Category Archives: Faith and Resilience

The Duality of Life Right Now

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

Hey Sweets,

I’ve been sitting with some hard emotions lately. Not because something new has happened, but because life has finally quieted enough for the feelings I’ve been carrying to speak up. That’s the tricky part about healing. It doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes it shows up in the stillness, in those soft spaces where you’re no longer distracted by survival.

I’ve been thinking about what it means to carry conflicting emotions at once. How you can be sure of a decision and still mourn what it cost you. How you can be grateful for a new beginning and still ache for what’s no longer an option.

I’ve been living in that tension for a while now, quietly and deeply, and I think it’s time I gave it language.

After my hysterectomy, I told everyone I felt fine. And I mostly did. I was cancer-free, healthy, and focused on getting back to myself. But what I didn’t say out loud was how heavy it felt to close a door I didn’t even want open anymore.

I had already made peace with not having more children, but the finality of it brought up a quiet kind of grief. I wasn’t mourning a future I had planned, but the loss of possibility. That unexpected ache.

And as a single woman, that grief got tangled with something else: anxiety. How do I share this with someone new? Will I still be seen as whole?

Logically, I know I am. But emotions don’t always follow logic. Some days, I feel grounded in who I am. Other days, I sit with the ache and let it be what it is.

That same practice of letting things speak led me to take FMLA. I needed rest, badly. But rest felt radical. Almost reckless.

When survival mode is your default, slowing down feels like rebellion. Even with support, I still wrestled with guilt, fear, and the what-ifs. Would I fall behind? Could I afford the pause?

But I also knew I couldn’t afford not to. Choosing to rest reminded me that being human is reason enough. That I don’t have to prove I’m worthy of rest. That I don’t have to burn out just to be taken seriously.

Lately, I’ve also been mourning the loss that comes with setting boundaries, the ones that protect my peace but cost me comfort.

It’s strange how something so necessary can still break your heart a little. Letting go of dynamics, people, or patterns that once felt familiar, even if they were harmful, comes with grief.

Some days, I feel strong and clear. Other days, I grieve what I thought would work if I just held on a little longer. I’m learning that loving myself out loud won’t always feel like a celebration. Sometimes, it feels like silence. Like distance. Like starting over.

But it’s still love.
It’s still becoming.
It’s still choosing me.

What I know now is that duality doesn’t mean confusion. It means truth.

I can miss what I left behind and still know I was right to walk away.
I can hold gratitude and grief in the same breath.
I can be proud of my growth and still feel the weight of it.

And to you, my sweets, if you’re feeling torn between what you had to release and what you’re stepping into, I hope you know there is nothing wrong with you. There is no timeline for making peace with your own decisions. You are allowed to cry over the things you had to let go of. You are allowed to miss what you outgrew. You are allowed to feel sad about choosing yourself, even when you know it was the right thing.

You are not broken for feeling more than one thing at once. You are becoming. And becoming takes courage. You are doing better than you think.

With love,
Tru

Unpaused: Embracing a New Shift

Faith and Resilience, Healing journey, , , , , , , ,

A pause for me was needed, but I’m back, Sweets. Your Pisces sister turned 33.

Turning 33 feels different, and the fact that it’s my Jesus Year feels right. For me, this year is about finally letting go of survival mode and believing that I don’t have to have everything figured out to move forward. It’s the year of transformation. Rebrand. Reinvention, if you will. I keep feeling like God is calling me to rest, to trust Him more, and to believe that I can want more than just getting by. It’s about giving myself permission to breathe, dream, and stop carrying the weight of guilt, fear, and the idea that I have to hustle nonstop to be enough. I feel this nudge to slow down and make space for the things that actually matter, even if it means letting go of what feels safe.

This Jesus Year feels like an invitation to rebuild, realign, and live intentionally. This shit is scary, but I’m ready. After spending so many years just trying to get by, working nonstop and juggling everything, I feel like it’s time to do things differently. Not perfectly, but differently. This year, I want to move with intention, not just out of habit. I want to make choices that feel right, not just safe.

But if I’m honest, it’s been hard to step into this new chapter. In the weeks leading up to my birthday, I could barely get out of bed. Every morning felt like a battle, and some days I’d find myself on the brink of tears for reasons I couldn’t even explain. I’d lie there, staring at the ceiling, overwhelmed by everything I had to do yet completely drained at the thought of doing any of it. I kept asking myself, Is this really how I want to live?

That question lingered, and the answer was obvious: no. I don’t want to keep living in survival mode. I don’t want to spend another year exhausted, burned out, and stretched so thin that I barely recognize myself. I want to create a life that feels good, not just one that looks good on paper.

Survival mode is exhausting.

It’s waking up already tired, dragging yourself through the day, and falling into bed at night feeling like you’ve accomplished nothing, even though you haven’t stopped moving since your feet hit the floor. That’s been me for years. Between my girls’ busy schedules and running my business, I was always on the go. Most mornings started with a prayer that I wouldn’t fall apart before noon and ended with me passing out mid-thought. My to-do list felt like a bottomless pit, and no matter how much I checked off, I was always behind. I kept telling myself I didn’t have time to slow down. But looking back, I think I was really just afraid of what might come up if I did.

When you’re so used to surviving, slowing down feels unnatural. It’s almost like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to go wrong if you dare to rest. I realized I’d been so focused on keeping everything afloat that I hadn’t even stopped to ask myself if I was happy. Spoiler: I wasn’t.

And it wasn’t just me feeling it. My girls could see it too, even if they didn’t have the words for it. I could tell they noticed how stretched thin I was, how little time I left for anything that wasn’t work or responsibilities. That hit me harder than I expected. I don’t want them to grow up thinking that being exhausted and overwhelmed is just part of being an adult. I want to model something better for them.

The truth is, my girls haven’t really seen me set healthy boundaries before. I’ve always been the “yes” person, the one who says, “I’ll figure it out,” even when I’m already drowning. But if I want this year to look different, that has to change.

So, I did something I’ve never really done before. I took FMLA. For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m giving myself permission to rest without guilt. I won’t lie, it’s uncomfortable. Saying, “I need a break” feels heavy. It feels like admitting I can’t do it all somehow makes me less capable. But it doesn’t. It just makes me human.

The days have felt slower since then, but in a good way. I’ve been spending more time praying, writing, and just letting myself be still. Some mornings, I make a cup of tea and sit by the window, watching the world wake up, listening to the quiet before the day starts rushing by. It’s such a small thing, but it reminds me that life isn’t supposed to be an endless to-do list.

And honestly, my girls need to see this side of me, the side that isn’t always rushing, that knows how to pause and breathe. I want them to know that it’s okay to rest, that they don’t have to earn it by exhausting themselves first.

I’ve been feeling this nudge from God to rest and trust Him more. It’s been hard to pray lately, and even harder to get in my Word, but the theme for sermons at church has been The Shift. Every time I hear that, it feels like a reminder that this season is about changing how I move through life.

I keep hearing God say, “You don’t have to do this alone.” But it’s hard to let go of that mindset that if I don’t do it, it won’t get done. I’ve spent so long in hustle mode that it feels risky to slow down and trust that God will take care of me. But if I’m going to live with intention, I have to believe that God’s plan for me is bigger than just paying bills and staying afloat.

I also started therapy. Y’all, that first session? Whew. I don’t think I was ready for how much I had to say once I actually started talking. It’s wild how much you can hold in without even realizing it. But honestly, it feels good to unpack all of it, even if it’s messy.

Therapy is showing me just how much I’ve been carrying alone. It’s one thing to journal about your feelings and a whole other thing to say them out loud to someone who isn’t going to rush in with advice or judgment. Some days, I leave sessions feeling emotionally wrung out but also lighter somehow.

It’s a strange kind of peace, knowing I don’t have to figure everything out right now. That I can take it day by day, prayer by prayer, and trust that God’s timing is better than mine.

I’ve also been trying to be on my phone less, to procrastinate less, and to make the most of my rest days. It’s easy to numb out with scrolling or find a million distractions to avoid the hard stuff. But I want to actually be in my life, not just skim through it.

The only way I think I can find balance is by making the most of my leave, planning and organizing our lives in a way that makes room for rest and joy. I’m tired of feeling like I’m constantly putting out fires, never really getting to the things that matter most.

By the end of this year, I want to feel proud, not just of what I accomplish, but of how I lived. I want to look back and see that I chose better, even if it was hard.

Dear Sweets (Yes, You!):

If any part of this hit home for you, I hope you know you’re not alone. It’s so easy to feel like you’re the only one barely holding it together, especially when everyone else seems to have it all figured out. But the truth is, a lot of us are just trying to make it through the day without falling apart. So if you’re stuck in survival mode, trying to find your purpose, or just exhausted from being everything to everyone, I want you to know it’s okay to slow down. It’s okay to say no. It’s okay to choose yourself without feeling guilty.

You don’t have to have all the answers to start making changes. Sometimes, all you need is a little bit of courage to take that first step, even if you’re not sure where it’s leading. It doesn’t have to be a big leap. Maybe it’s allowing yourself to rest without the constant need to be productive. Maybe it’s setting one small boundary or giving yourself permission to want more. Whatever it looks like, just know that starting, no matter how small, is enough.

And if you’ve been waiting for a sign, take this as yours. You don’t have to wait for the perfect moment or until you feel ready. You’re allowed to take a breath, to pause for a moment, and to remind yourself that it’s okay not to have it all figured out. Trust that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. God has a way of using even the seasons that feel heavy and uncertain to lead us to the ones that are full of light and peace.

So here’s to new beginnings. Here’s to giving ourselves the space to grow and the grace to do it imperfectly. Here’s to stepping out of survival mode and learning to live with intention, faith, and a whole lot of grace.

Let’s grow through what we go through, Sweets.

With love and light,
TRU 🌸

Covered, Kept, and Loved

Faith and Resilience, Love Month, , , ,

Hey Sweets,

As you know, I’ve been writing these love letters to honor the ways love has shaped my life. And there’s no way I could do this without writing to the One who loved me first.

God,

There’s no love like Yours. No love more patient, more forgiving, more constant. No love that has held me through every season, every joy, every storm the way Yours has.

And if I’m being honest, there was a time I didn’t believe You were real. Childhood trauma and church hurt succeeded in convincing me otherwise. I questioned You, doubted You, even rejected You. But still, You never let me go.

You carried me through things I thought would destroy me. You covered me when I didn’t even know I needed covering. No weapon formed against me has prospered because You have always been my protector, even when I didn’t acknowledge You. I owe my life to You.

You’ve shown me that love isn’t just a feeling; it’s action. It’s the breath in my lungs each morning. It’s the strength You give me to keep going. It’s the grace You extend when I get it wrong, the peace You provide when my heart is heavy.

Psalm 46:5 says, “God is within her; she will not fall. God will help her at break of day.” There have been so many moments when I felt like I was falling, but You always held me up. And now, I stand knowing that no matter what comes, I am never alone.

You’ve taught me that love isn’t about perfection. It’s about surrender. And as much as I desire love in this life, I know that no love will ever compare to Yours. You are my first love, my foundation, the very reason I know how to love at all.

So today, I just want to say thank You.

Thank You for loving me completely, even when I struggled to love myself. Thank You for every answered prayer and even the ones You denied—because I trust You see what I cannot. Thank You for Your presence, for Your patience, for never letting me go.

Psalm 46:10 reminds me to “Be still and know that You are God.” And that’s what I’m choosing to do. To trust You fully. To walk in faith, not fear. To love You not just in words, but in the way I live, in the way I treat others, in the way I surrender to You every day.

Forever Yours,

Your Child, Dorcaste

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

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