Being Thankful

Tags

appreciation, connection, friendship, gifts, gratitude, happiness, heartfelt, Intentionality, kindness, life, love, presence, Reflection, relationships, thankful, writing

How do you express your gratitude? This prompt made me really think about how I show people I appreciate them, and whether they really feel it when I do.

I don’t often make big public proclamations of thanks. It’s not that I’m not grateful (I am, deeply so) but sometimes it feels more meaningful to express it directly, in a quieter way. That said, if something began publicly (like someone went out of their way for me in a group setting or helped me in front of others), then yes, I’ll absolutely speak up and make sure the whole room knows just how thankful I am. I want people to know they’re seen.

Most of the time though, my gratitude comes out in words and actions. Not just a quick “thank you,” but something more thoughtful. I try to let people know I appreciate them, not just the thing they did. That matters to me. I want them to feel valued, not just useful.

One of my favorite ways to show it is through small, personal thank-you gifts. Nothing major or flashy, just a little happy that makes someone smile. Something that says, “Hey, I see you. I appreciate you. You made a difference.” It could be their favorite drink, a funny keychain that reminded me of them, a handwritten note; just something that feels like them. I think the effort behind the gift says more than the gift itself.

Gratitude, to me, isn’t just about politeness. It’s about connection. About making sure people know that what they did mattered and that they matter.

If you had an extra 2 hours daily, how would you spend it?

Tags

blog, connection, enough, happiness, Healing, life, love, mental health, presence, Reflection, relationships, softness, space, stillness, time, want, writing

Today’s topic comes from https://thecoffeemonsterzco.com/blogs/midnight-blogging/journaling-prompts (this website was brought to my attention by a fellow blogger https://ericfoltin.com/ )

If I had an extra two hours each day, I wouldn’t rush to fill them with productivity/chores/work/etc. Not anymore. I think that version of me, the one who felt guilty for resting, who thought being busy made her worthy, has finally started to sit down and be quiet.

With two extra hours, I think I’d slow down. Not out of laziness, but out of care. I’d sit outside more, let the sun find my skin, watch how the wind moves through trees. I’d let silence be enough for a little while. I think I’m craving that more than I’ve ever admitted.

I’d write. Not for anyone else, not even for the blog. Just for me. Just to exhale everything I’ve been holding inside. I’d let the words fall out without polishing them up. Let them be messy and honest. Maybe even a little ugly. Just real.

I’d probably spend more time with the people who make me feel safe. Call someone instead of texting. Sit across from someone I love and really see them. You know those conversations that stretch out into the kind that make you feel a little more human? I want more of those. I miss them.

And honestly… if I had two more hours, I’d want to give some of them to him. No rush, no plans, just presence. Just the softness that comes with being near someone who makes you feel known. I don’t need much, but I’d use time like that as slowly as I could.

Two extra hours wouldn’t fix everything, but maybe they’d help me remember who I am when I’m not surviving the day. Maybe they’d give me more room to be whole.

On being small and getting bigger

Tags

belonging, empowerment, freedom, growth, happiness, Healing, identity, life, love, mental health, rediscovery, relationships, resilience, self, Truth, voice, writing

Ever since I was little, I learned how to shrink myself. To be quiet, to be small. My family was loud and full of big personalities. They would fill up every room. And as the youngest, the baby, I often got overlooked or left out. Sometimes I was picked on, and the safest thing to do was to fade into the background. So I did. I made myself disappear before anyone else could do it for me.

As I got older, I started to grow into my own skin. I found little moments where I could just be. Laugh too loud, make weird jokes, feel like I belonged. But that didn’t last. Eventually, I was told to be small again. Not always in words, but in tone, in silence, in dismissals. I was told, over and over, that I wasn’t enough. Not smart enough. Not capable enough. Not worth listening to. And somewhere along the way, I believed it. I pushed that fun, free, full-of-life version of myself down deep and tried to make her disappear, too.

For over 20 years, I stayed small. I stayed quiet. I got really good at making space for everyone else, and almost none for myself. I forgot what it was like to have room to even think for myself.

But I’m beginning to hope, to believe that she never fully left. That version of me, the one who laughs easily, says ridiculous things, dances to her favorite songs without caring who’s watching, she’s still in here. I see little glimpses of her sometimes, and when I do, my whole heart aches. Because I miss her. I love her.

And I’m trying. I’m trying so hard to bring her back. To be loud when I want to be. To take up space without apologizing. To be silly, goofy, joyful, just because I can.

It’s not easy. Some days I still feel like I should shrink. But I’ve spent enough of my life being small. It’s time to remember who I was before the world told me who to be.

And slowly, day by day, I’m finding my way back to her.

Something Bigger

Tags

belief, connection, faith, grace, growth, happiness, journey, life, love, shift, spirituality, stillness, Truth, writing

How important is spirituality in your life? I used to be really deep into religion. Church on Sundays, Bible studies, quiet prayers whispered in the dark. For a long time, it shaped how I saw the world and where I belonged in it. It gave structure to things that felt unsteady. And maybe, back then, I needed that kind of certainty.

But I’m less so these days. I don’t feel the same pull toward organized religion. I don’t carry the same beliefs I used to, and honestly, I’m still figuring out what I do believe.

I know this much: I believe in a higher power. I believe there’s something bigger than me, than all of us. It’s hard not to, especially when I look at the beauty and complexity of nature: how the trees grow back after fire, how the sky shifts in color, how our bodies heal, how love shows up when we need it most. That doesn’t feel random to me. That feels like design. That feels like care.

But, to me, spirituality is different from religion. It feels more like connection than rules. More like trust than fear. I don’t think there’s one right way to do it, and that’s what makes it feel truer to me now.

So, yes, I still pray sometimes, just differently. I still look up and whisper thanks. I still feel guided. But now I’m letting it be quieter, softer, less defined. I’m letting my faith feel like breath instead of performance.

There’s a power greater than me at work in this world. I feel it. I’ve seen it and, for now, that’s enough for me.

Some things just stay.

Tags

ache, feeling, grief, growth, happiness, Healing, life, love, memory, mental health, shadow, softness, survival, Truth, writing

There are days when I think I’ve moved on. I smile. I laugh at the right moments. I say I’m fine and almost believe it. I clean the kitchen and sing along to something sad, and it feels like living.

But then something tiny cracks me open. A smell. A memory. A sentence I wasn’t expecting. And suddenly I’m back in a memory of a life I no longer have.

I don’t think pain ever really leaves. Not fully. It just folds itself into the quiet corners of who we are. It waits there, patient and still, until the light hits it just right.

I’m learning not to push down that part of me. The one that remembers. The one that aches without asking permission. She’s still healing, still holding pieces of the girl I was when things first broke.

And maybe that’s okay. Maybe we get to be both the healed and the healing. The hopeful and the hurting.

Some things stay. But so do I.

It was just a Tuesday.

Tags

happiness, life, love, mental health, simple, Truth, Tuesday, weight, writing

Nothing major happened. No breakthroughs. No breakdowns. No wild moments of clarity or chaos. Just…life. I got out of bed a little too early, drank my water that wasn’t cold enough, and wore a shirt I didn’t really care for. I smiled at someone I didn’t feel like smiling at. I answered emails. I breathed.

And somehow, even in all that nothingness, I felt the weight of everything. Like the quiet hum under the noise was just a little louder than usual. Like my body remembered things I didn’t ask it to recall.

Sometimes I think the hardest days aren’t the big, dramatic ones. It’s the Tuesdays. The ones that are supposed to feel normal.

But I showed up. I kept going. I did the work. I didn’t break. I even laughed at something stupid online. I held space for myself in the middle of the ordinary.

Maybe that’s enough.