Day 8: Messages I Wish Someone Had Sent Me

Date: August 05, 2025

Author: Stacey Sylvester-Carter

There are days I scroll through my phone, not really looking for anything — just hoping something will find me. A quote. A message. A reminder that someone sees me. That someone knows.

But sometimes, the message never comes.

So today, I decided to write the ones I wish someone had sent me. Maybe they’re for you, too.

💌 To the woman who’s holding it all together but feels like she’s unraveling:
You don’t always have to be strong. You don’t have to smile when your heart is breaking. It’s okay to let the pieces fall — because they weren’t meant to be carried like this forever.

💌 To the woman who gave too many chances:
You didn’t fail because you loved deeply. You are not weak because you hoped. That says nothing about your worth and everything about your heart. Please stop punishing yourself for their inability to grow.

💌 To the woman sitting in silence, wondering if anyone notices:
I see you. Your quiet strength echoes louder than their noise. You are not invisible. You are not forgettable. You matter — more than you know.

💌 To the woman who forgave what she should have walked away from:
You did what you needed to survive. Survival doesn’t make you foolish. It makes you brave. But now? Now you get to choose something better. You get to choose you.

💌 To me, in the middle of the storm:
You won’t always feel this heavy. The nights will get quieter. The tears won’t always sting. There will come a time when you won’t have to pretend to be okay — because you will be.

Maybe no one ever sent these words when I needed them most. But that ends today. Because I’m sending them now — to myself, and to you, if you need them too.

We don’t always get the messages we need in time. But healing begins when we write them anyway.

🎵 Spotify Pairing:

“Rescue” by Lauren Daigle
A reminder that you're never truly alone, even in your silence.

https://open.spotify.com/track/7r9kOxiNDnkAg5QKqtyjVk

Because every chapter counts — even the ones we write in the dark.
– Stacey

Day 7: When Goodbye Still Hurts

Goodbye still hurts—not because I want them back, but because of everything I gave that can’t be returned.

It’s not the loss of the person that aches most—it’s the loss of the version of myself I was when I believed. Believed in them. Believed in us. Believed in the future we promised each other.

It’s the goodbye to the girl who tried. The woman who stayed. The heart that gave without keeping score. That part of me didn’t walk away empty—it walked away bruised, questioning, and changed.

Maybe that’s what hurts the most: the quiet realization that I was never truly seen in return. That while I was all in, they were already drifting out. And still, I held on, thinking love could fix what truth had already exposed.

The pain isn’t just about them. It’s about me. The parts I silenced. The needs I ignored. The worth I questioned. The grief comes not from absence, but from awakening.

And yet, I’m still here. Softer in some ways. Sharper in others. Learning to love without losing. To remember without reopening. To say goodbye and mean it.

Reflective Prompt: What part of your goodbye still lingers—and is it them you miss, or the version of yourself you were with them?

🎵 Song pairing: “Jar of Hearts” – Christina Perri

https://open.spotify.com/search/%E2%80%9CJar%20of%20Hearts%E2%80%9D%20%E2%80%93%20Christina%20Perri

💬 Quote: “Goodbye hurts most when it’s tied to the pieces of yourself you gave away.”

With honesty,
Stacey

Day 6: Those Who Impacted Me

There are people who enter our lives like storms—loud, disruptive, and unforgettable. Some leave behind wreckage. Others leave behind wisdom.

Some do both.

Tonight I find myself reflecting on the faces and fingerprints that have marked my soul. Some I invited in. Others forced their way through the cracks I didn’t know were there.

And whether they came with love, pain, or lessons—each one shaped me.

There were those who built me up, piece by fragile piece. And those who broke me down, just to remind me I could survive.

Some I loved fiercely. Some I feared. And some I’m still trying to figure out.

To the ones who saw my worth when I couldn’t: Thank you.

To the ones who used my heart as a mirror for their own damage: I forgive you. But I won’t forget.

To the ones who walked away without ever seeing me: You reminded me I needed to see myself first!

Every connection, no matter how brief or brutal, added a verse to my story. Some read like poetry. Others like warning signs.

But each one helped me become a woman who chooses herself. Again and again.

Journal Prompt: Who has impacted your life—positively or painfully? What did you learn about yourself in those moments of connection?

Spotify Song Pairing: https://open.spotify.com/track/2QUenCbs1tWfw1cQE4pV8C

And to the ones I’ve loved—imperfectly, You taught me that love alone is not always enough.

Closing Words: You are not defined by what others did to you. You are the story you choose to tell about it.

And tonight, you chose truth.

— Stacey

Day 5: Conversations with the Past Subtitle: Acknowledging the grief I buried for ten years

I acknowledge that I have not dealt with the loss of my son, even though it has been ten years.

At the time, my grief was pushed to the dark recesses, both by those who felt my grief — as the mother, the giver of life — was somehow secondary to theirs, and by me.

Because it was easier to survive than to feel. It was easier to push the loss down than to let it swallow me.

I focused on my oldest son, who was still here. Who needed me more than ever. Who became the reason I stayed.

Because there was a part of me that didn’t want to. There was a part of me that wanted to follow my youngest. That wanted to be where he was, regardless of the cost.

No one tells you how complex grief is. That it will ask you to choose between the living and the dead. That it will make you feel guilty for surviving. That it will make you forget how to breathe, and then shame you when you remember.

But tonight, I sit with it. Not to fix it. Not to erase it. But to finally say:

I lost my child. And I buried my grief so deep that I forgot it was mine.

This conversation with the past isn’t about blame. It’s about reclaiming the parts of me I abandoned in the name of survival. It’s about allowing myself to finally grieve out loud.

In Loving Memory Kyle Evan Kirby September 12, 1991 – February 19, 2015

Conquer: Wake up Determined, Go to Bed Satisfied.

This pays tribute to Kyle but also shows that his life was taken far too soon. Kyle was an old soul who always seemed to know beyond his years. His essence was strength, courage, and pure joy. He never saw what everyone else saw. He saw more. He felt more. He loved harder.

I walk through life because my journey is not done, but there is not a day in which I do not wonder when I will get to see him again.

And when I do, I will wrap my arms around him so tightly, I will never let him go.

Journal Prompt: What part of your grief have you silenced in order to survive? What would it feel like to give that grief your full attention?

Spotify Song Pairing: "See You Again" – Wiz Khalifa ft. Charlie Puth

https://open.spotify.com/track/2JzZzZUQj3Qff7wapcbKjc

https://open.spotify.com/track/3DomZqfPipT9EJzZ2CzUeB

Every chapter counts — even the ones you thought were too painful to write. Especially those.

Tonight, speak to the part of you that still aches. It deserves to be heard.

Until tomorrow, hold space for your heart. Some wounds don't need to be healed to be honored. And some chapters will always echo with love.

— Stacey

Day 4 – Where the Storms Brew

31 Jul 2025

Some storms don’t crash down suddenly.

Some storms build inside us — quietly, steadily, emotionally.

A memory. A voice. A name you still whisper in your mind sometimes, even after everything.

There are people I still care about.

Some I even love — though I know they will never love me the way I need.

They won’t choose me.

They won’t protect me.

They won’t put me first.

And yet, they live in me like thunder rolling on the horizon.

They rise when I’m most vulnerable — when I’m aching, lonely, tired of being strong.

They show up in dreams I don’t invite.

But here’s what I know now:

I cannot trust my heart where they are concerned.

Because my heart is soft — and they are sharp.

My heart forgives — and they forget.

So today, I let go.

Not with anger. Not with hatred.

With release.

Because peace doesn’t come from silence.

It comes from surrendering what no longer serves the person I am becoming.

Journal Prompt:

What storm are you still holding inside?

Who do you love that you know you must let go of — not because they were never important, but because you finally are?

Spotify Song Pairing:

“Let Her Go” – Passenger

https://open.spotify.com/track/3U4isOIWM3VvDubwSI3y7a

Closing Words:

Every chapter counts — even the ones where love wasn’t enough.

Even the ones you write with a trembling hand and a heavy heart.

Especially those.

Until tomorrow, honor your storm,

Stacey

Day 3 – The Silence Between the Storms

Date: July 31, 2025

There’s a kind of stillness that settles in after the chaos. It’s not always peaceful—sometimes, it’s unnerving. The absence of noise leaves only your thoughts, echoing through your chest like thunder after lightning.

Today, I sat in that silence. No distractions, no arguments, no desperate attempts to be understood. Just me. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t flinch at the quiet. I didn’t try to fill it with apologies or noise. I let it be.

I think part of healing is learning to love the silence. Not because it’s empty, but because it holds space for truth. For strength. For the parts of me that were drowned out by the sound of someone else’s chaos.

This silence isn’t lonely. It’s sacred.

Journal Reflection Prompt

In what ways has silence brought you clarity or discomfort? Can you learn to sit in it without needing to fill it?

Spotify Link

🎧 "I Won’t Back Down" – Tom Petty

🔗 https://open.spotify.com/track/4XMPXUn5k9zhzpNnLkKJt1

Every chapter counts — especially the ones still unwritten.

Until tomorrow, be gentle with yourself,

Stacey

Day 1: The First Page of the Rest of My Life

Posted on: 28 Jul 2025

Category: Personal Journey, Healing, New Beginnings

This is Day 1.

Not just of this blog, but of choosing myself.
Of showing up for the woman I forgot in the chaos of being everything for everyone else.
Of allowing my voice to be louder than my fears.
Of believing that it’s never too late to begin again.

Why I’m Here

This blog isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being real.
I’ve lived through storms that no one saw coming.
I’ve loved people who didn’t know how to love me back.
I’ve stayed quiet when I should’ve roared.
I’ve started over more times than I can count.

And now I’m here—not to give advice, but to offer a mirror.
If you’ve ever felt like your story was too messy to share, I hope you’ll find comfort here.
If you’ve ever looked at your reflection and wondered where you went, I hope you’ll find pieces of yourself in my words.

💭 Today’s Reflection Prompt:

What do you need to let go of to step fully into the next chapter of your life?

Write it in your journal.
Whisper it to the wind.
Drop it in the comments.
Just… speak it. Set it free.

🎶 Today’s Soundtrack:

“It’s Not Over” – Daughtry
Listen on Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/track/3WkW8Jxzy0PgnwRbZbZp1N

Because your story isn’t finished.

(If link does not function, left click - highlight, right click - chose option; go to https://open.spotify.com/track/3WkW8Jxzy0PgnwRbZbZp1N)

🌿 Closing Words

I don’t know where this road leads,
and for once… I’m okay with that.

This is The Next Chapter—and it begins today,
with me… and with you.

Welcome to the journey.
With grace,
Stacey

Day 2: For All to See

29 Jul 2025

Today, I carry a scar on my face—one placed by a surgeon, not by life’s emotional battles. Yet somehow, it feels no different. This wound, stitched carefully across the side of my nose and the crease of my face, is now part of my visible story. And unlike the wounds of betrayal, abandonment, or self-burden that I’ve always managed to hide, this one demands to be seen.

There’s no makeup to cover it.
No smile wide enough to disguise it.
No strength strong enough to ignore it.

And I wonder… maybe that’s the point.

I have carried invisible scars for so long that I became an expert at blending in. But now, for the first time, my hurt is exposed. People will ask. They will stare. And while some will do so with kindness, others will do so with judgment.

But neither matters.

Because this is the season I stop hiding.
This is the season I let my scars speak.
This is the season I tell the truth.

Not just the truth about my face, but the truth about my heart, my past, my resilience.

So here it is, for all to see: I have been hurt, I have been lied to, and I have believed I wasn’t enough. But I survived.

And I’ll keep surviving.

Scar by scar.
Chapter by chapter.
Until the woman in the mirror no longer hides.

Closing Reflections

🔗 Spotify Track of the Day

🎶 Scars to Your Beautiful – Alessia Cara
Play this song as today’s reflection sinks in. Let every lyric remind you that your truth, your scars, and your strength are beautiful.
Listen here: https://open.spotify.com/track/42ydLwx4i5V49RXHOozJZq

🌀 Journal Reflection Prompt

What scars—visible or not—have shaped your journey?
Write about the ones you’ve hidden and the ones you’re ready to honor, not as shame, but as survival.

✨ Today’s Truth

“This is the season I stop hiding. This is the season I let my scars speak.”

Welcome to the journey.
With grace,
Stacey