Red Ink
This is something I wrote last summer in red ink in my journal.
I wasn’t trying to be inspiring. I was trying to be honest.
I’m sharing it now with clarity, not polish.
When I first began questioning spirituality, I wasn’t looking for religion. I was looking for understanding. I grew up in structure — labels, definitions, and rigid beliefs. At one point I believed nothing at all. There was no God. No higher meaning. Just existence and survival.
But even then, I kept asking deeper questions.
Why are we here?
Is this really all there is?
What are we capable of becoming?
I’ve always felt like two separate people living inside the same body.
One of them is strong. Independent. She thinks deeply, stands firm, speaks up when something isn’t right. Anxiety and fear don’t paralyze her — they push her forward.
The other version loathes herself. She self-sabotages. She avoids conflict. She people-pleases. She doesn’t set boundaries and hides behind a mask instead of using her voice.
For years, I lived in the tension between those two women.
Then there was the in-between version — the one who started to see it clearly. The one who realized she had allowed boundaries to be crossed. The one who blamed others at times, then blamed herself entirely at others. The one who used self-awareness as a weapon instead of a tool.
That was my self-sabotage era.
It wasn’t loud. It was quiet. Slow. Subtle.
Less self-worth. Less confidence.
More guilt. More shame.
No ambition. No goals. Just survival and self-punishment.
Sabotage and trauma ruled my mind. Not because I was incapable, but because I was afraid to fully own my life.
Owning it meant accountability.
Not just for what was done to me, but for what I allowed, ignored, tolerated, or avoided confronting.
That realization was uncomfortable. But it was freeing.
I learned something about regret during that time. Regret is only heavy when you refuse to learn from it. Once you take the lesson and adjust your behavior, regret loses its grip. It becomes information, not identity.
Without the struggles, failures, wrong choices, and trauma, I wouldn’t be here — understanding what I understand now. I wouldn’t be moving toward a life built on self-love, gratitude, and belief in something bigger than my fear.
The more I move forward, the more I heal.
The more I heal, the more everything begins to make sense.
And this is where it became bigger than me.
I want my son to grow into a man who never questions whether he’s allowed to be himself. I want him to speak up. To hold boundaries. To respect others and demand the same in return. To know that love, strength, and compassion can exist together.
Anyone who refuses to respect your boundaries is not safe for your growth. Anyone who diminishes your value should not hold a permanent seat in your life.
Those are lessons I had to learn the hard way.
This may feel like an odd mix of reflection and resolve, but every day I feel myself getting closer to the woman I’m meant to become — stronger, more grounded, more confident.
My journey isn’t finished. It’s far from perfect. I still have moments of fear. I still worry. But those feelings no longer control me.
I’ve learned how to face them.
I’ve learned how to correct my path.
I’ve learned how to get back up quickly.
And that’s the difference
There's no neat before‑and‑after picture.
But I am closer to myself now than I have ever been.
I feel stronger. More grounded. More honest about what I need and more willing to act on that truth instead of just thinking about it.
I still get scared. I still overthink. Old patterns still try to sneak back in—people‑pleasing, silence, shrinking.
The difference now is that they don’t run my life.
And somewhere in the pages of that journal, in that fire engine red ink, it was the first time I told the truth to myself without flinching, avoidance, or sugarcoating my participation in the problem.
If you’re reading this and recognizing yourself in any of these patterns, I hope you know you’re not broken for being here. You’re just human, learning. You’re allowed to stop betraying yourself, even if you’ve done it for years. What would it look like, in this season of your life, to have your own back just a little more than you did yesterday?
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