Stay Present.

STAYING IN THE MOMENT - MARCH 2024

Today, my mind feels like a whirlwind—a constant swirl of worry, questioning, and uncertainty. I find myself asking, "Why did this happen? What does the future hold? Will I ever find true love again after this heartbreak?" The ache is heavy, and the unknown looms large, casting shadows over the present.

But as I sit with these thoughts, I remind myself of the power of staying in the moment. Dwelling on the past or projecting too far into the future only deepens the hurt. The reality is, the past is unchangeable, and the future is unwritten. What I have, what I can truly grasp, is now.

Staying present has its benefits, even when it feels impossible:

Finding Peace in the Now: When I anchor myself in the present, I realize the worries about "what if" lose their weight. This moment may be imperfect, but it is real, tangible, and mine to shape.

Reconnecting with Myself: Being present allows me to reconnect with my emotions without judgment. I can honor the heartbreak while recognizing it doesn’t define me.

Appreciating the Small Joys: In the stillness of now, there are glimpses of light—a warm cup of tea, the sound of laughter in the distance, or the comfort of my own breath. These moments remind me that life’s beauty often hides in simplicity.

Building Strength for Tomorrow: The future may be uncertain, but by staying present, I equip myself with the clarity and strength to face it when it comes. Each moment of mindfulness is a step toward healing.

As I journey through this period of depression, I choose to take one moment at a time. I might not have all the answers today, and that’s okay. Love, in all its forms, will find its way back to me when the time is right. For now, I’ll focus on nurturing the love I can give to myself.

Each breath I take reminds me I’m still here, still capable of healing, and still deserving of joy—one moment at a time.

Moving Forward - June 2024

Today feels like a heavy weight on my heart. It’s hard to process how someone I cared about so deeply could hurt me so easily, as though my feelings didn’t matter. I keep questioning my own worth—what could I have done differently? Was I not enough? These thoughts circle in my mind like a storm, relentless and unforgiving.

Why do people choose to hurt others just to fulfill their own selfish needs? Is it really so hard to care, to be honest, or to communicate? The pain feels so raw, and moving on seems impossible right now.

I know time is supposed to heal, but right now it feels like time is my enemy. The silence is deafening, the memories overwhelming. I gave so much of myself, and now I’m left trying to piece together the shattered parts.

I don’t have all the answers, and maybe I never will. But I’m writing this down because it’s the only way I can let some of this hurt escape my chest. I hope that someday, I’ll look back and see this as a moment of growth, even though it feels like I’m standing still in pain right now.

For now, I’ll try to hold on to the belief that I deserve better than this. I have to believe that love—real, selfless, and kind love—exists somewhere. I’ll try to remind myself that healing isn’t linear and that this hurt doesn’t define who I am.

But tonight, I just need to let myself feel it.

Childhood

Today, I find myself reflecting on the journey that shaped who I am. My childhood wasn’t easy—growing up with a father whose temper could turn a room cold in an instant left scars I’ve carried for years. It wasn’t just the yelling or the unpredictable anger; it was the fear that settled in my chest, the feeling that home wasn’t always a safe place.

But amidst the chaos, there was my mom. A single mother, doing everything she could to make life work for us. She carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, sacrificing so much just to give me a chance at something better. I saw her strength, her determination, and even her quiet moments of exhaustion when she thought no one was looking.

I remember making a promise to myself during those years—a vow, really. I told myself that when I grew up, if I ever had the means, I would help single mothers like her. Women who were just trying to make things happen, to create stability and love in the midst of challenges.

Fast forward to now, and I realize how blessed I’ve been. Financial stability wasn’t something I ever imagined as a child, but here I am, in a position to make good on that promise. Every time I’m able to lend a hand, whether it’s through financial support, offering resources, or simply being a voice of encouragement, I feel like I’m honoring my mom’s legacy and the strength she embodied.

It’s more than just a promise kept; it’s a way to heal. Helping others allows me to rewrite part of the story, to turn pain into purpose. I think of the child I was, watching my mom struggle, and I hope that in some small way, I’m making a difference in someone else’s life, just like she made in mine.

Today, I feel grateful. Grateful for the hardships that taught me resilience, for the ability to give back, and for the unwavering love of a mother who never gave up—even when life seemed impossible. She didn’t just teach me to survive; she taught me how to care. And for that, I’ll always be thankful.

Letting Go... - March 2024

Letting go is harder than I ever imagined. It’s not just about losing someone; it’s about losing the version of them I thought I knew. The person I believed in, trusted, and held close in my heart wasn’t who she turned out to be—or maybe she never was.

It’s hard to untangle the truth from the stories I told myself about her. I saw her through a lens of hope, through the potential I thought we shared. I clung to that image, that idea, because it made me feel safe, it made me believe in something.

But now, I see the cracks more clearly. The actions that didn’t match the words, the moments of dishonesty I ignored, the ways she let me down when I needed her most. It’s not just about the hurt; it’s the realization that I was holding on to someone who wasn’t really there.

I know this process is necessary. I can’t keep carrying the weight of an illusion—it’s too heavy. I have to let go of who I thought she was to make room for the truth, even if it’s painful.

There’s sadness in this, but also a strange sense of freedom. By releasing the version of her I created in my mind, I’m making space for healing. I’m allowing myself to see things as they are, not as I wished they were.

Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting or pretending it didn’t matter. It means choosing to move forward without the chains of false expectations. It means honoring what was real while accepting what wasn’t.

I’ll keep reminding myself of this: I deserve people in my life who show up fully, honestly, and with the same care I offer. Letting go of who I thought she was is a step toward finding that—not in her, but in myself and in the people who truly belong in my life.

For now, I’ll take it one breath at a time. Letting go is a process, but I know it’s the only way to move forward.

Through the Darkness

Today, the weight of depression feels heavier than usual, like a fog that refuses to lift. It’s not just sadness—it’s a numbness, a hollow ache that stretches through every part of me. The smallest tasks feel monumental, and the world seems distant, like I’m watching life happen through a pane of glass I can’t break.

I don’t always know how to describe this feeling to others. It’s not just being sad; it’s an emptiness that drains the color from everything. It’s the constant fight between wanting to reach out and the voice in my head saying, Don’t bother, no one will understand.

Some moments are darker than others, and today is one of those days. But even in this darkness, there’s a part of me that wants to hold on—a quiet whisper reminding me that this won’t last forever. I have to believe that, even if it feels impossible right now.

I remind myself that depression lies. It tells me I’m alone when I’m not. It tells me I’m not enough when I know, deep down, that I am. It tells me there’s no way forward, even when I know I’ve survived these moments before.

So today, I’ll try to take small steps. I’ll get out of bed, even if it feels like climbing a mountain. I’ll take a deep breath and remind myself that breathing itself is an act of resilience. I’ll focus on just making it through the next hour, the next minute, if that’s what it takes.

I know this darkness doesn’t define me. I know I’m more than this pain, even if I can’t see it clearly right now. Somewhere inside, there’s still hope—a faint, flickering light that refuses to go out.

And for now, that’s enough. I’ll keep holding on to that light, however small it may seem, and trust that it will guide me through.

Just Leave Me Alone...June 2024

I don’t understand why she does this—why she plays these mind games, leaving me spinning with questions and no answers. Today, it hit me hard. A text, timed just when she knew I’d be unreachable, crammed on a plane with spotty Wi-Fi and surrounded by strangers. She said what she said, dropped a bomb in my lap, and then... nothing. No follow-up, no response, just silence.

How can someone do that? How can you send something knowing it will shake the ground under someone, and then vanish as if none of it matters? It feels cruel, calculated even, and it’s breaking me.

I gave her everything—my time, my trust, my heart. I believed her when she said we were in this together, that I was her forever. But now, looking at the silence that stretches between us, I can’t help but feel like all of that meant nothing to her.

Why do people do this to those who care about them? Is it a power move, a way to keep control? Or is it just carelessness—a lack of regard for the damage left behind? Either way, it hurts more than I can put into words.

Sitting here now, I can’t stop replaying everything in my mind, searching for answers that may never come. I feel used, discarded, like I was just a chapter she closed without warning. And I hate that I’m still sitting here, trying to make sense of her actions, when she’s given me no reason to believe she’s even thinking about me at all.

I know I need to stop giving her this power. I need to let go of the hold her silence has over me. But tonight, it’s hard. Tonight, I just feel the weight of it—the betrayal, the confusion, the heartbreak.

Maybe someday I’ll have the strength to stop asking why and start focusing on myself again. But tonight, all I can do is write it out, hoping the words will carry some of this pain away.

My Vow to Help

Today, I’m reminding myself of a promise I made long ago—a vow to always help those in need, especially those walking the same path I once struggled through. Life hasn’t always been easy for me, and I know how isolating and overwhelming it can feel to carry burdens that seem too heavy to bear alone.

I remember the times when I felt lost, when help felt like a distant dream, and when even a small gesture of kindness could have changed everything. Those memories are etched into who I am, and they drive me to be the person I needed during those moments.

I know not everyone will accept the help I offer. Some may be too proud, too afraid, or simply not ready. But I also know that offering help is an act of faith—faith in the goodness of humanity and in the belief that even small acts can make a big difference.

God willing, I pray that those I reach out to will allow me to be there for them. That they’ll see my intentions as genuine and understand that I’m not trying to fix them, but simply walk alongside them, even if just for a little while.

Helping others isn’t about recognition or gratitude; it’s about honoring the struggles I’ve endured and using them as a source of strength for someone else. It’s about paying forward the blessings I’ve received, no matter how small they seemed at the time.

Today, I renew my promise to myself and to God. I promise to continue being a source of light and hope, even if it’s just in small ways. I promise to listen, to empathize, and to offer what I can, trusting that every act of kindness ripples further than I’ll ever see.

This is who I am, and this is the path I choose to walk.

Does It Ever Stop?

When does the sadness ever stop? That’s the question that’s been circling in my mind today. It feels endless, like a shadow that follows me everywhere I go. No matter how much I try to distract myself or focus on the good, it creeps back in, heavier and darker than before.

There’s this ache inside me, a heaviness that I carry every day. Some days, I can push through it, pretending it’s not there. But other days, like today, it feels overwhelming, like it’s pulling me under.

I wonder if it ever truly stops, or if it just fades into the background over time, becoming part of who I am. People say it gets better, that time heals, but right now, it feels like time just makes it harder to remember what happiness even feels like.

I miss feeling light. I miss the days when laughter came easily and when I didn’t feel like I had to fight my own mind to get through the day. I miss the version of myself who wasn’t weighed down by this sadness, who believed in brighter tomorrows without hesitation.

I know I’m not alone in this, even though it feels that way sometimes. I know there are others who have felt this pain and come out on the other side. That thought gives me a sliver of hope, even on days when hope feels out of reach.

So for now, I’ll hold on to that small hope. I’ll remind myself that feelings aren’t forever, even though it feels like they are. And I’ll keep writing, letting these words carry some of the weight that’s been sitting on my chest.

Maybe the sadness doesn’t stop all at once. Maybe it stops moment by moment, little by little, until one day I’ll realize it’s no longer the loudest voice in my life. Until then, I’ll keep going, one step at a time.

Great Day!

Today was a good day—a much-needed break from the heaviness I’ve been carrying. I went for a walk through Griffith Park, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I felt a sense of clarity. The fresh air, the sound of leaves crunching beneath my feet, and the wide-open sky above me…it all reminded me how important it is to just be.

I let myself breathe today—really breathe. With every step, it felt like I was shedding some of the weight on my shoulders. The world felt bigger than my problems, and for that moment, I was able to reconnect with myself, the version of me that feels free and light.

It wasn’t about solving everything or making big decisions. It was just about being present, letting my mind clear, and realizing that even in the midst of struggle, there are moments of peace waiting to be found.

I know it’s just a moment, and I know there will still be hard days ahead. But today reminded me that these moments matter. They’re a glimpse of what’s possible, a reminder that the sadness doesn’t have to define every part of me.

I’m grateful for today—for the walk, the stillness, and the chance to feel like myself again, even if it’s just for now. It’s enough to keep me going, to keep believing that there are more good days ahead.

Friendships...

Establishing new friendships is becoming a key part of my healing journey. There’s something powerful about finding those who can truly relate—people who may start as strangers but grow to become part of your safe circle.

It’s incredible how connections can form regardless of age, distance, or background. Sometimes, those unexpected bonds become even stronger than the ones you thought would last forever. They become your chosen family, reminding you that healing doesn’t have to be a lonely road.

Journal Entry: Single Mom Strong

Today at LAX, heading to Northern California, I had an encounter that stirred a wave of reflection. I saw a single mom with two kids navigating the chaos of travel. One of her children, based on my observation and my background with an ASD certificate, appeared to be on the autism spectrum. The overstimulation of the airport environment was clearly overwhelming for the child, and the mother was doing her best to manage it all amidst the judgmental stares of strangers.

It reminded me of my own childhood—my mom, my brother, and me. We weren’t dealing with autism, but we had our struggles. My brother was often in trouble, and I was the anxious, overachieving younger sibling. My mom, a single mother, carried it all on her shoulders, weathering the world’s opinions with a strength that I admire more each day.

As I watched the mom at the airport, I couldn’t just stand by. I introduced myself, shared my background, and asked if I could talk to her child. Simple things—a soft voice, a calm distraction, and techniques I’ve learned—helped soothe the child. By the grace of God, we were seated near each other on the flight. Even though it was a short trip, I was able to check in and offer support.

The experience reminded me of an important truth: don’t judge people. You never know the battles they’re fighting. That mother was strong, patient, and doing her absolute best, just like my mom did for us.

Mom, if you’re reading this, thank you for your strength. To that mother at the airport, and every parent trying their best, keep going. The world may not always see you, but there are those of us who understand and stand with you. I see you.

Ready to Be Someone’s Prince

I’ve been reflecting a lot lately. People often say I should aspire to be a king, but I don’t see it that way. I want to be a prince—a partner who lifts his queen higher than himself, someone who ensures she shines the brightest. I’m ready to provide, to cherish, and to stand steadfast beside her.

Even through heartbreak and the ups and downs of my healing journey, I feel it in my soul—I’m ready. Maybe, somewhere out there, my queen is also healing, preparing to meet me halfway. Maybe she’ll help soothe the wounds of my inner child as we build something beautiful together.

I long for that partnership in life, the kind where we grow stronger through love and mutual care. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I still believe in it.

Until that day comes, I’ll be patient. Love has its own timing, and I know it’ll be worth the wait. One day, my queen. One day. Wherever you are...

9th 5K Run - November 2024

Today, I crossed the finish line of my 9th 5K run—a milestone that means so much more than just miles on a course. This was a goal I set for myself during the hardest times, a marker on my journey of heartbreak, healing, and rebuilding.

Each run has been a step forward, a reminder of my strength and resilience. The sweat, the ache, and the push to keep going reflect the work I’ve done on myself—not just physically, but emotionally and mentally.

Today, as I completed this race, I felt a sense of pride. Not because it was easy, but because I kept showing up, even when it was hard. This isn’t just about running; it’s about proving to myself that I can move forward, no matter the obstacles.

Here’s to more miles, more growth, and more victories—one step at a time.

Setting Goals for 2025

As 2025 approaches in just over a month and a half, I’m taking a moment to reflect and set intentions for the year ahead. This isn’t just about resolutions—it’s about purpose, growth, and creating a life that aligns with who I want to be.

Here are my goals:

1. Physical Health:

- Run at least 12 5Ks this year—one for each month.

- Focus on consistency with my workouts and nourishing my body with healthier choices.

2. Emotional Growth:

- Continue my healing journey, practicing self-compassion and letting go of past hurt.

- Dedicate more time to journaling and mindfulness to stay grounded.

3. Professional Development:

- Expand my skills and complete at least one certification or course to advance my career.

- Be more intentional about balancing work and personal life.

4. Relationships:

- Strengthen my connections with family and friends by being more present.

- Stay open to new relationships, building deeper, more meaningful bonds.

5. Personal Fulfillment:

- Read 12 books—fiction, self-help, and everything in between.

- Explore a creative hobby or passion project that brings me joy.

6. Community Impact:

- Volunteer more regularly and give back to causes I care about.

- Be an advocate for positivity and understanding in my community.

2025 is about stepping into my potential while staying true to myself. I know it won’t always be easy, but I’m ready to embrace the challenges and celebrate the victories along the way. Here’s to growth, gratitude, and new beginnings.

LA Traffic and Late-Night Thoughts

Traffic in Los Angeles—it’s a love-hate relationship. Sometimes it drives me nuts, but it’s also the perfect time to safely zone out with good music, especially at night when the downtown lights make everything feel alive.

There’s something magical about those moments. Later, when I’m lying in bed, staring out at the city, I can’t help but wonder: who’s out there right now, living their life, who will eventually become a part of mine? It’s a comforting thought—this big, chaotic city connecting us all in ways we can’t even see yet.

Better Days A Head

The air feels sharper today, colder—a sign that the holidays are creeping in. There’s a strange mix of warmth and heaviness that comes with this season. The lights, the laughter, the plans—it’s all beautiful, but it also reminds me of what’s missing. Being alone during the holidays has never been easy, but I’m learning to be okay with it. It’s a process, and some days are harder than others, but I know this time is teaching me something valuable: how to truly be with myself.

Building new friendships has been on my mind a lot lately. It’s not easy, especially as an adult, but I’m realizing that the connections worth having often come when you push past that initial discomfort. I know I’ll have to step outside my comfort zone, but I’m ready—or at least, I’m willing. That counts for something, right?

Work today was a mix of emotions. We started the Secret Santa questionnaires, which was fun and lighthearted until the conversation shifted to holiday plans and gifts for significant others. That hit a nerve I didn’t expect. It’s not like I don’t know what’s missing in my life, but sometimes, hearing others talk about it makes it feel sharper, more present. Still, I reminded myself that as a leader, I need to keep my personal feelings in check. My team deserves my full focus, and that’s exactly what I gave them. I think I handled it well, but it left me feeling… off.

To cope, I threw myself back into work. I can see how easy it would be to let work take over entirely—there’s always more to do, more to organize, more to fix. But I don’t want to lose myself in it completely. Balance has to be the goal, even if it’s hard to find some days.

One day, I’ll find my person. I believe that. But until then, I’ll keep working on me—on being enough for myself. It’s a journey, but I think I’m headed in the right direction.

For now, I’ll end the day with gratitude—for the warmth of my work community, for the lessons I’m learning, and for the quiet strength I’m building within myself.

Here’s to better days ahead.

Exhaustion!!

Exhaustion is starting to creep in. Rising to the top is no easy feat, and some days it feels like I’m barely keeping up with the demands. I’m second in command now—an accomplishment I’m proud of—but there’s this lingering emptiness that no one really talks about. There’s no one to truly celebrate these milestones with. Sure, I get the congratulations, the pats on the back, but at the end of the day, the only person in my corner is me.

When I got the last promotion, I decided to reward myself with a new car. It felt like a tangible symbol of my hard work—a gift to myself, from myself. And every time I get behind the wheel, I’m reminded of how far I’ve come. But now I’m wondering: what’s next? What can I do to mark this chapter and keep the momentum going?

I’ve been thinking about a trip—a getaway to clear my mind and recharge. Maybe somewhere I’ve never been, or maybe just somewhere peaceful where I can reflect and refocus. Or perhaps investing in a new hobby, something that’s purely for me, outside of work.

Whatever I choose, I want it to feel meaningful, like a reminder that all this hard work is worth it. I’m building a life I can be proud of, even if there are moments when it feels like the journey is lonelier than I expected.

Here’s to figuring out what’s next—and making sure I take the time to celebrate myself along the way.

Site Consultation - Portland, Oregon!

Today was my final consultation visit for the feasibility study on the school exploring inclusivity for all students, regardless of learning differences. It has been an enlightening experience, to say the least. The faculty meeting was a mixed bag—some staff members are wholeheartedly on board, eager to create a more inclusive environment, while others seem unwilling to go the extra mile or grasp the importance of this shift. It's frustrating but not surprising. Change is hard, and not everyone is ready to embrace it.

What’s alarming is the state of their current supports: several students have expired IEPs and 504 plans, and some are overdue for triennials. These aren’t just small administrative oversights; they’re significant gaps that leave students without the services they need. It’s a red flag for their readiness to move toward inclusivity, and honestly, my report is going to reflect that. It won’t be an easy read for them, but it needs to be said if they’re serious about this transformation.

I feel grateful for the opportunity to consult on projects like this alongside my full-time work. It’s fulfilling to bring a fresh perspective and help schools take steps toward equity and inclusivity, even if the road is bumpy. That said, the emotional weight of these projects can be heavy—so many students counting on adults to get it right.

Now that this visit is wrapped, it’s time to head home and start drafting the report. But first, I think I need to recharge—maybe a hike or some time in nature to clear my mind and just breathe. These moments remind me why I do this work: for the students, for equity, and for the possibility of positive change.

Quick thought.

Staying in the moment is hard when everything feels like too much. Therapy helps—it reminds me to breathe, to focus on now, instead of worrying about tomorrow or getting stuck in the "why" of it all. The questions don’t always have answers, and maybe they don’t need to. One step, one breath, one moment at a time. That’s enough for today.

It's been a journey!

It's been a journey—a long and winding one—toward healing from heartbreak. Today, I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. The days that used to be unbearably heavy have become less frequent, and when they do come, I find that they no longer consume me as they once did.

Looking back, I wouldn’t wish the pain I endured on anyone. To uncover lies and deceit while giving my all to someone I believed was my best—it's a betrayal that cuts deep, leaving a scar that questions everything. It's a violation of the trust I held sacred, and I often wonder, how does one trust again? How does one start anew when the foundation they once stood on has crumbled?

Right now, I choose to focus on the blessing of being in a good position to rebuild. My time is consumed by work—perhaps too much—but in the midst of this, I find a kind of solace. I’ve realized the importance of intentionally surrounding myself with those who uplift and strengthen me, building a bigger and stronger circle of trust, one that will stand firm even when tested.

This path hasn’t been easy, but it has taught me resilience. I know now that healing isn’t a destination; it’s a continuous process. I still have moments of doubt and questions that linger, but there’s also hope—hope that the next chapter of my life will be written on a foundation of truth, love, and mutual respect.

Today, I am stronger than I was yesterday, and that’s a victory worth celebrating. Moving forward, I’ll continue to build, continue to trust, and continue to heal. One step at a time.