A Path Called Me

Tag: faith

  • Motherhood, for G.

    Before you came into my life, I believed my world was already whole. I didn’t even know how much I needed you for my soul’s evolution. I thought I was happy, living a good and comfortable life.

    Before I had you, I believed I didn’t want or need you. But when the miracle happened—when I discovered I was pregnant—I didn’t know what to feel. I was afraid, surprised, and certain this wasn’t part of the plan. But the moment I heard your heartbeat, I knew something magical was happening.

    As you were growing in my belly (and I was growing too 😊), I was filled with joy and happiness. Then, after 20 hours of labor, I saw you for the first time. At first, I saw you not with my eyes, but with my heart—with my soul. I couldn’t believe that you came from my body. My mind couldn’t comprehend it. I understood the biology and the science, but witnessing the birth of new life felt like pure magic.

    I think that the miracle of carrying a baby beneath your heart—and then holding that little human in your arms—is no longer treated as the miracle it truly is. But for me, it was. It was sacred. It was magic. And I knew you were a gift—one I never asked for, but one that changed my life, my perceptions, and who I am as a person.

    In those first moments, I didn’t fully understand this miracle of life. Then I looked at you again—this time with my mind—and I thought, She doesn’t look like me or her dad at all—did they give me the wrong baby? But of course, that wasn’t so. We were both exhausted, and you had just entered the world—it was perfectly normal.

    I remembered that when I first found out I was pregnant, I asked God only for you to be healthy, and maybe to have my lips and your dad’s eyes. When I saw you for the first time, you had neither. But within a few days, I noticed you had my lips. And for your dad’s eyes, I waited a little longer—but yes, you have them too.

    Becoming a mother changed everything. I used to think that when we plan to have babies, we can somehow prepare ourselves for motherhood. But it doesn’t work that way. You can’t truly prepare—you learn day by day what it means to be a mother. And just when I think I’ve figured it out, something new appears to teach me again.

    That’s not just motherhood—that’s life.

    Even though being a parent isn’t easy, the love for a child never changes. It’s unconditional. Every day, I do my best to be a good mother and a good example for you. Some days go well, some days not so much. But I do my best—because that’s what love does.

  • And just like that, one day I simply understood.

    Everything I had been through suddenly made sense — all the pain, all the hardship, all the tears. It was my soul trying to teach me how to love myself. Every trigger, every painful emotion was there for me to learn from, to remember that I didn’t have to search for love —I needed to learn how to receive and ask for love. And most importantly, how to become love itself.

    Giving was always easy for me, but I never knew how to receive it. And by only giving and not being able to take, my whole being was growing weaker. I’ve changed so much because of how my life has unfolded and because of the people who have crossed my path along the way. Now, all of it makes beautiful sense.

    There was a time when I closed my heart so tightly that my soul didn’t want to stay in this body anymore — I almost died. There wasn’t enough love left for me or for life itself. But I prayed. I said to God: If there is still something for me here to do or learn, then I will gladly stay. More than anything, I wanted to be a witness to my daughter growing up, to see her become a mother, and to experience all that life would bring.

    I wanted to stay with all my heart, not realizing then that my heart was closed and filled with coldness. Now I understand that what happened was a kind of wake-up call — a reminder that I am still a kind and loving person, that I still carry deep understanding and compassion for other people’s hardships.

    I don’t know what life will bring me, but I do know that whatever happens, I will face it with an open heart, trusting that I am always protected. Because living from the heart is so much more fulfilling than trying to control or predict everything. The truth is, the most beautiful and meaningful things in my life have come out of nowhere — unexpected gifts from God.

    We think we know what we want, but do we really? I thought I did, but now I see that I didn’t. What I know now is that, no matter what is happening in the world, I choose to live my life with an open heart — because that is who we truly are.
    We are Love in its most magnificent form.

  • Purpose

    There was a time not long ago when I became somewhat obsessed with finding my purpose in life. So, I began my search. First, I asked myself: What is my purpose as a human being? I thought about my job and the university I chose. I believed that if I kept learning, I could become more useful to others.

    Then I asked myself: What is my purpose as a woman? I reflected on my roles—as a mother, a wife, a friend, a daughter. But eventually, I felt that there had to be more to life than just the roles I play. I started thinking that maybe I should do something big, something that would help a large number of people.

    Then one day, I made a simple decision: I would live the best life I possibly could, every single day. And that became my purpose.

    Each morning, I wake up and live the day as if it were my last on this planet. I stay true to myself, aligned with my values. Every day, I try to be kinder than I was yesterday, more understanding, more loving.

    Purpose doesn’t have to be tied to big dreams—you can find it in the small, everyday moments. When I drink my coffee, I feel grateful that I can taste and smell its rich aroma. When I wash the dishes, I marvel at how water flows from the faucet. When I see the ocean, I’m filled with wonder at its depth and vastness. When I laugh with my daughter until we can’t breathe and our bellies ache, I feel alive.

    Sharing a smile with a stranger, giving someone a compliment—these moments may seem small, but they are full of meaning. That, to me, is the purpose of living: to be fully present in each moment, and to see those moments as miracles.

    If everyone could truly see and hear what is happening around them, I believe we could all say we are living a purposeful life.

  • Pain

    Pain accompanies our life from day one. We are born and we cry—I would call that emotional pain, confusion pain. We don’t know what’s going on. It seems like everyone is afraid to feel pain. Physical or emotional.

    We avoid emotional pain and end up hurting ourselves physically so that our attention shifts. Because it’s easier to deal with physical pain than emotional pain. So we drink too much, we eat too much, we take drugs, we blame others for our misery. We punch things until there’s blood on our fists. We exercise until our body gives out. We work too much, we study too much.

    Honestly, I could go on and on with ways people hurt themselves. By doing this, we are trying to escape. We’re scared to face what really hurts. And there’s a lot to face, if I’m being honest. Not everyone will do that— not in their entire life.

    Why? Because we would have to confront the truth. The truth about what happened—the things we’d rather forget. The truth about what we did. Our mistakes. The people we hurt. The lies we told. The truths we’re ashamed to admit.

    That’s a lot of responsibility. And who wants that? Who consciously chooses pain in a world where pleasure and happiness are advertised everywhere you look?

    It’s easier to have fun. It’s easier to keep ourselves busy. It’s easier to talk about others. It’s easier to see everything else—just not the pain inside.

    Some people do this their whole life. Some find the courage to look inside. And yes, it hurts. It hurts so much I can’t even describe it. A drilling tooth or broken bone is nothing compared to this pain.

    But when you start healing small pieces of your soul—of your being—it slowly dissolves. It gets better.

    I’ve faced a lot of my pain. Crawling in it. Crying for hours. Begging, “When will this end?” And I still experience it from time to time, because we can’t heal all at once. Some wounds are deeper, and we have to be ready to feel them.

    The good part? God will never give us more than we can handle. So when something comes up and the pain rises again, deep down I know—it’s time.

    That doesn’t mean I’m not angry. I am. And I ask God: Why? Every time I go through it, I have a conversation with God. I say everything—how angry I am, how unfair life feels, how He can allow this, how I’m supposed to live with all these truths I now see. I speak without a filter.

    And then, I say thank you. Because I know this pain gives me freedom. It gives me a beautiful understanding of my being, of my life. And then—I see more. I feel more.

    Because when pain leaves, it makes space for love, joy, happiness—and most importantly—gratitude.
    Gratitude that I’m here. That I can experience life on this planet. That God made me so perfectly imperfect.

    We’re taught to search for the good, for happy moments. But life is not only about joy. It’s both.
    Good and bad.
    Happy and sad.
    Success and failure.

    And in both, we find depth. We find meaning. We find ourselves.