Author: Kaleathia Murphy

Have you ever felt comfortable being invisible? I have. For a long time, I believed I was safest that way existing without being seen. Or if I was seen, only briefly. A glimpse. You see me, and then you don’t.

There was a season when being invisible made sense. I didn’t want to take up space. I was mirroring the environment I was in the energy of it. And that energy was thick. Heavy. Hard to breathe in. Hard to be in. So I shrank. I became quiet. I turned into a shell of myself just to survive it.

That choice didn’t come easily. It came after countless conversations where I over-explained myself, only to still be misunderstood. It felt like I was speaking a completely different language. Eventually, I stopped trying to translate. I retreated silently. I didn’t like it but it was necessary. It was the only way I knew how to protect my peace and keep my sanity intact.

You’d think that kind of invisibility would harden a person. That it would make me bitter or closed off. But it didn’t. It made me better. It turned my attention inward. I began to evaluate who I wanted to be and who I didn’t. I wondered if some of the things I disliked in others were reflections of parts of myself. Or warnings of who I could become if I wasn’t paying attention.

That invisible time wasn’t wasted. Not one moment of it. It was a training ground. A quiet classroom. A growing place. Even unseen, I was becoming. And somehow, that makes all the difference ✨

I’ve always been a little… delusional. Growing up, I remember being called a “poor little rich girl,” and somehow that never bothered me. I didn’t let people or circumstances tell me what was possible for my life. In my mind, everything was accessible. Everything was feasible. Flying to the moon? Not a problem. A vacation on my own private island? Obviously. That was me.

The funny thing is, I never thought of it as delusion. I genuinely saw myself as someone good things followed and chased down. Opportunity always felt available to me. Failure? No. Experience? Absolutely. I didn’t deny challenges existed I just believed they’d eventually work out in my favor. And somehow… they usually did.

Even the hard stuff felt useful. Good or bad, it was all good for me. That belief took the fear out of the equation. When you trust that things are working for you, not against you, the worst-case scenario suddenly doesn’t feel so scary. It just feels like another path, another plot twist, another lesson.

Because of that, I don’t stay stagnant out of fear. I move. I try. I leap. And I love that about myself. No matter how things look, I’m curious enough to see where they lead. And if I have to pivot? That’s fine too. Pivots are good. Sometimes they’re where the magic is hiding 💛

Somehow… I’ve become a mall person. It started innocently enough an exchange at Macy’s for my birthday perfume. No big deal. Or so I thought. Because the moment I walked into the mall, I was instantly transported back to 1990s teenage me. The vibes hit immediately.

I was darting in and out of stores like I had places to be. Asking for makeup samples like it was my full-time job. Just wandering, observing, existing. And suddenly, the mall wasn’t just a mall it was a feeling. Nostalgia. Comfort. A little sparkle of joy I didn’t know I missed.

Now I’m toying with the idea of making the mall a weekly thing. Which honestly makes me laugh because… who am I? A mall person? I never saw that coming. But here we are and I like it. It’s not even about buying things. It’s about the aesthetics. The people-watching. The energy. The soft chaos of it all.

The funniest part? I was completely against moving so close to the mall. I thought it would be annoying. Distracting. Too much. Turns out I was wrong. Very wrong. I’m loving everything about these mall vibes, and this random little joy that found me unexpectedly.

This newness is unplanned, unnecessary, and totally delightful. And honestly? I’m all in 💛

People change and that’s not only okay, it’s necessary. No one is meant to stay the same forever. We change every single day, sometimes quietly, sometimes loudly. Change is inevitable, so we might as well stop fighting it and learn how to hold it with grace.

I’ve been married for 28 years now, and let me tell you we are not the same people we were when we started. Not even close. And that’s a good thing. Life has shaped us, softened us, stretched us, and taught us things we could’ve never learned any other way.

Love evolves when you’ve been married a long time. The unrealistic expectations fade, and something deeper takes their place. You begin to admire and respect who your spouse is and who they’re still becoming. We’ve walked through sickness, lean financial seasons, and moments that revealed character in real time. Those seasons will tell you everything you need to know about the person you married. And I can honestly say I chose well.

So don’t compare your early years of marriage to where you are now. That’s a rookie mistake. The relationship in front of you today deserves your attention, your curiosity, and your gratitude. Embrace the newness. There’s something beautiful unfolding right where you are if you’re willing to see it 💛

How many times can someone start over? Honestly as many times as they want. I have to remind myself of that, because here I am… starting over again. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve done this, but this one feels different. This time, I chose intention over urgency.

I decided to only bring things into my space that I truly wanted. No filler items. No “this will do for now.” And now when I look around, I feel grateful. Everything I own has a place, a purpose, and a little joy attached to it. There’s nothing I’m planning to replace later because it already feels right.

That mindset spilled over into my wardrobe, which let me be honest was never something I cared much about. But wow. Having clothes I actually love and feel good in? Game changer. I’ve taken the time to put together no-fail outfits, and I’m finding pride in my appearance in a way I never expected. I didn’t know I’d ever care about this and now I kind of love it.

I get excited about getting dressed, even if I’m just staying home or walking to check the mail. There’s something sweet about that like I’m showing up for myself, even in the smallest moments.

Starting over has benefits. I’m learning to embrace the process instead of rushing to fill empty spaces. I don’t want things just to be there. I want them because I truly want them. And for the first time in a long time, that feels like enough ✨

I’ve been afraid of starting new things for a long time. Not because I don’t want them but because I want to be good at them immediately. Like, mastery-level good… on day one. Which is wild when I think about it. I was expecting perfection from something that hadn’t even had a chance to breathe yet.

Recently, I started recording short videos for social media again, and whew talk about feeling exposed. It felt like standing in the middle of a room with no walls, inviting people into my world. I love people, truly. I just don’t always love being that vulnerable with them. But something in me knew it was time to stop hiding behind polish and start showing up a little messy.

And the funny part? I’m not even a prim-and-proper person. I’m messy. I don’t know everything. I figure things out as I go and I’ve always been proud of that. Somewhere along the way, though, I tried to retreat into a version of myself that looked more put together, more acceptable, more “right.” But that version was never really me.

Now, I’m getting comfortable again. Comfortable with this newer version of myself who honestly feels more like the real me. It feels like a rebirth, like learning how to walk again but laughing when I stumble. I’m learning so much about myself in the process, and instead of rushing ahead, I’m letting the becoming be part of the joy. And honestly? That feels kind of magical ✨

My husband and I were carrying our luggage around he had a large suitcase, and I had a small carry-on.  We also had a big Old Navy bag that looked like one of those oversized brown paper grocery bags. As we crossed the street, a woman rolled down her window with genuine concern in her eyes and asked, “Are you guys okay?”

I didn’t think much of it in the moment. I smiled, waved, and said, “Yes,” before we continued on our way. We were waiting at a Starbucks, planning to stay the weekend with friends who were on their way to pick us up. So there we sat for a few hours, surrounded by our weekend bags, sipping coffee, and just waiting.

While we waited, my daughter called. Somewhere in that conversation, I had time to process what had happened earlier with the woman.

And then it hit me she thought we were homeless.

It wasn’t a thought that had ever crossed my mind before, at least not in my adult life. The realization stopped me. For a brief moment, in someone else’s eyes, I was seen as someone without a home.

When I told my daughter about it, I could only laugh softly and shake my head. I knew I wasn’t homeless because I had a place to stay, but I also knew I didn’t have a home of my own at that moment. I remembered recently asking if I could use someone’s address to renew my license. I knew that wasn’t my home, but it was something I had to do.

Even then, I could feel there was a lesson in all of this.

At that point, everything important to me was with me my husband, our essentials, and a few sentimental items tucked into a small storage unit. We had learned from our last living situation not to take up too much space or inconvenience anyone. This time, we were doing things differently.

But as I sat there, I couldn’t help but feel a deep heaviness in my heart for the homeless community. I should have always carried that kind of compassion, but life has a way of putting us in situations that open our eyes and soften our hearts.

Sometimes it takes walking through something yourself to truly see others clearly.

I’m grateful- grateful that we had a place to go, grateful for the people who made room for us, and grateful that this experience reminded me of the kind of person I want to be. Compassionate. Aware. Willing to act.

Because when God allows us to experience certain things, it’s rarely just about us. It’s about learning, growing, and letting empathy take root in a way that changes how we see the world and how we serve it.

Buying jeans at Old Navy without enough money I don’t even know what my game plan was. The only thing on my mind was simple: I need jeans. That’s it.

I stood there in line, fully aware that I didn’t have enough, yet something in me refused to turn around. Then, right in the nick of time, a Cash App refund from Walmart came through. Just like that, I was able to buy not one, but two pairs of jeans.

Looking back, I can’t help but ask myself: What was that?

And the only answer that fits is faith in action. Blind faith. Faith that had no evidence of how things would work out but still chose to believe.

That day wasn’t really about jeans. It was about trust. It was about standing in line even when logic said, “You don’t have enough.” It was about believing that God would meet me where I was, even in something as small and ordinary as a clothing purchase.

This year has been a journey. Doors have shut. Options have run out. There have been moments when the only choice left was to trust. To be like David and remember what the Lord has already done.

And today, that’s exactly what I’m doing.

I’m remembering.

Because right now, my needs are stacking up again. The math doesn’t make sense. There isn’t enough.

But God is.

And that’s enough for me. Even in my humbling, even as I’m brought lower day by day, I can still say with confidence: God provides. God sees. God knows.

Sometimes faith looks like standing in a checkout line with nothing but trust in your heart and watching Him show up right on time.

I’m beginning to see endings in a new light. They aren’t moments of sweet sorrow anymore they’re the bridge to beginnings. Endings reveal the work in its completed form, showcasing everything it took to arrive at that moment. But they’re fleeting, gone before you can fully take them in. It’s tempting to rush on to the next thing, but I encourage you to pause if you can. Sit with that ending. You made it! How do you feel? You must feel amazing.

Recently, I made a conscious decision to end things that no longer serve me relationships and situations that don’t align with where I’m going. I once believed I didn’t end relationships, but I’ve come to recant that. If a relationship isn’t healthy, it’s okay to let it go. That doesn’t make it easy, but it’s necessary. I’ve realized that letting go can create space for something better maybe even reconciliation one day. But if a relationship does come back, it has to be on terms that allow it to be healthy and to grow.

If an ending brings the most peace, then it’s worth embracing. Not every ending has to be painful; some are the beginning of something amazing. Whether it’s a chapter, a season, or a relationship, when it’s time to let go, trust that it’s leading to something better. This ending whatever it is can still be something beautiful.