Author: Ms. Amy D

The woman who does not require validation from anyone is the most feared individual on the planet.
Posted in Akira, Amy Douangmany, Parenthood, Self Reflection

Dear Diary, Even in difficult times—

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

I remind myself that happiness doesn’t revolve around about what we don’t have.

Car rides with Akira are never dull. Her mind moves like a little philosopher, forming thoughts with such innocence and curiosity that leave me both amused and amazed.

Cracks, Rocks, and Truck Logic
As we were driving, she noticed a crack on the windshield. She confidently pieced together that a rock must have hit it while we were on the road. “Maybe it came from a truck,” I suggested. She reconsidered, shaking her head. “Probably not, because trucks can’t throw rocks.” Can’t what? I wasn’t sure, but in her world, the logic held up.

Wishing Wells and Sisterly Love
Out of nowhere, Akira asked about her sister, Ariyah. “I never got to meet her,” she said softly. “Maybe if only she wasn’t sick, so we should go get some coins and go to a wishing well to make a wish.” Her words hit differently, her innocence turning grief into something hopeful. If only life worked like a wishing well.

Leprechaun Mischief and The Hunt for Gold
Today, St. Patrick’s Day, she was full of excitement. Glitter on her face, she recounted how the leprechaun had come to school, made a mess, and turned everything green. “If we want to catch him,” she explained, “we need to find a four-leaf clover, then follow the rainbow—because leprechauns like coins.” Her belief in magic made me wish, for just a second, that I could see the world through her eyes again.

Burger King, Car Warmers, and Scientific Reasoning
She told me she was hungry, so we stopped at Burger King. But when I handed her the kids’ meal, she said she’d eat it later. “It’ll get cold,” I reminded her. She tilted her head, confused. “No, it won’t. We’re in the car, and the car is warm, so the car will keep the food warm.” In her little world, everything made perfect sense. And honestly? It kind of did.

Watching Akira piece together the world makes me think about how learning changes us. As children, we absorb knowledge with curiosity. As adults, that same knowledge can sometimes feel like a burden. We learn that life is a cycle of living and dying, of struggle and resilience. And while knowing more can help us navigate the world, it can also weigh on us.

Recently, while at a bookstore with my children, I came across a book called The Let Them Theory. It was about letting go—of control, of expectations, of resistance. The author shared how she once struggled with debt, career loss, and simply surviving. While my struggles don’t look exactly like hers, I relate to the idea that hardships aren’t always financial. Sometimes, they’re emotional. A heartbreak. An illness. A loss.

My teen daughter, in her sweet, selfless nature, offered to buy me that book with her birthday money. “It’s okay, Mama,” she insisted. “I want to.” She had been using her birthday money to buy gifts for her sisters too. The way she gives so freely, without hesitation, reminds me of the purity of love. I politely declined and suggested she use it for any additional things she may want later.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how connection doesn’t always need words. Sometimes, it’s in the silent moments—the comforting presence of someone who just gets you. The feeling of being understood without explaining.

I believe in soul ties, the invisible threads that connect us to the people we are meant to be intertwined with. It’s a quiet kind of love, one that doesn’t demand, doesn’t expect, but just is.

Even in difficult times, I remind myself that happiness doesn’t revolve around what we don’t have—it’s about appreciating what we do. My kids. My parents. My loved ones. That’s enough. Everything else is extra. And the less we cling, the less we suffer when life inevitably shifts.

Sometimes, the best way to express love isn’t through words. It’s in a shared glance, a quiet understanding, a presence that says, I’m here. It’s easy to get caught up in explaining, justifying, over-communicating. But maybe, just maybe, the most powerful messages are the ones left unspoken.

And as I sit here, watching the rain fall in heavy drops, I think about how life keeps moving. The sky may be dark today, but the sun will shine again. Just like Akira, I want to believe in magic, in wishing wells, in following rainbows. Because no matter how much we know, there’s still beauty in the unknown.

Posted in Amy Douangmany, Blog, Healing, Self Reflection

Dear Diary, Grief doesn’t run on schedules, and love doesn’t—

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

expire with time.

Today, my heart carries a mix of emotions—like waves crashing against the shore, some gentle, some relentless. It’s been a long day, but more than that, it’s been a long time. A visit to Ariyah is always long overdue, yet it never feels like the right time. Maybe because grief doesn’t run on schedules, and love doesn’t expire with time. But it always comes with a weight, a heaviness I try not to bring with me. I want to meet her with love, not sorrow. With peace, not the burdens of everything that’s happened.

The past few years have been relentless. Life hasn’t been still, and I’ve had to learn how to move with it, even when the direction felt uncertain. Coping, adapting, surviving—it all became muscle memory. But what still shakes me is the lack of kindness in this world. The way people choose selfishness over understanding, cruelty over compassion. And I think that’s why I talk about it so much. Because if I can remind just one person to be softer, to be more human, then maybe this world doesn’t have to feel so cold.

As I drove past the Capitol today, after sitting in the World Peace Garden, I saw something that made me pause. A protest, or something like it—elders standing together, holding signs, asking for nothing more than kindness. Just the word: kindness. A simple request, yet one so often denied. I wanted to stand there with them. I should have. There was something sacred in that moment, a kind of magic that whispered, You’re not alone in this fight. And for once, I believed it.

My visit with Ariyah stretched past the sun’s setting. The cemetery, wrapped in the embrace of night, became a maze, and for a moment, I felt lost—not just in direction, but in spirit. Maybe it was the fear of the unknown, or maybe it was the presence of something unseen, something beyond this world. I wanted to stay, to sit in silence a little longer, to let my heart spill into the night air. But my phone went offline, and I knew that was my sign to leave. Sometimes, the universe whispers, and sometimes, it simply takes the choice away.

Life is strange. Beautiful, unpredictable, and at times, painfully poetic. I don’t know which direction I’m going—north, south, east, or west—but does it really matter? Movement is movement. And sometimes, stillness is necessary too. We’re not meant to chase the sun every day. The darkness has its purpose, too.

I used to fear too much time alone, and maybe I still do. The past three days of solitude dug into wounds I thought had closed. Silence has a way of forcing you to listen—to pain, to exhaustion, to the echoes of everything you’ve tried to quiet. But today, I feel different. Today, I am calm. And instead of resisting, I am letting the day take me where it wants to. Because maybe that’s the lesson—to let go, to trust, and to simply exist.

Posted in Amy Douangmany, Blog, Self Reflection

Dear Diary, If we cherish something, it lasts—

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

(longer).


Today, something happened to me. I had a rush of overwhelming emotions. I went in for my root canal, hoping to save my tooth. For at least 30 minutes, I sat through the drilling, the anesthesia, and everything that came with the procedure. But then, the doctor—told me he couldn’t save it. He was really good at what he did, and I could tell he genuinely cared. He tried everything, and I appreciated his effort. He even looked sad when he broke the news to me.

When I got in my car and started driving, I noticed the heavy gray clouds. It was sprinkling, and for some reason, that made me feel even sadder. It wasn’t just about the tooth—it was everything. It’s been a long journey, and I really wanted to save it. When I first consulted with my primary dentist, they suggested an extraction, but I believed it could be saved with a root canal. I held onto that hope. But as time went on, delays happened, circumstances changed, and maybe—just maybe—that’s why the tooth couldn’t be saved.

Then again, this tooth had been battling my wisdom tooth for years. It suffered damage that wasn’t always visible, injuries that went deeper than the surface. And that’s the thing—just because something looks fine on the outside doesn’t mean it isn’t broken. Just because something seems strong doesn’t mean it can withstand more.

And I guess that applies to me, too. I try to keep myself put together. I internalize things. I minimize the impact of what I’ve been through, pretending it doesn’t affect me. But it does. And honestly, I just wish people would be kinder. Life would be easier if we all approached each other with grace instead of matching rudeness with more rudeness. I’ve learned that when people don’t show you respect, you don’t owe it to them. You don’t have to tolerate disrespect just to be the bigger person. Because when you do, it’s almost like you’re disrespecting yourself.

Today felt like a loss. Not just because of the tooth, but because it reminded me of everything I’ve been through—how much effort I put into things, how much pain I’ve endured, how hard I fight for what I believe in. I just wanted to save it, to follow through with the root canal and crown. But now, the plan has changed. And as much as I hate it, the end result will be the same—I’ll be able to eat and live without pain. It’ll just happen through a different route: an extraction and a dental implant.

I guess that’s life. There’s always an end-of-life for certain things. Roads that used to be there disappear. Stores we used to visit close down. Nothing is permanent.

Despite everything, today had a bright spot. I had lunch with my sister. We always find humor in the chaos of life, mixing dark humor with the reality of our struggles. And as I was driving her back, I noticed she had a tote bag with her—the same one I gave her years ago. It surprised me. I still remembered it, and seeing it again felt special. My other sister, too—she still has a pair of comfortable socks I gave her over 15 years ago. They’re still in great condition.

And that’s what life is about. Taking care of what we have. If we cherish something, it lasts (longer). But even when we take care of things, they can only withstand so much. And that’s okay, too. As long as we do our best to take care of ourselves, everything else will follow suit.

I know that in this lifetime, I love and respect myself. Even when my heart and mind aren’t always in sync, I know that if you take care of something—if you truly cherish it—it may not last forever, but it will last longer than if you had never cared for it at all. It’s in the little things, the details that make life work—the small moments of understanding, the effort put into nurturing not just others but yourself.

I’m learning to take care of my heart, my soul, and my spirit. With this little life of mine, I know that struggles exist for a reason. There are lessons woven into them, even when they feel unbearable. And as much as I sometimes feel like I don’t belong—like everything is just too much—I remind myself that I don’t have to last forever. I just have to last longer than this. Long enough to reach my potential. Nothing more, nothing less.

Posted in Amy Douangmany, Blog, Healing, parenting, Self Reflection

Dear Diary, Life isn’t always going to be pretty

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

— but it’s mine, and I’m going to live it authentically.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately, reflecting on how dramatically my life has shifted. It feels like closing certain doors, leaving some chapters behind, is gradually lifting me up to new heights. And with that elevation comes a sense of security, a stability that I can feel deep in my bones. It’s as though the warmth of the sun, beginning to break through the clouds, is mirroring the change in me. I feel ready to bloom, to expand with the coming season, and to embrace whatever lies ahead.

I used to find my laughter in scrolling through TikTok, mindlessly passing time, but now, it comes from moments with my family—my children, yes, but also my extended family. The stories we share, the memories that we have built together, seem to pick up right where we left off. It feels like we’ve just stepped back into a conversation we paused years ago. The connections are real, and they resonate so deeply within me. There’s a warmth in that, a comfort that I’ve been waiting for.

And you know, maybe that’s the lesson I’ve been learning: to not isolate myself too much. To not get lost in the idea of being hyper-independent. Sure, there are pros and cons to everything, but people are meant to be in community with one another. Yes, boundaries are important—clear, firm boundaries that define what we will and won’t tolerate—but at the end of the day, life is short. It’s too short not to live it fully, to live it authentically.

I feel overwhelmed with gratitude for the support I’ve received this year. I’m not where I thought I’d be, but I’m where I need to be, and that’s enough. Some might think I’ve been defeated, and maybe at times, it felt like I was, but that’s not the truth. The truth is, I’ve lived and learned, and through it all, I’ve stayed true to myself. I’ve played the hand life dealt me, and I’m still playing it. Maybe the decisions I’ve made in the past don’t seem like the best ones now, but in those moments, with everything I was carrying—my health, my mental state, the weight of being a mother to children, to multiple children—those choices made sense. It was survival. It was the best I could do at the time.

And that’s what I want people to understand: not every life is filled with sunshine and rainbows. Not everyone is living a life of ease, and that’s okay. We all face our battles, our struggles, our moments of darkness. And in that space, I hope we can all hold space for each other, without judgment. Yes, I am human, and I deserve to be treated as such. I won’t tolerate harassment, manipulation, or anyone trying to take advantage of me. I will stand firm in my boundaries, but I also won’t let that stop me from sharing my truth. I won’t hide who I am, what I’ve been through, or what I’ve learned.

I stay in my lane, not inviting animosity or hate, but I do invite connection, understanding, and support. Whether through my live streams, my creativity, or my writing, I want to express myself fully. I want to be real, and I want people to join me in this journey. Life isn’t always going to be pretty, but it’s mine, and I’m going to live it authentically. There will be highs where I feel on top of the world, flourishing, thriving, and living my best life. And there will be lows, too, when I’m struggling to make sense of the darkness. But through it all, I believe we can learn from one another. We can grow together, and that’s what matters.

I am so grateful for every sunrise, for every new day. The sun always shines, no matter how much we see it or how much we appreciate it. It’s always there, offering warmth, offering light. And yet, I’ve learned that too much of anything can be overwhelming, just as too much focus on either the good or the bad in my life will only give you a partial view. My life is a wave—an ebb and flow of everything. It’s deep, never shallow. And I hope we can all take that lesson with us, embracing the fullness of each moment, no matter where we are in our journey.

Posted in Amy Douangmany, Blog, Healing, Self Reflection

Dear Diary, I just realized something

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

—really realized it this time.

You can’t help who you love. You can give someone the entire world, pour every ounce of light into them, and it still won’t be enough to save them. You can be their structure, their stability, their home. But at the end of the day, people have to save themselves. And I think that’s where I’ve been getting it wrong for so long—trying to be the net when I should have just let them fall.

It’s not my job to intercept someone’s karma.

I think about it like this: none of us are football players. Even if we were, we’d all retire eventually. We’re not meant to spend our whole lives catching things that were never ours to hold. And at this point in my life, I’m done trying to be the quarterback, running headfirst into someone else’s storm. You want to take the long route? Fine. You want to learn the hard way? That’s your lesson to learn. I can’t drag people to their own healing. I can’t protect people from the consequences of their own choices.

And I won’t.

But that doesn’t mean it’s easy to walk away. I’m at a crossroads with this, because there’s such a huge difference between helping someone through a tough season and trying to save them from themselves. At some point, we all have to take the reins, decide what road we’re going to take, and own the steps we choose. And some of us, no matter how much guidance we’re given, still take the longest, hardest road—because maybe we needed a little more time to grieve. Maybe we needed more space to mourn the versions of ourselves that had to die along the way.

I know how that feels. I’ve been there. I’ve lived that chapter. And maybe that’s why my heart is still so pure, why I still try, even when I know better.

But no more intercepting. No more trying to be the savior. No more stepping in front of fate that doesn’t belong to me. From here on out, I choose me. And I’ll keep choosing me, over and over again, because I deserve to. And I’ll be good to the people who stand beside me as I do. That’s all I can promise. I’m not asking anyone to save me—I’ve never needed that. All I ask is that I remain resilient. That I keep going.

It’s funny. I saw this picture of an anglerfish the other day, this terrifying little thing with jagged teeth and its own built-in light. It went viral online because it looks like something straight out of a nightmare. But the more I looked at it, the more I saw myself.

Because when you pan out, that scary, resilient little thing isn’t as monstrous as it seems. It’s actually pretty small—just a tiny fish in an endless, dark ocean. And yet, it carries its own light. It survives.

And maybe that’s what life is.

You keep going. You get through the tunnels. You find your way in the dark. And sometimes, you do it alone.

Sure, you can be surrounded by love, by support, by people who want the best for you—but at the end of the day, it’s on you to make it. No one’s going to carry you to your purpose. No one’s going to shine your light for you. And maybe your glow won’t light up the whole ocean. Maybe it won’t be appreciated. Maybe people won’t even notice the fight it took just to survive.

Because people don’t really care about the struggle.

They don’t care about the nights that nearly broke you, the weight you’ve carried, the way your hands shook as you held yourself together. They’re too wrapped up in their own pride, their own egos, their own need for control. People see what they want to see. And most of the time, they don’t want to see you at all.

But I see me. And that’s enough.

I’m not lost. I’m not wandering aimlessly like Dory, who forgets her destination and purpose. I know exactly who I am. I am that anglerfish—small but steady, terrifyingly resilient, carrying my own light through the darkest depths.

I’m not hiding anymore. I’m not shrinking. I’m not apologizing for my choices or my survival. If you walked in during a chapter you didn’t understand and decided to judge me for it, that’s on you. But don’t mistake my survival for a sin. Don’t mistake my resilience for something ugly.

I did what I had to do to protect myself and my children. And I’ll never regret that.

One day, my voice will be heard—not just through TikTok lives, not just through captions or comments, but through my consistency. Through my tenacity. Through my very existence.

And until that day comes, I will keep going.

Just that.

Posted in Amy Douangmany, Blog, Healing, Travel

Dear Diary, I am on my way

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

to a place that I cannot yet name

—a destination unknown but unfolding with every step I take. So, for now, let’s call this my chapter. This is my new beginning, my fresh journey, the next volume in the story of my life. And as long as I continue turning the pages, the story doesn’t end.

I’ve come to accept that with growth comes pain, and with change comes fear. The unknown will always carry uncertainty, and there will be moments where I question everything. But life was never meant to be predictable or easy. We are not meant to have all the answers at once. We are meant to live, to stumble, to learn, and to rise again.

Seasons change, and so do we. As winter fades and the promise of spring lingers on the horizon, I find comfort in knowing that warmth and beauty will return. I look forward to the blooming of flowers—their resilience speaks to me. They withstand the harshness of the elements, enduring rain, wind, and even the scorching sun. Yet, when the conditions are right, they flourish. The world stops to admire their beauty, just as it will recognize the strength within me once I, too, have weathered my storms.

I share pieces of this journey with those who support me, those who believe in me even when I struggle to believe in myself. And for that, I am humbled and grateful. These obstacles, no matter how overwhelming they may seem, are only temporary. When they pass, they will be nothing more than memories—lessons I have learned, experiences that have shaped me, but not chains that bind me.

I think about the light at the end of the tunnel, and I remind myself that it is there. No matter how dark things get, brightness always returns. After every storm, the sun shines again. And if we’re lucky, we might even catch a glimpse of a rainbow—a reminder of beauty after hardship, a symbol of hope.

Lately, I’ve been reminiscing about my beloved cat, Chase. My British Shorthair, who left paw prints on my heart that will never fade. I wish I could have had him with me longer, but just as I did not know he would come into my life, I could not control when he left. That is the nature of life—so much of it is beyond our control. But it does not mean we forget.

Those who have touched our souls never truly leave us. Their stories live on through the way we speak of them, the lessons they taught us, and the love they left behind. There’s a saying: when someone passes, they die twice—once when they take their last breath, and again when their name is no longer spoken. So I will continue to speak of those who have left the deepest imprints on my heart.

Here’s to another day—another page turned, another step forward, another chance to live, learn, and bloom.

Posted in Amy Douangmany, Blog, Healing, Self Reflection

Dear Diary, Change, in all its unpredictable ways —

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

is the only constant we have.

The sun is shining a little sooner these days, lingering just a bit longer before it dips below the horizon, and I can’t help but feel like life itself is reflecting that same rhythm within me. I find that when I’m doing well, when I’m in a space of growth, my words come easier, flowing like a river that has finally been freed from the ice of winter. This journey I’m on—this deep reconnection with my spirit, this peeling back of layers to find the softer, more intuitive version of myself that has been tangled in overthinking—it’s been humbling, but also so incredibly affirming.

Maybe I didn’t even realize how much I needed this affirmation. The confirmation that I am still here, still breathing, still moving toward something greater than myself. And maybe that’s just the nature of life—these changing seasons, the ebb and flow, the warmth and the cold. If the weather never shifted, if we lived in a world of permanent summer or endless winter, we would never appreciate the contrast, never learn to seek the beauty in both the storms and the sun.

Even the wind, even the rain, even the moments that feel like destruction—they hold their own purpose. They extinguish fires that might have raged out of control. They cleanse the air, pushing sickness away, sweeping through the streets and making space for something new. Change, in all its unpredictable ways, is the only constant we have. And as long as there is change, there is proof of life. There will always be moments of light and moments of darkness, but it is how we embrace them, how we surrender to them, that will define us.

I’ve wasted days before, wasted perfectly good health by keeping myself locked away, allowing time to slip through my fingers while I let the weight of my thoughts keep me still. But now? Now, I crave the warmth of the sun on my skin. I crave the sound of birds singing, the hum of life happening all around me. I am healing, deeply, intentionally. I am showing up for myself in ways I once neglected. I am making space for joy, for the magic in the smallest of things. And I am embracing my feminine energy in a way that feels like home—soft, strong, intuitive, radiant. My home will be my sanctuary, my personal fairytale, but my spirit? My spirit is meant to roam freely, to dance with the world, to exist fully in the beauty of each moment.

This journey, I now understand, is mine alone. And anyone who walks beside me—outside of my children, my heartbeats—will do so as an honor, not an expectation. The right people will add light to this path, not take from it. They will be the ones who appreciate the sacredness of this unfolding, the ones who hold space for me as I hold space for myself.

Today, my thoughts are drifting high, nestled in the clouds where the sun kisses the sky with golden warmth. The air feels different, charged with possibility. This year started out rough—so rough that I almost lost sight of myself in the storm. But I stayed, I fought, I endured. And I am so damn proud of myself for not abandoning my own ship, for not letting fear be the thing that dictated my course.

So to anyone who feels lost in the waves, I say this: stay. Stay in your boat, no matter how unsteady it may seem. Do not be the one to sink yourself simply because you fear the unknown ahead. Let the currents of life guide you, trust that the tides are working in your favor, even when it doesn’t seem like it. Your ship will find its way. You will reach the shore. And when you do, you will step onto solid ground with the wisdom of every wave you’ve survived.

And that? That is where the magic happens.

Posted in Amy Douangmany, Blog, Self Reflection

Dear Diary, No matter how chaotic or uncertain things may seem

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

every experience—whether painful or joyful—contributes to our growth.

Life is an ongoing process of transformation.

I woke up today feeling good, and that feeling is something I cherish. Lately, there’s been a lot happening in the world, things beyond our control, and while we all wish for better days, I’m beginning to think that maybe everything is unfolding exactly as it’s meant to. Change is inevitable. Some shifts happen overnight, others take weeks, months, or even years—but the world is in a constant state of movement. The weather changes, the population grows, illnesses come and go, and we, as people, are required to adapt. Survival isn’t just about existing; it’s about learning, growing, and evolving.

One thing I’ve come to realize is that not everyone will truly understand who I am or see life the way I do. And that’s okay. We’re all different, shaped by our own experiences, yet bound by the unspoken rules of society—standards of morality and guidelines we’ve learned over generations. It’s why we have laws, why we have juries, why we have systems in place to uphold justice. Authority figures, essential workers, and everyday people all play a role in keeping society functioning, and whether we realize it or not, we’re all contributing in our own way.

Despite all this, I feel at peace today. That peace comes from knowing that I am actively working on becoming a better version of myself. Growth isn’t just about wanting to change—it’s about putting in the effort. And I know I’m putting in the work. It’s easy to look back and wonder where the time went, but in many ways, I still feel like that little girl stepping into kindergarten for the first time. I remember the excitement of discovering letters, numbers, words—tools that allowed me to communicate and express myself. That curiosity never faded; if anything, it only deepened over time.

Through consistency, I’ve learned that we have the power to shape perceptions—not just of ourselves, but of ideas and concepts. If someone speaks a false narrative about you often enough, they can influence how others see you. That’s why it’s so important to use your voice. Never let someone paint you as something you’re not. I’m grateful for the heart I have, for the way my mind works, and for the emotional intelligence that allows me to navigate life with both logic and empathy. I know I’m contributing to the world in the best way I can, in a way that feels right to me.

Letting go—especially of good memories and connections—is painful, but I’ve learned to appreciate every single person who has crossed my path. Whether intentional or not, every interaction teaches me something. Some people show me the kind of person I want to be, while others reveal what I never want to become. You don’t always know what isn’t for you until someone exposes you to it—whether it’s dishonesty, aggression, or selfishness.

As I move forward, I embrace the beauty of transformation. Sometimes, change looks messy. Sometimes, it feels like everything is falling apart. But I have faith that, in the grand scheme of things, life is shaping me into exactly who I’m meant to be. We all have our ups and downs, but no two journeys are the same. And knowing that, my takeaway for today is this: trust the process, keep growing, and never let anyone define you but yourself.

Posted in Akira, Amy Douangmany, Ariyah, Malynah, Maylana, Romance, Self Reflection

Dear Diary, There’s a saying I once heard:

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

to truly love someone, you need to know them.

It’s 1:40 AM, and my mind is swimming in this strange déjà vu. Here I am, exchanging messages with someone whose name I don’t know, whose gender I couldn’t even guess, and whose life feels worlds apart from mine. They’re from Singapore, studying in China, and somehow, across the vast oceans and time zones, they reached out with an invitation to join a TikTok Creators Live Network. I don’t entirely grasp the concept yet, but their gesture fills me with excitement and possibility.

It’s funny—this feels like having a pen pal in the digital age. We’re connected not by stamps but by a shared energy, a quiet understanding. This person, whoever they are, seems genuinely invested in my growth, and that’s humbling. It reminds me of something I’ve been realizing lately: sometimes, the people who want the best for you come from unexpected places. This moment feels like a blessing, a tiny seed of hope planted in the soil of my journey.

After a beautiful week with my children—my girls lighting up the weekend with their smiles—I’ve found this unwavering belief in the idea that everything will be okay. My kids deserve every ounce of love I can give, and they remind me, over and over, why I keep pushing forward. People come and go in life, often leaving scars, but my children’s love? It’s as pure and unconditional as it gets.

There’s a saying I once heard: to truly love someone, you need to know them. That resonates deeply with me, especially when I think of my kids. They notice the smallest details about me—when I’m tired, when I’m worried—and their concern touches my soul in ways I can’t describe. Their love teaches me that sacrifices aren’t burdens but bridges to something greater.

Yet, with love comes vulnerability. Not all connections are safe; some come with their share of betrayal and hurt. And then there are those rare ones that feel like home—no drama, no pretense, just a quiet kind of love. Those connections remind me that love doesn’t need flashy titles, material gifts, or grand gestures. Sometimes, love is simply enough.

I’ve been reflecting on how much of myself I’ve given away in relationships. Sharing your story, your quirks, and your dreams with someone feels like an investment, but when things end, it can feel like they’ve walked away with pieces of you. Still, even in those moments, there’s growth. You learn, you heal, and you come to understand that every connection, fleeting or lasting, has its purpose.

So here’s my takeaway for today: love, in all its forms, is never wasted. Whether it’s a stranger reaching out across the globe, the quiet bond with my children, or a connection that leaves without warning, every thread of love weaves into the fabric of who we are. And that, I think, is the real gift.

Love always,

Amy

Posted in Amy Douangmany, Blog, Healing, Meditation, Self Reflection

Dear Diary, I find myself grappling with an unusual fatigue

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

– a heaviness that lingers within me.

Life has been quite intriguing lately. I truly believe that the universe has a way of aligning things to your liking when the time is right. Yet, there are moments when that waiting period feels like it stretches on for centuries—maybe even decades—though in reality, it’s probably just a few months. The weight of that waiting can feel overwhelming.

Recently, I reached out to several friends, and their responses have been nurturing and supportive, adding bits of positivity to my life. It’s remarkable how, at our core, we are all just human beings trying to navigate this existence. In these interactions, I’ve come to realize the importance of kindness, forgiveness, and making the best of every situation. I don’t want to be caught up in conflicts or negativity with others. I strive to understand their perspectives, but I know that we all need to find common ground and hit that reset button together.

For me, resetting feels crucial right now. I’m facing some emotional and spiritual challenges that seem to have caught up with me. Catching up with friends—whether in person or over text—has become a vital part of my healing process. I don’t want to be selective about when or how I reach out; I just want to connect. However, prioritizing these connections has become difficult because I’m focused on my own growth and self-improvement.

As the weather turns colder, I find myself embracing my hibernation season. I crave the comfort of home, cozying up with warm coffee and comfort food. There’s a simple luxury in having a safe place to call home, where I can operate on my own schedule—though I know that, like everything else, that can change. Change is inevitable, the one constant in life, and I welcome it. It often brings discomfort and demands adaptation, but upon closer reflection, I see that we are always adjusting to the shifts around us. I’m choosing to remain open to these changes, eager to continue growing along my journey.

Lately, I’ve been feeling particularly fatigued, and I know I’m not at my best energy-wise. Restoring that energy is important to me, especially as I focus on improving my communication and relationship with my children. I want to reassure them that they will always have a safe space with me, and everything I do is centered on creating that environment for them. As for my friends and family, I’m doing my best to stay connected without putting too much pressure on myself or them. I trust that we will reconnect in our usual ways when the time is right.

I remain humble and grateful, aware that my struggles, while challenging, are nothing compared to what others face. I recognize that life can indeed be much harder, and I strive to maintain that perspective. Acknowledging my current challenges allows me to understand that these experiences are opportunities for growth. I believe that life will get better, and I hold on to the hope that everything will eventually fall into place in due time.