The Whispers from the Barefoot Path

Dear Soul
May these words find you within your heart. What follows is not just a message, but a gentle touch, an offering of healing, truth, and presence. These words are not just paragraphs on one page, they are whispers of my soul, rising from silence, pain, and rebirth. In writing, I remember myself. In sharing, I set myself free, and perhaps, in reading them, you will remember something of yourself too.

I know what it feels like to carry invisible wounds. To wake up in a life that does not feel like yours. To wonder if healing is even possible when everything inside you feels broken.

I have walked through the shadows. I have sat with the ache. And slowly, lovingly, I have begun to rise. I share these words with you not to revisit the pain, but to remind you that healing is possible, my dear soul. That you are not alone.

If you see yourself in my story, know this: your healing matters. My deepest desire is to help other souls find their way back home to themselves. If something in these whispers touches your heart, let it be the beginning of your remembering.

I grew up in a home where love was quiet, where pain was hidden behind closed doors, and where emotional presence was absent. It was an environment where fear often stood instead of love, and tenderness felt like a distant dream… The emotional support every child deserves was absent, and instead, I learned to navigate a world where safety could not be found in the arms that were meant to protect me. And in those early, fragile years, my nervous system learned that survival came before safety, that silence was protection, and that love meant enduring.

When I was thirteen years old, I lost my father. That loss left an invisible wound, one that shaped the woman I would later become. I lived without a father figure, and throughout my life, I found myself longing for someone to truly see me, to love me, to choose me. That aching search for validation became a silent thread that wove itself through many of my choices, often leading me to places where I gave too much and received too little.

And within that longing, I internalised something deeply damaging; that love had to be earned. To be loved, I need to perform. I learned to become what others needed. I became a good girl, a hard worker, a helper, a hero, a pleaser. I overextended myself emotionally, mentally, and physically, all to feel a little bit worthy. I worked so hard in school, striving for degrees not just as a measure of success, but as a way to find my sense of worth. I constantly questioned myself, terrified of disappointing others, always wondering if I was enough. Deep down, I held the quiet belief that love must be earned through sacrifice, perfection, and obedience.

When I found myself in an abusive marriage, it didn’t feel foreign. It felt familiar. It mirrored what I had known all along. Fourteen years of walking on eggshells, of forgetting my own needs, of carrying the unbearable weight of emotional isolation. I didn’t choose that because I was broken; I chose it because I didn’t yet know what true love, true support, or true safety looked like. I had accepted a version of normal that was never meant to be mine. And I stayed. I would have never left on my own. I was loyal, not to love but to what felt familiar. And so, the Universe it its deep mercy, intervened. One day, life orchestrated what now I know was a divine separation. It shattered me. I cried. I cried more than I ever thought I could. I mourned not just the marriage, but the part of me that had been holding on for life to something that was never safe, never true.

But healing has its timing, and one day, it came quietly. I remember it so vividly, the moment that shook me awake. I stood there, alone, separated, a mother of two, looking around at the ruins of what used to be my life. I felt lost. Numb. Empty. And in that quiet, broken moment, I whispered to myself, “What happened to me?” That was the beginning, not of the end, but of the return. The unravelling of the old me. The woman who had survived. The woman who had endured. She began to let go… and something new, something sacred, began to emerge.

As I walk further along this healing path, I am beginning to understand myself in ways I never could before. I look back at the little girl who went to school each day, unable to concentrate, struggling to focus, always feeling like she was somehow failing. And now I know, it was not her fault. She was not lazy; she was not unfocused. She was emotionally overwhelmed. She was carrying too much. That little girl had never known what it felt like to be held emotionally, to be seen, or to be guided with love. And of course, she could not give her best. Her heart was already busy trying to survive.

This insight is healing in itself. It is a soft embrace for the child I once was. Finally, I can say to her: ‘You did the best you could with what you had.’ ‘And I am so proud of you.’ And this post, this story, is not about blame. I carry no bitterness. Our parents, our relationships, the circumstances we lived through, they were all part of the soul’s curriculum. Each person, each experience, came into my life not to punish me, but to show me something deeper, to wake me up, to return me to myself. They were not mistakes, they were mirrors. Healing has taught me that not everything in life happens to us. Some things, even the hardest ones, happen for us to teach us, to open us, to call us home. This is the beginning of my barefoot path. Raw. Sacred. And if these words find you in your beginning, please know this: you are not alone. There is nothing wrong with you. Your story makes sense. Your pain has purpose. There is wisdom in your wounds. There is softness waiting to meet you. There is beauty ready to rise from your ashes, too. You are not broken. You are becoming.

And so, as I continue to walk this journey, learning, unlearning, and returning to myself, I leave you with a handful of affirmations that have held me in my quietest moments. May they meet you where you are and remind you that healing is possible. That you are not alone.

Thank you for listening to the whispers of my soul. May they guide you gently to your own.

(To whisper to your heart, write in your journal, or read aloud each morning)

I honour the story that shaped me, and I choose to rewrite it with love.

I am no longer defined by the pain I once survived.

It is safe for me to feel, to rest, and to receive.

I forgive myself for not knowing what I couldn’t have known back then.

I was not broken; I was protecting myself the only way I knew how.

The little girl within me is finally seen, heard, and held.

I release shame and welcome compassion.

I am rising from my past, rooted in truth, grounded in love.

Everything that happened has led me back to my power.

I am not just healing I am remembering who I truly am.