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Lilac Pages

gentle pages for healing hearts
turning quiet heart-whispers into lilac pages 💜

22/11/2025

There was a season when I thought I had lost myself completely.
Not because of the pain alone
but because I spent so long holding everything together
that I didn’t know who I was anymore.

I kept asking,
“Where did she go?”
“Why do I feel like a stranger to my own life?”

But now, looking back, I understand something tender:
I didn’t lose myself.
I was simply buried under responsibilities, survival, heartbreak, and expectations I never asked for.

Here’s what healing taught me:
You don’t “find” yourself the way people say.
You slowly return to yourself —
to your softness, your peace, your voice, your worth,
your faith, your boundaries, your identity in Christ.

And sometimes, the woman who rises
is gentler, wiser, stronger, and far more grounded
than the one who broke.

If you’re in this season too,
you’re not starting from zero —
you’re returning to yourself.

Save this for the days you forget how far you’ve come.
Share it with someone who needs this reminder today.

21/11/2025

I thought healing meant getting everything right —
no setbacks, no tears, no moments of weakness.

But healing isn’t a straight line.
It’s not a checklist or a clean timeline.
It’s a slow and holy process that God meets you in,
one tender place at a time.

Some days I felt brave.
Some days I felt broken.
Most days, I was just trying to make it through
without falling apart again.

And that’s still healing.

Here’s the truth I wish someone whispered to me earlier:
Progress isn’t measured by how strong you look,
but by how gently you return to yourself
after every difficult moment.

If today feels heavy or messy or slower than you hoped,
you are still healing.
You are still growing.
Grace is still holding you.

Save this for the days you forget that “slow” can still be holy.
Tag someone who needs a soft reminder today.

20/11/2025

There was a time when I didn’t even know I was exhausted.
I thought I was just “tired,” “overwhelmed,” “busy.”
But looking back, I see it clearly now,
I was carrying pain I didn’t know how to name.

I held the house together.
I mothered with everything I had.
I showed up for work.
I smiled when people asked how I was.
And I told myself, “I’m okay. I can manage.”

But inside, something was breaking quietly.

As I healed, I learned that...
Sometimes we’re not exhausted because life is hard.
Sometimes we’re exhausted because we’ve been carrying things alone for too long.

And you don’t have to keep doing that, love.
You don’t have to pretend you’re fine when your heart is still learning how to breathe again.

Healing isn’t weakness.
It’s honesty.
It’s the moment you finally whisper, “Lord, I can’t do this alone,”
and grace meets you right where you are.

If this feels like your season too,
I’m praying you find the courage to put down what’s been too heavy for your heart.

Tag a friend who needs this reminder today.
Save this for the nights you forget you’re allowed to rest.

19/11/2025

There was a time when I thought healing meant being okay again.
Smiling again.
Functioning again.

But God didn’t rush me.
He didn’t demand that I move faster than my heart could.
He simply met me in every small moment, even the ones I didn’t say out loud.

In the shower.
In the quiet drive home.
In the nights I cried on the floor because I felt like I had failed twice, as a wife and as a woman.

But here’s what I learned:

Healing isn’t a transformation that happens in one big, beautiful moment.
It’s a slow returning.
A gentle stitching.
A quiet rebuilding.

Some days the progress is invisible.
Some days it feels like nothing is changing at all.
But God heals in ways we only recognize in hindsight.

If you’re in that tender middle, not broken anymore but not fully whole, I want you to know this:
You are still healing.
You are still held.
You are still seen by a God who restores what you thought was lost forever.

Tag someone who needs a gentle reminder today.
Save this for a quiet night when your heart feels heavy.

18/11/2025

When I was trying to heal and mother at the same time, it felt impossible.

I still had to take the kids to school.
I still had to answer work messages.
I still had to show up when all I wanted was to lie down and disappear for a moment.

People saw a mother who was “managing well.”
What they didn’t see were the nights I cried in the bathroom so my kids wouldn’t hear.
Or the mornings I wiped my face, took a deep breath, and whispered,
“Lord, help me get through today.”

And through it all, I learned that healing doesn’t wait for the right time —
it happens in between the responsibilities you cannot put down.
And that doesn’t make you weak.
It makes you remarkable.

If you’re a mother walking through your own quiet storm,
hear this gently:
You are doing better than you think.
Your children see your love more than your struggle.

Share this with a mother who needs to hear she’s doing enough.
Or save it for the days your heart feels heavy.

17/11/2025

There was a time when my marriage ended, it just felt like someone pulled the floor from under me.

Overnight, I was not just a wife in pain, I was a mother who needed to keep the lights on, act normal at work, and hold a home that suddenly felt too heavy.
There was a time when my marriage ended, and it just felt like someone pulled the floor from under me.
I didn’t have the luxury to collapse.
So I did what many women quietly do.

I cried in secret.
I overthought everything.
Then I got up again, took care of the kids, worked from home, paid the bills, and kept going.

People saw a “strong” woman.
What they didn’t see were the nights I asked God, “Why me again?” or the moments I doubted if I could really do this alone.

Looking back, I learned that life doesn’t always wait for you to be ready to start over.
Sometimes it simply pushes you toward the truth you’ve been too scared to face.

If you’re in that season too and you are holding everything together while your heart is still catching up, this is for you.

You are not dramatic. You are not weak. You are not failing. You are not unworthy.

You are simply acknowledging something your soul has known for a long time.
You are rebuilding.

Save this for the day you need to remember your courage.

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