Day of Birth, LLC

10/23/2025

10/23/2025

We call it the brain, but in fact, it is an organ made up of lots of different structures, each with its own function, communicating with one another through neural networks. The miracle is that, although we are integrated and whole, every minute we’re receiving information from different parts of the brain, and miraculously, it comes together. We know from brain scan research that it’s the right brain that responds to traumatic activation, and the left brain remains kind of out of it. Which is why often people don’t remember what happened. They’re very confused about what happened because the left brain is the side of the brain that would tell us, ‘Okay, this is how it happened. Here’s the chronology, this is why, here’s how it started’. But the left brain is just not involved because the survival brain, the right brain, is what gets us through.

Because for most people around the world, trauma doesn’t come as a single incident. It’s an environment. War, child abuse, and domestic are dangerous environments. With these chronic traumatic environmental conditions, the left and right brains begin to operate more separately. So, we have to work with people as divided beings. The message is that so many of our problems are because we tend to try to demonize and lock up each other instead of listening at first and then actually helping each other heal.

10/23/2025

it doesn’t hurt the same anymore. 🌸

10/22/2025

10/20/2025

Breathe in calm.
Breathe out calamity.

10/20/2025

This prayer is for the quiet ache that comes with loss — not just the loss of people, but of seasons, dreams, and versions of yourself that no longer exist. It’s for the moments when your heart feels weighed down by what used to be, and you find yourself holding both love and longing at the same time. This prayer isn’t about pretending you’re not sad — it’s about finding light in the sadness, about letting gratitude rise gently through the grief.

Loss changes you. It softens you, humbles you, and slows you down in ways you never expected. It reminds you that nothing here lasts forever — not pain, not joy, not even life as you know it. But even in that truth, there is beauty. Because the things that leave still leave behind something: meaning. The love that shaped you. The lessons that steadied you. The memories that remind you of how full your heart once was. Gratitude doesn’t erase grief — it gives it purpose. It says, I may miss what’s gone, but I’m thankful I got to have it at all.

When you whisper, Dear God, when my heart feels heavy with what’s gone, let gratitude lighten it, you’re asking for divine perspective — for eyes that can see blessing beside the brokenness. You’re saying, Help me shift my focus from what I’ve lost to what remains. Help me see the good that was, without being crushed by the fact that it’s over. Because sometimes gratitude is the only way to honor what you can’t hold anymore.

There will be days when gratitude feels impossible — when the hurt still overshadows the beauty. That’s okay. Gratitude isn’t always loud or easy; sometimes it’s a whisper in the middle of tears: Thank You, God, for letting me love this deeply. It’s not denial — it’s transformation. It turns the weight of what’s gone into the warmth of what was given.

This prayer is also a reminder that gratitude is not just an emotion; it’s a healing posture. It’s the act of opening your hands again, even after they’ve known loss. It’s saying, God, even though some things have left, I trust You to fill the empty places with new grace.

So when your heart aches for what’s behind you, pause and pray:
Dear God, when my heart feels heavy with what’s gone, let gratitude lighten it.
Let thankfulness rise where sorrow sits.
Let memories bring warmth instead of pain.
And let Your peace remind me that endings aren’t emptiness — they’re evidence of love that once lived fully.

Because grief and gratitude can coexist.
And even when your heart breaks for what’s gone,
it can still bow in thanks for what was. 🤍

10/18/2025

Rest is not a weakness. It’s a responsibility.