Anxiously Waiting

This past weekend, I was presented with a new thought.

Growing up, I was taught to be on time. Actually—worse—I was taught to be five minutes early, because being “on time” was considered late. You can thank my military upbringing for that one. I’ve always made it a point to let people know when I’m on my way, if I’m running late, or if I can’t make it at all. Something in my conscience said it was the right thing to do.

But after a recent conversation, I started to dig a little deeper. Why did I feel the need to over-communicate every detail of my ETA? Why did I feel anxious if someone else didn’t do the same? I always thought it was simple courtesy, but maybe it was more than that.

Reading The 5 Love Languages by Dr. Gary Chapman gave me some insight. We often express love—or courtesy—the way we want to receive it. So for me, punctuality and communication were ways I showed respect and care, and I expected that same energy in return.

Over time, I’ve learned you can’t expect people to be just like you. Trust me, this lesson didn’t come easy. (I’m a recovering grammar stickler who used to love correcting people.) But I’ve come to realize that unsolicited help isn’t always welcome. People appreciate your support when they ask for it—not when it's pushed on them. And that applies to punctuality, too.

Recently, I found myself feeling tense when someone wasn’t on time. I got that familiar nervous flutter. But why? After sitting with the feeling, an old friend reappeared: abandonment. Yep. That deep-rooted fear of being left alone showed up again, just wearing a different outfit.

I've come a long way in healing from those issues, but every now and then, a trigger sneaks in—reminding me that healing isn’t always linear.

This reflection reminded me of something important: I am not my past. I am not my fear. I am here, in this moment. The present is what matters most. So I’ll keep learning, keep growing, and keep catching myself when the old demons try to whisper something untrue.

Because I am not who I was. I am who I choose to be—right now.

The Evolution of Val

The other day, I was perusing my old laptop when I stumbled upon some college-era blog posts. Reading through them felt like time-traveling into the world of my younger self—a drama-filled, boy-crazy, party girl phase that I remember all too well. It's wild to think I’ve been blogging since 2004. Back then, I was writing on MySpace, convinced I was the next Puerto Rican Carrie Bradshaw.

Honestly, I’ve been journaling since middle school. (Yes, I even found those too.) One memory that still makes me laugh—though it definitely wasn’t funny at the time—was when my sister took my high school diary to the neighbor’s house and read it out loud. I was going through puberty and “discovering myself” (you know what I mean), and I thought that diary was a safe place to write about… certain experiences. Spoiler: it wasn’t.

Still, reading through those old entries made me proud. I’m in awe of how much I’ve grown. Some of the same thoughts and values are still with me, but the woman I am today is more grounded, more intentional. I think growth like this often starts after hitting some kind of rock bottom—a moment where you say to yourself, “I don’t want to be this version of me anymore.”

That moment came for me at 21. I won’t go into all the details—that’s a blog for another day—but I made a conscious decision to be better. And I stuck with it.

Life is a constant evolution. I truly believe we should always be learning, always growing. The last time I felt like I was spiraling, I found comfort in positive thinking and faith. And with those two things on my side, I know I won’t return to that place again.

My 20s were full of messy dating experiences, adulting lessons, and self-discovery. And honestly? I think my 30s are going to be fabulous. Maybe 10 years from now, I’ll look back and write “The Evolution of Val: Part II.” And I hope I’m still proud of the woman I continue becoming.

Death to My 20s: A Farewell and a Fresh Start

It happened... my 30th birthday.

At work, we have this tradition: when someone has a birthday, their desk gets completely trashed. For mine, my coworkers went above and beyond—they held a funeral for my 20s. My VP laughed so hard, she cried. It was dramatic, hilarious, and oddly therapeutic.

Some people view turning 30 as a crisis point—a moment to reflect on all the dreams they had in their 20s and panic over why they haven’t come true yet. Marriage? Career? Kids? The checklist goes untouched for many, and the pressure sets in.

Me? I didn’t feel any different.

Sure, I took a moment to reminisce. In my early 20s, I thought I’d be married by now, thriving in a career I adored, maybe even with a kid or two. But that’s not where I am—and that’s okay. Because the truth is: I’m genuinely happy.

And that’s what matters.

Living fully in the now, embracing whatever comes your way—that’s the sweet spot. You can't control everything, but you can control your mindset, your choices, and your circle. I had a conversation not long ago with a friend’s brother who looked at me and said, “You created your life, didn’t you?” It stopped me in my tracks.

He was right.

Every decision, every pivot, every mindset shift—I crafted the life I’m living today. In my early 20s, I hit rock bottom. But even in that darkness, I told myself: I will not stay here. I will become the best version of me. And step by step, that’s exactly what I’ve done.

So, here's to the 30s. I know amazing things are ahead, and I’m ready to greet them all—wide-eyed, open-hearted, and fiercely me.

Growth: Becoming Who I Was Meant to Be

I’ve been struggling with what to write about lately. My blog has always revolved around my wild (and often hilarious) dating adventures, but now that I’m in a relationship—a really fulfilling one—the dating content just doesn’t resonate the same. Still, my passion for writing hasn’t gone anywhere. So I’ve asked myself: what now?

In the past few months, I’ve been going through a transformation—one that feels so overdue and so powerful. I used to think I was happy, and maybe I was, but now... now I feel fulfilled. There’s a difference. It’s not that I had it all wrong before—I always believed in treating people with respect and trying to stay positive. But I didn’t realize how much I was still holding on to, how much clouded my vision.

The shift came from a combination of things: discovering a church that speaks to me, reading books like The Secret and The Power of Now, and being in a supportive, emotionally safe relationship. All of it has helped me see how powerful it is to live life without anger and resentment weighing you down.

Here’s what I’ve learned: you’re only responsible for you. You can’t control other people’s actions, only your reactions. When you stop trying to control the narrative and just focus on being the best version of yourself, everything starts to shift. That doesn’t mean life becomes perfect—but it becomes clearer. Simpler. More intentional.

People ask me why I’m so patient, and the truth is... it’s because I’ve learned that unnecessary conflict is just that—unnecessary. If something’s out of your control, you can either accept it or resolve it. That’s it.

I’ve been through a lot in my early 20s. There was a time when I could have gone down a dark, destructive path—become that walking cliché of a girl with “daddy issues.” But I made a decision. I decided that my pain wouldn’t define me.

Forgiveness—something I wrote about recently—has been the hardest but most freeing part of that journey. How do you forgive someone who deeply hurt you? Because you must. Because their actions don’t define you. Your response does.

You’re not responsible for their choices. You don’t have to agree with what they did. But you do have to choose whether or not you’ll carry that pain forever. Forgiveness doesn’t mean what they did was okay. It just means you’re no longer letting it control you.

I believe every person I met while searching for love peeled back a layer of me. They showed me glimpses of the woman I could become—but I always knew deep down I was destined for more. And now, I’m finally stepping into that.

So yes, I’ll still be writing. Maybe not about dating disasters. But about growth. About healing. About what happens when you decide to love yourself more than your past.

Let’s see where this takes me...

The Power of Forgiveness: Releasing the Past to Embrace Peace

Over the last few months, I’ve been on a journey to rediscover who I am—and to finally let go of everything that’s held me back. I know I’ve touched on this before, but recently, it feels like I’ve come face-to-face with a wall I didn’t know I’d built. A wall made of unspoken pain, shame, and the lingering shadows of my past.

In my effort to become the best version of myself—not just for me, but also for my new relationship—I’ve been pushed to confront parts of myself I thought were long buried. For the longest time, I kept one specific year of my life very private. I didn’t want it to define me. I didn’t want to seem like a burden.

But I’ve come to realize this: the people who truly care about you don’t see you as broken or damaged. They see you as you. Strong. Whole. Beautiful. And worthy of love.

This past weekend, I had the opportunity to dig deep into my hidden pain. It wasn’t easy. But something extraordinary happened—I felt a shift. A spiritual release. I’m not one to preach, but I need to say this: there is power in what Jesus did for us. By taking on our pain, He gave us a path to freedom from shame. We don’t have to carry the sins of others or the lies they told us about ourselves.

Forgiveness—real, raw forgiveness—is powerful. For a long time, I thought I was strong because I had buried the pain and numbed myself to it. But I now understand: true strength is in facing the pain, feeling it, and letting it go. It’s saying, “I see what happened. I acknowledge it. And I forgive you—not for you, but for me.”

That kind of strength can’t be faked. And though I still have some forgiving to do, I feel lighter. More whole. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m really starting to live.