On August 2nd 2022, I held his hand, the same way I did on our wedding day, when he took his last breath. Exactly one year later, I woke up paralysed, struck by FND.
This is not therapy. It is raw, sacred survival.
A sanctuary for shattered souls, where grief howls, rage prays, and healing is slow and shared.
No platitudes. No pressure to “overcome.”
Just real stories, real scars, and a voice whispering:
“Me too. This still hurts. Let us sit in the holy dark together.”
Welcome to a sanctuary for shattered souls:
Where grief is not fixed, it is honoured.
Where pain is not silenced, it is sung.
Here, we lament loudly, not with advice, but with Psalm-style howls.
We honour wounds that still throb…I am not “healed”; I am healing beside you.
We reclaim broken dates, August 2nd: death → paralysis → resurrection.
Vision & Purpose
This is not therapy, not coaching, not preaching. It is witness-bearing…
It is about:
Public storytelling as communal healing ❤️🩹
Amplifying voices of lament in a world that rushes grief 🗣️
Scars as sacred maps for others in darkness 🗺️
Solidarity through testimony, not solutions
Format: 15-30-mins weekly episodes; 3 segments: Story, Scripture, Solidarity
I will be starting solo not because my voice is enough, but because His voice in my suffering is the whole point…
