All posts by magnoliatru

Not Meant to Heal Alone

Healing journey, self love, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

This past week, the theme has been community, and honestly, it’s hard for me.

Out of the blue, an internet friend and I started checking in with each other weekly. It wasn’t planned, but it’s been a blessing. We share what we’re working through, hold space to vent without judgment, and support each other without the expectation of advice. It’s not a big group or anything fancy, but it’s meaningful. Knowing that someone out there genuinely gets it is starting to change the way I view healing and helping me understand what I truly need. I’ll be honest—it’s also terrifying to be in that space.

Growing up, I didn’t have a clear picture of what real friendships looked like. I held onto relationships that weren’t always the healthiest, and I wasn’t always the best at being a friend myself. Over time, I found myself pulling away from people—sometimes because I got hurt, and sometimes because I didn’t know how to show up for others. That pattern left me feeling disconnected and thinking maybe I was better off on my own.

But here’s the thing: as much as isolation feels safe, it’s not where healing happens. God didn’t create us to live in isolation. From the very beginning, He designed us for connection—to support one another, encourage one another, and carry each other’s burdens (Galatians 6:2). Community is one of the ways God reminds us that we’re not alone.

It’s terrifying for me because this is new territory. I don’t want to fall back into old habits and let this connection fizzle out. At the same time, if it’s meant to be temporary, I want to let it go with grace. Thanks, abandonment issues—lbvs. Still, I believe this could be the start of a beautiful sisterhood.

Here’s what I’m learning: healing in community doesn’t replace the work we have to do on our own, but it enhances it. Having someone to walk alongside you as you work through your healing doesn’t make you weak or dependent; it reminds you that we were never meant to carry the weight of life alone. Community gives us perspective, strength, and the reassurance that even in our hardest moments, someone is standing in the gap for us.

The need for community doesn’t mean I don’t feel supported by my family or that I lack a go-to person in my life. I’m incredibly grateful for the love and support I have within my village. But there’s something unique about having an environment where someone supports your healing journey. It’s about connecting with people who can walk with you through the process, who understand the ups and downs of healing, and who remind you that you don’t have to do it all alone. With that in mind, I’m so excited to continue building genuine connections in this space—lifelong relationships built on healthy foundations, rooted in love and light. That’s exactly what I hope this blog embodies.

Sweets, if community feels hard for you, I want to encourage you: start small. Maybe it’s one person or one group where you feel truly seen and understood. Community doesn’t have to be perfect, and it doesn’t have to happen all at once. Sometimes, it starts with a simple conversation or reaching out to someone you trust. Healing is a journey, and while it’s deeply personal, it’s not meant to be walked alone. I truly believe that God knows what we need and, in His timing, will allow us to meet the right people who can support and uplift us in the ways we need most.

When you find the courage to let someone in, you might discover that healing feels a little less heavy. It’s not about leaning on others to fix you, but about allowing space for shared understanding and support. Community provides love, encouragement, and the reminder that even in your hardest moments, you don’t have to carry the weight of healing all on your own.

Remember, small steps lead to big changes. Whether it’s a weekly check-in with a friend, joining a group where you feel safe, or simply being open to connection, each step can bring you closer to a sense of peace and wholeness. Healing is hard work, but it’s lighter—and more meaningful—when you allow others to walk alongside you.

With love,
Tru

This Sh*t Is Hard, But Healing Anyway

Faith and Resilience, Grief and growth, Healing journey, self love, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

This week I really wanted to say F**k this sh*t. I hope that wasn’t too off-putting, but I have to show up as myself if this is going to mean anything in the long run. As I’ve been rereading what I’ve written over the past couple of weeks, one thing has been weighing on my heart. While I’m proud of the words I’ve shared and the space I’ve created here, I don’t want to paint healing as this perfect, magical journey full of positivity. I want to be raw. I want to be honest. Healing—real healing—is so much harder than we often talk about. It’s like climbing a mountain with no clear end in sight. Every step feels heavy, as though the air gets thinner with each move forward. Emotionally, it’s exhausting—the constant battle between wanting to stop and knowing you can’t. Physically, it feels like carrying a backpack full of stones, with no chance to put it down. You’re just hoping the summit is somewhere up there, beyond the clouds.

This week in particular has been one of those weeks where the weight of the journey felt unbearable. My anxiety has been through the roof. It’s been this constant buzz in my head, this feeling that I can’t escape my own thoughts. I’ve been stuck in a loop of overthinking, second-guessing everything, and questioning whether I’m even on the right path. Imposter syndrome decided to join the party, whispering in my ear that maybe I’m not the person who should be writing this blog. Who am I to share my journey? Who am I to give advice? These thoughts have slowed me down, made me question my own value, and pushed me into this spiral of self-doubt.

And then there’s the anger. Oh, the anger. I’ve hit moments this week where I’ve been so mad—mad that I even have to go through this process. Why do I have to be the one to heal? Why do I have to process all this pain and carry all this weight? Why can’t I simply exist without constantly feeling the need to fix what’s broken? It’s frustrating. And if I’m being honest, it’s not just frustration. Sometimes it turns into resentment. Resentment toward people, toward events, toward things that happened years ago but still have a hold on me today. It feels unfair—and maybe it is. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s mine to deal with.

I’ve also felt the heaviness of grief this week. Grief for the version of me that was hurt. Grief for the things I’ve lost along the way. Grief for the life I thought I’d have by now. Healing isn’t just about moving forward; it’s about learning how to carry the pain with you as you climb. And some days, that weight feels so heavy that you wonder if you can take another step.

But here’s the thing: as hard as this week has been, as much as I’ve felt like I’m walking through fire, I know that this process is necessary. I know that every tear, every anxious thought, every moment of anger and doubt—it’s all leading me somewhere. Somewhere better. Somewhere brighter. I may not see it right now, but I know deep down that this work matters. That I’m building something stronger, something unshakable.

Anxiety tried to steal this week from me, but it didn’t win. When I felt myself spiraling, I prayed quietly—it was all I could hold onto. And despite everything, I’m still here. I’m still writing this blog, still showing up for myself, still doing the work. It doesn’t look perfect. It doesn’t feel good. But it’s happening. I’m still posting on social media, promoting my business, and handling what needs to be done. Even when it feels like I’m dragging myself through the motions, I’m doing it. And that counts for something.

This journey isn’t just about healing; it’s about learning how to live in the in-between spaces. The spaces where progress is messy, where growth hurts, where the weight of everything feels almost too much to bear. It’s about finding a way to keep going even when it feels like you’re standing still.

If this resonates with you, I want you to know this: you’re not alone. Healing is messy. It’s painful. It’s unfair and frustrating and exhausting. But it’s also worth it. It’s worth every tear, every moment of doubt, every step forward and every step back. Because at the end of the day, this journey isn’t about perfection. It’s about progress. It’s about becoming the version of yourself who can look back and say, “I did that. I climbed that mountain.”

If you’re in the thick of it right now, carrying the weight of it all, remember this: struggling doesn’t make you weak. You’re strong for continuing to climb. Keep going, sweets. You’re not alone. You’re never alone.

I’d love to hear about your journey too—share your thoughts or experiences in the comments below. Your stories inspire me as much as I hope mine inspire you.

With grace,
Tru

Honoring Myself and Breaking the Cycle

Healing journey, self love, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Hey Sweets,

I have to be honest because above all, I want to be Tru. Earlier this week, as I reminded myself that I had to post this weekend and began to explore topics, I could feel the discouragement creeping in. It always starts with the thought of procrastination. This is the part of the journey where the excitement starts to fade. The thrill of starting something new gives way to the quiet, often uncomfortable reality of consistency. It’s tempting to stop here—to give myself permission to pause and promise I’ll pick it up later. In the past, this is where I would let the cycle continue: enthusiasm fades, discouragement creeps in, and I give up on what I set out to do. But not this time.

This time, I’m choosing to honor myself and break the cycle.

For as long as I can remember, discipline has been my struggle. I’d tell myself I’d do something, only to find every reason not to. And when I didn’t follow through, I’d criticize myself harshly, as if shame could fuel change. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t. I’m thinking now that maybe this has to do with my fear of being seen, but we can go deeper on that another time. What I’m learning now is that discipline, when rooted in love, is less about perfection and more about showing up—for myself, for my growth, and for the promises I’ve made.

I’ve started to think of this as gentle-parenting myself. When my kids feel discouraged, I don’t scold them or tell them they’re not enough. I offer patience, encouragement, and reminders of what they’re capable of. So why haven’t I done the same for myself? Why have I allowed discouragement to be the end of the story instead of part of the process?

Gentle-parenting myself looks like giving myself grace when I stumble but also holding myself accountable. It’s reminding myself that skipping one blog post might feel easier today, but it would mean breaking a promise to the person I’m becoming. It’s showing myself the same love and encouragement I freely give to others.

Breaking the cycle isn’t easy, but I’m taking intentional steps to do so. For me, it means committing to writing and publishing a blog post every week this year. As long as God keeps me, I will have at least 52 blogs posted by the end of 2025. This commitment is about more than just consistency; it’s about proving to myself that I can follow through, that I’m capable of growth and change. It’s choosing to believe in the person God is shaping me into.

For me, that step today is writing and posting this blog. It’s proof to myself that I can show up even when it feels hard. I can choose growth over comfort, love over fear, and progress over perfection.

Sweets, you’re part of the reason I’m learning to stay consistent. Your presence reminds me that my words matter and that this journey isn’t just about me—it’s about creating space for others to see themselves in these moments of truth. So, thank you for being here and for walking this path with me.

And if you’re in a place where keeping a promise to yourself feels impossible, I want to remind you that small steps count. Whether it’s five minutes of showing up or simply not giving up today, it all matters. Breaking the cycle starts with honoring who you are and believing in who you’re becoming.

With love,
Tru

This Sober Girl Eats

Healing journey, self love, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Sometimes, life forces me to confront the things I’d rather avoid. Right now, that thing is food. Food isn’t just sustenance; it’s comfort, distraction, and, at times, a crutch. As I’ve completely let go of weed and alcohol, I’ve noticed myself leaning on food more—and I’m actively trying to untangle the why behind it all.

My relationship with food feels deeply tied to how I see myself. After my surgery, I was so proud of the weight I lost. For the first time in a long time, I felt confident looking in the mirror. I saw a version of myself I hadn’t seen in years, and it gave me hope. But that confidence didn’t last. Grief has been knocking, and old habits are creeping back in. I catch myself turning to food to fill the void left by emotions I’m still learning to carry. I’m seeing the weight return, along with the familiar sting of not liking what I see in the mirror. It feels like I’m slipping further from the person I’ve worked so hard to become.

Becoming completely sober has been one of my biggest victories, but it hasn’t come without challenges. Those substances were my go-to ways of coping, and letting them go has left an emptiness I wasn’t ready to face. Food has stepped in to fill that gap. It’s become my way of numbing the pain, grief, and anxiety that can feel too overwhelming to sit with. I’m realizing, though, that the weight I’m carrying isn’t just physical—it’s emotional. It’s the weight of unresolved grief, unmet expectations, and unspoken self-criticism.

Every bite can feel like a quick fix, a fleeting moment of comfort that’s quickly replaced by guilt. I look at myself in the mirror and feel a mix of disappointment and shame. The version of me I want to see feels so far away, and I’m struggling to believe I’ll ever find her again. But as much as I wrestle with these feelings, I’m learning to confront them rather than run from them.

This isn’t about perfection or getting it all right at once. It’s about peeling back the layers and addressing the real reasons I turn to food when life feels hard. I’m starting to recognize that I use food not just to cope but to avoid—to avoid sitting with emotions that feel too heavy, to avoid the discomfort of truly seeing myself as I am, flaws and all. But avoiding doesn’t make the feelings go away. It just pushes them down until they demand my attention.

As I’m working through this, I’m learning to give myself grace. Grace, for me, means understanding that my body, like my emotions, is fighting to cope with a huge change. These changes come with side effects that aren’t easy to navigate. Grace means recognizing that my body is doing the best it can to support me, even when it doesn’t feel like it. It’s forgiving myself for the ways I’ve coped and allowing room for growth without judgment. Grace reminds me to honor the journey and give myself permission to feel and adjust as I go. It’s the reminder that I don’t have to get everything right to be worthy of the love and care I give to others—and to myself.

Now, I’m focusing on making different choices. I’m practicing pausing before I reach for food and asking myself what I really need in that moment. Is it comfort? Connection? Rest? Sometimes, it’s as simple as taking a deep breath and reminding myself that I am enough, just as I am. Other times, it’s harder, and I still find myself turning to food. But even in those moments, I choose not to beat myself up. Progress, for me, looks like recognizing where I am and committing to one small step forward.

Sweets, I want you to know you’re not alone in this. If you’re struggling with food too, here’s what’s been helping me. Before I grab something to eat, I try to pause and ask myself if I’m really hungry or if something else is going on. Naming the feeling sometimes helps me break the cycle. Writing things down has also been a game changer. When I journal what I’m feeling, it gives me the space to notice patterns and understand my triggers. I also try to plan ahead, keeping snacks nearby that won’t leave me feeling worse later. And when the urge to eat comes up, I remind myself to breathe, call a friend, or even just step outside for some air. None of it’s perfect, but every small choice makes a difference.

The most important thing I’m learning is to be kind to myself. If I slip up, it’s not the end of the world. I remind myself of the progress I’ve made and focus on the next step forward. And when it feels too big to handle alone, I lean on the people I trust to remind me I don’t have to do this by myself.

It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling, Sweets. This isn’t about being perfect or fixing everything at once. It’s about taking small steps and showing up for yourself in ways that matter. Every day is a new chance to start again, and you deserve all the love and grace you give to everyone else. Choosing sobriety has shown me my own strength, and even though it’s hard, I know it’s worth it. That same strength is helping me tackle my relationship with food. Remember, your worth isn’t tied to the weight you carry—physically or emotionally. You’re defined by the strength it takes to face yourself with honesty and compassion. We’re in this together, and I’m rooting for you.

-Tru

The Power of Prayer and Believing in Signs

Healing journey, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Hey Sweets,

Have you ever prayed so deeply, so desperately, that you found yourself searching for any glimmer of reassurance that God heard you? I’ve been there, countless times. And each time, without fail, God has shown up—not always in the way I expected, but always in the way I needed.

Magnolia Tru itself is a testament to the power of prayer and belief in signs. Back in 2015, as I prepared to leave my hometown, I was overwhelmed with doubt and fear about what was next. I prayed for clarity, for confirmation that the step I was taking wasn’t just bold—it was right. Shortly after, I went to a painting event with my closest friends. The artist asked us to paint a magnolia tree.

That was my sign.

The magnolia tree, with its strength and beauty, had already been resonating with me. Seeing it materialize during a moment of uncertainty felt like a gentle whisper from God: Keep going. You’re on the right path.

Years later, as I questioned whether reviving Magnolia Tru was the right step, I prayed for clarity. “God, is this really what You want me to do?” I asked. Not long after, I found myself scrolling through TikTok, and the very next video was from a creator named Truly Dorcas.

For anyone else, that might seem like a coincidence, but for me, it was everything. Dorcas is a variation of my name, and I don’t come across it often. Seeing my name reflected so clearly felt like God was saying, This is for you. Trust Me.

Another time, I was in a deep moment of heartbreak, crying out to God to ease my pain and show me He was still with me. My mind tried to convince me that this was the end of my love story and that the future I dreamed of was gone. The next morning, as I sat in bed, the sun shining through my window caught my attention. The trees outside had created a perfect heart, with light streaming through it, casting the shape right into my room.

It was a moment of divine peace, a visual reminder of God’s love. He was telling me, This isn’t the end. I’m with you. Trust that I have something better planned.

Recently, I was praying and telling God that if He blessed me with a large financial breakthrough, it would help me so much. Right after finishing my prayer and starting my car, J. Cole’s “Love Yourz” began playing on the radio. The lyrics reminded me to focus on gratitude and contentment—that while blessings come, the love and stability I already have are priceless.

Sweets, Remember This

Prayer isn’t just about asking God for what you want; it’s about opening your heart to see the signs of His presence in your life. The signs He sends are often small but powerful reminders that you’re not walking this journey alone.

In the hardest moments—whether it’s heartbreak, uncertainty, or grief—remember that healing often comes from knowing you are seen, heard, and deeply loved. Signs may appear as a name on a screen, sunlight through a window, or a song on the radio. They’re not there to erase the pain, but to remind you that you’re being guided through it.

Healing takes time, patience, and trust. When you pray and stay open to God’s whispers, you’ll find the strength to keep moving forward. Embrace the journey, knowing that each step is bringing you closer to the peace and joy you deserve.

With love,
Tru

Farewell, 2024: Reflecting on a Year of Pain, Growth, and Gratitude

Faith and Resilience, Grief and growth, Healing journey, self love, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Hey Sweets,

As I sit here reflecting on the past year, I feel a whirlwind of emotions—grief, growth, gratitude, and everything in between. 2024 was a year that stretched me in ways I didn’t think possible. It was a year of deep pain and profound lessons, but also of unexpected joy, strengthened faith, and a clearer vision of the life I want to live.

The year began with me in recovery from an emergency hysterectomy, a life-altering event that left me grappling with physical and emotional changes. Shortly after, I received news that could have been devastating: I had cancer of the appendix. But even before the diagnosis, God had already spoken healing over my life. By the time I heard the words, the battle had already been won, and I was cancer-free.

In the midst of recovery, my heart was tested. A relationship I thought would be my last came to an abrupt end, broken by betrayal. It was a painful reminder that not every connection is meant to come with you into your next season. Grieving that loss, alongside the changes in my body and the life I thought I was building, was overwhelming.

This year also brought the passing of my father, a loss that shook me to my core. It wasn’t just his death I mourned—it was the dreams I had attached to him, the future I envisioned with him in it, and the version of myself I thought he’d see.

That grief layered on top of the loss I was still carrying from 2022, when my aunt passed away. Grief isn’t linear. It doesn’t come in tidy waves or leave when you want it to. It has a way of showing up when you least expect it, demanding to be felt.

This year taught me to stop running from grief and to make room for it. I learned that grieving isn’t just about mourning what’s gone; it’s about letting go of what could have been and finding peace in what is.

But 2024 wasn’t all grief and loss. It was also a year of joy, community, and growth.

I grew closer to God in ways I hadn’t experienced before. Through the challenges, I leaned on Him more deeply, and He revealed His presence in every step of the journey. Whether it was declaring me cancer-free before a diagnosis, guiding me through heartbreak, or showing me the beauty of stillness, God reminded me that I am never alone.

This year, I also had the privilege of holding my first back-to-school giveback. Seeing the joy and gratitude in the faces of children and their families reminded me of the power of community and giving. It was a moment that filled my heart and reminded me why I do what I do.

Every birthday this year was a celebration of life, not just for me but for the people I love. Despite the challenges, I found joy in those moments, knowing how precious each day truly is.

And while some relationships came to an end, others grew stronger. I realized that not every loss is a setback; sometimes, it’s God clearing the way for deeper, more meaningful connections.

On Christmas Eve, as I looked around my home, I was overwhelmed by gratitude. For the first time, I saw it clearly: I am living in an answered prayer. Stability, peace, and a safe space for my family—these were once distant dreams, and now they are my reality.

Sweets, Remember This

As we step into 2025, let’s remember that rest is just as important as action. Slowing down doesn’t mean giving up—it means prioritizing peace, stability, and the blessings we’ve already received.

For me, 2025 will be a year of intentional rest and reflection. I’ve decided to bow out of the rat race and make Sundays sacred—a day to reset, recharge, and honor God’s provision.

Wherever you are in your journey, take a moment to pause, look around, and give thanks. You may find that you’re living in parts of your answered prayers right now.

Here’s to a new year filled with grace, growth, and the courage to rest.

Thanks for reading,
Tru

A New Chapter: Embracing Healing and Growth

Healing journey, self love, , , , , , , , , , , ,

Hey Sweets,

It’s been over three years since my last post, and what a journey it has been. Back in August 2020, I shared pieces of my healing journey, navigating growth and self-discovery. Little did I know, that was just the beginning.

Life has a way of teaching us lessons we didn’t sign up for. Since my last post, I’ve experienced new depths of grief, both expected and unexpected. Grief isn’t just about loss in the traditional sense—it’s about letting go of what was, accepting what is, and learning to live in the space in between.

I’ve had to say goodbye to parts of my life, parts of myself, and people I thought would always be there. These moments have reshaped me, challenged me, and, ultimately, brought me closer to my truth. Healing is not a destination—it’s an ever-evolving process. And while I’m still on this journey, I’ve learned that the beauty of it lies in the growth that comes with each step forward.

One thing I’ve come to understand deeply is that healing isn’t just about addressing wounds—it’s about learning to embrace life’s uncertainties, celebrating the wins, and finding joy even in the smallest moments. It’s about building a life that feels true to who you are, even when the world feels heavy.

So, why am I back? Because Magnolia Tru still has so much more to give.

This blog has always been about truth, growth, and self-love, and now, with more life lived, I’m ready to take it to new heights. Moving forward, I want this space to be a reflection of where I’ve been, where I am, and where I’m going. I want it to feel like a home for you, too—a place where you can find inspiration, tools for healing, and a reminder that you’re not alone in this journey.

You’ll see posts about self-discovery, embracing grief, celebrating wins, and navigating life’s curveballs. You’ll also see more honesty, more depth, and more of the lessons I’ve learned along the way.

This isn’t just a blog—it’s a community, a reminder that growth doesn’t have to be perfect, and a space where we can bloom together.

Sweets, Remember This

Life is messy, beautiful, and full of twists and turns. Healing isn’t about having it all figured out; it’s about showing up for yourself every day, even when it’s hard. Wherever you are in your journey, know that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

I’m so glad you’re here, and I can’t wait to share this new chapter with you.

Thanks for reading,
Tru

Don’t be afraid of the solitude that comes with raising your standards…

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Hey Sweets,

The other day, I came across a tweet that struck a chord with me: “Don’t be afraid of the solitude that comes with raising your standards.” I retweeted it immediately because, wow, if there’s one thing I’ve learned on this journey, it’s that raising your standards often means walking a road that might leave you traveling alone.

While I thought I understood that, deep down, I hadn’t fully come to terms with it. The tweet stayed on my mind all day.

Here’s what I realized: I thought I had it all figured out. I set boundaries, raised my standards, and stood firm in them. But when I looked closer, I saw that I wasn’t letting go of the relationships that no longer served me. I was still making myself available to people who didn’t truly matter in my life. Every interaction with them left me feeling dull and empty, like they were speaking to a version of me that no longer existed.

The cycle was exhausting. Things seemed fine until I stood my ground or called out their behavior. That’s when I’d hear things like, “Since when…?” or see an “LOL” in response to something I was serious about. It was frustrating, but what made it worse was that I kept expecting them to accept my growth and adjust.

And when they didn’t, I’d still make myself available.

Let me tell you, Sweets—I nipped that in the bud real quick! Shout out to my guides for helping me see what needed to be done. The reason I was holding on to these people wasn’t about them. It was about me. I was afraid of the solitude that would come with letting them go. I was afraid of who I’d be without these connections, or maybe I was reluctant to let go of the old version of myself that they still knew.

But if you’re working hard to heal and grow, you can’t stay tethered to people who refuse to respect your evolution. You can’t keep ties with those who want you to stay in a version of yourself that’s convenient for them.

Letting go is hard, but clinging to these connections doesn’t promote self-love—and, Sweets, we don’t have time for that!

Sweets, Remember This

Don’t be afraid of the solitude that comes with raising your standards. Solitude isn’t a punishment—it’s a gift. It’s a space for you to realign, reflect, and grow into the person you’re becoming.

Release the relationships that don’t respect your growth. Surround yourself with people who celebrate your evolution and match your energy. And most importantly, remind yourself that being alone doesn’t mean you’re lonely—it means you’re making room for what truly serves you.

You’ve got this.

Thanks for reading,
Tru

The BIG move I thought would change my life…

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A fresh start?

Hey Sweets,

In 8th grade, I had my life all figured out. By 24, I would be married with twins, have my law degree, live in a mansion, and spend my days blissfully with the love of my life. Me and my friends planned everything down to the tiniest details. My journals were filled with wedding playlists, color schemes, and baby names.

Let’s all take a moment to laugh at that together.

LMFAO.

Needless to say, life didn’t follow that script. By 24, there were no mansions, no degree, and no husband. Instead, I was a single mom of one, packing up my life and moving from my hometown to a small town in Indiana. I had sold the dream to myself and everyone around me: I’d go to school, finish my degree, publish a book, save up, and move back to Port St. Lucie to buy my dream home. It all sounded so promising.

But here’s the part I didn’t understand at the time: a new zip code doesn’t erase old wounds. I thought the move would wipe the slate clean without me having to do the heavy lifting. Healing wasn’t even on my radar—I was completely unaware of how much my childhood trauma and unresolved pain would dictate what came next.

What I didn’t realize was that this move wasn’t just a fresh start. It was the beginning of a grieving process.

Moving wasn’t just about leaving behind a place; it was about letting go of who I thought I’d be and the life I imagined for myself. Grief doesn’t always come with loss in the traditional sense. Sometimes, it’s the loss of expectations, the dreams you once had, or the familiar comforts of the life you knew, even if that life wasn’t serving you.

I was grieving my hometown, my relationships, and the person I thought I was supposed to be. At the time, I didn’t recognize it as grief. I just knew I felt lost, overwhelmed, and disappointed. Instead of being a clean slate, the move became a magnifying glass, bringing all the unresolved pain I’d been carrying into sharper focus.

Two and a half years after the move, I hit rock bottom. Seven months pregnant, in an abusive relationship, I reached my breaking point. That’s when I realized that running from my problems wasn’t the answer. A new house, city, or dream wouldn’t fix what was broken inside of me. There was healing to be done, and it had to start with me.

Sweets, Remember This

Sometimes, life gives us an urge to run. It’s easy to believe that a new place, job, or relationship will make everything better. But the truth is, no external change can fix internal wounds. Healing starts when you confront your pain, take accountability, and begin the work to rebuild yourself from the inside out.

Moving, like any big life change, can come with unexpected grief. It’s okay to grieve what you’ve left behind—the dreams, the relationships, and the old versions of yourself. Grief is a process, and so is healing.

Real transformation begins when you work on yourself with compassion and honesty. Whether it’s healing from trauma, practicing self-love, breaking co-dependency, or overcoming old habits, the change starts within. When you do the work, the “big moves” in your life will reflect the growth you’ve achieved.

As within, so without.

So take the time to heal, and when you make your big move, it will be everything you dream it could be—and more.

Thanks for reading,
Tru

A Letter to My Younger Self…

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Hey Sweets,

A year ago, my therapist suggested writing a letter to my younger self as a way to release the past and free myself from its hold on the present. Facing the past head-on can break the chains of negativity that may have been quietly following you for years. Today, in honor of National Honesty Day, I’m finally writing that letter. Special thanks to Nikki, founder of the Affirm. Create. Manifest. Facebook group, for giving me the extra push to get this done.

Here it goes…

Dear Dee Babii,

There’s so much I want to tell you, but let’s start with this: I love you. You are so strong. Your resilience and ability to push through even the toughest moments have brought you farther than you ever imagined. Let me tell you, you breathe so easily now. I’m so proud of the fight you had in you to stay alive. Those chains others tried to place on you—they’re gone. For a while, we buckled under the weight, but God had other plans.

It wasn’t easy, but I forgave him. Yes, him. He was caught and publicly held accountable. I found peace in knowing he’s no longer free to hurt anyone else. I don’t want you to feel bad about not speaking up sooner. You eventually find your voice, and God has shown you that you are undeniably His favorite.

There were so many lessons I wish someone had taught you after every mistake and regret. But now, I see the beauty in every misstep. Each one built the woman and mother you’ve become. I don’t hold anything against you—trust me, you carried enough guilt for the both of us.

And yes, I said mother. You have two beautiful daughters. What doctors couldn’t explain, God did. They’re so much like you in different ways—it drives me crazy! But seriously, you’re a great mom. You’ve passed on strength, love, and light. I just pray they have a little more patience than teenage you had—no shade, just facts.

I’m writing this letter because I need you to know that you are a survivor. You are alive, well, blessed, loved, and worthy. You’ve just started living, and it’s all because you found reasons to keep pushing forward. No weapon formed against us has prospered.

Oh, and before I go—Dad finally came around. We’re on speaking terms now. I know that made you smile. It still amazes me too.

Sweets, Remember This

Writing a letter to your younger self can be a powerful exercise. It’s an opportunity to confront the past, celebrate your progress, and identify areas that still need healing. I challenge you to try it for yourself. Be honest, be raw, and remind younger you just how far you’ve come.

Thanks for reading.

With love,
Tru