Grief doesn’t drown you it teaches you how to breathe underwater.- Treasurable Life

It’s been a while since I’ve found the words to speak. Sometimes silence is the only language grief understands. As many of you know, I’m from Jamaica a place of rhythm, sunshine, and strength but lately, it’s been a place of pain. When the hurricane came, it didn’t just tear through homes; it ripped through hearts. I lost family, memories, and pieces of my soul I didn’t know could break.

The world keeps spinning while mine feels like it’s standing still. People say, “You’re strong,” but they don’t see the nights I scream into pillows, the mornings I wake up and forget, only to remember all over again. Yet somehow, through the storm’s aftermath, I’m learning what survival really means not just existing, but finding purpose in the pain.

This is not a post about sadness. This is about truth. Unapologetic truth. About grief, love, faith, and the strength it takes to wake up when your world has gone quiet.

The Eye of Me

I stood in the eye of the storm,
and it looked back at me
not with rage,
but with reflection.

It asked,
“What will you do now that everything is gone?”
And I whispered,
“Live.”

For even when the sea swallowed my peace,
and the wind tore at my roots,
I remembered
I am the child of survivors.
My ancestors danced through storms
and sang in the dark.

So I’ll rebuild from the silence,
piece by trembling piece.
Not because I am fearless,
but because I still believe
somewhere beyond the wreckage,
the sun still rises over Jamaica.

Grief changes you. It strips away the illusion of control and forces you to meet your truest self. I’m still grieving still healing but I’m also still here. The pain doesn’t disappear; it transforms. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the gift hidden inside the chaos.

If you’ve lost someone, something, or even yourself know this: healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It means learning to love again in a world that feels unfamiliar. It means carrying their light within you.

This is Treasurable Life where I turn pain into power, loss into legacy, and storms into stories of survival.