Becoming the New You

Excerpt adapted from my book, Becoming the New You — a collection of reflections for anyone walking through the unseen seasons of change.

Preface: The Hidden Season

Every creative work begins with silence. This one began with a long silence that stretched across years—a season of invisibility I came to call the hidden season. It was a time when doors closed faster than they opened, when prayers seemed to echo back unanswered, when I wondered if my light had quietly gone out.

But what I could not yet see was that the Divine was working beneath the surface, weaving roots in the dark. The hidden season was not punishment; it was preparation. It taught me the art of listening without proof, of trusting without evidence, of creating without applause. It stripped away the need to perform and left only the raw impulse to write what was true.

During those years, I filled notebooks, journal pages, and computer files with fragments of thought—small anchors of light I hoped would steady me until morning came. These fragments became the bones of this book. They were never planned as chapters; they were acts of survival, of faith, of remembering who I am beyond circumstance.

Looking back now, I see that the hidden season was not wasted time; it was sacred incubation. It formed the voice that could speak these pages into being. And so, before you enter the main body of this book, I offer gratitude for that quiet, unseen apprenticeship—and for the unseen seasons in your own life that are forming you in ways you cannot yet imagine.

If you find yourself in a similar silence right now, may this book remind you that unseen does not mean forgotten, and waiting is not the same as being lost. The Divine does some of Its finest work in the dark. Trust that what is gestating within you will one day bloom in its own perfect timing. Until then, breathe, rest, and know that even here, you are becoming.

Introduction: The Journey of Becoming

There are moments when life quietly asks us to begin again.

They rarely look like invitations. More often, they arrive disguised as endings, confusion, or silence. We lose what we thought we needed, and the mind calls it failure. Yet underneath the rubble, something wiser is guiding the rearrangement—clearing space for the soul to breathe.

This book was born in such a threshold. These writings began as notes in the dark, when language became the only bridge between despair and faith. I didn’t write them to teach anyone; I wrote them to survive—to keep a small flame alive until dawn returned. Over time, the fragments began to speak to one another, weaving themselves into a tapestry of remembrance: proof that even in the most uncertain season, light never stopped whispering.

We are taught to chase clarity, yet transformation rarely begins with answers. It begins with unraveling. The unraveling hurts because the old identity was familiar—even if it was never true. But the Divine does not dismantle for punishment; It dismantles to liberate. When love asks you to release what you’ve outgrown, it is not to leave you empty but to make space for the authentic to rise.

These reflections trace that sacred re-weaving:

• how to honor others without losing yourself,
• how to remember abundance when scarcity shouts,
• how to protect peace without closing the heart,
• and how to trust the Master Plan when every detour feels like delay.

Each essay is both confession and offering—evidence that healing is not the act of fixing what was broken, but the grace of remembering what has always been whole.

You’ll notice the writings unfold in three movements:

1. Foundations of the Heart – learning self-respect, balance, and the tender courage to belong to yourself.

2. The Deep Work – surrendering to feeling, humility, and the mystery that reshapes us from within.

3. Becoming – stepping into alignment with the new self that has been quietly forming all along.

Read slowly. These words are meant to breathe with you, not rush you. Keep a journal nearby; let your own revelations spill between these pages. The wisdom you uncover within yourself will always exceed anything written here.

If you are reading this during your own in-between—when the caterpillar is dissolving and the wings are not yet visible—know that nothing sacred is lost in the process of change. You are being rewritten by love itself. The Divine has not forgotten you; It is remaking you into someone capable of carrying even more light.

Part I – Foundations of the Heart:

Remembering Worth And Learning Healthy Love

We cannot serve others well until we remember who we are. These opening reflections invite you to rebuild the ground beneath your own feet—to discover that boundaries are not barriers but expressions of self-respect.

This is where we learn the sacred equilibrium between giving and receiving. To honor others without losing yourself is to recognize that love must include you too.

As you read, notice where your energy leaks, where guilt masquerades as kindness, and where peace waits patiently to be protected. Every act of self-honoring strengthens the foundation for all healing that follows.

Honoring Others Without Losing Yourself

We’ve all heard the words: “Honor your father and mother.” For some, this command feels natural, even easy. But for others — those whose homes have been marked by manipulation, neglect, or abuse — these words can feel like chains around the heart.

What happens when “honor” is used as a weapon to demand silence in the face of harm? What happens when the people who were supposed to protect you become the very source of danger?

Here is the highest and purest truth: true honor is not blind obedience, self-erasure, or enduring abuse in the name of family. True honor is alignment with Divine love — a love that never asks you to abandon your soul. It is compassion anchored in truth, boundaries rooted in peace, and self-respect that honors the God-breathed life within you.

To honor others without losing yourself means stepping out of cycles of fear and choosing the higher way: love that is unconditional, not controlling; honor that is truthful, not enabling; alignment that protects your soul, not sacrifices it.

So many of us have heard the command: “Honor your father and mother.” For those raised in loving, supportive families, this might feel simple and natural. But what about when parents (family, friends, or other people) are unsafe, manipulative, abusive, and/or toxic? What does “honor” mean then?

The highest and purest truth is this: honoring your parents does not mean sacrificing your safety, sanity, or soul to abuse. It doesn’t mean blind obedience, giving them unlimited access to you, or pretending harm isn’t real. The Divine never commands people to stay in bondage or danger under the name of “honor.”

A Personal Reflection

For me, “honor” was never simple. I tried for decades to do what I thought was right — to stay, to reach out, to talk, to give, to forgive, to keep showing up. I poured out love, compassion, patience, and understanding, believing that one day it might finally be enough to heal the rift.

But what I learned — painfully, slowly, and with much resistance — is that honor does not mean erasing yourself for someone else’s comfort. Honor is not letting others use you as their scapegoat, their outlet, or their possession.

There came a point when I had to see the truth: love without listening isn’t love. Boundaries ignored aren’t boundaries at all. And when safety is stripped away, staying is not noble — it is self-betrayal.

Walking away was not easy. It felt like tearing apart something sacred. But in the stillness, I began to realize that by stepping away, I was not dishonoring anyone — I was finally honoring the Divine spark within me.

And as I chose alignment with truth, I saw what “honor” really means: not blind loyalty, but holy clarity. Not enabling dysfunction, but embodying love with boundaries. Not vengeance or bitterness, but releasing others into God’s hands while I protect the sacred life He entrusted to me.

What “Honor” Truly Means

In its highest light, “honor” means:

• Acknowledging their humanity without idolizing their dysfunction.
• Choosing not to curse them in your heart or wish destruction upon them, but releasing them into God’s hands.
• Living by this principle: “I will not repay evil with evil. I will set boundaries with firm love. I will pray for their healing, even if I cannot be near them.”

Honoring does not equal enabling. True honor is grounded in truth.

Where Safety and Boundaries Fit In

You cannot honor someone by erasing yourself to absorb their cruelty. That’s not honor — that’s self-betrayal.

By stepping back, refusing to engage in the cycle, and protecting your life (and the lives entrusted to you, like beloved pets or children), you are actually walking in truth. You are honoring God by refusing to empower harm.

Sometimes the holiest act of honor is simply saying: “No more.”

Family and Love

People may insist, “But they love you!” And in their own limited way, that may be true. Yet love without listening, without respect, without safe action, isn’t love that nourishes. It’s often performance, attachment, or fear.

You can acknowledge that they “think” they love you — while recognizing that the kind of love they’re offering is not safe for you to receive right now.

A Healthy Reframe

“Honor” might not look like Sunday dinners with your parents. It might look like:

• Speaking of them with compassion and truth (no sugarcoating, no slander).
• Refusing to let bitterness or vengeance take root in your heart.
• Trusting God with their souls and releasing the burden of “fixing” them.
• Protecting yourself — which, in itself, honors the life God entrusted to you.

The command to honor parents does not erase the command to love yourself, nor does it override the truth that you are God’s beloved child. Sometimes the most honoring act is stepping away, refusing the cycle, and leaving them in God’s hands.

Holding Both Realities

Yes, they could change if they chose to.

No, you are not obligated to wait in harm’s way until they do.

Outsiders may never fully understand — and that’s okay. Their advice often reflects their limited view, not your lived reality.

Honoring God’s command means keeping your heart free from hatred, not keeping your body in unsafe places.