Angela Rachel-Reiki Practitioner

11/16/2025

It took me a long time to understand myself clearly, but I finally uncovered the root of what people call my “toxicity.”
It isn’t anger. It isn’t attitude.
It’s disrespect.

I can be peaceful, warm, and effortless to be around. I can match any energy, build with anyone, and laugh my way through most moments. But the instant I feel disrespected—even slightly—something in me shuts down. My calm turns into caution, my softness turns into steel, and the quiet part of me that just wants harmony disappears behind the need to protect myself.

And the truth is… I know I’m a good person.
I know my heart.
I know how much love, understanding, patience, and sincerity I pour into people. I give grace even when it costs me pieces of myself. That’s why disrespect feels like a punch to the soul—because I know how hard I try before I ever reach my breaking point.

People think I “snap” out of nowhere, but my reaction is never random.
It’s a mirror.
It’s the reflection of the energy I’ve been given.

But I’m learning.
Learning that I don’t have to let someone else’s behavior drag me out of my character.
Learning that silence can be stronger than any comeback.
Learning that peace is sometimes choosing not to prove anything to anyone.
Learning that maturity is knowing when to walk away instead of exploding.

Growth isn’t about pretending you’re unbothered.
It’s about understanding your triggers, acknowledging your limits, and protecting your spirit before someone pushes you too far.

So I’m choosing myself now.
Choosing peace over reaction.
Distance over chaos.
Self-respect over forced connections.

Know what wounds you.
Guard your energy like your life depends on it.
And never stay in places, with people, or in situations that force you to become the version of yourself you fought so hard to rise above.

11/09/2025

11/05/2025

"It took me a long time to forgive myself for running into people’s lives, desperate to belong, not realizing I was trying to build homes inside hearts that were never mine to enter. I kept mistaking temporary kindness for open doors, confusing comfort with connection. I wanted so badly to be chosen that I ignored the quiet signs asking me to leave. I see it now — how my need to be loved made me cling to places that were never meant to hold me. And though it hurts to admit, forgiveness began the moment I stopped resenting myself for trying so hard to be seen. I was never wrong for wanting love — I was just searching for it in hearts that weren’t built for me." ~Balt

Image: Susan Seddon Boulet

10/11/2025

The moment we stop breathing, life begins to unravel—not all at once, but in a cascade of cellular shutdowns. Death is far from instantaneous. Brain and nerve cells, which rely on a constant supply of oxygen, die within minutes after breathing ceases—the first irreversible step. The heart follows, then vital organs like the liver, kidneys, and pancreas, which can survive up to an hour without oxygen.

Remarkably, some parts of the body endure much longer: skin, tendons, heart valves, and corneas can remain viable for a full day, while white blood cells can survive for nearly three days.

But the story doesn’t end there. Scientists have discovered a curious phenomenon called the “twilight of death”—a phase in which some cells continue gene transcription, the process of copying DNA into RNA, hours or even days after clinical death. In essence, these cells enter a frantic survival mode, trying to respond to their new reality even as the organism as a whole is gone.

This lingering cellular activity may have real-world consequences. Researchers have noted that organ transplant recipients face a higher risk of cancer, a puzzle that may be linked to these postmortem gene expressions. Cells left behind after death undergo chaotic DNA changes—a biological panic—that can potentially trigger harmful mutations.

These findings highlight the gradual, complex nature of death, revealing it not as a single moment but as a transition. Even in death, some cells continue to fight against the inevitable, sometimes with unexpected and profound consequences.