healing – An Inspired Odyssey Through✨️Ink & Stardust✨️

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?

View all responses

I’ve been putting off an honest conversation with Mr. California, sitting my parents down to explain why I don’t want to move to Florida, and completing Step 9 of my AA amends with my two best friends in New York City. The list goes on and on.

And then there’s the usual stuff — cleaning out drawers, doing a deep clean through all my junk, exercising, eating better. That list could stretch to the moon.

So why am I putting so much off?

I’m starting to understand my procrastination more and more these days — and the truth is, about 90% of it is emotional. Facing feelings about people, or having hard conversations, is really hard for me. I catch myself thinking, maybe they’ll just forget, and I can pretend none of it ever happened. But that’s not how life works, and I know it.

If I keep avoiding the truth with Mr. California, I’m only setting myself up to get hurt — because I keep pouring in everything and getting almost nothing back. If I don’t have an honest conversation with my parents about not wanting to go to Florida, I could end up alone here in North Carolina during another manic episode, with no one to help me this time. And as for my friends in New York — they deserve a real amends from the bottom of my heart after all I put them through.

My sponsor and I have even hit a wall. I’ve been stuck on Step 9 for months now, circling the same emotional ground, and it’s keeping me from moving forward in my recovery. I’m nearing five years sober, but lately, that “dry drunk” mentality has been creeping in — all the old thinking, none of the bottles. And truthfully, it’s been far too long since I’ve been to a meeting.

These emotional barriers that keep me from doing what I need to do feel like heavy stones I keep tripping over. But I’m done just staring at them.

I have a plan.

🌹 The Courage Plan

(for the hard, emotional conversations that matter)

1. Recognize: It’s Not Fear of Conflict — It’s Fear of Loss

I’m not afraid of the words. I’m afraid of what those words might do.
I fear losing connection, approval, belonging — or the fantasy that things could stay comfortable.
But silence is never peace; it’s just an ache waiting for a voice.

“Telling the truth may cost me peace in the moment, but silence is costing me my soul.”

2. Name the Truth I’m Trying to Protect

Every difficult conversation guards something sacred.
Ask myself:

“What truth am I honoring by saying this?”

With Mr. California, it’s: “I need to feel emotionally safe, not uncertain.”
With my parents, it’s: “I need autonomy and to honor my boundaries.”
With my NYC friends, it’s: “I want to repair what I broke and meet love with humility.”

“When I finally figure out why I’m speaking, my courage will find its rhythm.“

3. Plan for Peace, Not Perfection

I won’t wait for flawless phrasing. That’s fear dressed as preparation.
I have to make notes, not a script. The heart never sounds polished — it sounds real.

“I’m not here to control how they react — only to speak what’s true, with love.”

4. Choose Timing and Setting with Care

Truth deserves a safe container, my sponsor stresses this a lot.
I can’t ambush anyone mid-stress and I can’t corner myself either.
I need to find the moment that breathes — not the one that breaks.
Maybe I can send a message like “Can I share something that’s been on my heart?” to open the door gently.

But when will I actually do this? NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT. (First message will be sent at the conclusion of this blog post).

5. Practice with Compassion

I think rehearsing out loud will help greatly.
Once with all my tears, then again calmly, then again as if I were comforting my past self.
By the third time, it will feel less like breaking — and more like healing.

6. Hold Space for the Fallout

Even the gentlest truth can land clumsily, I have to be prepared for that.
I have to have my after-care ready: a walk, a prayer, a song, a friend who knows what this will cost me. (definitely texting the bestie).

“Courage shakes the body. I need to treat it like recovery, not failure.“

7. Anchor Back to Love

At their core, these conversations — the ninth-step amends, the “no” to family pressure, the truth I need to tell Mr. California — all rise from love.

“I’m doing this because I love you, and because I’m learning to love myself too.”

That single line can soften any storm.

We don’t postpone hard things — we postpone feeling things.

But when we finally face them, we reclaim power we didn’t know we’d lost.

Courage is rarely loud. Sometimes it’s a trembling voice saying,

“This is who I am now.”

And that, right there, is the beginning of peace.

Stay Tuned.