Sundays, Early Mornings & Friendship Loss

There’s something sacred about early Sundays — before the world fully wakes. It’s where truth sits quietly, waiting to be named.

I know the world is on fire—

yet what continues to amaze me is how these global flames mirror our internal ones.

The ache, the quiet unraveling, the loss that comes not only from tragedy but from truth.

Humanity feels lost.

Personal and political beliefs now hold the power to alter the direction of our lives, our connections, even our sense of belonging.

Recently, I severed a long-term friendship—

one built on love, laughter, and shared seasons.

It wasn’t over something petty or misunderstood.

It was because of politics.

Not politics as in policy, but politics as in morality.

People often underestimate the depth of their words or the weight they carry.

What I’ve learned is this:

if an apology begins with “I’m not racist” but ends with unwavering support for those who harm and divide—then it isn’t an apology at all.

It’s an attempt to seek comfort in the very space where harm was done.

And I’ve decided I don’t have to comfort you through the ending of our friendship.

My heart is fragile, still healing, still learning.

But I am also living—intentionally, fully, and with boundaries rooted in love for myself.

I love deeply, in both length and width.

But I will not prove that love by tolerating hate, bullying, or dismissiveness disguised as “difference of opinion.”

“Some endings are not betrayals of love — they are affirmations of self.”

Sometimes I chuckle, not out of humor, but out of disbelief—

because people truly forget how long we have been Black and hated.

How long we’ve known the weight of racism—not as theory, but as lived experience.

I have felt its ugly claws, tasted its unyielding rage, and recognized how ignorance allows it to thrive.

And still, on early Sunday mornings, I rise.

I pray.

I breathe.

I choose peace over pretense.

Friendship loss hurts, especially when love still lingers in memory.

But truth has a frequency that can’t be silenced, even for comfort’s sake.

Reflection for the Soul

This Sunday, take a moment to sit with the quiet after loss.

Friendship, even when it ends, leaves imprints of who we were — and who we are becoming.

Ask yourself: What does peace require of me now?

Not the kind that avoids pain, but the kind that honors it, transforms it, and releases what no longer loves you back.

May you find grace in your boundaries, rest in your truth,

and gentleness in the parts of your heart still learning how to heal.

Intimately worded,

Michelle 🌿