I hope the words in this entry reach a quiet place inside of you. These pages exist for one reason: honesty. To bare my soul. To offer a space where something true can be felt. There’s no agenda here—no SEO, no marketing, no trying to make anything “perform.” These entries are, in a way, written into the void… and I trust they’ll reach the right people at the right time.
So if you landed here somehow, I don’t believe it’s random. Maybe you were meant to arrive in this exact moment. Maybe these words are meant to meet you right where you are. And if so… I hope they spark something deep within you.
I want to place my heart in your hands for a moment. I want you to know—wherever you are in this world, whatever you’ve lived through, whatever you’re carrying… you are not alone.
And I’ll be honest… these words might not come out perfectly. They might not even make total sense. They may feel like a jumble, like raw word-vomit on the page. But it’s real. It’s my soul laid bare.
You are not alone in the fear.
Not in the joy.
Not in the confusion.
Not in the love.
I’m here with you, walking through the void too. And if you can, I hope you’ll close your eyes and meet me here—just for a moment.
Because the void is real.
And it’s not always what people think it is.
It isn’t only emptiness.
It isn’t only despair.
It isn’t a punishment.
It’s the quiet space after the storm—
the place you land when something inside you has finally cracked open…
and the old version of you can no longer hold everything together.
I have faced myself many times. I have watched myself die—again and again—in ways that weren’t always physical, but were just as real. I have stripped myself bare. And each time I thought I couldn’t possibly go any deeper, I discovered more. More layers.
Layers of pain.
Layers of love.
Layers of defeat.
Layers of hate.
Layers of anger.
Layers of bliss.
Layers of being.
Layers of faith.
There is a kind of death no one warns you about—
the kind where you’re still breathing, still showing up, still living…
but something in you is dissolving.
A version of you that used to survive.
A version of you that kept going no matter what.
A version of you that learned how to smile through it.
And one day you realize—
that version can’t carry you anymore.
I find myself in a strange place right now… a place of emptiness, a place of darkness—but not an ever-consuming darkness of fear. This space began as intense fear, yes. But as I sit here, I can feel something else beneath it. I can feel the truth of it. This is not only a place of darkness—this is a space of possibility.
And possibility can feel terrifying.
Because it means the story isn’t finished.
It means there might be more for you than pain.
More than survival.
More than repeating the same wounds again and again.
But to reach that “more,” something has to fall away first.
Over the past four months, I have lost so much. I have grieved so many losses. I have experienced pain and heartbreak so deep it cracked me open. I have grieved relationships. I have grieved deaths. I have grieved all of who I was—the death and transformation of the old self.
I cried uncontrollably for a week straight and then… the pain was still so unbearable at times that it woke me in the middle of the night. Deep sorrow. Feeling broken. Feeling unworthy.
Some grief is loud.
But some grief is silent—
it lives in your body.
It shows up in the middle of the night.
In the way your chest tightens for no reason.
In the way your heart feels like it’s trying to process something too big for words.
It’s not only that you lost people.
It’s that you lost parts of yourself.
The part of you that felt safe.
The part of you that trusted.
The part of you that believed life wouldn’t keep taking from you.
And it just came up. It came out.
It came out to be faced.
It was the big purging. The realization. The acceptance of where I am.
The realization of what I’ve overcome… and what I still have to overcome. The realization of all the limiting beliefs. The anger at myself. The fears I carry about life and death.
And I cried out—WHY!? WHY DOES THIS PAIN CONTINUE to haunt me, to consume my very being? Why did they do those things to me? Am I really not worthy of it all?
Why does it feel like I’m in the middle of a storm that keeps battering me around?
Why does it feel like the earth quakes beneath my feet—like the house itself moves and sways?
My body shook. My tears ran in deep streams.
There is a point in the healing journey where you stop trying to be graceful.
You stop trying to “understand it” with your mind.
You stop trying to spiritualize it into something pretty.
And you just become honest.
You become human.
You let your pain speak without editing it.
My pain felt as deep as the ocean, as vast as the universe—like it extended across galaxies, across time and space.
Because sometimes pain doesn’t stay in one moment.
It spreads through your whole timeline.
It touches old memories.
Old fears.
Old beliefs that were planted in you long before you had words to protect yourself.
And then… after it all… after the shaking… after the storm… I found myself here:
In this emptiness.
In this space.
After the dust settles.
This part can feel strange—almost unreal.
Because you expect relief.
You expect answers.
But instead… you get stillness.
A blank space.
A pause.
And it can feel like you’re floating.
This space—the void space you find yourself in—can be a place of peace and openness. You float here, completely open to the architect of your self. You can feel the old self shedding, but you don’t yet know exactly who you are now. You’re suspended between the old and the new—no longer what you were, not yet what you’re becoming.
This is the in-between.
And it can be uncomfortable, because there’s nothing to grip.
Nothing to cling to.
No identity to hide behind.
But there is something sacred about it.
Because when you’re empty… you’re also open.
For those of you who can relate—those of you who feel this space…
Those of you who sit in the fire of your soul…
Those of you who feel consumed at first by intense fear, and then something else—
a deep knowing…
a deep sense of peaceful darkness…
I see you.
And if you’re here with me, I want you to hear this:
You are shedding.
And shedding can feel like losing your mind—
when really, you’re losing what was never meant to stay.
As I write these words, my voice shakes. I don’t know if these words will resonate with you. I don’t know if any of this makes sense. I am scared. I feel exposed. But if you are in this space too… it’s okay.
It’s okay to be scared.
It’s okay to feel messy.
It’s okay to not have the words.
Let it be.
Sit in it.
Embrace it.
Let the storm pass through you.
Give yourself to the void.
Not because you’re giving up—
but because you’re allowing the truth to move through you.
Because the void is not here to punish you. It’s here to empty you—so you can create again. So you can create the new you.
The void strips away what isn’t real.
What isn’t aligned.
What was built only to survive.
And that can feel brutal…
until you realize it’s making room.
Become enveloped here. Embrace the darkness. Embrace all that was. Embrace the new possibilities for your life. The void is a sacred space to be in—a space of possibility, of opportunity.
The darkness here is not evil.
It’s fertile.
Like soil.
Like the night sky.
Like the womb.
Look deeply into this space. Face it with courage and determination. Because in this space, you are everything and nothing. In this space, you can let go and also begin again.
You can accept that the unknown is not the end of you—
it is where you truly begin.
And it is here, in the quiet dark, in the in-between, in the holy emptiness…
that you start to craft and create yourself anew.
One breath at a time.
One gentle choice at a time.
One moment where you decide:
“I’m not leaving myself anymore.”
And if no one has said it to you today, let me say it now:
You are not alone in the void.
I’m here too.
And we will walk through this darkness together—
until it becomes something else.
With Love
Deeana
