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.
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.
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.
#NewThings: Embracing the newness of things. Learning to let our light shine after dark times and during the difficult moments. Learning how to want the better while unlearning the hurt of our wounds. Healing is not a measurement of how good things are going in your present.
Trust yourSelf more with each decision you’ve made to be where you are. Love comes and how it flows for you is the healing process. We’re always evolving…our healing is a journey. Level up with grace. God is intimately intentional.
I’m still moving within my goal word for this year: trusting mySelf. Try your best not to minimize any parts of your life. You are worthy of your work—even when it is difficult.
Growth and healing will continue to be a hard process. Grief, loss is seemingly consistent; often it brings and leaves us in places unfamiliar. Do not lose your way in fearing what’s next. Learn to be, with love.
I am reminded of the gentleness and generosity of #God. Grief does not miss anyone. We lose our love Ones. We want something entirely different than this type of loss. Although as painful as it is, grief and healing is not about forgetfulness or any particular destination. I encourage you to see yourSelf, to allow healing into those hidden places and within your prayers. Do not minimize where you are…you’re worthy of healing and of love. I pray your day leads you to nurturing and replenishing your soul. You’re worth of your journey.
This work week has been a tremendous time of grief and loss —staying present with others as I proactively listen and assist them in their grieving process is challenging; in reflection, it does my heart well.
“As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being.”Karl Jung, psychiatrist
Take care to take care of you. Do those things that comfort your soul. I see you. I love 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
Intimately Worded with Michelle 
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