We all want to feel seen. Valued. Chosen.
But chasing validation from others can leave us emptier than before.
Because the most powerful kind of love?
The kind you don’t have to earn.
The kind you give yourself.
Let your inner voice speak with compassion.
Let your worth be non-negotiable.
Let your self-love be louder than your longing.
This is your reminder: You don’t need to be picked to belong to yourself.
SLAY on!
Being vulnerable isn’t easy. It means showing up without the filter, letting people see the real you — fears, flaws, feelings and all. But vulnerability is not a weakness. It’s courage in its rawest form.
When we choose honesty over perfection, we create real connection — with ourselves and with others. That’s where true growth happens.
Let this be your reminder: you don’t have to have it all together to be worthy of love, support, or success.
It may sound impossible at times, but in those moments when we feel our weakest, we must dig deep and find our strength.
There have been countless times in my life where I’ve had to rely on an inner strength I didn’t even realize I had. Somehow, just enough rose to the surface to help me push through.
We are all stronger than we think.
And when I take a moment to reflect on everything I’ve overcome, I’m reminded of the strength and courage that carried me.
It helps me in the present.
It prepares me for the future.
Because true strength often reveals itself when everything feels like it’s falling apart.
Prefer to listen? The Audio Blog version is available here.
Looking back on my lowest points, I can admit—I didn’t always use my strength.
There were times I believed I was weak.
Times I gave in to the idea that I was broken or not worth saving.
I had flickers of power, brief moments of energy and clarity, but they’d fade. And that negative voice in my head? It would rush in, louder than ever.
That inner strength—the warrior in me—it was there.
But some days, that sword felt too heavy to lift.
There was one day in particular when I came dangerously close to surrendering.
I was at my lowest. But even then, there was a whisper of strength left inside me.
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t flashy.
But it was just strong enough to reach out, to ask for help, to cry for help.
And that moment changed everything.
That quiet strength was enough to rally.
Enough to begin my fight back.
For me, strength isn’t about pushing through everything without feeling.
It’s about showing up—even when it’s hard.
My strength lives in the inner warrior that walks beside me.
It’s the part of me that shields the most vulnerable parts inside.
My strength is spiritual.
It’s rooted in a connection to something greater than myself—a belief that I’m held, even when I’m hurting.
It’s also built from experience:
I also surround myself with people who reflect that strength back to me.
People who remind me who I am when I forget.
And I do the same for them.
Sometimes we need to borrow someone else’s light until we remember our own.
I’ve learned that strength isn’t something you “find” once and then never lose.
It’s a practice. A choice. A mindset.
I know now that:
And there’s always a small spark inside me—a flame that never goes out, no matter how dark it gets.
That’s what carries me.
That’s what keeps me standing.
And that’s what I want to help you find too.
We all have strength.
Even if it feels buried. Even if it’s been challenged.
Even if it’s quiet.
If this past year has shown us anything, it’s that we’re still here.
We’ve survived more than we thought we could.
We’ve made it through dark seasons, tough days, and hard truths.
And we’re still standing.
That is strength.
Now is the time to pick up your sword.
To fight for someone who matters—you.
Me. Us.
Dig deep.
Find your strength.
And use it to keep moving forward.
I’d love to hear from you.
What’s one moment when you found strength you didn’t know you had?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.
And if you know someone who’s struggling to feel strong right now, send this to them.
Sometimes, all we need is a nudge.
Most of us have fears.
It’s part of being human.
But when we give too much focus and energy to fear, we risk becoming exactly what we fear most.
Fear can be sneaky like that. It creeps in, takes root, and grows stronger the more we feed it. Eventually, it can start to shape how we think, how we act, and even how we show up in the world—often without us even realizing it.
Fear can become a self-fulfilling prophecy.
What we focus on, we feed.
And what we feed, grows.
I’ve written before about attracting the kind of energy we want in our lives.
When we live in fear—or negativity—that’s often what ends up circling back to us.
It’s not magic. It’s not instant karma.
It’s energy.
It’s focus.
It’s the silent agreement we make with our fears every time we let them lead.
When I was living in my illness, I was consumed by fear.
It was everywhere—under the surface of every thought, every decision.
And the more I ignored it, the more power it had.
I didn’t want to face it, so I tried to numb it, outrun it, distract myself from it.
But fear doesn’t disappear just because we look away.
It waits. It grows. And eventually, I started to become what I feared most.
I was aware of what was happening.
And still, I didn’t stop it.
I fed my fears with avoidance, with negative thinking, with silence.
And my fear evolved into a kind of paralysis—I couldn’t see a way out, and I wasn’t asking for one.
But then a different kind of fear showed up—the kind that keeps us safe.
The kind that whispers, “You can’t keep going like this.”
The kind that leads to action.
I was terrified of being judged, of being labeled “crazy,” of being too far gone to help.
But I was also terrified of where my life was headed if I didn’t get help.
And that good fear? It won.
I reached out.
I asked for help.
And for the first time, I found a door out.
I’ve learned that I don’t have to live in fear.
I still feel it, yes—because again, I’m human.
But I don’t live there anymore.
I’ve learned to acknowledge it when it shows up and then move through it.
Today, I focus on:
I’ve built a spiritual connection that guides me and keeps me grounded.
I stay open to signs and nudges from the universe.
And I trust that fear is not something I have to surrender to.
It’s something I can listen to—but not let lead.
Fear can be a compass.
Sometimes it points to the exact place where we need to do the most work.
Ask yourself:
This is a challenging time.
But it’s also the perfect time to focus on the good you want to create—for yourself, for your family, for your life.
You don’t have to become what you fear.
You can choose something different.
You can choose to SLAY.
I’d love to hear from you.
What’s one fear you’re ready to stop feeding, and what action can you take today to move through it?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.
And if you know someone who’s stuck in fear or letting it lead their life, send this to them.
Sometimes, all we need is a nudge.
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
Do you feel connected to your faith today?
If yes, how does it support you? If not, what’s made you feel disconnected?
Did you always have faith—or did you find it later in life?
What helped you begin to believe again?
When you think about hope, what comes up for you?
Are you nurturing it—or avoiding it?
What action helped you move from hope into faith?
What did you do that built trust in your own journey?
Who in your life might need a reminder that faith is possible?
How can you be the light that helps spark theirs?
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.
We are what we allow.
And when we allow people to treat us as if we’re not worthy—when we accept behavior that belittles us or dims our light—we start to believe we deserve it.
But our worth isn’t something other people get to define. It doesn’t come from approval, status, or success. It comes from within. From who we are, what we value, and how we show up in the world. True worth is self-sourced. And once we see it clearly, it becomes much harder to stay around people who don’t.
When I was living in the dark, I didn’t believe I had any worth.
I made choices that reflected that belief. I tolerated disrespect. I spoke to myself with cruelty. I stayed in environments that diminished me. I confused success with self-worth and chased external validation to feel like I mattered. And when I didn’t get it, the old narrative played on a loop: You’re not good enough.
I lived like someone who had no value—because I didn’t believe I did.
It wasn’t until I stepped onto the path of recovery that I started to challenge that story. At first, I couldn’t even look in the mirror. I couldn’t say, “I love you” to myself. The words got stuck in my throat.
But slowly, with support from others who had been there, I started to find glimmers of self-worth. I made a list of what I liked about myself. On days when that felt impossible, I wrote down the opposite of the harsh thoughts I was thinking—and used that as my starting point.
I did the work. I stayed the course. And slowly, something shifted.
Acts of kindness, both given and received, started to restore me. I gave back where I could. I surrounded myself with people who saw me clearly. I honored the little girl inside me who had never felt safe, and promised her I wouldn’t abandon her again.
With each step, my self-worth grew.
And as it did, my tolerance shrank.
I no longer accepted treatment that chipped away at my light. I no longer stayed in rooms where I felt unseen. I started seeking out people who inspired me, who respected themselves, and who respected me too. Because once you see your own worth, you can’t unsee it—and you won’t settle for less.
You don’t have to earn your worth. You don’t have to prove it. You just have to see it—and then live like it matters.
Surround yourself with people who reflect that truth back to you. And when you feel yourself dimming to fit into a space that doesn’t honor you, step back and ask: Is this what I deserve? Or am I shrinking to make someone else comfortable?
You have value just as you are. The right people will recognize it. But most importantly: you will.
SLAY on.
I’d love to hear from you.
What’s one way you’ve reclaimed your worth—and how did it change what (or who) you allowed in your life?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.
And if you know someone who’s forgotten how worthy they are, send this to them.
Sometimes, all we need is a reminder to rise.
I’ve been thinking about this one for a while.
When someone works to change their life—truly change it—few things are more disheartening than being treated like they’re still the person they used to be. I’ve witnessed this over the years, most recently with someone I love. It’s a painful thing to watch: someone trying to climb out of the hole they once lived in, only to be reminded—through judgment, dismissal, or condescension—that some people refuse to see the progress they’ve made.
The truth is, when we judge someone by their past, we make it that much harder for them to escape it.
I’ve written before about how some people in our lives might not want us to change. Not because they don’t love us—but because our growth disrupts the status quo they’ve grown comfortable with. Sometimes people don’t want us to get better because they liked the version of us who needed them. Or maybe they’re not ready to face their own discomfort, so they keep us boxed into the role they’re used to playing.
I’ve seen this happen recently to someone close to me. They’ve done the hard work to better themselves—mentally, spiritually, emotionally—but a family member still treats them like they’re stuck at their lowest point. The conversations aren’t supportive. They’re diminishing. And I’ve seen the toll it takes. That judgment acts like a chain, pulling them backward into a version of themselves they’ve outgrown.
Words matter. How people speak to us—and about us—can either reinforce our progress or unravel it.
When I committed to getting better, I was fortunate to have strong support. I leaned on my people hard in the beginning. And as I grew stronger, I leaned less—but that circle still stood beside me. Eventually, I began to notice who was genuinely happy for me and who wasn’t. And let me tell you: not everyone will cheer for your growth.
Some people liked me better when I was lost, because it made them feel more in control. Others preferred the version of me who didn’t challenge the status quo. But I had to remind myself that my healing wasn’t up for debate. I wasn’t going to stay stuck to keep someone else comfortable. And neither should you.
We are allowed to outgrow roles, relationships, and narratives that no longer serve us. We are allowed to heal—and to demand that the people in our lives meet us where we are now, not where we used to be.
You are not your past. You are not your mistakes. You are not the version of yourself that someone else insists on remembering.
You are your growth. You are your progress. You are your present—and your future.
Surround yourself with people who celebrate that. People who speak life into your healing, not those who try to hold you hostage to your history. Anyone who truly loves you will root for the best version of you. And that’s the kind of energy you deserve to have around you.
SLAY on.
SLAY OF THE DAY: Reflect & Rise
You’re not defined by where you’ve been. You’re defined by who you choose to become.
Call to Action: Join the Conversation
I’d love to hear from you.
What’s one way you’ve broken free from someone else’s perception of your past?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.
And if you know someone who’s ready to grow but feels weighed down by old narratives, send this to them.
Sometimes, all we need is to be seen for who we are becoming.
I spent years in the dark, without realizing that fear was driving nearly every decision I made.
I was afraid of not getting what I wanted.
Afraid of losing what I had.
Afraid of not being good enough.
Afraid of what others thought of me.
Afraid you already knew what a horrible person I was.
Fear whispered lies and distortions at every turn, clouding my judgment and leading me down a spiral of bad decisions. And once those decisions were made, fear crept in again—this time afraid I’d be found out for them.
I lived in constant irritability and discontent.
Fear doesn’t always show up loud and obvious.
It disguises itself.
It justifies itself.
For me, it was like a low-lying fog—ever-present, making it hard to see the next steps.
When I committed to getting honest with myself, I began to confront my fears. At first, I wouldn’t have said I was afraid of much—except the trajectory of my disease. I knew if I didn’t face my fears, they’d consume me.
But naming them? That took time, and guidance from others.
I had to learn to trust—both the people supporting me and myself. When you live in fear, trust evaporates. You’re stuck in fight-or-flight, always waiting for the next trauma.
Learning to live with honesty and peace was a new concept.
I slowed down.
I started asking myself: What’s the next right thing?
And when I didn’t know, I asked for help.
I had to push through the fear of asking.
As I peeled back the layers of myself, the fears began to reveal themselves—each one an opportunity to heal. Slowly, those fears fell away, replaced by better decisions and a clearer sense of the life I wanted to create.
Letting go of fear also allowed me to share my true self without being paralyzed by the thought of being judged or “not enough.”
The same vulnerabilities that once kept me isolated became the bridges that connected me with others—and helped others still stuck in fear.
Right now, many of us live with fear—understandably so, given the world’s circumstances.
But how many of those fears are real?
How many are imagined?
How many can we actually name?
You can’t let go of fear you won’t name.
Find it.
Flush it out.
Let it go.
Because you deserve a life built on freedom, not fear.
SLAY on.
Would you say you are someone who lives in fear?
What are you afraid of?
Do you know what you are afraid of?
Which fears are real, and which are imagined?
Where do those fears come from?
What steps can you take to let go of imagined fears?
How can you approach real fears in your life with clarity and strength?
How does holding onto fear help or hurt you?
Remember:
Some fear is healthy. It keeps us safe.
But most fear just holds us back.
Look at your fears today, Slayer.
Figure out why you’re holding on.
Don’t let fear rob you of your best life.
I’d love to hear from you.
What’s one fear you’re ready to name—and take a step toward letting go of today?
Share your thoughts in the comments. Let’s support each other’s journeys.
And if you know someone who might be feeling stuck in fear, send this to them.
Sometimes, naming a fear is the first step to reclaiming your power.
We often hear that we should follow the light—look for hope, positivity, and healing to guide us forward. But what happens when the light feels too far away? When we can’t see it, let alone follow it?
There was a time in my life when the darkness wasn’t just around me—it was in me. It wrapped itself around everything I was and everything I believed about myself. It suffocated every flicker of light I had left. And the scariest part? I accepted it. I thought I belonged there. I convinced myself that if I just waited long enough, it would somehow resolve itself. But darkness doesn’t heal. It deepens—until you forget what light even looks like.
I’ve shared before that it was someone else’s story—someone brave enough to speak their truth—that gave me a tiny sliver of hope. Just enough to cling to. That story became my lifeline. I wasn’t ready to see my own light yet, but the fear of sinking further into that darkness became the fuel I needed to ask for help.
Sometimes, it’s not inspiration that gets us moving. It’s desperation. It’s the pain of staying the same. It’s the crushing weight of knowing if you don’t do something—anything—you might not make it. That fear can become a gift. A push. A nudge in a direction you’re not sure of, but one that takes you somewhere new. Somewhere better.
I often talk about seeking the light. But I know all too well that sometimes, the light isn’t what gets us started. Sometimes, the darkness is what pushes us toward the light we didn’t even know we were searching for.
Darkness is cunning. It doesn’t always show up like the monster under the bed. Sometimes it sounds like safety. Familiarity. Comfort. It whispers, “Stay here. At least here you know what to expect.”
But here’s the truth: darkness may feel familiar, but it is not safe. It convinces us we’re unworthy. It tells us we’re too broken to be seen, too far gone to be helped. It keeps us stuck with stories we’ve outgrown but don’t know how to let go of.
I used to think there was only one “right” way to heal. One perfect path forward. But that belief only kept me stuck longer. It wasn’t until I realized that healing isn’t a straight line—and it doesn’t always begin with light—that I gave myself permission to find my own way. Whether it’s a flicker of inspiration or a fire lit by fear, what matters is that you start.
They say necessity is the mother of invention, but I believe desperation is the spark of transformation. For me, it was the fear of staying in that deep, dark place that finally opened me up to something new. I call it the gift of desperation.
When what I was doing stopped working, I had to be willing to try something different—even if it scared me. Especially if it scared me. And that willingness, however small, cracked the door open to a new path.
It didn’t look like anyone else’s journey. It was messy. Uneven. Sometimes I was crawling more than walking. But I kept moving. I kept showing up. And little by little, I found my way out of the dark and into something resembling light.
There’s no single right way to heal, grow, or change. No template. No “should.” The truth is, we all have different catalysts. For some, it’s hope. For others, it’s heartbreak. For many of us, it’s both.
What matters is direction. If you’re moving toward a better version of yourself—whether by chasing the light or running from the dark—you’re on the right path.
The key is to remain open. To trust that no matter what’s behind you, what’s ahead can be better. And that willingness to shift—even if just a little—can create space for something powerful.
If you’re in a dark place right now, I want you to know: you don’t have to stay there. The fact that you’re reading this means there’s still a flicker of light in you. Hold onto that. Feed it.
And if you can’t find your own light just yet, borrow someone else’s. Let their story, their voice, or even their presence guide you until you find your own strength. Sometimes the push of darkness is the very thing that leads us to the path we were meant to walk.
Always look for the light. But if you can’t see it yet, let the darkness give you the push you need for a better view.
Take a moment to reflect, SLAYER:
S: Do you make changes by moving toward the light—or away from the darkness?
L: What moments in your life were driven by fear, and where did they lead you?
A: How can you reframe your current struggles as a push toward something better?
Y: What small shift can you make today to move forward, even if the light isn’t visible yet?
I’d love to hear from you.
Have you ever been pushed by darkness toward a better place?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.
And if you know someone who’s feeling stuck in the dark, send this to them.
Sometimes, all we need is a nudge.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
