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ⓒphoto from dreamstime |
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ⓒphoto from dreamstime |
So, before anything else, remember this: the most important foundation of marriage is God. When He is at the center of your relationship, love becomes stronger, forgiveness comes easier, and every challenge becomes a little lighter.
These 20 tips are helpful, but they work best when your marriage is anchored in faith and guided by Him.
So, follow these tips, embrace the chaos, and remember: if you can survive assembling IKEA furniture together without filing for divorce, you’re probably doing just fine.
For nine long years, I served as a nurse in Saudi Arabia—an Overseas Filipino Worker who built a life of discipline, hard work, and quiet sacrifice. But one day, I felt a gentle nudge in my spirit. It was time to come home. With peace in my heart and big dreams for my future, I returned to the Philippines permanently—or so I thought.
At first, everything fell beautifully into place. My husband and I rented our own space—our little sanctuary we long dreamed of. We lived simply but freely, finally able to buy groceries without checking price tags twice. It felt like a dream unfolding. But reality has a way of shaking even the most hopeful hearts.
Slowly, cracks began to show.
Fear crept in, followed by financial strain, emotional distance, and unspoken thoughts that grew louder in silence. My husband and I began drifting apart—not through fights, but through the kind of quiet disconnect that hurts even more. We stopped communicating the way we used to. We were two people living under one roof, slowly becoming strangers.
One day, we were scheduled to visit my parents—my mom’s birthday. It was a long drive. My husband was visibly tired, emotionally distant, and not himself. Still, I insisted we go. He agreed, but halfway through the ride, he asked for a moment to rest. He was exhausted. Ten minutes passed. He started the car again, wordless and heavy.
Then it happened.
A police checkpoint flagged us down. Our first traffic violation: no seatbelt. I was holding our son in front without a seatbelt—something my husband constantly reminded me about in the past. But that day, he said nothing. And I, lost in my own bubble of concern, ignored it.
They took his license.
The disappointment around me was crushing. The guilt was unbearable. Everyone scolded me. And though my husband didn’t say a word, his silence and expression told me everything: It’s your fault. Those words echoed in my head until they broke me.
The only comfort I found that day was in my father’s silent hug. In his arms, I collapsed. And in that moment, I realized the weight I was carrying—guilt, regret, fear, and shame.
Later that night, my husband held me and opened up. Finally, he shared the burden he’d been hiding. I realized then that he had been hurting too, just in a different way. And that poor communication—the kind that makes you assume the worst—can destroy even the strongest of bonds.
Fast forward to June 2024: I took my NCLEX exam, and by God’s grace, I passed. I was accepted into the same hospital where my husband worked. We felt aligned again, our dreams colliding into one shared purpose.
But happiness was layered. Beneath the surface, our finances were crumbling. Inflation spiraled. Bills piled up. And by New Year’s Day, we felt the weight of it all. No joy. No celebration. Just silence. I locked myself in the bathroom and cried like I had never cried before. I felt abandoned—even by God. I stopped praying. I stopped going to church. I was angry with Him. Why wasn’t He listening?
That night, I had a dream.
I was sitting alone on sand, wrapped in peace. No worries. No fear. Then, someone called my name. A man—about my age—held my hand, and we walked together in silence. It felt so real. I woke up sobbing. And for the first time in a long time, I prayed again. “God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t understand.”
Just when I thought we were finding our footing, life threw another blow. My husband was diagnosed with bilateral antrochoanal polyps—a mass in his nose that made it hard for him to breathe. The required procedure—an embolization—would cost over half a million pesos.
It was crushing. We sold our car. We rearranged everything. Still, it wasn’t enough.
But God showed up again—just in time. We were led to a compassionate, skilled doctor who helped us navigate a way through. My husband underwent a different treatment, one that didn’t require the massive expense. And finally, he could breathe again—literally and figuratively.
Through every trial, I found myself returning to one truth: the more I drew closer to God, the more the enemy tried to shake my foundation. But I held on.
Because I’ve learned that trials aren’t punishments—they’re preparation.
God breaks us only to rebuild us stronger.
Eventually, I returned abroad. It wasn’t the plan I envisioned years ago, but it was God’s plan all along. And today, I walk with a heart full of faith, clarity, and peace—not because my life is free from problems, but because I know who walks with me through the fire.
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord. “Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”— Jeremiah 29:11
To those who are weary, doubting, and questioning God in the midst of hardship—hold on. I am a living testament that He hears you. Even in your silence, even in your anger, even in your doubt.
God never left. He never will.
August 7, 2025. A date that won't mean anything to most people - but for me, it marks the day I chose peace over noise, boundaries over blind loyalty, and grace over retaliation.
This isn't a story of drama or revenge. It's a story of growth. A quiet, internal decision that changed how I view friendship, respect, and forgiveness.
A Favor That Turned into a Turning Point
It started with something small. A favor. Simple to understand, simple to do, and just as simple to mend —if it ever needed mending at all. But what I didn't expect was how something so trivial could spiral into something so loud and heavy, just because of tone.
She wasn't a family member or a lifelong friend — not even someone with deep roots in my life. We hadn't known each other long, just a couple of months, but we clicked quickly — or so I thought.
I was working quietly at my computer when she barged in, her voice sharp, accusing, and unusually loud — demanding things I had already taken care of the previous week. Her tone cut through the walls, echoing outside our shared space. I remember sitting there, stunned not by the request, but by the disproportionate outburst that came with it. It was a minor task. A simple favor that didn't warrant such a reaction.
Raised with Respect, Even When It's Hard
My parents taught me to respect people — even when they don't deserve it. They taught me to stay calm, speak with kindness, and carry myself with composure, no matter the emotion stirring inside me.
That day, every fiber of me wanted to respond, to defend myself. But I didn't. Not because I was weak, but because I knew strength doesn't always come with volume.
As days passed, I kept reflecting on her reaction — not out of resentment, but from a place of disbelief. Her behavior wasn't just out of character. It was a red flag that couldn't be ignored. And the more I looked back, the more I realized those red flags were always there. Subtle signs of someone who acted differently behind closed doors than she did in front of others.
I treated her like a sister. I was a genuine friend. But after that day, things shifted. And I knew something had to change.
Letting Go isn't Bitterness — It's Wisdom
I chose to stop talking to her. Not because I hated her. Not because I was waiting for an apology. But because I knew my peace was worth protecting.
Does silence mean I haven't forgiven her? It's a question I wrestled with. But I came to realize that forgiveness doesn't always require conversation. I had already released the anger, already chosen grace. But reconciliation? That requires mutual effort, respect, and trust — none of which were present anymore.
As the Bible says in James 1:19-20:
"Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires."
I could have matched her anger with my own. But I believe God was holding me steady, reminding me that sometimes, strength means walking away quietly instead of staying in chaos.
A Final Thought: Maybe This Was the Lesson
I pray often that God makes me a better person. Maybe this was His way of answering that prayer — not by removing conflict, but by allowing it to reveal something deeper in me. We all carry a side of ourselves we hope others never see. But how we treat others — especially when emotions run high — says everything about who we are. And how we respond? That's who we choose to become.
So no, I don't hate her. I don't wish her ill. I just chose peace — and I'm finally okay with that.
I hope it's not yet too late for me to come back to writing. It's been 6 months since my last notes about the entities.
I have been struggling to tell you honestly for the last couple of months. From being away again. Away like leaving my comfort zone. I honestly duno what to say here but it's a good start, aye?
Soon, you'll get more of those real life horror stories. I had bunch.
There are moments in life that cut so deep, they stay with us forever. I've had my share of hurt. The kind that makes you question peopl...