It’s hard to believe, but it’s been 16 years since I first started writing here. Sixteen! Can you imagine? So much has changed — and yet, when I scroll through these old posts, I can still feel the heartbeat of that younger version of me, typing late at night, pouring her thoughts into words.
For a while, I thought about rewriting those old posts — fixing typos, polishing the tone, maybe even rewriting parts I no longer agree with. But then I realized… I don’t want to change them. This blog is my archive of memories, a time capsule of who I was. The mistakes, the laughter, the messy thoughts — they’re all part of my growth.
I want to revisit the bloggers I once interacted with, smile at my clumsy beginnings, and cherish the path that shaped me. Because through it all, Kate Mary grew into Cătălina Mariana, and I couldn’t be prouder of her. 🌿
And now, my dear readers and fellow bloggers, I’m beginning a new WordPress journey — one guided by faith, peace, and a deeper sense of gratitude. This time, I walk with God beside me, and my heart feels lighter, steadier.
If you’d like to continue sharing this path with me — to read my new posts, discover the books I fall in love with, travel to the places I visit, reminisce about the past, learn, laugh, and grow together — you can find me on my new page: Cătălina’s Blog✨
It’s still on WordPress (of course — how could I ever leave this beautiful community?), and I’ll be posting new articles there from now on.
For those who’ve been with me here and wish to part ways — thank you. Truly. It’s been such a joy having you as part of my story, reading your kind words, and sharing this space with you.
Wishing you light, warmth, and wonderful days ahead. With love, Cătălina 🍁
Last night, as I was scrolling through reels, one from The Chosen really spoke to me. It said:
‘You will do and see things you cannot imagine. You’ll be adored, hated, needed, lost, and found. You will live everywhere and nowhere. You will lose all your friends and your own life. You will go to the ends of the earth and be part of the greatest movement.
People will say that you’re a fool, that I was a fool, and that it was all a lie; others will celebrate your memory and call you a saint. But none of that is the point; the point is that you would have said YES to the NO of the world. That you hoped against hope, and believed against belief. That you surrendered everything and lived and held fast to the very end.
Will you follow me?”
I can’t lie — I was in tears, and even now, as I write this post, the emotions are still with me.
We spend so much of our lives trying to control everything, insisting that it has to go a certain way, clinging so tightly to our beliefs and hopes, only to realize that at the end of the day, the world doesn’t value them.
It makes you reflect on your life and recognize that the love Jesus had for His apostles is the same love He has for each of us. He has a message for every chapter of our lives. This reel, this message, described our experiences perfectly — feeling misunderstood, misjudged, even when we act with love and kindness.
I think the hardest thing is to truly follow Him — to be the “Yes” in a world that says “No,” to hope against hope, to believe even when everything in the world suggests otherwise. Childhood gives us a perspective that makes this easier; we see the world with wonder. Yet God is still present in our souls, quietly nurturing our hearts in the moments we need Him most — often in the most unexpected ways.
The lesson, I believe, is to not feel guilty for the times you were kind and were mistreated, when you smiled and were met with scorn, when you reflected God’s love, but things turned out differently. God has a plan. We can’t control how others respond, but we can remain hopeful, trusting that our acts of love ripple outward, planting seeds that may grow in ways we will never see. And at the other end, Jesus awaits.
Meanwhile, we may feel we still have work to do here, baggage to tend to, responsibilities that keep us grounded. Just this week, I had an unexpected encounter with a woman I had never met before. She shared with me a vision she had: Jesus appeared to her in a dream, floating miraculously, offering to take her with Him. She declined, saying she couldn’t just go — she had no luggage, wasn’t ready to leave things behind.
We all feel that way at times — worried about leaving things unfinished, about whether we’ve done enough. Only Jesus knows each of our stories. And I am deeply grateful that she trusted me enough, a stranger, to share hers.
And in the end, maybe the lesson is simple: we don’t need to have everything figured out, and we don’t need the world to understand or approve. What matters is saying “yes” to love, hope, and faith — even when it’s hard, even when it feels like no one else will see it. Each act of kindness, each moment of trust, is a part of a larger story we can’t yet fully see. And knowing that Jesus walks with us through every step — through the doubts, the fears, and the small, quiet victories — is enough to keep us moving forward, gently, with faith in His timing.
Sometimes I realize that the new people in my life may never truly know the person I used to be the kind soul that would give itself away at the beat of the clock, the childlike aura, the wonder.
Life has taught me through pain, and some lessons have left scars. It’s not always easy to show the same light and contentment, but it still lives within me quietly, known only to the ones who stayed, and to the souls brave enough to walk beside me.
Lessons from the week 🌿
This week was challenging. I accomplished a lot and felt genuinely happy about it — but by the end, I felt emotionally exhausted. It’s like my soul decided it was time to release all the grief I’d been holding inside. It came out through dreams and tears. And honestly, that’s okay. Sometimes the only way to heal is to let it all flow, reflect, forgive, and make space for peace.
Lately, I’ve been feeling more drawn to prayer — talking to God, reading His word, even rewatching some scenes from The Chosen. I’ve missed going to church these past weeks, and while I’m not proud of that, I can still feel God pulling me closer. Through a book, a reel, a person sharing their awe for Him — He finds a way.
I don’t believe in coincidences anymore. We attract people and experiences based on what we need to learn in each season of life. Right now, I need God to help me release the grief after my mother’s passing and to begin healing so that He can also use me to help others heal.
Being an empath isn’t easy in a world that moves quickly and forgets how to feel. But it’s still a gift — one I thank my Creator for.
Work has been intense but fulfilling. I love what I do as a trainer, and even when I give 200%, I feel joy in helping others. Yet I catch myself judging sometimes — and recently, God reminded me not to be too quick to judge, because I’ll be measured by the same standard. It’s not easy to practice, but it’s humbling.
It also reminded me of last year — when I was the one being judged, when everything around me seemed to collapse. Back then, Jesus showed me a way out and reminded me that my purpose was to be present for my family and to be a source of light for them, instead of worrying about things I couldn’t control.
My uncle Vasile came to visit recently. He wanted to be close to the family, especially now as we’re preparing for the commemorative meal for my mom this weekend. But I also felt something deeper in him — a longing to reconnect with his roots, to visit the places he was born. It reminded me of the things my mom said before she passed.
Last night, I dreamt that my uncle had passed away. It was raining heavily, and I could see the drops hitting the concrete. My father was saying that his dear little brother was sorry for leaving so soon.
Only God knows what will happen next. Sometimes we can sense pieces of what’s coming, but we don’t name them out of reverence and fear — because we know God works in mysterious ways. And even when something seems difficult or painful, He often transforms it into something far more beautiful and meaningful than we could ever imagine.
Even when life feels uncertain, I remind myself that God is at work — in small moments, in our hearts, in ways we cannot yet see. I don’t have all the answers, but I can trust Him, and that trust is enough to keep going, one imperfect step at a time.
Luna trecută, BookZone mi-a făcut cu ochiul cu o campanie de resigilate. Mereu profit de astfel de ocazii — e felul meu de a salva cărți rătăcite, de care alții n-au mai avut nevoie. Le primesc acasă ca pe niște suflete abandonate care-și caută din nou rostul. Și, sincer, îmi aduc o bucurie simplă, curată.
De data asta, am părăsit tărâmul „dezvoltării personale” și m-am rătăcit printre filele moi ale poeziei. Acolo m-a așteptat ea — Dama de Trefla. N-o mai citisem niciodată, dar numele ei mi-a stârnit curiozitatea.
Cine este Dama de Trefla? O întrebare pe care, recunosc, am avut-o și eu la început. Este o autoare română care scrie sub pseudonim — o mână de femeie curajoasă care, asemenea lui George Eliot pe vremuri, a ales să lase cuvintele să vorbească înaintea numelui. A spus că la început i-a fost teamă de critici, așa că pseudonimul i-a fost „plasă de siguranță”. Un mister frumos într-o lume care vrea mereu etichete.
Poeziile ei au parfumul dulce-amar al adolescenței — scrise cu un fel de inocență curajoasă, ca și cum ar fi prima dată când cineva se aventurează în dragoste și nu se teme să o pună pe hârtie. M-au dus cu gândul la caietele mele de compuneri din copilărie, pline de fluturi, visări și confesiuni. 🦋
Uneori, vocea pare feminină, alteori masculină — un dans între yin și yang, între dor și foc, între liniște și curiozitate. Iar micile schițe cu flori dintre pagini dau volumului un aer jucăuș, aproape tandru.
Am terminat lectura într-o sâmbătă seară liniștită. Cartea se citește repede, are vreo 150 de pagini și te prinde fără să-ți dai seama. M-a lăsat cu un dor de copilărie și cu o ușoară nostalgie a iubirilor trecute — cele care te-au format, dar și rănit în același timp. A fost ca o oglindă a inimii: ți-o întinde ușor și te lasă să vezi ce mai doare, ce mai iubește, ce mai speră.
Iubiri și Păcate de Dama de Trefla e o mică bijuterie emoțională — o carte pe care o răsfoiești cu sufletul, nu doar cu ochii. Merită citită, simțită și dăruită.
(Sursa Imagini – Biblioteca Personala)
O poți găsi aici, dacă simți că și tu ai nevoie de o doză de melancolie frumoasă. De asemenea, alte titluri scrise de ea se pot regăsi aici.
Tonight, after prayer, I accidentally burned two of my fingers. It hurt, of course, but what hurt even more was the question that followed: why now? why after prayer? I couldn’t shake the feeling that there must be a meaning behind it.
And slowly, the answer came — quiet but firm. There has never been a time when I felt pain without a lesson following close behind. Pain has always carried a message, a small awakening, a hidden gift. Each burn, each bruise, has been a sunrise in disguise — a new beginning waiting to unfold.
This time, the message was self-love.
Lately, I’ve been caught in the thrill of productivity — checking off lists, helping everyone around me, staying active, pushing through tiredness and aches, rushing workouts, skipping rest. My heart was giving everything, but my body and soul were silently crying out for me.
So I stopped. And I listened.
No matter how satisfying it feels to finish a page full of crossed-out tasks, there’s always another list waiting tomorrow — more people needing you, more things to fix, more roles to fill. And if you’re not careful, you’ll run out of you.
That’s why it’s so important to be unapologetic — even ruthless — about protecting your time, your peace, and your passions. Because the truth is: people often love us through the labels they attach to us, not for who we truly are.
If you’re always available, always giving, they start to take your presence for granted. But when you step back, when you reclaim your energy and invest in yourself, that absence transforms into power — respect — growth.
Being an empath is both a blessing and a curse. You feel everything too deeply. You notice what others miss. You want to save everyone, heal everyone, love everyone. But somewhere along the way, you forget that you also deserve saving, healing, and love.
You can’t pour endlessly without refilling your own cup. And not everyone learns how to give back — some only take until there’s nothing left.
That’s when you turn to God. He restores what the world depletes. But even then, you must make space for Him — quiet time, prayer, stillness. How can you hear His voice if your mind is crowded with noise and your heart is buried in everyone else’s problems?
Boundaries are sacred. Protecting your energy is holy work.
Spending time with yourself isn’t a luxury — it’s survival. It’s love in its purest form. Tonight, as I listened to a song I’d never heard before, I started dancing alone in my room, arms wrapped around myself. For a moment, I felt joy bloom again.
My younger self would’ve blushed in disbelief. “How dare we?” she would’ve said. “We’re not supposed to enjoy our own company.” But she was wrong. The world had taught her shame instead of self-acceptance, noise instead of stillness.
Healing begins when you start listening — really listening — to your inner voice. That quiet whisper has been waiting for you all along.
As children, we often misunderstand the world. We think everyone means well. We blame ourselves when they don’t. But most people’s hearts are crowded with jealousy, fear, or misunderstanding — and none of that has ever been your fault.
Growing up, we chase recognition and love in all the wrong places, not realizing that the truest love was always meant to come from within — and from the One who created us.
The world is a vast, imperfect painting, where every soul moves through their own chaos, worried about appearances, chasing validation. But through it all, one truth remains unshaken: You can trust yourself. You can trust God.
And together, you’ll find your way home again — to love, to peace, and to yourself.
Not everyone is meant to walk beside you. Yes, you read that right — not every soul is meant to rest close to your heart, to know your longings, your fears, or to laugh at the same moments as you.
Some people are written only in the margins of your story — brief encounters, lessons in disguise, passing lights meant to guide you toward your own truth. So don’t feel small when a door doesn’t open, when a group doesn’t welcome you, or when you give and the gesture isn’t returned.
Let it be. Be wise enough to understand that their path, their timing, and their light simply belong elsewhere.
And most of all, recognize the moment when it’s time to release — not with bitterness, but with grace. Because every time you stop forcing what isn’t meant for you, you make room for what is — the right people, the right peace, and the sacred space between you and God.
Am văzut această carte de ceva vreme pe rafturile librăriilor și, de fiecare dată, îmi spuneam că o voi cumpăra — dar am tot amânat. Apoi, când am zărit-o pe BookZone, mi-am dat seama că nu mai are rost să ezit și am comandat-o.
Primul lucru care m-a atras a fost coperta. Este vizual deosebită, iar simbolul fluturelui ieșind din colivie mi-a devenit instant preferat. În plus, fiecare capitol are un titlu bine ales, care evidențiază clar tema discutată. Din punct de vedere al structurii, mi-a amintit de stilul lui Richard Templar din The Rules of Work.
Dacă Templar abordează cu inteligență și umor regulile din mediul profesional, Irina Binder își așază reflectorul asupra vieții de zi cu zi — într-o notă mai sobră, introspectivă și ancorată în dezvoltarea personală.
Cartea începe cu povestea unei bune prietene și modul în care autoarea o călăuzește spre vindecarea de sine, pornind de la alimentație, relația cu propria persoană și legăturile cu cei din jur. Irina Binder presară pe parcursul capitolelor fragmente din propria experiență de viață, pline de învățăminte autentice — detalii care fac lectura să pară sinceră, caldă și umană.
Deși narativul este prezentat prin prisma poveștii prietenei sale, în multe pasaje se simte că acele trăiri îi aparțin de fapt Irinei. Pe alocuri, am avut impresia că autoarea dialoghează cu propriul sine superior, extrăgând concluzii din experiențele personale — un aspect care conferă profunzime și autenticitate textului.
Există momente în care tonul devine poate prea serios sau chiar tăios în raport cu prietena ei, dar am perceput acest lucru ca o reflexie a propriei sale exigențe — o formă de sinceritate necosmetizată. Ca și cum acele lecții ar fi fost învățate recent, direct din propria durere.
Pe parcurs, am realizat însă că tocmai acest ton sobru conturează vocea distinctă a cărții — o voce calmă, dar fermă, care ghidează cititorul către redescoperirea propriei forțe interioare, prin exemplul prietenei sale.
Personal, am găsit numeroase pasaje care m-au făcut să reflectez la experiențele mele și la modul în care percep viața. Unele capitole mi-au adus un zâmbet sincer, altele m-au surprins prin profunzimea lor. Am lăsat mai jos câteva fotografii cu fragmente care mi-au rămas aproape de suflet.
(Sursa Imagini – Biblioteca personala)
Concluzii
Plănuiesc să urmez cele 52 de provocări propuse de autoare și să asociez fiecărei săptămâni câte un titlu de carte. Mi se pare frumos modul în care această lectură te provoacă să ieși din zona de confort și te invită să reflectezi la propria viață — la experiențele trecute, la lecțiile lor, dar și la cum ar trebui să se simtă cu adevărat existența.
Mă bucur că am avut curiozitatea de a o citi. Ca și toate întâmplările importante din viață, a venit exact la momentul potrivit — când aveam nevoie de introspecție și liniște. Este o carte care merită citită, trăită și poate chiar recitită, atunci când simți că e timpul să te regăsești din nou.
Nu știu cum să încep aceste rânduri, dacă e să fiu sinceră. Am citit o carte inspirațională și mi-am dat seama că mai am atâtea lucruri să-ți spun, gânduri de împărtășit cu tine.
Dar, la fel ca în momentul plecării tale – și chiar din clipa în care am aflat că ești grav bolnavă – nu am știut cum să mă port și ce să-ți spun. Am încercat mereu să fiu tare, să te inspir prin propria mea forță, ca și tu, la rândul tău, să fii puternică. Să nu te lași prinsă în ițele încâlcite ale bolii, să te ridici deasupra lor și să înțelegi că, la final, singurul sprijin de care aveai cu adevărat nevoie era în tine însăți.
De când te-am văzut suferind, gemând de durere, am fost speriată. Dar mi-am ascuns frica, încercând să fiu pentru tine un sprijin. Să-ți aduc ce aveai nevoie, să te protejez, să-ți fiu aproape.
Și totuși, eforturile mele au fost zadarnice… Dragostea mea, dorința mea de a te salva nu au fost suficiente ca să te smulg din planul rânduit de Bunul Dumnezeu înainte de vreme.
Dar adevărul este că te-am iubit enorm. Mai mult decât am putut vreodată exprima. Nu am apucat să spun prea multe înainte să te pierd… doar că te iubesc. Tu erai deja prea obosită de boală, poate deja cu îngerii. Sper că ai simțit și înțeles asta.
Mi-e greu, mama… Îmi este greu să îmi imaginez viața fără cea mai bună prietenă a mea. Îmi amintesc diminețile copilăriei, cum te trezeai devreme ca să pregătești micul dejun, să-l pregătești pe tata de serviciu și pe mine de școală.
Cel mai mult o să-mi lipsească protecția ta – felul în care săreai în apărarea mea chiar și când greșeam. Cum te băteai cu pumnul în piept și declarai dragoste singurei tale fiice. Cum alegeai ce era mai bun pentru mine, chiar și când tu nu aveai destul, doar ca eu să am prea mult.
Și acum mă amuză faptul că, și după ce ai plecat, tot mai încerci să mă protejezi. Îmi apari în vise, mă avertizezi de oameni și situații care nu-mi aduc onoare. Ai devenit ceasul meu deșteptător spiritual.
Ne lipsești enorm. Mi-e dor de apelurile noastre de dimineață, la ceai sau cafea. Mi-e dor să îmi povestești ce faci, câte planuri ți-ai mai țesut pentru ziua sau săptămâna respectivă. Mi-e dor chiar și să ne mai certăm și să îmi spui ce te supără, pentru ca eu apoi să încerc să te conving că nu trebuie să ne concentrăm pe partea negativă, că viața e în bucurii și zâmbete, nu în răutăți și tipare apăsătoare.
Încă nu am suficientă putere să mă vindec. Încă procesez, mamă. Merg la mormântul tău și îți las flori, așa cum ai cerut. Dau de pomană, cum făceai și tu, și descopăr bucuria de a oferi altora, în loc să am eu prea mult. Parcă prețuiesc altfel lucrurile acum.
Când ajung la mormânt îți îmbrățișez crucea… Tata ți-a făcut mormântul din granit, frumos și demn de tine. Săptămâna aceasta ți-am cumpărat și felinare noi. Avem grijă de memoria ta cu drag. În curând se împlinesc șase luni de când ne-ai părăsit și tot pare ireal.
Acasă e pustiu fără tine, mama. Ai lăsat în urmă o casă frumoasă, construită de pe iarba verde, eforturile tale și ale tatei se simt în fiecare colț. Trandafirii plantați de tine sunt tot acolo. Iar cu binecuvântarea lui Dumnezeu, tata are acum 15 pisoi mici, jucăuși și drăgălași.
Și totuși, deși casa e goală, te simțim în vântul care suflă lin prin cimitir, în lucrurile lăsate de tine, în fotografii. În clipele grele, te simt în spirit, mama. Din când în când îmi apari în vise – supărată poate, pentru că eu nu te-am lăsat să pleci complet. Dar învăț, mamă, pas cu pas, să-mi imaginez viața fără tine și să o trăiesc.
Sunt fericită să știu că am, în câmpul spiritual, în Rai, un suflet drag și curat care va lupta pentru mine mai departe. Un suflet care știe că toate se vor așeza cum sunt scrise.
Și cred din toată inima că, înainte de a pleca, Iisus cel drag a fost cu tine și te-a ghidat spre lumea de dincolo, alături de părinții tăi și de sufletele care își găsesc odihna veșnică acolo.
Vreau să știi că îmi pare rău că nu am putut face mai mult, că am fost egoistă uneori, că nu te-am iubit și mai mult, și pentru tot ce nu am știut să fac. Dar te iubesc și îți sunt recunoscătoare. Cât timp îmi va da Dumnezeu viață, te voi onora și îi voi mulțumi pentru darul de a te fi avut ca mamă. A fost o onoare deplină, una pentru care – cum spuneai și tu când erai aici – nu voi putea mulțumi destul niciodată.
Abia acum, după plecarea ta, realizez cât de fragil și transparent e totul. Cât de ușor luăm de-a gata darurile lui Dumnezeu – răsăritul, apusul, o nouă zi, oamenii dragi, animăluțele din jur. Și cât de ușor este să greșim celor pe care îi iubim și să facem totul despre noi.
My point is simple: Adults will have negative opinions about you and everything you do. Let Them judge. Let Them react. Let Them doubt you. Let Them question the decisions you are making … Let Them roll their eyes … Instead of wasting your time worrying about them, start living your life in a way that makes you proud of yourself. Let Me do what I want to do with my one wild and precious life.
First Impressions
I recently started a new personal challenge. I bought myself an Audible membership and promised to stay true to it: one book per month, using the free credit that comes with the subscription. The very first choice? The Let Them Theory by Mel Robbins.
I had been eyeing this title for a while—something about it kept pulling me in. I couldn’t quite explain why, but I trusted my heart and pressed “purchase.” And so, Mel Robbins’ masterpiece became the companion to my daily routines.
From the very beginning, I was charmed by her soothing, fun, and genuine voice. There was something in her tone that reminded me of one of my kindest customers—a voice that makes you want to keep listening. Not every chapter was easy to absorb; some truths hit closer than expected. I may not have the same maturity of age or experience, but her words painted vivid reflections of both my past and my present.
As I write this review, my cat rests warmly in my lap, a steaming cup of coffee keeps me company on the desk, and outside, the rain drums heavily against the window. A perfect vibe for reflection.
(Image Source – Personal Library)
Personal Take
The Let Them theory brought me a sense of clarity I didn’t know I needed. There is something incredibly freeing in simply allowing others to be. Even more exciting is the invitation to “let me”—let me begin something new, let me show up, let me follow through, let me be present.
The book made me see how much power we hand over to others—how easily we get caught in their trains of thought, their desires, their expectations. And how little time we leave for our own.
It is a mark of maturity to step back, release the urge to control, and allow people to live their own stories. I loved how Mel illustrated this by letting her son wander through a storm to find food before an event, instead of rushing in to solve it for him.
Her perspective resonated with me. Growing up as an only child in a controlling family, I knew all too well the strain of being overprotected. Sometimes, I longed for the chance to run through storms myself—to make mistakes, to feel free. And in fact, I did. Before my graduation, I slipped away with my friends. We didn’t have much, so we each brought a small drink, laughed until our eyes sparkled, and shook off the weight of exams and impossible expectations. We didn’t get drunk—we didn’t need to. We simply let loose and created a memory that still makes me smile.
This book also made me reflect on my relationship with my mother. Her fears often hid behind control, a love that came out as protection. But I was never the fearful daughter—I was the cold one who needed to escape. The one who sometimes left her in tears because she missed me too much. And yet, I had to show up for my own life, no matter how painful it was for both of us. No amount of her love could have spared me from the lessons I needed to learn myself.
Now that she is gone, I know she understands. I feel her presence in spirit, gently allowing me to live my life, healing the wounds of our abrupt goodbye. She is letting me experience the “let me” theory from the other side of eternity, as she watches over me and my family.
I also appreciated the way Mel Robbins wove her own life into the book—her family stories, her openness, her imperfections. The bloopers at the end especially made me smile. They reminded me of something important: no matter how polished we appear, we’re all just human.
Conclusion
I’ve seen people on Goodreads leaving bad reviews for this book, and I didn’t get why. I’ve enjoyed everything—from the first to the last chapter. While some of the knowledge is straightforward and easy to digest, I don’t see how an educated person could leave a bad review just because it wasn’t what they were looking for.
If you are too educated, you wouldn’t even waste your time leaving a one-star review on Goodreads. But then again, as Mel says, Let Them. And let me say how much I enjoyed listening to the audiobook and taking in the information.
In the end, what I loved most about The Let Them Theory is its simplicity—it’s not a complicated formula; it’s a daily practice. A gentle reminder that peace doesn’t come from controlling others, but from letting them be—and choosing your own path with clarity and kindness. It’s a book whose ideas I’ll carry with me in my pocket whenever I need to step back and breathe.
It’s been a while since my last post. Life has been full in the simplest, most grounding ways—sharing moments with the people I love, showing up at work, keeping my appointments, and tending to my little world at home. There’s a quiet beauty in these ordinary rhythms.
Autumn has stepped in fully now. The air grows colder with each passing day, nudging me to layer up—I’m writing this wrapped in a hoodie and sweats. And I don’t mind it. In fact, I love this shift: the leaves burning into gold and red, the crispness of the breeze, the ritual of pulling out last year’s clothes and letting go of what no longer feels like me. There’s something about it that whispers of maturity. Change doesn’t need to be forced—it just unfolds, in God’s time, in God’s plan.
This season has uncovered a few truths I want to carry with me:
✨ Discipline keeps you steady. Passion is beautiful, but showing up for it—especially on the days you’d rather quit—is what shapes you. The workout you push through when your muscles ache, the project you finish when you’d rather rest—these are the quiet victories that build your strength.
✨ Feed your mind as much as your body. Read. Listen. Learn. We’ll never know everything, but that’s the joy of it—there’s always more to discover, whether it’s about relationships, the world around us, or new hobbies that light us up. A nourished mind is a powerful companion.
✨ Don’t wait too long. If you feel the pull to pray, to walk in the park, to reconnect with a friend, or simply to treat yourself to something small—do it. There will never be a “perfect” time. Your soul knows what it craves; trust it, and let it grow from those moments.
✨ Be your own savior. We often hold those closest to us to impossible standards, expecting them to meet us where we are. But healing is personal, and not everyone is ready—or willing—to take the same path. Don’t tie your worth to who shows up for you. Show up for yourself. Be the adult your younger self longed for: protect them, nurture them, love them. Remember, the most important relationship you’ll ever have is with yourself.
✨ Know when to leave. Your standards are yours to set. Don’t shrink to fit an outdated version of yourself someone else has in mind. You’ve grown—own it. And whether it’s with loved ones or strangers, learn to recognize when something no longer honors you. Respect yourself enough to walk away.
✨ Stay true to your rhythm. Rest when you need it. Withdraw when you’ve given too much. Listen more than you speak—you’ll be surprised by what you learn.
✨ Make room for joy. Dance. Laugh. Try something new. Eat alone at a café, wander through the park at night, or journal with a warm drink beside you. Never apologize for the things that make your soul feel alive.
✨ Kindness doesn’t deplete you. It’s not about giving until you’re empty. It’s choosing gentleness over sharp words, offering smiles when the world feels heavy, and sharing small gestures of love. In these ways, we can become tiny reflections of God’s smile in the world.
✨ Let go. Detachment is freedom. Let people be who they are, and let yourself keep moving toward who you’re becoming. The fewer expectations you hold, the lighter your steps.
And above all—enjoy your life. Whether you’re studying in your early years, stumbling through your twenties, or approaching thirty with more questions than answers—remember: life isn’t meant to be perfect. It’s meant to be lived. To be felt. To be discovered.
Don’t contort yourself to fit someone else’s dusty frame. Be yourself. Be kind. And trust that God loves you right where you are.
Katherine's Blog 
