Dark Daze + Stormy Nites

In my music library, tucked between the upbeat anthems and the casual background tracks, sits a very specific collection of songs: my CRY playlist. Yes, you read that correctly. A playlist designed specifically to bring on the tears. We live in a world that often tells us to "stay strong" or "keep it together," but I’ve learned that sometimes the weight of life becomes a knot in your chest that you just can't loosen on your own. When I’m sad, overwhelmed, or hurting, and the tears feel stuck behind a wall of numbness, I turn to that playlist. I use those melodies to help move things along—to break the dam and let the healing begin. And given the weight of these past few weeks, I’ve found myself leaning on those songs more than ever. I have other playlists, of course. Some serve as a shield, helping me drown out the chaos of the world around me. But over the years, through all the ups and downs and various forms of therapy I’ve sought, I’ve come to a conclusion: MUSIC IS, WITHOUT A DOUBT, THE BEST MEDICINE!

It’s been incredible to witness a shift in the music industry lately, particularly in the genres I love most. In Christian and Worship music, there is a new, beautiful honesty emerging—songs that don't just offer platitudes, but actually speak to the reality of mental health, anxiety, and the "dark night of the soul." Similarly, Country music has always been rooted in storytelling, and lately, those stories are bravely tackling the struggles of the mind and heart with raw, salt-of-the-earth transparency. It isn’t just about a catchy melody or a good beat; it’s about the lyrics. There are moments when a songwriter will say writing a song or creating an album was the best therapy for them and they captures a feeling so perfectly that it feels like they’ve reached inside your heart and pulled out the words you were too tired to find. It’s the ultimate validation—knowing that the listener isn't alone in their experience.

When I put on my headphones, I’m not just listening; I’m traveling. I imagine myself somewhere else—a sanctuary, a whole new world where the noise of the "bad stuff" fades into the background. It is my escape, my reset button, and my safe harbor. Music does what words alone cannot: it bypasses our logic and speaks directly to our souls. It doesn't ask us to fix ourselves, and it doesn't judge us for our shadows. It simply sits with us in the silence until we’re ready to sing again. So, if you’re carrying a burden today that feels too heavy to name, I encourage you to find your song. Don't be afraid of the "CRY playlist" or the melodies that reach into the deep places. Let the music be your bridge from hurting to healing. After all, the world may be loud, but a song—the right song—can be the peace that finally leads you home.

The Bottom Line: Music is a bridge between the physical and the emotional. It can soothe a nervous system, ignite a tired spirit, and provide a container for emotions that are otherwise too big to hold. So, find your headphones. Let the rhythm talk to you. Sometimes, the most important thing you can do for your mental health is just to turn the volume up.

In today's fast-paced, technology-driven society, one essential skill has gotten lost in the chaos:

LISTENING!

We're constantly distracted by:

Notifications buzzing in our pockets, Social media feeds scrolling endlessly, TVs blaring in the background, Our own thoughts racing like wild horses ( mine sure does! )

But listening is more than just hearing words – it's Absorbing emotions behind the words

- Decoding body language and tone

- Empathizing with the speaker's perspective

- Responding thoughtfully, not reactively

A good ear can be your best friend!

Why is listening so challenging?

❤ Ego dominance: We focus on our own thoughts, interrupting others.

💛 Distractions: Notifications, TVs, and other environmental noise.

💚 Lack of practice: We're not taught listening skills in school or at home.

💙 Anxiety or stress: We're preoccupied with our own worries.

What happens when we don't listen? Relationships suffer: Misunderstandings, conflicts, and hurt feelings.

Mental health declines: Anxiety, depression, and loneliness increase because no one listens and we feel like no one cares. ( How I feel sometimes )

Trust erodes. People with mental health issues feel unheard, unseen, and unvalued because no one listens. They hear the person speak but are they TRULY listening?

How can we cultivate better listening habits?

❤ Practice mindfulness: Focus on the present moment.

💛 Set aside distractions: Turn off ALL ELECTRONICS ( INCLUDING PHONES ) and find quiet spaces.

💚 Use active listening techniques: Maintain eye contact, nod, and paraphrase.

💙 Ask open-ended questions: Encourage sharing and exploration.

💜 Embrace silence: Allow pauses in conversation for reflection.

By listening deeply, we can Heal relationships, Foster empathy, understanding, and love, Improve mental health: Reduce anxiety, depression, and stress, Boost productivity: Enhance collaboration, creativity, and efficiency. Build trust: Show others they're valued, heard, and seen.

REMEMBER: Listening is a bridge. It connects us to others, reducing the sting of the human experience. But like any bridge, it needs maintenance. By listening more intentionally to others—and just as importantly, to ourselves—we can turn this simple daily action into a powerful tool for wellness.

It breathes beneath the floorboard cracks,

A shadow pinned to tired backs,

A silent weight that holds the tongue,

Where all the sharpest words are hung.

It is the ghost that knows the room,

The weaver humming in the loom,

Spinning threads of gray and gold

Into a story never told.

It sits within the hollow chest,

A bird that refuses to leave the nest,

With feathers made of heavy lead,

And ink that stains the dreams in bed.

It whispers when the streetlights fail,

A ghost-white, shivering, thin-spun tale

Of choices made in pale moonlight,

Before they vanished from the sight.

We build our houses, brick by stone,

To keep the secret all alone,

We paint the doors a cheerful blue,

And hide the cracks from public view.

We laugh at jokes that aren’t quite funny,

And trade our peace for tainted money,

While underneath, the secret grows,

Feeding on all that no one knows.

Is it a shame? Or just a scar?

A hitching post, a fallen star?

Perhaps it’s just the salt and grit

Of holding on to segments knit—

Bits of the self we locked away

To survive the turning of the day.

But secrets are hungry, wild things,

They dream of clouds and silver wings.

So let the floorboards creak and groan,

Let the seed of truth be sown;

For secrets kept are heavy chains,

Dragging through the autumn rains.

But secrets spoken? They turn to dew,

Vanishing in the morning’s view,

Dissolving in the rising light,

The other day, I went to the store and saw a rather large woman. She was covered in tattoos and dressed… Comfortably, let's just say. Later that day, when we got home, a family member, who was with me, had to complain about it, like it offended them. I know that feeling of being judged. But I also know how it feels to be the one who judges. I have been down that road. We all have - pointing fingers, casting stones, and judging hearts, adding Assumptions about people because of what we see instead of what we know. But Jesus warns us:

🌷 Do not judge, or you too will be judged.

🌷 For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged.

Why do we judge?

❤ Fear of what we don't understand

💛 Insecurity about our own flaws

💚 Ignorance of others' struggles

💙 Past hurts – projecting our pain onto others

💜 Social media – comparing highlight reels to our behind-the-scenes

Judgment leads to:

❤ Division – us vs. them mentality

💛 Pain – hurting others with our words and actions

💚 Karma – receiving the same judgment we give

💙 Missed opportunities – for love, friendship, and growth

What if instead, we:

💜 Loved without condition

❤ Accepted without understanding

💛 Embraced our differences

💚 Focused on our own journeys

So before you judge that book by its cover, take the time to read it! Yes, I said READ IT! Get to know the book, and it's character. You might be surprised by what you learn about it.

We've all heard the phrase "home is where the heart is" – implying our childhood home should be a sanctuary of love, acceptance, and warmth. But for many of us, including myself and several friends, home feels like:

* A battlefield of constant criticism

* A prison of suffocating expectations

* A war zone of Judgement

What makes a bad parent? Is it:

* Constant belittling and name-calling?

* Unreasonable expectations and pressure to be perfect?

* Emotional, physical, or verbal abuse?

* Neglect – emotional or physical?

For me, it's the constant comments about my weight. My mom's words have become a familiar echo:

* "You'd be pretty if you lost weight."

* "The scale must be wrong, you look heavier."

* “ you should try harder at losing weight “

These words have carved deep scars – making me question my self-worth, beauty, and even my sanity at times.

Growing up with bad parents can lead to:

* Low self-esteem and confidence

* Anxiety, depression, and other mental health issues

* Difficulty trusting others or forming healthy relationships

* Self-doubt and fear of failure

We often hear " your parents did the best they could " – but what if their best wasn't good enough? What if their best was actually harmful?

Some of us have to live with our parents due to unfortunate circumstances and are left with:

* No escape from the toxic environment – forced to endure the abuse daily.

* Limited financial resources to move out – trapped until adulthood or independence.

* Emotional blackmail – "if you leave, you're ungrateful" or "you'll ruin the family."

* Nowhere else to go – no other family members or friends to turn to.

so, Parents if you are reading this, BE KIND TO YOUR KIDS! Let them be who they want to be! Because one day, one fine day, you will end up being the kid yourself and we will have to take care of you! 

The scale – a simple object for some, a trigger for anxiety in me. Its presence taunts me, a constant reminder of my mom's comments:

Every time I step on it, I hear her voice: 

  - " You'd feel so much better, if you lost weight."

  - “ The scale must be wrong, you look heavier." (those exact words cut deepest)

  - " Get out and walk more, then you'll lose weight. “

  As if denying the number would change my body or her perception of it. Every word cut deep, making the scale my arch-nemesis. I'd step on it, hoping the number would be lower, only to feel defeated when it wasn't. My weight defined me – or so I thought.

The scale's grip on my mental health was suffocating, A part of me just wants to take the stupid thing and throw it across the room. 

Anxiety crept in every time I thought about weighing myself – my heart racing, palms sweating. Self-doubt whispered "you're not good enough" with every higher number – eroding my confidence.

* Fear of judgment from my mom and others held me hostage – making me question my worth. I've tried to avoid the scale, but its presence looms. At home, where my mom would casually mention weighing myself.

At the doctor's office, where the number would dictate my health. In my mind, where the obsession with weight consumed my thoughts. But the scale isn't my only enemy now – food has become one too. I've reached a breaking point. I feel guilty eating anything – even healthy foods like fruits and veggies.

I've never been formally diagnosed with an eating disorder, but I'm convinced I have one.

All thanks to my mom – the one person who should love me unconditionally, without ever mentioning my weight. Her words have become my inner dialogue – a constant critic judging my every bite. Sometimes when we're at the dinner table, she'd give me dirty looks when I asked for seconds. I'm trapped in a prison of guilt and shame, with no escape from the scale's grasp or her shaming.

I've always believed words are like bullets – my mouth is the gun, and what I speak are the bullets that can either heal or hurt. This analogy has guided me throughout life, reminding me of the power language holds.

Science proves my theory:

❤ Stanford University found harsh words increase stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline, while kind words lower stress and boost oxytocin – the love hormone.

💛 Harvard Business Review discovered negative words reduce productivity by 30% and increase anxiety, whereas positive words increase productivity by 31% and boost creativity.

💚 Simply hearing kind words activates brain regions associated with pleasure and reward, while harsh words activate those linked to pain and stress (NeuroImage).

My own life has been a battlefield of words – some lifted me up, while others cut deep, and those words planted seeds of self-doubt. Someone once told me that if you hear something over and over, you begin to believe it.

Words have the power to:

❤ Heal a broken heart with kindness and compassion

💛 Destroy self-esteem with cruelty and malice

💚 Inspire hope and courage in the face of adversity

💙 Discourage dreams and aspirations with negativity

But I've learned that words have the power to transform lives. So, I choose my bullets wisely – speaking kindness, compassion, and love. When I speak, I aim to:

💪 Lift others up with encouragement

🙏🏼 Offer hope through positive affirmations

🙌 Foster a sense of community with inclusive language

💜 Promote self-love and acceptance with gentle words.

So, Please choose your words wisely!

Why is everyone so obsessed with weight and looks?! 

It's a question I've asked myself countless times – especially when comments about my appearance felt like a never-ending storm and it still is. 

For me, it started with my mom. Her eyes would linger on my face, particularly my chin – 'You'd feel much better if you lose some weight ‘ or ‘ your face wouldn't be so round.' My arms weren't exempt either – ' they are are bigger than the last time I saw them.' And she sees me every day! Her words chiseled away my confidence, leaving scars that still linger.

As a child, I was always the bigger kid.I was a fat baby, fat kid and now at 45, a fat grown up. – you would think she would get used to the idea of having a fat kid. I'm aware of my body – how it moves, what it looks like, and what others thought of it. I see it every time I look in the mirror.

My mom's comments, though, took it to another level – She used to tell me and my siblings that if you hear it enough you will start to believe it. Boy, isn't that the f***ing trurh!

I constantly hear her voice putting me down. I have reached a point where The scale became my enemy – a reminder of my failures. I'd step on it, hoping the number would be lower, only to feel defeated when it wasn't. My weight defined me, or so I thought. 

But something shifted inside me – a spark of self-love ignited. I realized my worth wasn't measured by a number; it was measured by my heart, my kindness, and my strength. That God created me, and He loves me no matter what size. My journey to acceptance hasn't been easy – there are still days when the old voices creep in. But I'm learning to silence them with truth: My body is a temple, a home for my soul. It's strong, capable, and beautiful – flaws and all.

"Manipulation poisons, doubt sickens, truth heals. I'm the fire rising above distorted mirrors – truth remains."

***

I've been called crazy, delusional, and a liar – by people I trusted. This week has been a never-ending storm of gaslighting and manipulation.

It started with a truth I witnessed, a wrong I saw with my own eyes. But when I spoke up, the gaslighter denied, distorted, and shifted blame. I was told I was out of my mind, that my sanity was questionable. But that wasn't enough – the gaslighter convinced others of their lies, turning them against me. I became the villain, the bad guy in a story I didn't write. The truth was lost in translation, and I was heart broken, knowing I told the truth and yet was left being the bad guy. And as if that wasn't enough there's the constant barrage of body image attacks, told by someone who's supposed to love me know matter what – being told I'm heavier than I am, that the scale lies, that my worth is measured by my weight. Newsflash: Its no one's beeswax how much someone weighs. And I honestly wish the Dr offices would stop weighing you, unless they are a Dr that specializes in weight.

This week has taught me that gaslighting is a poison that seeps into every pore of your being. It's a manipulation of truth, a distortion of reality. It has become so common that Drs ought to concentrate on that and diagnose anyone who is a manipulative narcissist a Gaslighter. I'm not crazy. I know what I saw, what I heard. I know how hard it is to lose weight and have people judge you bc of it. I am not perfect by any means. I make mistakes, but make no mistake, I know what I know, I saw what I saw. And I will go to my grave knowing that.

"Life begins on the other side of despair." – Jean-Paul Sartre

Hi, I'm Adelaide, a survivor of life's storms and a believer in hope. I created this sanctuary to share my journey with mental health – the dark days and stormy notes and the lessons learned.

Growing up, I faced challenges that shaped me into the person I am today. My passion for mental health awareness sparked after a personal experience with gaslighting that left me reeling.

On this blog, I'll share my story, insights, and hope. If you're struggling, know you're not alone. Let's navigate the darkness together and find the light within.

💜ALW