. I was reported to social workers. We were judged, dismissed, and sometimes verbally abused at grocery stores or in the park. Yet, through the trials, I saw glimpses of light. I cried—sometimes myself to sleep. I prayed. I hoped. I worked. I poured all my love into him. I became a full-time mom and a full-time dreamer, and I wrote through the exhaustion, the chaos, and the heartbreak.
Without any government assistance, I built a business from the ground up. I became a writing coach, transforming my pain into purpose and guiding hundreds of women in writing and publishing their own stories—even as I continued to write mine.
To date, I’ve published seven books, and three more are on the way—including a comic series that raises awareness around autism, child abuse prevention, and cultural diversity.
But my greatest story is not in a book.
It’s in my home.
It’s in the 14-year-old boy who now walks alone to the park—confidently and joyfully. It’s in the boy who now eats vegetables, rice, meat, chicken—and even chicken bones—after years of surviving on fries and fruit. It’s in the boy who now speaks in full sentences and teaches me new words in English. It’s in the boy who spent years on medication—and is now completely off it. It’s in the boy who was once considered “too much” for school—who now attends full days and brings home achievement certificates with pride.
In less than a year and a half, he has earned nine academic awards. His teachers adore him. His pediatrician has declared three of his four diagnoses “no longer relevant.”
And me? I am still standing. Still writing. Still thriving.
I am not just surviving. I am blossoming—because he blossomed first.
They said he would never be calm. He is.
They said he would never be independent. He is becoming.
They even said I might have to put him in a home by 13 because of his disturbing tantrums. At 13—exactly—he was medication-free.
They said I couldn’t raise him alone, but here we are.
They said I might never work again—and here I am, coaching women to own their stories and find purpose in them.
He is my miracle. My masterpiece.
People tend to call me super mom; however, the truth is, he’s the real superhero.
The world tried to label him. To limit him. To silence him. But I chose to believe in him. And slowly, the world is beginning to see what I saw all along.
I picked up my pen to encourage everyone out there who is going through some kind of ordeal.
To every mother walking through storms: hold on.
To every dreamer in the dark: don’t stop.
To every soul tired of fighting: don’t give up.
Your blossoming is coming.
I know—because mine is here.

Houseguests
I believe I detected a thumping knock,
Or did I hear the doorbell ring?
A meek voice followed,
Quivering in fear, pleading to be heard.
Reluctantly, I rose from my spot
To open the door and let the visitor inside.
“Oh, I am so happy,”
The quiet voice cried, showing gratitude.
The next day was peaceful—
No surprises or guests to attend.
My roommate and I made an acquaintance;
He was influential and called himself Fear.
Beside him, my heart pounded.
This couldn’t be a long-term relationship—
Of that, I was certain.
The next morning, as I waited
For that familiar thumping knock,
I realized that, in my time with Fear,
I had left the gates open
And undone all the secure locks.
With a grin on her face before me
Stood that electric, beautiful vision.
Her power was all-consuming and magnetic;
She called herself Miss Confusion.
Immersed in her presence, my heart fluttered,
A million thoughts rushed through my head,
Then stopped with a mouth stutter.
I needed her to take a back seat
While I gathered my thoughts.
Finally, she realized she wasn’t welcome.
As I watched her leave, I felt relief—
Though she had left , she left a lasting mark.
With her, she took my clarity and self-belief.
My soul had been stifled;
Now it was time to let it breathe and just be.
My mind felt cramped, with no room for company.
It was time to think and search for the real me.
With no map in hand, I started on my path,
Braving new roads unsure of where they led.
For it had been a struggle—
All those years I spent
Living my life in my head.