Happy “Monday before Christmas” y’all! Some of us may be scrambling to get last-minute shopping and groceries done, or frantically deep-cleaning and decorating our living spaces as we prepare to celebrate the most wonderful time of the year. But I just want to remind us that our celebration, our festive spirit, isn’t contigent on our readiness to execute our various traditions. So if the house is only half-cleaned, or we haven’t gotten everything to the point of being just so, that is okay. Let the joy of Christ’s coming be the centre of our festivities. Let our hope come from the God who is with us (literally Emmanuel), even in our mess. Let us enjoy time spent with loved ones and find ways to be generous. And I hope that even in the midst of our preparations, we can find time to savour the glimmers of joy: the sweet sound of our most beloved carols, the tantalizing scent of baked goods, the twinkle of Christmas lights…let’s not miss these micro-moments that are unique to this festive season even as we try to engineer the macro-moments.
Here I am, on the doorstep of the fourth Sunday of Advent, with Christmas poised festively waiting to knock on the door, and I feel woefully unprepared. I wanted to write the most perfect Advent post ever, but for some reason, I’ve felt as if Advent hasn’t been, well, Adventing. Even this post felt oddly difficult to write. It feels stilted, unsure…and not confident. It feels messy. My December ping-ponged between chaos, busy-ness and enforced slowness, due to sickness (that dreadful flu that is going around).
It has been vastly different from the past few years, when I made Advent resolutions, because for Catholics, this is the start of a new church (liturgical) year. But this year, my initial attempts at reflection and prayer around deciding on these resolutions, left me clueless (or so it seemed). I suppose I was truly living the message of Advent that is trumpeted from the pulpit, which centres around waiting and preparation, in an unexpected way.
My attempts to celebrate Advent were reduced to praying, every Sunday, when another Advent candle was lit on the wreath, for the respective theme to be present in my life: first hope, then peace, then joy and finally, love. Even if you’re not catholic, I think we can agree that we all need more hope, peace, joy and love in our lives. It is only in hindsight that I can see that my prayers have been answered so far:
Hope showed up in the form of an Advent concert I was involved in. The words of the spoken word poet spoke not only to the hearts of the audience, but to mine as well. Even as I performed the songs to minister to others, my own hope experienced a renewal. It also showed up in the priest’s sermon on that first Sunday of Advent, showing me that while I am imperfect, I am not as badly off as I thought.
Peace showed up in the way I was able to keep working efficiently in the midst of chaos. I had a ridiculously long to-do list, but I got it done. Now that I am on vacation, it is also showing up in the form of balance; I am learning to balance resting and recovery with gentle productivity.
Joy showed up partially in disguise. It was obviously present in the generosity of my friends and our shared laughter. But it was also present in quieter, more incognito moments: dancing to music in the kitchen even while battling a cold, a quick trip to the beach, errands successfully completed…
I am waiting to see how love will show up on the home stretch to Christmas. In some ways, it already has, through friends and family, and through time spent in prayer and meditation in a Eucharistic Adoration chapel. But then, Christmas in itself is about love showing up, 2000-ish years ago, in the person of Jesus Christ;for God so loved the world… So I suppose that prayer has already been answered.
As I end this imperfect post, my question to you, is how did hope, peace, joy and love show up in this season? Sometimes we have to sort through the mess and chaos in order to find them. As we prepare to step into the Christmas season, whether our celebrations will be big or small, whether our happiness is incandescent or tinged with grief, I really do hope that we are blessed with hope, joy, peace and love in abundance in our lives.
Hey y’all. So, I’ve been consistently including a gratitude practice as part of my morning routine, and if I’m being honest, while I always believed that having the cliché attitude of gratitude was important, I was unsure of the benefit of writing down three things I’m grateful for every morning. Well, it turns out that it has helped my mental, emotional and even spiritual health, and lately I’ve found gratitude weaving its way throughout my days as well. As we enter the Christmas season and 2025 draws to a close, I want to encourage us to find glimmers of goodness to be grateful for. May we view life through the lens of gratitude, so that our vision can be joyful, hopeful and healthy for our minds and hearts.
I was late to an event. Well, not late exactly…I was late for…being early? Musicians always have a call time that is long before a gig starts, so we can set up, sound check, and discuss the sets. I woke up that morning with the best of intentions, and a to-do list that, while long, didn’t appear impossible. But then the meal prep took longer than expected. I underestimated how much food I was cooking, so the pot was almost completely full…which increased the cooking time exponentially. As my optimism dwindled, thankfully my problem-solving brain kicked in, so I was able to hurriedly empty it into a larger pot so it could finish cooking before I left. Then I had to solve the problem of cooling it quickly so I could put it in the fridge before I left.
Now, I am a proud multi-tasker (although I’ve been hearing that we don’t actually multitask), so I managed to get ready in the midst of the cooking, cooling and problem-solving. However, despite my best efforts, I left later than I planned to. Unfortunately, Murphy’s law was in full effect: traffic was an absolute nightmare. When I first checked Maps for an estimated duration, it said 35 minutes. The journey definitely took longer than that. There was messy traffic in multiple places, a car cut me off on the highway and I narrowly avoided an accident, and the pedestrians recklessly walking the streets of the capital city sapped every last drop of my patience.
Before I arrived at the event, I was battling my own nervous system. My initial reaction was to feel flustered, but I didn’t want to walk in with that energy. So I played worship music in the car and tried to focus on it, I deliberately took slow, deep breaths…and eventually I told myself: you can’t be late twice, just get there safely and in a good frame of mind. The mental battle was intense; I had to reason with my worse-case-scenario-producing imagination, and all I can say is that I’m immensely grateful for Jesus and therapy. I remember telling myself I understand the anxiety, but I’m safe. I’m not under any kind of threat. This is frustrating, but it’s not unmanageable. I think I pulled every tool possible out of my mental toolkit in those moments.
However, when I arrived and checked my phone, I realized that another musician had sent a message earlier: when he arrived, the building wasn’t open yet. If I had gotten there when I had planned to, I’d have had to sit and wait in the car for maybe twenty minutes. But when I arrived, I still had time to set up and settle in. It was fine (for me at least).
Now, am I advocating for latecoming? The answer is a resounding no. If life hadn’t decided that the theme for that morning was of “A Series Unfortunate Events,” I would have been early. I’ve already decided to be, shall we say, less ambitious with my to-do lists when I have gigs in the future. But, I did see the hand of God guiding me through the chaos; He was there in the somewhat calmness I fought for, the problem-solving, even the traffic had a purpose. He kept me safe from an accident when that car cut me off, and when pedestrians leaped off of the pavement and onto the road with reckless abandon. While I prayed for the traffic to be cleared, He allowed me to wait, to breathe, to worship in the chaos, and ultimately, to avoid the resentment that I would’ve felt had I arrived early and frazzled, only to find the building locked.
But haven’t we all heard similar stories or had similar moments? Sometimes when everything goes wrong despite our best efforts, we are either being saved from a worse calamity or frustration, or being set on a better path. Even from a mental health perspective, the ability to find calm and believe that things can work out despite chaos is beneficial. What we look for, is what we will find, so if we look for silver linings, our focus will be there, rather than the dark clouds. Am I using this experience to learn better planning and time management skills so I won’t be “late” again? Yes. But am I also seeing that God can work through the non-ideal moments and turn things around? Also yes. Am I also appreciative of the experience of learning flexibility and practicing regulating my anxiety? Again, yes.
So I end this post with a prayer for all of us:
Lord, grant us the faith to believe that even when things aren’t working out, when I stay fixed on You, they actually are, in a different way. Grant us peace in the midst of chaos, and the clarity of mind to focus on solving the problems that pop up, instead of simply panicking about them. Amen.
Hey y’all! It may seem strange that I’m beginning the week with a reminder to rest. But in the midst of the Christmas prep, the hustle of wrapping up the last quarter of 2025 (or even 2025 as a whole), I’d like us to remember to pause. In the middle of the errands, the housework, the socializing and the seemingly endless to-do lists, may we not only find, but make, pockets of time to rest, to breathe, to reflect and to savour the joy and hope of this season. Have a great week, everyone!
It is no secret to people who have known me well for quite some time that I am obsessed with classic novels. If anyone asked me to list my top ten authors (please do, I long to have this conversation), Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, all three Brontë sisters and Wilkie Collins would definitely be on the list, with a couple modern authors mixed in.
It may seem strange that I deeply enjoy reading books written in a different time, set in a different place, and expressed in a different style. However, it is worth noting that people have a lot in common internally, despite having seemingly dissimilar lives in different periods of history. We all experience happiness, sadness, anger, love, hate, despair, etc. I’ve even encountered characters that remind me strongly of people I know right now! While there certainly are cultural differences, at their core, people are always people.
Reading can also be a (healthier?) form of escapism. A novel is a great way to step out of your own shoes and take a walk in someone else’s for a while. Sometimes I like to escape into realistic novels set in the current time. At other times, I like to lose myself in fantasy novels (Lord of the Rings *cough cough*) to exercise my powers of imagination. Even when I lose myself in realistic stories set during other times in history, it is a nice journey into another world. Since the classics consist of both fantasy-type novels and more realistic novels, they are a great source of mental journeys into other places and times, while staying firmly put in a comfy chair (or bed).
I also have classic novels to thank for expanding my historical knowledge. I did not study history in school for long. The little history I did learn was woefully limited. However, I unwittingly learned quite a bit about certain historical events from, you guessed it, reading the classics. Thanks to these literary works of art, I have some basic knowledge about the Russian revolution (“War and Peace” by Leo Tolstoy), the French revolution (“A Tale of Two Cities” by Charles Dickens) and the Industrial Revolution (“Shirley” by Charlotte Brontë), to name a few events. Other novels did a great job of painting a picture of the aftermath of major historical events. While those specific characters may not actually have lived, reading about those events through their eyes offers a unique experience and a view of history that feels more personal and, I daresay, real, despite the fictional nature of the story.
Yet another reason I love classic novels is the writing and vocabulary. Honestly, it is top tier! My vocabulary expanded exponentially when I started to read the unabridged versions of classic novels. Some of these classic authors were master/mistress wordsmiths; they crafted sentences, descriptions and imagery with a level of care and skill that I don’t see very often any more. They used literary devices with so much intention and artistry that there have been times when I had to pause and reread a paragraph just to appreciate the writing properly. I wish I could be even half as talented as they were.
I also appreciate how well-crafted the characters are in their stories. They give us great insight into their main characters especially, and some classics weave deep insights about human nature within the story as well (I’m looking at you, novels written by Fyodor Dostoevsky). This may seem strange, but sometimes I wonder if my love of reading has influenced my ability to, well, read people, in real life. As I said earlier, people are always people. I also have a vague memory of reading somewhere that reading can also increase empathy, because the reader has to step into the characters’ stories.
On another note, classic novels have offered me a glimpse into other cultures and how certain societies functioned: balls in Russia, court politics in the palace in France, village life in England…I’d never be able to experience any of these except through the eyes of the characters of the characters. They’ve also increased my appreciation of rights and privileges we have now (especially as a woman).
I love that I get to live vicariously through the stories. I (hopefully) will never be in a suspenseful situation (any of Wilkie Collins’ novels), have to solve a crime (Sherlock Holmes), see a giant supernatural knight’s helmet materialize and fall on someone (“The Castle of Otranto”) or be part of an elaborate revenge scheme (“The Count of Monte Cristo”). I may never attend a jousting match (“Ivanhoe”) in real life, or worry about the result of a duel (too many novels to remember) or ride across England in a horse-drawn carriage, but I’ve seen these things (and many more) in my imagination. Through classic novels, my imagination has gone on adventures with Tom Sawyer, been mesmerized by Scheherazade’s storytelling, fled alongside Jean Valjean, laughed with Elizabeth Bennet, been terrified of Madame Defarge…and so much more, all from the comfort of a chair.
So whether you’re looking to expand your mind and vocabulary, pick up a little history, get some insight into human nature, or go on an adventure without physically leaving your home, I recommend the classics. Perhaps not all of them may be to your taste, but I have no doubt that some will be. Actually, as I’m writing this, an idea for a possible personal reading and book review challenge for 2026 revolving around classic novels is taking shape in my mind. Rest assured that once the idea materializes into something concrete, I’ll be sharing it here. In the meantime, I hope that we all can spend some time during this busy season physically curled up with a book, but mentally on a journey into another place and time. Happy reading, y’all!
Happy December y’all! I can’t believe that Christmas is right around the corner, and after that, a brand new year. Let the preparations for the festivities begin! (#christmasunicornthings) With all the social media content I’ve been consuming centered around locking in, making the rest of 2025 meaningful and preparing for 2026, I decided, in November, to select three words that would guide my intentions for that month. You can see the Happy November! for the words I chose then.
I promised y’all that I’d come back and share how centering my month around those words went, so here I am. I can say that selecting not one, but three words as a sort of theme for the month certainly helped me to remain focused on those areas. One word would have been too focused, I think, and more than three would have been too much to focus on. Three words seems to be the sweet spot, at least on a monthly basis. November felt much more intentional, and I can say that I experienced some growth and even joy in those areas.
I selected those words (and the ones for December) after a lot of reflection (and prayer too). They were things (intangible ones) that I wanted more of and areas I needed to work on. This month, I want to savour the celebration of Christmas and even the preparatory nature of the Advent season prior to it. I also want to try to show more care to people around me, and also to myself. Finally, the lock in theme continues: I don’t want to throw away the rest of 2025. Growth is addictive and unbelievably beneficial, even if it is slow and non-linear.
So, what are your three words for December? Feel free to drop them in the comments!
Hi y’all! It’s a new week and a new month…and 2025 is wrapping up quickly. Maybe we have long-held hopes, desires and dreams that have been relegated to the back corners of our hearts, because we have become tired of waiting. Perhaps we were working towards goals, but progress seems slow. Even as we walk into the end of the year, when some of us may have thrown our hands up in despair and starting to sing”I’ll try again next year” like a sad refrain, I want to encourage us (yes, me too) to not allow despair to win. May our faith and hope be renewed even now, so we can bring our dreams back into the light of day, and take steps (even if they’re faltering) towards living in purpose. We never know when things will turn around, when that prayer will be answered or when the right opportunity will present itself, so let’s try to live in hopeful expectation, and prepare ourselves. As the saying goes, “stay ready, so you don’t have to get ready,” so let’s stay ready for all that we have hoped, prayed and worked for.
Earlier this week, I heard the gospel story of the widow’s mite again, and it struck me a little differently. For the sake of readers who are unfamiliar with it, in a nutshell, Jesus noticed a poor widow put in an offering of two small coins (ie her mite) and praised her warmly, essentially saying that the tiny amount she put in was more valuable than the large amounts put in by the wealthy, because she put in everything she had, whereas they gave out of their excess. I’m sure it would’ve seemed strange to the disciples, because how could a little, be more than a lot? As we would say in Trinidadian parlance, the maths not mathsin.
The Bible reflection I was listening to at the time called for me to reflect on what my own widow’s mite could be. That opened a train of thought I’d never taken before, despite hearing the same story over the years. What if the story wasn’t always about financial donations? Then the times when I struggled to show up to my commitments because I was barely functioning came to mind. I pondered on how I’d beat myself up (mentally, of course) for giving only 50% of my normal effort, when, in fact, all I had was 50% of my normal capacity. I’d struggle to give even that 50% (to God, in service of others or even to my own care), not always from a lack of generosity, but rather because it didn’t seem good enough.
I’d be plagued by doubt, because I’d want to be better. The efforts I made would be bogged down by worries that it wouldn’t make a difference; it wasn’t a meaningful contribution. However, in that moment, that would’ve been all I had to give. Even in cases like that, the call to surrender it to God is clear. There was still value in my offering.
That’s why I think the widow is a powerful figure, not simply because of her generosity, but also of her surrender; her deep trust that God will take care of her, and that her seemingly small contribution still meant something. Yet sometimes I want to hold back when God clearly calls me to give of myself and my capacity is limited, because what if I end up with nothing, what if it isn’t enough, what if it isn’t good? Yet a widow gave two small coins, her mite that was in fact, mighty, and we remember her more than two thousand years later. A nameless, faceless, but bravely generous, trusting widow was praised by God Himself, and held up as an example for countless generations to follow.
In my reflection, I was also reminded of the boy who gave his few loaves and fish. In Jesus’ hands, it became abundant enough to feed the five thousand, with copious leftovers. He doesn’t ask me, or you, to do everything or have enough for everyone, He simply asks us to give, trust and surrender.
So if you are being called to show up in a certain way, or give of yourself somewhere, and you are afflicted by a feeling of not-enoughness, remember the widow’s mighty mite. Remember that Jesus praised her for showing up and giving what she could at the time. So now I ask, what is your mighty mite? As we enter the Advent season and a new Liturgical year, maybe we can ask God what mite He is calling us to give this year. May we all operate out of faith and trust so that we can have the courage to give, even when we doubt the reach or the value of our offering.
I noticed a bruise on my leg after falling one day. In the moment, the fall was awful: I hit my knee and screamed out; the pain was excruciating. But soon the pain showed signs of easing up and I was able to carry on, seemingly without suffering any consequences. Then I noticed the bruise, and later, the pain’s unwelcome return. At first, it felt minor, but constant; like a background noise that was just loud enough to make its presence felt, but not loud enough to be disruptive. I functioned, although I was hurt. It’s not that bad; people have worse injuries. If I allow it to affect me, it’ll be proof that I’m weak. So I soldiered on, functional, but affected, driven by long-held negative self-beliefs and a misguided desire to pretend that nothing was wrong.
Then over the course of a few days, the pain became impossible to ignore. I hit my leg in the same spotagain by mistake, and the pain worsened exponentially; I also tripped and fell directly onto the bruise and it blossomed, becoming larger and more ominous-looking. I pushed myself and tried to continue my cardio workouts, and it couldn’t heal. Functionality became nearly impossible. I could no longer hide the pain; my steps became slower and my gait unbalanced. My other leg tired easily, with a fatigue born out of carrying more than it was meant to.
It was only when I finally decided to take care of it, that I noticed its true extent. The bruise had become large and purple, but the pain extended further than the visible mark. The time I had to spend taking care of it seemed like a nuisance; the daily cold (and then warm) compresses, the gentle massages with castor oil (a true Caribbean remedy)…I didn’t want to take the time to do these, but I had to. I also had to rest my leg far more than I wanted to.
On some level, I almost resented the time it took to massage it, although the pain gradually lessened. Rest felt like a keep-back. I certainly couldn’t work out as I usually would. Sometimes the massages, though gentle, brought their own special type of pain. I had to ask for help, for people to slow down when walking with me, instead of hiding the pain while I struggled to keep up. My mind spiraled with thoughts like:
Why is it taking so long to heal?
I feel so unproductive and useless.
I hate having to ask for help. Am I keeping everyone back by walking slowly?
I miss being able to do Zumba. These slow, gentle walks are boring. This is going to set back my fitness goals.
But, either I followed the doctor’s orders and slowed down for it to heal, or I drew out the healing process or even made it worse. Thankfully, I had enough sense to choose the first option. Slowly but surely, it healed, and I was able to function completely, with no lingering side effects of the injury.
Maybe you’ve figured out that this post isn’t really about physical healing alone. While this was a real, physical experience for me, it is also a metaphor for some of my mental and emotional experiences, especially this year. I have officially been in my healing girl era (well, healing woman era) for quite some time now, and I’ve noticed that social media content surrounding healing can sometimes look very aesthetically pleasing: cozy pajamas, scented candles, cute skincare curated to look perfect (#selfcare anyone?) and the neatest journal spreads. But sometimes healing doesn’t look cute, and even worse, it doesn’t feel good in the moment. Sometimes the journal entries are messy and punctuated with the splashes of tear drops. Sometimes the cute pajamas end up being the outfit for an entire day.
Then why did I begin by relating a story of a physical injury? Well, if physical healing can be slow, frustrating and uncomfortable sometimes, why do we assume that mental and emotional healing would be any different? I made that assumption, and I’m still in the process of learning to be patient with myself and the journey. I’m also learning that sometimes healing involves its own special kind of pain or discomfort.
I’d often feel frustrated that I need to sleep more, or take more frequent breaks. I’m working on healing, so why can’t I just forge ahead? Well, if I’m finally allowing my system to pause and heal, of course it would want to:
🩷 Rest after being constantly stressed
🩷 Cry, because all of the trapped stress, tension and hurt need to be released
🩷 Feel exposed when cleaning out negative self-talk and long-held unhelpful and untrue beliefs
🩷 Experience some cognitive and emotional fatigue from rewiring my brain to accept new information about myself and the world…
The list goes on, but the at the end of the day, all of the discomfort is not just temporary, but it is worth it. I can attest to the fact that operating, living, out of a more healthy and whole version of myself continues to make my life better, even on difficult days. It also helps me to show up better for others. But that couldn’t happen without allowing myself to face (and to continue to face, because it is an ongoing, neverending journey), the uncomfortable healing moments. Sure, sometimes healing feels wonderful in the moment, but it isn’t always so.
Anyway, I hope that if you too are in your healing girl or healing guy era, you find encouragement in this post. Please know that you are worth the work, the discomfort, and the pain of healing. A healthier, more whole version of you awaits on the other end, and we would all love to meet them. I daresay that someone out there needs to meet them, because you never know what positive impact you are meant to have on others.
Shespeaksandwrites 