Ascension doesn’t bypass pain—
it threads the needle through it,
stitching stars into scars,
turning tremble into truth.
You do not rise by flight alone,
but by falling into yourself,
through chambers of silence
where old echoes dwell.
You face the shadowed corners—
the fear that crouched in childhood closets,
the trauma that etched its name
in your unspoken places.
You stand before the mirror
where sabotage wore your face,
and gently, you peel away
what was never truly you.
You meet them all—
the tender child with tear-bright eyes,
the wounded self who learned to flinch,
the protector forged in fire and defense.
And then—
you offer them a seat at your table.
You listen.
You hold.
You love.
What was once banished,
now bathed in light.
What was once broken,
now blooms in understanding.
This is how we rise—
not by escaping the earth,
but by planting our roots
in its deepest soil,
and growing upward
from the truth of who we are.
So if you’re trembling,
if your heart feels too loud
in the quiet of becoming—
you are not failing.
You are awakening.
Healing is not neat.
It’s not clean lines and clear skies.
It’s messy—mud under your fingernails,
tears that surprise you mid-laughter,
memories you thought were long gone
surfacing to be seen,
not to haunt,
but to be held.
You are not too much.
You are not too late.
You are not broken beyond repair.
You are becoming fluent
in the language of your own soul.
And in the becoming,
you offer others a mirror—
a hand to hold in the dark,
a soft yes in a world of no.
Your healing ripples.
Your wholeness hums.
Even your cracks glow
when light moves through them.
Ascension isn’t a ladder—
it’s a spiral.
You revisit the same wounds,
but each time,
with a little more grace,
a little more love,
a little more you.
So keep going.
Let your gentleness be loud.
Let your softness be strength.
Let your healing be the story
that someone else clings to
on a night they almost gave up.
Because every time you choose
to face what hurts with love,
you carve a path through the dark
that others can follow.
And that—
that is holy.
Thank-you for reading.
Much Love and Light,
Brenda Marie Fluharty
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