May’s Last Light: What I’ve Learned in the Shadows

“Some truths only bloom in the dark.”

I didn’t set out to write a confessional. I didn’t plan to walk into May carrying old echoes and soft bruises beneath my skin. I thought I was curating—aesthetic posts, moody poems, writing updates.

But something deeper happened.

May didn’t just become a month of sharing. It became a month of shedding.

Each piece I posted felt like a candle lit in a quiet room, revealing not only what I create, but why I create. The Lantern I Carry was never just about stories. It was about staying. Surviving. Speaking from the fog.

And in that fog…something spoke back.

The Month the Fog Spoke Back

There were days when my words felt like bone—fragile, aching, ancient. And yet, I wrote them anyway. The Hollowed One. The Bone Garden. The Ghost Who Watches Me Write. Even Adonai in the Gray.

Those were more than blog posts. They were soul-notes. Whispers from beneath the surface, written in ink made of memory and marrow.

To explore grief, spiritual stillness, longing, and wounds not quite healed. It wasn’t tidy. It wasn’t scheduled content. It was confession in disguise.

And confession is rarely loud. It comes in sighs. In shadows. In the click of a keyboard at midnight, when your heart knows something your mind hasn’t yet named.

I didn’t find answers this month. I found echoes.
And somehow, they sounded like me.

Lessons from the Shadows

This isn’t a list. It’s a murmur. A collection of soul-thoughts May left on my doorstep.

Clarity doesn’t always arrive like thunder.
Sometimes, it slips in through a half-open window and settles on the page like dust.
Ghosts and heartbreaks? They’re not just hauntings. They’re teachers—persistent, poetic ones.
You can hold sacred things and shattered things in the same hands. And you don’t have to choose.
The voice I was trying to find wasn’t missing. It was just quieter than the noise.
Turns out, it was mine all along.

I came looking for signs.
But sometimes, the sign is simply:
you’re still here.

The Light That Remains

I won’t pretend May tied every thread in a pretty, pastel bow. That’s not the kind of month it was.

But it gave me something better: it illuminated. Corners of my heart I hadn’t swept. Old mirrors I hadn’t dared to look into. It showed me that healing doesn’t always feel like triumph. It often feels like telling the truth out loud.

To those of you walking through your own shadows: may you feel a little less alone. May you know that the lantern you carry doesn’t have to blaze. It just has to stay lit.

I’m grateful for May—not because it fixed me, but because it didn’t ask me to be fixed.

It asked me to listen.
To write.
To feel.

The shadows didn’t steal my light.
They shaped it.
And now I carry it forward—
flickering, yes,
but still burning.

I thank you for walking along this journey with me. Your support, your presence, all of it means so much more than you know.

What did you learn in the hush of this month?
What has the darkness whispered to you lately?