Category: Self Reflection

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

Dear Diary, Today, I feel gratitude.

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

Gratitude for my awareness.

Time has really been healing me.

Not in the loud, cinematic way people expect—but quietly, consistently, and honestly. With time, I’ve learned that self-love doesn’t just teach you how to care for yourself. It teaches you how to listen to yourself.

We often talk about the mind and the heart as if they’re the only decision-makers. The mind tries to reason. The heart feels deeply. And sometimes, they’re not aligned. One wants clarity, the other wants connection. One knows the truth, the other hopes it will change.

But what we forget is that the body holds both.

The body is powerful. The body is intuitive. And unlike the mind, which can rationalize, or the heart, which can romanticize, the body does not lie. The body knows when something isn’t safe. It knows when someone is harmful—not just emotionally, but to your peace, your hygiene, your nervous system, your well-being.

At some point, the body shuts down what the mind and heart were willing to tolerate.

That realization was an epiphany for me.

I’ve learned that attachment doesn’t mean alignment. You can be attached to something that is wrong for you. You can want something that is slowly draining you. And that doesn’t make you weak—it makes you human.

What matters is awareness.

Sometimes we need time for feelings to die naturally. Sometimes we need to sit in discomfort long enough for disgust to replace longing. Sometimes we need to see patterns repeat until the lesson finally lands—not intellectually, but somatically.

And that’s where healing actually happens.

I’ve noticed that when I truly set boundaries—when I’m no longer available, no longer explaining, no longer negotiating—something interesting happens. The dynamic changes. Ego gets bruised. Access is lost. And often, the people who once tried to come back no longer feel aligned with who I’ve become.

Not because I hardened. But because I healed.

Healing doesn’t mean you never cared. It means you no longer abandon yourself to be chosen.

I’ve also learned that when people treat others poorly, it is not a reflection of the other person’s worth or value. It is a reflection of their choices—their capacity for respect, mindfulness, and care. Everyone has a choice. And when someone repeatedly chooses carelessness, that choice speaks for itself.

Time has taught me patience—not with others, but with the process.

Because change takes time. Detachment takes time. Clarity takes time.

Even when you fight it. Even when you’re nonchalant. Even when you stay too long.

Eventually, something inside you reaches its limit.

If the heart won’t stop, and the mind won’t intervene, the body will.

And that is not failure—that is protection.

Today, I feel gratitude. Gratitude for my awareness. Gratitude for my nervous system. Gratitude for my body, my mind, and my heart finally working together instead of against each other.

I trust myself now. I trust time. I trust that everything heals—sometimes gently, sometimes painfully—but always purposefully.

And I look forward to continuing to live, learn, and choose myself—again and again.

Yours… truly,

Amy Douangmany

Posted in Amy Douangmany, Self Reflection

Dear Diary, I’m giving myself permission

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

— to feel.

I had just laid down, and for some reason, the sky felt really foggy—bright, soft, not dark. My hair was drenched in rosemary oil after a scalp treatment, and I could feel this quiet hum of energy from all the productivity buzzing through my day. Today, I did all the small things I’d been putting off. I cleaned up my social media, went through my phone, deleted extra alarms, and set three tiny goals for myself. I followed up on calls and forms and gave a little attention to the cluttered corners of my life—my mind, my phone, even my skincare, makeup, and hair products. I made a mini shopping list: coffee, essentials, and sketched a small plan for my finances. Honestly… I feel really good.

Somewhere in the middle of all of that, I drifted in and out of a deep, half-sleep. Last night, I couldn’t sleep because of caffeine. I had McDonald’s late, then washed down my Dorito tacos and a steak burrito with a Mountain Dew Baja Blast. Somehow it kept me awake until 3 a.m. I realized I’ve been neglecting B12 supplementation with my caffeine. But I’ve also been catching up on sleep while my body fights off this cold—the sniffles, the sneezes, the nonstop popping. No meds, just vitamin C, tea, and rest.

And then, out of nowhere, a memory—or maybe a dream—floated in: Bruce Almighty. Jennifer Aniston—Grace. She was heartbroken. I could see her so clearly, sitting on the edge of her bed, small and fragile. The soft gray light from the window spilled across the room, mixing with the faint scent of lavender and warm tea. Bruce hovered just beyond what she could see, with all the power of God at his fingertips, but he can’t bend her heart. That’s the rule. He can only watch, listen, feel.

Her shoulders shook softly with quiet sobs. Her hands twisted the blanket in her lap, gripping it almost painfully. Her breath came in uneven hitches, and after every tear, a tiny exhale left her chest like a whispered secret. Then her voice—low, trembling, delicate—whispered prayers. Not for herself. Not for revenge or clarity. For him. For Bruce. Hoping he’s okay, wishing him well, sending love into the universe that he might never know she’s giving it. The room felt heavy with the weight of her feelings. It pressed down on her chest, made her heart ache, yet it was fragile, sacred, and beautiful all at once.

And in that moment, I thought: everyone is carrying worlds we can’t see. Even when people smile, even when they talk, even when they look like everything is fine—they’re holding tangled, cluttered emotions inside. They are hoping, praying, crying, surviving, and trying all at the same time. And sometimes, no one notices.

That’s why, even when my life feels overwhelming, tangled, or cluttered, I remind myself: I’m not giving up. I’m taking all these tiny steps to heal, some random, some intentional, and figuring out what actually works. Some days, it’s just acknowledging the moment. Sitting with the feelings—sad, burnt out, discouraged, overwhelmed, heartbroken—and giving myself permission to feel. Just to breathe. Just to exist in that space without judgment.

Because life isn’t about waiting for someone else to validate your feelings. It’s about honoring them yourself. Accepting the tangled, the painful, the lonely spaces. And then rising again. That’s growth. That’s living. That’s real self-love.

And in between all of that, there’s happiness—tiny sparkles that peek through even the grayest fog. The sadness, the heartbreak, the overwhelm…they’re just time stamps. They’re not permanent. Recognizing that, sitting with it, letting it teach you something—that’s everything. That’s the rhythm of life. That’s the in-between moments shaping us, just like the happiness shapes us.

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

Dear Diary, When an artist creates something,

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

it doesn’t get taken back once it’s released. It exists.

Last night, I had a dream that woke me around 3 a.m. I couldn’t fall back asleep. Instead, I was hit with a deep, immobilizing pain—one that settled into my chest and refused to leave. I’ve heard that dreams only last a couple of minutes, maybe seconds even, yet they can feel like an eternity. This one did.

In the dream, I was preparing to attend my father’s wake. My father passed away on July 13th of last year, and even now, the grief still arrives unannounced. I remember seeing him on the day of his wake and again at his funeral. He looked peaceful—truly at rest. That image has never left me.

My dad lived life entirely on his own terms. He was big on self-love and self-care, yet he also held very old-school beliefs. Some of those beliefs felt contradictory to me, especially as a woman. He didn’t like the idea of women receiving support in certain ways from men, particularly when it came to chores or responsibilities. In his eyes, help from a man should be voluntary—something given freely, never demanded—because otherwise it could feel emasculating.

At the time, it didn’t make sense to me. Growing up, it wasn’t framed as a lesson; it felt more like scolding. But now, I can see it differently. I can respect it, even if it’s not something we’re explicitly taught. Sometimes, we don’t learn through instruction—we learn through belief systems, behaviors, and the way people live their lives.

As I’m recollecting this, I’m driving southbound on I-5, heading to Super Walmart to buy tension rods and curtains for a living space. A small act of décor, maybe—but also a symbol of where I am in life. I’ve had the measurements since Friday, but I hadn’t made the trip yet. Lately, I feel like I’m entering a “crafty era”—wanting to create, to personalize, to stand out, stand in, stand up. Anything but remain stagnant.

I’ve spent a lot of time focusing on my physical and mental health, and that work is still ongoing. Journaling. Meditation. Working out. Healing is not linear—it’s a work in progress, and honestly, a work of art. When you give yourself permission to speak about your experiences, something shifts. Pain softens. Understanding grows. I encourage everyone to do this, even when it’s uncomfortable.

In the dream, the details were blurry. Was it my father’s wake or his funeral? I’m not sure. What I do remember is that we were preparing him—getting him dressed, ready for the service. And during that process, I was going through my own struggles. I felt lost, unheard, unseen.

It’s strange how visible pain can be—and how little people want to acknowledge it. Sometimes others can see the sadness in your eyes and choose not to care. Pain isn’t aesthetically pleasing. It can feel inconvenient, even annoying, to those who think you “have it all.” They wonder: How can someone so optimistic, so self-loving, so materially supported still feel sad? Why would you need more love?

What many don’t understand is that even the people closest to you aren’t always supporting you in the ways that truly matter. Sometimes what looks like generosity is actually ego. Sometimes gestures are made because they look good, not because they’re sincere. There is quiet suffering in many homes, families, and relationships—especially in romantic ones where codependency slowly replaces connection. Life eventually shakes those dynamics loose, often for the greater good.

In the dream, I felt like a child again—lost, grieving someone irreplaceable. It reminded me that the people who mean the most to us aren’t always physically present, yet when they do appear, it feels like no time has passed at all.

Then my phone rang.

It was my dad.

He was calling to remind me of things, just like he always did. He was patient with me—always. He never laid a hand on me. Discipline was never harsh or shaming. Instead, he would say, “Just make your mom happy. Listen to her. She needs understanding and support.” He reminded me not to take things personally, that my mom had health struggles, and that compassion mattered more than pride. He said the same for all of my siblings.

And the thing is—he was always right.

He never had to say much. He knew I understood. I’m incredibly grateful for the bond we had, for the way he guided without force.

In the dream, we talked about his passing—about preparing for it. And then it hit me.

I was on the phone with my father… talking about his own funeral.

I asked him, “Dad… how are you calling me?”

How could he be on the phone if he was gone?

How could he be calling me about his own death—when he was supposed to be dead?

And that’s when I woke up.

With grief. With love. With questions that don’t need answers—only space.

When I realized what was happening, something inside me snapped awake. For a moment, I felt like a little girl again—small, vulnerable, searching. That feeling alone was enough to pull me out of the dream. I woke up thinking, maybe this was all a trick, maybe my dad was still alive and just a phone call away.

But he wasn’t.

Waking up meant waking up to the truth—that my father is gone, and that everything I had just experienced lived only in sleep. And yet, it didn’t feel meaningless. It felt like concern. Like presence. Like he knew exactly where I am in life right now and wanted to remind me of something important.

I don’t think he was telling me anything new. I think he was reminding me—once again—not to take things personally. To stay focused. To trust that I’ll be okay. To know that he’s watching over me in ways I may not always understand, but in ways that matter. Not just a reminder, but a request. A quiet one.

To live without hate.
Without resentment.
Without vengeance.

At this age, I don’t have the time or the energy to invest in what people think of me, what they assume about my intentions, or the conclusions they draw about my choices. I genuinely don’t care. You either like me or you don’t—and life goes on regardless.

When an artist creates something—a song, a book, a painting—it doesn’t get taken back once it’s released. It exists. It breathes on its own. And there has never been a piece of beautiful art that didn’t face judgment simply for being seen. I’m finally embracing that about myself. Not everything I do will be perfect, and I don’t want it to be.

Maybe that’s why I don’t want to go viral. I just want a safe place to express myself—when I’m ready, how I choose—without fear. Without worrying about how I eat, how I speak, the words I use, or how I respond to disrespect, intimidation, or people digging through my life searching for flaws. While they’re busy mining for faults, I’m busy trying to change my circumstances.

Constantly.

Sometimes that means moving forward.
Sometimes it means stepping back just enough to learn how to move further ahead.
Sometimes it means staying exactly where I am and taking life one day at a time.

Every decision I make is shaped by many factors—timing, responsibility, intuition, survival. I truly believe I make the best decisions I can with what I know in the moment I’m in. Some decisions require seconds. Others take a lifetime. I don’t rush choices unless I’m forced to make them.

And I’ve learned this about myself: I avoid decisions until I must make them—for my own good. That means being selfish with how I choose myself. Being selfish with how I protect my peace. Being selfish with how I win in life.

Because if I win, my kids win.

I cannot stay anywhere that makes me feel belittled, degraded, or dehumanized. I refuse to exist in spaces where I’m treated like an inconvenience or a problem—because I’m not. I’m human. I’m grieving. I’m learning. I’ve hit rock bottom more than once, and I’ve climbed back every single time.

So I will always put my best foot forward. I will choose people who choose me. And if I know, deep down, that you don’t—that there’s always someone better, or that I’m somehow unworthy in your eyes—I’m okay with that.

My song will still play.
My art will still be displayed.
My words will only grow more poetic.

Just because you can’t appreciate me doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate myself.

I’ve never lived for validation. I live to experience—to savor each bite, each sound, each sight, each breath. The five senses… and maybe even a sixth. I live for what makes me feel alive, not for jealousy, animosity, or the need to control anyone else’s fate.

My struggles matter—because they affect my children. So I choose them carefully. I choose paths where they aren’t subjected to more than necessary. And wherever that safety exists, that’s where I’m going.

I’m only moving toward better places—
even when it doesn’t look like it.

Maybe the dream wasn’t meant to confuse me or pull me backward into grief. Maybe it was meant to remind me that love doesn’t disappear just because someone does. That guidance doesn’t end with death. That the voice I heard wasn’t about fear or loss, but reassurance. A reminder to keep living honestly, gently, and unapologetically. To keep choosing growth over bitterness, peace over pride, and self-respect over explanation. I’m still becoming. Still healing. Still moving forward—sometimes slowly, sometimes imperfectly—but always with intention. And if my father is watching, I think he’d be proud not because I have everything figured out, but because I keep going. Because I choose love. Because I refuse to harden. And because, no matter where I am or how it looks, I’m walking toward a life that feels true.

P.S. Dad, thank you for everything, thank you for watching over me and protecting me and your granddaughters. Love you.

Posted in Amy Douangmany, Blog, Healing, Self Reflection

Dear Diary, When I finally reach the other side,

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

I imagine it will feel like a breath of fresh air.

It feels like there’s a collision happening inside me—somewhere between the luteal phase and the menstrual phase. That space is where my emotions hit the hardest. I start thinking deeply, feeling things intensely, almost all at once. And every time I tell my story, I’m reminded of how blessed I am when the person listening is understanding and empathetic.


It’s always the people who know nothing about me who assume my life is perfect… until they hear the truth. Then they slowly realize how strong I’ve had to be, how much I’ve endured—as someone who looks so fragile, elegant, happy, and independent on the outside.

This year feels like a stepping stone.
Though honestly, I don’t know how many stepping stones a person is supposed to need. Usually one should be enough—you step, cross over, and reach the other side.
But I’m still making my way through mine. And when I finally reach the other side, I imagine it will feel like a breath of fresh air.

When I’m moving through chaos with music playing and surrounded by family, friends, and love—and then I have a moment to myself alone—that’s when everything settles in. Recently, I felt like I was gifted something special. And I hold these gifts close because they don’t feed my sadness; they lift me. They remind me to rise.

I’ve had to remind myself that I’m still young. I’m not tired of life. I’m not tired of living or being excited about life. I’m just tired of the strange things that happen.
And acknowledging that—accepting that life comes in phases—helps me breathe.
When you’re going through it, sometimes the only option is to go through it. But you always, ALWAYS – have to come out of it stronger and better.

Right now, my mood is calm.
Sometimes these thoughts come to me while I’m driving.
A wave moves across my chest—like a slow, emotional rollercoaster—and I catch my reflection. I look beautiful tonight. My hair is lightly tousled, my lashes are done, and I’ve been taking care of myself—making sure I look good, feel good, smell good every day.

I’m just having a quiet moment.
Just thinking.
Just trying not to become someone who forgets herself in the middle of staying strong.

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

Dear Diary, Growing up, I never thought I’d have to protect myself –

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

from people who once claimed to love me.

The sky is unusually bright this morning—pastel, almost powdery, even though today turned out to be another rainy day. Just two days ago, the forecast showed nothing but sunshine. I guess even the weatherman can’t predict everything until the last minute. A part of me was disappointed when I originally saw no rain, because rain always feels cleansing, like the world pressing the reset button. But life has a funny way of giving you what you need exactly when you weren’t expecting it. So now here it is: a bright, gloomy-blue sky filled with soft white clouds, and somehow it’s still beautiful.

The clock hit 8 AM, and the girls were already off to school. Morning chaos always comes with its own soundtrack—cars rushing down the wet street, engines humming, the distant honk of someone in a hurry, and windshield wipers swishing back and forth. During drop-off, I gave my motherly reminders the way I always do: Have a great day. Stay warm. Try your best. I’m proud of you. I try to validate their efforts, big and small, because I want to give them the kind of emotional support my family gives me every day. Love comes in so many forms for us—often through food, gentle conversations, small acts of care—not just “I love you,” but the actions that prove it.

Today feels like a good day to tackle a few things so that tomorrow can be lighter, and the weekend can be peaceful. I don’t plan for weekends the way I used to. I’ve been toning things down and practicing being more frugal, not out of restriction but out of respect for my own financial security. People online don’t talk enough about how important it is to be financially mindful. When you know where your money goes, life becomes less unpredictable. You make room not only for what you need, but sometimes for what you want.

I had a bad dream last night—one that woke me up several times. When I did a small dream analysis this morning, it hit me how much I’ve been undermined as a mother, and honestly, as an individual. It hurts to realize so late how often others have tried to control the relationship I have with my own children. I’m hoping for more freedom soon—the freedom to parent the way I know is best, the freedom to build a healthy emotional dynamic, and the freedom from interference. It’s exhausting to constantly be told how to raise, share, and care for the children I’ve always prioritized without crossing anyone else’s boundaries.

I don’t see myself as a victim, but I am finally acknowledging that the system, the circumstances, and the games being played are unbalanced. Like a Libra’s scale—never settling, always shifting. And speaking of zodiacs, Gemini energy is often misunderstood. Geminis mirror people, showing them who they truly are, and when people get a taste of their own behavior reflected back, suddenly they claim to be the victim. Maybe that’s why Geminis hide their wounds so well—we don’t like identifying as victims, even when everything points to the fact that we are.

Every time I feel myself drifting toward that victim narrative, the part of me committed to growth pulls me back. I remind myself not to internalize anyone’s projections. I don’t want to walk around wounded or bitter, even though the truth runs deeper behind my smile. Instead, I’ve learned to use these imbalances as fuel to strengthen myself. But no one talks about how creating boundaries comes with consequences. Saying “no,” calling out behavior, not tolerating disrespect—those things are healthy, but the backlash isn’t always easy. It’s like taking iron supplements when you’re anemic—the solution helps, but the side effects can still be uncomfortable.

Life is full of laws and rules that are supposed to protect us, yet people break them every day. Some do it out of entitlement, others out of carelessness. Laws only work for people who respect them, and not everyone does. Sometimes, we don’t realize we’re being harmed until the damage has already settled in. Just like how we don’t always realize we’ve become victims until we look back and see the whole picture.

This morning’s dream reminded me of that. It was built from fear, anxiety, and knowing that I can’t always stop bad things from happening—even if I try my hardest. Growing up, I never thought I’d have to protect myself from people who once claimed to love me. Love is such a double-edged sword. Beautiful, but sharp enough to wound. There’s such a thin line between love and hate, and I’ve walked that line far too often.

I tell people on my livestreams all the time: love yourself first. Because if your heart—your cup—is empty, you can’t pour anything meaningful into someone else. And some people with empty cups don’t even know what love is, because they’ve never given it to themselves. You can’t teach love to someone who’s immune to it. They want it, but they can’t receive it. It’s like giving caffeine to someone who can’t feel its effects.

I’m at a point in life where I don’t want to be entangled with people who drain me or pull me into their misery. Some people are so unhappy that they try to drag others into that darkness, and I’m not doing that anymore. I’m grateful that I’m still here, still resilient, still creating boundaries even when the consequences feel heavy.

Last night, I talked to the girls about how food is part of our family’s love language. Not just simple “I love you” phrases, but cooking together, eating together, sharing moments. Prepping ingredients, washing vegetables, stirring pots, monitoring the heat, cleaning as you go—every little step becomes an offering of love. A home-cooked meal holds value you can’t put a price on. You really get to know someone when you share food with them, especially meals made with intention. Even gathering groceries, choosing ingredients, planning a dinner—it all means something.

At the end of the day, love isn’t loud. It isn’t flashy. It isn’t always spoken. Love is shown in the way we support each other, validate each other, sit quietly with each other, and offer a hand when the load is heavy. Love is the rain that comes unexpectedly. Love is the morning street noise. Love is the bright sky on a gloomy day. Love is the meal you share with someone who knows your heart.

And love is the reason I keep rebuilding myself, over and over again.

Posted in Amy Douangmany, Self Reflection

Dear Diary, Whatever it is,

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

I have it now.

I just realized something that changed how I view my own body. Maybe periods are actually a good thing. Not necessarily for everyone, but for me.


At this stage in my life, I’ve come to understand that my cycle isn’t just a monthly inconvenience. It’s a teacher. During the luteal phase, our dopamine and serotonin levels naturally drop, which can lead to mood swings or emotional sensitivity. But I’ve learned to see that as an opportunity. My period forces me to face emotions I often try to suppress. It’s like a built-in reminder that I’m human, that I’m allowed to feel, release, and reset.

In a way, I’ve realized how difficult it must be to be a man. Society teaches most men to internalize their feelings, to avoid vulnerability, and to suppress emotion. And yet, emotions are what make us real. They connect us. There’s such power in being open, honest, and vulnerable.

Today, I shared my thoughts about the kind of people we keep close. The ones who genuinely want to see us win, who check in, and who make an effort to include us. Those are the people worth keeping. My best advice? Set the standards and expectations for yourself sky high. But set the expectations you have of others low, or even none at all. That way, when people show up for you, you’ll always appreciate it, not because you expect it, but because it’s genuine.

Life is a constant roller coaster, and I’m no stranger to that ride. Consideration and communication are everything. I’ve also learned that not every room or conversation deserves my presence. Whether it’s a birthday, a party, or even a funeral, I’m okay with not showing up where my peace isn’t protected.

People often misread my journey. They see the dinners, the rooftop nights, or the quiet escapes and assume life is effortless. What they don’t see are the battles I fight internally, the healing, the lessons, the rebuilding. But I know everything is unfolding exactly as it should. Timing, discipline, and faith are carrying me forward.

From here on, I’ve decided no more sad tears. The next time I cry, it’ll be from joy. I’m trusting that season is coming sooner than later.

This life has been teaching me so much, and I’m deeply grateful for it all. In 2025, I see myself continuing to grow, and five years from now, I see myself as a multimillionaire. I see my business thriving, my passport stamped, and my heart full. Maybe all I ever needed was the right mindset, the right people, and the right energy around me.

Whatever it is, I have it now. And from this point forward, the only way is up.

Posted in Amy Douangmany, Healing, Self Reflection

Dear Diary, When you run empty…

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

it’s ugly.

I’m not in a rush;
not to arrive, not to reach a final destination.
Every time we think we’ve found “the end,” life proves us wrong.
The world is full of surprises,
and humanity, with all its beauty and chaos, is inescapable:
the good and the bad,
the structure and the instability,
the security and the insecurities,
the light and the crimes that shadow it all.

Tonight I realize something powerful:
I don’t want to control anyone,
and I refuse to be controlled.
I want to release.
I ask the gods, the greater good, and the holy spirits
to shield me from anything that might chain me;
any person, any spirit.
I deserve to fly free.

The weight I’ve carried feels like anchors
dragging behind a massive ship.
But I’m ready to rise.
I want to float.
I want to fly.
I want to climb higher and higher
until the pain that once held me fades into the clouds.

I’ve never felt that I wasn’t enough.
Instead, I’ve often felt others weren’t ready to meet me
in the depth of love I offered.
I poured and poured
even from an empty cup
and still, it was never enough.
Because there is no such thing as “enough.”

When someone asks, “How much is enough?”
I can only say: it doesn’t exist.
Life isn’t about measuring love or effort;
it’s about pouring into yourself
and into those who truly receive it,
so that your well never runs dry.

Because when you run empty,
it’s ugly.
It’s lonely.
It’s the worst feeling in the world.

So I choose freedom.
I choose to stay full.
I choose to set myself free.

Posted in Akira, Amy Douangmany, Healing, Parenthood, Self Reflection

Dear Diary, Value is not always about expense…

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

it is about the care and intention.

Today was a really lovely day. I am finally winding down, not in a candlelit skincare kind of way, but with something far more indulgent: a Supreme Doritos taco. It has been ages since I have had one, and I am not sure when my love for tacos faded. These days I am more of a noodle and pasta person, but tonight the craving won.

I spent the afternoon with Kira, shopping at Daiso for extra school supplies and a few things to feed my own love of reading, writing, and continuous learning. We found her the softest pajama set with sparkly butterflies and a matching sleep mask. She knew exactly what she wanted. Not a headband, but a sleep mask. I love that about her, the clarity of knowing what fits you.

Our final mission was shoes. She tried on silver, black, and pink pairs in the same size, but none felt right. And that is the thing about fit: it is rarely just about size. Whether it is shoes, friendships, or relationships, sometimes you try to make something work because you love it, but it simply is not your fit. Comfort, texture, and the way it makes you feel all matter. Eventually we found the perfect pair: black with pearls on a soft memory foam and a subtle shine, ready for every season and even matching her coat.

I could not help thinking about how shoes mirror our own growth. Over time I have raised my own standards. The price tag is not everything, but it reflects how much I am willing to invest in quality and in myself. About a month ago I picked up a pair of heels and some Birkenstocks, and I wear them constantly. Value is not always about expense; it is about the care and intention you bring to what you choose.

The best pair of shoes, like the best relationships, deserve investment—emotional, physical, even financial. Money matters, but never more than the comfort and confidence a true fit provides.

Now I am home, ready to slip off my shoes, shower, pamper my skin, and rest my bare feet. The perfect ending to a day that fit just right.

Tomorrow is another day, and I am looking forward to bringing my best foot forward. I may be moving through changes and different chapters of my life. I do not always announce my struggles or my wins, but there will always be signs—whether in moments of quiet detachment, unexpected distance, small celebrations, tears of joy, or even the soft grieving of a lifestyle that no longer fits the person I am becoming.

Cheers in advance to the next perfect fit.

Posted in Amy Douangmany, Blog, Parenthood, Self Reflection

Dear Diary, The path is not always clear…

Posted on by Ms. Amy D


but I am on it.

Lately, I have been feeling extremely overwhelmed, yet I am still holding on, holding on to hope, to dreams, to goals, to peace, to security, to stability. I am holding on to the reward that comes from being patient, resilient, kind, giving, and forgiving. In this vast world of billions of people, there are moments when I feel profoundly alone.

Part of me feels like something is missing, though I cannot quite put the pieces together. I long for distance, for individuality, where I do not rely on anyone and no one relies on me. Where for once it is truly about me and the battles I fight are only for me.

Life becomes entangled when others depend on us for love, emotional support, financial support, and guidance. In those moments, decisions are rarely ours alone. I realize now that I have not often been able to make things about me in a way that is truly mine.

I crave experiences that feel deeply personal, traveling, seeing the world through my own eyes, romanticizing my life and the idea of love in a way that is intimate and authentic. It may take years, especially as a mother of young children, whose needs shape every day. But I hope that as they grow, they encounter kindness, integrity, and love in abundance. I hope their journeys are lighter than mine has felt lately.

The past few years, I have not met enough people who make life easier in the ways I desire. Not because they have not tried, but because my standards are high. High standards make people look at you differently. Some do not like it. Some quietly or loudly resent it. Yet in the respect they hold, there is acknowledgment of my clarity, my precision, and my drive toward the results I envision. I will continue forward relentlessly until my last breath.

My personal growth is ongoing. I see areas I want to refine, my bluntness, my harsh honesty, and my unfiltered truth that may feel disrespectful to others. But those who take the time to understand will see that my intentions are always rooted in authenticity and care. Life is about mindsets. Even in struggle, in obstacles, in moments of uncertainty, we are worthy, capable, and deserving. Roadblocks do not diminish value; they challenge us to grow.

I have learned that sharing plans and struggles often opens the door to judgment rather than understanding. People rarely credit effort or see the rationale. But I am accountable to myself. There is only one me, and I trust my growth, my manifestation, and the daily steps I take forward, whether recognized or unseen by others.

Good things are coming, not only for me but for those who align with this energy. The path is not always clear, but I am on it, unwavering. When I arrive, I hope to see all the lessons, the growth, and the journey reflected in the beauty of the life I have courageously built. I am on my way, and I hope to see you there too.

Posted in Amy Douangmany, Healing, Parenthood, Self Reflection

Dear Diary, As certain things in my life begin to align…

Posted on by Ms. Amy D

I realize how simple my heart’s desires truly are.

I’m sitting here tonight, in the quiet stillness after the sun has slipped below the horizon. The sky not too long ago was painted in streaks of lavender, rose-gold, and deep orange, the kind of breathtaking gradient that makes me pause every single time. Sunsets have always been my favorite. The way the light melts into the sky feels like a reminder that endings can be just as beautiful as beginnings.

As I sit here, I feel a wave of gratitude washing over me. These past months… really, the past two years have felt heavy, slow, and sometimes unbearably still. Lazy, in a way, though not in the sense of doing nothing, but more like a long stretch of waiting, healing, and piecing myself back together. Now, as certain things in my life begin to align, I realize how simple my heart’s desires truly are: to be happy, to be at peace, to keep discovering little joys that make my soul light up and my eyes glisten.

I’m learning that peace doesn’t come from perfection. It comes from being seen and heard. From someone showing, not just saying, that they notice me, that they understand me. It’s in patience, even when things feel frustrating or complicated. It’s in knowing that if a hard decision ever had to be made, the choice would be to put me first, to put *us* first, to put the children first… never the opposite. That kind of love feels like a soft place to land.

And still, through it all, I hold close the blessings I already have. My health may not be perfect, but it is steady enough to carry me. I can stand firmly, both on my two feet and on the life I am building. I can still see the colors of the sky, hear the laughter of my children, and choose every single day between what is good for me and what is not. These are gifts I remind myself never to overlook.

Because each day, life quietly gives us that choice: to look at others with compassion, to try to see them in the best light even when they don’t stand in it themselves… or to let bitterness cloud our vision. I remind myself that often people reflect what they hold inside; if they cannot see goodness in others, it’s usually because they struggle to see it in themselves.

So tonight, under the memory of the sunset’s glow, I feel content. I look forward to each new day, even the uncertain ones. For the first time in a long time, I truly feel that things are unfolding in the right direction. And above all, my heart is full of gratitude.