True Path To spiritual Awakening

“What My Daughter Deserved, What I Couldn’t Yet Give”

September 25th, 2026

📖 Sacred Testimony XLV

“What My Daughter Deserved, What I Couldn’t Yet Give”
offered in sorrow, truth, and the deep desire to heal

I stayed in that marriage
from October of 1988
to August or September of 1996.

Eight years.
Eight long years
of holding in everything I couldn’t say
and everything I couldn’t fix.

And the truth is—
I took my anger out on her.

Not because I didn’t love her.
But because I didn’t know what to do
with the stress, the fear, the pressure
that was eating me from the inside.

I was overwhelmed.
Overworked.
Overdrawn in spirit.

I didn’t have tools.
I didn’t have outlets.
I didn’t have clarity.

And so, when the dam broke,
it broke toward the nearest shore—
my own child.

I say this not to excuse myself—
but to tell the whole truth.

Because she deserves that.
And so do I.

I can’t go back.
But I can stand here now,
in the full light,
and say:

I’m sorry. I see it. I name it. I carry it no longer alone.

🌿 And now I see:

What stress couldn’t destroy,
truth is beginning to repair.

What anger once took,
love can still rebuild.

This is not the end of the story.
This is the beginning of a better one.

Then let this blessing rise—
not to cover what happened,
but to cradle it
in the arms of love that says:
You are still worthy. You are still healing. You are still loved.

✨ A Blessing for the Times You Broke Under Pressure

To the mother who didn’t know what to do,
who lived beneath the weight of stress and silence—
may you be blessed
for the truth you now speak.

This is not the end of your motherhood.
It is the deep beginning of a truer love.

May she be wrapped in grace—
not because what happened is forgotten,
but because it is now named,
faced,
and being healed.

May she feel the tenderness
in your words,
in your honesty,
in your ache to make peace.

And may the child inside you
—the one who didn’t know how to mother in the midst of fear—
be held, too.

She was not evil.
She was exhausted.
She didn’t lash out because she didn’t love—
but because she didn’t yet know how to cope.

May compassion be the balm now,
for you both.

You cannot go back—
but you can go forward,
hand in hand with truth,
step by step with love.

This blessing does not erase the past.
It redeems it.
“I Lived in Fear”

September 25th, 2026

📖 Sacred Testimony XLIV

“I Lived in Fear”
offered in fierce honesty and quiet strength

In that marriage,
I quit communicating.

We stopped talking—
really talking.
All we did was watch movies.
Motion on a screen
to fill the stillness in the room.

I was unhappy.
And worse—
I began to be afraid.

It started small.
Tension in the air.
Tone in his voice.
His presence felt bigger than the space could hold.

He would get in my face,
and when I walked away,
he would follow me.

He didn’t have to hit me
to hurt me.

I remember one afternoon—
I tried to leave with my daughter.
I had to get out.

He came to the car,
and he hit the top of it.
Loud.
Sudden.
Like thunder crashing against my escape.

I lived in fear.

And it is hard to say that.
Because I once told myself I was safe.
Because I once thought it wasn’t “bad enough” to leave.

But fear doesn’t have to bruise your skin
to haunt your soul.

I see it now.
And I name it.

Because I will not let that silence own me anymore.

🌿 And now I see:

I was not weak.
I was surviving.

I was not at fault.
I was enduring what I didn’t yet know how to leave.

And the day I began to see the fear
was the day I began to undo its grip.

This scroll is not a wound—
it is a witness.

And I am not afraid to tell it.

✨ A Blessing for the One Who Lived in Fear

To the woman who stayed quiet
because the silence felt safer than the storm—
may you be blessed
for surviving what should never have been called “home.”

May your heart be held
for all the words you didn’t say,
for the times you thought it wasn’t bad enough
to count as harm,
for the moments you told yourself to endure
when you should have been able to breathe.

May the memory of fear
be met now with truth,
strength,
and freedom.

And may my daughter’s spirit—
the child beside you in that car—
know that her mother did not fail her,
but fought in silence
until her voice returned.

May she know that even in fear,
your love for her burned steady
beneath the trembling.

You didn’t run that day.
But you woke up.

And waking is the first act of leaving.
“The Job, the Relationship, and the Fog”

September 25th, 2026

📖 Sacred Testimony XLIII

“The Job, the Relationship, and the Fog”
offered with truth, tenderness, and the longing to make peace with the past

I was in a job that made me feel stuck.
A place that drained me,
that boxed in my spirit,
that gave a paycheck
but stole my peace.

I was in a relationship I couldn’t see a way out of.
Not because I didn’t want to leave—
but because I didn’t know how.
Or maybe because I was too tired to figure it out.

I was depressed.

The kind of depressed
where the lights are on but nothing feels bright.
Where the days go by
and you don’t remember what they felt like.

And in all of that—
I wasn’t there emotionally for Ashley.

She was right in front of me,
but I was miles away inside.

And that truth hurts to say.
But it also matters to say it.

Because pretending I was present
doesn’t help anyone.

But owning it?
That’s where healing begins.

🌿 And now I see:

Sometimes love gets buried
under exhaustion, depression, and despair.
But that doesn’t mean it dies.

It means it waits.

She waited.
And now I get to speak for the part of me
that’s ready to come back to her.

She deserves that.

So, do I.

Then let this blessing rise slowly—
like a mother turning back toward her child,
like a soul reaching through time
to say what was once unsaid:

I’m sorry.
I was gone.
But I never stopped loving you.

✨ A Blessing for the Distance and the Return

To the daughter who waited
while I disappeared into silence and sorrow—
may you be blessed
for the love you held,
even when I couldn’t hold you back.

May your heart be comforted
by the truth I speak now:
That my absence was never about your worth.
It was about my pain.
It was about my lostness.
It was about the fog that wrapped itself around me
and wouldn’t let me breathe.

But you were always my light.

Even when I couldn’t see it.

Even when I was too tired to reach for it.

May the mother I was then
be held in mercy—
not excused,
but understood.

She was overwhelmed,
but not unloving.
She was hurting,
but not heartless.

And may the bridge between us
be blessed now with truth,
with time,
with tenderness.

It’s not too late to love you better.

It never was.
“I Didn’t Know How to Be a Mother”

September 25th, 2026

📖 Sacred Testimony XLII

“I Didn’t Know How to Be a Mother”
offered in honesty and healing

I wasn’t the best mother.

I didn’t know how.

I had no handbook,
no roadmap,
no soft space in myself that had been mothered well enough
to know what to pass on.

So we sat her in front of the electronic babysitter—
the television.
Not out of laziness,
but out of exhaustion.
Out of not knowing what else to do.

The truth is—
I was still growing up myself.

How could I pour out what I had never fully received?
How could I nurture
when I was still trying to figure out how to breathe?

I look back now,
and my heart aches for her—
for my daughter.

But I also see me.

The young woman doing the best she could
with the tools she had.

I didn’t hurt her out of malice.
I didn’t ignore her because I didn’t care.

I just didn’t know what motherhood was
beyond keeping her alive
and hoping that one day
I’d learn how to be better.

🌿 And now I see:

Motherhood isn’t perfection.
It’s presence.
It’s effort.
It’s showing up even when you don’t know what you’re doing.

And sometimes,
the greatest mothering we do
comes later—
in the apologies,
in the healing,
in the truth finally spoken.

This scroll isn’t about failure.
It’s about growth.

And love—
the real kind—
always grows.

Then let this blessing fall like soft rain
on the years that felt too dry,
on the moments you didn’t know how to mother,
and on the child who still found love
in the way you tried.

✨ A Blessing for the Mother Who Was Still Becoming

May you be forgiven
for the things you didn’t know—
by her,
by yourself,
and by the quiet mercy of God
who watched you both grow.

May my daughter be blessed—
for the light she carried,
even when the room was filled with noise and screens
instead of stories and lullabies.

May she know that even when you didn’t know how to be present,
your spirit was still trying to reach her.

May your younger self be held—
not judged,
but understood.

She didn’t fail.
She began.

And beginning is a kind of holiness, too.

You did not need to be perfect.
You needed only to keep loving—
and you did.

Even when it was messy.
Even when it was quiet.
Even when it looked like sitting in front of a television
because you just didn’t know what else to give.

The blessing is this:
You kept going.

And she still knew love.
“My Miracle Baby”

September 25th, 2026

📖 Sacred Testimony XLI

“My Miracle Baby”
offered in awe and tender remembrance

When I had my daughter,
I called her my “Miracle baby.”

I really believed I couldn’t get pregnant.
I had never been on birth control pills,
and I just thought—
it wouldn’t happen for me.

But it did.

And when it did,
it was like she already knew
that I needed her.

It only took me three and a half hours to have her.
Swift.
Strong.
A delivery that moved through me
like the closing of one chapter
and the opening of something sacred.

They were rolling us both out—
me and her, together—
when my parents got there.

I didn’t have to wait to introduce her.
She arrived into the world like a song
already half-sung.

And when I looked at her,
I saw more than a baby.

I saw grace.

I saw redemption.

I saw a soul that chose me—
even when I didn’t know if I was ready.

🌿 And now I see:

Some lives begin in silence.
Some begin in confusion.

But hers—
hers began in light.

She was a miracle,
not just because she arrived,
but because she changed something in me.

I didn’t know what kind of mother I would be.
But I knew this:

She had already taught me how to love
in a way I had never known.

Then let this blessing be spoken as a lullaby to the soul—
to the mother you became in an instant,
to the child who came like dawn,
and to the miracle that was never late,
only perfectly timed.

✨ A Blessing for My Daughter , My Miracle

May the child who arrived in three and a half hours
know she was loved before she was seen.
Held before she was named.
Chosen before the world could understand the depth of her light.

May my daughter be blessed—
not only for being born,
but for being the birth of something new in you.

May your body be honored—
for its strength,
its surrender,
its sacred work in bringing her safely through.

And may your parents’ arrival,
just as you were being wheeled into the world together,
be remembered as a sign:
That you were not alone.
That love made it.
That even after silence and shadow,
grace has perfect timing.

She was, and is,
your miracle.
Added Pages

September 24th, 2026

Divine Masculine Page

Divine Union Page
“The Silence Between Us”

September 24th, 2026

📖 Sacred Testimony XL

“The Silence Between Us”
offered for the lonely truths hidden inside pregnancy and distance

During my pregnancy,
I was sick from the moment I opened my eyes
to the moment I finally fell asleep.

Morning sickness they called it.
But it wasn’t just the morning.
It was constant.

It wore me down.
Physically, yes—
but also emotionally.
Spiritually.
Relationally.

The truth is—
my desire to be intimate with him disappeared.
Not out of spite.
Not out of punishment.
But because something inside me
was quietly closing down.

And I didn’t know how to say that.

I didn’t know how to say anything.

I didn’t know how to talk to him.
I didn’t know how to be honest.
I didn’t know how to express
the things that were churning inside of me—
the confusion, the distance,
the ache for something deeper than the life we were living.

So, I withdrew.
He probably felt it.
I know he did.

But I didn’t know how to reach across the quiet
and let him see me.
Not the version of me he thought he married.
But the real me.

The one who was scared.
The one who was sick.
The one who never wanted to lie,
but didn’t know how to tell the truth either.

🌿 And now I see:

Not all silence is cruelty.
Sometimes it’s just pain without language.
Sometimes it’s the soul trying to survive
when it doesn’t know how to connect.

But silence, too, is a chapter worth naming.
Because until it’s spoken,
it keeps echoing in the places we try to heal.

This scroll is the sound
of you breaking that echo.

Then let this blessing move gently—
as if cradling the heart of a woman
who held so much,
who said so little,
and still found her way
to honest light.

✨ A Blessing for the Silence Between

May you be blessed
for every word you couldn’t say.

May the ache of that silence
be met now with compassion,
not shame.

You were learning—
how to live in a changing body,
how to mother,
how to survive a marriage built on things left unspoken.

May your pregnant self—
the one who was sick all day
and silent all night—
be wrapped now in gentleness.

She did the best she could
with the tools she had.

And may the man you married
be blessed, too—
for the confusion he must have felt,
for the questions he never knew how to ask.

May that space between you both
now be held by grace.

What was not spoken then,
is being spoken now.

And truth still heals,
even if it arrives years later.
“Built on Two Lies”

September 24th, 2026

📖 Sacred Testimony XXXIX

“Built on Two Lies”
offered for the clearing of old shadows and the courage to speak what once stayed hidden

I wasn’t honest in that marriage.

There were things I didn’t say—
things I should have.
Things that mattered.

I didn’t tell him how far behind I was on bills.
I kept it inside,
maybe out of fear,
maybe out of pride,
maybe because I didn’t know how to ask for help
from someone I didn’t really love.

And of course—
he was angry when he found out.

I had already let him take over the finances.
And truthfully, I let him.
It was easier.
It gave me room not to face what I had done.

Looking back,
I see that I was selfish.

I wanted what I wanted,
when I wanted it.
And I hadn’t yet learned the difference
between freedom and irresponsibility.

That marriage wasn’t built on truth.

It was built on two lies:
One—
that I loved him.
And two—
that I had nothing to hide.

But I did.

And so did he, in his own ways, I’m sure.

We entered a union that never stood a chance—
not because we were bad people,
but because the truth wasn’t with us
from the start.

🌿 And now I see:

You can’t build something sacred
on a foundation of pretending.

Even good intentions can’t hold up a house
built on fear and silence.

But truth, when spoken—
even after the fact—
still has power.

This telling is part of the healing.
This honesty is part of the redemption.
And this scroll,
though written in hindsight,
clears the air
so your soul can breathe again.

✨ A Blessing for the Truth That Took Time

May you be forgiven
by those you hurt in silence—
but first,
may you forgive yourself.

May the version of you
who didn’t know how to be honest
be wrapped now in mercy,
not shame.

She wasn’t cruel.
She was afraid.
She didn’t know how to ask for help
or how to say,
“This isn’t love. But I don’t know what else to do.”

May the man you married
be blessed, too—
not as your forever,
but as someone who shared a hard lesson
on how truth matters more than appearances.

And may your soul feel lighter now—
for naming it,
for claiming it,
for letting truth have the last word.

What began with lies
can still end with light.
“Married Without Love, But Not Without Courage”

September 24th, 2026

📖 Sacred Testimony XXXVIII

“Married Without Love, But Not Without Courage”
offered for the moment a life began, and a vow was made in the shadow of silence

While I was still with him,
I had already started feeling it—
the knowing.
The ache that whispered,
This isn’t right.

I even told a couple of friends.
I was going to break up with him.

But it was too late.

I was pregnant.

I didn’t believe it at first.
I had never been on birth control.
I just…
didn’t believe it could happen to me.

But it did.

And with that one moment,
everything changed.

Once again,
I had to face my parents with another hard truth:
“I’m pregnant.”

And like before,
they didn’t scream or reject.
But I felt the weight of that moment
like a stone in my chest.

So, we got married.
Him and I.

Not because we were in love.
But because we thought we were supposed to.

And the hardest part?

I knew I didn’t really love him.

But I walked forward anyway.
Not for me.
Not for him.

But for the child.
For the future I didn’t yet understand.
For the version of myself
who still wanted to make things right.

🌿 And now I see:

Not all unions begin in joy.
Some begin in duty,
in fear,
in the echo of voices saying,
“This is what you must do.”

But even from those places,
love can still rise.

Not always for the partner.
But for the child.
For the self still trying.
For the light that is born even in the midst of misalignment.

This, too, was a sacred passage.
Even if the path was not your own.

✨ A Blessing for the Woman Who Chose Anyway

May you be blessed
for the honesty you carried in silence—
for knowing you didn’t love him,
and still choosing to face
what could not be undone.

May the child you carried
be honored as light
born not from a perfect plan,
but from a moment
God still held.

May he be remembered
not for what he wasn’t,
but for the role he played
in a story far bigger than either of you understood then.

And may you, dear soul,
always know:

It takes more courage to walk forward without love
than it does to run away from what is hard.

You didn’t choose with joy.
But you chose with strength.

You didn’t stay for romance.
But you stayed for life.

And that is sacred.
“The Guy from Houston”

September 24th, 2026

📖 Sacred Testimony XXXVII

“The Guy from Houston”
offered in remembrance of what we knew was true, and what we forgot for a time

Someone once said,
“It’s better to start a relationship at the kitchen table
than in the bedroom.”

And I believed that.
Because I lived it.
James and I—
we started at the table.
With coffee.
With laughter.
With friendship.

And it was the best relationship I ever had.

But after that…
I forgot.

Or maybe I just longed for too much.
Maybe I got tired of waiting for the table.

So, the relationships that followed
started not in conversation,
but in craving.
Not in knowing,
but in needing.

Then came him.

He was from Houston.
And it was like our eyes met across the room.
There was something instant, electric,
pulling me in before either of us said a word.

He came over.
We started hanging out.
No slow unfolding.
No table.
Just the room,
the pull,
the ache.

It wasn’t my first relationship in recovery.
It wasn’t sacred.

But it was part of the story.

🌿 And now I see:

Just because you know what love should look like
doesn’t mean you always choose it.

Sometimes the ache gets louder than the wisdom.
Sometimes the body leads before the heart can speak.
And sometimes,
we say yes to being wanted
because we’ve forgotten we’re already worthy.

But even those choices—
even the ones that skipped the kitchen table—
taught me something.

And that, too, is holy.

✨ A Blessing for the Ones Who Forgot the Table

May you be forgiven
for every time you reached for the bed
when what you truly longed for
was to be known.

May he be blessed—
not as the one who stayed,
but as the one who reminded you
what your soul was still hungry for.

May the ache you carried
be honored as proof
that your heart was still alive—
still seeking,
still hoping,
still willing to try.

And may you always remember:
You are not defined by the place where it began,
but by the truth you carry now.

The table still waits for you.
So does the one who will meet you there.