finding light

Faith Is Hope With A Track Record

Some days, it’s harder to write than others.
Especially on the days when my light feels dim, when I’m tired, and when the fire that usually fuels me flickers a bit lower.

Today is one of those days.
And yet—these are often the days I most need to write.
To remind myself of what I know deep down:
This moment will pass.
This weight I’m feeling isn’t forever.
And no matter how disconnected or overwhelmed I feel, I’ve made it through harder days than this.
Faith reminds me of that.

Life may feel uncertain and unsteady at times, but faith is what brings me back to center.
Because faith isn’t just a feeling—it’s a belief rooted in evidence.
It’s hope that’s been tested. And proven.

From Hopelessness to Hope

Before I began this journey, I didn’t have much faith.
In fact, I didn’t even have much hope.
My mind always defaulted to the worst-case scenario.
And on the rare occasion I dared to hope, I quickly snuffed it out with a familiar voice in my head that told me I didn’t deserve good things.

But then someone shared their story with me.
Where they had been.
What they had come through.
And where they were now.

That single story sparked something.
A flicker of hope.
It was small, but it was enough to help me pick up the phone and ask for help.
And that call changed everything.

How Faith Is Built

Hope came first.
Faith came later.

Because faith doesn’t magically show up—it builds over time.
It’s earned through experience, through consistent effort, and through the proof that change is possible when we do the work.

As I began taking positive steps in my recovery, I started to notice shifts in my life.
Support showed up.
Healing began.
My mental health improved.
And slowly, I started to believe that I could feel better.
That I could build a different kind of life.

That belief—backed by action—became my faith.

Faith Isn’t Passive. It’s a Practice.

Faith isn’t just sitting back and hoping things will change.
It’s rolling up your sleeves and doing the work because you believe change is possible.

Faith can be rooted in something greater than ourselves.
In a higher power.
In the belief that we’re being guided or protected.

But it’s also in the way we show up every day—especially on the hard days.
When we take small, positive actions even when we don’t feel like it.
When we keep moving forward, even if we’re unsure of the destination.
That’s faith in motion.

Share the Flame

Today, if you’re in a low place, remind yourself of what you’ve already overcome.
Look back at the track record of your survival, your growth, your strength.

Faith is built on the moments you didn’t think you’d get through—but did.

And if you’re struggling to find your faith today, start with hope.
Hold onto that spark and trust that it will grow.

If your flame feels dim, share it anyway.
Because when we pass our light to someone else, it only gets brighter.

SLAY Reflection: Are You Holding Onto Faith or Reaching for Hope?

  1. Do you feel connected to your faith today?
    If yes, how does it support you? If not, what’s made you feel disconnected?

  2. Did you always have faith—or did you find it later in life?
    What helped you begin to believe again?

  3. When you think about hope, what comes up for you?
    Are you nurturing it—or avoiding it?

  4. What action helped you move from hope into faith?
    What did you do that built trust in your own journey?

  5. Who in your life might need a reminder that faith is possible?
    How can you be the light that helps spark theirs?

Call to Action: Join the Conversation

I’d love to hear from you.
What’s one moment in your life where hope turned into faith—and how did that change your path?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.

And if you know someone who’s searching for that spark, send this to them.
Sometimes, all we need is a nudge.

At A Rare Loss For Words

It’s not often I’m at a loss for words. Ask anyone who knows me well, and they’ll tell you—I’ve always got something to say. But lately? Lately, I’ve felt more shaken. Disheartened. I’ve struggled to find the right words in the face of what feels like an unraveling of the world around me.

If you’ve been reading the blog or following State of Slay™ for a while, you know I try to focus on growth, light, and resilience. I look for the lesson. The shift. The silver lining. And I’ve been trying to do that even as it feels like the people and places around me are falling apart.

Yesterday, it hit hard. I sat in my car, parked outside a store, completely unable to get out. I was paralyzed by the weight of it all—the lies, the selfishness, the lack of empathy. I’ve been feeling it for a while now: the anxiety of living in a place that doesn’t feel safe, the exhaustion of building something meaningful in uncertain times, the strain of trying to uplift others when I’m struggling to hold myself up.

A friend recently said they missed my positive energy. I mentioned I’d been a little low, and they replied that they’d noticed—but didn’t ask why. Didn’t check in. I get it. We all have a lot going on. But if we lose that connection—if we stop checking in on each other—what do we have left?

I know how I’ve made it this far: community. Support. A deep belief that light exists, even when it’s dim. My flame may be flickering, but it’s not out. And I know where to look to ignite it again.

When Darkness Feeds Itself

Before recovery, I thrived in the dark. I fed off negativity. I surrounded myself with people who mirrored my pain—people who used me, hurt me, and validated my belief that I wasn’t worthy of love or light. I clung to the victim narrative because it was easier than owning my part.

That mindset? It’s poison. It makes you believe that happiness is something someone else gives you. But real happiness—the kind that lasts—comes from living with integrity. From taking responsibility for our actions, our energy, and our healing.

Recovery taught me that the road to peace is paved with truth. That my actions, not my intentions, define who I am. That I get to choose how I show up in the world. And that means something, especially in times like these.

Be the Person You’re Proud Of

We’re all going through something. Some days are heavier than others. But now more than ever, we need to lift each other up—not tear each other down. We need to ask the extra question, send the check-in text, give the benefit of the doubt.

We need to be someone we can be proud of.

A few months ago, I asked: When all of this is over, will you be proud of who you were?

If you hesitate to answer, it’s time to get honest.

Choose compassion. Choose kindness. Choose truth. Choose to be the light—even if your flame is just a spark right now.

SLAY on.

SLAY Reflection: Are You Someone You’d Be Proud Of?

  • Have you been living in integrity—with yourself and others?
  • Where have you fallen short? What can you do to make it right?
  • Are you showing up for others—or just for yourself?
  • What has your energy been like lately? How are you affecting the spaces you enter?
  • What’s one action you can take today to reconnect—with others and with yourself?

Call to Action: Join the Conversation

I’d love to hear from you.
What’s one thing you’ve done recently that made you proud—or one thing you want to do to course-correct?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.

And if you know someone who’s feeling disconnected or dim, send this to them.
Sometimes, all we need is a little light to find our way back.

Hope

Hope saved my life.
Not overnight, not all at once. But slowly—almost imperceptibly—it pulled me forward when I couldn’t move on my own.

It didn’t start with a grand epiphany or a lightning-bolt moment. It started with a story. Someone shared their truth with me, and in that moment, something shifted. Their honesty lit a tiny spark in the darkness I was drowning in. That spark became a lifeline.

The hope I felt wasn’t loud or bright. It was dim, shaky, barely enough to hold on to. But it was enough. Enough to make me take action. Enough to give me the belief—however fragile—that things could get better.

The Patience of Hope

We live in a world that worships instant results. We want everything now—answers, change, healing, clarity. But hope doesn’t follow a schedule. It’s not something we can demand.

Hope is about trust. Trusting that something better is possible, even when we can’t see it. It asks us to let go of the timeline we think we’re entitled to and surrender to the process of becoming.

And that’s hard. Really hard.

But hope and patience are deeply connected. When we trust in hope, we create space. We soften our grip. We stop trying to control outcomes that were never ours to dictate. Hope is not about sitting still—it’s about steady movement, one small act of faith at a time, guided by the belief that this season will not last forever.

Letting Hope Lead

There’s a difference between wishing and hoping. Wishing is passive. It keeps us stuck. Hope, on the other hand, moves us. It opens our hearts, sharpens our focus, and lifts our heads. It whispers, “Keep going.”

We’re not always asked to see the full path. Often, we’re only given the next step. Hope is what fuels us to take it. It teaches us that we don’t need to have everything figured out in order to move forward—we just need to be willing.

When we push and force, we strangle the very thing we’re hoping for. Life flows in ways we can’t always see. Hope allows us to be guided by something greater than our expectations. It gives us the strength to walk the path, even when we don’t know where it’s leading.

The Gift That Grows

Hope expands when it’s shared. That’s part of why I started this blog—to pass on the spark that was once passed on to me.

You never know who needs your light. You never know who’s one story, one smile, one reminder away from holding on just a little longer. Sharing hope doesn’t require answers or fixing someone’s pain. It only asks that we show up and say, “I see you. I’ve been there. And it can get better.”

If I hadn’t been given that kind of hope years ago, I don’t know where I’d be. But because someone shared it with me, I get to be here now, sharing it with you. That’s the cycle of healing. That’s the quiet power of hope.

Hold On to Hope—And Pass It On

Whatever you’re facing today, I want you to know that hope is still available. Even if it feels out of reach, even if all you can manage is a single breath of belief—start there.

Hope doesn’t require certainty. Just willingness. Just a little bit of faith that things can change. And when you feel it rise, even in the smallest way, share it. Hope grows when it’s given.

We’re all walking through something. We’re all holding pieces of each other’s healing. And we are never alone in that.

SLAY Reflection

Take some time to reflect and reconnect with hope:

  • S: Do you feel hopeful right now? If not, what might be dimming your light?

  • L: Who has shared hope with you in the past, and how did it impact your journey?

  • A: Have you shared hope with someone else? What did that look like, and how did it feel?

  • Y: What’s one small way you can nurture or share hope today, even if it’s just with yourself?

Call to Action: Join the Conversation

I’d love to hear from you.
What does hope look like in your life right now?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.

And if you know someone who’s struggling to hold on, send this to them.
Sometimes, all we need is a nudge.