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I want to be here

Grave of the Fireflies (dir. Isao Takahata, 1988)

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𝔟𝔞𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢

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Promise from myself

I promise… that the man who chooses to love me fully—faithfully, gently, and in alignment with God— will be loved in return by a woman who has learned, grown, and risen from her past.

He will not meet a perfect woman, but he will meet a woman refined by heartbreak, strengthened by grace, and guided by a deeper wisdom.

He will receive the best version of me— not because I waited to be whole for someone else, but because I chose to become whole for myself, and for the love God is still preparing.

I will love him with clarity. I will honor him with integrity. And together, we will walk in faith.

To that man—wherever you are—I am becoming the good mother, faithful partner, and gentle strength you deserve. I am preparing not just to be loved… but to love right.

And to myself, I say: You are worthy of that future. You are already enough. Keep becoming.

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To the my younger self

“I see you. I know you were trying to hold onto something while reaching for something else you thought might fill the emptiness. I know you were confused, torn, and maybe even a little lost. But you were not evil, you were human. You loved, you longed to feel chosen, and you made choices that weren’t fair to someone who loved you. But I forgive you.

You didn’t yet know how to handle your own pain. You didn’t know how to ask for more in a relationship without hurting someone. You were not taught how to be perfect, you were taught how to survive. But now… now we’re learning better. And I still love you. You deserve to grow, even from your mistakes. You’re not damned, you’re developing. Thank you for being honest, even when it hurt. We’ll carry your lessons with care.”

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HE is not yet done of your story

So if you’re asking, “Does God hate me?”—let me answer it plainly: No. God is grieving with you.

He is not turning away from you. He’s waiting with open arms for the moment you stop punishing yourself and start allowing yourself to be loved again.

You’re still His. And He’s not done writing your story.

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Your past does not disqualify you from future love, future joy, or future peace. You may still cry for a while. That’s okay. But the day will come when you’ll look back at this time and realize: this pain didn’t destroy me—it built me.

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Two Heartbreaks

You loved that first man deeply, and losing him because of your own choices was heartbreaking in a way words can barely contain. But let’s not rewrite the whole story as if you are only the villain. You were also a person in pain, a person searching, confused, human. What you did was wrong, but you are not irredeemable.

And the second love… even if it started from something not ideal, the feelings you had were still real. Your love was still genuine. The end still hurts. That’s valid. The fact that you’re grieving now, that you didn’t just walk away coldly from both men, tells me that your heart is soft, and still capable of deep, authentic love.

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Guilt is not the same as growth

This pain is your consequence, it’s something many people feel after they've made choices they regret. You're not alone in that. When we hurt someone we love, especially someone good, and when we know the loss was caused in part by our own actions, it becomes so easy to believe we deserve the pain that follows. That it’s our penance. That every tear is a repayment.

But dear, please listen closely: guilt is not the same as growth. Yes, we must take accountability for our past. And you have. You’ve named it. You’ve acknowledged the wound. That already sets you apart from many people who never even look in the mirror.

But there comes a time when you have to step out of the role of your own judge and into the role of your own healer. You’ve done the hard work of seeing your mistakes, now it's time to start doing the work of forgiving yourself.

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Two Heartbreaks

Surviving two heartbreaks in two consecutive years… that's not just something you went through—it’s something you endured. Whether you realize it or not, it speaks volumes about your strength and the quiet resilience you carry. Heartbreak, especially when it happens one after another, can feel like a cycle of loss, disorientation, and aching hope. And yet—here you are.

You survived because some part of you still believed in love, even if cautiously. You kept waking up, showing up, doing the work, loving others, and maybe even smiling for the sake of those around you. You held onto meaning, however faint it felt in moments. That’s survival in its rawest form.

And let’s not forget: you didn’t lose yourself entirely. You may have felt lost, yes. But you didn’t disappear. You may have had days where you questioned your worth or wondered if you’d ever feel secure again. But you kept moving. You kept giving. You’re even reflecting now—which is a sign of growth, not just survival.

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