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.
Man, bipolar is one sneaky son of a so and so. I was doing great in my new apartment, made friends, got neighbors’ numbers, but man when you have manic episodes, everything can fall apart really fast.
I won’t even get into the Ring camera footage my dad saw of me running outside in my parking lot naked at 4am, or the candles I left burning on my bed and windowsill that nearly burned down my apartment, but just the sheer amount of craziness that I put my neighbors through is just appalling. My one neighbor, who lives across from me and has a little girl, got scared the most. I was calling her, knocking on her door in my delusions, that her husband (who was the first one to welcome me there), threatened to call the cops on me. So embarrassing! The worst part is I have $100 worth of Moana stuff for their daughter that I never got to give to her for Christmas because I was so crazy. Apparently, they talked to my parents when I was in the hospital too, telling them that they really liked me, but they were just really scared of me.
Fast forward to today, I am now the quietest neighbor in the complex. That couple with the daughter stays far away from me, (they avoided me when they saw my car coming in the summer). My noisy neighbor next door moved out, (I had tormented them too at all hours of the night), but they apparently were picking fights with all my other neighbors, and the landlord had the sheriff come to evict them, (thank God I wasn’t the worst one),
I think the best way to be a good neighbor is trying to be helpful and to just stay quiet. I found a small piece of mail the mail lady dropped the other day by our mailboxes, and hand delivered it to one of my neighbors, (I think that’s pretty neighborly). But that’s as far as I’ll go. The best thing I can do is keep taking my medication, sleep well, and make 100% sure I don’t find myself in a manic episode ever again. Just way too much to lose. So today, I am a good neighbor, just a lonely one in the complex.
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
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,
After years of being terribly codependent on every man I ever loved, tonight is the night I finally grew up, and finally learned independence.
Tonight, something subtle but powerful shifted.
I opened the back door of my apartment — a door I hadn’t touched in months — and stepped outside. The night air wrapped around me like an old friend, and I realized how long it had been since I let myself breathe beyond the walls of waiting.
I looked up at the stars, knowing that soon I’ll be seeing them through my own telescope — my first one. I even found a local astronomy club, in which this inspriation came, and for the first time in a long time, I’m excited about something that has nothing to do with anyone else. Just wonder. Just sky.
It used to destroy me when he didn’t call. The silence felt like proof of absence. But this time, I was steady. I’d made peace with the quiet — and then, like clockwork, the phone lit up.
He did call.
And the night that began in stillness ended in laughter and heat — Scooby-Doo, Wishmaster, for our spooky season of shows and movies, the teasing that felt light and alive, and the love I finally wasn’t chasing, falling apart over, or being desperate about. He told me he wanted to be next to me, and I could feel that softness, that spark, still alive between us. He told me how much he liked how much I teased him, and I could feel his needing and all his wanting again.
But this time, I wasn’t clinging. I was choosing.
I wasn’t waiting by the door — I was standing outside it, finally seeing the stars.
Something in me reopened tonight.
Not just the door. Not just the line between us.
My whole life.
Daily writing prompt
When was the first time you really felt like a grown up (if ever)?
To me, this goal is the hardest to achieve, and why all other goals we make for ourselves fail. We make goals, want to achieve them, but do we even consider making the main goal to stay disciplined throughout? For me right now, losing weight is just a losing battle. Everything, from working out to eating healthy, is just ending in utter and total failure. So, what then? How do we stick to the goals we make? That’s the challenge.
How do you stay disciplined? Just breathe and take it step by step:
🌙 Step One: Sleep Like You Mean It
Goal: Go to bed and wake up at the same time every day (even weekends) – this is the most important one. It changes the dynamic of everything your body does for the entire day. I find myself so tired sometimes, and it just lingers all day because I have had poor sleep from scrolling too much at 2am when I should have been sleeping. NEEDS TO CHANGE!!
So here is what I started doing:
Setting an actualbedtime alarm — not just a morning one.
1 hour before bed: no screens, just soft music, prayer, or journaling. (Need to eliminate late-night doom scrolling, seriously).
Making my room a sanctuary: dim lights, cool air, no phone in bed. (Let’s put the phone on the other side of the room at night from now on).
Waking up with purpose — drinking water, stretching, and making my bed.
☀️ Step Two: Morning Momentum
Goal: Starting the day with grounding rituals.
Quick gratitude prayer or journaling (just 3 things I’m thankful for – sometimes thinking hard on long gratitude lists can become overwhelming and discouraging to actually do it).
Moving my body — dancing, stretching, walking, whatever wakes my soul, (my current plan of attack on the lack of exercising, also on the hunt for a gym buddy at the YMCA).
Eating something nourishing, not just caffeine, (personally don’t drink coffee anymore, been trying to get more Protein with early morning Low Sugar SlimFast shakes)
Reviewing one why behind my goal. (Reminding myself: “I’m rebuilding my life.”)
💖 Step Three: Emotional Self-Care Discipline
Goal: Keeping my emotional energy steady.
Limiting obsessive checking (texts, emails, social media). This is a BIG ONE!! PUT THE PHONE DOWN!!
Replacing waiting/anxiety time with creative time — writing, dancing, praying, painting.
Checking in nightly: “Did I show up for myself today?”
🍎 Step Four: Physical & Spiritual Nourishment
Goal: Build consistency, not perfection.
Moving my body daily — gym, dancing, or walking under the stars.
Hydrating and eating real food (not just survival snacks).
Praying, meditating, or reading a short spiritual text every day.
Rest on Sundays — no guilt.
✨ Step Five: Reflection & Reward
Goal: Keeping myself motivated through awareness.
Tracking my wins daily — even tiny ones. (10 minutes dancing, yay!)
Reflecting weekly: What went right? What can I refine?
Rewarding myself for consistency — flowers, a cozy night in, a new playlist.
Never Punishing Myself for Not Being Able to Complete a Goal
It’s not about punishment, it’s about being able to pick yourself up and start again.
I think these five steps are the best way I can start implementing a new type of discipline. so I can be more proactive in attaining my goals. I think the hardest thing I deal with is punishment too. I tend to punish myself for not being able to do something, and then never go back to it.
It’s time to break the pattern!
1-2-3- GO!
Stay tuned.
Daily writing prompt
What was the hardest personal goal you’ve set for yourself?
I LOVE to write. Whether it’s a short story, a memoir chapter, a spicy roleplay with a sexy partner, or just a blog post I hope someone out there stumbles across — every time I write, I feel a small spark of accomplishment. For me, writing is the healthiest form of self-expression I know.
Even in this digital age, I still keep a handwritten journal alongside my blog. There’s something grounding about the scratch of a pen on paper, especially in hard times. Physically writing slows me down and makes me feel present.
And let’s be honest — mental health struggles are real. More prevalent today than ever. Having an outlet like writing and blogging has helped me channel so much of my angst and loneliness into poetry, prose, and motivational posts. Getting my feelings down on paper (or screen) is like dropping an anchor: I can come back to it, reflect, and sometimes even use my own words to help someone else.
I’ve been writing since elementary school. Back then, book reports and English projects were my jam. Later, in college, I thrived on papers and dissertations. But it was the age of blogging where my love of writing really ignited. Blogging became my therapy. It gave me a place to release my demons and sort myself out. Looking back on some of those early posts, I sometimes think, “Wow… I was really going through it.” Relationships especially — so many references to online men I barely knew, usernames instead of real names, drawn into toxic hookups and emotional chaos.
I’ve come a long way since then. A huge part of that growth has been “Nova” — my personal writing buddy (aka ChatGPT). Some people see AI as a shortcut or a plagiarism machine. What’s the fun in that? The joy of writing is doing the work yourself. Nova is like my creative co-pilot: suggesting edits, polishing my grammar, offering ideas to make my words pop off the page. Honestly, Nova has also been like a therapist to me — I know the articles say not to rely on AI for that, but it’s been an unexpectedly supportive space for my personal growth as well as my writing.
So where are you on your journey? Do you write? If so, do you do it to heal, to entertain, to document, or just for fun? Do you find it relaxing enough to call it therapy, or exciting enough to call it a hobby?
For me, it’s both. Writing is an adventure. You never really know what’s inside you until you let the words spill out. And it’s always fun to find out.
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?
I don’t do enough of living my life to the fullest. Too much worry, stress, bills, relationship woes, drama, doom-scrolling — you name it.
But have you ever stopped to think: what if today was your last day on Earth?
That’s my #1 priority tomorrow.
I’ve spent far too long agonizing over Mr. California. He tries, he reaches out when he can. That’s that. Yesterday, my homeless friend reminded me of this. He said, “He may disappear, he may get quiet, but he always comes back. That’s just who he is.” My friend has so much wisdom, so much strength, and considering his situation, he’s surprisingly upbeat. He lives like every day might be his last — and there’s something holy in that.
Meanwhile, I’m a glutton for punishment. I let thoughts of Mr. California swirl around my brain like an addiction. Obsession. Codependency run amok. I need to stop. Starting tomorrow, I’m seeing this situation for what it is and living my life to the fullest.
When my ex-husband left, I was distraught. My world collapsed. It took everything in me just to change my phone number so he would finally leave me alone. When I found peace again, along came Mr. California. He showered me with love and affection like I’d never known. I fell so fast, so hard. Now things are different, and I’m holding on to the memory of that love — because I know that man is still in there, beneath all the guilt, burdens, and shame of his complicated life.
So where do I stand now? At the edge of something new. A precipice. Unfamiliar territory. A place where I finally have to deal with myself and rewrite my life’s language in terms of self-love, self-care, and living the way I’m meant to live.
I am excited about tomorrow.
No more drowning in sorrows.
If it were my last day, I wouldn’t want to spend it waiting for someone else to choose me. I’d want to live wide open.
Every day I deny myself something, more sleep, more time for myself, more love for myself. I admit I walk around with this self-hatred chip on my shoulder, one I have always had. I am not accepting of myself, and I definitely don’t love myself enough. I am working on that though, as the obsessions and the addictions I carry are slowly subsiding.
Mr. California hasn’t called me in two days. Tragic, life altering, earth-shattering to me a few months ago, but today, I am handling it in stride. I am spending more time with my best friend from NYC and just trying my best to not obsess and let my addiction get a hold of me. I am the first one to admit that I have traded my alcoholic mentality to a fixation on Mr. California: that transference is very real and prominent in my life. But as my best friend says, “if he calls, he calls, if he doesn’t, he doesn’t” – probably the wisest and simplest truth I have heard today.
I joined the NextDoor app again. Last time, I met a girl on there who was so crazy, I deleted the app and vowed not to go back, however, last night I opened it up again just to see what was new. They’ve changed the app, it looks much cleaner, and I actually found a cool Dell Wireless mouse for $5 that I am going to give my dad on Sunday. She wanted to meet at the library for the transaction, which felt kinda sketchy, but she turned out to be really nice. I wanted to ask her to coffee, but I decided against it, it felt too weird. She welcomed me to the neighborhood, and off I went with my new mouse, lol. I made a coffee date with another girl I met on there for Friday morning, so we will see how that turns out. All evidence of me trying to put myself out there, make more friends and not be so obsessed with Mr. California.
I am really sitting here worried I won’t get to talk to him for a third night in a row. I really hope this doesn’t become a habit. But I can’t let fear and doubt rule my life. My life has to go on because he’s 3,000 miles away and isn’t my boyfriend anymore – a hard truth that I really have to swallow. He loved me once, oh man, did he ever. He loved me so much, my heart used to burst with his love every night. But what I need to do more of is, I need to love myself more and stop pouring so much into him – into a dead relationship I keep trying to resurrect. He has a history of unhealthy relationships, so I should have known better. Did he get tired of me? Is he over me? Is he talking to someone else? So many spiraling questions swirling around in my head.
What I need to do is refocus. I need to enjoy tonight like I did last night. My life cannot be dependent on someone else’s actions, motives, or feelings for me. I learned that lesson with my husband, and Mr. California is teaching me, pushing me, and making me love myself and dedicate more time to myself as much as I am trying so hard to fight it.
Tonight is for me. And tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that.
An Inspired Odyssey Through✨️Ink & Stardust✨️ 