Clear personal boundaries include many moving parts and are instrumental in cultivating a sense of self-love and self-worth. Such boundaries are the guidelines you establish to safeguard your emotional and physical well-being. Yet, for some, personal boundaries can be vague or confusing. Explore the significance of healthy boundaries and tips on establishing and maintaining them in this blog.

The Essence of Healthy Boundaries

Before delving into the how, it’s essential to understand the what and why of boundaries. Boundaries aren’t barriers designed to isolate you from others. Instead, they are tools for nurturing healthy connections. Think of healthy boundaries as the framework that supports a thriving garden. They create a space where individuals can grow, flourish, and coexist harmoniously.

Healthy boundaries entail a firm sense of right and wrong regarding your emotions, personal space, and comfort zone. Since boundaries work both ways, it isn’t just about communicating your needs and preferences. It’s also about understanding the nuances and limits of other people’s boundaries while respecting their choices.

Photo by Marija Anicic | Bella Grace Issue 5

Healthy Boundaries as a Form of Self-Love

Those who grew up lacking control over their life or their own space may seek validation from others rather than trusting themselves. Others may have a deep fear of abandonment that makes it difficult for them to have secure personal boundaries. That’s why learning to set healthy boundaries and to feel safe and secure within those boundaries is an act of self-love.

6 Tips on Establishing and Maintaining Healthy Boundaries

1. Identify Your Limits

Setting healthy boundaries begins with self-awareness. Take the time to reflect on your values, needs, and limits.

• What are your emotional triggers? 
• What kind of language or behavior is unacceptable to you?
• What drains your energy, and what replenishes it? 
• How much personal time do you need for relaxation and self-care?

Know that personal boundaries can pretty much be anything and are specific to each person. By understanding yourself, you can identify the areas where boundaries are most crucial.

2. Communicate with Compassion

Once you know your boundaries, articulate your needs, desires, and limits openly and respectfully. Use “I” statements to express your feelings and avoid placing blame. Honest and transparent communication is the bridge that connects you with others. 

If communicating your boundaries seems uncomfortable or awkward initially, try writing down how you feel in certain situations. This practice can help you find the right words to express your concerns.

Photo by Jovana Rikalo | Bella Grace Issue 38

3. Learn to Say No

Knowing when to say “no” and being able to say it is a cornerstone of setting healthy boundaries. Many people struggle with this simple yet powerful word because of the fear of disappointing others or coming across as selfish. But the truth is that saying “no” is more of an assertion of personal boundaries and an act of self-care.

Being able to decline requests and invitations helps to preserve your time, energy, and well-being. So practice saying “no” with kindness and assertiveness, without the need for elaborate justifications. Here are some practical tips:

• Be clear about your priorities and boundaries in advance
• Pause and reflect
• Be firm and honest but polite and tactful
• Offer an alternative
• Learn to manage guilt

4. Prioritize Self-Care

Taking care of yourself isn’t a luxury but a necessity, and healthy boundaries are an integral part of self-care. Schedule regular self-care activities and honor them as you would any other commitment. These activities can be alone time, hobbies, exercise, or simply moments of relaxation.

5. Be Consistent

Consistency is key. If you’re inconsistent in enforcing your limits, others may not take them seriously. Consistency builds trust and reinforces the message that your boundaries are non-negotiable. It’s okay to reassess and adjust your boundaries over time, but remember to communicate any changes clearly and early.

6. Seek Support and Guidance

Maintaining healthy boundaries can be challenging. If that’s the case, seek support from family, friends, or a therapist who can provide encouragement and guidance. Surround yourself with people who understand and respect the importance of boundaries.

Remember, setting clear boundaries isn’t a rejection of others but a prioritization of oneself. If you seek inspiration for a life woven with self-love and mindfulness, check out our Bella Grace and Field Guide to Everyday Magic magazines.

The post Saying No: Healthy Boundaries as a Form of Self-Love first appeared on Bella Grace Magazine.

Passion is whatever nurtures your unique spark and lets it blaze untamed.

What does it mean to live with passion?

Maybe for you, it means pursuing the things that are personally meaningful. Maybe it’s blazing trails where there are none, or letting go of fear in favor of following where your dreams lead.

Passion is whatever nurtures your unique spark and lets it blaze untamed.

Today we’re highlighting honest, personal words about passion from the pages of Bella Grace.

Passion Projects

Kimberly Wilson is an author, artist, and activist with a style all her own. She’s proof that creating meaningful solutions to your own challenges can transform the lives of countless people after you.

Christine Miller’s article, “Kimberly Wilson: Cultivating Mindfulness With Artistic Flair,” from Bella Grace Issue 9, profiles what makes Wilson so dynamic:

“She is a living, breathing embodiment of passion and inspiration whose experience as a creative entrepreneur has evolved from one simple idea: to create what she wants but doesn’t yet exist. ‘Everything I do began as a seed – a desire for an experience that I couldn’t find,’ explains Kimberly, ‘Whether a feminine yoga studio with chandeliers or comfy clothing that transitions from day to night, all of my offerings started out as passion projects; Because they were created to satisfy my own inner cravings, I thought they might also resonate with others.’”

A Passion for Life

In Issue 9’s “Cloud Surfing,” Miranda Allfrey shares the lessons she learned after cancer interrupted her life as she knew it. Though her first impulse was to retreat from her struggles, she eventually came to realize that facing life head-on was the only way she wanted to live. In her words, “My life has been blessed due to the tenacity of how I greet it.”

“We never know what life is going to throw at us. I’ve experienced heartbreak and turmoil, and the past two years have been about regrowth of spirit. I’m saying yes, staying open, experiencing and living life because the alternative for me is hibernation.

…Yes is the only way. I don’t know where I will be tomorrow, but I do know my values, my goals, my dreams, my hopes, and my desires. I don’t know how long I have on this earth, so I’m choosing to live it. Hibernation is for the bears.”

Originally featured in Bella Grace Issue 9

“The woman who does not require validation from anyone is the most feared individual on the planet.”  — Mohadesa Najumi

Following Passion Wherever it Leads

In “Out of the Blue,” from Bella Grace Issue 9, Jennifer DeVille Catalano shares how a feeling of unfulfillment led her to give up the life she was familiar with.

In order to follow her dream of living a creative life, she undertook a huge move to a faraway place. But when she settled into her new home, she found that the journey was filled with more difficulties than she’d expected. In spite of it all, she created her own opportunities to connect with her love of photography, and in the end, that turned out to be “the catalyst that brought her back to herself.”

“It was art that saved me. My clearest, happiest moments on that island were spend behind a camera. Looking through the viewfinder enabled me to isolate bits of beauty on which to focus. …Doing so enabled me to develop a relationship with light. Part of that process was seeing the shadows in my midst, including my own. I had been fooling myself all along. An exotic postal code couldn’t cure my personal and professional discontent. Only I could.”

Originally featured in Bella Grace Issue 14

“Do your thing. Do it unapologetically. Don’t be discouraged by criticism. You probably already know what they’re going to say. Pay no mind to the fear of failure. It’s far more valuable than success. Take ownership, take chances, and have fun. And no matter what, don’t ever stop doing your thing.” — Asher Roth

What does passionate living look like to you? We’d love it if you shared your thoughts in a comment!

The post Say Yes: 3 Inspirational Women on Living Passionately first appeared on Bella Grace Magazine.

The sound of a choir singing together brings to mind harmony, exaltation, a blissful sound.

It is uplifting and joyous. It can move us emotionally and with great power. What happens when the choir sings off key? We are startled by it. We are uncomfortable with it. We look forward to when it ends.

Well, what about our internal choir of voices we have singing or, at times, shouting within us? When all feels right in our world our beautiful internal choir belts out a harmonious hallelujah that can make us soar emotionally and feel undefinable rapture. It is absolutely wonderful!

Then there are the days when the choir is a resounding roar of chaotic voices shouting at us, making us feel doubtful, fearful and hopeless. We want the choir to contract a sudden case of laryngitis and just be quiet. What do we do on those out-of-sync days? We all have our way of coping with the chaotic choir.

First, we need to be gentle with ourselves and acknowledge what we are hearing and feeling. I personally have had to force myself to face the voice head on, allow myself to wallow in the feeling attached to it, be immersed in it. Eventually, I realize it isn’t the end of me, just a redirection.

The chaotic choir member known as Ms. Unworthy not only shouts her lyrics but dances a frenetic and dramatic tango commanding my attention. Well, Ms. Unworthy, I have heard your voice and acknowledge how small you can make me feel but I have some new lyrics for you. I then join the inner song in what starts as a timid voice and then builds and builds and builds to where Ms. Unworthy stands there silent like a deer in the headlights as I sing out, “I am quite enough; I am perfectly enough.” The other chaotic choir members Unlovable, Abandoned, Guilt, Shame, Nobody and the wretched tenor section start to lose their voices.

I keep up my triumphant song until I am the only voice singing. By that time there are tears flowing, washing away the debris of negative feelings in a river of emotion set free. I have learned to be gentle with myself; to be kind to myself. And to understand that I am a physical representation of a big and beautiful universe with the only limits being those I set for myself. It took me a VERY long time to realize this. I have my days when the choir of chaotic voices reprises the emotional interruption but I now understand that . . . I . . . AM . . . PERFECTLY . . . ENOUGH. And I readily say so.

About Sharon: Woman, Daughter, Sister, Aunt, Mother, Grandmother, Employee, Head of Household, Spectacular Cook, Aspiring Yogi, Reader, Seeker, Knower, Creative, Centered, Optimist, Divinely Guided, Honest (sometimes brutally honest), Loyal, Trustworthy, Proactive, Nurturer, Homebody, love holidays and Indian food, passionate about personal dreams, deeply love my children and grandchildren, unstoppable empowered Goddess, Perfectly Enough.

The post The Choir of Chaotic Voices first appeared on Bella Grace Magazine.

It’s funny how life never turns out how you envisioned it would as a child.

I am at an age where I recognize this, accept it, and can laugh at how this unpredictable world likes to keep me on my toes.

Growing up, I was not always so understanding of this unruly world.

And I was no stranger to difficult moments that made me question, “Why? Why is this happening to me?” But now, as I look where I’ve ended up, I can appreciate how these difficult moments shaped who I am today.

What I wouldn’t give to go back in time and share this understanding with myself as a child. How I wish I could offer guidance on what’s to come to the girl in braided pigtails, the one riding her Little Mermaid bicycle at full speed down the corner hill with a relentless young heart and wonder in her eyes …

To the girl in braided pigtails,

In 20 years time, your views of what matter will look nothing as they do now.

Being nominated for homecoming queen or being liked by all the “right” people when you get to high school will mean nothing in the grand scheme of things.

Your parents are actually looking out for your best interests and not “trying to ruin your life.” When you’re a parent, you will understand.

Listen to me, young self.

Listen to me when I tell you to hug mom and dad often. You take this for granted now, but once you’ve grown and moved away, you will miss the moments they held you tight.

Listen to me when I say your heart will be broken many times. Don’t be scared. Take the risk. You will gain invaluable insight and strength from the moments you thought you’d never overcome.

And when times do get tough, remember you do not have to deal with them alone. Reach out for support. Those who love you will be there with open arms. I promise.

Stop comparing yourself to the girls at school and in magazines. The flaws you perceive in yourself are a deception. You will learn to love them one day.

Slow down and savor every moment of your journey. This life is not a race to the finish.

Remember your courage.

Find magic in everything you do, stay curious, and continue to let your imagination run free.

And this will be hard to believe, but …

You do not know everything.

Trust me when I say it will all work out in the end. You will experience moments of disillusionment, times when you are unsure of your purpose or which road to take. The world has a funny way of unraveling exactly how it is supposed to.

It will all work out.

To better understanding,
Future Self

What do you wish you could tell your younger self? Share with us in the comments.

The post To the Girl in Braided Pigtails first appeared on Bella Grace Magazine.

Before I’d play golden music on my Fender guitar, I’d admire the stained wood and strings. Every day was the same: the moment I returned home from school, I sought an hour of solitude with my guitar. I’d grasp the fret-board, pulling it free from the magenta wall, right where the tuning mechanisms scratched my wall silver. My guitar chords always emitted a prismatic sound when I struck them against the grain with my pick before I sifted through the printed chords of my favorite songs and chose the one I’d play, sometimes over and over.

Back in those days, I played a Taylor Swift song at least once a day, teaching myself guitar through watching videos of her songs again and again to get the tone just right. I’d read books to learn how to move my fingers to change the tone of music. I’d tune my guitar constantly until it sounded absolutely right.

Although I’ve always been a storyteller, playing my guitar was a detour that only opened up my imagination towards future writing. The songs I’d play on my guitar made daydreams flash across my mind, fairy-tales of white horses and girls dancing in country boots as they found the boys of their dreams. But I learned something about myself through those imaginings, and saw how the songs I wrote with my best friend revealed that what I really looked for wasn’t a boy to understand me at that volatile age. What I really wanted was to be a more confident person, to shed that which made me fear.

The truth sometimes appeared to me in bursts as we wrote about failed crushes, imagining we knew something about love. I think what we learned most back then was that a girl’s most difficult job is to find her voice. The problem may not have been with anyone else. It was us that needed to grow as people before we could ever experience the romance of the songs we’d grown up listening to.

“I think what we learned most back then was that a girl’s most difficult job is to find her voice.”

A few years ago, I heard the saying by George Bernard Shaw that “life isn’t about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.” I did create myself by learning the lessons that made me a stronger person.

My guitar taught me to be confessional. Back then, my best qualities were an anchor sinking into a cloudy ocean, ever present but never seen by anyone. I sunk my feelings and dreams away so no one would ever see them. It took me a long time to realize that I wouldn’t live a blissful life if I could never be free.

Most importantly, I learned that I had a voice. It may have been the voice of a little girl who spoke quietly, but she grew up to be someone stronger than she ever thought she would be. My heart rose every time I played those songs. That made me see that sometimes the most meaningful instances in our life, the most powerful lessons we will ever learn, happen in moments of solitude.

Sometimes we need that confidence to boost us up, even as we grow up and move into life. We need those passions to anchor us to truth and show us who we are.

The guitar that once made its home in my bedroom now hides in its case. There once was a time when that would have been unthinkable. That doesn’t discourage me. It’s been several years since I’ve played, but a week doesn’t go by that I don’t think about playing that guitar again. Yet I know the guitar served its purpose in my life, and whenever I need to hear its shining strum again, I know where to find it.

Kayla Dean is a Vegas-based writer who reports about arts and entertainment. She also interviews writers and blogs about living a creative life on kayladean.com. Find her on Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest @kayladeanwrites.

The post Finding My Voice Through My Guitar first appeared on Bella Grace Magazine.

It was an evening in late September when I knew we were losing each other.

I knew we were forgetting. So I wrote. I wrote it all, I described every memory I had with him, laced with the most magical details. The nights we talked on the phone until sunrise, the secret promises we made in the drive-thru line, the summer days he carried me across the parking lot to get ice cream. I combed through my journal entries hoping I could find the moment — the moment it all started fading. As a hopeless romantic, a firm believer in fairytales and happy endings, I didn’t understand how the stars had become so scattered and desperately clung to the hope that I could put them back in line.

Despite attempts to recall every chapter we wrote together, our story inevitably came to an end. Now faced with the repercussions of a naive and broken heart, my only choice was to do what I’ve always done: write. The words we exchanged at 2 AM became choruses. The dreams we shared became melodies. We became songs.

As time passed, my naive and broken heart grew careful and whole again. I didn’t find myself writing about us anymore. Instead, I found happiness that was not contingent on the heart of another. He and I were just another scene in my highlight reel and as a young dreamer with the world at her feet, I planned to make a million more on my own.

One of those scenes came on a Friday night when my heart raced as I slipped on a little black dress, opened the latches on my guitar case, and prepared to take a stage I had only ever dreamed about. I know my eyes must have been particularly starry that evening as I stood where some of my favorite storytellers once had. I sang songs about fading memories … People who mean the most to me … Magical moments.

As I looked into the eyes of a room of strangers, I realized something extraordinary: Forever Is Real.

I realized the people you’ve lost, the experiences you’ve had, are never truly gone. The best friend you had before she moved away, the love that broke your heart, even the car ride you had with your mother yesterday, aren’t gone at all. They become chapters in a story you can reread as many times as you’d like. When I’m on stage, guitar on my lap, heart on my sleeve, I relive cherished memories, I share them with an audience who have their own cherished memories, their own wonderful stories. Nothing has ever felt more magical, even those summer days when a boy I used to know carried me across the parking lot to get ice cream.

Since then, my story has taken unexpected twists and turns, in the absolute best way. I know now more than ever how beautiful it is to document every moment, what a gift it is to carry memories, what a gift it is to tell our stories. Every time I hear a song, see a painting, a photograph …When I curl up in the blanket my great-grandmother made or read a book … I relish in the realization that the inspiration behind creation is everlasting — that forever is real.

“For it is up to you and me

to take solace

in nostalgia’s arms

and our ability

to create

the everlasting

from fleeting moments.”

― Sanober Khan, A Touch, A Tear A Tempest

“I’ve always loved writing. I was quite shy growing up and my notebook and a pen became like best friends to me. As soon as I realized I wanted to share my stories through music, my journal entries turned into lyrics, I picked up a guitar, and never looked back.” Hayley Solano is a 23-year-old singer-songwriter from Southern California. Her music is often described as personal and relatable, receiving praise for her strong, heartfelt lyrics – she strives to share stories from the most genuine place she can. When she’s not playing music you’ll find her baking in the kitchen – cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles are her favorite! hayleysolano.com // @hayleysolano

The post Forever Is Real first appeared on Bella Grace Magazine.

If you’ve ever swam, stood by, lived by, or even flown over an ocean once, you know that deep waters hold a certain divinity. There’s nothing quite like diving into cool ocean water in the early days of June. There’s nothing more lovely than immersing yourself in an underwater aquamarine world teeming with yellow, blue, green, and orange fish whose silences are only punctuated by soundless bubbles and the hush of waves washing in above the surface. And after hours or even minutes swimming through the salt water, you feel more clean, sane, and free than you did on land.

That’s why there’s nothing quite like swimming in open water.

The scar on my left thigh that I got the day I went diving among the lava rocks will always remind me of a certain obscure pool along the shores of Maui. My mom’s friends, the family we were staying with, called it the aquarium because of the beautiful fish that swam around their home coral. Even if I knew where that pool was now, I’d never tell.

It was a locals’ place, somewhere only a true Kamaʻāina would know how to find. And even if you knew someone that did, it took effort to search for it, like the elusive secret garden, only its true beauty lie in its freedom from walls.

I used to think I knew Maui well. But Maui holds every sort of hidden enchantment inscrutable to the uninitiated. I was eleven, and it had been a few years since I’d been back to the place I was born, even though I’d visited many times. We watched my mother’s friends’ homes or pets for weeks at a time, our lifestyle changing to fit the island. We’d go to the beach in the morning, gulp POG juice at breakfast, find back roads that led to Buddhist temples or hills so green they looked like they belonged in Ireland.

We didn’t even have to leave the windows open at night in upcountry Maui to hear the animals sing, chirp, and moo at night. Those days were among the most extraordinary of my life.

But the day I went diving is one I remember more than some of the others, which often come through to me in impressions and imprints of the places we drove through on those long island days.

After parking the car and hiking through sharp lava rocks, the hot sun beating down on us, I couldn’t feel anything more than relief when we finally found our way to the aquarium. We situated our beach bags on the rocks and dove in with nothing more than snorkel gear that anyone can buy at the corner store.

I had no choice but to follow the others. Everyone else was already in the water. I was nervous, but had no idea what I was getting into. All I knew was that this pool had been there thousands of years. Many tourists didn’t know about it. For a while, I’d be swept into the quiet world of the ocean. I could see my mom sitting on the rocks behind us and knew that for one of the first times in my life, I was jumping off alone into something new. I didn’t think. I dove.

As I placed my mask over my face, the water warped around my skin, accepting me into its cool fold. The first moment I saw that the aquarium wasn’t shallow, my fins wavered and I took a deep breath through my shallow tube.

That underwater world exploded to life in front of my eyes, even though it had been there thousands, millions of years. Longer than my little life. Those reef fish swirled around my feet and arms, making their way below me, oblivious to human change, sequestered in their own universe.

But I could only focus on the fish for so long. It made me anxious every time their delicate fins swirled past me, brushing my arms and legs.

The sun that shone in pale fire on the surface gleamed into the salty medium, bearing a gradient that only grew darker around the reefs about thirty feet below me. Had I understood what that meant, I’m almost certain I would have been too afraid to go under the water. I couldn’t look down for too long: the coral below us was shrouded in wild darkness, but the ride was exhilarating.

As we returned to our snacks and towels, admittedly not far away at all, I knew I’d miss this place that I may never see again. I pushed myself out of the water and onto the lava rocks with everyone else and we journeyed back to the car. The sun beat down on us once more and the salt water receded from my skin.  On the return trip, I scraped my leg, a big slash down my left thigh.

No matter how much I tried to remedy it, the cut wouldn’t heal. It bothered me at first, but now I just think about the day when I got out of my safety net for one of the first times.

The years go by and I never stop connoting the word aquarium with that obscure pool in Maui that, if pressed, I’d never be able to find for you. It always stands for the wonder that I felt at trying something so outside my quiet life of school days. I remember myself that day as a different person that takes adventures and chances.

We go about our lives and only read about great things in the pages of books, but forget that great things can happen to us. Even if we don’t know the chances we’re taking at the moment, sometimes it’s good to take the risk and listen to the waves as they wash by.

When have you taken a leap of faith for adventure? Share your story in a comment below or tweet us @BellaGraceMag!

Kayla Dean is a Vegas-based writer who reports about arts and entertainment. She also interviews writers and blogs about living a creative life on kayladean.com. Find her on Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest @kayladeanwrites.

The post The Wonders of Diving first appeared on Bella Grace Magazine.

The word “trailblazer” is often associated with the names of important people that have made big changes for the world in the fields of science or technology, and yes, they are absolutely incredible. However, people who change the game don’t always walk in the landscape of their own shadow. I believe some of the greatest influencers are the ones that chose to live in freedom by pursuing the life they wanted to live. And I consider my mother to be a trailblazer in a league of her own.

My mother enrolled in Michigan Tech in 1971 as an undeclared engineering major. The second woman in her family to go to college, she was one of the 500 women on a campus of 6,000, fierce to make known that she wasn’t at the college to find a mate. She was there because she didn’t see her position as a woman as hindrance to a career, but as a human being pursuing the thing she loved.

Her freshman year was filled with mostly acceptance, a few side eyes, and a professor nearing retirement who didn’t think a woman’s place should be in the engineering department. She recalled one visit to the campus counselor her freshman year to decide which engineering program she should enter the following year. Despite her impressive grades and keen learning abilities, he told her she might be better suited in the technology-writing program because he believed that was more appropriate for a woman.

She called her father who asked her the one question that changed everything:

“What are you good at?”

“Math and Science.”

“Then be an engineer.”

She graduated Summa Cum Laude in 1975 with a degree in chemical engineering.

Nearly 10 years prior, sex/gender was added to the list for affirmative action in the United States. In order to keep up with the law, there was a big push for hiring women engineers at the time of her graduation. She received dozens of job interviews from cities all over the country and kept each letter in a box under her bed, where she would pull them out periodically to see if there was a job offering near where her fiancé worked.

She struggled to find work close to the city of St. Joe so she called up all of the job coordinators and told them that if they wanted her, they would have to make a job for her fiancé, an electrical engineer. Two companies, one in Charleston and one in Cleveland, were willing to take her deal. They settled at the refinery in Cleveland.

Her new boss didn’t know how to train new employees, so he handed her a box of manuals and told her to read. He wasn’t biased against my mother; he just didn’t know what to do with her. Another department noticed my mother constantly reading manuals and asked her if she wanted to work on a project for their department. She immediately said yes. It was the computer simulation team, which is a fancy term for the group of people who design the process for building refineries. The team leader was so impressed with her work on the project; they asked her to come on to the department full-time. She agreed and designed the Acrylio 3, which I’m told is a big plant in Texas.

In 1985, she retired in order to move to the next chapter of her life and start a family. She started a bank account for my brother and I so that we could go to college one day, and pursue our own passions.

Above all, my mother instilled in me one intrinsic value – you can dream big or small, but never stop dreaming. I was raised in a home that taught me that we should see the beauty and talents of other people because of who created them, not what sex or gender they were created as. We all carry these stories of monumental triumphs, because of the people who simply lived their lives before us a paved a better world for you and I today. These stories should be told, to inspire others to live with complete freedom.

Becky Hartung is a writer, communicator, and researcher. She is a graduate of Biola University and holds a BA in rhetorical and interpersonal communication. In 2015, her pilot study on the connection of humor and communication was accepted to the National Communication Convention. She teaches on the study while she pursuing further graduate work in humor and advocacy communication. Her book, Running in the Dark, chronicles her journey of breaking stigmas in mental health, navigating life in Los Angeles, and finding space to laugh with friends along the way. Find her on Twitter @beckyhartung and Instagram @beckyhartung.

The post A League of Her Own first appeared on Bella Grace Magazine.

“It is in the unraveling of this world that we are reminded where our true gift is found.”

— Melissa Michaels

Eyes barely open I touch the switch for coffee and listen to the machine slowly come to life, imitating its start I leisurely make my way across the room. With my journal in hand, I ease into the soft chair and begin to write. The darkness shelters the calm morning like a new friend in the space where I unravel the residue lingering in my heart.

The swirl of the pen and the ritual it creates fills the page with all the rumbles that occupy my thoughts. Occasionally they arrive as a revelation; a way of letting go of the things I have been holding for too long, welcoming discovery as my hand magically floats across the page, flooding the paper with serenity. Like the fog that gathers in the mountains, these reflections collide, imploring a space of their own while I untangle the message they deliver.

For years, journaling has presented me with a place to escape while holding my hand through the murky anguish of grief. Writing out my deepest sorrows, I filled the pages of each journal, guided by this release of emotions while unearthing the chaos surrounding my heart.

During the darkest tragedy of my life, where winter’s fury embodied my soul, our 5-year-old son’s life ended. Death smothered any positive energy I once clung to while trapping me in a world of despair. Journaling this heartbreak provided the space to scream out loud while grieving, and an invulnerable setting to hold my broken heart, while balancing the care of our three-year-old daughter.

With the promise of time, this scribble of thoughts softened me with grace filled moments. Finally, I was able to reflect on hope. Each scattered story gripping my heart eventually filled the pages with all of the broken pieces; surrendering to the overwhelming emotions, journaling provided a release.

Years later as I gently skim my fingers from corner to corner recalling the heartbreak contained within these pages and finally recognize how far I’ve traveled. Within these journals I can observe the heavy heart shifting through the seasons and consider the blessings that penning my world within these journals provided.

Each time I collect my tools to write, the emotional knots begin to slacken as this seamless thread of advice I surrender to slowly dissects the inner conflict, unlocking powerful stories that no longer serve me while providing the space necessary for future wishes.

Gradually as my thoughts return to the effortless flow of the pen across the page, inked with gratitude I smile tenderly, recognizing the console provided within each challenging season. As the pages of our lives unfold, gratefulness illuminates our hearts with a gentle embrace, and within the pages of our journals, compassion sings its chorus.

While searching for a reason to go on after losing their five-year-old son Ryan, she discovered that giving back could actually save her. Married with two children, Tina Zarlenga shares stories of inspiration and hope, as well as her journey through grief with emotional essays of life on her website unravelingmyheartthewriteway.com.

The post Unraveling Gifts first appeared on Bella Grace Magazine.

“The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.”

— Robert Frost

I have nightlights in most of the outlets in my home.

My favorite is a tiny bulb shrouded by a large scallop shell, which casts a comforting, pink glow in my bathroom. Weeks before Daylight Savings begins in November, you’ll find me scurrying around my house, setting out rechargeable candles on nearly every surface and checking batteries. During the dark months of winter, nothing brings me more contentment than seeing displays of luminous holiday lights, twinkling in the frigid evening wind.

For as long as I can remember, I have had an aversion to darkness. Yes, nearly all children at one time or another have a fear of the dark, imagining monsters under their beds, but it rarely continues into adulthood. I still to this day see the shadows in my bedroom as foes and adversaries, at the ready to reach out and jolt me out of a peaceful slumber.

There have been a few instances in my life in which I made friends with the darkness, though they have been few and far between. When I was 12, I became enamored with astronomy. Although I was afraid, I spent many a night alone with my telescope, drawing constellations in my little notebook and waiting with bated breath to catch a glimpse of a shooting star. The piercings of light in the night sky brought me comfort, even when I’d hear strange sounds, like the haunting, lonely howl of a coyote off in the distance.

(Photo credit: “Silence, or Something Like It” by D. Smith Kaich Jones, Bella Grace Issue 2)

My general ill will toward the darkness has only become amplified in recent years. Each winter, I struggle with Seasonal Affective Disorder, a depression brought on by a lack of sunlight. Tear-filled nights can leave me cursing the darkness, wishing and hoping for brighter days. Sometimes, I feel like a tiny plant that needs to be nourished by sunlight and goes dormant in the dark.

But then, something magical happened recently. Much like the evenings spent with my telescope, I befriended the darkness once again during a candlelight hike in a deep, dim forest.

It sounded magical. I looked at pictures of other candlelight hikes, and I saw forests bathed in candlelight, fully illuminating the path. But just in case, I wore my sturdiest pair of boots, anticipating roots and rocks hiding in the darkness, waiting for me to trip and fall.

My husband and I arrived at the trailhead at a nearby state park. I squinted to make out the candles flickering in the distance. The woods looked dark. Incredibly dark. Nothing like the pictures I had seen. Save a few flames I could see here and there, I felt as if I wasn’t walking into the woods, but into the mouth of a pitch black cave instead. Tiny candles appeared only every 20 feet or so. The fear kicked in.

Although there were others hiking the trail alongside us, I wasn’t comforted, and my thoughts began to race. What if there are wild animals out here? What if I trip and break my ankle? What if? What if? What if?

My breath became short. My palms started to sweat. The old childhood fears crept in. Yes, my husband was with me, but what protection could he offer against the enemies lurking in the darkness?

And then there was this shooting star. It streaked across the sky and lit up the entire forest with its light. And I felt 12 again. Not as the child or even adult who had to sleep with a nightlight, but like the child who used to gaze in wonder at the night sky, humbled by its magic.

(Photo credit: “I’m Restless” by Isabelle Dow, Bella Grace Issue 2)

The version of myself who embraced the enchantment of darkness. Stars. Owls. Nothing but the sounds of footsteps and wind.

As I continued into the forest, I looked at the silhouettes of the bare trees, struck against a sky dotted with points of light. At that moment, I didn’t miss the sun. I welcomed the star-strewn sky and all of its dark splendor into my heart.

I felt at peace in the woods, lovely, dark, and deep.

To learn more about Shelby Deering, visit her website at shelbydeering.com and her blog at teaandink.com.

The post Befriending the Darkness first appeared on Bella Grace Magazine.