The Story (a fictional story)

The refrigerator hummed. That was the only sound in Terri’s apartment.

She stood at the kitchen counter, half-drunk cup of coffee going cold beside her, phone still warm in her hand from the call that had just ended. The call where she’d talked for ten minutes straight — sharing something she’d been thinking about for weeks — only to be cut off mid-sentence. Redirected. Talked over. Like her words hadn’t even landed.

She set the phone down. Quietly. Carefully.

Then she opened the kitchen drawer to get a spoon.

And slammed it shut.

The crack of it surprised her. So did the sharp sting at the tip of her ring finger. She looked down. The nail — the one she’d just gotten done last weekend, the soft blush-pink one she’d picked because it felt like a little gift to herself — was split clean down the middle.

She stared at it.

And then, out of nowhere, her eyes filled with tears.

“You’re too much,” a voice whispered inside her head. “You always overreact. Why can’t you just let things go?”

She pressed her lips together. Blinked hard. Took a slow breath.

She hadn’t even realized how close to the edge she was. She thought she was fine.

She’d been telling herself she was fine for months.

But standing there, staring at one broken nail, something quiet and honest rose up inside her. Not shame this time. Something softer.

It wasn’t just the nail that broke.

She had been breaking. Slowly. Quietly. Piece by piece, in all the places no one could see — carrying conversations alone, needing things she never said out loud, holding herself together with a smile and a full calendar and a coffee cup that never quite got finished.

The nail just said it first.

A Word From God

“Wherefore, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath.”

— James 1:19, KJV

We often read this verse as a correction — like God is pointing a finger at our anger. But what if He’s also pointing to something deeper? What if being slow to wrath means giving yourself enough time and safety to feel what’s really underneath it?

Anger doesn’t come from nowhere. It has roots. And God isn’t afraid of yours.

Going Deeper: What Was Underneath?

Here’s something worth sitting with: the emotion that finally surfaces isn’t always the one that started the fire.

Terri wasn’t just angry about being talked over. She was tired of being unseen. She was grieving the kind of closeness she longed for but didn’t know how to ask for. She was carrying weeks of emotional weight with nowhere safe to put it — and that drawer caught what her heart had been holding.

That’s not overreacting. That’s being human.

In CBT — a kind of thought work that helps us examine our patterns — there’s a powerful question we can ask after a big emotional reaction:

“What emotion was underneath my reaction?”

Not to shame yourself for how you responded. But to get curious. To trace the feeling back to its roots, because that’s where the real healing lives.

When you find that tender place underneath — the loneliness, the exhaustion, the longing to be heard — you can bring it to God instead of keeping it locked in a drawer.

He can hold it. He wants to.

Your Journal Prompt

What did my anger try to protect today?

Take a few minutes to write without editing yourself. What were you feeling before the reaction happened? What had you been holding without naming? What did you need that you hadn’t asked for? Let the page hear what you’ve been keeping quiet.

A Prayer for When You’ve Surprised Yourself

Lord, thank You for not turning away from my messy moments. I don’t always understand my own reactions — but You do. Help me pause before I reach my limit. Help me bring what I feel to You before it builds into something I can’t carry alone.

Teach me to be swift to hear — to listen to my own heart, and to Yours. Show me what’s underneath my anger. Heal what’s been breaking quietly. I don’t want to just hold it together. I want to be whole.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

One Thing to Remember

Your reactions aren’t proof that something is wrong with you. They’re messengers. The next time anger surprises you, don’t just apologize and move on. Get quiet. Get curious. And ask God: what was I really feeling underneath that?

That question — asked honestly and gently — is where healing begins.

✦

Did this story meet you somewhere?

If Terri’s story felt a little too familiar, you’re in the right place. Self-Love Journaling With God is a community for women who are learning to stop performing “fine” and start healing honestly — with their Bibles open and their journals close.

Your Free Gift Is Waiting
Download the Emotional Regulation & Guilt Release Journal Page with Habit Tracker

Terri’s story might have started in a kitchen — but yours continues on the page.

If this resonated with you, I made something just for you. The Emotional Regulation & Guilt Release Journal Page with Habit Tracker is a free, printable journal designed to help you build the daily habits that bring you back to yourself — and back to God — when life gets loud, and your feelings surprise you.

Every day, you’ll have space to track six simple habits:
pausing before you react, praying through guilt, reading God’s Word, journaling your feelings, naming the emotion underneath, and giving yourself one moment of grace.

Because healing isn’t one big breakthrough. It’s thirty small days of choosing to show up — honestly, gently, and with God beside you.

👉 [Click here to download your free tracker]

It’s free. It’s printable. And it was made with you in mind.

Already a subscriber? Check your inbox — it’s on its way to you. Not subscribed yet? Join the Self-Love Journaling With God community on Substack and get this tracker plus weekly stories, scripture, and journal prompts delivered straight to you.

Leave a comment

Maya’s phone kept lighting up beside her Bible.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

She was sitting at the kitchen table with her journal open, trying to spend a few quiet minutes with God before work. Her coffee was warm. The morning was still. But the group chat was already busy.

At first, that chat had felt like a safe place. It was where the women shared prayer requests, funny stories, and weekend plans. But lately, it felt different.

The jokes had become sharper.

The comments felt heavier.

The conversations often turned into gossip.

And every time Maya opened the chat, she left feeling uneasy.

Still, she kept checking it.

She kept responding.

She kept typing “lol” when nothing felt funny.

Because deep down, she believed, If I stop showing up, they’ll forget about me.

That thought made her tired.

Another message popped up. Someone had taken a screenshot of another woman’s post and made fun of her.

Maya’s stomach tightened.

She looked down at her journal. She had written one sentence:

Lord, help me protect what You are healing in me.

She read it again.

Protect what you are healing in me.

For the first time, she wondered if staying connected to everything was costing her peace. Maybe she did not need to explain herself. Maybe she did not need to prove her loyalty by being available for every conversation.

Her inner critic whispered, You’re being too sensitive.

But then another truth rose up, quiet and steady.

Peace matters too.

Maya opened her Bible and read:

“Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee.” — Isaiah 26:3, KJV

Perfect peace.

Not perfect approval.

Not perfect popularity.

Not perfect access.

Peace.

Maya picked up her phone, opened the group chat settings, and tapped mute.

No big announcement.

No anger.

No drama.

Just a small boundary.

Just a quiet yes to peace.

The kitchen did not change. Her coffee was still warm. Her Bible was still open. But something inside Maya settled.

Later that day, one of the women texted her, “You’ve been quiet. You okay?”

The old Maya would have overexplained. She would have apologized and rushed to make everyone comfortable.

This time, she simply typed:

Yes, I’m okay. Just taking some quiet time today.

Then she placed her phone down and breathed.

She realized self-love did not always look like walking away from people. Sometimes it looked like stepping back from the noise so she could hear God again.

That night, Maya wrote in her journal:

I can love people and still protect my peace.

And this time, she believed it.

Reflection: Gentle Action Step

Today, notice one place where your peace feels crowded.

It may be a group chat, a social media page, a conversation, or a habit that leaves you feeling drained, anxious, or uneasy.

Take one gentle step. Mute it for a few hours. Pause before responding. Step away without overexplaining. Then ask God to help you protect what He is healing in you.

Leave a comment

Nia stood in front of the mirror wearing her yellow sweater.

It was soft, bright, and warm, almost like morning sunlight. She bought it two weeks ago because it made her smile in the store. For a moment, she had imagined herself walking into the day with a little more confidence. A little more joy. A little more color.

But now, standing in her bedroom on a regular Tuesday morning, she pulled at the sleeves and frowned.

Her room was quiet except for the hum of the ceiling fan. A pile of clothes sat on the chair beside her. Shoes were scattered near the closet. Her phone buzzed on the bed, but she did not pick it up.

She looked at herself again.

The sweater was not loud.
But it felt loud to her.

She whispered, “Maybe this is too much.”

Then another thought followed so quickly she almost did not catch it.

Maybe I am too much.

Nia’s chest tightened.

It was not really about the sweater. Deep down, she knew that. The sweater had simply touched an old place inside her. A place that remembered being laughed at. A place that remembered being told she was too sensitive, too quiet, too emotional, too serious, too different.

She remembered middle school, walking into class with bright yellow barrettes in her hair. She had loved them that morning. Loved how cheerful they looked. But by lunch, a girl at the table had laughed and said, “You always do the most.”

Everyone else laughed, too.

Nia went home that day and pulled the barrettes out before her mother could ask about them.

She did not know it then, but that moment taught her something. Not the truth, but a lesson her heart carried like truth.

Blend in.
Do not stand out.
Do not give people a reason to notice you.

Over time, Nia learned how to shrink.

She changed her laugh when it felt too loud.
She softened her opinions before she shared them.
She picked clothes that helped her blend into the background.
She stayed quiet even when something inside her wanted to speak.

She became good at being easy to accept.

But easy to accept was not the same as free.

That morning, the yellow sweater felt like a small act of courage. Not because anyone else would understand it, but because Nia did.

She placed her hand over her heart and took a slow breath.

“Lord,” she whispered, “why does being seen feel so scary?”

Her Bible sat on the nightstand, still open from the night before. She picked it up and read the verse she had underlined weeks ago:

“I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvelous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well.” — Psalm 139:14 KJV

Nia read it twice.

Fearfully and wonderfully made.

Not accidentally made.
Not too much made.
Not made to disappear.

She looked back in the mirror. The sweater was still yellow. Her heart was still nervous. But something in her softened.

A thought came gently, like God was meeting her right in the middle of her fear.

You are allowed to be seen.

Nia swallowed.

Then another truth settled in.

You are valuable, even when others do not know how to receive you.

For the first time that morning, she did not look at herself with harsh eyes. She looked with kinder ones.

She did not suddenly feel fearless. Her hands were still a little shaky. Her mind still tried to offer her reasons to change clothes.

But healing does not always begin with a big, brave moment.

Sometimes healing begins when you notice the old thought and choose not to obey it.

Nia looked in the mirror and whispered, “God did not make me to disappear.”

The words felt strange, but true.

She picked up her bag, walked past the pile of clothes on the chair, and left the yellow sweater on.

That day, she walked out the door wearing the color that reminded her she was allowed to be seen.

Heart Lesson

Self-love can begin in small moments.

Sometimes it looks like wearing the sweater, speaking the truth, sharing your voice, or letting yourself be seen, even when your heart feels nervous.

Nia thought, Maybe I am too much.

But the deeper lie was, I have to make myself smaller to be accepted.

Maybe that feels familiar. Maybe rejection taught you to hide, tone down your joy, or blend in to feel safe.

But here is the truth: you are not “too much” because someone did not know how to receive you.

God made you with care. Your voice, tenderness, presence, and story matter to Him.

You do not have to disappear to be loved.

Leave a comment

Tasha set two mugs of tea on the kitchen table.

One was for her.

The other sat across from her, waiting.

The mug was pale blue with a tiny chip near the handle. Steam curled up from it like a soft question. The kitchen smelled like honey, lemon, and rain. Outside, water tapped against the window in slow little beats. The kind of rain that made everything feel quiet.

Too quiet.

Tasha pulled her sweater sleeves over her hands and looked at the empty chair.

Again.

She glanced at the clock on the wall, then at her phone.

No call.

No knock.

No footsteps on the porch.

Just one message sitting on the screen.

Sorry. Something came up.

She read it three times, even though the words did not change.

No real reason.
No new plan.
No, “I hate to miss this.”
No “Can we try again tomorrow?”

Just the same short sentence that always left her feeling small.

Tasha sat down slowly.

The chair across from her stayed empty, but somehow it still felt loud. It reminded her of every time she waited for someone to show up with care and received excuses instead. Every canceled plan. Every late reply. Every promise that sounded sweet but never became action.

She wrapped both hands around her mug.

The tea was warm, but her chest felt tight.

Her first thought came quickly.

Maybe I expected too much.

That thought felt familiar. She had used it many times to calm herself down. It helped her make excuses for people. It helped her explain away disappointment. It helped her pretend that being hurt did not really hurt.

But this time, another thought came.

Quiet.

Sharp.

Honest.

Maybe I keep calling crumbs love because I am afraid to ask for more.

Tasha looked away from the chair.

That thought hurt more than the canceled plans.

Because deep down, she knew this was not just about tea.

It was about the space she kept saving in her life for someone who kept leaving her waiting.

Not just at tables.

In her heart, too.

She thought about all the times she softened the truth so the relationship would not feel uncomfortable. All the times she said, “It’s okay,” when it was not okay. All the times she told herself to be understanding, patient, and kind while ignoring the part of her that felt unseen.

Tasha loved being caring.

But she was beginning to wonder when caring had turned into carrying.

Carrying disappointment.
Carrying excuses.
Carrying the fear that if she asked for consistency, she might lose the connection completely.

She took a slow breath and looked down at her Bible, still sitting near the edge of the table. She had placed it there that morning, telling herself she would read “just one verse” before the day got busy.

Now it felt like God had been waiting at the table too.

Tasha opened it and found Proverbs 4:23.

“Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life.” — Proverbs 4:23 KJV

She read it once.

Then again.

Keep thy heart.

The words felt firm, but not harsh.

For a long time, Tasha thought guarding her heart meant becoming cold. Shutting people out. Acting like she did not care. Building walls so high that no one could reach her.

But sitting there with two cups of tea and one empty chair, she saw it differently.

Guarding her heart did not mean she had to stop loving.

It meant she had to stop handing her heart to patterns that kept bruising it.

It meant she could be kind without ignoring the truth.

It meant she could forgive without pretending neglect was love.

It meant she could make room for people who showed care, respect, and consistency, without chasing the ones who only showed up when it was easy.

Tasha looked at the untouched mug across from her.

The tea was no longer steaming.

She stood up, picked it up, and walked to the sink.

For a moment, she paused.

Then she poured it out.

Not out of bitterness.

Not out of revenge.

Not because she stopped caring.

But because something inside her was finally telling the truth.

She did not have to keep setting a place for someone who kept teaching her to feel alone.

When she came back to the table, the chair was still empty.

But this time, it did not feel like proof that she was unwanted.

It felt like an invitation.

An invitation to stop making excuses for what kept hurting her.

An invitation to let God teach her what love should look like.

An invitation to guard her heart with wisdom, not fear.

Tasha picked up her own mug and took a sip.

The tea was still warm.

And for the first time that evening, so was she.

Reflection: Journal Prompt

Where have I been accepting less than care, respect, or consistency because I am afraid to lose connection?

As you journal, be gentle with yourself. Do not shame yourself for what you accepted when you were trying to feel loved. Just tell the truth to God.

You can start with:

Lord, show me where I have been calling crumbs love. Help me receive the kind of love that honors my heart, not just my loyalty.

Leave a comment