Here we go with part 2 of this one. Here is the recap
1. Treasure every moment—big or small
2. Not every good opportunity is obedience
3. Pain is not proof that God is absent
4. Gratitude is a form of seeing
5. God does not ask us to earn His approval
6. Letting go is sometimes an act of faith
7. The past holds wisdom the present often forgets
8. Small victories are still victories
9. Rest is holy resistance
10. Truth without love is noise
11. Waiting is not wasted time
If Part 1 was about the truths God gently taught me along the way, Part 2 is about what those truths looked like when they met real life. These lessons weren’t learned in comfort or ease. They were learned in survival, in healing, in quiet prayers, and in moments I never thought I’d make it through. This is the continuation of the journey—what 26 years of living, losing, growing, and trusting has taught me next.
12. Comparison steals joy.
Your journey is uniquely yours—and comparison has a way of blurring that truth until you forget who you are. I know this deeply. My body carries scars I caused myself. My mind remembers sleepless nights and days spent starving—physically and emotionally. It remembers the hurt and the pain of seeing others thriving while I struggled. Comparison never helped me heal; it only reminded me of what I thought I wasn’t. You were never meant to live in a constant state of measuring yourself against others or believing everyone else is doing life better than you. Comparison doesn’t motivate—it wounds. Healing began when I stepped out of comparison and into self-acceptance, choosing love over judgment. Joy grows where comparison ends.
13. Forgive quickly and fully.
Forgiveness isn’t denial—it’s release. It loosens chains on both sides, but especially on your own heart. Holding onto bitterness never protects you; it only makes you heavier. There’s a saying that unforgiveness is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. It doesn’t work. Instead, it quietly eats away at you, shaping bitterness, resentment, and anger. Forgiveness doesn’t excuse what happened—but it frees you from carrying it forever. Let it go. Lay it down. Choose peace, even when it’s hard.
14. Grief is allowed—no matter what it is.
I’ve grieved family members. I’ve pounded my fists into the ground, angry at God for taking away people who felt like best friends. I’ve grieved a life I will never have because of what I’ve endured or choices I’ve made. And all of that is allowed. Grief doesn’t need permission. It doesn’t need justification. Loss looks different for everyone, and minimizing it only deepens the wound. God is not afraid of your grief—He meets you in it. Mourning is not weakness; it’s love remembering what mattered.
15. Don’t fear change.
Seasons shift, and God moves in ways we don’t always understand. Growth often disguises itself as discomfort. I never imagined I’d be living on my own, far from my family. I was told it would never happen—that I wouldn’t be able to do it. Since I was four, the story was always that independence was far from my future. But here I am. Change doesn’t have to be feared. It doesn’t have to bring anxiety or panic. Sometimes change is the very place God does His deepest work. When you embrace it with an open heart, what once scared you most can become the very thing that strengthens you most.
16. Your voice matters.
Your story carries weight—because no one else can tell it the way you can. Sharing it has the power to inspire, encourage, and heal. My favorite stories to hear are not my own but others. Ive been in conversations where the next to share their testimony told me "I cant say anything nearly as jnteresting." Well, its more to me because you lived it and I didnt. Every scar, lesson, story, everything is so important to the narrative so share it. This blog has been a huge part of my journey, but more recently, stepping into speaking engagements has shown me how much stories matter when they’re spoken aloud. Your story—my story—holds power precisely because it’s unique. When shared, it becomes a bridge to hope for someone else. Don’t silence what was meant to be heard.
17. You can step out of survival mode.
I lived on the edge for so long—always waiting for the next thing to drop. Asking, Am I prepared? What if it happens again? What if they do the same thing? Living that way is exhausting. And it was never the call. Simply surviving was never the goal. We weren’t created just to endure the next moment, the next breath, the next crisis. We were created to live—to live fully and abundantly. It’s okay to lower your guard. It’s okay to trust again. Stepping out of survival and into true living is not reckless—it’s where you were designed to remain. Take a step away from survival-only mode and see what life has in store for you.
18. You are never alone.
Even in the hardest seasons, God’s presence is constant. When things feel dark, I remember the people in my life. As a teen, I listened often to “Would It Matter” by Skillet, and it broke me. I wondered if it would matter if I wasn’t here. Then I picture a funeral—faces of people whose hearts would shatter if I were gone. Being by yourself is not the same as being alone. Solitude can be healing. Loneliness lies. You are thought of. You are loved. And God has never once stepped away from you, nor have the ones who truly care for you.
19. You are allowed.
You are allowed to take up space. You are allowed to simply exist without apology. Your presence does not push others out. You are not too much, not in the way, not a burden. You don’t need to earn the right to be here. You are allowed to be who you are—without shrinking, reshaping, or silencing your true self. And if someone cannot accept you as you are, they are not meant to walk closely with you.
20. You can be strong and weak all at once.
Growing up, I constantly heard, “You’re so strong,” “You’re so brave,” “I could never do what you’ve done.” And yet—I was struggling. Those words weighed on me, because while I appeared strong, I felt unbearably weak. I felt like I had to live up to the standard others saw in me. I wanted to break down but felt I couldn’t because everyone expected strength. Here’s the truth: strength and weakness are not opposites. Sometimes strength lives inside the breaking. Sometimes healing requires tears. Resilience isn’t about never falling apart—it’s about how you recover and adapt afterward. You’re allowed to be both. You are able to hold both in the same moment—and that is okay.
Closing:
These lessons weren’t learned all at once, and they weren’t learned easily. They were shaped through pain, prayer, growth, and grace. If you see yourself in any of these words, know this—you are not behind, broken, or failing. You are becoming. You are learning. You are healing. You are growing in ways that may feel invisible, but they are shaping the person you were always meant to be. And that, in itself, is sacred.
Life is messy, beautiful, hard, and full of wonder. The lessons come slowly, sometimes painfully—but they come. And each step forward, no matter how small, is a step into the life God has created for you—a life worth living fully, bravely, and in peace.