Search Results

Life hasn't been simple. I've had to start over in new places more than once, carrying not just belongings but heavy emotions too. There have been times when trust was broken by people I thought would stand by me, and seasons when I felt invisible or betrayed. Those scars are part of me. They remind me of nights I cried in silence, days I felt too tired to try again, and moments when survival seemed like the only goal. Being a mother, beginning again in a new country, and learning to rebuild while carrying both responsibility and fear, these are not easy stories to tell. Survival has meant working through exhaustion, loneliness, and the pressure of being "strong" when inside I was breaking. But even in those hardest moments, I found small reasons to keep going: my children's laughter, the quiet comfort of prayer, and the realization that each day survived was already a victory. Not everything is darkness. Alongside the scars, there have always been stars that were small shining reminders that hope was still possible. Sometimes they appeared in the kindness of strangers. Sometimes in the pages of scripture when I needed a word of reassurance. And sometimes in myself, in resilience I didn't know I even had. Those stars don't erase the scars but they shine alongside them, and together, they make up my story of survival. This is where my writing begins because it's the truest reflection of who I am: someone shaped by pain, but also guided by hope. This is not a story of perfection or even of constant strength. It's a story of learning, healing, and holding on. If you've ever felt broken but kept moving forward, then you already know what it means to live with both scars and stars. This is just the beginning of my journey here. I hope my stories remind you that you're not alone. What has your own journey of survival taught you?

I met him in 2004. It was a despedida party because my sister and I were leaving for Japan and he was there with his brother, who was my sister’s boyfriend at the time. Among all the noise and laughter that night, he stood out without trying. He was tall, handsome, and kind of funny. I noticed him and he immediately became my crush that night, though neither of us knew what that moment would grow into. Months later, while I was in Japan, I saw him again through a screen. My sister was chatting with her boyfriend, and I saw him pass behind the camera. Without thinking, I teased, “uyyy si papa (insert his name).” My sister told him what I said so I blushed. It was small and innocent, but somehow it stayed with us. A year later, I returned to the Philippines to continue college and celebrate my 18th birthday. Before my birthday, my sister would take me out with her friends and her boyfriend would always be there and so would he. They always came together and somehow, without planning it, my sister and her boyfriend would go missing, leaving the two of us talking. It felt easy and natural like we already knew each other. I saved his number on my phone and named it papa (insert his name). When he found out, he laughed and saved mine the same way, mama (insert my name). That was how we were. Playful, warm, and already close before we ever knew what we were becoming. We fell in love without effort. Without confusion. Without fear. We didn’t circle each other cautiously. We recognized each other right away. On my 18th birthday, he was there. He was my 18th rose. And from then on, the love only grew. Just a month after we knew we were deeply in love. We chose an anniversary date because we didn’t really know the exact date when we started being a couple. We chose July 7 and that is when it became my favorite date. One year into our relationship we found out I was pregnant. When my pregnancy became known, I was asked to leave our house. It was kind of old-school but in our family when you get pregnant, you have to leave and be with the man who got you pregnant. My grandmother wanted to keep me, I know she did, but rules were rules, I guess. And so I left and moved with him to his parents' house. I didn’t know what to feel as I was very shy, scared, and confused on what I should do if I face his parents. I was quiet when I faced them. I somehow know they were disappointed and I felt bad because for a person as good as their son, It felt like I was the only mistake he had ever made. But he was so good to me. He made sure that I feel every ounce of love that he had for me and our unborn child. We lived in the same house but in separate rooms. As Christians, there were rules we understood and respected. We weren’t allowed to be together in the same room until we were married. Still, every day, he would come to my room, hold my tummy, and reassure me that we would be okay. We started building dreams quietly. He promised he would work hard, save money, and by January of 2008 he would get even a small place of our own. He promised he would bring me to Europe one day. He promised we would have a happy life together. Before our wedding day, he asked me to pray with him. Not out of fear, and not because anyone forced us but because he wanted to do what was right. We prayed together and asked God for forgiveness, knowing we were young and that we had made mistakes. He wanted to start our life not pretending we were perfect but being honest before God. And when we got married in May 2007, he stood before our church and apologized publicly. As Christians, we felt it mattered. Not to be shamed, but to be accountable. That moment said everything about the kind of man he was. Humble, sincere, and deeply grounded in faith. He didn’t hide. He took responsibility. He wanted our marriage to begin with truth. In those two years that we were together as boyfriend and girlfriend, and later as husband and wife, we never fought. Not even once. When I wasn’t in the mood, he knew exactly how to make me laugh. He didn’t know how to be angry. He was steady in a way that made everything feel lighter. Our son was born in July of the same year. Caring for our baby together was both exhausting and effortless. He was a loving partner and a devoted father. After I gave birth, I struggled to recover. I relied too much on my abdominal binder, and when I took it off, I couldn’t feel my feet so I couldn’t walk without it. He carried me. He bathed me. He washed me. He took care of me without complaint, and I could feel that he loved doing it. I still remember him looking at me and saying, “I’m so proud of you.” Months later, he came home from work not feeling well. He told me he thought he wouldn’t be able to make it home that day. I told him we should bring him to the hospital but he didn’t want to so I told him to rest and insisted he stay home the next day because he still wanted to go to work. That day, I took care of him. I checked on him constantly, but he didn’t improve. By the next morning, my father-in-law took him to the hospital, and he was not allowed to leave the hospital anymore. His heart had tripled in size. He was diagnosed with a rare congenital disease no one knew he had until that moment. No one in that hospital had ever operated on someone with his condition before. They were taking pictures of him like he was a case study so his parents and I eventually had to make a hard decision, we requested his transfer to the Philippine Heart Center, where one of the country’s best cardiothoracic surgeons is. When the doctor finally spoke to me, he asked what I wanted to do. He said without surgery, his heart would burst within two days. With surgery, his chance of survival, well he said just to give me something, it was five percent. I took the five percent and prayed. Before the surgery, as the nurse prepared him, he told the nurse we would all see each other after. He looked at our son’s photo and cried, telling me how much he missed him so I told him to get better, so we could go home together. He went into surgery. He remained in a coma for a week. They tried to revive him in front of us, but he didn’t come back. That image stayed with me for a very long time. He didn’t leave because he stopped loving us. He left because his body failed him. Life continued, because it had to. And I learned how to survive again. But writing this now, I realize the truth that it still hurts. I wish I had been given more time with him. I wish our son had been given more time to know his father. I wish we had celebrated even one anniversary together. I’ve only found peace believing that he is now with Jesus. Free from pain and free from a body that betrayed him. And sometimes, quietly, I hope that even with my messy life today, he would still be proud of me.

I used to believe marriage was forever, that once you say I do, it means you never let go no matter how hard things get. My dream was simple: to have a complete and happy family. For years, that dream kept me holding on, even when everything inside me was falling apart. We were together for fourteen years, married for seven. To others, we looked like the perfect couple but people around us only see the smiles not the moments in between. They don't see how slowly things change, how you start to lose yourself trying to hold everything together. I'm not a perfect wife, I guess nobody is. There were moments when things between us got difficult and I would say things out of frustration, like wanting to separate even if I never truly meant it. I only wanted him to fight for us, to make me feel like our marriage was still worth saving. I guess when love is already fragile, even words said in pain can push two people further apart. But relationships don't fall apart because of one moment or one person. It takes two hearts slowly drifting in different directions. And when he finally decided to let go, I realized that sometimes no matter how much you want to stay, you can't do it alone. It became one of the most difficult seasons of my life, a time filled with tears, prayers, and questions I didn't know how to answer. I wanted my family to heal. I wanted to feel seen and loved again. But nothing changed, no matter how much I tried. One night, I realized I had been praying for the wrong thing. Instead of asking God to fix what was already gone, I prayed for strength to surrender what I can't change. I prayed for healing, for myself, for him, and for our children. And I prayed for something I never thought I would, I asked God to take away my love for him. Because I knew it only hurt so much because I still loved him. And little by little, I began to feel lighter. The pain didn't disappear overnight, but my heart started to rest. I don't claim to know what God truly wants, I think none of us do. But I believe He doesn't want us to live in pain forever. I believe He meets us where we are broken and helps us find peace, even when the path looks nothing like we imagined. Letting go wasn't just a gift for him. It was also a gift for myself and for my kids. It gave us all a chance to breathe, to heal, and to start again. For so many years, I forgot that I also deserve to be happy. I poured everything into keeping my family together, not realizing I was slowly losing myself. Freeing him also meant freeing me, giving myself the chance to love myself again, to rebuild the pieces of who I was before the pain. Letting go became a way of saying to myself: you deserve peace too. And I believe that's something God wants for all of us. Not endless suffering but the courage to seek peace when love has turned into pain. If someone asks for freedom because they no longer love you or because they want something or someone else, give it to them. Not because you don't care, but because you do. Love doesn't have to mean holding on at all costs. Sometimes, the greatest act of love is to release them, even when it breaks you. You'll save yourself years of trying to fix what can't be fixed, and you'll give yourself the chance to heal sooner. You'll still grieve, you'll still cry. But one day, the peace that follows will remind you that letting go wasn't your loss. It was your beginning. The Bible says, "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." (Psalm 34:18) That verse carried me through my darkest nights. It reminded me that even when love ends, His grace doesn't. So if you're in that place where everything hurts, please know this.. Letting go doesn't mean you stopped loving. It means you're choosing peace over pain. It means you're finally giving yourself the chance to live the life God is gently leading you toward. One filled with peace, healing, and hope.

I first came to Canada from the Philippines believing it would be a new beginning, a chance to rebuild life with hope and determination. But only a few months after arriving, life changed in ways I never imagined. The foundation I had built cracked, and suddenly everything I thought I could rely on was gone. To survive, I took on two full time jobs. Doing this meant I could provide for my kids but it also meant sacrificing almost everything else. Sleep was rare. Many times I stayed awake for 35 to 46 hours straight, working shift after shift and then coming home to care for my kids. My body was running on empty, but stopping didn't feel like an option. I remember one night at work, I was sitting in front of the computer with tears that wouldn't stop. Silent cries that shook me inside, the kind where you want to scream but nothing comes out. My eyes were swollen but tears still kept falling uncontrollably. I tried to keep working but my mind couldn't focus, and my stress made me sick that I had to run to the washroom a lot of times to throw up. Then I had to return to my desk because I had no choice but to keep going. On nights like that, I would put on In Jesus Name by Katy Nichole and whisper the lyrics as a prayer to myself. That song became my lifeline when I didn't have the strength to pray my own words. Sometimes after those night shifts, I would just walk home for about 40 mins even if it was very cold. Sometimes it's because I had missed the bus and I had to go home to my kids right away, other times it's because I was trying to save up because as soon as payday comes, almost everything just disappears. By the time rent was paid, I was left with nothing and sometimes, just a few cents. Starting over in this country was really hard. It came with a lot of heartbreak and disappointment, and I learned slowly and painfully that not everyone I reached for was trustworthy. Even those who appeared good and religious could sometimes hurt you with their words and actions. The weight of it all pressed so heavily on me that I often wished people could be more discerning, more unselfish, that they could see how their choices might either ease someone's burden or make it heavier. In the middle of it all, my deepest fear was the questions that never left me. That if I try to move forward, will I ever be enough for my kids? Strong enough to raise them on my own, to give them the stability and love they deserve? Yet in those moments of doubt, God reminded me that His strength is made perfect in weakness, and that with Him, I could be enough. This pushed me to move forward and take my children and start over in a place where we could finally breathe again. When we moved into a new house, we had nothing with us but clothes, so we laid out our winter jackets on the floor and slept there. But for the first time in a long time, we felt safe. We felt free. We felt peace. It wasn't easy. There were days when I had to rely on food banks just to make sure we had enough to eat. But then only two months after settling into our new place, I was able to buy a second hand car using my tax return. That car was a great blessing. It means my kids and I don't have to walk to school, and work at -40 ° C. No more tears too for my daughter who would usually cry when we wait for the bus in the freezing cold. That moment felt like God's quiet reminder that things, though still hard, were slowly getting better. A year later, we had to move again. It came with new adjustments, new schools, new job, and new routines. But this time, we weren't as fragile as before. We were stronger, more grounded, and ready to keep moving forward. Through it all, God has been my strength. He has carried me and my kids through nights of exhaustion, and days when I didn't know how we would keep going. And every morning when I wake up and see my kids beside me, I know that simply having them with me is enough reason to keep believing in a better tomorrow. It is not easy to rebuild when you feel empty but survival itself is proof of strength. And no matter how slow the healing, with God, hope always finds a way.