Still, I Stood: A Story Beneath the Storm

There I stood, camera in hand, shortly after a typhoon had passed over Bohol. The worst had moved on, but the skies remained heavy, and the wind still moved with purpose. Rain came and went, sometimes light, sometimes insistent. The air carried a chill that reminded you nature wasn’t quite finished.

To be honest, I was disappointed. This trip had already been postponed several times, first by the pandemic, then by endless schedule conflicts. I had looked forward to it for so long. I planned it carefully, saved for it, counted the months, then the days. I even tried to manage my expectations, knowing that October still falls within the rainy season in the Philippines.

But knowing something might happen is different from standing in the middle of it. The typhoon had just swept through as I arrived, and it struck me harder than I expected.

Gratefully, the area remained open to travelers. It was safe. And I was grateful for the chance to witness the Chocolate Hills in this unsettled, storm-kissed moment, not the version I had imagined, but perhaps the one I needed.

From the view deck, I looked out at the famous hills, those soft, scattered mounds stretching endlessly beneath shifting clouds. It wasn’t the usual sunlit scene visitors often hope for. But it was real. Raw. Honest. And it felt like me.

Life hasn’t always been clear skies. I’ve missed chances I should have taken. I’ve walked away when I should have stayed, held on when I should have let go. I’ve carried the weight of not just what others expected of me, but what I expected from myself and failed to meet.

It’s a strange kind of grief, the one that comes not from losing someone, but from losing parts of yourself to fear, indecision, or just life being what it is. Messy. Unpredictable. Quietly heavy.

And yet, as I stood there watching the hills calmly endure what remained of the storm, something in me softened. They didn’t need perfect conditions to stand tall. They simply were weathered, damp, unmoved.

It made me think: maybe strength doesn’t always look like triumph. Maybe it looks like simply existing through the hardest parts. Maybe it’s choosing to show up, even when the skies haven’t cleared completely.

So much of life happens beneath the surface. Beneath the mess. Beneath the stories we don’t say out loud. But there’s still life there. There’s still worth. There’s still us.

The photo I took that day isn’t bright or dramatic. It’s moody and layered, shaped by a moment that didn’t ask for filters or fanfare. But it holds something true. It reminds me that beauty can still exist even when everything feels uncertain. Sometimes, especially then.

I haven’t figured everything out. I still miss things. I still mess up. But I’ve stopped waiting for perfect weather to feel alive. I’ve started giving myself credit for showing up, even on the days when just breathing feels like enough.

Even when life is far from perfect, it’s still worth witnessing.

Even when you feel far from okay, you are still worth standing where you are.

Still, you stand.

Still, you try.

Still, you are here.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s more than enough.

If you’re reading this and you’re going through your own storm-kissed season, the kind where nothing feels certain and the days feel heavier than usual, I hope this reminds you that you’re not alone. There’s still life beneath the mess, and strength in simply continuing on.

Life may not have turned out how I planned… but standing there in Bohol, I realized that it’s still a life worth living, still a view worth seeing.

You don’t need clear skies to be worthy of your journey.
Even now, especially now - you are still becoming.
And there’s beauty in that, too. - MESSY E.

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Messy, Missed, but Still Blooming: Mantras for the Soul

A Soulful Compilation of Mantras for Healing, Hope, and Renewal

Life rarely unfolds the way we picture it. Mistakes, missteps, and messy moments often leave us questioning our worth and path. But what if the mess is where the magic brews? What if every “miss” was simply a misaligned redirection leading you to the right version of you?

Here are curated mantras that echo the quiet resilience and tender beauty of what lies beneath the chaos - when we’ve missed, fallen, and still dare to bloom.

🌧️ Mantras for the Stormy Days

1. “My worth is not measured by my wounds.”
   
   

2. “This mess is not the end - it’s the beginning of my becoming.”
   
   

3. “Even when I’m lost, I am not unloved.”
   
   

4. “I am not broken. I am building.”
   
   

5. “I breathe through the chaos, not because it’s easy, but because I still believe.”

🌿 Mantras for Healing and Acceptance

6. “I forgive the versions of me that didn’t know better.”
   
   

7. “Scars are simply stories with grit and grace.”
   
   

8. “Healing isn’t pretty. It’s powerful.”
   
   

9. “I am not here to be perfect. I am here to be real.”
   
   

10. “My slow steps are still sacred.”
    

🔥 Mantras for Rising Again

11. “I rise from the ruins, not in spite of them, but because of them.”
    
    

12. “I have fallen, but I did not disappear.”
    
    

13. “The fire that burned me also forged me.”
    
    

14. “Mess didn’t defeat me. It revealed me.”
    
    

15. “My next chapter begins with breath, not brilliance.”
    

🌅 Mantras for Quiet Mornings and Gentle Starts

16. “I welcome softness without shame.”
    
    

17. “Peace begins with permission and I grant it to myself.”
    
    

18. “I am allowed to rebuild without rush.”
    
    

19. “Each sunrise touches the parts of me I thought were long gone.”
    
    

20. “Growth is quiet, like roots beneath soil.”
    

💫 Mantras for Hope and Faith in the Process

21. “Life after the fall is still life - richer, rawer, and mine.”
    
    

22. “I trust that beauty grows in broken ground.”
    
    

23. “This version of me deserves love too.”
    
    

24. “Missing out doesn’t mean missing purpose.”
    
    

25. “Hope lives in the heart that keeps showing up.”
    

🌻 Final Thoughts

If you're navigating life after missed chances, tangled chapters, or days when your reflection feels unfamiliar, you're not alone. If you're in a season of uncertainty or cleaning up the wreckage of what didn’t work out, remember: life doesn’t end there.

Sometimes, the mess is the miracle. And the misses? They’re often quiet messages, guiding you toward something better. 

These mantras aren’t magic spells; they’re soft reminders: keep going.

There’s still life beneath the mess. And it’s waiting for you to rise.

Take one. Whisper it. Let it live in you.

Let it guide your next step no matter how messy or meaningful it may be. - MESSY E.

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Floating, Not Failing.

There’s something quietly powerful about boats at rest.

They’ve been out there, tossed by waves, navigating unknown currents, maybe even lost sight of shore for a while. But in this moment? They’re still. Not because they gave up, but because they’ve arrived, or at least paused long enough to breathe.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how life mirrors this.

There were seasons where I drifted aimlessly. I chased plans that didn’t unfold the way I hoped. I ran after people, timelines, and dreams only to begin realizing I might have been rowing upstream, against the tide of who I’m slowly becoming.

I guess I missed a lot.

Missed chances. Missed signs. Missed the quiet voice inside me asking to slow down. And in all that missing, life got messy.

One of the areas where I feel this most is in my career.

I’ve been working in the same company for ten years. It's familiar, it's steady but at times, I feel like I’m just going through the motions. I’ve tried to find something new, something that reignites purpose and growth, but the doors haven’t opened. Rejections, silence, or simply nothing aligning yet. It’s easy to let that feel like failure.

And then there’s the part I don’t often talk about - relationships. I’ve been single for a long time. It’s not something that consumes me, but every now and then, there’s a quiet wondering. Will I always be alone? Is love something still waiting for me somewhere down the road? It creeps in during quiet moments when I see others building their lives together, or when I imagine growing older. But I hold on to this: I believe God has a plan for me. I believe there’s a reason for every delay, even the ones I don’t understand yet.

In many ways, it reflects my career, another part of life that hasn’t unfolded the way I thought it would, where I’m learning to sit with the waiting, the wondering, and the quiet hope that maybe something meaningful is still ahead.

And here's what I’m slowly learning:

The mess doesn't mean you’ve failed.

The misses don't mean you're behind.

And not all movement is progress. Sometimes, stillness is where the real healing begins.

Like those boats resting under a sky that’s both heavy and hopeful, we’re allowed to pause. We’re allowed to be unsure, in between destinations. We’re allowed to catch our breath.

Because beneath the surface, something deeper is happening. Perspective is shifting. Strength is building. We’re not the same people who once felt lost at sea.

We’re learning to anchor not in outcomes, but in presence.

We’re learning that the mess isn’t the end of the story. It’s the middle. It’s the proof we tried, we lived, we dared to care even when things didn’t go as planned.

And if you’re reading this feeling a little tangled in your own storm, I hope this reminds you:

You are not behind.

You are not too late.

You are exactly where you need to be - floating, not failing.

Rest. Reflect. Re-center.

The tide will shift again.

But for now, it’s okay to just be. - MESSY E.

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A Red Light and a Golden Reminder

Working from home changes the way you experience the world. Days blur into each other. Mornings begin with log-ins and end with screen fatigue. Sometimes, life outside feels distant - muted behind windows, walls, and routines.

On weekends, when I finally get to unplug, I don’t want anything big. I just want to rest. Stillness. No appointments. Just watching a drama series or blasting music through my earphones while I do absolutely nothing. It’s not about being productive anymore. It’s about finally feeling like I can breathe.

That weekend, all I had to do was a quick grocery run. A small errand I’d been putting off, which I was supposed to do in the morning. I didn’t dress up. I didn’t plan. Just some grocery list I noted in my phone so I wouldn’t forget. I just needed to get it over with and come back home to my quiet corner of the world.

I was crossing the street when the pedestrian light turned red. I stopped. The traffic moved. I stood there, waiting for the light to change. I can’t even remember what I was thinking at the time - probably nothing at all. My mind was just quiet, maybe tired. And that’s when I looked up.

And there it was: the city glowing in the sunset.

The kind of light that doesn’t shout for your attention but wraps itself around buildings, soft and golden, like it’s trying to remind the city that beauty still exists…even here, even now. The chaos paused. Just for a breath. And so did I.

That moment felt strangely personal.

It reminded me how many things I’d missed lately. Not just sunsets…but moments. Little pockets of wonder like the kind you don’t plan for, but that quietly show up when life slows down for a second. The soft warmth of afternoon light, the stillness of your street, the way a stranger smiles at you without a reason. Also, the kind of kindness that’s easy to overlook when you’re always rushing - someone holding the door or simply being patient with yourself when you’re tired. I’d been caught up in deadlines, in digital noise, in the pressure to keep moving. To stay productive. To get it right.

And in all that…. I’d missed myself.
Not in a loud or dramatic way, but in the quiet way where you stop noticing how tired you’ve become. Where you forget what it feels like to simply be, without performing, chasing success, or rushing. I’d been present, but not really here.

We all go through seasons of misses. The job we didn’t land. The dream that faded. The timing that never quite worked out. The relationships that frayed. The version of life we thought we’d have by now. Miss after miss piles up until you start to feel like you’re stuck beneath it all…buried under the mess of trying, failing, starting over, and pretending everything’s fine.

But that sunset? It didn’t care what I’d missed. It showed up anyway.

In that unexpected pause at the red light, I realized something: there’s still life beneath the mess. Still light. Still something worth pausing for. And maybe we don’t need to chase those moments. Maybe they find us in between everything else… when we’re not rushing, not proving, not performing. Just being.

Because after all the failures, the wrong turns, the almosts, and the could-have-beens….there's still beauty. Not in perfection, but in persistence. The city doesn’t stop for anyone, but the sunset doesn’t need it to. It shows up anyway, wrapping the brokenness in light, proving that beauty doesn’t wait for things to be perfect.

And maybe that’s the point.

Maybe the mess isn’t something to escape, but something to live through. To grow from.
Maybe the misses - those missed opportunities, missed signs, missed chances, they were just part of the unfolding. They hurt, yes, but they shaped us. And here we are, still standing, still breathing, still watching the sky catch fire one more time.

A city sunset reminds us that healing doesn’t always look like silence and solitude. Sometimes, it’s a deep breath on a crowded sidewalk, a brief pause in a packed train, or the way sunlight dances off a skyscraper. It’s hope…. quiet, resilient, and stubborn as ever.

So, the next time the sky turns gold above the city’s gray, take a moment. Let the light spill into the cracks of your day, your week, your life. Because beneath the mess, after all the misses, there’s still you - whole, human, and worthy of every sunset still to come. - MESSY E.

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