Category: Meditation

Posted in Amy Douangmany, Blog, Healing, Meditation, Parenthood

Dear Diary, Right now, the bass is humming through my car,

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

vibrating through my chest.

I am fighting tears right now. I’m just hoping I can make it to my destination without breaking down. I needed to get in my car, breathe, and clear my head for a moment. Everything is technically under control… yet sometimes it feels like I’m not. It’s so easy to forget how much support I truly have around me, and how not everyone will understand me. Being misunderstood is such a heavy feeling—that’s why I try my best not to judge others. I know how deeply it stings when someone assumes the worst about you.

Tonight is one of those dark nights where it feels like time is folding backwards. The sky is heavy, and so is my heart. My gas light has been on for a while now. I keep checking it but I still haven’t stopped to fill up. For some reason, I just don’t want to. It reminds me of how I force myself to eat just enough to get by but never enough to actually feel full—only doing the bare minimum to survive.

But even in this moment, I know what my limits are. And that’s the message I want to leave behind at the end of this blog:
Learn your limits. Respect them. And when you run low, refill yourself before life forces you to shut down.

Because sometimes that tiny bit of fuel you’re running on is all you have left. And once you hit empty, you have no choice but to get back up, go again, refill your tank, and rebuild yourself. It’s okay to run low. It’s okay to admit it’s hard. It’s okay to say, “This is the best I can do today.”

This is all part of being misunderstood—people don’t see the exhaustion, the overstimulation, the stress, the lack of strength… or even the lack of funds that make it hard to keep up with life. They don’t see the private battles. They just make assumptions.

My heart feels so heavy tonight. Maybe it’s because I finally feel ready to speak on my losses this year. I’ve lost people. I’ve lost habits—some good, some bad. I’ve lost pieces of myself in ways I never expected. But somewhere inside all of this, I know a more beautiful version of me is trying to emerge. I’m hoping this year ends with a lighter heart, more structure, more stability, and the closure I need on the things and people who no longer serve me.

I want to grow. I want to feel free. I want to stop feeling like I can’t fill up my tank or nourish myself fully. Sometimes I eat myself into a food coma just so I can sleep deeply, just so I can escape. Food is comfort, but it could be so much more fulfilling if I wasn’t running from my emotions.

Life can be better. The ride can be smoother. The rims can shine brighter. The sun can hit differently. But I have to actually want it. And sometimes I do… sometimes I don’t. But the moment you truly want something, nothing will get in your way. And I’m trying—really trying—to find that awakening again. To fill myself up. To fill my heart. To restore what’s been drained.

Earlier, I posted a TikTok with a sound that kept repeating, “love me,” like a soft, harmonized acapella. It was soothing and overwhelming all at once. It brought tears to my eyes because it reminded me of when my father passed away. I remember live streaming that night, trying to cope in the only way I knew how. Losing someone who loved you your entire life leaves a wound that never fully closes.

My dad’s love wasn’t perfect, but it was perfect for me. And maybe that’s why I grew up wanting so little from everyone. I accepted the bare minimum because I never wanted to drain people—I wanted them to save some love for themselves. My dad did that. And I learned from it.

But I also realized I cannot control how people view me. They will think what they want. They will conclude what they want. They will decide whether I’m worthy of their time, their space, their energy. And I’ve learned to be okay with that. The ones who truly want to know me will try. The ones who want to misunderstand me will twist the smallest things into entire narratives. And yes, that hurts—but everything that hasn’t killed me has made me stronger.

So here I am, fighting tears, learning the harsh truth that life doesn’t get easier—you just get better at fighting through the pain. Especially when the people closest to you choose to misunderstand you on purpose, creating stories in their minds and stamping you with labels you never deserved.

What keeps me grounded is knowing this:
If they can be that wrong about me, I can be just as wrong about them. And somehow, that’s the strange beauty of life.

Right now, the bass is humming through my car, vibrating through my chest. My heart is jumpy, tight, almost wringing itself out. It’s an epiphany mixed with sadness, mixed with clarity—a rush of pain that somehow hurts in a way that feels cleansing, even though I know it isn’t good for me. Instead of fighting it, I’m letting it wash over me.

I’m wearing a hoodie, driving my Mercedes, grateful for the tint on my windows. It gives me just enough privacy to break down quietly. Tinted windows aren’t just for hiding from enemies or prying eyes—sometimes they’re protection from the world. Protection from the people who don’t deserve to see you at all.

People can search for me online, can watch me from afar—I won’t hide my life. But they don’t get access to me. The tint is symbolic. They might catch a glimpse of me for a split second, but that’s all they get now. No more forced greetings, no more eye contact, no more pretending. Just distance. Just indifference.

Life has taught me that if I love myself enough, there will always be enough love inside me to give—carefully, intentionally, and to the right people.

And for the first time in a long time, I’m learning to let that love circle back to me.

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

Dear Diary, It’s a strange thing…

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

dressing for a funeral.

Today started before the day even began.
Restless. Heavy-hearted. Awake at 3:00 a.m., not from an alarm clock but from this soul-deep pull, the kind that reminds you something big is ahead. I managed two hours of sleep, then back up at 5:00, sluggish, but wired in a quiet panic, watching the minutes drag across the clock face like shadows stretching across an empty room. There’s a specific kind of dread that creeps in when you know you’re waking up to see someone you love lying still, not in rest, but in eternal peace.

It’s a strange thing, dressing for a funeral. You’re picking out clothes not just for a day, but for a memory that will burn into your skin. It’s the last moment you’ll see your father. The last goodbye you don’t get to say with your voice.

When I stepped into the room where he lay, I was bracing myself for heartbreak, and it came. But not all at once. There was something strangely comforting in seeing him this time. He looked better. Peaceful. As if the pain that I somehow felt echoing through me the day he passed had finally left his body. And maybe that’s why I felt it so intensely then, because he didn’t have to carry it anymore, so it spilled into me.

My sisters and I stood together. And as much as this day was about loss, it was also about love. We idolized our father’s good traits, not because we’re blind to the rest, but because we’ve made peace with the truth that we all come into this life flawed. We’re all still learning. And it’s those imperfections that humanize us, make us real, make us family. The chanting of the monks, low and steady, sacred and melodic, filled the air. Suddenly, time didn’t feel real. It felt like transition. Life to death. Pain to peace. Breath to stillness. Stillness to rebirth.

There was a moment I couldn’t breathe. A tightness in my chest that wasn’t anxiety or nerves. It was heartbreak. And not the kind that comes from broken romance. This was a grief heartbreak. The kind you feel when a parent leaves. When a child never gets to grow. When a pet goes silent. When people you once loved become memories.

And yet, through the heartbreak, something new is blooming.

I watched my family, the ones who’ve been through every chapter with me, and I realized something. Grief feels different when you experience it beside people you love. It doesn’t hurt less, but it heals in pieces. And it hurts in pieces. It’s a strange paradox. It helps, but it hurts. And it hurts, but it helps.

There was something I heard the other day that stopped me in my tracks. It was like someone took all my unspoken thoughts and emotions and gave them a voice. Everything they said matched what I was going through, word for word. It felt like the universe pulled back the curtain and showed me that I’m not breaking. I’m becoming. They talked about isolation not being punishment but preparation, about outgrowing versions of yourself and leaving behind what no longer fits. And I just knew… I’m in that space right now. Life reminded me that heartbreak isn’t just from love lost, but from soul shifts, from becoming someone new. That this version of me emerging is sacred, powerful, and necessary.

I’ve always wanted a big family. Not just in number, but in soul and connection. In branches and roots. And I realized today, I am building that family. It doesn’t have to be blood. Loyalty, love, and understanding make someone family. We are chosen. We are bound by intention. And maybe, just maybe, this grief is reminding me that I am still growing that tree. That the branches are still reaching out, trying to connect to others who need the same thing.

Grieving feels like playing a video game where the levels get harder as you go. Even when you gain experience, it doesn’t get easier. But maybe it’s not about difficulty. Maybe it’s about shifting how we see it. Maybe we stop trying to win and start allowing ourselves to feel it all.

Because today, I saw my father again, for the last. And for the first time, I felt like maybe he’s okay now. And maybe, even through the pain, I will be too.

Posted in Amy Douangmany, Healing, Meditation, Parenthood

Dear Diary, Lately, I’ve been…

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

sitting with this uncomfortable truth:

Setting boundaries sometimes makes you look like the villain in someone else’s story. I never thought protecting my peace would be the thing people questioned most about me.

But here I am, balancing court dates, figuring out what healing looks like as a mother, keeping up with phone calls that are half static and half emotional landmines, all while trying to remember who I am under the noise. Some nights I drive just to feel the quiet, watching the Bay lights flicker like they’re whispering reminders that I’m still here, still soft, still strong, still surviving.

And yet, there’s this voice, sometimes external, sometimes my own, that asks, “What if you’re the problem?” But I know now, that voice isn’t truth. It’s trauma. It’s people upset that I’m no longer as accessible. I don’t always answer every call. I ask more questions. I don’t always say yes. That doesn’t make me cruel. That makes me healing.

I’m not trying to be perfect. I’m trying to be honest. To be present. To be safe — for my children, and for the version of me that got so used to being last on the list. The one who finally realized her softness doesn’t mean she has to shatter to prove it.

And if that makes people uncomfortable, so be it. I’m still learning how to be okay with being misunderstood.

But I know what I’m building. It’s rooted in peace. And peace doesn’t always look polite.

Love,
A

Posted in Amy Douangmany, Blog, Meditation, Parenthood

Dear Dad,

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

You’re still here with us, and I’m so grateful for that.


Every moment, every breath, every quiet glance or shared laugh. But I know in my heart that we may not have a lot of time left, and that’s what’s been breaking me.

I don’t know how to say everything I’m feeling out loud, but I need you to know this: even though life has never been perfect, you’ve always been the best dad to me. I see the ways you’ve tried to give me your best, the ways you’ve showed up in the only way you knew how and I’ve always felt that love. I carry it with me.

You’ve always been a fighter, Dad. You already beat cancer once, and watching you fight again… even now… reminds me just how strong you are. But I also know that not every battle is meant to be won. And even in this, your strength is undeniable.

It hurts so much to watch this. My heart feels heavy all the time. I feel helpless. Sometimes I shut down or pull away because I don’t know how to carry all these emotions at once. But it’s not because I don’t care, it’s because I care too much.

I admire how you’ve lived your life with purpose and independence. Whether it was your peaceful morning walks, your coffee routine, or keeping your friendships strong. Those small things were always so big to me. In a world that often feels disconnected, you managed to stay grounded. That’s something I’ve always looked up to.

There’s still time, and I’m trying to treasure it. I want to be present with you as much as I can. I don’t know how to prepare for what’s coming, but I do know that I love you. So deeply. So endlessly.

And I hope somehow you can feel that without needing me to say it perfectly.

With all my heart,
Your daughter

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

Dear Diary, I spent years building this golden pyramid…

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

in the middle of my own emotional Egypt.

Sometimes… when I slow down enough to really feel, I realize how blurry my vision can get—not just my physical sight, but the way I see life, people, my place in the world. It’s like trying to peer through fog while your heart is pounding out of your chest, and you don’t even know why. All day, there’s been this tightness in my chest, like something invisible is pressing down on me.

What is eating me alive? What am I missing?

It feels like I’ve slipped into a sudden freefall. A steep drop. One day I was soaring, the next—crashing. And yet, somewhere in the middle of the storm, I still see her—me—this one-woman show, this Cleopatra of modern chaos. I laugh quietly to myself. Yes, that’s me… Cleopatra, British in grace, divine in survival. Royal, even if my throne feels like it’s made of sand today.

I spent years building this golden pyramid in the middle of my own emotional Egypt—layer by layer, pain by pain, triumph by triumph. I really did that. I am her. And of course, I had my cats beside me, always. Not all are here anymore, but I carry them with me still.

And now… it just feels like my pyramid is crumbling. Like every polished stone I laid down is being torn apart by winds I can’t control.

Why does it feel like the foundation I gave everything to is failing me now?

I close my eyes and picture myself drifting—lost at sea. Not drowning, not dead, just… floating. Alone on a small boat, bobbing in the middle of nowhere. The kind of lost that doesn’t come with panic, just this hollow ache.

I’m trying so hard to stay afloat. I’ve been trained to weather storms, but no one really talks about the aftermath. The quiet damages that show up later, in you, in your space, in your peace.

The truth is, even the safest places in life—your home, your friendships, your mind—can be breached. Can be trespassed. And maybe, just maybe, my little boat has a leak. A small one, but isn’t that always how it starts? Tiny cracks you don’t notice until you’re knee-deep in water, trying to fix it with tired hands.

Where’s the leak coming from? Why can’t I find it? And if I do, will I even have the strength to repair it?

Sometimes, it’s the people closest to you. The ones you thought were anchors… turn out to be the holes in the hull. You share your plans, your progress, your heart—and they watch. Some genuinely care. Others? They watch because they want to see you fall. Closer. Slower. Harder.

It’s strange, isn’t it? How people want to humble you. Not out of love, but envy. Or maybe it’s their own pain they’re projecting.

I had to pause just now—this kind man asked me to take pictures of him and a young boy—maybe his son, maybe grandson, I couldn’t tell. Funny how life does that… how it keeps things undefined. Still, the way he looked at that boy, the care in his eyes as he taught him to swim—it was pure. He wanted to capture the moment. Not for Instagram. For memory.

And I thought… that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?

Not being perfect. Not having it all figured out. Just being there when it matters. Loving someone enough to show up again and again—even if it’s messy. Even if there’s a history. Even if the tides are rough.

Expecting loyalty from people—real, lasting loyalty—it’s almost impossible. People are human. They’re flawed, they’re fickle. They change their minds, they wander. They want to feel, explore, escape. And maybe… maybe we’ve misunderstood loyalty. Maybe what I crave isn’t someone who stays just for the sake of staying, but someone who shows up when it counts. Who sees me, supports me—beyond intimacy, beyond obligation.

Maybe that’s the loyalty I’m really longing for.

I keep dreaming about the day I wake up and don’t feel this tightness in my chest. A day that starts without anxiety, without dread, without wondering if I’m too much or not enough. A day where I don’t feel like a burden or like I’m trespassing in someone else’s peace.

There will be seasons where I’m not soft. Where I’m confused, where I’m guarded. But I remind myself, over and over again:

Nothing is permanent.

The only constant is change—and thank God for that.

So I welcome change now. I’m manifesting new keys—literal and symbolic. Keys to open new doors: of safety, of stability, of privacy. For me. For my children. For the life we deserve.

And honestly? Sometimes I’m stunned I’ve made it this far. Because all I’ve really been doing is breathing. Breathing and fighting. And still breathing.

But oh—how I long for the days when things shift. When it’s not just survival, but living. When I see people living out loud—luxury, love, trips, late-night dances, hand-holding on balconies—I don’t envy them.

Because I know life is seasonal. Those couples? They’ll have storms too. And if they never do… then their greatest challenge will be how they handle the storm when it finally hits.

And that, I’ve learned, is the true test.

—
Until tomorrow,
Me

(the queen, the sailor, the builder of pyramids made of hope)

Posted in Amy Douangmany, Blog, Healing, Meditation, Parenthood

Dear Diary, The greater the desire, the greater the disappointment—

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

especially when it’s rooted in fantasy, not foundation.

And here I am… back in the hot tub. Letting the warm water massage my calves, my legs, my thoughts. I’m just here, in cambo, reflecting.

There are so many things a person might want in this life. And for me, one of them — one I’ve always held close — was the hope of having a son. Sometimes I find myself watching other parents with their boys, quietly, maybe even a little curiously.

And then, the reality sets back in. We’re born with nothing. Just breath and the hope for time. Over time, we build skills, talents, memories, understanding, a sense of direction. We gain access to what we need: air, water, food, shelter, clothing. The essentials. But then we’re sold more — the appearance, the titles, the “dream job,” the lifestyle. We start investing in things, in images, in wants.

But at some point, a line has to be drawn: what we need vs. what we want. And the moment you truly accept that difference, everything shifts. Wants are just that — things you don’t need. When you invest too deeply in the wrong things, disappointment becomes a cycle. A habit. Because expectations grow in places they were never meant to.

The greater the desire, the greater the disappointment especially when it’s rooted in fantasy, not foundation.

Today, though… today was peaceful. Productive. I sat in stillness, listened to music, wrote my thoughts out across multiple diary posts. I did what I love most: people-watching. Observing life unfold around me. Watching kids be kids. Watching them love their parents. It’s beautiful to witness dependency in its purest form. Unconditional and trusting.

Independence? It’s loud. Overwhelming. It’s sold as freedom, but often it just turns you into a resource for others: your plants, your pets, your kids, your partner. And if those relationships aren’t balanced or healthy… that role can break you. Slowly. Quietly.

But today, I’m reclaiming my time. Just for me. I’ve created some space to thrive, to reflect, to isolate when needed — and I do well in solitude. I thrive in it. There’s safety there. Knowing that I exist not for others, but for my own goodness.

And that… that’s enough.

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.

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

👰🏽‍♀️⚘️🍸🎁🪡 Dear Diary, Today, I make a solemn promise to myself:

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

One day, I will no longer cry because of the pain others have inflicted upon me.

I will rise above the hurtful feelings, the disrespect, and the sense of not being good enough.


People’s negative thoughts and words about me have weighed heavily on my spirit while I struggle to survive and make the best of each day. Despite their efforts to tear me down, I tell myself that I will not cry. I will keep a straight face, perhaps with a knowing smirk.

But beyond that, I aspire to smile and laugh. I want to be pleasant and joyful in every moment of my life. If I were to cry then, it would be only tears of joy, seeing the fruits of my labor, the values I instill in my children, and the love I share with the man I choose to be my husband.

I’m starting to realize that looks only go so far, especially as I grow older. I can’t maintain what others expect of me forever, but I can ensure that I take good care of myself. I will continue to vibrate at the highest frequency, manifest my dreams, and exude my divine feminine energy, my genuine heart, and pure beauty.

I seek to be valued and respected by only the purest forms of love. Just because you are unaware of it, it exists, particularly for me. Therefore, I will ultimately be on the path to where I need to go. I will always be on time, arriving exactly when I am meant to.

Just know that much, dear diary.

Posted in Akira, Amy Douangmany, Blog, Healing, Malynah, Maylana, Meditation, Romance, Self Reflection

🧘🏻‍♀️🌱🍚⚖️🧹🧺 Dear Diary, Meditation has become a new commitment for me,

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

a journey toward healing and letting go of burdens.

It’s been a rough start to the day. Since Friday evening, I’ve been feeling upset and struggling to shake off this frustration. It’s like I’m not being understood, and my kindness and patience are being taken for granted. But there’s one person in my corner, and I’m incredibly grateful for their support. They encouraged me to shift my mindset away from a victim mindset and see challenges as opportunities for growth and elevation in my life.

My children have been a source of  comfort, and today, they helped lift  my spirits. I managed to sleep in a bit  and was treated to breakfast, aka,  brunch in bed, a rare but appreciated  gesture. It was a mix of chicken and shrimp lumpia, maple sausages, and rice-perhaps a nod to my Asian  heritage. My middle child even made me almond milk with Hershey’s  chocolate syrup, which was a delightful touch. 

I tried distracting myself with TikTok, but a phone call changed my mood from gloomy to motivated. After some cleaning around the house, we headed out. It’s been great stocking up the fridge with drinks, snacks, and  groceries, making our home a  comfortable sanctuary. We pay so much for rent, but we often overlook the comfort of home in favor of spending more money outside. 

As I decluttered and refreshed our  living space, I reflected on the  importance of making home a safe  and welcoming place. It’s a continual  process, balancing new additions with  purging and cleaning. But as long as I  maintain balance, I’ll be okay. 

We attempted to visit the State Capitol Park World Peace Rose Garden, but it was overrun with  prom-goers. Seeing them brought back memories of my own milestones and reminded me of the ever-changing nature of life goals.  Relationships, careers, and personal  growth have become the new milestones, and finding genuine love and connection becomes increasingly valuable in today’s chaotic dating world. 

As I grow older, I realize the importance of health, wealth, and cherishing life’s simple pleasures. Our bodies age, our energy wanes, and our priorities shift. It’s crucial to  make wise decisions and nurture  relationships while being mindful of our own well-being. I’m grateful for every day I’m given, for my loved ones, and for the  opportunity to work on myself. Meditation has become a new  commitment for me, a journey  toward healing and letting go of  burdens. I’m eager to overcome challenges and obstacles with grace and continue aligning myself with my goals. 

I pray regularly for us all to make good decisions, hold ourselves accountable, and remain open to growth and change, never settling into stagnation. May we all pursue our passions, show kindness, and express gratitude, recognizing the brevity of life and the blessings we often take for granted. I’m deeply grateful for every day I’m given, striving to continually improve myself and be present for those I love and care for.