It's been a few weeks since I last posted, but the truth is, I think about my blog every single day. Today, I had a revelation—an understanding of why I don't post every day.
Sometimes feelings of guilt surface, and I find myself saying:
"Jaboris, you haven't written on your blog in forever. You have the time to write, but you're not. At the end of the day, you're just making excuses to avoid it. You're too caught up in distractions. You're running. You're avoiding."
This inner dialogue—and all its variations—can cloud my mind at times.
But over the years, I've learned the art of understanding myself. I've learned to recognize my seasons of victory, my seasons of depression, my seasons of rest and reflection, and my seasons of expression. An older version of myself would have internalized those feelings of guilt and shame. But I am not that woman anymore. I have evolved.
The version of me that exists today has learned to extend grace to herself as freely as she extends it to others. The older version of me was too harsh on herself. I was my own enemy. But that version has fallen away, much like a tree sacrifices a dying leaf for the well-being of the whole.
I've always loved plants and trees. I admire them deeply. Truthfully, I admire nature more than I admire humanity itself. As I've grown, that admiration has drawn me outdoors more and more. Nature is the greatest teacher of evolution and existence.
But let me stay focused. That thought probably deserves a blog post of its own.
What fascinates me most about plants and trees is their ability to endure resistance. Harsh weather. Fires. Human interference. Some trees live for hundreds—and even thousands—of years. A plant experiencing root shock will redirect its resources away from older leaves and flowers in order to preserve itself and continue growing.
When you really sit with that idea, it's remarkable.
Plants possess a profound understanding of themselves and their environments. They know when to conserve energy, when to adapt, and when to let go. They embody synchronicity, duality, and symbiosis without effort. This wisdom is woven into their very existence.
Humans, on the other hand, can be incredibly arrogant.
And when I say "we," I am speaking broadly about humanity and what our collective existence has become over time—not necessarily as an expression of agreement. We often behave as though our existence takes priority over everything else on this planet.
But it doesn't.
We are not separate from nature. We are part of it.
My spirituality has helped me understand this.
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Call me crazy if you'd like, but I talk to trees.
When I'm walking through a park, I admire the grandeur of the trees that line my path. I'll say things like, "Your roots are beautiful," or "Your leaves look so healthy and vibrant."
I've stood before a tree that had been split nearly in half during a storm and admired the way it adapted. Instead of dying, it adjusted. It reshaped itself. It found a new way to exist.
My spirituality has taught me the importance of oneness—not just with ourselves, but with the world around us. I put gratitude and love into the world, and in return, I receive gratitude, love, appreciation, and revelation.
One summer morning, while driving to work, I was admiring the towering trees that lined the road. Then a thought came to me.
God is One. One is All.
And if plants are capable of shedding damaged parts of themselves in order to survive, shouldn't we do the same?
That's when everything began to make sense.
I understood why my path had unfolded the way it had—the beautiful moments and the painful ones alike. More importantly, I realized that this understanding had been the catalyst for genuine change in my life.
I was finally able to give myself grace because I recognized that both my triumphs and my failures had been healing and revealing in their own ways.
I admire the beauty in my scars just as I admire the scars etched into the bark of a tree. They are not flaws. They are evidence of survival.
And I came to understand something else:
There were things I needed to shed.
Thoughts.
Beliefs.
Fears.
Wounds.
Versions of myself that had served their purpose but were no longer helping me grow.
I needed to release them from my mind, my heart, my body, and my soul.
It was time to evolve.
So that I could persist.
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If you've kept up with me or my writing, then you know that I was involved in a car accident a few months ago—an event that sparked many shifts and changes in my life.
But the accident wasn't the beginning of my transformation.
As I reflect, I can see that change had already been taking place long before then. It began the day I realized I needed to shed certain things from my life.
In my blog post, Shattered (Ready for More) , I wrote about praying for change—real change. I prayed not only for growth, but for the courage and willingness to do the work that true growth requires. Deep down, I understood that part of that work meant confronting resistance.
One thing I've learned about life is that you don't always recognize the season you're in while you're living through it.
At least, I don't.
I don't always realize I'm in a season of rest, grief, depression, healing, or expression until I've taken the time to pause and reflect. That is why reflection is so important to me. It allows me to evaluate myself honestly.
I consider the emotions that have surfaced over the past weeks and months. I pay attention to how my nervous system responds to the people and environments around me. I think about the goals I've set for myself and whether my actions are aligned with those goals. And when they aren't, I ask myself what needs to shift in order to return to alignment.
These past few months have given me exactly what I prayed for: change.
True change.
It hasn't always been easy. In many ways, it has challenged me. But today, as I sit in reflection, feelings of gratitude and grace arise naturally. And that means something to me.
Since my realization about the importance of shedding the broken, wounded, and damaged parts of myself, I have tried to be intentional about what that process looks like in my own life. Not performative change. Not temporary change.
Real change.
The greatest lesson this journey has taught me is the importance of being authentically yourself.
And for me, authenticity is about more than speaking your truth. It is about living your truth—fully, unapologetically, and without compromise.
It has taught me to stand firmly in my beliefs, my desires, and my principles.
As a result, my life is actively undergoing a transformation. I am shifting from the young, naïve-hearted JB into a woman who is balanced, grounded, deeply loved, and capable of returning that same love to others.
I am becoming a woman who understands herself more deeply—as an individual, as a mother, as a lover, as a sister, and as a friend.
I am becoming a woman who understands the importance of boundaries and how they protect my nervous system, my peace, and my well-being.
I am becoming a woman who understands duality—the balance between light and darkness, softness and strength, feminine and masculine energy.
I am becoming a woman who understands what she truly needs in partnership. A woman who understands how she receives love and how she expresses it.
I am becoming a woman who understands her journey. A woman who is learning from her pitfalls, honoring her lessons, and distinguishing genuine happiness from the version of happiness society often tries to sell us.
I am becoming a woman who is evolving toward her higher self.
The beautiful thing is that I am experiencing that evolution in real time.
I am in a transition.
Because of that, I speak to myself differently now.
I do it for moments exactly like this.
The older version of me would have interpreted my lack of writing as laziness. She would have responded with shame, guilt, and self-criticism. She would have turned herself into her own enemy.
But this version of me approaches the situation differently.
I didn't start this blog because I wanted another obligation.I started this blog because I wanted a place for expression and revelation. Because of that, there will be seasons when my writing flows abundantly, and there will be seasons when it slows down.
My expression is fluid.
Sometimes it takes the form of writing. Sometimes it emerges through poetry. Sometimes it appears in drawing, painting, or other forms of creation.And sometimes, expression requires silence.
Sometimes you move through seasons of rest, reflection, or even depression. It is during those seasons that meditation becomes so important. Reflection allows us to climb out of creative and mental ruts. It allows us to reconnect with ourselves.
Creation itself is a gift. And any gift given by God carries the potential to heal.
That is why I create. And like all of my art, I write for healing.
Now, I do want to become more consistent with my writing—not because I feel pressured to produce content, but because consistency helps me maintain my flow state. For me, consistency isn't about delivering a product. It's about nurturing a rhythm within myself.It's about creating an internal environment that allows inspiration, productivity, and growth to coexist.
And despite the challenges of these past few months, they have been some of the best months of my life.
Not because everything has been easy. But because I have become unapologetic about the life I want to create for myself. Even during difficult moments, I have been rebuilding my mind, restoring my spirit, and returning to myself.
I am grateful for days like today. Days that give me the opportunity to sit quietly and reflect.
This season of transition has been profound, and today served as a reminder—an affirmation—that I am exactly where I need to be. I know this because of how my nervous system feels.I know it because of what my intuition tells me in moments of silence.
And I know it because of the signs that continue to resonate with me—the recurring numbers that seem to appear exactly when I need them: 818, 1010, 555.
Whether others understand their significance doesn't matter.
What matters is that they remind me to pay attention.
To trust.
To continue evolving.
And, like the trees that inspired this lesson in the first place, to keep shedding what no longer serves me so that I can continue to grow.
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Maybe that's what the trees have been trying to teach me all along.
Not every season is meant for blooming. Some seasons are meant for strengthening roots. Some are meant for shedding. Some are meant for rest. And none of them are mistakes.
The leaves do not mourn when it is time to fall. The tree does not question whether it is growing fast enough. It simply trusts the process of becoming. It releases what no longer serves it, stands firm through the storms, and reaches toward the light when the season returns.
As I continue through this season of transition, I am learning to do the same. To trust. To release. To evolve. To persist.
And for the first time in a long time, I am no longer afraid of who I am becoming.
Numerology Interpretations and relevance:
818 — A reminder that endings create space for new beginnings; a symbol of personal empowerment and abundance.
1010 — A sign of alignment, spiritual growth, and trusting that you're moving in the right direction.
555 — A symbol of transformation, major life shifts, and embracing change with confidence.
Song of Reference During Revelation:
Junetober- Ember
Quote of the Day:
Be All the Beautiful Things that You Are, and Be Them Without apology.
Aśe
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