healing
How to heal fully and properly.
When the Sky Fell Down
Liam never believed in miracles. Raised in a small, rust-belt town in Ohio, where factory smoke painted the skies gray and dreams were something you outgrew, not something you followed. He was the youngest of four, the quiet one, with a father who worked long hours at the steel plant and a mother who aged through worry, not years.Life for them wasn’t a tragedy it was routine survival.He was 17 when the sky collapsed.It was an ordinary Tuesday afternoon. His father hadn’t come home on time, but that wasn’t unusual. What was unusual, however, was the call. Just one ring sharp, suddenand everything changed.The hospital.A heart attack.Gone before goodbye.There were no final words, no slow fading. Just a hole where the man had been.Grief didn’t hit Liam like a storm it dropped like a silent bomb. His mother turned into a ghost overnight, fingers trembling over unpaid bills, her eyes vacant even when open. His siblings either shut down or lashed out, each trying to make sense of the loss in their own broken ways.Liam? He disappeared in plain sight.He dropped out of high school, buried his dreams, and took his father’s place at the steel plant. Every day, he walked past the security booth where his dad used to crack jokes. Now, the guards just nodded, awkward and quiet. They didn’t know what to say to a kid wearing grief like a second skin.The factory roared with machinery, but Liam’s thoughts were louder relentless questions, dead ends, and an anger that had nowhere to go. Home offered no relief. The dinner table had an empty chair and the walls seemed to breathe sadness.Then one evening, after a double shift, Liam came home to find his mom crying over a broken heater. No drama, no panic just quiet tears. That was worse than screaming. It was the kind of crying that says: I’m exhausted from pretending we’re fine.That night, something changed. Not a breakdown a decision.He grabbed a beat-up notebook and scribbled:What can I learn for free?Coding tutorials. Online classes. Reddit threads. Anything. Mornings were for steel and smoke; nights became sacred his time to fight back. He taught himself web design from library Wi-Fi and borrowed books. His hands were calloused from labor, but his mind was burning with purpose.Failure followed.His first interview? A disaster.His résumé? Mocked.His speech? Unpolished.But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
By Ashraf about a year ago in Motivation
The Courage of Bilal (RA)
In the early days of Islam, when the message of one God challenged the powerful idols and traditions of Mecca, many brave souls stood firm in their faith despite facing unimaginable hardships. Among these was Bilal ibn Rabah, a man whose courage and steadfastness made him a shining symbol of freedom, faith, and resilience.
By Muhammad Salmanabout a year ago in Motivation
Survivor to survivor. Content Warning.
I am one of those survivors that refused to let my abusers win. I made goals. I drafted plans. I was meticulous. Despite the various obstacles I had to overcome. Yet there was still something missing. Years had passed since that period of forced inferiority took place. I was losing my mind trying to figure out what else I needed to do. Why wasn't the GOOD thing happening? Life is a math equation right? So where is the product of my hard work and determination? Become educated? Check. Live responsibly? Check. Be unapologetically myself? Check. I took a hard look at my life and had to be honest with myself. I was at my happiest when I felt free. When I was a 21 year old party girl hitting up dive bars with my colleague from work. Class in the morning, work in the afternoon, party at night. It was a high that I never wanted to come down from. The weekends called to me, it carried me through each week. I felt like I had all the time in the world. Creative expression, movement, fluidity and attention. It had been years since I felt that. My life felt stagnant, like there was nothing else to look forward to. My degree didn’t produce a career. My responsible lifestyle didn’t grant me a home. Social medica didn’t gift me that feeling of love. I wanted to feel free again. One last high. So I made a plan. One, buy a gun. Two, put on my prettiest lingerie. Then put on my headphones with my three hour suicide playlist on repeat. The one that makes me breakdown for no reason. The songs that make me cry just because. The playlist would coax me into resolve. I would end my life in the back seat of my paid off car. The police would find me lifeless in the backseat, my playlist still playing. My sunken breasts barely filling my lace bra. My ribs and hip bones the largest parts of me. I made my plan. I went to the store the next morning and took a picture of a gun. Damn these strict gun laws. So I gathered my things, sliced my wrist, destroyed my apartment and set my sights for LA. The place where dreamers go. It took me 15 hours to get there. The feeling in my stomach was indistinguishable. A combination between fear, excitement and nausea. I arrived at Venice Beach at 7:02pm, the sun was just setting. A women in a tutu passed by me on roller skates. It was colder than I expected. The wind blew my hair to one side and my ears lost feeling. I stared at the waves solemnly until I realized I made a terrible mistake. I remembered the lines of tents of homeless encampments I had passed just 30 minutes prior. How many of them were dreamers? How many of them thought they just needed to get to LA for life to be good? Without feeling I started the 15 hours drive out of California. It was surreal. I drove 30 hours round trip, no sleep just short pit stops on the way for gas. I put about $1000 dollars on my credit card for the stuff. Probably the most financially irresponsible thing I’ve done in my life. I returned to my complex with no job, an additional $1000 debt on my credit card and a taste in my mouth that I can’t even describe. When I unlocked my apartment door I was relieved. The same place that felt like a cage triggered feelings of reassurance. I stood in silence as I observed the mess I had made the day prior. The light of overcast filled the room. I reviewed the damage. Broken glass, shattered tv, nothing permanent but at least a couple days work to bring it back to normal. I awoke the next day ready to clean. As I swept the floors, gathered the bags of trash and rearranged my space I realized I overcame yet another obstacle, my Self. My high expectations. My obsession with the good life. So I started over. I accepted the minimum wage job that I was overqualified for. I worked on my art, one by one filling the space the tv left. I started eating again. I started loving my Self again. And I was rewarded for it. With first time home buyers assistance. I am a homeowner. With a new job, one that makes sense. With love, a puppy. With hope. The life I always imagined.
By Rae Dee Fordabout a year ago in Motivation
The Spotlight Within
Elliot wasn’t like the other kids. He didn’t speak much, didn’t like loud noises, and never made eye contact. By the age of four, he was diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder, and his parents were told he might never communicate the way most children do. The doctors said he would likely struggle with social cues, emotional expression, and connection.
By MIGrowthabout a year ago in Motivation
Your Comfort Zone Is a Trap
The Illusion of Safety Everyone craves comfort. It feels safe, predictable, and easy. But what if your comfort zone is actually holding you back from growth, success, and true happiness? While it may protect you from stress and uncertainty, staying in the comfort zone too long can become a trap—limiting your potential and dulling your spirit.
By Muhammad Asimabout a year ago in Motivation
