Rise in Glow

 

by Dr. J. Bliss

I never realized how important I was

until I imagined myself no longer here.

That moment shifted everything.

I could suddenly smell the roses, feel the breeze with a deeper breath, and sense the truth vibrating at its highest frequency —

I am precious, powerful, and priceless.

Because I’m the only version of me this world will ever know.

I fell in love with the author I am, the editor I am, the educator I am.

And I finally understood that my nurturing nature wasn’t something motherhood gave me — it was always mine.

Motherhood enhanced it, but I was born with it.

Softness didn’t come from who I serve… it was gifted for me to experience first.

Recently, I told my students before spring break:

“Give yourself at least one hour. Just one — that belongs to you.”

I reminded them that one day, they’ll have to parent themselves.

And the small ways they care for themselves now?

That’s practice.

That’s training for the future.

Even in the classroom, I advocate for self-care — because no setting makes it less necessary.

Just before my cycle, I went to get a pedicure. My nail tech asked,

“How do you make time for yourself when you have so much to do?”

I smiled.

Because a few weeks ago, someone had tried to challenge me by saying:

“Well, there are only 24 hours in a day.”

As if I needed the reminder.

As if I didn’t know the cost of trying to pour from an empty body.

But here’s what I’ve learned:

I am worthy of those hours.

Everyone has to figure out how to make time for themselves —

that’s a choice.

And my zero tolerance for self-neglect isn’t just a boundary —

it’s survival.

Prioritizing myself isn’t selfish.

It’s essential.

Paying the light bill is essential.

Keeping car insurance is vital.

So is caring for myself.

I no longer debate that truth.

I no longer delay what’s necessary for my peace.

Society told me it was selfish to focus on myself. That I should be selfless and serve my family first.

But what if I’m the first part of that family?

What if I teach my family by showing them that I matter, too?

The only person responsible for how I value me… is me.

Slowing down to take a child to the doctor? That’s expected.

Slowing down to get the car repaired? Somehow, we make time.

So why wouldn’t I slow down to align my energy,

to listen to my breath,

to feel joy rising in my bones?

God created me meticulously and purposely.

How dare I not take the time to enjoy the details?

I grow and glow by nurturing myself.

The moment I stop watering a plant, it withers.

And I’m not interested in dying.

I’m interested in rising.

Rising as I glow.

Glowing as I flow.

With grace. With power. With softness.

Returning to Softness: My Self-Resurrection Date

This morning, I woke up beneath the weight of too many yesterdays. 

Grief, betrayal, and exhaustion all clung to my skin like a second shadow. I didn’t feel strong or inspired—I just felt tired, and if I’m honest, I didn’t feel okay.

But somewhere deep down, a gentle voice nudged me: Today, you can choose softness.

So, I did.

I whispered to myself: My softness is sacred. I am allowed to be still and bloom. I am safe in my body.

And with those words, I began to gather myself—piece by piece, breath by breath.

I let the sauna hold me first. The warmth melted my stress and quieted my racing thoughts. Each time old anxieties tried to return, I repeated my truth: I am allowed to be still. I am home within.

While I rested, the scent of rosemary potatoes filled my home, a promise of nourishment waiting on the other side of stillness. I took my time—there was no rush.

After my sauna, I drew a bubble bath, and mixed a sweet-pea sugar scrub with the most loving hands. I caressed every inch of my body, whispering affirmations to my skin:

I am here. I am whole. I am blooming.

It wasn’t just about pampering. It was about reclaiming. About being present in my body, letting each touch say, You are safe here. You are worthy of care.

Emerging from the bath, I felt new.

I slipped into a colorful, flowy dress—a celebration of my softness and a small rebellion against every day I felt unseen. I prepared breakfast slowly, feeling nourished inside and out. My skin glowed, and so did something in my spirit.

And then, I decided—today, I will take myself on a resurrection date.

Not to perform or to prove anything, but to simply be. To honor the self that survived, the self that’s still blooming. I’ll go to the park, let the sun and breeze kiss my skin, and let nature remind me:

Softness is strength. Resurrection is possible, every single day.

If you’re reading this and you’re struggling to rise, know this: you don’t have to force it. Invite yourself gently back home. Even the smallest act of care is an act of courage.

You are worthy of softness. You are worthy of beginning again. 

I am here. I am whole. I am blooming.

🌿 Softness Is Sacred

 

By Dr. J. Bliss

Today, I chose myself.

I shut the world out, turned inward, and created a sanctuary of stillness and care.
There was no rushing. No apologizing. No proving.
Just presence.

From the affirmations on my wall to the herbal steam rising beneath me, every moment was a quiet offering. A soft devotion.

I sat on my yoni steam with herbs curated not just for my body, but for my spirit — for my nervous system, my womb, and the part of me that carries what I don’t say out loud.
Then, I entered the sauna. I soaked in love. I poured warm water. I applied oils.
Every drop… a reminder: “You are seen. You are valued. You are supported.”

As women, our bodies hold so much — especially in the days leading up to our cycle.
We deserve rituals that help us release, reset, and reconnect.

Incorporating herbs into the sauna allowed my skin, my womb, and my breath to receive what they’ve needed all along: peace, warmth, and restoration.

No guilt.
No explaining.
Just intentional rest.

We are allowed to pause.
We are allowed to tend to ourselves.
And today, I did just that.

Softness doesn’t mean silence.
It doesn’t mean shrinking.
It means choosing to be whole — without apology.

If this resonates with you, let it be your reminder:
You are worth tending to.
You are worthy of your own devotion.

I write these softness letters for the women learning to return home to themselves.

You’re always welcome here. 🌿

“Come On, Baby Girl…”: A Love Letter to My Body Before My Cycle

 By: Dr. J.

For years, I thought nurturing was something I only gave others. I thought the soft, intuitive part of me existed only for mothering, loving, serving — and that to use it on myself was selfish or unnecessary.

But something shifted recently.

I woke up in the middle of the night with a headache. My first instinct was to ignore it, to roll over and “push through.” But then I imagined one of my children waking me up in pain. I wouldn’t hesitate for them — I’d get up, comfort them, care for them without a second thought.

So I got up ‘for me’.

Downstairs, I whispered to myself, “Come on, baby girl…” and I meant it. I poured a glass of mint and cucumber water, added lemon and a pinch of salt under my tongue, and applied lavender and peppermint oils to my neck and arms. I rested with my eye massager and neck stretcher while the scent of essential oils wrapped around me like a lullaby. Within minutes, the pain began to lift.

It wasn’t just the water or the oils that helped. It was how I showed up for myself.

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A Ritual, Not a Routine

The next morning, I didn’t abandon that tenderness. I continued it — because I know what my body needs as my cycle approaches: softness, grounding, peace.

I prepared more infused waters — cucumber and basil, mint and lemon — and then sat on my personal yoni steam pot, breathing in a healing blend of herbs: jasmine, wormwood, rose petals, mint leaves, dandelion, and more. As the steam rose, so did my affirmations:

“My softness is sacred.”
“I am grounded in my truth.”
“I am safe in my body.”
“I don’t need to be needed to be worthy.”

Later, I stepped into my portable sauna with those same herbs, allowing them to rise again through my pores. My house smelled like lavender and freedom.

I wasn’t rushing. I wasn’t “checking off” self-care.
I was creating a sanctuary — from the inside out.

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Meals Made with Love (for Me)

Lunch was avocado toast with tomato and red onion, paired with a green salad full of strawberries, blue cheese, and candied pecans. For dinner, I grilled salmon, toasted bread, and made another salad because my body said yes to nourishment.

I sipped coconut water in a wine glass, not for the aesthetic — but because I deserve joy in the details.

I ended the day under a weighted blanket, watching an episode of Elementary, feeling warm, whole, and deeply tended to.

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This is Cycle Care. This is Self-Mothering. This is Me.

Too many women wait until they’re burned out to rest. We call it “strength” when we ignore our bodies. But true strength?
It’s listening.
It’s responding.
It’s loving ourselves the way we love everyone else.

And this was just one day.

I plan to share more of my rituals and reflections, especially as I care for myself before and during my cycle. Because our stress matters. Our breath matters. Our softness is not a luxury — it’s sacred.

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How do you care for yourself when your body speaks?

Leave a comment below or share this with a woman who needs a reminder:
You don’t have to earn rest. You are worthy of care — right now.