Kaye Between the Lines

It’s strange seeing someone talk about “slow drifting.”

They talk like it just naturally happened to everyone, but you know it didn’t. You saw the whole thing happening clearly, everything unfold right in front of you.

I saw a post saying some connections end quietly. No fights. No big fallout. Just different energy. And sure, that happens. But in this case, the story didn’t really match what I actually lived.

I was there. I saw how it unfolded.

We somehow reunited, and it felt like things were finding their way back. The laughs, the usual chaos, the familiar feel of it all. It gave me hope that maybe the vibe was returning. But right after that, the pulling away started.

Plans were declined. Group hangouts were always a no. Then one day, he stepped away from everything. No explanation. Just poof, gone again. And while we know he didn’t owe us a full breakdown of his choices, seeing him as someone we truly valued made us feel we at least deserved a little clarity.

So when I read about “trying to bring back the old vibe,” I couldn’t help but smile a little, because whatever effort there was felt small and almost half hearted. It never really felt like an attempt to reconnect. In the end, it was simply a choice to step away. And that’s not bitterness. That’s just the reality we accepted.

But here’s the thing: I was truly hurt, but I’m really not mad.

People move differently. They outgrow spaces. They find new circles that make sense for where they are now. And that’s completely okay. That’s life happening the way it’s meant to.

What caught us off guard wasn’t the change itself, but the quiet way it happened. We never expected him to stay forever. We understand that people grow and priorities shift. We just hoped for a bit of honesty… maybe a simple, “hey, things are changing for me lately.” That small openness would have gone a long way.

I wish he knew we weren’t asking for anything heavy or lifelong. Just honesty. A gentle heads up. A little effort to keep things real. That’s all.

The old vibe didn’t disappear on its own. It faded because he stopped showing up.

October 25, 2025 : Halloween Party, Concrete Escape, Tagaytay City, PH

What I didn’t expect was this: while that space was being emptied, life was already preparing the next chapter. A pair of new people came in and instantly blended with us. No pressure, no guessing, no drama. The vibe was effortless. Light. As if we had been waiting for the right pieces to fall into place.

It’s funny how life works. Someone drifts out, and suddenly there’s room for people who genuinely match your energy. Who bring joy, ease, and connection without needing explanations or effort. People who show up, lift the vibe, and just fit.

Connections don’t always end dramatically. Sometimes they fade quietly.

And sometimes they’re replaced by something even better — naturally, effortlessly, and in a way that reminds you how resilient and full life can be.

No anger. Just a quiet, honest heart,

You Deserve What You Tolerate

Let’s be honest. Betrayal in a relationship is one of the hardest pills to swallow. But what’s even harder to accept is the idea that sometimes, we teach people how to treat us by what we allow. That’s where the uncomfortable truth comes in: you deserve what you tolerate.

This isn’t about pointing fingers or assigning blame. It’s about reclaiming your power by drawing the boundaries that protect your peace.

Cheating Is a Choice, Not a Slip-Up

When someone chooses to cheat, they are making a conscious decision to disrespect the relationship. It is not a moment of weakness. It is a reflection of their values. They are not just breaking trust. They are showing you exactly how much they value your love, your loyalty, and your time. And if you let it slide, even once, you are silently telling them, “This is okay. You can do this again.”

That is not being kind. That is being compromised.

But here is the thing. You are not powerless. You get to decide what love looks like for you. And if betrayal is part of the package, it is time to return it to sender.

Love Should Feel Safe, Not Suspicious

We all want to be understanding, to give people the benefit of the doubt, to believe in second chances. But understanding should never come at the cost of self-respect. You deserve a relationship built on honesty, loyalty, and mutual care—not one that leaves you questioning your worth.

If you tolerate lies, you’ll live in confusion.

If you tolerate disrespect, you’ll lose self-respect.

If you tolerate cheating, you’ll keep getting cheated.

Walking Away Is Strength, Not Bitterness

Choosing to leave a relationship after betrayal is not weakness. It is wisdom. It is the decision to prioritize your peace over someone else’s excuses. It is the moment you stop settling and start healing.

Walking away does not mean you are bitter. It means you are brave enough to choose yourself. It means you know your worth and you refuse to settle for someone who does not.

So, if you are in that situation right now, here is your reminder. You are not dramatic. You are not overreacting. You are not asking for too much. You are simply asking for basic emotional safety and respect—and that is something everyone deserves.

Raise Your Standards, Not Your Tolerance

The moment you stop tolerating what hurts you is the moment you start attracting what honors you. You’ll attract better. You’ll feel lighter, clearer, and more in control. You’ll stop surviving and start thriving.

So, if you’ve ever found yourself justifying someone’s betrayal, take a breath and ask yourself:

What am I tolerating that’s keeping me stuck?

What would change if I chose myself instead?

Because in the end, you deserve love that’s loyal, not love that needs constant forgiveness.

Healing starts with one brave decision. Make it yours,

For the longest time, I struggled with feeling like I had to shrink myself just to keep the peace. To be quiet instead of honest. To endure instead of express. But I’ve outgrown that version of me. Setting emotional boundaries doesn’t mean I’m being “too much” or overly sensitive, it means I’ve taken the time to understand what drains me, what disrespects me, and what I simply can’t tolerate anymore. It means I’ve learned how to protect my peace even if it makes others uncomfortable. I’m not here to argue every time I speak up. This isn’t about control or confrontation, it’s about wanting to feel safe, heard, and respected in the spaces and relationships I’m part of. And truly, that’s not asking for a lot. That’s the bare minimum. If something makes me uncomfortable, I’m going to say it. Not to start a fight, but to honor myself. If you care, you’ll take the time to listen. If you don’t, then that already tells me everything I need to know.

It’s funny, isn’t it? How some connections are brushed off as “harmless” even when there’s a history, a context, a gut feeling that says otherwise. Some things just don’t sit right and that’s not insecurity talking. That’s intuition. And I’ve learned to stop ignoring mine. Some wounds don’t reopen because I’m weak, they reopen when someone I trusted acts like those wounds were never there to begin with. When they walk carelessly through the spaces where I’ve clearly said, “Please be gentle here.” I’m not asking for perfection. I’m not asking to control anyone’s behavior. I’m simply asking for awareness, for respect. For the kind of love that remembers what hurt… and chooses not to repeat it.

This is what emotional maturity looks like. Not walking away from hard conversations but knowing when your voice deserves more than to be constantly dismissed. Not needing others to agree with your boundaries, just needing them to be honored. At the end of the day, I’m not demanding anything extravagant, I’m just asking for what every person deserves. To be treated with care, with kindness, and with consistency. Because when it comes down to it, the bare minimum isn’t too much to ask. It’s what should’ve been there all along.

If you’ve ever been told you’re “too much” for standing up for yourself, this is your reminder that you’re not. You’re not too loud for speaking your truth. You’re not too sensitive for wanting to feel safe, and you’re definitely not asking for too much by expecting the bare minimum.

Keep your standards. Keep your boundaries. And most importantly, keep your peace.

No longer apologizing for having needs,

Kaye

I had originally planned to spend my birthday in Taiwan. We had gone there just a few months ago. Me, my friends, and my boyfriend. The trip left something lingering in my heart. It felt natural to want to return. Familiar. Safe in a different way. But as the day approached, I realized what I needed wasn’t to go back to somewhere I had just been. What I needed was to be held by something that already knows me. So instead, I chose Boracay.

This place has always been special to me. It’s where my boyfriend and I typically go to celebrate our anniversaries. A quiet, sun-soaked tradition we never really planned, but always come back to. It’s become a place where my shoulders drop. Where the noise fades. Where I feel most myself, even when I’m not quite sure who that is yet. Because truthfully? This year, I turned 33 and I still don’t have it all figured out. I’m still uncertain. Still asking big questions. Still carrying small fears and unfinished thoughts about where I’m going, what I want, and whether I’m getting any closer to it.

But this birthday didn’t demand answers. It just asked me to be here. And I was.

We kept it slow. Beach walks. Cloud-watching. Dips in the ocean. Conversations that started and stopped, drifting from thought to thought. Sand, and salty skin. The kind of trip that doesn’t need a highlight reel because the quiet moments already say enough. It wasn’t a grand celebration. But it was real. Present. And maybe that’s what I’ve been craving more than anything lately, to feel at peace, even if just for a little while.

I don’t know what 33 will bring. Maybe more questions. Maybe some clarity. Maybe both. But I’m learning that it’s okay to still be unsure. To celebrate life in the middle of the figuring-it-out. To choose softness, even when the world tells you to hustle.

So here’s to 33 — To the quiet birthdays. To the places that feel like home. And to being okay with not having it all together.

Happy birthday to me. I’m still becoming. And that’s more than enough.

With love and light,

Kaye 🌺

Some of my Sonny Angel Collection and Matcha Stash 😍

Hi there ~

If you’ve found your way here, welcome to this little pocket of calm where the pace slows down, matcha is always on hand, and happiness often comes wrapped in foil and surprise.

I’ve always found meaning in the in-betweens — the unhurried pauses between busy hours, the unexpected depth of late-night conversations with friends, and the tiny rituals that give shape and softness to everyday life.

These days, one of my favorite rituals is making iced matcha lattes. Not just for me, but for my other half too. It’s our end-of-day anchor: matcha, clinking glasses, and quiet debriefs. We sit, sip, and breathe. Honestly? That gentle routine is the highlight of my day.

It’s the quiet kind of love. The kind that catches you mid-breath and says, “You’re safe here.”

Outside of that quiet, you’ll likely find me surrounded by friends. Usually in the middle of a chaotic board game session, where the rules are blurry but the laughter is real. Those long, no-agenda hangouts that stretch past midnight? That’s my kind of magic.

And yes, I collect blind box figures. Mostly Sonny Angels and Mofusand. There’s something about the randomness, the reveal, that moment of anticipation… it never stops being delightful. It’s a dose of instant joy. Like childhood, but with better lighting and your own apartment.

A little chaos. A lot of cute. More serotonin than expected.

So, if you’re someone who finds comfort in small moments and thoughtful rituals, thinks iced matcha should be a love language, and values friendships built on both ridiculous games and real conversations:

Hi. I think we’d get along just fine.

Let’s swap blind box pulls sometime. Or better yet, just sit down for a good drink and a better chat.

☁️💫 Here’s to finding joy in the little things one cup, one figure, one soul-softening night at a time,

If you’re here reading this, maybe you’ve also found yourself quietly sitting with this question: Am I ready to get married? Or do I just want to be?

It’s strange, isn’t it? How something we’ve seen in movies, daydreamed about as kids, or watched happen to friends can start to feel like a personal pressure. Like a milestone we're supposed to reach and yet, when it comes close enough to touch, suddenly we’re not so sure anymore.

For me, it’s not that I don’t believe in love or commitment. I do. Deeply. I have love in my life. A good kind. The kind where you feel safe debriefing about your day while sipping iced coffee. The kind where you laugh at little things, grow slowly, hold space when things feel heavy.

And still, the question hangs: Is that enough to say yes to forever?

Some days, I feel like I’m ready. I think about the ring, the vows, the home we’d build. I imagine us in our own rhythm, folding laundry together, deciding what's for dinner, choosing curtains and arguing playfully about how many mugs one person actually needs (spoiler: it’s always more).

Other days, I freeze. The weight of “forever” feels overwhelming. What if I’m not who I need to be yet? What if we still have things to learn apart? What if this version of me isn’t fully done growing?

And then there are the days when I quietly notice that… maybe you’re not ready either.

Maybe you're not showing signs that you want it soon — or at all. Maybe you're still figuring it out too but not saying it out loud. And instead of feeling closer, that silence makes me feel like I’m the only one wondering. The only one wanting. The only one unsure in a different kind of way.

And then there’s this sneaky thought: Maybe I just want it to happen already.

Maybe I want to skip the overthinking and the what-ifs. Maybe I want the security, the validation, the label that says “yes, this is real and serious and permanent.” Because sometimes love feels realer when you can put a word like married on it.

But here’s the truth I’m learning: Not being sure doesn't mean I don't love.

It means I care enough to be honest. It means I’m brave enough to ask the questions, not just follow the script.

So, if you’re in this in-between place too, not sure if you’re ready, unsure if they are either, know you’re not alone. You’re not behind. You’re not broken. You're just human.

And maybe the answer isn’t “yes” or “no” right now.

Maybe it’s just “not yet,” or “still thinking,” or “I love you, and I’m figuring it out.”

And that’s okay.

🌿

Celebrating our 11th anniversary here in Boracay. No wedding bells yet, just beach waves, inside jokes, and a love still under construction,

Kaye

It’s wild how often we pour everything we have into someone else. Showing up, giving time, making space, bending over backwards. And somewhere in all of that, we lose track of who we even are.

We over commit to people, to roles, to the versions of ourselves that made sense back then. We chase expectations and timelines that don’t actually belong to us. And in the process, we under commit to figuring out who we really are now.

It's no wonder we sometimes wake up feeling lost, disconnected, and unsure—whether it's an identity crisis, burnout, or just growing pains.

Whatever it is, it’s a sign to pause and reflect.

This isn't about giving up on people or becoming selfish or walking away from everything. It’s about realizing that maybe you’ve been living a version of life that isn’t yours anymore. Maybe you’ve been performing instead of living.

And perhaps it’s time to finally choose you.

Even if you’re still figuring out who that is.

Even if you feel like a stranger to yourself right now.

Even if it’s messy and slow and doesn’t make sense to anyone else.

You don’t have to stay stuck in a version of life that no longer fits. You’re allowed to ask the hard questions. You’re allowed to outgrow people, places, and versions of yourself. You’re allowed to become someone new.

You don’t need to be perfect. You don’t need to be what they expect.

Just be better for you.

Better at trusting your own voice.

Better at standing by what you feel.

Better than who you were yesterday.

Better at choosing yourself, without fear or guilt.

This is your life. Own it.

Because it matters.

Because you matter.

✨ Especially when you’re unsure, start choosing you. 🌱

You’ve got this,

Kaye

When we started Illustrious Manila, it was just an idea. A spark. A “What if?” I wasn’t even sure I had it in me to bring it to life—until he looked at me and said, “Try mo lang. Let’s join a bazaar. See what happens.”

That little push changed everything.

Since then, we’ve joined bazaars from north to south. We’ve loaded up during sunrise, stayed on our feet all day, and packed down long after everyone’s gone. From days of big wins to moments where we barely made anything, we showed up anyway. Because this business was never just about sales. It was about building something from scratch. Something ours.

And for that, I’m deeply grateful.

Grateful for the journey. For every lesson, every risk we took, every person who supported us along the way. And most of all, grateful for Pipay and Rob.

Thank you for believing in me when I wasn’t sure I could do it. For carrying the heavy stuff (literally and figuratively). For being there through all the behind-the-scenes work no one sees.

This business grew because you both stood beside me when I was still doubting myself.

We're still learning, still hustling, but we’re here.

And we did this. Together.

From one bazaar to the next,

@illustrious.mnl

I kinda want to give up.

Not in the loud, dramatic way people imagine, but in the quiet, bone deep exhaustion kind of way.

The kind where you’ve done everything you can, and yet it still feels like you’re not enough.

It’s tiring, always trying to be something for someone. Always striving to prove you’re worthy, capable, lovable.

And maybe it’s not even about them anymore. Maybe you just don’t know who you are without the constant hustle for validation.

Some days, it feels like you’re shouting into a void, hoping someone hears you. Sees you. Gets it.

But all you get back is silence. Or worse, criticism masked as care.

And it makes you wonder: What’s the point of trying so hard, when it never seems to be enough?

But if you’re reading this, and you feel that same ache, I want you to know something.

You were never meant to live your life proving your worth.

You already are enough, even in your tiredness, your confusion, your messy in-betweens.

You don’t need to break just to deserve a break.

Sometimes, choosing not to prove anything is the bravest thing you can do.

To simply be. To breathe. To exist on your own terms, not just in reaction to other people’s expectations.

You don’t have to burn yourself out just to light the way for others.

Take the break.

Let go of the pressure.

Rest in the truth that your value isn’t up for debate.

You’re not giving up, you’re just giving yourself back.

From someone who gets it,

Why do people argue about love?

Isn’t love supposed to be the thing that brings us closer, not tear us apart?

Love, in its purest form, is meant to unite. It’s the quiet comfort of being seen and accepted, the warmth of knowing someone’s got your back no matter what. But love isn’t just about the good days and the easy moments. It’s messy. It’s layered. And often, it’s tied up with expectations, fears, and unspoken desires.

People argue about love because we care so deeply about it. Love exposes our softest parts. It makes us vulnerable, and with that vulnerability comes fear—fear of losing it, fear of not being enough, fear of being misunderstood. Arguments often arise not because love is absent, but because it’s there, burning bright, and we don’t know how to hold it without sometimes burning ourselves.

We also come into love carrying our own stories—our pasts, our insecurities, our beliefs about how love should look and feel. When two people bring their own definitions of love to the table, clashes happen. It’s not that love is broken; it’s that we’re trying to align two different maps and call it one journey.

But here’s the thing: arguments in love aren’t always a bad sign. Sometimes they mean we’re trying. We’re fighting not to end it, but to understand it better. To learn how to love each other in ways that truly matter.

And if we need a reminder of what love truly is, 1 Corinthians 13:4-8 says it best:

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, and it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres. Love never fails."

So maybe love isn’t about never arguing. Maybe it’s about learning how to fight for each other instead of against each other. Because real love isn’t fragile—it’s built on patience, listening, and choosing each other even when it’s hard.

At the end of the day, love isn’t about avoiding storms but learning to dance through the rain together. It’s in these moments of friction that we find the strength to hold on tighter, to love deeper, and to grow together.

For anyone who's had to love through the noise,

Love is supposed to feel safe.

It’s where you let your guard down. Where you tell the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. Where you choose each other every day, even on the days that feel messy and unsure.

But when lies start showing up, love starts packing its bags.

You can't build something real with someone while hiding pieces of the truth. Even the small lies leave cracks. And over time, those cracks become the reason trust falls apart.

Because love needs truth to survive.

It’s not about being perfect. It’s not about saying the right thing every time. It’s about being honest. Being real. Being brave enough to say, “Here’s the truth, even if it’s hard to hear.”

Lies make people second-guess everything. They create distance. They make you wonder if what you’re feeling is real or just part of a story someone made up to keep you close.

And love? Real love wants no part in that.

If you feel like you have to lie just to keep things calm, maybe it’s time to ask: is this love, or am I just afraid of what will happen if I speak the truth?

Because love without truth is just pretending.

And pretending will never give you the kind of love that stays.

—

For anyone choosing honesty, even when it’s uncomfortable,

It's hard to open up to someone when you can't even gather all the things you wanna say. You can't say you're sad for no reason.

Same as the things you can't explain well. So then I write because it feels like someone's listening to me and can understand me.

There’s something comforting about pouring your thoughts onto a page. No one interrupts you. No one tells you that what you’re feeling doesn’t make sense. The blank page doesn’t judge; it just waits for you to empty all the noise in your head, one word at a time.

Sometimes I think writing is my way of making sense of feelings that don’t have names. Those quiet moments when I can’t put into words why I feel heavy or distant, writing helps me untangle that mess. It’s like talking to someone who’s always patient, who doesn’t need me to explain every detail perfectly.

Because truthfully, how do you explain the kind of sadness that just appears out of nowhere? Or the kind of loneliness you feel even in a room full of people?

Writing makes it easier to breathe. It turns all those swirling thoughts into something I can hold, look at, and maybe even understand.

And maybe that’s the beauty of it. I don’t have to find the perfect words for someone else to understand me. I just have to let myself be understood by me.

Here’s to writing when the world feels too loud and your heart feels too full,

There comes a point when your circle starts to shrink. Not because you’re unkind, not because you’re bitter, but because you’re tired.

Tired of being the one who reaches out.

Tired of watching someone you care about slowly make space for others while leaving less for you.

Tired of being quietly rejected by a friend you love. Someone you never thought you’d lose.

He didn’t do anything wrong.

He just found comfort elsewhere.

In a new crowd that made him feel important again. Maybe seen in a way that felt good to him.

A different kind of space, where he fit a little easier, maybe even stood out.

And somehow, you became the place he quietly outgrew.

And that’s the part that’s hardest to say out loud:

You didn’t stop loving your friend.

You just stopped being chosen.

Still, you wish him well.

You still hope he's okay.

Even now, when the conversations are rare, when the closeness feels one-sided, when you're no longer part of the version of his life he prioritizes.

Because you’re not here to beg for space.

You’re here to love genuinely.

And sometimes, genuine love means stepping back without bitterness.

So yes, your circle may be smaller now. Quieter.

But maybe it’s also more peaceful. More honest.

More aligned with the version of you that no longer chases connections that hurt.

And that version of you?

They deserve to be loved back, fully.

Not just remembered when convenient.

Sending you peace, wherever you are,

I feel like I have lost everything trying to do what I thought was best for me. Maybe that’s the thing about chasing what you believe will make you happy, you don’t realize how much of yourself you’ve given until it’s all gone.

I loved you simply because I wanted to. No expectations, no conditions. It wasn’t about what I could get in return. It was just you, your presence, your laughter, the way you made the world seem softer and less cruel.

I loved you because being with you felt easy, like I could just be myself without trying so hard. You became a big part of my life, and even if things are different now, I know you’ll always be a chapter I can’t forget.

But here’s what I’ve learned: Sometimes, losing everything is what teaches you what truly matters. Sometimes, the love you give, no matter how it ends, is proof that you were brave enough to feel deeply, even when the world told you it would hurt.

This is for you.

For the ones who love with no walls, who pour every ounce of themselves into someone else without thinking twice. For the ones who give, and give, and give, because love, for you, is not a transaction but a truth you can’t hide.

The world doesn’t always understand you. People might tell you that you’re “too much,” or worse, they might see your love as weakness. They might call you someone who sacrifices too much of themselves. But here’s the thing, they only see the surface of what it means to love the way you do. They don’t see the strength it takes to stay open hearted in a world that constantly teaches us to hold back, to be guarded, to love less.

Yes, you might get hurt. You might find yourself holding memories that feel heavier than your own skin. You might cry at 2AM, wondering if being this open is worth it. But you keep loving anyway. Because deep down, you know that the only way to truly live is to give your heart fully, even when the world tells you to tone it down.

I may have lost a lot, but I also found a version of myself that knows how to love fully and without fear. And maybe that’s the kind of love that never really goes away, it stays, not because of who you loved, but because of who you became in the process.

This is for the ones who love without holding back. You’re the kind of people who leave a lasting mark. You remind the rest of us what it means to be real, to love bravely, and to let the heart speak louder than fear.

For the Ones Who Love Without Holding Back,

I used to think love was all about that heady rush. The late-night conversations, the thrill of everything feeling exciting and new. But I’ve learned that love isn’t just about the butterflies. It’s not always that dizzying, heart-racing kind of feeling people romanticize. At least… not forever. That part is wonderful, sure. In the beginning, everything feels light and intoxicating. But after a while? It shifts.

It’s not bad. Just different. You get used to each other. The newness fades. You start noticing little things that annoy you. There are days when you barely talk. You argue about stupid stuff like silence, or who’s more tired. And yeah, sometimes it gets boring.

But here’s what people don’t always tell you, that’s still love.

Real love is choosing someone over and over, even when it gets hard. Even when things feel routine. Even when you’re tired, annoyed, or not your best self.

You still check in with each other. You still save the last piece of food because you know they like it. You still wait for their text when they’re out late. You still care even if you’re too tired to show it all the time.

There are days when you question everything. When you wonder if it’s supposed to feel this quiet because you both sit in silence cause you’re too exhausted to talk. When the jokes don’t land the same, or you forget to say goodnight. But then you remember how they’ve seen you at your worst and didn’t leave. How they remember the little things. How they still reach for your hand without thinking.

It doesn’t always mean that love is gone, it just means you're moving through another season together.

Because the truth is, love changes. It softens. It settles. It shows up in smaller, quieter ways. Like sharing a blanket while you both scroll through your phones. Or saying, “text me when you get there,” even if you’ve said it a thousand times before.

Love isn’t this constant high. It’s not a movie. It’s real life. It’s choosing each other even when it’s not fun or easy or exciting.

Some seasons will feel heavier than others. Some will feel distant. And you might wonder, “Is this still love?” But if you’re still showing up, even if clumsily, even if quietly — then yes, it is.

We won’t always be the same people we were when we started. And that’s the beauty of it too. Growing, shifting, changing, and still choosing to hold space for each other through all of it.

So no, love isn’t always exciting. It’s not always fun. But when it’s real, it stays through every version of you, of them, of us.

And I think that’s the kind of love that lasts.

Through Every Season,

Kaye

You didn’t know you could do all those things not until they left.

But before they did, they inspired you. They made you want to try. To step out of your comfort zone. To believe that maybe, just maybe, you were capable of more.

They made you brave. Brave enough to face whatever this life throws at you. You didn’t always feel strong, but you showed up anyway. And that counts for everything.

They made you stronger. Because when they left, you had no choice but to hold yourself up. You learned to accept that not everything is meant to stay. And somehow, that taught you how to stand still without falling apart.

They loved you. Or at least, it felt like they did. And even if it wasn’t forever, it was real enough to remind you that you were worth loving. They took the risk. And even if they’re gone, their love left something behind.

You.

Still here. Still healing. Still learning how to love yourself better than anyone else ever could.

And maybe that’s the point.

—

Learning to be my own home,

Some mornings, I wake up and instantly feel the weight of yesterday. You know that feeling? When your thoughts pick up right where they left off. The overthinking. The regrets. The conversations you replay again and again. It's exhausting.

But lately, I’ve been trying to remind myself of something simple but powerful, that when the sun rises, I don't have to keep looking back. Each new day is a small reset. A chance to breathe. A chance to do better, even just a little bit.

Of course, that doesn’t mean yesterday didn’t happen. The hard moments still leave a mark. But holding on to them too tightly can stop us from seeing what today is offering. And more often than we notice, today is quietly bringing us something good.

Every morning has its own rhythm. Some begin with a burst of energy and a clear sense of hope. Others feel a bit slower, a little heavier. But regardless of how the day begins, the fact that it does begin means we’re still here. Still trying. Still given the opportunity to make small changes, to choose differently, to be kinder to ourselves and to others.

I’ve learned that even the darkest nights eventually end. And when they do, the sun doesn’t ask for permission to rise, it just does. Maybe we can try to meet it halfway. Maybe we can start allowing ourselves to move forward without dragging the past along.

So don’t let yesterday rob you of the joy today wants to give. Let the what ifs and the should haves stay where they belong, behind you. And keep walking forward.

You deserve that.

To brighter mornings,