Every relationship experiences cycles—periods of bloom, stillness, decay, and regrowth. The Seasons of Silence explores the quiet spaces that follow emotional distance, misunderstanding, or pain. Rather than treating silence as failure, it reframes it as a natural, if uncomfortable, part of human connection—a winter that prepares the heart for spring.

The piece examines how unspoken tension can either erode trust or nurture reflection, depending on how it’s held. Through humility, curiosity, and consistency, silence becomes a teacher—revealing the difference between avoidance and peace, isolation and introspection.

It’s an invitation to see distance not as the end of love’s story, but as a season within it.

Illustration by Sophie

Intuition isn’t magic—it’s the quiet knowing beneath the noise. It speaks in nudges, in that small pull toward or away from something before your mind can explain why. Most people mistake it for coincidence or emotion, but intuition is older than both. It’s the soul’s way of guiding you through logic’s blind spots. When you learn to recognize its voice—steady, calm, certain—you stop chasing answers and start remembering them.

Pain and grief are heavy emotions to carry alone. There comes a point where holding it all together becomes unmanageable than the breaking itself. That’s where trust begins—not in certainty, but in surrender. I’ve learned that trusting God isn’t about pretending everything’s fine; it’s about opening my hands and admitting I can’t carry it all. In that release, something shifts. Peace doesn’t rush in like a flood—it settles, quietly, where striving used to live.

Being the “bigger person” isn’t about size or gender—it’s about restraint, dignity, and choosing peace over ego. The smaller man reacts to every insult and clings to being right. The bigger person pauses, reflects, and protects their integrity. We’ve all been both. The real question is: who are you choosing to be right now?

There’s a sacredness in letting someone steady you. In admitting, “I can’t hold all of this today,” and watching a friend quietly step closer. Leaning isn’t losing your footing; it’s trusting that love will catch you before you fall.

Maybe real strength isn’t about how long we can stand alone, but how honestly we can lean together.

What Is Humility?

Humility is often mistaken for weakness, passivity, or the act of downplaying who we are. But in truth, humility is none of these things. Humility is strength wrapped in gentleness. It is the quiet knowing of our worth, balanced with the understanding that every other person carries worth too.

To be humble does not mean to think less of ourselves; it means to see ourselves clearly. It’s the ability to recognize our gifts without arrogance, to admit our limitations without shame, and to move through life with respect for the stories and experiences of others.

Humility is a grounding force. It allows us to step back from ego, to listen deeply, and to connect authentically. It frees us from the exhausting need to prove ourselves, because it roots us in something far greater than validation—truth, wisdom, and grace.

At its heart, humility is not about lowering ourselves; it’s about lifting others up while walking beside them.

Some people move through the world with deeply rooted convictions — a compass that points them toward decisions they believe in, even under pressure. Others, whom I call The Impressionable, navigate life differently. They adapt quickly to the people, opinions, and emotions around them, often without realizing just how much their environment shapes them.

This adaptability can be both a strength and a vulnerability. Left unchecked, it can lead them away from their own values and toward paths they never truly chose. But The Impressionable aren’t to be feared — they’re to be understood. With awareness, clear boundaries, and guidance, they can grow into the kind of inner strength that benefits not only themselves but the world around them.

The truth is, every one of us is impressionable in certain seasons of life. We’ve all been shaped by the voices, influences, and experiences around us. The difference lies in whether we stay untethered or learn to anchor ourselves in values we’ve chosen with intention.

The Impressionable aren’t weak — they’re simply in the process of finding their footing. By offering understanding instead of judgment, and modelling strength instead of control, we can help them discover their own compass.

And for those who feel uneasy around them, remember: your role isn’t to harden their shell, but to strengthen your own roots — so you can stand grounded no matter which way the winds of influence blow.

There was a time when I believed that being honest about my emotions was enough—that reacting from pain made my choices valid. But I’ve come to learn there’s a difference between emotional honesty and emotional responsibility. Saying “f*ck it” felt like release, but often it was just fear disguised as freedom.

This post is my reflection on how impulsive choices hurt the people I loved—and how I’ve learned to slow down, take ownership, and act with intention. It’s about the shift from reacting to reflecting, from chaos to clarity, and from fear to love.

If you’ve ever felt stuck in the cycle of emotional reactivity, this is for you. Growth starts when we stop running from ourselves