The Passover : A personal reflection on grace

 This year, Passover felt different.

Not because the rituals changed—but because I did.

After a season of deep reflection, I found myself reconnecting with its meaning in a way that felt more intentional, more personal, and more real than ever before. For the first time, I wasn’t just observing what Passover is meant to represent—I was defining what it means to me.

And what it means to me is this: grace.

Passover, at its core, tells a story of protection, of being spared, of being covered. And in today’s world—where uncertainty feels louder, where geopolitical tensions stretch across nations, and where so many are waking up to loss, grief, and unimaginable hardship—that message hits differently.

It becomes personal.

Because when I look at my own life, I cannot ignore the quiet, consistent grace that has carried me and my family. The protection we did not see. The things that did not happen. The prayers we didn’t even know we needed.

How many people started this year whole, only to have their lives altered in an instant?

And yet, here we are.

Lately, I’ve found myself waking up with a deeper sense of gratitude. Not the surface-level kind, but the kind that humbles you. The kind that makes you pause.

To open my eyes. To move freely. To nourish my body. To engage in meaningful work. To love, and be loved.

These are not guarantees. They are privileges. They are daily evidence of grace.

Because life can change in a moment.

And that awareness has shifted something in me.

So now, I choose to ritualize Passover differently. Not just as a tradition marked on a calendar, but as a living, breathing reminder. A pause. A moment of intentional gratitude.

For me, it looks like breaking unleavened bread with the people I love. It looks like acknowledging that for 365 days, God’s grace has covered us in ways I may never fully understand.

It looks like saying: thank you.

Not just today—but daily.

Because every single day is a gift. Every breath, an extension of grace. Every moment, an opportunity to live more fully, love more deeply, and become better than I was yesterday.

Passover is no longer just about remembrance.

For me, it is about awareness.

It is about gratitude.

It is about recognizing, with open eyes and a full heart, just how loved, protected, and blessed I am to simply be here.

Alive.

21 years on my motherhood journey

 Today I stand proud because it has finally dawned on me—I made it. I survived being a teen mom, and I raised a man… one I can stand behind and say, this is the fruit of my labor—literally, lol.

I feel a deep sense of pride because for 21 years I was told how I would fail, how I was not good enough, how unqualified I was. I lived in constant fear and overwhelm, facing a life-sized task I could barely comprehend at the time. And to add insult to injury, I was abandoned on the job… well, maybe I walked away from my partner in that job due to irreconcilable differences.

I remember Anthony was 7, and I was in way over my head at just 23. I had chosen to be a single mother of two. Now, as a 37-year-old woman, I don’t think I would have chosen that path… or maybe I wouldn’t. But I have to acknowledge the courage—the absolute guts it took to walk away from my newfound security and step into the abyss of the unknown with very little family support.

Looking back, it should have been clear that I was not okay, lol. And I’ll admit, those first five years were so hard. I often thought about backtracking, but I couldn’t—I had burned all my boats. Moving forward was the only option left, and it became the only one that could ever serve me or bring me joy.

By the grace of God, I made it through—through the ups and downs, the countless tears, the despair. I often felt like an imposter. No matter how much I learned or healed, there was always a part of me that felt like I alone was not enough. But what could I do? I took each day as it came… and I kept going.

And before I knew it, there stood a whole man—still barking mum orders at me, lol 😆

I share my journey not to claim victory, but to encourage anyone who feels like the road ahead is vague and filled with trouble. Truth is—it will be vague, and it will be tough. But you will come out okay, of that I am sure. As long as your heart is pure and you’re moving from a place of love and good intentions, you will be okay.

Hang in there. It does get dark and lonely sometimes—but never forever. In between, the sun will shine, memories will be made, and somewhere down the road, you will look back and realize you painted something beautiful. A life full of meaning, memories, struggle, and growth—a grand work of art that you should be proud of.

Today, I’m proud of my son and of myself—for choosing the tough road, for choosing each other, and for coming out of it quite decent.

I know without a doubt he knows I have his back until the wheels fall off.

Happy 21st birthday, AC. May this be the start of a brilliant new chapter in your life. I love you now and forever—keep shining in your own special way 🙌

Grieving the Childhood I Didn’t Get to Have

I grieve my childhood — the shame I carried from as early as I can remember, believing I was not worthy enough, not deserving enough of my parents’ love, care, or acknowledgement. I understand now that I was placed in what was believed to be the safest environment for my growth, but it was not easy. I lived with a constant sense of fear. I felt unwanted. From a very young age, I embodied the feeling of being a burden — a belief that was never true, yet one that still weighs on me today. I felt unimportant because no one seemed to take ownership of me or treat my care as something of real importance.

I grieve the loss of my innocence — the confusion of experiencing unsolicited sexual advances at an age when I could not understand them, and the shame that followed, leaving me feeling responsible for something I did not cause. I also struggled with thoughts and feelings I did not understand, which deepened that sense of shame and isolation.

I grieve a childhood I was never fully allowed to enjoy. I became my grandmother’s confidant, carrying emotional burdens that belonged to adults. She shared her disappointments, her opinions of her children — including my father — and her frustrations about commitments that were not always honoured. In doing so, I became aware of my own perceived cost and inconvenience to her. I understood far too early what it meant to feel like a weight someone else had to carry — a burden I am still quick to assume today. She did not do this out of malice, but likely from her own unhealed trauma. Still, the impact remained. This exposure gave me an understanding of life far beyond my years, but it also took something from me.

I grieve the way I was parentified — not through raising younger siblings, but through co-running a household alongside my grandmother. By the age of fourteen, I found myself helping my sister recover from hospitalisation while also caring for my grandmother. I was not a nurse or an adult, yet I carried responsibilities that required me to become one.

I grieve my lost adolescence. I became pregnant at sixteen, and shortly after my son was born, my father passed away. Two weeks later, my beloved grandmother died as well. The weight of those losses was an earthquake in a life that had barely begun. I was never prepared for such tragedy, nor was I given the space to grieve. Life simply moved forward, and so did I, carrying losses I never learned how to mourn.

These experiences have shaped how I move through relationships today. I have become agile in escape; whenever I feel heavy for another person, I run. When faced with the discomfort of love or compromise, I retreat. I break my own heart before I expect another to reject me. Waves of unworthiness still surface, and impostor syndrome appears without warning. I try to acknowledge these feelings and understand where they come from rather than letting them quietly dictate my choices.

I recognise now that there are times when my emotions sit closer to the surface, particularly in the days before my menstrual cycle, when the grief I have long pushed down demands to be felt. On those days, I try to allow myself release — through writing, through tears, through honesty. I am learning to be gentle and loving with myself, to understand my body and its cycles, and to treat myself with kindness and care.

Perhaps this is what healing looks like for me now — not the absence of grief, but the willingness to sit with it. To give space to the child who learned too early to be strong. To allow imperfection without shame. And to believe, slowly but surely, that I am still worthy of love.

My conversations with God........

Before I begin my rant, I want to start with gratitude.

Thank you.

My circumstances this year have improved so much from last year. I am no longer struggling for the basics, and I don’t take that lightly. And yet—despite the stability, despite the provision—I still find myself frustrated.

God, I don’t understand so much.

I’m trying my best to make sense of it all, but the process isn’t easy. Still, I have no doubt that You love me. I’m learning, slowly, to love and trust You too—and that part is beautiful. I am deeply grateful for the opportunity, even when the journey itself feels wild.

So often I don’t know if I’m coming or going, or whether I’m truly on the right path. I rely on my “tummy test” more than ever now, and I feel calm more often about most things. But there is still uncertainty—about outcomes, about timing, about what’s next. I admit that uncertainty feels gentler than anxiety, and perhaps that is growth.

I’ve noticed something else too.

I am no longer willing to overlook what I once let slide. Rudeness and disrespect are louder now. Manipulation and emotional abuse no longer whisper—I hear them clearly. And more importantly, I no longer accept them. I demand more. I deserve more. That realisation is unsettling, especially when it shifts the coasters of my life.

I don’t understand everything—but I am wise. I am sure of this. I am even more certain of my expertise. I am not the Donna I once was, and settling into this new version of myself requires adjustment, patience, and grace.

I came here to complain.

I came here to cry.

Instead, I find that I am growing.

And growth, I realise, is what I desire most.

I ask for emotional intelligence. I ask for wisdom—to release those who no longer belong close to me. And above all, I ask that You do not leave me. Finding You has been everything I needed, and somehow even more than I imagined.

I have often said that I was not loved for 37 years. Perhaps that was true through my own broken lens. Perhaps it was incomplete. I see now that I am loved—and loveable—with a rich and complex experience of love and life behind me.

I struggle with reciprocity.

But I am learning to need it less.

And I am learning to give more to little Donna-Ray.

I have tried to love my children in ways I was never cared for, and I hope I have not failed them. It is both terrifying and extraordinary—to parent while healing. Still, I trust that presence, honesty, and love matter more than perfection.

This journey is scary.

And it is amazing.

I wish I knew more. But I trust that in time—if I continue to do the work—it will all come together.

I am grateful for the opportunity to be alive.

To learn.

To seek.

To explore this beautiful world.

I do not ignore my privilege—it is immense. And I know that to whom much is given, much is required. I have been given so much: beauty, intellect, depth, sensuality, emotional intelligence, meaningful work.

For all of it, God, I am profoundly grateful.

Thank you. 🙏🏾

A modern day crime......sexiness!

The hardest part about being a beautiful woman is not the beauty itself, but the way the world responds to it.

For many of us, it begins quietly and early — a sideways comment, a look held for too long, a growing awareness that the body you are becoming is suddenly being watched, judged, and discussed. Sometimes this scrutiny begins within your own family. Curves appear, maturity follows, and instead of guidance or protection, shame too often takes its place.

As adolescence unfolds, the commentary multiplies. Friends, classmates, strangers — everyone seems to have an opinion. Remarks, subtle insinuations, and unspoken expectations accumulate, and without realising it, you begin to carry them within you. They shape how you see yourself long before you are old enough to question them.

Life, of course, is not linear. Sometimes choices are made before we are fully ready, or circumstances unfold in ways we never planned. Too often, instead of being met with compassion, women are met with labels. Our stories are reduced to assumptions; our character is questioned before it is understood.

What usually follows is a long, quiet journey back to self. Learning to be gentle with your body. Learning to see it as yours again. Learning that confidence and sensuality are not flaws, but natural expressions of comfort, ownership, and self-acceptance.

Yet even then, the world does not always know how to respond to a woman who is both self-possessed and sensual. Confidence is mistaken for availability. Ease in one’s own skin is misinterpreted. Over time, this becomes exhausting — until eventually, it becomes clarifying.

With age comes discernment. You learn that peace is not always found in explaining yourself, but in choosing distance. In protecting your energy. In surrounding yourself only with those who see you fully and treat you with care.

I embrace my sexiness now not as rebellion, and not as armour, but as truth. It is not something I wear for validation. It is simply part of who I am.

Being sexy does not diminish my values. It does not define my worth. And it certainly does not place a price on me.

I am a woman with a good heart, doing her best to honour her responsibilities, care for her family, and grow into herself with integrity. I work hard. I love deeply. And I no longer apologise for taking up space exactly as I am.

This is not defiance.

It is self-respect.

Year End Message by Delani Makhalima

My friend shared his words with me and I couldn't keep them to myself....I hope this message resonates with you diamonds as it did with me 💜💜💜

We talk about vulnerability in relationships a lot. We call it courage. We call it intimacy. We call it growth.

Yet few truly understand what vulnerability requires or what it exposes.

Let me be clear: vulnerability is not weakness. It is not oversharing. It is not self-abandonment.

Vulnerability is the courage to speak your truth from a grounded place, to reveal your heart and mind - even when doing so carries risk, even with someone you trust.

Here’s the truth many miss: vulnerability doesn’t just deepen connection.

It tests the emotional capacity of the person receiving it.

When vulnerability is met with judgment or criticism, the test is active and the future of the relationship is quietly defined.

Many of us have opened ourselves to someone we love, shared a fear, a doubt, a tender part of ourselves… only to hear:

“You’re insecure.” “You’re too much.”

“You’re this, you're that.”

Those words can land in two ways: As an invitation to understanding - seeing the triggers, the history, the humanity in another.

Or as a dismissal - disguised as insight, but in truth a refusal to hold, witness, or care.

Being a mature partner and person means recognizing that insecurity is not identity. It is a signal:

A signal that something has been triggered.

A signal that care, sensitivity, reassurance, or attunement may be needed.

An unhealthy response turns that signal into a label - a label that shrinks you, diminishes your truth, and closes the door to connection.

Sharing is not easy. We don’t reveal our inner worlds to just anyone.

We choose carefully who we trust with our past wounds, our fears, our triggers.

We hope they will hold what we reveal, preserve it, protect it - not use it against us.

When a partner weaponizes our vulnerabilities, just because we allowed them to see us - even subtly, it’s not just disappointing.

It’s unsettling.

It erodes emotional safety.

Once trust is broken, honesty becomes heavy to share.

Intimacy starts to feel transactional.

Every word from then carries risk: risk of judgment, measurement, weaponization.

In mature, healthy relationships, vulnerability is met with care, not critique.

Insecurities are explored together - not returned as labels, blunt statements of flaws, or markers of incapacity.

Honesty should strengthen the bond. And it can sound hurtful at times. But care, yes needs to worth together with honesty. 

Care works with the insecurities, nurtures them, helps them grow not punish them. That’s love. That’s partnership. That’s what it truly means to care.

When vulnerability is mishandled. Openness feels unsafe.

Truth becomes filtered.

Words are rationed.

Emotional presence is replaced with politeness.

Not because love died - but because safety did.

Over time, a quiet, permanent shift occurs.

It is not anger.

It is not resentment.

It is withdrawal - the self stepping back, choosing silence over exposure.

The most dangerous moment in intimacy is not conflict. It is the moment one partner decides it is safer to stay silent about who they are than to be fully seen. Once honesty becomes ammunition, it stops being offered.

Note: I said destructive, not constructive. Vulnerability can be met with discomfort but there’s a difference between care and critique:

- Constructive guidance says: “Here’s a way to improve. Here’s something to consider.”

- Destructive labeling says: “You are this or that.” Nothing else, nothing more. 

When we fail to nurture the vulnerability of those around us, withdrawal inevitably follows. Emotional withdrawal is not cruelty. It is self-preservation.

If you choose to be vulnerable, remember:

Share openly. But do not allow others to reduce you to your insecurities.

Again, this is not defensiveness - it is self-respect. Zithande #LoveYourself

The measure of a relationship is how imperfection is handled.

Handle each other’s flaws delicately. 

Pause before responding and ask yourself these first 

- Does your honesty bring clarity or confusion?

- Does it foster safety or spark judgment?

- Does it encourage more openness or fear of revealing their heart again?

Your answers will speak louder than any words ever could.

Love (relationships, friendships, kinship) don’t end when people stop caring.

It ends when they stop feeling emotionally safe enough to be vulnerable.

Vulnerability is a gift, not a burden.

It deserves protection, not punishment.

Anyone who cannot hold it with care will inevitably lose access - not to love itself, but to the intimacy it creates.

Secure connection is quiet, grounded, mutual.

It is where real love matures and stays.

True vulnerability builds safety, security - not silence or selectiveness.

By Delani Makhalima

2025

Somehow, all I want to do today is cry — and I’m not even sure why.

Whether these are tears of joy, pain, sadness, or simple relief at reaching the end of this year, I’m allowing them to exist.

This year has been everything: hard, rewarding, relentless.

There was so much shedding, so much pushing, so much becoming.

I don’t have the energy to jump up and down today — but I am deeply grateful that I made it.

I look ahead with quiet confidence, knowing that the hard lessons were learned, fear was confronted, and necessary seeds were planted. I trust that harvest season is coming.

2025 broke me and rebuilt me in ways I could never have imagined.

For that, I am grateful — grateful for the strength I found, for the courage I stepped into, and for the woman I emerged as.

As I step into the year ahead, my prayer is simple:

for softness, for kindness, and for space to fully embrace my feminine energy — allowing my masculinity to finally rest.

I am profoundly grateful for every person who loved, supported, and held me through this year.

I step forward gently now — no longer proving, no longer forcing — just trusting that what I planted will rise in its own time.

Thanksgiving

My new favourite holiday of the year—quite shocking for a Zimbabwean, I know, considering we don’t traditionally observe it. But the concept speaks to me deeply. It began as a day of giving thanks for the harvests of the preceding year, yet in life, the idea of pausing simply to be grateful feels profoundly necessary. A day to break bread with family and friends, to hold gratitude like a warm flame in our hands. In my little world, this day holds great importance.

For me, it’s a day to share my creativity, my time, my effort, my love. In the kitchen, I come alive. I feel like an orchestra conductor—every chop, stir, spice and scent moving in harmony. Cooking, to me, is composing a symphony, and I stand front-row as the audience tastes joy. I pray before I begin, and once Toni Braxton fills the room, my soul opens, and then the magic starts. My focus becomes razor-sharp. When it all comes together, the results never disappoint.

This year, one of my newly found aunts looked at me and said I have the gift of hospitality. What a powerful decree. It felt like a blessing and a mandate from the bloodline itself—to cook with love, to serve with joy, to let my talent flow freely. And so I did. I have been Van Gogh’ing in the kitchen, splashing colour into pots and laughter into rooms. Not a single complaint—only grateful bellies and smiling hearts. A win-win, I would say.

But I digress.

The heart of my rambling is this: today, let us be thankful.

Thankful for surviving a turbulent year.

Thankful for breath and belonging.

Thankful for family, for friends, for our careers and callings.

Thankful for every small victory, every quiet miracle, every moment that carried us forward.

Let us give thanks, deeply and deliberately. 🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾

Resilience.....

“She stood in the storm, and when the wind did not blow her way, she adjusted her sails.” — Elizabeth Edwards

The best definition I’ve ever found for resilience is this: the capacity of a person to maintain their core purpose and integrity in the face of dramatically changed circumstances. It’s the ability not just to overcome setbacks, but to move forward — to rise again and again, even when the ground beneath you keeps shifting.

This year, that word — resilience — became the thread that held me together. I’ve often said I’m tired of being resilient, and perhaps that’s true. Yet somehow, all the resilience I’ve built up over the years was summoned in full measure in 2025. Every hard lesson, every scar, every moment I thought I wouldn’t make it — all of it found its purpose this year. And for that, I am grateful. Grateful that I didn’t break in the furnace.

It was, without question, one of the most trying years of my life. Each time I thought I could finally exhale, a new storm appeared on the horizon. I’ve never known fatigue quite like this — the kind that seeps into your bones and tests your will to keep going. I’ve been on overdrive, pushed beyond what I thought possible. And yet, here I am — speaking about the struggle in the past tense. What a blessing that is. With only two months left in the year, I refuse to believe that defeat will make an example of me. Perhaps that’s my stubbornness — but it’s a stubbornness that has kept me standing.

Through it all, I found solace in wisdom, routine, and consistency — the quiet pillars that kept me grounded when everything else felt uncertain. I remember telling a young woman recently that it took me nine years to achieve the body I’ve always wanted. I could see the disappointment flash across her face — the instant-gratification generation hates hearing that kind of truth. But if you have no skin in the game, how can you expect to win? Growth, real growth, takes time.

I’ve come to realize that the marks of the great are their battle scars. If you emerge from battle untouched, be wary — you’ve likely learned nothing and may not survive the next one. I used to see my scars as shameful — proof of mistakes, missteps, and inexperience. Now, I wear them proudly. They are symbols of survival, of grace under fire, of lessons learned the hardest way.

This year, resilience was not just a trait — it was a lifeline. And as I step toward the final stretch of 2025, I do so with gratitude for every wound that healed, every tear that taught, and every moment I almost gave up but didn’t.

Because sometimes, survival itself is the victory.

The year of the Wood Snake

Earlier this year, I was minding my own business when I stumbled across some exciting news—the Chinese calendar predicted it would be a good year for me. And nothing stirs butterflies in your stomach quite like the promise of something good. Naturally, I clung to that hope and ran with it.

Like any eager optimist, I focused only on the bright possibilities, never pausing to consider the full journey I was stepping into—the trials, the shedding, the stripping away of everything familiar. And what a journey it turned out to be. The challenges were unlike anything I’d faced before. More than once, I caught myself wondering if there was any “good” at all in this so-called good year.

Yet, in the turbulence, something shifted. I discovered a quiet strength I didn’t know I had, a confidence that rose in waves, and a clarity in my intuition that felt brand new. My old need for hard evidence gave way to an unshakable inner knowing—as if my instincts had finally found their voice.

The Wood Snake year wasn’t the sweet, effortless season I imagined. It was a year of shedding, bleeding, grieving, and at times losing sight of hope—yet still, somehow, finding the courage to stand tall in the storm.

Now, with just four months left, I find myself hoping the year softens—that it grows lighter, gentler, kinder. And deep down, I believe it will. After all, as Robert Frost wrote: “I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.”

A New Beginning- 14 years on....

Fourteen years have passed since I first opened the pages of this blog to share my story. Today, I write as a 36-year-old woman who has walked through fire, risen through challenges, and still wakes up every day deeply excited by the adventure of life.

From uncertain beginnings to now serving as an Executive Director and Senior Wealth Manager for the deVere Group in Africa, my path has been anything but linear. It has been layered with resilience, grace, and growth. I embrace my leadership roles with empathy, with love, and with the deep understanding that true leadership is service.

Though I don't write as often as I used to, that changes this year. Writing is still home for me. My voice still matters, and so does the power of telling our stories.

I give where I can—mentoring, donating blood, and simply showing up for those who need light. Because giving is part of who I am, and community is everything.

Motherhood, too, has shaped me. Anthony is now 20, Nicole is 15—and somehow, even with all the years, it still feels like we're just getting started. We made it. We’re still making it.

So here’s to 2025—another chapter, another new beginning. I’m living with intention, with gratitude, and with the belief that the best is always yet to come.

20 years on........motherhood reflections

I can still recall the sinking feeling in my stomach when I saw the two solid lines on the pregnancy test. In that moment, I truly believed my life as I knew it was over—and in many ways, it was. The life of an ignored adolescent, uncertain and unaware of her purpose, came to an end. But the life that followed? I could never have imagined it as I stared at those two lines while my sister launched into a lecture.

I grieved the loss of the bright future I had envisioned—though, in hindsight, it was a future without much direction—for exactly two days. Then, I shifted into survival mode. However, I did so with a mindset of responsibility, determined to be a mother who rose to the challenge. That, I believe, was my saving grace.

When you become a mother—especially at a young age—society has a long list of reasons why you will fail. There is an unshakable confidence from the world around you that you are destined to struggle. But as a stubborn 15-year-old girl, I was determined to prove them wrong. Though, I must admit, the journey didn’t unfold quite as I had imagined—life has a way of surprising us like that.

As a child, I dreamed of having a big family, picturing a brood of six kids. But today, I sit here, deeply content with my two. It’s funny how, when you look back, you can barely recognize the person you once were. Your biggest dreams from the past feel distant and almost foreign, yet you know in your heart you have surpassed them in ways you never could have predicted.

The day my son was born was the day my life truly changed—for the better. In him, I found my purpose. I was given the incredible responsibility of loving and caring for this little human, even though, at the time, I wasn’t entirely sure what love was supposed to look like. But I had a deep sense that I would recognize it when I saw it. I may not have fully found my own sense of love and belonging in this world yet, but I have learned to give love freely and ensure those around me feel like they belong. And that, in itself, has been a beautiful journey.

Somehow, 20 years have passed, and tomorrow my son turns 20. As a mother, I couldn’t be prouder. He has grown into a decent, responsible man who has made my journey far smoother than I ever anticipated. For that, I thank and honor you, Anthony. I absolutely love you, and no matter what happens in this world, know that I will always be on your team, standing by your side.

Through it all, I recognize that I have not walked this journey alone. Though I may be a single mother, I have undoubtedly been in partnership with God every step of the way. His grace has sustained me, His protection has covered us, and His love has given me the strength to keep going. I am deeply grateful for His presence in our lives, guiding us through every challenge and blessing us in ways I never expected.

Cheers to you as you step onto the "second floor" of life. It’s only up from here, and I am so excited to watch you tap into your magic and become even more incredible in the years to come.

Happy birthday, my son. 🥂

2024!

This past year has been one of my toughest yet. For the first time, I experienced true depression—a deep sadness that hurt in ways I never imagined. I’ve always considered myself resilient, a tough cookie, but this year was different. The challenges felt unending, and no matter what I did to remedy the pain, nothing seemed to work. At times, even breathing felt like an effort, and pushing forward seemed impossible. I cried in private, as I always have, and put on a brave face for the world every single day. I showed up, even when it felt robotic and meaningless.

And yet, in a strange way, routine saved me. Having daily responsibilities forced me to keep going, not just for myself but for those who counted on me. The stakes were too high to give up, even though deep down, I wanted to. For the first time ever, I doubted myself—I questioned whether I had what it takes to win at life. My mind was a battlefield of arguments, but something in me always pushed back. A voice inside reminded me that I didn’t come this far just to quit now. I hadn’t climbed this mountain just to set down my tools before reaching the peak. I have promised myself a beautiful life, and I refuse to give up before I experience its full beauty—even if I don’t yet know what that looks like.

My faith and hope have been my anchors. Even in the darkness, I held on to the belief that the best is yet to come, even if I can’t yet recognize it. This year, I learned to pray not just for strength, but for the wisdom to recognize joy when it finally arrives.

Despite feeling like a complete failure in every aspect of my life, I found the will to keep going. I realized that part of my journey was about overcoming weaknesses, and one of the biggest lessons I learned this year was the importance of grieving—not just for the loss of people but for the loss of love, recognition, and validation. As a society, we grieve for the dead, but we rarely acknowledge the need to grieve for the things we never received—the love we deserved but didn’t get, the efforts we made that went unacknowledged. I had to grieve for the times I felt unseen, unheard, and unloved. But through that grief, I learned to let go and just be.

Another vital lesson I learned is that bottling up pain only leads to an eventual explosion. We are all imperfect, and facing those imperfections has been incredibly liberating for me. So what if I’m not where I thought I would be by now? At least I am here. And my favorite saying remains: better late than never. It’s better to show up today, to learn, to love myself, and to grow into a better version of me than to remain stagnant and continue hurting myself and those around me.

For the longest time, I felt like I had no “receipts” to prove my healing, but I found my first one this year. When I meet new people now, I feel different—I connect more effortlessly, I articulate my thoughts with clarity, and I fear no one. There is a newfound authenticity within me that makes my interactions more meaningful. It’s as if I’ve stepped into the person I was always meant to be. Someone recently described me as “maturing with grace and elegance,” and I think that perfectly sums up the transformation I’ve undergone.

Perhaps my greatest testimony this year is that someone described me as love. That, more than any other compliment I’ve ever received, was the most profound acknowledgment of the person I am becoming.

On the family front, the teenage years are in full swing. Every day brings attitude and underappreciation, but I recognize that this is just part of the journey. I try to remain present and approachable while respecting their individuality. I don’t want to mold them into mini versions of myself—I want to encourage them to be their true selves. There are good days, silent days, and loud, happy days, but one thing remains constant: my presence matters to them. Even when they’re not speaking to me, they want to know I’m there, cooking for them, prioritizing them. And they will always be my top priority.

Yes, this was a difficult year. I struggled, I fell, and I doubted myself. But I made it out alive. And more than that—I emerged stronger. My faith is deeper, my resilience greater, and my understanding of myself clearer than ever before. Growth is never easy; it demands a price. But stagnation is the real enemy. And I am proud to say that, despite everything, I have continued to grow. We gotta keep moving my diamonds and better late than never! Start your healing journey today and enjoy this life from a better healthier place l.

"You handled it so well!"

If only you knew.

If only you knew how my hands trembled

when no one was watching.

How I lay awake beneath the ceiling’s silence,

replaying moments like broken records,

asking myself if I had done enough,

if I had been enough.

If only you heard the whispers—

the quiet doubts that crept into my chest,

telling me strength was just a mask I wore too well.

So I fastened my smile,

kept my voice steady,

because that’s what you needed to see.

But when the doors closed

and the world grew still,

I unraveled.

The tears I swallowed by day

spilled freely at night,

reminding me of all I’d carried in secret.

If only you knew the cost—

what it took to rise again each morning,

to pretend I was whole

when all I wanted was to disappear.

You saw the calm, the steady grace,

the smile that never wavered.

You did not see the fractures,

the questions that haunted me,

the nights I wondered

how much longer I could hold myself together.

I made it look easy—

because that’s what everyone needed.

But inside,

I was fighting wars no one knew existed,

and every day was just another battle

against the weight of silence.

If only you knew…

2023

If shadow work was a year it would be 2023, I have come out of this year hopeful and positive but it definitely took me on a rollercoaster ride of experiences. I can almost confess to becoming an introvert now but let's not jump into new definitions. This year started different very different I was surrounded by the future, the kids and their friends had me surrounded but I embraced it and I learned to listen and just be present to provide silent support to my kids and their roles in life. I'm glad I have healed enough to be able to support my kids and cheer them on without the need to compete with them. I love watching them grow seeing little hints of me but healthier than I ever was which makes me so proud! I love my children I truly feel that I was blessed with amazing souls that inspire me to heal and show up better every day❤️

This year my healing journey got real I sat alone,I questioned myself alot I searched my heart alot and I was alone alot. I was constantly surrounded but alone alot.healing is a huge separator we always assume a person has changed when they become more distant but now I realise that when the misery is less from deep within the company tends to get a bit meaningless. When you are clear on your purpose and you approach people with clarity and intention it's so much harder to relate with the unhealed. When you come in peace without mess and anger or personal discontentment alot of things lose value. When you cut out your numbing and you are present the noise is much louder and the escapism seems so unnecessary you feel a little lost in the world that you once knew. When you long to connect with people but realise they are all deep inside high walls of protection you give up a little.

I have given up a little on finding a soul like mine or even finding soft landing spots in life. Everyone is so caught up their personal dramas and has been hurt too much to try and genuinely love, I won't lie this year I spent alot of time inside mostly because outside is so hard. I have always been a soft hearted person and I hated it for so long because I was constantly accused of enabling people to use me. I accepted my heart more this year and I have been creating boundaries it's a slow process to all around me who lost patience with my lack of boundaries but for me it's been great growth my self- worth intrinsically has been rising slow and steady and its growth non the less. The most frustrating thing about healing is that it can't be rushed you may identify a problem and theoretically know how to solve it but until you go through the slow painful motions of healing the job isn't done. I wished I never wanted to heal, I wished I was still residing in trauma because I was more relatable I wish I was still ignorant because hanging out and chillin would be much easier, they say ignorance is bliss and they are totally right!

When your healing its like you are genuinely adulting you're so self aware and conscious of your surroundings and more observant even more able to listen but you also feel more disconnected from people especially when you identify other peoples unhealed areas and you realise no matter how much you know and understand if the other person isn't ready to heal that hurt nothing you say or do can help. So you learn to take a step back so as to allow that person to deal and if they don't deal you gotta find peace with that and let sleeping dogs lie but obviously it results in you distancing yourself from them and thus you become scarce from everyone. The greatest outcome of this year is my relationship with my children I really felt present and connected with them it's been great to have my own people that for now can't leave me lol but it's coming soon. I have become a bit of loner but I also am more intentional, in the past I was a friend by duty and obligation but now I am a friend by choice I'm more present. I feel this year was very tough and alot of my wins were intrinsic so I have very little to show but im glad I showed up and I am more myself than ever and I ride the waves of uncertainty with a bit more grace then I ever did before. Diamonds life is getting tougher as we age and grace is more scarce then ever before but let's keep our heads up and be as authentic as we can happy 2024!!

A Love-Stop

 have been told over the years that I am too soft and I enable people not always in  a good way and I do too much and I get used easily. This is true to an extent and yes over years some experiences have been painful  and unfair and unkind but I have never regretted being the light in a person's life.
In the past I'd be lead by my heart to do things even for strangers and I have allowed society to tell me its wrong to make me feel conflicted inside even though I was lead by love and this is my biggest regret not allowing myself to share my light and feel its experience. I have let society steal my joy in being the change I want to see in the world which I know is my calling .

I was raised by such a gentle and loving soul and I also got to see how the world and experiences hardened her and I guess I  could see the conflict in my grandmother then but I didn't understand much when i was young.  Now having realised I inherited the greatest gift from her , her heart, I have an appreciation for her journey and I understand her conflict. I think I know now that I was raised by an angel in human form I saw grace and kindness that I knew was light and even though life chucks us around a bit and tells us to harden up and to protect ourselves. I have come to see that I am a love-stop like my grandmother was.
We are great big balls of energy or light that people are drawn to and we have the ability to refuel a low loved person and give a bit of kindness to fuel them until the next stop. It can be a very draining process and it can feel heavy at times but when you let the love flow its such an amazing and fulfilling place to be.

I am proud to be love-stop , I'm honoured to share my little light and give hope and love to anyone that needs it and sometimes I may feel a little empty but I'm always refilled and fulfilled and this is my privilege and purpose in life. I am the change I want to see in the world and I am answering my call as best as I can❤️ the diamond is starting to shine♦️

Killing the Imposter

How many times have you felt like you are barking up the wrong tree or as my granny would say "being too big for your own boots"! We live in a world that encourages you to fit in a box to play it small and not be too bold or loud. I was born loud , not that I popped out the womb screaming but I carried a big personality that noone approved of. I was told constantly to keep quiet, do less I was discouraged from learning,loving and being myself. From the moment I can remember I was made to feel not enough I don't blame anyone for this, conformity was just the norm and I wasn't good at conforming.

As far back as I could remember I was not good enough. I wasn't good enough to have my parents remember my existence. I wasn't good enough to recieve maternal or paternal love. I was reminded of my aloneness in this world constantly. Noone seemed to understand me or noone cared to. At the time I felt isolated but I learnt to self console young. My imagination was my best friend. My self worth was in the pits but my confidence shone. It seemed I was a walking contradiction but still noone understood me I was still too much but I felt not enough. Something in me always expected more I never knew love and care but I certainly knew what it wasn't. My brokenness lead me to many wrong stops but my inner self worth always made me uncomfortable. I tried settling,  I tried following the rules and ticking boxes but it felt like everytime I did a piece of me died.

It took me good decade to accept myself to know that even if noone showed up for me I was worth showing up for myself. I blocked my ears many times the nay sayers are always there telling you your worth according to their own brokenness, but my innervoice carried me through. I felt tired many times but I got up. I felt worthless many times but always knew I had value. I faced many setbacks,  lots of egg spilled on my face over years there were times I ran on fumes and hope and times I survived on faith and sheer will power. I sometimes don't know how I made it this far and for these times I claim grace.

Today I see myself where I dreamed to be once. Its not as pretty as I had hoped but it's still a mountain top. Not the first and certainly not the last buts it's a mountain top non the less and I wanna sit here and take in the view. I earned this a decade ago I set out to be an expert in Finance and a decade later I'm at the door. I sacrificed my freedom when l went from being an entrepreneur to being a professional many didn't see my logic but I had a vision and its being realised. I showed myself that there is nothing that I cannot do if I set my mind to it. I have had many setbacks that made me feel like an imposter but I learnt to sit through the discomfort and not show my fears and now I know I'm not an imposter I'm a brilliant, young, fearless leader who is actively being the change I want to see in the world. I living my life from love I'm not perfect but I'm learning and growing everyday and my skin feels like it fits. I feel like I am me big bold and loud❤️ and most importantly proud. I am proud of myself and I love myself and I know I'm not for everyone and I cherish my uniqueness. Be bold and be authentic my 💎.

Full Circle

Eighteen years ago I started my labor! I didn't know I was in labor as I was sixteen and new to all this and my water didn't break. I thought it was just another hard pregnancy day with braxton hicks. I told myself we only panic and look for doctors when the water breaks not realising I had no idea water waters breaking entailed other than what i saw on tv.I didn't know what to expect or if there were instances when this didn't happen naturally. I had the ignorance of youth on my side. In addition to this I was isolated by family and friends and the naughty one who liked things due to my young pregnancy.

I didn't feel up for much that day because the pain was intense but I was strong, I went through the first few hours of labor on my own thinking it was like a bad period and I could handle it and I did. I even repacked my hospital bag more realistically to cater for myself and not just the baby. I tossed and turned and walked up and down, I was uncomfortable and in pain but it wasn't major I wasn't dying I said to myself. I tried to have lunch but I couldn't, I had a feeling I was in labor but I wasn't sure. All I knew is I did not want to defecate in the delivery room so eating wasn't an ideal option. I don't really recall much of that day except knowing without a doubt I was in pain and I was uncomfortable and I was not hungry. I was too busy being strong to tell anyone about my experience at the time and I was afraid. I was afraid of the reality I was in and I was afraid to die but I knew I had to be strong.

I got through the day ok and as evening drew near I knew something was up but I had told myself we only go to the hospital with something tangible wet panties or something lol! From about six in the evening I was on thirty minute bathroom breaks to see if my water broke cause in my head it was a sixty millilitre liquid expectation I guess 🙃. I remember at about eight pm when everyone went to bed but I couldn't cause I was uncomfortable I sat through a few movies and I remember non but I remember I had this horrid backpain it was like someone had lit a fire on my spine I couldn't sit or lye down in any position comfortably and  I was consumed with pain but I was waiting on my water to break!

Just before ten pm I had started spotting on my bathroom visit and I was pleased for at last I had something tangible a real reason to go to the hospital. So I wake everyone up gently and say its time for me to go to the hospital after everyones initial panic we were off. I remember every pot hole in the road because it seemed to trigger an earthquake of pain, I wasn't aware that I was in labor and I wasn't aware I should have been timing my contractions because I wasn't sure, it was the 22nd of March 2005 and my due date was the 14th of April 2005.

We finally arrived at the hospital and they tried to offer me a wheelchair but I wasn't having it lol I was the picture of perfect strength! After paperwork and check in I was in the labor ward for a physical exam and that is when I was advised that I had dilated seven cms and I was three cms away from delivery 😳 I was shook I had done it I had endured the worst part of my labor on my own. I was then offered my first ever dose of pethidine which really calmed the pain down alot. I was in the labor room with a clock infront of me and I was counting minutes and hours from ten pm to about two am nothing really happened but waiting and watching the clock. My waters still hadn't broken and my baby was getting restless.the nurses decide to break my waters for me and boy was it more than the sixty millilitres I expected🙆‍♀️!

Finally my labor was back to progressing I went to 8 and 9 cms very fast and the nurses left me to go get my gynaecologist but while they were out I felt the baby pushing on me but there was noone to help so I silently closed my legs for at least two contractions and then finally the nurses and my gynaecologist came in and realised what had happened so they tried to get me to push on the third contraction but my baby was tired from fighting to come out and his heart was getting slow so my gynaecologist got a vacuum and sucked him out of me. This was not at all traumatic for my sixteen year old self no not at all😬

So a red baby comes out of me *it's too crazy to explain in detail* and all I do instantly is count toes and fingers while waiting to hear him cry as soon as that happened I felt relief and in that relief and in that moment all pain disappears and the last twenty four hours are a distant memory. It's all worth it for a healthy baby and in this moment women forget the pain and having another baby is a viable option 🤦‍♀️.  I was very lucky that morning at ten past three in the morning to deliver a healthy baby because in the labor room next to mine a lady passed on in labor and her baby was premature it was a very sobering scenario and again not at all traumatic for me😬. 

I looked at my baby after all this at about 4am and he just looked like an Anthony I hadn't thought on the name much and I was actually gonna name my son Ethan but then looking at him Anthony just came to me and so Anthony was born on the 23rd of March in 2005. The day I started mothering as a vocation. The day my life ceased to be about just me and the adventure of motherhood began for me. Eighteen years later and its still the greatest adventure of my life and a part of me I would never change even if I was offered a do over I wouldn't change a thing. 

The Unbecoming

We live in a world today of conformity, from the minute you open your eyes as a child you have people who think they know better guiding you and teaching you how to think and behave and for the first two decades of your life you are moulded into a little robot imbeded with your parents knowledge and all their influences and beliefs and society dictates who you should be and how you should think and it pin points out the way you should lead your life.

The problem with me is that I was born stubborn, I have required justification and explanations for all rules and conformity has been my biggest downfall. I first realised this in school as they constantly beat me up for wanting explanations. I'm so glad the pointless beatings didn't crush my spirit or extinguish my curiosity over the years. I have evolved into a woman who isn't afraid to be different and come to her own conclusions in life. I know it has made many keep their distance but I don't mind! Actually when I die please put it on my tombstone that I was not afraid to think for myself and redefine my life for the fulfilment of my soul!

I'm at the happiest place in my life right now as I am able to do things differently I don't just practice robotics and join the rat race and compete with the world. I am an intentional woman with a clear and consise plan to be happy and true to my inner self daily! I set goals that I focus on but not in a way that causes self harm or hate I am on a journey of self discovery that allows me to create the best version of my self intentionally and lovingly. I am aware that I am an empath and I have the ability to bring others peace and to make them feel heard and I try my best to fulfil this calling that I'm also understanding more and more each day. I know my purpose is to speak I feel great amounts of revitalising energy and literally the hairs on back stand when I speak and connect with an audience regardless of the size so now I speak fearlessly and passionately. I have always shared my love for motherhood and now doing it on my own terms and probably being classified as a hippie parent gives me great joy! I love observing my children's individuality and seeing them evolve into who they are going to be be and not being too invested in who they become. I'm just their bigesst supporter and encourager of their own authenticity. I have discovered hobbies that bring me great joy too and I know that there is nothing I can't do if I set my mind to it!

This is where I have found my power I am nothing like anyone raised me to be. I sometimes fell like I have my parents turning in their graves, but I am honouring me now.I  am consciously being the best and most authentic version of myself and I love it. I'm not afraid of being rejected now for honouring me. I am not afraid of not fitting in or being liked I am on a road I love now. So my diamonds dare to be different! Dare to honour your inate desires and become authentic.its a road less travelled but the personal joy is insurmountable.

The Lonliness of Beauty

She sweats to make herself perfect 

Runway ready but why?

Like a rose picked to be forgotten 

She spends her days wilting in the sun

The work invested in becoming only to never be realised oh to be admired for a fleeting second but never valued for what is inside!

To wonder abut ones value and loses all hope in what she is worth 

Ignored one too many times and always forgotten her heart bleeds for the world 

But alas as only one person can, change is slow

She longs to heal the world loving everyone in sight caring as much as she can but deep down inside she depletes 

To be valued and admired from afar but in close range avoided like a plague to be genuine and only attract those with ill thoughts wrecks ones brain to change is unnatural to give an eye for eye leaves a bitter taste in ones mouth but the legacy she seems to have built is one of being forgotten and alone oh what a bittersweet life to give and not expect anything but alas one depletes then what she keeps going an empty cup with so much more to give.