Etichetă: lesson

The Heat of Healing

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What have you been putting off doing? Why?
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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.

When Silence Heals: What Meditation Taught Me About Myself

For a while, I felt overwhelmed by everything—grief, routine, the endless to-do lists. After losing my mother, life became hazy, like I was moving through fog. I kept showing up, doing my best, pushing forward. But deep down, I wasn’t really connected with myself.

I kept reading books and listening to podcasts that spoke about the importance of “sitting with yourself.” And at first, I thought—well, I am with myself all the time. What more could there be?

But the truth is, we often confuse proximity with presence. Just like we sometimes recite the ‘Father thou art in heaven’ prayer by habit, forgetting we’re actually speaking to the divine—the One who gave us life—so too do we forget what it means to truly be with ourselves.

“Sitting with yourself” isn’t just being alone. It’s about stillness. Not thinking. Not doing. Just listening. Letting the body speak. It always does—through fatigue, tension, even pain. But the noise of the world can be so loud that we stop hearing it.

Meditation became my doorway back to presence. Through it, I learned to pause, to listen—not just with my ears, but with my heart, my body, my soul. And what I discovered was that I was deeply tired. My body had been whispering it, even screaming it, through pain and illness. I’d heal one thing, only for something else to flare up.

Why? Because I hadn’t really listened. I was ignoring the lesson.

Unfelt emotions, unhealed wounds—they don’t just disappear. They live in the body. In tight shoulders, in headaches, in tension that refuses to leave. Sometimes, they even show up as physical swelling. Your system is always trying to tell you something: you need to feel this.

During meditation, I began to visualize those wounded parts of myself. And let me be honest—it hurt. Healing does. Old pain surfaced in waves, each one timed perfectly by my body, as if it knew I was finally ready to feel it.

That’s the truth about healing: you don’t get to choose only the light. You must walk through the heavy, uncomfortable parts, too. And if you don’t feel them willingly, life has a way of bringing them back to you—through people, through experiences that mirror the original wound.

It’s all chemistry. Emotional alchemy. What we suppress internally finds its way out externally, until we listen.

That’s why it’s so important to stay attuned to your body and heart. This inner relationship—the one we never learned in school—is essential. Getting to know yourself. Understanding your mind. Hearing your soul.

One moment that surprised me deeply was when, during meditation, I began to cry—unexpectedly, uncontrollably. It was like a river rising from within, and I finally let it wash over me. It made me realize: grief needs space. And tears are not a weakness; they’re truth. They’re healing.

Still, society teaches us to hide our sadness. To hush our tears. We’re told to stay strong, to keep going. But true strength is in allowing yourself to feel. To cry when your soul needs release. To stop patching wounds with productivity and just be.

Because in this life, we’re meant to experience. To feel. And yes, sometimes, to cry.

Your soul always knows what it needs to let go, to cleanse, to evolve. Crying is the body’s way of purifying itself. It’s not shameful—it’s sacred.

Toward the end of my meditation, I saw my mother’s smile with the eyes of my soul. It wasn’t a vision, not exactly—it was a knowing. A sense of peace. I understood, in that moment, that she was okay. That she had found her rest.

And that kind of knowing… it doesn’t come instantly. It comes slowly, with time. With love. With presence. And most of all, with the courage to sit with yourself—and listen.

Daily Prompt #1

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What is the last thing you learned?
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That it never stops; you never stop learning. It’s funny because when you’re in school and passing all of your classes and exams, and you’ve spent so many hours learning and discovering new methods to collect more data, you wish it would all stop.

As with every concept or manifestation, there comes a point when it must end, whether by choice or without. When you finish your classes, you receive your diploma and prepare to conquer the world. That’s when you understand how much more you need to learn.

You realize that what you learned in school was just theory and application; the practice is different, as is dealing with people and this broken system. This is the moment where the „school of life” takes over and pushes you in ways that school never did.

You learn everything about failure and how things don’t operate the way you want them to, and you persevere long enough until your self-esteem and dignity evaporate, along with less money and fewer hours of sleep. The minute you give up, you look in the mirror and don’t recognize yourself, deciding it’s time to call it quits.

And you humbly do so, regaining your health, packing those old wonderful dreams neatly, and returning them to where they started. And then, using the new lessons you’ve learned, embark on a fresh quest to discover yourself along with the new dream you don’t know anything about yet. But you’re open enough to learn on the way and trust yourself.

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Life can feel like walking blindfolded; you don’t fully know anyone except yourself, and each step brings a new challenge. You can’t grow if you are impeding the learning process, no matter how hard you try.

The story of the nails in the door

I was reading through my WordPress reader’s feed this morning when I came across Julie’s Hammer Post. The article reminded me of a story I used to read as a child; it was printed in the tiny booklets we’d receive at my religion classes.

The story unfolds

A man had a problematic son who tested his patience on a regular basis. Discouraged by his son’s misconduct, the parent resolved to hammer a nail in a door for each of his transgressions. Soon, the door was covered in nails, and there was no place for another.

Surprised, the boy inquired, „Father, why are so many nails in that door?”

This door represents your actions, said the father. Every nail represents one of your mistakes. The son began to reflect and gradually improved. Shortly, the positive actions would eventually outnumber the wrongdoings.

As he watched his child’s progress, the father began removing the nails from the door. He eventually removed the last nail one day.

In amazement, the boy ran up to his father and said, „Look, father, there’s no nail left in that door!”

The father replied: Yes, but what about the holes left in the door?

Conclusion

Our life experiences are similar to this story. Sometimes, in our haste and negligence, we end up hurting our loved ones with our words or actions. Because of the great relationship we’ve built over the years, arrogance, the attitude of a know-it-all, could harm our most precious people.

Most of the time, we are correct, but the way we convey the information can harm the souls of those closest to us. We may try to remove the nails, but the words, like the holes left by the nails in the door tale, will remain.

Everything that happens in life is the product of decisions we make, intentionally or accidentally. People, events, success, and failure flow through our lives like a river, and we choose based on who we are in the moment.

We also choose how we respond to what happens in our lives, and every time we choose between love and fear. No matter how genuine our fears are, they are only a creation of our minds, an illusion.

According to Neal Walsh’s book Conversations with God, love is the sole true state that exists in our lives from the minute we are born. But we just forget because we’ve been living in fear for so long.

Today’s reminder is to take a breather and assess your feelings before knocking a nail on someone else’s door. Ask yourself what triggered that thinking in the first place, since it is always about us, whether we choose to live in fear or in love.

If you want to be the change you wish to see in the world, you must first resemble the people around you so as to attract the mirror of your soul. Some people will get closer to you, while others may walk away, and that’s just fine.

There will be no nails or holes in your life when you are exactly how you want the world around you to be. Think about that.

Dailies #22

There’s something special about how you feel when you’re unwell. Something good that few people discuss.

You’re not interested in finishing everyday chores, running errands like a maniac, or going out of your way to be flawless. You’re simply doing your best wherever you are, whether it’s with your head on a toilet, spewing all the awful things that intoxicated you, or wailing in isolation to God in a language only you and Him understand.

Worried about the people around you? They may contact you, try to reach out to you, and communicate, but what’s the point if you can’t even reciprocate? You hang up the phone because you don’t even have the energy to weep. You fall asleep for 2 hours, wake up, mourn, and repeat.

You’re not concerned about what to eat or whether to have snacks after lunch. You’ll be happy if you can grab a bite and have enough energy for the next day.

Sickness causes you to put an abrupt halt to whatever you’re doing and relax. It reminds you of how beautiful and priceless your health can be, and how easily you can lose it.

It’s about finding joy in every day’s presents, whether it’s the sun that just came up, the flowers that look lovely, or that little moment when you don’t ache as much, and you’re able to fully breathe. It’s also about taking a closer look at how far you’ve come, how blessed you are to have people who care about you and understand how much you take for granted every day without even realizing it.

And, in the end, it teaches you that no matter what happens, things will get better. It might not happen right away, but if you take it one day at a time, with God’s grace and love for us, you’ll be healed sooner than you think.