One of the most beautiful mysteries of faith to me is free will - that God, with all His power, could have made us love Him… but He didn’t. He let us choose. To choose our path. To choose even Him.

And more often than not, we choose the path away from Him - the path of separation, of spiritual and soul destruction.

For generations, we have inherited stories, beliefs, and patterns, many given with wounds, some with love, and others shaped by survival. We become what we need to be - to belong, to be safe, to be loved, to make sense of a world we never got to choose.

But only if we are lucky enough, by the grace of God - life will become so hard, so unbearable, the weight so heavy, the pain so deep, that we will have no choice but to seek change. To seek Him.

And in that breaking, the re-birth begins. God enters through the wounds.

It was never about becoming someone new. It was always about remembering, reclaiming, and re-growing, aligning mind, body, and soul with what was always meant to be.

The Tree of Life was planted in us from the beginning.
A divine design, not just a symbol but a structure - our antenna to God, our connection to His wisdom and will.

Its roots are the body, grounding us in the physical world.
Its trunk is the mind, shaping perception, choices, and understanding.
Its branches are the spirit, reaching toward heaven, toward truth, toward God Himself.

When all three - mind, body, and spirit - are in harmony, the Tree of Life flourishes within us. We walk in alignment. We move with God, not against Him. We live with clarity, with purpose, with faith unshaken.

But the world taught us to forget.
To cut the roots, cloud the mind, silence the spirit. To live in survival, disconnected from our source.

Yet the Tree was never gone - only neglected. And when we return to it, when we tend to what was always there,
we return to the truth.

My family did give me love. Love was never the problem.

But love doesn’t always arrive whole. In my family, it carried the weight of unspoken pain, love that was never taught, love that was often not returned, love that came with conditions, love that was tired and broken before it ever had the chance to grow.

The real story behind it? Trauma - silent, inherited, passed down like a family heirloom. It moved through generations, shaping identities, choices, survival instincts… and even love stories.

Until it ran into me.

For years, I let that same heirloom shape me into someone I was not. Until one day, I decided - it ends here.

I was the one who finally stopped running. The one who asked the hard questions. The one who refused to pass it down any further.

This is where the journey began - not just mine, but the one that would finally break the cycle.

The one that would heal my Tree of Life and reconnect all the dots that had been lost for generations.

The magical part? The pattern is always the same - the family story is just different.

We all heal the same.

For years, I shaped myself into what I thought I needed to be - to belong, to be safe, to make sense of a world that often didn’t make sense to me. I built identities like armor, each one protecting me from something I wasn’t ready to face. But survival isn’t the same as living. The real awakening came when those identities began to crack, when the life I had carefully constructed no longer fit, and something deeper - something truer - started calling me back.

Even though everything happened suddenly, like one awakening, returning to myself wasn’t a single moment. It was a process of remembering, of peeling back layers, of learning how to exist without the masks I once relied on. It was uncomfortable, messy, and at times, terrifying. It still sometimes is.

But on the other side of it, I found something I never expected - peace, connection, and a home within myself that had always been waiting.

I didn’t just find the truth.
I returned to it.