Dear brave soul,
I’m creating these weekly prayers (you can listen to them on my YouTube channel as well as other videos related to reinvention after 50) for those who, like me, need gentle reminders of their inner strength — for the ones who’ve carried too much for too long, often on their own. These prayers are for those who are beginning again… but differently this time.
Beginning with self-honesty. With deep reverence for all they've survived. With a return to the roots — to ancestral wisdom, to a higher power, to the versions of themselves that once felt strong and whole.
Because just as a tree gathers quiet strength from the unseen roots below, we too are growing in powerful, invisible ways.
Let this be our shared reminder: trust the quiet resilience within you. Even in your struggle, something beautiful is taking shape. The universe has not forgotten your light.
These words are for me and you!
Years ago, I discovered the Metta—a meditative prayer rooted in the ancient tradition of loving-kindness.
Today, I offer you a version of that loving-kindness—a prayer crafted from my heart to yours.
For you, for me, for all the women—and men—who need to begin again.
For those who have crossed borders, lost homes, carried invisible wounds.
For those betrayed by the ones they trusted most.
For those standing on the threshold of what was, and what might be.
Let these words be a balm for your heart.
A moment of stillness. A breath of hope.
A soft invitation to offer yourself kindness, even if it feels unfamiliar.
Because the truth is—life can hit us hard.
We forget who we are. We forget how deeply we’ve loved, how fiercely we’ve tried.
We carry on, holding more than anyone knows.
But right here, right now, is the perfect time to pause.
To breathe.
To whisper something kind to the tender parts within us.
To begin again.
This prayer is for the ones who’ve started over in foreign lands,
For those who’ve had to let go of old lives and reinvent themselves,
For the hearts healing from heartbreak,
For those learning to stand in their truth again—this is for you.
A prayer for the quiet survivors
Time and time again,
I see you.
I see the way you carry pain not of your making,
The dreams dimmed by cruelty or carelessness,
The tender soul forced to be strong,
Too strong, for too long.
This prayer is for you.
May you know that you are seen.
Not just the mask, the role, or the routine—
But the you beneath it all.
The true, radiant you.
May your invisible tears be gathered by gentle angel hands,
Transformed into soft cherry blossom petals,
Falling lightly over your shoulders
Like whispers of healing.
May you look at yourself as a loving friend would,
With kindness, warmth, and awe—
No judgment, just presence.
May you hold the small hand of the little one inside you,
The child who tried so hard to be good,
To be enough.
May you soothe her tears with your compassion.
May you breathe deeply,
Drawing in crystal-clear air that fills your whole being
With life, clarity, and peace.
May you open your heart to yourself,
And hold it gently, like a precious bird,
Wounded but alive—
Ready to sing again.
May you stand before a magnolia tree,
And bathe in its glow,
Letting beauty remind you of your own.
May you hear your guardian angels whisper in your ear,
Words of love, truth, and soft encouragement:
“You are worthy. You are enough. You are deeply loved.”
May you be well.
May you be safe.
May you be strong.
May you be free.
If this prayer touched your heart and brought you even a moment of peace or clarity, I invite you to share it with someone who may need the same light today. Sometimes, a few quiet words can be a lifeline. May this blessing ripple outward, reaching those who need it most.
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Thank you for fuelling the inspiration
The Weight of Silence: Identity, History, and the Cost of Dissent - Naked truth chapter 34
Ever since she could remember, Martha had to read the room and adjust her thoughts to fit the majority. But the truth was, from the moment she was born, she was different. Her parents came from two different nationalities—one of which was not particularly loved by the other. History had a cruel way of shaping people’s perceptions, lingering in the prese…
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