This one’s sneaky. It doesn’t always look like applause-chasing—it might just look like perfectionism, overthinking, or constant self-editing. The desire to be approved can masquerade as humility, but underneath, it’s often fear: fear of being rejected, misunderstood, or exposed as “not enough.” And let’s be honest—living for approval is exhausting. No matter how much praise we get, it’s never quite enough to quiet the fear of disapproval. But what if we didn’t need it anymore? What if faithfulness—not approval—was enough? In this blog, we’re breaking down the craving for approval, and what it looks like to finally be free.

This one hits close to home. We all want to feel included, respected, and valued—and being consulted can feel like proof of that. But what happens when we’re left out of the loop? When decisions are made without us and we start spiraling—not because we weren’t informed, but because we weren’t needed? That sting isn’t just hurt feelings—it might be pride in disguise. This blog digs into the quiet ache of wanting to be consulted and what it reveals about our hearts. Because when Jesus frees us from that need, we stop chasing influence and start living in trust. Want to know what that kind of freedom feels like? Keep reading.

What if the thing we crave most—recognition, applause, a simple “thank you”—is quietly stealing our peace? Wanting to be honored doesn’t sound harmful, but when we need it to feel worthy, it becomes a trap. We start performing instead of serving, comparing instead of celebrating, aching when others get the spotlight. This blog isn’t about rejecting honor—it’s about releasing the hunger for it. Because when Jesus lifts that weight, we find a deeper freedom: to serve without needing credit, to cheer for others without resentment, and to finally rest in the truth that His love is enough. Ready to let go?

We don’t just want to be noticed—we want to be celebrated. But when the applause goes to someone else, or the spotlight skips us entirely, something deeper stirs: the ache to be extolled. In today’s reflection, we confront that subtle hunger for praise—the sting of invisibility, the quiet comparison, the moments we wish someone would just say it. But Jesus doesn’t shame us for that desire—He invites us to be free of it. Because the recognition we’re chasing? We’ve already received it from Heaven.

This line stings for a reason: “From the desire of being loved… deliver me, Jesus.” Because for most of us, it’s not pride—it’s pain. We crave love not to feel powerful, but to feel safe. Today’s reflection calls out the quiet compromises we make just to feel wanted, the moments we lose ourselves to avoid rejection, and the deep ache that keeps us clinging to counterfeit affection. But there’s a better way—a love that doesn’t require shrinking, striving, or surviving.

Yesterday at Mass—during a moment I’ve lived thousands of times—God revealed something to my knower, not my mind or my heart, but a deep, undeniable knowing: this wasn’t just a Communion line, it was a bridal march. The entire Church rising, moving forward together, wasn’t just ritual—it was the Bride walking toward her Bridegroom. Suddenly, I saw it: every Communion is a wedding, every step a vow, every reception a union where the two truly become one. And now, I’ll never walk that aisle the same way again.

Let’s be real—most of us want to be liked. Admired. Esteemed. But what happens when that desire starts to own us? In today’s dive into the Litany of Humility, we confront a truth we don’t want to admit: the craving for esteem can quietly hijack our peace. Through honest reflection, a few gut-check red flags, and a bold invitation to surrender the need to be noticed, this post doesn’t just challenge your pride—it offers a way out.

You’ve started to see pride for what it really is—not power, but protection. And now, you might be ready for something deeper. But pride can’t just be fixed—it has to be surrendered. This blog invites you into the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the safest place for the parts of you that are tired of pretending, performing, and protecting. Before we begin the Litany of Humility, we’re laying it all down—and finding that the way forward isn’t through striving, but through surrender. Tomorrow, the real work begins… one line at a time.

You might not think of yourself as prideful—but pride knows how to stay hidden. It whispers in over-explained apologies, masks itself as confidence, and calls self-protection “strength.” But what if all that striving, spinning, and needing to prove yourself… isn’t power? What if it’s just fear in disguise? In today’s post, we’re getting brutally honest about the pride that’s costing you peace—and the kind of humility that can actually set your soul free. You ready? This one’s a mirror.

Not all pride looks proud. Sometimes it sounds like a prayer request, hides behind a Bible verse, or shows up in a well-curated post. It’s called pridentity—and we’ve all worn it without even realizing. But there’s another way. One that’s quieter, freer, and actually looks like Jesus. In today’s post, we’re naming the disguise and offering something better: a new way to live low, love well, and stop performing. Read now—before pride steals the mic again.

We throw around the word “humility,” but do we even know what it means anymore? Spoiler: it’s not self-hate, it’s not weakness, and it’s definitely not shrinking to make others comfortable. Real humility has power—heaven’s kind. And once you see it clearly, it changes everything. In today’s post, we’re clearing up the confusion and calling out the fake versions. Read now—and get ready to drop the pridentity.

Imagine a world where truth matters more than spin, where leaders listen, and where love wins over ego. Sounds impossible, right? But what if it’s not? What if the key isn’t louder voices—but lower hearts? You’ve seen glimpses of this kind of world before... and it starts with one virtue we’ve nearly forgotten. Read the blog. Let it wreck you—in the best way.

Pride is the reason so much beauty breaks before it has the chance to bloom. It divides, deflects, and destroys—quietly convincing us we’re above correction, above connection. But what if the cure isn’t force or control, but humility? For the next 30 days, we’re choosing the quieter way—the one that listens, softens, and restores. One month. One virtue. And maybe, everything changes.

What if the greatest threat to hell isn’t power—but humility?
In this post, we uncover how Mary’s quiet surrender didn’t just welcome a Savior—it dismantled Satan’s oldest strategy. As we step into Humility Month, discover why pride has no antidote in hell… and how the woman who said yes in secret became a weapon forged in grace. You’ll never look at humility the same way again.

She thought she was preparing for a dream vacation—but Heaven had other plans.
When a last-minute illness threatened everything, something sacred broke through the disappointment. Jesus came to heal—but He didn’t come alone. In this blog, you’ll encounter a love story, a visitation, and a moment that turned ruined plans into holy ground. You won’t believe what happened next.

What if the Rosary wasn’t just a tradition, but a divine strategy given by Mary herself in a moment of spiritual crisis? In this blog, we dive into the powerful origins of the Rosary, how it was handed to St. Dominic as Heaven’s answer to heresy, and why this seemingly simple prayer still holds the power to push back darkness today.

May 13th—the day Mary first appeared at Fatima. I always knew the name, but not the full story. Not the miracle witnessed by tens of thousands. Not the urgent message she brought. Not the quiet truth that we never really responded. What if the peace we’ve prayed for has been waiting on a prayer we were asked to pray all along? I’m still discovering what her visit meant then—and what it might still mean now.

“Happy Mother’s Day” used to sound simple. Now, for many, it echoes with complexity—grief, longing, resentment, or quiet survival. But what if the heart of motherhood isn’t just about who raised us or who we’ve raised—but what we’ve inherited, what we redeem, and the grace to leave something better? In this blog, we’re digging into Maternal Grace—the kind that heals the past and reshapes the future.

I wasn’t trying to be holy—I was just tired of snapping at my husband and drowning in laundry. So I threw out a challenge to Mary (yes, that Mary) to prove she was more than just a pretty nativity scene. What happened next? Let’s just say… things got sparkly. And soft. And weirdly peaceful. Was it coincidence—or something divine?
And if Mary is still active, still powerful, and still watching... what does that mean for the rest of us?
Come see what I discovered—and why I’m starting to think she’s not done mothering yet.

Most Christians wouldn’t dare say it out loud—but the moment the name Mary is mentioned, something in the room shifts. Eyes dart. Walls go up.

What if we’ve been so busy avoiding her… we’ve missed something sacred?

This post might just be the start of a conversation you never thought you’d have—but desperately need to.

Ready to go there?