In dating and intimacy, we’re often taught to look for surface-level markers of “worthiness” — titles, income, lifestyle, social status. But the deeper truth is this:
A person can look impressive and still live in quiet chaos.
And the more mature version of you doesn’t need to investigate someone’s outer life to understand their inner world.
You don’t have to figure out how much someone makes to know whether they are emotionally whole.
What matters more are quieter, more honest questions:
Is their life stable — emotionally, spiritually, relationally?
Does their story match their choices?
Do you feel safe, calm, and clear in their presence — or confused, tense, and unsettled?
These questions don’t come from judgment.
They come from wisdom.
You’re not “too sensitive.”
You’re perceptive.
When something feels off, it isn’t an accusation.
It’s information.
Your body notices before your mind catches up.
Your spirit recognizes misalignment long before you can explain it.
And trusting yourself doesn’t make you cynical — it makes you grounded.
Quiet clarity is powerful.
You don’t have to argue with your instincts.
You don’t have to convince yourself to stay curious about red flags.
You don’t have to silence your nervous system to be “open-minded.”
You are allowed to listen to the discomfort.
You are allowed to honor the pause.
You are allowed to choose peace over potential.
Emotional intelligence in love looks like this:
Peace without performance.
Consistency without chasing.
Safety without forcing.
And spiritual maturity shows up as discernment — not paranoia.
You are not rejecting people.
You are protecting your peace.
And that is holy.
I pray this Sunday you focused on what you need and that you know that your wants (no matter how big) are divinely aligned. May peace be your stand and hope your anchor. You are worth your healing work. 💕
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
#SuperSundays: I used a gift card I won through a health app and treated myself to Starbucks this morning. I walked in, minding my business, and they handed me a free Red Cup for being a regular coffee consumer. A small, unexpected kindness. A wink from God. #WinWin 🤓
The Tribe… they were all here this weekend.
• Autumn fussed about my eating—and my not eating—habits. 🥰 A full Tillman. When she “moms” me, I hear Pearlie Mae, Val, and Keyna speaking through her. Healing comes full circle when our children carry the tone of the women who shaped us.
• Brutus texted a whole list of demands… while at work. 🧐🤷🏽♀️
• Darius seeking Umi duties. 🥰 His way of staying close.
• Damien, the big brother who shows up—not loudly, but faithfully. 💛 His presence always lifts me.
Damien and I spent Saturday together—shopping, movies, dinner. I drove him around for a bit. We got home and he immediately started dressing to go out again. I fussed because truly… he only comes to see his barber and his brother.
Him: “I’ve been with you all day.”
🤷🏽♀️🧐🙄
#FirstBornJiltsTheHeart
There’s a sacred sweetness in this stage of life—grown children finding their own paths but still circling back home in their unique ways. Their presence reminds me that love doesn’t leave; it shifts, expands, and deepens. Even the fussing is a kind of prayer.
Pair all of that with one spoiled pup and I feel surrounded by a living testimony of God’s goodness. 🌿🧡🌿 I’m leaning into these new chapters, not just gracefully—but spiritually aware.
🍂 Fall is here again. My favorite.
NC weather gave us every season this week:
🌦️☔️🌬️❄️☀️
But today is calm, bright, and warm in that gentle, soul-softening way.
This morning was #CoffeeAndQuiet and #PrayersAndSage.
A settling. A centering.
A reminder of Psalm 46:10 —
“Be still, and know that I am God.”
Stillness is not the absence of movement; it is the presence of awareness. It is choosing to pause long enough to hear what your spirit has been whispering all week.
Today, I’m reminded:
Healing isn’t optional; it’s required.
And it often begins in these small, ordinary, holy moments—
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.
I am deeply thankful for God’s grace and His provision.
And in that quietness, I find myself weeping in gratitude. Smiling in reverence. Standing still in awe. God’s grace shows up again and again, sometimes wrapped in joy, sometimes in the hard beauty of becoming. His provision meets me—not always in the ways I expected, but always in the ways I needed.
I’m learning not just to remember, but to remain—in peace, in presence, in gratitude.
Spiritual Safety in Grief
Grief, is a whole something else, entirely– with the loss of my father, can indeed leave us feeling untethered, almost floating, unanchored. This sense of being “lost and free, numb and unable” speaks to the spiritual disequilibrium that can accompany deep loss. When our foundational relationships, like the one with a parent, are altered, it can feel as if a protective covering has been lifted, leaving us exposed in ways we hadn’t anticipated.
It is incredible how life’s most treasured moments can pass by in the blink of an eye. Recently, I’ve been making a conscious effort to slow things down, to truly embrace and cherish each moment. My memories unfold in slow motion, allowing me to savor them fully. I find myself smiling, shedding tears, and feeling profound gratitude for God’s grace and His continuous provision.
In these moments of profound vulnerability, cultivating spiritual safety becomes paramount. It’s about recognizing that while earthly anchors may shift, there’s a divine tether that remains. This doesn’t mean bypassing the pain or pretending it doesn’t exist. Instead, it’s about acknowledging the hurt while actively seeking the comfort and stability that spiritual connection can offer.
My youngest son is 18, a high school graduate, gym rat, and a mental health advocate who is truly walking in his path with empathy and compassion. His friends have their own Bible Study and have given their friendship circle the title of “Council.”
I am entering what I believe to be one of the greatest relationships of my life…at 54. It’s hitting differently and often feels unfamiliar and fearful. I am in my 50s and dating. Menopause. Diabetes. Dating. My Light, this soft era. None of this is bad; the dating experience is questionable and rather humorous—courageously so. What I know is that it is something worth growing into; it is what my whole soul has craved. Furthermore, it is truly what my father advised me it would be. I was 23 when he told me what qualities to look for in a man, the man for me. I argued that I wouldn’t ever get married; my father passed away the next day.
This Father’s Day was different than most. It was quiet, filled with grief, and I experienced the loss of him with deeper sadness and more love. #Grateful His impact on my life carries me. I transitioned from being protected and covered to a different type of sheltering. He was my anchor, my fallback. It’s hard to navigate this life without a father. Our selves become untethered, almost floating and unanchored. Lost and free. Numb and unable.
Where would I be, truly, if God didn’t redirect his heart? I’m an adopted child, a loved daughter and at times I truly believe a cherished sibling. Family is our first love…be it what it is or what it was. ❤️🩹
There are not too many people I share my heart with; I believe that to be a good thing. I am sharing how off kilter I have been lately with my sister-friend. Her presence in my life is actionable, tangible. My friend, my Wizard Sister said to me, “We lived for so long in isolation in so many ways…individual traumas, collective traumas and now we’re all in the early stages of reconnection getting triggered left and right (zero pun intended and…) We hurt in relationships and we heal in relationships. I am praying for your healing, sister.” @borninprovidence 🌿
I breathe. She’s right. Foolishly yet with wisdom—thinking I thought I was healed enough; just enough. I have been doing the work, my soul work for the longest. It would seem that falling into something safe and prayed for would be simple, easier, refreshing… my heart yearns for soft, softer a forever landing.
I encourage you to not only look up in wonderment yet learn to count the stars. Scripture Psalms 147:4 states, “He determines the number of the stars and calls them each by name.”
God’s infinite wisdom and limitless love continues to pull all of this together and not as haphazardly as we believe. Trust that purpose and pain is not the great divide we experience, yet somehow it bridges what has to happen. Love better. Love anyway. Do it because you can; you are ready.
Lately, I’ve been waking up at 4:15 a.m., not out of discipline but out of something deeper—an ache, a pull, a knowing. Maybe you’ve felt it too. That quiet nudge that whispers, You were made for more. Not in the loud, hustle culture kind of way, but in a way that sits in your chest, pressing down until you acknowledge it.
March felt like a run-through, like a practice round where I was trying to catch up with myself. Days moved fast, responsibilities stacked up, and I was just going through the motions. And now, April has arrived, and I find myself waiting—waiting for the weight of something real, something undeniable. The heaviness of stepping fully into what I know I’m meant to be.
But here’s the thing about more: it’s not always about doing more. Sometimes, it’s about softening. Peeling back the layers of overperformance, of proving, of moving so fast you don’t even feel your own life. Maybe more looks like stillness. Maybe it’s the kind of work that happens in the quiet moments before the world wakes up—before emails, before expectations.
If you’ve been feeling it too, this in-between space, this waiting, know that it’s not empty. It’s not wasted. You are being prepared, strengthened, softened in ways you can’t even see yet. So, keep waking up. Keep listening. Keep allowing yourself to move toward the life that’s been calling you. Because you were made for more. And you already know it.
Intimately Worded with Michelle 
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