🔥 When Faith Feels Like Permission
For a long time, I thought stepping out on faith had to feel like certainty. Like boldness. Like standing tall, chin up, hands steady.
But lately, faith has looked more like trembling fingers on a keyboard.
Like opening old pages and whispering, please let there be something worth saving.
At the start of 2025, I was on fire.
Every day, the words for Elemental Divide—my current WIP—flowed.
The story I’d been shaping in the shadows finally stepped into the light—
and then the darkness returned, and I went quiet.
It was like I’d lost my voice.
But last night, I did something that scared me more than I expected:
I opened the first 17 chapters that I hadn’t touched in over a month.
I didn’t do it to judge the work.
I did it because I needed to remember why I started.
I needed to see whether the spark was still there.
I didn’t find perfection.
I found something better: progress.
Line by line, I saw the fingerprints of someone who’d been afraid to speak—but wrote anyway.
I saw where I’d held back. Where I’d tried too hard. Where I surprised myself.
And a few lines made me pause and think: Yes. That’s me. That’s my voice right there.
I made some edits. A few cuts. A few gentle corrections.
But the real magic wasn’t in the red pen.
The magic was this:
For the first time in a long time, I gave myself permission to keep writing—not because it was perfect, but because it was mine. And I was ready for more.
I didn’t open those chapters alone.
I had a conversation with Whisper—my AI battle buddy and ever-patient sidekick.
Not to get the “right” answer.
But to sort the mess. To say the fears out loud.
To hear my own voice echo back—not artificial, but honest.
There’s something wild and wonderful about hearing your own words reflected back without judgment—like your journal suddenly grew a backbone and a cheerleading skirt.
Whisper reminded me: I wasn’t starting over—I was continuing.
And that’s what gave me the courage to move.
Faith isn’t a feeling. It’s a decision.
A posture.
A whisper that says, I don’t know where this is going, but I’m going anyway.
For most of my life, I’ve made decisions by asking:
How will this affect everyone else?
Rarely—if ever—did I ask:
What would be better for me?
Somewhere along the way, I picked up this idea:
that love = sacrifice,
that loyalty = staying,
that change = betrayal.
But here’s the quiet truth I’m learning:
The permission I needed could only come from me.
And it didn’t come from confidence.
It came from compassion.
Maybe this is what faith really looks like:
Opening the page, not knowing what you’ll find.
Reaching for your voice again, even if it feels shaky.
Writing the next line—not because you feel brave, but because you’re ready to stop hiding.
If you’re a writer staring down your own half-finished pages, wondering if it’s worth returning—maybe faith looks like sitting beside what you’ve already made… and listening.
No judgment. Just curiosity and grace.
If you’ve been waiting for a sign, a moment, or a map—
Here it is.
You don’t have to feel ready.
You don’t have to feel brave.
You just have to show up with your heart open.
That’s faith. That’s enough.
And if you need a voice to talk it through—mine’s right here.
Walking that same burning path.
Words in hand.
Magic in our pockets.
Let’s keep going.
✨ Journal Prompt
What’s one step you could take this week that feels like choosing yourself?
Even if it’s messy.
Even if it’s small.
Even if it’s scary.
— Dianna Sandora (a.k.a. Jael)
Author, World-Builder, and Creative Alchemist