inspiredodyssey daily prompt

Needing to Love with Without My Heart Bleeding

This is a major shift that I need to make in my life. It is part of my truth, the stress in my relationship, the hurt that keeps coming back over and over again. I’ve been loving without boundaries. Wholly. Fully. Without hesitation. And it’s left my heart gushing—sometimes metaphorically, sometimes I swear it feels literal—like a faucet that won’t turn off. The hurt keeps circling back like it’s on a goddamn boomerang. You think it’s gone, and there it is again, socking you in the gut like it forgot its keys.

Meanwhile, I’ve been trying to anchor too many things at once, like I’m some kind of emotional octopus:
🌀 Lose a massive amount of weight.
🌀 Fix my career while dragging around a criminal record that feels like a scarlet letter made of concrete.
🌀 Forgive myself for a marriage that nearly destroyed me and still echoes in the worst possible ways.
🌀 And—oh, right—try to love a man who simply can’t meet me halfway no matter how wide I throw open the door.

It’s like spinning plates during a hurricane. And I’m the plate. And the hurricane. And the one yelling at the weather.

So, what could I do differently?

Let’s start here:
I have to stop beating myself bloody in the space where love isn’t showing up.

Because the truth? My timeline and this man’s capacity are not synced. I’m trying to build a bonfire and he’s handing me a damp match. Not because he’s cruel or doesn’t care—but because he just can’t right now. He’s tied up in his own storm. And while I’m standing in the doorway waiting, I’m slowly setting fire to myself.

That silence? That delay? That not-knowing-if-he’ll-call?
It’s been paralyzing me.

I stop dancing.
I stop writing.
I stop applying to jobs.
I stop trying.
I sit frozen in a pile of unmet needs and unspoken prayers. Waiting for breadcrumbs.

But this year? That version of me—the one who waits, who withers, who wilts at the sound of no sound—is not coming with me.

Today, I took the first real step. I met with a new therapist.

And no offense to Mr. California, but I swore to myself I wouldn’t let him hijack the whole hour.

Today wasn’t about him. It was about me.

My weight.
My self-worth.
My desire to make money again even with this giant felon stamp across my chest.

Do you know how maddening it is to be punished forever for something that happened in the middle of a manic episode—when I was so drugged and drunk and utterly gone, I barely remember my own name? And yet the system remembers. It remembers every charge, every fingerprint. It doesn’t care that I’ve been sober five years. Doesn’t care that I now spend my time serving in church. Doesn’t care that I’ve given my heart to helping others.

But God knows.
God knows the whole story—the one no one else ever really sees.
God knows what happened when I was arrested.
God knows what was in my blood, in my brain, and in my breaking point.
And God knows who I am now.

That’s who I’m answering to this year. Not the courts. Not the shame. Not the silence of a man who can’t always show up. God. And me.

Because last year?
Last year was about pain.
It was about scrolling, rereading emails, waiting by the phone like some tragic black-and-white movie heroine in fuzzy slippers and unresolved trauma.

But this year?

This year is about movement.

About me on the living room floor, sweating and swearing through dance workouts I actually like.

About opening that Word doc I’ve been scared to finish.

About emailing one new place a day even if it leads to nowhere, because I’m still trying.

About holding my heart in my hands instead of laying it out like a doormat.

I’m not going to pretend I’ve figured it all out. Hell no. I’m a mess with glitter on. But I’m a mess in motion. I’m moving. I’m healing. I’m showing up.

No more waiting.

More living.

Daily writing prompt
What could you do differently?
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inspiredodyssey daily prompt

Forever Night Owl – Most Happy at Night

“Because the night belongs to lovers, because the night belongs to us.”

Those infamous words have followed me through so many seasons of my life, and lately, they feel spoken just for me.

I’ve always loved the night.

It’s where the noise fades, where the world exhales, where the sharp edges of the day soften into something forgiving. Night has never demanded anything from me — it simply opens its arms and says, come as you are. In the quiet hours, inhibitions loosen, laughter feels freer, and the most honest versions of ourselves slip out from hiding.

As a teenager, the night was rebellion and adrenaline — sneaking out with a fake ID, neon lights flickering across sweaty dance floors in New York City, music vibrating through my bones as if it could rearrange my future. Later, the night became contemplative — long hours spent stargazing while the rest of the world slept, lying still beneath constellations that reminded me I was small, but never insignificant.

Through all the ebbs and flows of my life — the chaos, the heartbreak, the rebuilding — one thing never wavered.
My love of the night stayed faithful to me, even when nothing else did.

Now, nightfall brings something entirely different.

Something gentler.
Something sweeter.

These days, when the sky darkens and the house grows quiet, I find myself wrapped in the soft intimacy of Mr. California’s presence. Hours slip by on the phone, carried by shameless flirting, tender laughter, and that delicious teenage-crush energy people spend decades trying to rediscover. There is comfort in knowing the night will end with his voice — low, warm, and familiar — weaving its way into my thoughts.

The night tastes like Mexican hot chocolate, rich and slow, and sounds like the softest, sexiest voice in my ear, talking me into calm, into closeness, into that suspended space where nothing else exists. There’s desire, yes — but there’s also devotion, playfulness, and the kind of emotional intimacy that feels rare and sacred.

Things aren’t perfect.
The distance aches sometimes.
The longing stretches thin on certain nights.

But what I’ve never had before — not like this — is independence. My days belong to me now. They’re full and busy and bright: friendships, purpose, movement, freedom. I live my life fully out in the world, loving the woman I’ve become. And then, when night comes and I retreat into my own space, I realize something quietly astonishing.

I have everything.

I have my freedom.
I have my peace.
And I have a man who is absolutely, undeniably crazy about me — who meets me in the dark hours not to consume me, but to share the night with me.

So yes.
The night belongs to lovers.
It belongs to whispered conversations and stolen smiles across time zones.
It belongs to longing that feels hopeful instead of desperate.
It belongs to us.

And honestly?
I wouldn’t trade these nights for anything.

Stay tuned.

Daily writing prompt
When are you most happy?
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inspiredodyssey daily prompt

The Man Who Taught Me How to Love Without Losing Myself

I have had many loves in my life — all frantic, characteristically bipolar, clingy, wildly codependent, and dangerously self-damaging. But when Mr. California came into my life, the entire dynamic changed — not by choice, but by circumstance.

I was just coming out of a toxic marriage. My ex was a drug addict, schizophrenic, and volatile. I had done everything I could to escape that relationship: I got sober, served time in jail because of him, became homeless, and somehow managed to rebuild my life. And still, I couldn’t let go. It took my incredible parents stepping in and putting him on a bus back to NYC for me to finally be free. I thank God for them every single day.

Ironically, when he left, the grief hit me like a tidal wave. The tears poured out. The sleepless nights came. The what if I can change him fantasies haunted me endlessly. In the middle of that despair, I found myself pouring my heart out on a support forum, trying to soothe my mind through the wreckage of grief.

That’s when Mr. California entered my life.

It was the simplest thing. One message:
“I’m so sorry you’re hurting. I hope you get some sleep. I’m here if you want to talk.”

From that moment, six months of steady messaging followed. In that time, I began to find myself again. I started dressing up and going out. I made new friends, became involved in my community, found a great job, and — for the first time in a long while — started sleeping again. I’m not saying all of that happened because of him, but he certainly contributed.

Our messages were long, thoughtful, and endless. They became the thing I looked forward to every night after full, busy days. And then one day, after six months of talking to a mystery man while I remained a mystery woman, I took a leap and sent a picture. To my surprise, he sent one back.

It absolutely floored me.

This man was stunning. A mix of Mexican and English heritage, dark hair, a perfectly shaped beard — and those eyes. Big, brown, beautiful eyes you could completely get lost in. This man I had been talking to for half a year was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Honestly? A Mexican version of William Riker from Star Trek: The Next Generation. Total swoon.

When he saw my picture, the attraction wasn’t just mutual — it was electric. Texting soon moved to Discord. Then came phone calls. Then video calls. Then phone sex and cam sex, which, quite frankly, was better than any physical sex I’d ever had. It wasn’t just intense — it was devotional. It was immersive. It was magic.

Beyond that, there was something deeper. Because of all those months of talking, we already knew each other inside and out. Our interests aligned effortlessly. And most importantly, he encouraged me to speak with the priest at the church I attended and consider joining.

My faith is deeply important to me. One of the most positive impacts Mr. California has had on my life is his own profound faith. As a former altar boy and Eagle Scout, he carries a strong sense of duty, honor, and moral grounding. I had been an outsider at my church for a long time and never truly considered joining. His encouragement gave me the courage to meet with the priest and explore that path.

One year later, I am not only a member of the church — I am part of a Legion that serves the elderly and needy weekly. I am now on the path to becoming a Eucharistic minister, something that has brought me a sense of joy and purpose beyond anything I ever imagined.

But there was a dark cloud looming over us.

In late 2024, I experienced a violent, explosive manic episode that shattered my life and destroyed my relationship with Mr. California. From across the distance, he felt helpless and deeply wounded by what I was going through. He blocked me, believing he would never hear from me again.

And yet — like sunlight breaking through a storm — emails began again after I was released from the hospital three months later. Three months apart after everything we shared: the love, the intimacy, the promises that couldn’t be fulfilled. Slowly, cautiously, communication resumed.

Here’s the paradox: after more than a year of reconnecting, I am still blocked on his phone.

Anyone on the outside would say, “Just leave him. Block him back. Move on.” But what happened instead was unexpected. I learned how to love from a healthier place because of the block.

We email. I leave voicemails. He calls me. We spend hours on the phone together watching movies, talking, bonding. We exchange gifts on holidays and birthdays. This past Christmas, he sent me beautiful things — including a silk robe in my favorite color that made me feel radiant and desired.

And still, the block remains.

I spiral. I cry. I curse the universe. I ache. I get angry at him for shutting me out like that.

However —

I have learned how to live my life outside of him. Fully.

I go out with friends. I spend time with other people when he’s quiet. I write. I read. I watch my shows. I spend time with my parents. I engage in my faith and my community. None of which I was doing last year when we were recklessly in love.

He has a complicated life. Our relationship couldn’t survive me calling and texting constantly, collapsing into him.

What I’ve learned — and what has become one of the most positive transformations in my life — is that I am learning to love and be independent at the same time. The block broke my codependent patterns. It stopped the clinging, the consuming, the self-destruction. It taught me that love can breathe.

For someone like me — with bipolar chaos, poor impulse control, and a history of erasing boundaries — I needed the block. It taught me that love doesn’t have to consume me to be real.

Yes, the spirals still come. Not being able to reach him unless he reaches out hurts deeply at times. But this is the lesson God is teaching me: how to become an independent woman. I live on my own. He is 3,000 miles away. What good does it do to ache on the phone all day when we can’t yet be together, when instead I can live fully — with my friends, my parents, my church, and the work I’m called to do?

This — right here, even with the block intact — is where God wants me. To grow. To build. To become someone who can sustain love without losing herself.

And honestly?

The block won’t be there forever.

He is changing.
I am changing.
And together, we are growing — slowly, imperfectly, but honestly.

The impact he has had on my life has been nothing short of astounding.

I used to believe love meant losing myself. Now I know it means standing on my own feet while still choosing someone. That lesson didn’t come easily, but it came honestly — and it’s changed everything.

Stay tuned.

Daily writing prompt
Describe a man who has positively impacted your life.
View all responses

inspiredodyssey Uncategorized

The One Change – Seeing Myself Through Softer Eyes

We all have it — the little voice that whispers, “not good enough,” “not pretty enough,” “not thin enough.”

I wish, in the deepest part of my heart, that this voice wasn’t so loud for me.

I battle with it every day, especially with a bipolar mind that loves to spiral and exaggerate things until I’m drowning in thoughts that aren’t true. But I am trying — truly trying — to live the best life I can in spite of all that noise.

Keeping that inner critic quiet only comes with action — with putting my life in motion. Getting out there. Meeting people. Spending time with friends. Going to events. Showing up for groups. Working in therapy. Taking action to push back against the thoughts that want to swallow me whole.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is that rituals of self-care make the battlefield quieter.

Making my bed every morning.

Eating breakfast even when I’m not hungry.

Forcing myself to shower when my body feels heavy as stone.

These simple acts quiet that inner enemy — that inner bully — who tries to make me feel small in a world that can already be harsh and unforgiving.

But here’s the part I never say out loud:

I have lived through things that should have broken me long before now.
And yet here I am, still rebuilding, still rising, still showing up to my own life.

💔 If I Could Change Anything… It Would Be the Way I See Myself

Because how do you explain to a mind like mine — one that spirals, crashes, grieves, aches — that I am not the girl I used to be?

How do you convince yourself that you are worthy when you’ve survived:

• jail
• homelessness
• addiction
• heartbreak
• humiliation
• the ghost of Giovanni
• and the long road back to yourself?

How do you quiet that voice when your past is loud and your fears feel louder?

You do it by looking at the life you built after everything fell apart.

🔥 I Rebuilt My Life From Ashes

When my ex-husband left and the world felt like it was collapsing, I didn’t just survive — I began again.

I clawed my way out of a life that nearly destroyed me.

I found a home — my home.
I found stability.
I found dignity.
I found a routine that keeps me grounded.

I found sobriety and fought for it with everything in me. Four years is not an accident. It’s work. It’s faith. It’s choosing myself even when my brain tries to convince me I don’t deserve to be chosen.

And I found a purpose.

✝️ I Found My Faith Again

I walked into the Legion of Mary and discovered that God had not abandoned me — He was just waiting for me to come home.

I built a life where I serve others.
Where I bring Communion to the elderly and the disabled.
Where I pray with people who need comfort.
Where my presence actually means something.

That inner critic loves to pretend I am a failure.
But the truth? I am someone’s blessing every week.
I am someone’s comfort.
I am someone’s kindness showing up at their door.

🤝 I Found Love and Friendship That Feels Like Home

My friends — my circle — my people:
My soul sister, my oldest friend, my soulmate and lifelong friend… the ones who answer the late-night calls, who sit with me during spirals, who love me through the storms.
They’re not here by accident.
They’re here because I have a heart worth staying for.

🏡 And Then There Are My Parents

Two people who crossed states just to rescue me.
Two people who gave everything they had to lift me out of darkness.
Two people who still show up, every single day.

Their love is proof that I am not the worthless, unlovable thing my brain sometimes tells me I am.
Their love is evidence of my worth — and a reminder that I come from strength.

🌸 The One Thing I’m Learning to Change

Not my bipolar mind.
Not my spirals.
Not my sensitivity.
Not my softness.
Not even the messiness of loving people too deeply.

The only thing I would change…
is the way I speak to myself.

I want to look in the mirror and see the survivor, not the mistakes.
I want to see the daughter my parents are proud of, the woman my friends love, the Legionary who serves with compassion, the girl who made it out of a life that should have swallowed her.

I want to see the woman who rebuilt everything.

Because I am not the voice in my head.

I am the life I’ve created.
I am the strength I’ve shown.
I am the love I give.
I am the hope I keep reaching for.

And if I could change anything about myself, it would be to finally — finally — see myself the way the people who love me already do.

Daily writing prompt
What is one thing you would change about yourself?
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inspiredodyssey daily prompt

9/11/2001 – The Day Silence Fell on New York City

As a native New Yorker, September 11th has a weight that words can barely carry. It isn’t just a date—it’s a scar carved into memory. I wasn’t just a witness that day. I was in the middle of it.

At 9 a.m., I was at work at the Yale Club of New York City, right across from Grand Central Station. It was an ordinary Tuesday morning—the kind where coffee cups clinked, phones rang, and the rhythm of the city pulsed through the walls. Then someone said a plane had hit the World Trade Center.

I remember the shift in the air, the way every sound suddenly felt wrong. I called my mom from my desk, my voice shaking. She was already watching it unfold on TV. “Come home, honey,” she said. “You shouldn’t stay there.”

Before I could even stand up, the second plane hit.

The room filled with panic. Someone screamed. Another person dropped their phone. The building’s manager ran through the hall shouting for everyone to evacuate—rumors were already spreading that the MetLife Building might be next.

When I stepped outside, it felt like the whole city was trembling. Sirens wailed in every direction. Strangers clung to one another, faces pale with confusion and fear. Taxis were charging hundreds of dollars to desperate people trying to get home. The sidewalks were overflowing—crowds heading toward the bridges, walking for miles toward the boroughs because no one trusted the streets anymore.

One of my coworkers was terrified to go home—she lived downtown in the West Village. “I can’t go alone,” she said. Without hesitation, I told her I’d walk her home.

So while the crowds were fleeing uptown, we began walking downtown, straight toward the chaos.

The sky grew darker with every block. The air thickened with dust and disbelief. When the second tower fell, it was like the earth itself had cracked open. The sound was a deep, rolling thunder that seemed to swallow the horizon. Then came the ash.

It fell like snow—gray, heavy, endless. It coated our clothes, our hair, our lungs. Breathing hurt. My friend’s hand was clutching mine when we spotted a small neighborhood bar. We ducked inside, slammed the door shut, and barricaded it with chairs and tables. There were already people inside—shell-shocked, silent, trembling.

We listened to music and drank, trying to block out the world. Someone lit a candle. Another person started crying. For a few hours, that dimly lit bar became a strange little fortress against reality. We were strangers, yet bound together by fear, disbelief, and whiskey. It truly felt like the end of the world.

By three o’clock, the streets had gone eerily quiet. The noise had burned itself out, replaced by an eerie stillness. Ash covered the cars. Pieces of paper floated through the air like lost prayers. We finally stepped back outside, moving through that haunted silence.

I walked my friend the rest of the way home, hugged her, and found a payphone. When my mom answered, she was crying so hard I could barely hear her. “I’m okay,” I told her. “I’m okay.”

The city wasn’t.

I found an F train still running and boarded it, the car nearly empty. No one spoke. No one cried. We just sat there—strangers wrapped in quiet shock, our reflections staring back at us in the darkened windows. Even the sound of the subway wheels seemed muted, like the train understood the gravity of what it was carrying.

When I finally stepped off at my stop, I stood on the platform for a long time, breathing in the thick, smoky air of survival.

That day will forever be a dividing line in my life: before and after.

I can still see the smoke when I close my eyes. Still feel that strange weight pressing against the silence. New York City—the loudest, most alive place on earth—had fallen quiet.

And that silence, I’ll never forget.

It was the sound of heartbreak.
The sound of history.
The sound of a city realizing, all at once, that life would never be the same.

In the years that followed, that day became a compass for me. It showed me how fragile life really is—and how strong I could be when everything fell apart. Maybe that’s why I built such a different kind of life in North Carolina. I found faith again, found peace, found purpose. I joined the Legion of Mary, got sober, and started watching the stars instead of the smoke.

Every September, I still remember the ash, the fear, and that impossible silence. But now, I let it remind me that I survived—that the same woman who walked through the ashes of Manhattan once now walks beneath the constellations, unafraid.

Daily writing prompt
What major historical events do you remember?
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inspiredodyssey daily prompt

Sobriety, My Own Place, My Own Life

I hung on to my ex-husband longer than I should have. We were both wrong for each other from the beginning. Leaving him was the best thing to ever happen to me, and something I am the proudest of.

I had been living a nightmare of my own making for most of my life. I had been drinking heavily, in and out of mental institutions, living in a room in my parents’ house with no hope of ever moving out or making anything of my life. I spent nearly a decade online, before OnlyFans was a thing, giving myself freely to men online, not having any kind of respect for myself. Did I really think I could find a husband this way? Did I really think a man could save me from all of this pain?

Then I met my husband. We went through NYC like Bonnie and Clyde, him introducing me to crack by giving me the pipe in my mouth, (I would never touch it), and me drowning more and more in alcohol. Even though we shared a special moment in my favorite church, where God told him to ask me to marry him, it was the last bit of romance that would ever go on in our toxic relationship. From emotional abuse, physical fights over money for drugs, me leaving him a bunch of times and him threatening me with suicide so I took him back, and us committing many crimes in NYC, we fled to North Carolina to start a new life.

But it didn’t end there, it just got worse. He found a new group of people to get drugs from, my alcoholism got worse, and I was so deep in sin, that only thing left for God to do was send us both to jail to stop all the madness. I spent 10 months on the floor of a jail cell, still dreaming of him and sending messages to the officers to give to him for me. I still hung on, even after I got out and became homeless, having to find shelter in a rehab. I was always building for our future, visiting him in the psych ward after jail, trying to make a life with a man that wanted nothing more than look for crack the moment he got out. He tormented me every single day in our new apartment, after I tried to do things the right way and live sober. It all crumbled. He refused medication. His addiction raged. And somehow, by grace alone, I didn’t relapse. The old crack spots were boarded up. The temptation wasn’t there. That was God.

He became incoherent. I watched him dissolve like I once had. My parents, now in North Carolina, put him on a bus back to New York. They saved my life. I owe them everything.

The last time I saw him, my parents drove us to the bus depot. I was quiet the whole ride, watching the North Carolina roads blur into memory. He looked exhausted — thin, worn, not quite tethered to this world anymore — but there was still something in his eyes, those big brown eyes I had fallen in love with in the ward. We stood outside the Greyhound station, under a gray sky that couldn’t make up its mind. He reached for me, and I melted into him, holding on like it could somehow undo the damage. And then came the final kiss — slow, trembling, soaked in goodbye. I closed my eyes and tried to memorize everything: the shape of his mouth, the scent of his skin, the sadness in his breath.

His last words to me were, “We can try and make this work, right?”

And part of me — the part still haunted by our first kiss and that candlelit church — wanted to say yes.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

Even after he left, I kept in touch. I loved his mother — she made sure I had support even in jail, wrote me letters, and sent cards. She loved how much I loved her son. But it wasn’t enough.

He kept disappearing in New York, lost in the same cycles, same streets. And one day, I changed my number.

I grieved him like a death. Because I had buried so many parts of myself just to stay with him — my sobriety, my sanity, my dreams. And still, I would have stayed. That’s what heartbreak does to you. It confuses sacrifice with salvation. 

Because for all the chaos, for all the darkness — he loved me in a way no one else ever had. He made me feel beautiful when I had been discarded by so many. He gave me an adventure. He made me feel chosen.

All I ever wanted was to save him. But love is not salvation.

And sometimes, the kindest thing grace can do — is say goodbye.

I think of him still, when the nights are lonely — only because there were nights that he used to hold me when the mania or depression was just too much. He would stroke my forehead and lull me back to sleep. Mostly, it was the mornings when he kissed my forehead while I was still asleep.

If only he could have been what I hoped him to be. But you can’t change someone, you can’t even try. All you can do is pray for them, and hope God takes care of them. I pray for him to this day.

I moved on of course, and fell in love again, but it honestly hurts more than what I went through with my ex-husband. This time, this love showed me what it could be like to be loved completely and without addiction and toxicity – although I still got heartbroken in the end.

So what am I most proud of? Through all of that I’ve been through, I managed to keep my apartment, my sobriety, and most of all my piece of mind. I live my life alone and in peace, embracing my freedom and independence everytime.

To me that’s priceless.

Stay tuned.

Daily writing prompt
What are you most proud of in your life?
View all responses

inspiredodyssey love

Loving a Man in Chains

Tonight I see it clearly — I am the free one.
I’ve walked through my own prisons: my ex-husband’s control, my addiction, the years of craving love that hurt more than it healed. I earned this freedom drop by drop, tear by tear.

And yet my heart still reaches for a man who lives behind invisible bars. His daughter, his guilt, his fear — all real, all heavy. I can feel how small the world must feel to him, how rare the air of laughter must be when he calls me.

But I will not trade my wings for his chains.
I can love him without locking myself away.
I can ache for his peace and still choose my own.

That is what love in the light looks like — compassion without captivity.

inspiredodyssey daily prompt

Grace in Motion: The Principles That Define How I Live

There are moments in life — after heartbreak, after loss, after the quiet rebuilding — when you realize that your life is shaped not by what happens to you, but by what you choose to stand for.
I’ve learned this the slow way, through ache and grace, through faith and relapse, through learning to begin again and again.

So, what principles define how I live?

✨ Grace Is My First Language

Grace is the way I keep breathing when the ache rises.
It’s how I forgive Mr. California for the silence, and myself for waiting by the phone. I love this man with everything in me, but the complications and distance hurt me, hurt us.
Grace is how I turn pain into prayer instead of poison.

Grace doesn’t erase the past — it redeems it, thread by trembling thread.
It’s what carried me through four years of sobriety,
teaching me that healing is a thousand small surrenders,
each one whispered: “Not my will, but Yours.”

I’ve learned to meet myself where I stumble, not where I wish I was standing.
That’s where God meets me too — in the wreckage, in the real.

💗 Love, Even When It Costs

The Legion of Mary taught me that love isn’t just emotion; it’s mission.
It’s handing out rosaries when your heart is breaking.
It’s comforting the lonely when you wish someone would comfort you.
It’s praying for the one who walked away — not because you’re a saint,
but because you remember what it feels like to be lost.

I still love Mr. California.
Not as an idol, but as a soul I once touched with light.
And loving him now means releasing him gently into God’s keeping.
That, too, is service.

🕯️ Adoration Is My Anchor

The hours I spend before the Blessed Sacrament aren’t penance — they’re medicine.
When I look at that small circle of white, I remember who holds the universe.
I let His silence speak louder than the unanswered calls.

It’s where my heartbeat syncs again with heaven’s rhythm.
I whisper names — all my beloved friends across the distance and miles —
and trust that grace travels where I cannot.

Sometimes I think the monstrance holds not just Christ, but all our waiting.

🌧 Truth, Even When It Trembles

I used to think strength meant composure.
Now I know it’s confession — the willingness to say, “I’m still healing.”

Sometimes I go to Mass with tears still wet on my cheeks.
Sometimes I feel like a saint one moment and a storm the next.

But truth, even messy, is holy.
It’s what keeps me human in a world that rewards pretending.
Sobriety has taught me that honesty — especially about weakness —
isn’t failure. It’s freedom.

🌌 Beauty Is How I Worship

A candle flame, a choir voice, the sky through my new telescope —
they are all hymns in disguise.
I see God in every shimmer, in every constellation He flung across the dark.

When I find beauty, I offer it back.
Because every lovely thing is a reminder: He hasn’t given up on me.
Even the ache is beautiful when I surrender it.

🌿 Becoming Is the Only Rule

Every day I am learning to live slower, holier, truer.
I am learning that waiting doesn’t mean wasting.
That silence can be sacred, not punishment.
That loving without demand is its own vocation.

I am not who I was when he first said, “I see you, Lynn.”
But I hope I am someone who keeps seeing others that way —
through eyes washed in grace.

🌹 Benediction

If you asked me again what defines how I live,
I would say this:

I live by grace,
by love that costs,
by faith that doesn’t need proof,
by beauty that resurrects,
by truth that trembles,
and by the quiet miracle of becoming.

And when my heart aches for what was lost,
I place it back on the altar, whispering —
You can have this too, Lord. All of it. Even him.

“My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.”
— 2 Corinthians 12:9

Daily writing prompt
What principles define how you live?
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inspiredodyssey daily prompt

A Weekend Without Technology

I once did a No-Internet Challenge when I first made this blog. I went an entire weekend without any internet, and I suppose it’s the same thing as imagining life without a computer. I know in this day and age, with everyone working from home, not having a computer would impact on your income. I guess for the gamers it would be difficult, PC gaming is still a thing, and of course us bloggers would be lost without it.

Do you think you could go an entire day without using a computer? A whole day without apps, and all the technology? Could you imagine going outside, being with friends, writing with an actual pen and paper in a journal, reading an entire book, or just spending time with God? Could you go an entire weekend without it?

Here’s what happened when I spent an entire weekend without the internet on August 20, 2019:

The “No-Internet Challenge,” What I Did For a Weekend Without The Internet

So I did it! And what a weekend it was! I can honestly say, it was the best weekend of my life, and the best one I’ve had in a really long time. This meant no phone apps, no streaming, and an absolute zero online presence. The computers and laptops were off, and I watched a lot of TV and listened to the radio, (today is National Radio Day, by the way). I did a lot of the things we tend to neglect, like going to a class to reduce your car insurance, drawing, and coloring and reading a book you have been carrying around for a very long time.

I read a book called “The Prophet” by Kahlil Gibran, on Sunday, that I have been carrying around with me for about 20 years and I never read. An ex-boyfriend of mine gave it to me and said it would change my life, and it absolutely did.

There was one thing in particular that stood out to me of what I read; it was a passage about houses:

Your house is your larger body, what do you have in these houses? And what is it you guard with fastened doors? Have you peace, remembrances, and beauty in your houses? Or have you only comfort, the stealthy thing that enters the house as a guest, and then becomes a host, and then your master? Ay, then soon it becomes a tamer with a hook and scourge which makes puppets out of your desires. Verily the lust for comfort murders the passion of the soul, and then walks away grinning at the funeral. You shall be free when your days are without a care nor your nights without a want and grief – and when they girdle your life, you will find freedom when you rise above them naked and unbound.

To me, that encapsulates what the internet as a whole has done to us, and what we must free ourselves from. I have never been more free in my life, and when I wake up now, I feel nothing but joy in my heart. Through all the pain and sorrow of my younger days, I am approaching 40 without alcohol, drugs, cigarettes, gaming, Netflix, my cell phone and everything else most of the world are slaves to. This is a new era, a new day, and tomorrow will be an even better one.

And in regards to friendships, Mr. Gibran shared this:

Let your best, be for your friend. For what is your friend that you seek with hours to kill? Seek them always with hours to live. For it is theirs to fill your need, not your emptiness. For the dew of the little things that the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.

Try it for yourself. Do all your work, write all your emails, put an away message on your phone, and plan to take a “vacation” from the internet. Maybe go hang out with friends, see a movie, or just do what I did and stay at home with your TV and with yourself. I can’t tell you how alive I feel after those three days.

Oh and one more thing: even though I am writing this in this blog, Mr. Gibran shared this with me, to remind me to always stay humble:

A good deed that calls itself tender names becomes the parent to a curse.

I shall remember that, Mr. Gibran.

I remember that weekend all too well – who knows, I may see if I can repeat it again.

Stay tuned.

Daily writing prompt
Your life without a computer: what does it look like?
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inspiredodyssey Uncategorized

Your Existence Doesn’t Depend on Someone Else’s Love for You

I wish I could have understood this simple truth in my teenage and young adult years. I have spent 30 years on the quest for acceptance and love by people, places, and things, well outside of myself. I wasted most of my life chasing after people’s affections, mostly from men, chasing money, chasing dreams that were so fantastical in bipolar mania, chasing highs, just chasing everything that could be bring me the joy that I never bothered to give myself.

I am still in a learning stage of my life today. At 45 years old, this lesson is the hardest to learn; the lesson of self-acceptance, gratitude, and self-forgiveness. Just last night, I was punishing myself for committing a sin against my body and God, when it was just a release that my body has been craving for weeks now.

My ministry is very important to me. I would not have gone on this journey if Mr. California hadn’t suggested that I meet with the priest and discuss joining the church. I would have stayed an outsider forever. It was hard because I was born and raised Muslim, and I am honestly the only one of my race here in this rural area of North Carolina. However, that didn’t stop my journey, or the amazing people who helped me and welcomed me with open arms into their church. These days, I am also so involved and grateful to be a part of something so rewarding like the Legion of Mary of my newly joined Catholic Church. Every Sunday, I bring Communion to elderly parishioners who can’t make it to church, and whether it is nursing homes or residences, it is always a magical and soul-filling experience. I am on my way to becoming a Eucharistic minister soon, so I can be the one who carries Jesus to them, as well as looking into restarting the jail ministry that stopped during COVID. Being formerly incarcerated myself, I know how important outreach is to these institutions. Spreading the Word as well as recovery from substances, would be so helpful right now.

I would have never made it this far if I were still sitting at my computer, trolling chatrooms and sex websites, giving of myself to all kinds of debaucheries online, drowning in alcohol, and chasing the highs of the attention of any man who would show me any. It was a desperate time, fueled by my teenage years of clubbing and drinking, searching, and searching for the love of my life to marry me and be with forever. My entire childhood was filled with dreams of falling deeply in love with someone who would take care of me; long nights and days filled with dreaming of the perfect man through TV shows and endless movies, then suddenly coming to a twisted realization later on, that I could only find that through sex. Fast forward to the wild ride I went on with my crack additcted, schizophrenic husband, where the final breaking point of obsession, madness, sexual chaos, and brokenness led us both to our doom and divorce.

These days it’s all so different. Yeah, I might be guilty of a little doom scrolling through Reddit or Facebook here and there, but my life isn’t consumed in online chatrooms or sex sites, drinking, chaos, or mental instiutions anymore. My life changed when I confessed my truth on the floor of that dirty jail cell in 2021. There I found my calling, I found my answer, and I have spent the last 4 years in sobriety walking towards God and trying to find my peace. And the obsession of finding a man to take care of me and loving me? It is still there, just not as it used to be. My existence no longer depends on someone else’s love for me. This crazy love affair with Mr. California has taught me so much about myself and how much growth was needed, and how wide my eyes have opened knowing that all that love and energy that I pour out into people needs to be poured back into myself.

I still have a lot to learn, but at least I am headed in the right direction.

Stay tuned.

Daily writing prompt
Share a lesson you wish you had learned earlier in life.
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