Around 8:30 P.M., my father took me and my two siblings' devices. Now something was really off. He told us to get into the car. My heart dropped. Someone died. I didn't know who, I had my suspensions but I didn't know.

I sat on the back seat of the car with my heart racing and a pit in my stomach.

When we finally got there, the door to her house was *wide open,* my heart sank father. She never left her door open like that. Ever.

We got inside and I started scanning the room. I saw my uncle, 2 of 3 of my aunts, my grandparents, and my mom all in the room.

I frantically scanned the room for my third aunt. She raised me for 18 months, she was like a second mom, loved me more than anything in the world and I was her world.

"Where is she? Where is she?!" That's all I could think.

I couldn't find her. I figured she was just downstairs. I told myself, "No one died. Everything is fine." Because out of everyone in my family she did not deserve that.

My mother looked at me and my siblings and said, "Aunt (insert name) has gone to heaven."

My soul left my body. I cried more that night than I ever have.

I kept asking God why he took her and not someone else.

On this day, every year, I wake up with an Elephant on my chest but I tell myself... No she wouldn't have been dead yet.

In the morning, she was enjoying breakfast and probably reading a book. She loved to read. In the afternoon, she was probably eating lunch and working on important emails. She had a very good job that kept her busy and traveling. I keep this bliss all day. "She's not dead yet. She's cozy in her basement, under a blanket, doing what she loves."

The tears start rolling around 5pm. This is likely around the time she died. Everyone in that house did everything in their power to bring her back. She was only in her early 50s... I can't imagine what it was like standing in that room with her body going cold. It was shattering enough to see her cold body in a coffin. Someone get her a blanket, please... She's probably freezing.

I so often ask God, "Why her?" She was one of the most joyful souls you'd ever meet. If you knew her, you loved her.

She loved Coca-Cola, Resses, teddy bears, sweaters (you'd rarely find her with less than 3 on), hot summer days because she was *always* cold...I'd like to think she got to Heaven and asked God to turn the Thermostat up.

Five years is not enough to get all the grief out. Five hundred lifetimes would not be enough. The more time that passes, the harder it is. Each time another year comes around is a year I exist in without her. Every milestone, every birthday, every Christmas... oh my God, she loved Christmas so so much. Those moments will never be the same and she just keeps drifting farther and farther away. I hope I never forget her smile, her laugh, her glowing eyes and joy throughout every season of life. No matter how hard she had it. She was smiling.

If you are grieving someone you knew, dead or alive. I feel for you. It is an unexplainable pain... Sending virtual hugs 🫂

Love, Lillia ❤️‍🩹

Your child loves you. You love your child — I should hope. But that’s not enough to save the relationship. Take a moment to think for me—for your child, please. “Was this actually sudden, or has my child come to me with this problem before?” It is likely the latter.

Children who decide to go no or low-contact rarely do so suddenly. Even though it may feel like the child likes it, they do not. It is a gut-wrenching last resort. It is a calculated decision made over many, many conversations that ended in dismissal, years of trying to set boundaries that were ignored, and, most importantly, a long history of hoping for parental change.

They don’t just wake up one morning and decide, “I’m gonna cut off my parents today.” They reach a point where staying costs them their peace, stability, sanity, and energy, while leaving gives them all of that back and more. But they lose things, too. Holidays and birthdays will never look the same. They won’t be able to call their parents when they start seeing someone or get promoted at work. They may move cities, states, or even countries away, and they will never know.

Parents often think, “Well, they are hurting me,” or “I don’t like this,” and that mindset is exactly what landed them there. They can only see their pain, their experiences, their discomfort — never the child’s.

See, the children often know that their parents did not intend to hurt them. They have had this conversation in their mind a million times. “They grew up in a different generation. They are hurting, too. They didn’t know any better. They did the best with what they had.” There’s a true, conscious effort from the child to understand their parents’ side. They know you didn’t intend to hurt them, but you did.

So they come to you, vulnerable. And when you center *your* suffering, *your* experiences, *your* opinions, *your* intentions, you reveal the very dynamic your child has been trying to escape: a relationship where you are the priority, and your child’s experience is null and void.

This tunnel vision is what makes so many parents feel blindsided. They focus on their intentions as though intentions can erase wounds. They insist that they didn’t mean it like that. That they were tired, stressed, or that achieving what the child needed would have been “impossible.”

The issue does not lie in intention. It lies in impact.

You cannot claim that you want the best for your child, that you love them, and then actively refuse to recognize that what you did has hurt them.

This is the contradiction so many adult children choke on: a parent who says, “I love you,” but behaves as though their comfort matters more than child’s. A parent who pushes for a relationship, but only on terms that require the child to keep absorbing the same pain that pushed them away.

Your child wants to come back. They want to send you birthday cards, call you on a random Tuesday at 2 pm, and come home for Christmas, but they just… can’t. Estrangement is not the absence of love, but the presence of pain.

Your child wants safety. What does that look like? It is sitting and listening to your child without rewriting what they said or convincing them, “That never happened,” or “You’re remembering it wrong,” or “You’re being dramatic.” Safety is choosing presence over correction, humility over self-protection, and curiosity over control. Your child is an adult now, they don’t need you to speak for them.

They want a parent who can say, “I see what I did. I understand how it affected you. I am willing to change.” They want a relationship that does not require them to sacrifice their mental health, dignity, or voice. They want to love you without losing themselves.

Unfortunately, that is not always an option.

Children who choose no or low contact are not rejecting you; they are rejecting the version of the relationship that demanded their silence. They are choosing distance because closeness, as it currently exists, asks them to abandon themselves.

Let me know your thoughts in the comments! Go wild. I love hearing others’ opinions.

Sincerely, Lillia

Going No Contact With Parents: What It Means, Why People Do It, and How to Cope - Simply Psychology

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Oh to be a bird singing
His praises in the morning
in the afternoon
in the evening
and in the night.

Though she has lost her ability to fly
she knows that the God of the air
will eventually get her there.

She does not fear winter
for He hides worms and seeds
in the shadows of His wings

Art commissioned from Daphne Capps “The Sparrow.”

You were clothed, fed,
and had a roof over your head—
so your childhood must have been perfect.

But no one sees
the nights I rocked myself to sleep
counting sheep
and listening to my parents fight
in low, heavy, hollow voices—

A routine I've heard
for the past 511 days
and at this point, 
it's just white noise.

Turns out
that doesn't happen at Emma's house...

Turns out
people can say I love you
and really mean it
it's not just a counterfeit
sound slapped over a fresh wound,
promising that you love them, too…

Could someone please tell me
how to get them to do that?

Their promises are quite flat
saying one thing
and doing another
using them as a buffer.

If I try hard enough
will their promises stop breaking?
Oh, what am I doing wrong?

Is it the way I breathe,
the way I speak,
my physique, maybe—
the way my body tenses
before their voices rise,
using all of my six senses.

Something in my gut
tells me this is wrong
a heaviness that settles in my ribs.

I am only a kid
so I’m supposed to ignore it,
pretend the heaviness is normal
but I can feel the house shift
a dramatic change in wind direction
a poisonous note to a wind harp
landing right in my heart.

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Well, imagine with me for a moment that you could not use your hands when speaking. In fact, you can’t move at all. You must sit in a chair with your hands in your pockets—unable to gesture or shift your weight. You would feel the pressure of your own thoughts building with nowhere to go, like steam trapped beneath a sealed lid. Every point you make would feel strangely incomplete… Why?

Because the brain does not treat gesture and speech as separate channels. Instead, regions traditionally associated with language—especially Broca’s area and the left posterior middle temporal gyrus—light up when people watch or produce meaningful hand movements. In other words, the same neural machinery that helps us form sentences also helps us interpret gestures. This means that when we move our hands while speaking, we are not adding decoration; we are activating the core language system itself. Gesture is woven into the architecture of communication.

You can say as many words as you want to, use formal rhetoric, and choose every word with intention—but whatever you are trying to express; stress, anger, happiness, sadness, frustration—your hands are the translators for those emotions. While words can be very expressive they are also a narrow channel; they cannot always keep pace with the heart. Sometimes emotions rise too quickly, fiercely and honestly for language to keep up. The language of the hands and body are the first signs of emotion.

Our body often reacts before our mind has time to organize its thoughts—before we can say, “I am anxious;” we squeeze pillows, bite our tongues, tear our nails, and fidget with our hair.

But why?—because the nervous system moves faster than language. When the brain detects something that feels threatening—an argument, a sudden noise, a difficult conversation—the signal travels two pathways at once. The fast pathway goes straight to the amygdala, the brain’s alarm center, which triggers the sympathetic nervous system almost instantly. Adrenaline and norepinephrine flood the bloodstream, priming the muscles for action before the brain has even formed a sentence.

I find that so fascinating. How the body can know something before the mind understands it. How the nerves can interpret danger, tension, or uncertainty faster than thought itself. How thoughts are always a step behind feelings and instincts. Our minds are truly so powerful even when they are not thinking. But the power that they wield when they are thinking is remarkable.

There is one quote from Joe Navarro’s book What Every Body Is Thinking that really stands out to me.

“Among all species, our human hands are unique—not only in what they can accomplish but also in how they communicate. Human hands can paint the Sistine Chapel, pluck a guitar, maneuver surgical instruments, chisel a David, forge steel, and write poetry. They can grasp, scratch, poke, punch, feel, sense, evaluate, hold and mold the world around us. Our hands are extremely expressive; they can sign for the deaf, help tell a story, or reveal our innermost thoughts.”

No other species has appendages with such a remarkable range of capabilities. Paws can climb and scratch, run, and fight but they cannot articulate intention the way human hands can. Wings can swoosh, glide, and drift—these things are all amazing in their own way but they cannot express urgency, coordinate thoughts or signal safety.

Our hands are central to communication; they’re part of the emotional system. They don’t just move; they regulate us. They help us think, calm down, and connect. When our hands gesture, they’re not simply decorating speech—they’re offloading cognitive load, releasing tension, and signaling to others that we’re safe, present, and engaged.

In an article by Joe Navarro he says, “In my work with mock juries, we found that attorneys, or for that matter witnesses, that hide their hands are perceived as less open and less honest by the jurors.”

The nervous system is constantly scanning for signs of threat or sincerity, and hands are one of its main data points. When hands are hidden, the amygdala stays alert. When hands are visible, the prefrontal cortex can relax into interpretation instead of defense. It’s a subtle shift, but it changes everything about how a message is received. This, my friend, is Body Language.

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Well, what is the “rod?” Jesus calls us His sheep and Himself our shepherd countless times in the Bible. Shepherds often use rods for redirection, protection, and boundary-setting — not beating. Never once does a shepherd in the Bible use their rod to physically punish their sheep. Scripture consistently ties the rod to guidance, authority, and comfort.

The rod is the shepherd’s way of saying, “Stay close. Danger is over there. Safety is here.” It’s how he keeps the flock within reach of his voice, guards them from predators, and gently blocks or pulls a wandering sheep from harm.

Imagine with me for a moment a flock of sheep with a shepherd that has no rod. Maybe he is distracted, distant, well-meaning but absent — Now imagine that a pack of wolves comes into that field and starts attacking the sheep. Without a rod, he has no way to intervene, no way to protect, no way to guide.

The rod is a symbol of presence, not punishment.

Psalm 23 makes this unmistakably clear. “Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.” Comfort — not fear. Direction — not pain.

“Well, Lillia, how does this apply to me?” You may be asking.

The point I am trying to get across is: Proverbs 13:24 — and other parts of scripture are not calling you to raise your hand. They are calling you to stay close. The “rod” is not about inflicting pain; it is about refusing to abandon your post as shepherd. The rod is a constant, daily, work of guidance. It is a boundary that keeps the child from harm — it does not inflict harm.

In fact, I would argue that the Bible encourages you to not spank your child. I know — I know — I probably just made steam rise from some people’s ears. Please hear me out.

The Bible constantly stresses that discipline should be rooted in love, patience, and instruction.

• Ephesians 6:4 (NLT), “Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger by the way you treat them. Rather, bring them up with the discipline and instruction that comes from the Lord.”

• Colossians 3:21 (NLT), “Fathers, do not aggravate your children, or they will become discouraged.”

Ephesians 6:4 can be interpreted against spanking because:

• Spanking provokes — it stirs fear, resentment, and anger.

• Paul explicitly warns parents not to provoke their children.

• The alternative he gives is instruction and discipline — not physical punishment.

• “Discipline” comes from the root word “disciple” which means to teach. It is formation, guidance, and training.

In other words, Paul contrasts two paths:

• Provocation (fear‑based, reactionary, harsh)

• Instruction (wisdom‑based, relational, shepherd‑like)

Colossians 3:21 can be interpreted against spanking because:

• Spanking can aggravate.

• Spanking can discourage.

• Spanking can break trust instead of building it.

Paul is warning parents against any form of discipline that crushes a child’s spirit — and physical punishment often does exactly that.

But my favorite example: Psalm 23:4, “Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” If the rod brings comfort, then any interpretation of the rod that brings fear contradicts the very heart of Scripture. Pain and comfort cannot coexist.

I recognize that this is unfortunately a generational difference and a long-held misinterpretation of the Bible. I will not change everyone’s mind today — but if I could change just a few — or even just one: then that one heart matters. Because that one heart belongs to a child who will grow up knowing that love does not have to hurt to be holy. I am not here to shame parents who were taught differently. I am here to re‑anchor discipline in the character of Christ, not in the traditions of culture.

And if I could change just one mind: I pray that it is the parent who is torn — the one who feels the tension between what they were taught and their convictions. The one who wonders why spanking feels wrong despite being taught otherwise. The one who wants to raise their child with gentleness but fears being judged for it.

To that parent, I would say:

You are not weak for choosing gentleness. You are not unbiblical for choosing guidance over spanking. You are not abandoning discipline — you are redeeming it.

Choosing to step into the kind of discipline scripture actually describes: presence, instruction, wisdom, shepherding — a love that leads, a love that looks like Christ. At the end of the day, I am just one of billions of Christians. I am not here to win an argument or prove a generational belief wrong. I am simply trying to return discipline to its original state and into its original hands.

I’ll leave you with this: The rod was never meant to be raised in anger. It was meant to be carried in love.

Like a pumpkin on Halloween
you tore out my seeds
so you could put me on your front porch,
with a smile carved on my face
and all the messy parts scraped out—

You light me up when it's convenient
when it looks good in the portrait
the kind of hollow you call beautiful
because it doesn’t challenge you,
doesn’t speak, doesn’t need.

Seasons change
and you throw me in the bin
for it's inappropriate
to show the pumpkin off
when it stops glowing on you. 

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Well, I must admit I am a bit lost. Because at work, if you break a rule or violate a policy: you’re written up. At school, you’re sent to the principal’s office. And anywhere else — in a store, in a church, in a restaurant, in a public space — if you step out of line, someone addresses it with words, boundaries, or removal.

My point is, these “real life consequences” that some parents argue they are teaching, are not applicable in real life. No one is going to hit you because you wore something out of dress code, forgot a rule, or misunderstood instructions — at least, not when you’re an adult.

See, when children hit other children we call it, “anger issues,” when an adult hits another adult, we call it, “assault,” yet only when an adult hits a child do we call it, “discipline.” Well, what does it mean to discipline? To understand a word we must break it down. Discipline comes from the root word “disciple,” which means to teach. Now my question is, “What does a child learn when you hit them?”

I can’t speak for all children but I can certainly tell you what I learned. I learned that my “no’s” don’t matter. I learned that because I am small, no one will listen and even if they do: they don’t care. They don’t care that I am sobbing, begging, crying for them to stop. In fact, I learned that if I do cry and scream, they will hit harder.

I didn’t learn to not lie. In fact, spanking made me lie more because I knew if I just laid there and took it they wouldn’t hit me as hard. I didn’t learn to not hit my siblings. ‘You should not hit your siblings but I am going to hit you as a result.’ I am sorry, what? It’s quite hypocritical that parents try to teach you to not hit other children with more hitting. And none of that is discipline. None of that is teaching.

It’s conditioning — conditioning a child to fear the people they depend on, conditioning them to hide their truth, conditioning them to believe that love can hurt you and you’re supposed to just accept it.

And quite frankly, spanking feels like the easy way out of parenting. It doesn’t take much effort to grab a belt or paddle to hit a child. It takes even less effort to simply hit them on their bottom with your hand.

But what takes real, conscious effort is to sit down with your child and have a conversation. “Hey, we don’t hit other kids because that is not kind. Instead, we should tell our friends how we feel or go find the nearest adult.”

That takes patience, presence, and a parent deciding to teach instead of react. It requires slowing down long enough to understand why your child acted the way they did, and helping them build the tools they don’t yet have. It is okay to discipline children. It is good to discipline children. We just need to recognize the difference between spanking and discipline.

So instead of spanking, I propose talking to, modeling, practicing, and playing the behavior you want to see instead. For those, my friend, would be real life consequences.

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