I am feeling much better after a severe bout with a cold and congestion that would not let loose for about ten days.
Comforts of Home
I think I’ve finally returned to the land of the living… slowly, gently, gratefully. Today I felt the slightest spark to read, to write, to journal, to work a puzzle—little things I had planned for this holiday break before my body reminded me it had other intentions. 🤕
But Sundays? #Sundays remain the best.
This morning I let myself sleep in. No alarms, no rushing. Just rest.
Then a long, warm shower—💕
My full face regimen—💕
Moisturized from neck to toes—💕
H2O flowing through this human system—💕
Brushed my locs and massaged my scalp—💕
I even put on my pearl earrings. I miss my mom terribly. (Her name is Pearl.) 🌿
And when I exhaled… a deep sigh moved through me like a small resurrection. My appetite still isn’t back, but I’ll take these little returns. These tiny renewals.
I’m sipping hot tea—no coffee for almost two weeks now. Outside, it’s raining, that soft hush that makes the world feel like it’s whispering. With my youngest two at work, it’s just Big Koda and me in this quiet house.
Sundays are when I sage and soulfully reset. When I choose to be here, fully, even if “here” feels tender and strange. My weekly writing—this slow, intentional ritual—has a way of improving my emotional disposition. It lets me name the weight of the world without being crushed beneath it.
I don’t have answers to any of it. I haven’t made sense of much of anything lately. But I am releasing the heaviness—the chaotic energy that keeps trying to settle in my spirit.
Today I’m still moving slowly and softly. And that feels holy enough.
“Dear friend, I pray that you may enjoy good health and that all may go well with you, even as your soul is getting along well.” ~3 John 1:2
November Reflections: Reciprocity, Renewal, and Protecting the Heart
Work is creeping in, in a deep way—feeling like November and the end of Fall. I know there’s still more Autumn left, even if the weather and early darkness suggest otherwise. There’s a chill that whispers both endings and beginnings.
For now, I’ll protect my physical body with crochet scarves and my red beanie, layers of warmth and softness that feel like care. Spiritually, I’ll protect myself with scripture, hot tea, and quietness. This combination grounds me—it’s a gentle ritual of self-preservation and presence.
I will also continue to follow through with clinical encouragement and therapeutic support for my clients. I love what I practice for a living, though it often carries a great amount of heaviness. Bearing witness to others’ pain and growth is sacred work—it deepens empathy but also stretches the heart thin at times. My heart feels frayed a bit lately, yet my hope is deeper and wider.
It’s Sunday again—a new month, a renewing of time. The clocks “fell back” in the early morning hours, giving us the illusion of more rest, more time. Yet I know how long it takes for the body and spirit to catch up with the shift. This symbolic turning reminds me: don’t allow the world to cloud your intuition. Trust what you know.
Reciprocity vs. Transactional Relationships
In therapy and in life, we often examine the balance of giving and receiving—what it means to love freely while maintaining healthy boundaries. It’s important to distinguish reciprocity from a purely transactional way of relating.
A reciprocal relationship is rooted in goodwill, connection, and genuine care. It’s where giving becomes an act of love—not an investment expecting a return. It flows both ways, naturally and without keeping score.
By contrast, a transactional relationship measures worth in exchanges:
“I bought you coffee, so you owe me a coffee.”
In reciprocity, the heart says:
“I bought you coffee because I wanted to do something kind. I trust that you’ll hold me in love and care when I need it most.”
The difference may seem subtle, but emotionally and spiritually, it’s profound. Reciprocity nourishes connection. Transactionality breeds comparison, resentment, and emotional distance.
In therapy, I often remind clients that reciprocity thrives in spaces where trust and emotional safety exist. It’s a rhythm of mutual investment—where both people are free to give from overflow, not obligation.
Love, God, and the Waiting Season
Lately, I’ve returned to the dating app—not out of desperation, but curiosity and openness. It’s a strange world to navigate with a tender heart and a discerning spirit. I find myself reflecting often on why I desire partnership and how I wish to love.
Some conversations spark hope; others remind me how surface-level connection can be when rooted in transaction rather than reciprocity. There’s a quiet ache in realizing how rare it is to meet someone who’s ready to love intentionally—to listen, to give without keeping score, to see beyond what’s easy.
And yet, even as I scroll, match, and unmatch, I still believe in divine timing. I still believe that God writes love stories differently—slowly, intentionally, with purpose and alignment. So I’m learning to wait well. To stay open, but not hurried. To protect my peace while remaining hopeful that the right heart will recognize mine.
Spiritual Reflection, in Galatians 6:9, we’re reminded: “Let us not grow weary in doing good, for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.”
This scripture grounds me as both therapist and woman—someone holding space for others while still longing for her own sacred companionship.
Even when my heart feels stretched thin, I remember that reciprocity—with myself, with God, and with others—is an act of trust. A form of love that doesn’t rush or demand, but rests and receives.
As time falls back and the days grow shorter, I choose to rest, to trust what I know, and to give from love—never from depletion.
May this November invite you, too, into warmth, rest, and a deeper understanding of how you give and receive love. And if you, like me, are waiting on God to write your love story—know that He’s still writing.
Reflection Prompt: Where in your life do you need to trust divine timing—in love, in purpose, or in the quiet in-between?
Sundays have a way of slowing me down enough to notice what time has been doing beneath the surface. The air is crisp, the light shifts, and even the trees seem to know when to release. I am in wonder of how time cloaked our struggles, yet time also reveals the required healing — the necessary strength for us to witness the why’s. In this turning season, I’m reminded that God’s work often happens quietly, layered in moments we don’t yet understand. What once felt delayed was, in truth, unfolding right on time.
Yesterday, I attended my cousin’s wedding — my second cousin, though I still remember her as the little girl with big dreams and a contagious laugh. Watching her stand there, radiant in hope and grace, marrying again with such genuine love, felt like witnessing time come full circle. The ceremony was outdoors, framed by trees touched with autumn gold, the air soft with both memory and promise.
At this age, I’m in awe of how love still finds us, how it gathers what’s been scattered by years, by loss, by change. Marriage has a way of reminding us that family expands even as it shifts — that though we’ve said goodbye to parents and grandparents, something sacred continues through us. It’s as if time weaves a quiet thread between what was and what is becoming, inviting us to see how love endures, how it unfolds anew.
This morning, before I began to write, I recorded a few thoughts — just me, my voice, and the quiet of Sunday. Sunday mornings have become their own kind of prayer for me. Waking up smiling, breathing easier, releasing the heaviness of the work week and the constant pulse of motherhood, I find myself able to go to God in a way that comforts me. There’s peace in that surrender — in remembering I don’t have to hold everything together for the world to keep turning.
I love my walks, especially now as the leaves start to fall and the air turns brisk. It’s where I feel time most gently — not rushing, not demanding, just moving with me. Each step reminds me that unfolding doesn’t require effort, only willingness. And maybe that’s what this season — this life — continues to teach me: that healing, love, and even time itself are part of a divine rhythm, one that never stops revealing what’s meant to be known in its own perfect moment.
Rest in knowing that what’s meant for you is already moving toward you. Time, love, and grace are all working together in ways you can’t yet see.
There’s a quiet kind of fatigue that can come from wanting to be loved well. It isn’t physical — it’s emotional and spiritual. It’s the weariness that shows up after you’ve overextended your heart just to be understood, after you’ve carried more of the emotional load than the relationship ever asked you to.
But I’ve come to realize something sacred:
Love does not require my exhaustion, only my honesty.
That truth has become a balm for me. Honesty isn’t just about what I say — it’s how I choose to show up. It’s admitting when I’m tired, when I feel unseen, when I’m hoping for more depth. It’s saying, “I want a meaningful relationship,” without trying to earn one through over-effort or performance.
There’s a kind of peace that only comes when you stop negotiating your needs. When you release the urge to chase clarity or beg for consistency. When you start trusting that the love meant for you will never confuse you, diminish you, or ask you to betray your spirit in the process.
As we begin to heal with our own stuff, something shifts. We stop seeing love as a rescue and start seeing it as a reflection. We start realizing that the relationships around us mirror where we are internally — what we believe we deserve, how safe we feel within ourselves, and how deeply we’ve allowed grace to meet us in our healing.
My journey now is about emotional healing and spiritual safety — finding a rhythm in love that doesn’t disrupt my inner calm. I want connection that feels like prayer: steady, honest, rooted in presence. The kind that honors the quiet work I’ve done to heal, forgive, and grow.
When someone fades away, or blocks, or simply doesn’t have the depth to meet me — I breathe. I remember that peace isn’t the absence of longing; it’s the presence of alignment. I remind myself that my worth doesn’t rise or fall with someone’s ability to recognize it.
So I’m learning to love differently — without rushing, without rescuing, without rehearsing who I think I need to be. I’m letting honesty, not exhaustion, lead the way.
Because love that is divine, grounded, and true doesn’t demand my striving.
It welcomes my stillness. It meets me where I am,
and says: You are safe here.
Be Brave,
Michelle🌿
“I have found the one whom my soul loves.” — Song of Solomon 3:4
Intimately Worded | Sunday Reflections
What would it look like for you to love without exhaustion — to let honesty, not effort, guide your connections?
The Becoming: Generational Mid-Life and the Emotional Intelligence of Self-Discovery
It’s in the quiet, candlelit hours of GenX-ing—when menopause-induced insomnia gently disrupts the night—that the deepest soul work begins. This is the new terrain of life: navigating the Empty Nest, the clinical realities of Diabetes and Menopause, and the relentless work of Single Parenting. But more than a list of challenges, this is an invitation to lean into the continuous, lifelong process of becoming—the act of learning and aligning with the truest self.
The Stirring: Reconciling Capacity and Calling
Last Sunday, the Pastor’s abrupt, almost vernacular question—”You just showing up… and not using your gifts. Not nan gift, not one?!”—acts as a spiritual provocation. It’s the divine equivalent of a coach calling a time-out: not an accusation, but a forceful invitation to acknowledge the potential you hold. This moment is the essence of true spiritual accountability, my own.
This spiritual accountability, though met with an internal response “Sis tired” chuckle, remains the essence of emotional self-awareness. It tugged at my heart —to reconcile our current capacity with our inherent calling.
My history with faith is one of reverence, where teaching Sunday School once felt like a natural flow of my spiritual gift. That gift, when a church home shifted, didn’t vanish—it simply transferred its medium. It became the ministry of therapy.
This transference illustrates a powerful clinical principle of emotional intelligence: Adaptability and the re-channeling of purpose. My “can-do” spirit, once dedicated to religious education, now finds its highest expression in professional ethics—the oath to do no harm, to embody empathy, and to remain faithful to my clients’ healing. This is the integration of self—a conscious choice where the spiritual commitment (“I’ll show up faithfully”) merges with professional standards. That growing, healing confidence—the emergence of the affirmed “I”—is the sound of self-mastery in action.
Clinical Wisdom: Navigating the Body as a Sacred Text
Our mid-life landscape forces us to confront the undeniable link between the physical and the emotional. As a therapist, I’m immersed in evidence-based science, theory, and methodology. Yet, the wisdom gained from navigating my own chronic illness (Diabetes) and hormonal shifts (Menopause) is a science of the self.
The intricate dance of managing blood sugars, bone density, and muscle mass while wrestling with sweat soaked sheets is a poignant metaphor for my current developmental stage. It teaches an advanced form of self-regulation. The detailed, excruciating observation—that medication absorption differs between the thigh and the stomach—is a stark reminder of the precision required for body-mind integration. It hurt.
We recognize that even when we felt we were “doing all the good things” —-in our 50s, the body’s internal clock and genetic blueprint have the final word. This necessity for structured, consistent care isn’t a limitation; it’s an essential, deep spiritual discipline. It’s the intentional practice of fasting to not neglect, ensuring our physical temple remains whole, just in a beautifully new way. This is not a space of fear, but of heightened mindfulness and self-compassion.
The Anatomy of a Soul-Stretch: Identity and Healing
Identity in mid-life is not a fixed point, but a perpetual soul-stretch. The silvering of hair is less about acquired wisdom and more about the simple, undeniable marker of experience. The heart will continue its rhythm of love, pain, breakage, and repair. What we learn is the heart’s untiring capacity for healing. The journey of emotional intelligence hinges on this realization: that healing is not an end state, but a regenerative process.
For those of us cultivating solitude, the fleeting frustration of “being single still” gives way to a miraculous enhancement of self-sufficiency and internal coherence. We are not lost in the struggle, nor are we frantically searching for answers to the Unknowns of the future. The “monsters” of our past—the unresolved traumas and anxieties—are diminished because we have chosen to lean not into our own limited understanding, but into a trust that is larger than what we can currently see.
This is the ultimate clinical insight and spiritual offering: giving up and giving in are rarely the only choices.
Choose bigger. Choose the self you are #becoming. Faith your journey with love, practice being loving, and trust that the love you put forth will organically find its way back to you. The promise of the rainbow—the assurance of soul-level connection—is for those who faithfully show up, gifts in hand, for the ongoing, beautiful work of their own becoming.
By Michelle Tillman, PsychoTherapist/Founder of Transitional Pathways, PLLC
Graced for more💕
August has always felt like a threshold month. The eighth out of twelve, it marks a quiet turning point—a slow descent from summer’s height into something more inward, reflective. The number eight, symbolizing new beginnings and infinite cycles, reminds me that change isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s a whisper, a knowing, a sacred nudge inward.
This August, I’m paying closer attention.
I’m noticing how much I’ve grown through the stillness and the storms. Life, love, and relationships—each carry layers of complexity I continue to unpeel, not just as a therapist, but as a Black woman who holds space for others while learning to hold space for myself. Each interaction becomes an opportunity for reflection and growth, revealing deeper truths about my journey and the interconnectedness of our experiences.
Parenting Through Transitions
Parenting adult children is its own sacred terrain. There’s a constant balancing act between support and surrender, concern and trust. The role shifts from being a protector to a mirror—from telling them what to do, to showing them who I am becoming. And in that, I’m relearning who I am, too. It’s an intricate dance that requires both courage and vulnerability. As I navigate this evolving relationship, I find myself reflecting on the lessons of patience and grace that I wish to impart. There are days I want to gather them like I used to when they were small, encasing them in the warmth of my love and protection. And there are days when I sit quietly, choosing not to fill the silence, letting them figure it out—letting me figure it out. It’s hard. It’s holy. It’s human, a reminder that growth often comes in layers, revealing more of us in the process.
The Inner Work of Love
In love—romantic or otherwise—I’ve stopped striving for clarity at the expense of peace. I’ve learned that deeper connection doesn’t come from figuring someone out but from allowing myself to be fully known, even in uncertainty. Intimacy, for me now, feels less like pursuit and more like permission. The permission to be present, to not shrink, to not pretend I don’t need gentleness. Embracing this vulnerability has deepened my relationships in unexpected ways, fostering a sense of safety and trust that allows us to explore the beautiful complexity of our connections.
I no longer equate urgency with care. Instead, I ask, Can this connection honor my healing pace? That question alone has brought more clarity than some relationships ever could. It’s taught me the power of setting boundaries and recognizing when a relationship fuels my spirit versus when it drains my energy.
Spirit-Led Slow Living
This season, I’ve been deepening my relationship with prayer, meditation, and the quiet art of slowing down. I used to think rest was the reward. Now I know it’s the way. Meditation isn’t always serene. Sometimes it’s tears. Sometimes it’s silence that says, “you’re safe now.” I’ve learned that God often speaks in the pauses between breaths, not just in the outcomes I used to chase. There is a different kind of wisdom that rises when you stop rushing. It invites you to savor life’s moments, to appreciate the beauty in the mundane, and to embrace stillness as a teacher.
In this letting go of haste, I’ve begun to uncover the richness of my inner landscape—thoughts, feelings, dreams—and allowed them to unfold naturally.
Holding Space for Myself
As a therapist, I’ve witnessed transformation in others. But this year, I’ve been asked to be the witness for myself. To name my desires. To grieve what never happened. To celebrate how far I’ve come—even if no one else sees the full stretch. Healing is a personal journey, and each step brings me closer to my authentic self, reminding me that I am not defined by my past, but rather by my resilience.
August reminds me that healing doesn’t have to be complete to be worthy. I can be tender and powerful. Grieving and grateful. Longing and whole. This dance of contradictions is where I find my strength, my joy, and my truth.
To You, Reader:
If you are navigating change—be it in your body, your boundaries, your beliefs—I hope you honor the pauses. I hope you let softness find you. I hope you remember that your pace is not a problem. It’s part of your becoming. Each step along this path is significant, and each moment of reflection is a gift to be cherished.
Let August be an altar. Not to who you used to be, but to the soul you’re still discovering. Embrace this time of introspection, allowing it to guide you into deeper understanding and appreciation of both yourself and the intricate tapestry of life that connects us all.
Always, with grace and truth.
Intimately Worded,
Michelle
@TransitionalPathwaysPLLC
Where healing is sacred and intimacy begins with you.
Favorite Things: Summer Reads—Romance & Poetry Perfect Lip Gloss, Lavender Pens for Love Notes
I’m moving towards safer waters not out of fear but out of love…for myself, for others.
I love my space. I love my love for others. I’m unlearning all consuming love—unlearning the thought, that if I control IT there will not be any room for deep hurt. I am learning not to separate how I love to the way I love. I no longer hold back trying to figure out in which way I will be hurt next. Ahhh, Love.🌻 I still do not know what is the greatest way in sheltering yet I’m loving this space I have carved. My stitches of quiet time include falling in love with poetry once again. When able add, “The Sheltering” to your Readers’ List. I have included the link: https://books2read.com/KhayaRonkainen
I have grown to value time, albeit with grace. Reading a romance novel every now and then reminds me of what love should be, without having my head in the clouds. I enjoyed reading this library find, it was just the right antidote, “The House on Blueberry Lane.” The author included just enough courage and hope to have me sipping wine, praying for rain with each turned page. Snuggling with Koda is an added #Godperk. 🐾
As I age (with grace) —I do not believe I am lacking patience. I know that I do not like my time wasted, that’s with every aspect of life: driving, cooking, fellowship and friendship. In driving, I take the most scenic routes, away from the interstate. I am learning to cook healthier with buying strategically not just for convenience and eating well. I have upped my game with culinary knowledge. I am learning to date with care, my SelfCare. I want someone to be my greatest friend, supportive, dependable and trustworthy. I am expecting more—-without fearing what is next.
What I know: consistency remains one of the simplest forms of love. Consistency creates stability and with stability comes structure and with structure— compassion. And so with hope imagined I’ll turn to words, books, note taking, perfect lip glosses, soul-nurturing, and prayers—-all the things that create this currency of living life possible: choosing Me.
We have every right and reason to shine our lights, to do what is best for us and love our selves with care, truths and all the good things. No longer be afraid of what has happened—live in hope. I am more mindful of what is to come and this soul of mine—well I will always advocate for it’s navigational heart.
Intimately Worded,
Michelle
Have courage, take heart
“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” Psalm 147:3
It started snowing here last night. Snow falling is beautiful. I awake feeling healthy, well-rested. I love the light of the sun and snow. I smile; reflecting on my tasks for the day. I answer a few texts and roll back over to snuggle, rest. I am learning to curb self-doubt, therefore, I am going for more writing opportunities. I have a writing project to edit and review. I need to blog and post/ podcast. Later it is Family time, celebrating Darius’ birthday.
I read the news of Regina King’s son and my heartbreaks. Now, I’m just kind of stuck as a mother, as a woman…my soul is wounded for her, for our children, for humanity. We have our heroes and often we believe them to be untouchable, not perfect…different, untarnished by Life’s woes.
Death is hitting everywhere it seems and often close to home. A friend lost his nephew last week. He told me, “I can’t stop crying.” My patients suffer with the loss of loved ones. Weekly, daily, I hear of death and I’m never comfortable with the trauma of it—be the loss kin or unknown. Grief, significant loss can plummet us and keep us stuck in so many emotional and mental ways. Learn to mourn, to grieve your way. No one gets to time stamp your grief—there’s no right way to do this. We love deep and different. The impact of our love ones hits different. Grief is complex and it will become different. Cry as much as you want or need too. Know that tears are a release, not a weakness, not of failure.
Remember them well. Love does not cease…it carries, moves, heals us toward the unseen and unknown. Keep your Light. You’re not wrong in your love. Continue to love softly. We are all trying to figure this all out. May your days include you caring for your soul. I’m going to bake blueberry muffins, prepare some soup and love on the ones who love me. Time is short; love well.
Intimately Worded with Michelle 
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