Blank Page

I cracked open my journal the other night, ready to brain-dump all the usual noise. But then I stumbled across something unexpected: It was blank.

No ramblings, no rants, no half-baked dreams or midnight confessions. Just empty space. And somehow, it hit harder than anything I’d ever written. This page wasn’t just another diary dump — it was a letter to God. And it didn’t need words. Because sometimes, silence says everything.

For two brutal years, I danced with the monsters under my bed: depression, anxiety, addiction, and all the ugly whispers that told me it would be easier to just check out. Every night I prayed — not with fancy words, but with a tired heart that said, "God, You know what’s in here. Please just... know.”

And guess what? He did. The universe did. My higher self did. Whatever you want to call it — something heard me loud and clear. Even when I had nothing left to give. Even when my prayers sounded like a broken record on mute. Now, standing on the other side of that battlefield, scars and all, I realize something: I wasn’t saved because life got magically perfect. I was saved because, in my darkest hour, grace showed up and dragged my stubborn ass into the light.

So if you're sitting there thinking your life is shattered beyond repair, listen up:There’s a force bigger than your fear, stronger than your brokenness, and way more patient than you give it credit for. It’s already picking up the pieces you’re too scared to touch.

You’re not done.

You’re not broken.

You’re becoming.

You got this.