Life and Everything In Between

Love, Loss and Lessons Between the Lines

When life leaves you speechless, but you refuse to stay silent.
  • When people betray you, it hurts — it can knock you off your game for a moment.

    But when family betrays you… my God, those wounds cut deeper, often feeling beyond repair.

    It’s the audacity wrapped in entitlement that does it for me —

    the lies, the bickering, the love that leaves while you’re still trying to hold on,

    bit by bit, until the poison quietly sets in.

    And you’re left carrying hate, rage, and anger that were never yours to hold.

    The truth is, justification for betrayal is one of the oldest tricks in history’s playbook.

    Still the same move, still the same excuse.

    And while the one who commits the act often sleeps peacefully at night,

    the one left behind carries an empty space — a silence nothing seems to fill.

    But hear this clearly:

    No one — blood or not — deserves that level of control over you.

    Let’s be honest, it’s laughable how often people confuse choosing solitude with loneliness.

    There is a difference.

    Choosing yourself is not isolation.

    Trusting your peace is not weakness.

    And honouring your choices is the beginning of freedom.

    This year demanded deep self-reflection from me.

    And let me tell you, it’s a place most people don’t even realise exists — but it does.

    When you begin to clean up your life, to confront yourself honestly,

    the outside world rarely understands.

    Here’s a little secret — they can all stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.

    Because growth isn’t pretty.

    You’ll lose friends.

    Some will project their own fears and unresolved feelings onto you.

    You may stumble. You may fall back more than once.

    You might even feel like you won’t make it.

    But if you stay true to your values,

    true to your healing,

    true to the person you’re becoming —

    you will rise.

    Not untouched, not unchanged, but stronger… and on top.

  • By DMM

    Some people don’t come into your life to love you…

    they come thirsty for the love you know how to give.

    And the tender-hearted ones… we stay.

    Even when our spirit whispers, “They cannot love you back.”

    We stay, praying our love can teach them how to feel.

    But toxic love doesn’t slam its way into your life.

    It tiptoes in soft. Sweet. Careful.

    No one runs into a burning house —

    the flames always start as a warm light.

    It begins with charm that melts your guard,

    effort that makes you believe,

    consistency that feels like safety.

    And then, slowly… the shift.

    The sweetness thins.

    The warmth cools.

    The intentions blur.

    Criticism dressed as concern.

    Blame passed off as misunderstanding.

    Control hidden behind “I care.”

    It’s the small things first,

    the tiny bends in your backbone

    to keep the peace.

    Little edits to your personality

    because they preferred a softer version of you.

    And piece by piece, your reflection fades —

    until one morning you look in the mirror

    and meet a stranger wearing your skin.

    But why do we stay?

    Hope.

    The softest, deadliest thing.

    Maybe they’ll change.

    Maybe it’s you.

    Maybe more love will be the cure.

    But babe, love was never meant to feel

    like begging for the basics.

    And the signs?

    They were humming all along:

    apologies that led back to the same wound,

    your peace slipping away one message at a time,

    your voice shrinking whenever they entered the room,

    your needs whispering, “Maybe next time…”

    your worth bending under their weight.

    This is not love.

    This is survival dressed as devotion.

    And here is the truth, held with gentle hands:

    You cannot fix someone

    who finds comfort in your breakage.

    You cannot pour enough love

    into someone who was never ready to hold it.

    Leaving is not a failure, my love.

    It is a return —

    a soft homecoming to yourself.

    So how do you walk away softly?

    You stop explaining the pain.

    You name the wound without fear.

    You rebuild the borders of your heart.

    You choose yourself boldly, loudly,

    like your soul has been waiting for you.

    And you let go —

    not for closure,

    but for peace.

    Last but not least:

    You deserve a love that doesn’t dim you.

    A love that doesn’t bruise your spirit.

    A love that holds your heart

    as carefully as you have held others.

    Sometimes the most powerful thing you’ll ever do

    is walk away gently…

    and finally feel the weight lift.

  • The Bible is one of the heaviest topics to discuss because so many people carry wounds from their encounters with “so-called Christians.” Let me be honest: although I was raised in a strong Christian home, life and experience have taught me a hard truth—most people who quote the Bible often focus only on their own understanding and the parts that suit them.

    I’ve always loved reading, and when you approach the Bible as you would any other book—openly, seeking knowledge—it teaches something simple: it all comes down to being a good human being.

    There’s a verse that says, “With much wisdom comes much sorrow.” And isn’t that true? The more life we live, the more our innocence fades. We begin to see the world as it really is, and that sorrow starts to settle in. Because life, if we’re honest, isn’t always fair.

    But here’s the balance: if we strip away the noise and simplify things, beauty reveals itself in the smallest details we often overlook. The human body alone is a masterpiece. Just pause and think about the power of breathing—how incredible it is to inhale and exhale freely, without an oxygen tank or a tube in your throat. That, in itself, is beauty. That, in itself, is grace.

    So maybe the message isn’t about memorizing scripture or quoting verses louder than the next person. Maybe it’s about truly living—finding wisdom in the pages, yes, but also recognizing the quiet miracles around us every single day.

    Debbieann.m

    The miracle in everything
  • Have you ever been going through so much that you end up feeling… nothing? Your body moves, your brain gives the instructions, and with years of practice, everything becomes automatic—robotic even. Still, you smile through life and wear the mask.

    Anxiety doesn’t always look like panic attacks or someone visibly breaking down. More often, it hides behind laughter, behind success, and behind perfectly curated social media posts.

    The truth is, anxiety is like holding a cup of water. At first, it feels light—you can manage it. But the longer you hold it, the heavier it becomes, until your hand begins to tremble and you realize you can’t carry it any longer. That’s what silent anxiety feels like.

    And the hardest part? Anxiety in silence is one of the heaviest challenges anyone can face.

    The Smile That Hides the Storm

    The lie we tell the public is the smile we’ve perfected. We attend the gatherings, take the photos, shake hands, and hug our loved ones. Then, when the noise fades, we lay in our beds—or retreat to that secret place—where the chaos is endless.

    The what-ifs, could haves, should haves. The worst-case scenarios. The endless loops of fear, hopelessness, insecurities, and disappointments we never share with anyone.

    The smile becomes a second skin, worn like a shield. But the cost is exhaustion.

    And maybe the hardest part about anxiety is the way we mask it so well. We’re the life of the party. The most giving. The first to offer help. Yet behind the laughter is someone pretending to be okay when they’re not—because pretending is sometimes the only way to survive.

    Invisible Anxiety

    Have you ever had a dream so vivid, so distressing, that it feels lucid?

    You’re aware of the chaos, you’re fighting to wake yourself up—but no matter how hard you try, you can’t.

    That’s what I call invisible anxiety. It’s there, but it leaves no scars, no wounds. On the outside, you look untouched. But inside, it spreads quietly, like bacteria—growing, multiplying—until it consumes your peace, your rest, your joy.

    The constant tightness in your chest.

    Sleepless nights replaying every mistake.

    Overthinking every word you said.

    Smiling in conversations while your inner voice screams help!

    Why We Stay Silent & the Lies We Tell Ourselves

    So many people with anxiety stay quiet because:

    They don’t want to “burden” anyone.

    They fear being judged as “too emotional” or “weak.”

    They’ve been told to “just relax” or “stop overthinking” before.

    They don’t have the words to describe what’s happening inside.

    When silence becomes a survival mechanism, it doesn’t save you—it isolates you. It deepens your loneliness. It slowly ruins friendships, weakens relationships, and creates cracks in the bonds you once held close with family.

    What feels like protection in the moment often becomes the very thing that can ruin you.

    Calming The Storm

    Smiling while drowning doesn’t make you strong—it makes you tired. Real strength is admitting you need a lifeline and reaching for it. Anxiety doesn’t define you, and you don’t have to fight it alone.

    If you’ve been carrying silent anxiety, let this be your reminder: you are allowed to take the mask off.

    3 Fun Things to Ease Anxiety

    1. Dance it out. Put on your favorite song, the one that makes you move without thinking, and let your body release what your words can’t. Movement frees the weight bottled up inside.

    2. Laugh on purpose. Watch a funny video, a silly movie, or call that one friend who always cracks you up. Laughter interrupts anxiety’s loop and reminds you that not every thought deserves your energy.

    3. Get playful with nature. Go outside barefoot, touch the grass, feel the sun, or watch the clouds drift. Grounding yourself in the simplest parts of nature brings your mind back to calm.

    Remember, anxiety doesn’t define you—and you don’t have to face it alone. Sometimes the smallest acts of joy are the bravest steps toward healing.

  • I have never envied anyone for anything. Yet, I will testify to this truth: as a woman who has had two miscarriages, I envy the wombs of women who carried theirs.

    This is my truth, and this is my vulnerability.

    A Mother’s Love for the Unseen

    To my unborn babies — I wish I got to kiss you. To hold you. To see you grow into great little humans. I would have fought for you with everything in me. When you came into my life, I was excited beyond words, and when you left, I was devastated beyond measure.

    To the Mothers Who Carry On

    To the women who fight every day to be great mothers, I see you. I know it is not easy. I’ve witnessed what it takes, and I know how powerful you have to be.

    To every woman who has lost a child, who clung to possibilities that never came to life — you are not alone. That void you feel inside, the one people try to comfort but never truly fill… it’s okay. It’s okay to feel it, to carry it, to allow it to exist. Nothing will ever completely close that gap. And yet — life goes on.

    A Wish for the Children Without Parents

    To the babies who don’t have parents, I wish society and government didn’t make it so hard to adopt you. I pray one day you all have homes, because this world is already so full of sorrow. Still — life goes on.

    What Loss Taught Me About Life

    Through the loss of my children, I have learned this: once you have life, anything is possible. And since not every child is given the same chance, I will live — and make my gift of life count.

    To every woman carrying the silent weight of miscarriage, know this: your story matters. Your grief matters. Your love matters. And even in the emptiness, there is still hope, still purpose, still life to be lived.

  • Have you ever made a choice that clung to your spirit like a shadow—one misstep that carved guilt into your bones and refused to let go? If so, this is for you.

    The Wounds We Carry

    There are choices that echo long after the moment fades.
    Mistakes that settle deep within us, like wounds we never dared to cleanse,
    because to touch them would mean facing the pain all over again.

    The Weight of Regret

    I’ve been there.
    I’ve stood in the mirror,
    eyes heavy with regret,
    believing I was the sum of my worst decisions—
    believing the world would despise me
    just as much as I despised myself.

    The Truth We Forget

    LIFE>>>>>>>>>>

    Is far too fleeting to spend imprisoned by yesterday.
    We cannot even recall the meal we savored on Monday,
    yet we hold on to guilt as though it is sacred,
    as though it defines who we are.

    But here is the truth: you are not your mistakes.
    You are not the sum of your stumbles.
    You are the rising after the fall,
    the breath that refuses to break,
    the story still unfolding.

    The Freedom of Self-Forgiveness

    Forgive yourself.
    Not because the world demands it,
    but because your soul cannot bloom
    while chained to the weight of regret.

    Own your choices.
    Learn from them.
    Then lay them down gently,
    and walk forward—
    lighter, freer,
    and ready to meet the version of yourself
    who has been waiting beyond the pain.

    Step 1: Write down one choice you’ve struggled to forgive yourself for.

    Step 2: Beneath it, list what you learned from it—how it shaped your growth, your resilience, or your wisdom.

    Step 3: Close your eyes and whisper, “I am human. I release what no longer defines me. I forgive myself and move forward.”

    Step 4: Repeat daily for seven days and notice how your heart feels lighter.

  • The world feels different now—stranger, faster, and somehow less human. As an ’80s baby, I remember a time when life moved slower, conversations carried weight, and connections felt real. But somewhere between the rise of technology and the aftermath of COVID, something shifted. And I can’t help but ask—are we losing what makes us truly human?

    Adapting to a World That Feels Less Human

    The world feels different now—almost unrecognizable.
    As an ’80s baby, I remember a time when life felt slower,
    when conversations carried weight,
    and connections were built on presence, not pixels.
    But somewhere along the way,
    something shifted.
    Relationships don’t feel the same anymore.
    What used to be about trust, laughter,
    and shared experiences
    has been reduced to quick texts,
    filtered moments,
    and a highlight reel of curated lives.
    The values we once held sacred—
    loyalty, honesty, depth—
    now feel like echoes from a fading past.
    And then there’s technology—
    AI rising like a silent tide.
    It didn’t just come to help us;
    it came to replace so much of what we once called human.
    Skills honed over years,
    talents passed down through generations,
    are now measured by algorithms, likes, and trends.
    Not by trust. Not by word of mouth.
    But by who looks best on a glowing screen.
    Crime, once a shock to the system,
    has become another headline we scroll past,
    another tragedy we’ve grown numb to—
    unless it knocks on our own door.
    Genuine care feels rare,
    and authenticity…
    a fading art form.
    Sometimes I wonder—
    am I the only one who feels it?
    The unease?
    The quiet question whispering at the edges of my mind:
    What happened to us?
    Is it just a coincidence
    that right after COVID locked us indoors,
    forcing us to live through screens,
    AI surged into the spotlight?
    Or was it the plan all along—
    to make us forget what real feels like?
    Now, trust has become a fragile thing.
    We question everything—
    what’s true, what’s false,
    what’s genuine, what’s a simulation.
    We crave connection,
    but we scroll for it instead of feeling it.
    We crave meaning,
    but we measure it in clicks.
    Maybe that’s why this moment feels so heavy—
    because deep down,
    we know something’s slipping away.
    Something human.
    Something real.
    And maybe,
    just maybe,
    it’s time to ask ourselves:
    How much of this are we willing to accept?
    And how much are we willing to fight for…
    before everything that made us human
    becomes nothing more than a memory?

  • Have you ever felt stuck?

    Stuck in a relationship… a job… a friendship… or even in your own head?

    You’re not alone — I’ve been there more times than I can count.

    Sometimes, you have all the ideas in the world, but you question if any of them actually make sense.

    You love someone, but you can’t see a future with them.

    You’re standing at the edge of an educational choice, but you’re unsure how it will impact your future career.

    It’s confusing. It’s overwhelming. It’s life.

    And let’s be honest — life can be hard.

    Sometimes it feels boring.

    Sometimes lonely.

    And the scariest thing about making choices? The consequences.

    They always show up after the decision is made.

    But here’s this writer’s point of view:

    Do something. Anything. Just don’t stay stuck.

    You’re allowed to pause. You’re allowed to catch your breath.

    But don’t stop moving. Don’t stay frozen.

    Nothing gets easier with time — we just get older.

    Opportunities become fewer. Regret grows louder.

    And you remain exactly where you are, watching life pass by.

    So risk it.

    Risk the job.

    Risk the heartbreak.

    Risk the unknown.

    Because life isn’t about playing it safe — it’s about taking the chance that just might change everything.

    ✨ Your Turn: Are you stuck or are you scared?

    Take a step today — write it down, speak it out, make the call, send the email, sign up for the class. Whatever it is… just move.

    💬 Share in the comments: What’s one risk you’ve been afraid to take?

    Your story could be someone else’s inspiration.

  • When asked which country I’d love to visit, I pause — because honestly, my answer is all of them. The world is vast, and had humanity been free of its sins, perhaps we would’ve been free to go wherever our hearts desired.

    We live, we die, and no one has ever taken their country to the grave. Not a government, not a flag, not a people. Yet somehow, we still build barriers between ourselves and the earth that was made to be shared.

    Still, I dream. I dream of sleeping beneath skies painted with stars, of seeing aurora lights dance across mountaintops while I shiver from the cold. I long to swim in oceans so clear they reflect the heavens above.

    I want to see it all.

    Not to conquer it, not to claim it — but simply to feel it.

    If borders and money didn’t exist, where would your soul long to wander? Describe the place, not just by name, but by feeling. What would you hope to see, smell, touch, or become in that space? Write not just with your mind — write with your heart.

  • Posted on: June 16, 2025

    Too often, people expect us to “move on” quickly from things that shatter us. A breakup, a miscarriage, childhood trauma, or even the silent battles we fight with self-worth – they don’t come with expiration dates.

    Over the years, I’ve come to understand—
    healing is not a given, it’s a choice we whisper to ourselves in the dark.
    Some wounds… they do not close.
    How do I know?
    Because I have worn them like second skin.

    I’ve dwelled in the shadowed corners
    where the soul begs to vanish,
    where pillows catch the weight of voiceless screams,
    where prayers rise not in faith,
    but in desperate silence.

    I’ve known the fire of anger that burns without warmth,
    the ache behind the question—why me?
    And I’ve awakened to mornings
    that felt like mourning,
    bones heavy with invisible grief,
    heart searching for a reason
    to keep moving forward…
    and finding none.

    Yet somehow, even this is a kind of strength—
    the breathing through pain,
    the trembling stillness,
    the choosing to live even when you can only exist.

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