Sometimes I Have to Water Myself
I spent years hoping someone would see I was parched. I whispered my needs, softened my voice, and made myself small—hoping someone would notice I was running on empty. That love would show up and pour into me.
There’s a quiet truth I’ve learned during recovery: sometimes, I am both the garden and the gardener.
I spent years hoping someone would see I was parched. I whispered my needs, softened my voice, and made myself small—hoping someone would notice I was running on empty. That love would show up and pour into me.
But healing doesn’t always arrive through someone else’s hands.
There are days I walk outside, neck brace on, heart heavy, body aching… and I water my plants. Slowly. Silently. Tenderly. And in that moment, I realize—I’m really watering myself.
I’m showing up for myself.
I’m choosing softness.
I’m making space for peace.
This is what rising looks like when no one is clapping.
It’s what healing sounds like when the world is loud, but you choose quiet anyway.
If you’re in a season of becoming, I hope you remember: the most beautiful things grow in silence.
Even you.
💭 Journal Prompt:
Where in your life have you been waiting for someone else to pour into you? How can you begin to water yourself today?
👉🏾 This reflection pairs with the Healing Through Reinvention journal prompt “Pouring from a Full Cup”—available now inside the Watch Me Rise Journal.
Take your time.
Breathe through it.
And if you’re ready, write your way through it.
When Friendship Fails the Test
Some friendships aren’t meant to last forever. Here’s what I learned when silence spoke louder than words. #WatchMeRise
By Deryl Richardson
There’s something I’ve learned during recovery that hits harder than the pain itself: what people say when you’re in crisis—and what they actually do—are rarely the same.
So many people say, “You’re in my thoughts and prayers,” and honestly, that’s good enough. It’s kind. It’s real. It’s human.
But what’s not okay is when people say more than they mean.
“Let me know what you need.”
“I got you.”
“You know I’m here.”
But when I did let them know… nothing. No follow-through. No check-ins. No help. Just excuses or worse–silence.That’s not kindness. That’s character exposure.
Distance should never be an excuse for absence.
If you claim someone as a friend, and they tell you they need support—even if they’re in a different city—you show up in whatever way you can. That’s what friendship is. You don’t add disclaimers like, “If you were in my city, I’d help.” No, you wouldn’t. If convenience is your condition, that’s not friendship. That’s performance.
The truth is, some people were never really friends to begin with. They were just familiar faces in familiar places. But healing exposes that. Silence exposes that. Recovery makes it impossible to pretend.
This season has revealed something powerful:
I used to think friendship was about proximity. But now I know—it’s about presence. And presence isn’t about being in the room. It’s about being in someone’s life when it matters most.
I’m not bitter. I’m better.
Better because I see clearly now.
Better because I finally stopped excusing people who didn’t show up.
Better because I know what real support feels like—and what it doesn’t.
This is part of the rise.
This is how I reclaim my peace.
Not with anger, but with clarity.
So to those who disappeared: I release you.
And to those who stayed: thank you.
This story is mine now.
And I’m telling it—out loud.
#WatchMeRise