Category Archives: self love

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Healing journey, self love, Uncategorized, ,

This piece is part of my personal healing. I wrote it to process something I couldn’t quite say out loud. I’m sharing it because sometimes writing is the only way I can feel my way through the fog. It’s raw. It’s vulnerable. It’s not wrapped up in a lesson, and it doesn’t have a clean ending. It just is. If you’ve ever felt unseen, disrespected, or deeply disappointed by someone you let close, I hope you feel less alone reading this.

I don’t even know where to start.

I feel disappointed. I feel disrespected. I feel dumbfounded. And maybe that’s what hurts the most. I wasn’t guarded. I wasn’t expecting the blow. I was open. I was soft. I let myself be vulnerable.

It hit me hard.

It was supposed to be light. Nothing deep. No big expectations. Just time shared between two people who know each other. And because of our history, I thought that came with some basic level of respect. But it didn’t.

It felt cruel. Deliberate. Calculated, even. And that’s a hard thing to admit. That someone I’ve let close, someone who knows me, might have actually wanted to hurt me. Wanted to watch me flinch. Wanted to see if I’d break.

And I did.

I broke. Quietly. In the car. In the shower. In the silence after everything went down.

Everyone I’ve told has said the same thing. He wanted you to be upset. He wanted a rise out of you. And honestly, yea. The blatant callousness of his actions scream he was trying to trigger something.

What’s messing with my head is how unbothered he was initially. How detached. Like there’s no guilt. No reflection. No “I’m sorry, I see how I hurt you.” Nothing. He literally said he doesn’t see where he’s wrong.

And that right there

That did something to me.

I wasn’t seen, really.

I wasn’t valued.

Not as a whole person.

This has stirred up something deep. Like that old wound I thought I had buried is wide open again. That feeling of being reduced to a body. Like my worth lives in what I can give, not in who I am. Like I’m disposable. Replaceable. Convenient until I’m complicated.

It’s not just the way he treated me in that moment. It’s the way it made everything else resurface. Every time I’ve ever felt like someone was only interested in me when I was quiet, cooperative, or available. Every time I’ve felt like my value was only tied to how useful I was or how easily I could be accessed. Every time someone didn’t care what happened to my heart as long as they got what they came for.

This is about dignity. About being looked at and not truly seen. About being spoken to and still feeling unheard. About offering softness to someone and realizing they had no intention of holding it gently.

It’s the way he looked at me after. The way he talked to me. There was no care there. No tenderness. Just coldness. Just distance. And I started spiraling, asking myself what did I do to deserve that.

But I didn’t do anything.

And I know that.

And I still don’t feel better.

There’s this deep sense of shame sitting on my chest. Like I should’ve known better. Like I should’ve protected myself. And I hate that I still wanted to be seen by him even after the hurt. That’s hard to admit.

I keep running through the details in my head, and none of it makes sense unless I accept the fact that he did it on purpose. And I don’t want to accept that. I don’t want to believe that someone I let that close could treat me like this and feel nothing.

But here I am. Sitting in it.

Trying not to shut down.

Trying not to believe that this is what I attract.

And I’m still handling him with kindness. Still giving him grace. Still responding like he didn’t just make me question everything I thought we were at least capable of coexisting as.

All my friends are angry. They’re telling me I should return the energy. Cut him off. Match what he gave. But I don’t want to. And I hate that.

I hate that I still want to be decent to someone who wasn’t decent to me. I hate that I’m still being careful with his feelings when he wasn’t careful with mine. I hate that even now, I’m the one holding the weight of being the bigger person.

And I don’t know what that says about me.

Does it mean I’m weak? Or does it mean I’m loving?

Does it mean I’m afraid of being angry?

Does it mean I still have hope?

I don’t know.

But I do recognize this had to happen.

I see now that it might’ve been allowed to happen to open my eyes on a spiritual level.

And the more I sit with it, the more I realize it might not have been deliberate. Maybe he didn’t set out to hurt me. But his actions still show something deeper. Whatever he’s battling in his own life won’t allow us to coexist in peace. His dysfunction doesn’t leave room for his love.

Can he stand my light? Is his ego too big to see me as human? Because if he did, if he truly saw me, it would force him to face himself. And maybe that’s what he’s been avoiding all along.

So the kindness feels necessary.

But I know he doesn’t deserve it.

And still, I give it.

Not for him, but maybe for me. Maybe because if I don’t stay true to who I am in this, then I lose more than just the illusion of what we were.

But what I do know is that it doesn’t feel good.

It feels lonely.

It feels like I’m bleeding and still trying to clean up the mess he made.

Because this is too much to carry on my own. I needed to write this.. 

right now, this is all I’ve got.

A Pause for Me

Love Month, self love,

Lately, I’ve been pouring into everything but myself. Work, responsibilities, and personal projects have taken up all my energy, and I’ve been running on fumes. Even the things I love can become distractions when I’m not being intentional about my own well-being. Magnolia Tru has been a space I cherish, a promise to myself, but even something as meaningful as this can become a way to avoid sitting with what I really need. Right now, what I need is rest. Not a temporary escape, not a way to procrastinate, but a real pause to reset.

Tax season is here, and my plate is full. It’s not just the workload, it’s the weight of everything else I carry—the mental lists, the personal expectations, the responsibilities I can’t set down. I feel the pressure to keep pushing, to stretch myself a little further, to prove that I can handle it all. But I know myself well enough to recognize when I’m reaching my limit. The truth is, I’ve been operating in survival mode for too long, and I don’t want to keep living like that.

For a long time, I felt like I had to earn my rest. That I had to check every box, complete every task, and prove my worth through how much I could handle before I allowed myself a break. But I’m realizing that’s not sustainable, and it’s not healthy. Rest isn’t a luxury, and it’s not something that should come last. It’s a necessity. It’s how I show up for myself so that I can show up for everything else in my life with clarity and intention. If I don’t take the time to refill my cup, I’ll keep running on empty, and I don’t want to live like that anymore.

I don’t want this break to just be about stepping away from responsibilities. I want it to be about stepping toward myself. Slowing down. Listening. Paying attention to what my body, mind, and spirit actually need instead of ignoring the signs until I have no choice but to crash. So, for the next two weeks, I’m choosing to be still. I’m letting go of the need to constantly produce, to always be available, to feel like I have to keep up. No overloading my schedule, no unnecessary distractions, no guilt. Just rest, clarity, and the space to realign.

This is also my way of honoring Love Month. Not through grand gestures or external validation, but through the simple, necessary act of self-love. Loving myself enough to step back. To say no to burnout and yes to restoration. To remind myself that I don’t have to earn the right to rest—I just have to take it.

“In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.” — Isaiah 30:15.

I’m holding onto this truth. Strength isn’t found in exhaustion, in always being on, in proving I can handle everything. Strength is found in trust, in quietness, in surrendering the need to do it all. When I return, I want to come back whole, not running on fumes.

Hey sweets, if you’ve been feeling stretched too thin, this is your reminder that you don’t have to wait until you’re completely drained to take a break. You don’t have to push through exhaustion just because that’s what you’re used to. You deserve rest—not when everything is done, not when you feel like you’ve earned it, but simply because you are human, and you need it. Take care of yourself. I’ll be doing the same.

Talk soon,

Tru

When Love Shows Up

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

Have you ever felt like love is something you have to chase? Like it’s reserved for other people, but somehow always out of reach for you? I used to think love had to be grand, something you had to fight for. But more often than not, love just shows up—quietly, unexpectedly, in the places we least expect. It finds us in the middle of our hardest days, in the cracks of our guarded hearts, in the spaces where we least believe we deserve it.

I’ve had my fair share of heartbreak. I’ve known the weight of disappointment, the sting of betrayal, and the slow unraveling of trust. There were times I convinced myself that shutting down was the safest way to move forward, that guarding my heart meant protecting it. That if I stopped expecting kindness, I wouldn’t be let down. But love has a way of slipping through the cracks, gently reminding me that it never truly leaves.

I also know what it’s like to believe otherwise. When the people we trusted the most become the source of our deepest wounds, when love is given conditionally or used as a weapon, when every open hand has felt like a setup for another letdown—it’s hard not to wonder if love was ever real to begin with. Pain has a way of convincing us that kindness is temporary, that people will always leave, that warmth is just another thing that can turn cold. But love doesn’t disappear just because we’ve been let down. It doesn’t stop existing just because we’ve experienced the kind that hurt more than it healed.

Love keeps showing up. Sometimes in grand gestures, but more often in the small, quiet moments. In the stranger who holds the door open when I feel invisible, as if they somehow see the weight I’m carrying. In the nurse who stayed by my side at my most vulnerable, her presence offering comfort beyond words. In my children’s laughter—the kind that bubbles up so effortlessly, reminding me that love doesn’t have to be complicated, that it can be pure and unfiltered.

It’s in my family, the ones who love me despite my sharp edges, who anchor me when I feel like I’m drifting too far. It’s in my clients, who extend grace when I fall short, teaching me that patience and understanding are love in their own right.

And then there’s God—steady, unwavering, patient. Even when I pull away, even when I question, even when I get it wrong, He still shows up, reminding me that I am seen, I am loved, I am held. That I am never alone, even when I feel like I am. That I don’t have to be perfect or whole to be worthy of love.

Love isn’t always loud. It doesn’t always come in the ways we expect. Sometimes, it’s a small moment of understanding when we least deserve it. A kind word when we need it most. A warm meal placed in front of us, a deep breath after a long cry, a friend who calls at just the right time. A stranger who sees you—not just the version of you that you present to the world, but the one who is quietly struggling underneath.

For so long, I searched for love in the grand gestures, in the declarations, in the moments that felt big enough to prove its existence. But I’ve learned that love is in the details. It’s in the pauses between conversations, in the way someone listens, in the way life keeps offering us kindness even when we’re not sure how to receive it.

Sweets, I know how hard it is to believe in love again when life has given you every reason not to. When you’ve been hurt, when trust has been broken, when the ones who were supposed to protect you became the reason you built walls, it’s easy to feel like love is something distant—something unreliable. But love doesn’t disappear just because people failed to hold it well.

Love keeps showing up. It’s in the unexpected phone call when you need to hear a familiar voice. In the friend who stays when words fall short, reminding you that presence is its own kind of love. In the moments when, even in your loneliness, the world still finds a way to remind you that you are not forgotten.

So, Sweets, even if trust feels fragile, even if love seems like something that happens for others but not for you, know that love is already on its way to you. It’s in the small, quiet moments. In the people who see you when you feel invisible. In the grace that finds you when you least expect it. Love isn’t lost—it’s just waiting for you to notice.

Because love isn’t something we have to chase. It was never lost to begin with.

Until next time,

Magnolia Tru

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

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

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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

Birthday Ritual: An Affirmation for Self-love

self love

Hey Sweets,

This past year, I found myself on a self-healing journey—a journey I didn’t even know I needed. I started counseling, journaling, and slowly peeling back the layers that I’d ignored for far too long. What I discovered was a glaring truth: I had been neglecting self-love. I wasn’t showing up for myself the way I should have.

Looking back, I realize how much heartache I could’ve avoided if I had simply chosen me. So, when my birthday came around this year, I knew it was time for something different. I wanted to celebrate myself—not just the milestones but the person I’ve grown into.

I came across a blog post about creating a birthday ritual, and that sparked an idea: Why not make my birthday a personal celebration of love and growth? As I started planning, my excitement grew—not because of what others might do for me, but because I was finally taking the time to fulfill my own wants and needs. This was going to be a birthday like no other.

The Gifts I Gave Myself

I decided that my birthday gifts would go beyond material things. They would be acts of love and growth that I could carry with me into the next year.

 A 90-Day Fast
The first gift was a 90-day fast from my good sis Mary Jane and alcohol. At first, this might not sound like a gift, but it was the sense of accomplishment at the end that made it one of the most valuable things I’ve ever given myself.

During this fast, I learned to sit with my emotions instead of numbing them. I released the guilt I felt for the time wasted self-medicating and instead started using that time to heal for real. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it.

An Oath Ring
My second gift was an oath ring—a symbol of my commitment to choosing myself no matter what. It’s a daily reminder to prioritize my growth and honor my worth. As I reenter the world of dating and fun, this ring serves as a grounding tool, reminding me to apply all the lessons I’ve learned.

Magnolia Tru
My third gift was this blog. Magnolia Tru was a dream I had back in 2015, but fear and self-doubt kept me from following through. I launched it once, only to take it down within a week. Five years later, I’m finally ready to give this dream the attention it deserves.

Launching this blog is more than just a creative outlet—it’s an act of defiance against my own self-sabotage. It’s proof that I’m capable of seeing things through, even if the journey takes time.

The Staycation

For the second part of my ritual, I booked myself a solo staycation. No kids, no work, no distractions—just me and the peace I craved.

The first thing I did was pull out my journal. I wrote down everything I wanted to release—the guilt, the disappointments, the fears. Then, I filled those pages with gratitude. I thanked God, my guides, and my ancestors for carrying me through. I celebrated my wins, big and small, and affirmed the life I’m stepping into.

Bringing in my 28th year in a space of love and gratitude felt powerful. It reminded me that I don’t need to wait for someone else to validate or celebrate me. I can do that for myself.

Lessons for You: Creating Your Own Ritual

Sweets, I want you to think about this: When was the last time you truly celebrated yourself? Not for what you’ve done, but for who you are?

Here are some lessons I learned from my ritual that you can adapt for your own life:

  1. Give Yourself Gifts That Matter
    Think about what you truly need—peace, clarity, time, or even closure. These are gifts that go beyond material things and create lasting change.

  2. Prioritize Solitude
    Spending time alone isn’t lonely; it’s empowering. It’s a chance to reconnect with yourself and listen to what your soul needs.

  3. Practice Gratitude and Release
    Take time to reflect on what’s holding you back. Write it down, release it, and replace it with gratitude for the things that uplift you.

  4. Create a Tradition Just for You
    Whether it’s a birthday ritual or a weekly self-care practice, make space to celebrate yourself regularly. You’re worthy of love and recognition—especially from yourself.

Sweets, Remember This

Every time I told someone my birthday plans, they were confused. Spending your birthday alone seems odd to some, but here’s the truth: you’re a whole vibe, Sweets. Being alone doesn’t mean being lonely. It’s a powerful reminder that your company is more than enough.

Whether you’re a mom, wife, sister, friend, or CEO, you deserve the same love and care you pour into everyone else. Celebrate yourself unapologetically—you’re worth it.

Until next time,
With love and growth,
Tru