Category Archives: Healing & Becoming

The Returning: A Soul’s Journey Through Many Lives

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The Returning: A Soul’s Journey Through Many Lives

Part 1 — The Soul That Remembers

Hello friends,

How is your Wednesday unfolding? I hope there is something gentle in your day, something steady. All is well here, and I wanted to share something that has taken me years — truly, years — to understand.

I was raised one of Jehovah’s Witnesses. For nearly five decades, I was taught that reincarnation wasn’t real. When you die, you die. You become a memory to God, and if you are among the fortunate, you may be resurrected in a future no one can predict. Until then, you return to dust. Final. Silent. Done.

John, my other half, has always believed something different. He believes we return — that we come back to finish the lessons we didn’t learn the first time. He says life is a classroom and our souls are eternal students. For a long time, I listened with a mix of curiosity and discomfort. Not because I rejected the idea, but because something in me recognized it… and that recognition scared me.

Over time, though, I began to understand reincarnation in a way that felt less like contradiction and more like expansion. To me, it isn’t about becoming someone else — it’s about continuing. We leave this body, but the soul keeps moving, keeps learning, keeps becoming.

And then my daddy passed.

That’s when everything shifted. I see him in butterflies now — not metaphorically, but spiritually. As if the veil thinned just enough for me to feel him, not as memory, but as presence.

Around that same time, I discovered Laura Lynne Jackson.

Listening to her felt like someone opening a window in a room I didn’t realize had grown dim. She didn’t argue or persuade. She simply spoke from a place so full of love that fear had nowhere to stand. Her words didn’t challenge my upbringing — they soothed the parts of me that had been afraid to ask questions.

What struck me most was her relationship with timing. How she trusts it. How she listens. How she follows the nudge.

She once shared a story about being guided to change a dinner reservation — not for convenience, but because spirit was orchestrating a meeting she didn’t yet know she needed. And she went. She listened. She arrived at the exact moment she was meant to meet someone whose life would be changed by that encounter.

That story stayed with me.

Because it made me wonder how many times spirit has tried to guide me too — but I was too conditioned, too obedient to old beliefs, too afraid of being wrong to hear it.

Now, in midlife, I feel a calling rising in me. A calling to help others feel what I’m beginning to feel: that death is not an ending, that love does not disappear, and that our souls are far older, wiser, and more connected than we were ever taught.

Maybe that’s Laura’s purpose. Maybe it’s becoming part of mine too.

Because if even one person reads these words and feels their fear soften — even a little — then this series will have done what my soul came here to do.

Reflection Corner

What belief about death or the afterlife have you carried your whole life — and is it still true for the person you’re becoming now?

A Sanctuary Whisper

If you’re reading this with a little ache in your chest, a little curiosity, a little remembering… trust that. Some truths don’t arrive on time. They arrive when you do.

An Invitation to Return

When you’re ready, come back for Part 2: The Purpose of Returning — where we’ll explore why souls choose to come back, what they’re learning, and how this long arc of becoming stretches far beyond a single lifetime.

Your evolution is welcome here. Your questions are welcome here. Your soul is welcome here.

Evolving in grace,
Dawna‑Rae
🦋 may your heart return to itself again and again

When a woman begins to become herself again

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Hello dear friends,

Thank you for being here with me tonight. I love having you along for this life journey, and I hope that through my heartfelt words, you can see pieces of your own story reflected back to you.

There are moments in a woman’s life when something shifts inside her before she has language for it — a soft, inner turning that feels both familiar and entirely new. HYET was created for these moments. The evolving ones. The honest ones. The ones that remind us we are still becoming.

Tonight’s letter comes from that place.

It’s not about reinvention or dramatic transformation. It’s about the subtle return — the quiet moment you realize you’re changing from the inside out.

If you’ve ever felt yourself shifting in ways you can’t quite name yet, this one is for you.

Good evening, dear friends,

How are you doing this warm and amazing Monday evening? Good, I hope. All is well here.

Tonight I wanted to write to you about something that’s been on my mind lately. Perhaps it’s because I have a son getting married in just a few short weeks, or maybe it’s because I have my own home again after nearly a decade of bouncing. Whatever the reason, I’ve been in a long season of becoming.

I’m learning to listen to God — to the Universe — more. I’m pouring out my heart to Him and building my relationship with Him in ways I never did before. I’ve always believed, but every day I feel my connection with my Creator deepening, evolving, comforting me in ways I never knew I needed.

I think I’ve finally learned to let go and let God — and I understand what that means for me now.

I’m at peace with myself, at least for the most part. I still have moments and setbacks, and yes, I get triggered and spiral. But being home — in my home — I’m learning to relax. And because of this inner peace, on this very ordinary day, I felt a soft awakening within me.

Becoming isn’t a reinvention of ourselves. It’s a remembering. It’s the moment we look at our own reflection in the mirror and think, Oh… there you are.

The First Signs of Identity Returning

A dear friend said something to me today — someone I’ve never met in person, yet she somehow knows the shape of my heart. She said, “Letters feel more personal, intimate, Dawna. Beautiful, my friend.”

And she’s right.

Because becoming is personal.
It’s intimate.
It’s the kind of shift you can only tell the truth about in a letter — the kind you whisper onto a page before you’re ready to say it out loud.

That’s what this moment feels like for me.
Not a reinvention.
Not a grand transformation.
Just the first soft signs that something in me is rearranging itself.

The first flicker of recognition.
The first breath that feels like it belongs to the woman I’m becoming.

It’s subtle.
It’s internal.
It’s the quiet click of alignment you almost miss if you’re not paying attention.

The In‑Between

There’s a strange, almost weightless space a woman enters when she begins to change. It’s not dramatic. It’s not loud. It’s not even something you can fully explain to anyone else. It’s just this quiet awareness that the old version of you doesn’t fit anymore… but the new one hasn’t fully arrived.

It’s the in‑between.
The hinge.
The soft middle of becoming.

You start noticing it in small ways — the way you pause before responding, the way you feel yourself pulling back from things that once felt familiar, the way your body reacts differently to truth than it used to. You’re not trying to change. You’re just… shifting. Almost involuntarily. Almost instinctively.

And it’s disorienting, isn’t it?
To feel yourself outgrowing a life you’re still standing in.
To feel your identity stretching, rearranging, re‑forming itself from the inside out.

But there’s also something undeniably alive about it.
A spark.
A pulse.
A quiet sense that you’re returning to a woman you haven’t met yet — but somehow already know.

This is the part no one talks about.
The part before the clarity.

Before the confidence.
Before the full becoming.

The part where you’re standing in the doorway of your own life, feeling the shift in your bones, knowing something is changing… even if you can’t name it yet.

How Becoming Feels in the Body

Before the mind catches up, the body knows.
It shows up as a loosening in the chest.

A deeper breath.
A softening in places you didn’t realize had been clenched for years.
You feel it in the way your shoulders drop when you stop performing.

In the way your voice steadies when you speak from truth instead of fear.
In the way your whole-body exhales when you choose yourself — even in the smallest ways.

Becoming isn’t just emotional.

It’s physical.
It’s cellular.

It’s the body saying, “We’re done shrinking.”

The Emotional Spark

And then there’s the moment — the spark — when you realize you can’t go back.

It’s not dramatic.
It’s not a declaration.
It’s more like a quiet click inside your spirit.

A knowing.
A sense that the woman you’ve been is no longer the woman you’re willing to be.

You feel yourself stepping out of old patterns, old expectations, old versions of yourself that once felt necessary but now feel impossibly small. You feel the shift in your bones, in your breath, in the way you move through a room.

It’s subtle.
But it’s undeniable.

The Quiet Courage Returning

This is the part that surprises you — the courage doesn’t come loudly.
It comes quietly.

It shows up in the way you say no without apologizing.
In the way you choose rest without guilt.
In the way you stop abandoning yourself to keep the peace.

It’s not the kind of courage that roars.
It’s the kind that rises.
Soft.
Steady.
Certain.
The kind that says, “I’m not who I was… and I’m not afraid of who I’m becoming.”

The Soft Declaration

And then, almost without realizing it, you make a choice — not out loud, not publicly, not even intentionally.

A choice to return to yourself — now that you recognize your reflection.
A choice to stop disappearing.
A choice to stop dimming.
A choice to stop betraying the woman inside you who has been waiting so patiently to be seen again.

It’s not a reinvention.
It’s not a transformation.
It’s a remembering.

A soft declaration whispered inside your own skin:
“I feel different…
and I’m ready to become the woman I was always meant to be.”

In Closing

There’s something sacred about catching yourself in the middle of your own becoming. Not the polished version. Not the triumphant version. Just the quiet, almost secret moment where you feel the shift inside your own skin and know — without needing proof — that you’re not the same woman you were even a few months ago.

You don’t have the full picture yet.
You don’t need it.
All you need is this small, undeniable truth rising in you:

I’m changing.
I’m returning.
I’m becoming.

And maybe that’s enough for tonight — to simply acknowledge the spark before the fire, the whisper before the declaration, the soft beginning of a woman finding her way back to herself.

Emotional Landing

If you’re reading this and something in you feels familiar — the tug, the shift, the quiet knowing — I want you to hear me:

You’re not behind.
You’re not late.
You’re not lost.

You’re in the in‑between.
You’re in the hinge.
You’re in the part where your spirit rearranges itself before your life catches up.

This is the moment you feel different inside your own skin.
This is the moment you begin again.
This is the moment you return to the woman you were always meant to be
.
Let it happen.
Let it rise.
Let it become you.

My Note
This piece was born from a single sentence a friend said to me today:

“Letters feel more personal, intimate, Dawna. Beautiful, my friend.”

And she was right.
Becoming is personal.
It’s intimate.
It’s the kind of truth you whisper onto a page before you’re ready to speak it out loud.

Thank you for reading my letters — for meeting me in these quiet, shifting places where identity reforms itself and a woman begins to feel like herself again. If this met you where you are, I’m honored to hold this moment with you.

Evolving in grace,
Dawna‑Rae 🦋
may your heart return to itself again and again

P.S.
If you’re in your own hinge moment, I’d love to hear about it. These letters are a conversation, not a monologue.

https://lovelifewithdawna.substack.com/p/when-a-woman-begins-to-become-herself?r=8ad3ia

A Small Act of Care: The Ginger Chews That Help Me Return to Myself

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Happy Wednesday, loves.

I want to share something simple today — something small, almost ordinary, but deeply meaningful to me. It’s not my usual kind of HYET post, but it is part of my evolution, and that makes it worthy of being here.

About six months ago, a woman in a ceramics shop handed me a small piece of wisdom disguised as a ginger chew. I didn’t know then how much I would come to rely on it.

Many of you know pieces of my story — the years of extreme acid reflux and GERD, the days when I was vomiting blood, the way my body collapsed under the weight of toxins in my previous home. My healing has not been linear. It has been layered, humbling, and at times, terrifying.

This little ginger chew didn’t cure me. But it offered me something I didn’t realize I needed: relief, grounding, and a moment to return to myself.

Somewhere along the way, it became part of my daily rhythm. I keep them in my purse, my car, my nightstand — not out of habit, but out of reverence for the small ways we can care for ourselves when life feels sharp or unsteady.

On the days when my stomach tightens, when nausea rises, when my body whispers instead of screams, I pause. I breathe. I take one. And in that tiny act, I remember that tending to myself is part of my evolution.

Healing doesn’t always look like transformation. Sometimes it looks like honoring what your body needs in the smallest, simplest ways.

If you feel called to try the exact ones I use, here is the link: https://amzn.to/4tup5nG

These helped me. They are not a replacement for medical care, and they are not meant to diagnose or treat anything. If your body is speaking loudly, please seek the support you deserve.

But if you’re looking for a gentle companion on the days when your stomach feels unsettled or your spirit feels tender, maybe this will meet you the way it met me.

Evolving in grace,

Dawna‑Rae 🦋 may your heart return to itself again and again

A kitchen counter with ginger chews, lemons, and a wooden tray arranged together — a simple, natural comfort used for nausea and stomach relief.

When Motherhood Lives in the Quiet Places

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A reflection for the mothers who spend Mother’s Day unseen, unheard, or alone.

Dear friends,

Tonight, and for the next 6 days I wanted to talk to you about Motherhood in this 7- day Mother’s Day series. Thank you for joining me.

There are moments in our lives when the world celebrates loudly, and yet our own hearts move quietly through the day. Mother’s Day can be one of those moments — a day that holds joy for some, ache for others, and a complicated mixture for many.

Today, I’m writing to the mothers whose stories don’t fit neatly into the greeting‑card version of this holiday. The mothers who sit in quiet houses. The mothers who scroll past photos of brunches and bouquets with a tender sting in their chest. The mothers who gave everything, and yet find themselves unacknowledged, unseen, or alone.

This reflection is for you.

I’ve been thinking about the way silence can feel heavier than celebration. The way a mother’s heart remembers every small hand she held, every morning she rose, every moment she gave — even when no one shows up to honor it. The world may forget, but your heart does not.

If I could sit with you right now, I would take your hands and remind you of something sacred: your motherhood matters. The love you poured out did not vanish. The devotion you carried did not disappear. The story you lived is still holy, even if the day feels empty.

For most of my life — and the lives of my children — Mother’s Day was not a day of honor. It was a day erased. Inside the confines of cult life, my sons were taught that celebrating their mother was against God. They were taught that women were lesser. They were taught to withhold what should have been freely given.

Motherhood, for me, became something I lived quietly, without acknowledgment, without ritual, without the simple human recognition that a mother deserves.

But life has changed for the three of us.

We are learning — together — what it means to reclaim a day that was stolen. We are learning how to honor a mother’s heart, whether her children are small or grown. We are learning how to build new memories where old ones were denied.

The greatest gift my sons can give me is their time. Their presence. Their willingness to sit with me in the life we are rebuilding. We have years of memories to make up for, and a lifetime still ahead to create new ones. And we will make them count.

And I feel doubly blessed, because Grant — one of my bonus sons — celebrates me too. Motherhood expands in ways we never expect. Love finds its way through the cracks.

If you are spending this Mother’s Day alone, or unseen, or carrying a quiet ache, please know this: You are not forgotten. You are not invisible. You are not outside the circle of honor. Your motherhood is real. Your story is worthy. Your heart is sacred.

This is your reminder — your evolution — your return to yourself.

Come back tomorrow. We’ll continue this reflection on motherhood, healing, and the quiet places where love still lives. I’ll meet you here, in the soft space where truth and tenderness rise together.

Evolving in grace,

Dawna‑Rae

🦋 may your heart return to itself again and again

Seeing Ourselves With New Eyes

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Happy Sunday evening, friends,

Thank you for stepping back into Have You Evolved Today for another spiritual reflection. Having you here brings so much joy to my heart. Truly — thank you.

Tonight, I wanted to share something tender. Something that once came from a place of brokenness, but is now becoming a place of healing — all because of God’s gentle work in my life.

An old photo resurfaced this week. A photo that should have always held a special place in my heart, yet for years it carried a quiet ache. Not because of the moment itself, but because of the story I had allowed to grow around it — a story rooted in shame instead of truth.

There are moments in life when God invites us to look again — not at the world, not at our circumstances, but at ourselves. Sometimes that invitation comes through a memory, a conversation, or a quiet whisper in prayer. And sometimes… it comes through an old photograph.

Recently, I came across a picture of myself from years ago — a version of me I had avoided for a long time. Not because of the moment itself, but because of the story I had attached to it. A story shaped by someone else’s words. A story that made me shrink instead of rise.

But here’s the thing about evolution: God doesn’t let us stay in the places where shame has rooted itself. He brings us back — gently, lovingly — so we can see the truth we missed the first time.

When I looked at that photo again, I didn’t see the woman I once judged so harshly. I didn’t see the insecurity. I didn’t see the heaviness. I didn’t see the version of me shaped by someone else’s voice.

I saw a woman who was doing her best. I saw a mother who kept loving through storms she never named. I saw tenderness that refused to harden. I saw strength that didn’t roar — it endured.

And I realized something important:

Evolution isn’t always about becoming someone new. Sometimes it’s about finally seeing who you were all along.

So many of us carry old versions of ourselves that we’ve never forgiven. We hold onto moments where we felt small, unseen, or unworthy. We replay words that were spoken over us in anger or carelessness. We let those moments define us long after God has already rewritten the truth.

But the invitation today — the evolution — is this:

Look again.

Look at the woman you were with compassion. Look at the battles she fought without applause. Look at the love she gave even when she was hurting. Look at the strength she carried without knowing it had a name.

You don’t evolve by erasing her. You evolve by honoring her.

Because she is the reason you are who you are today. She is the foundation. She is the seed. She is the beginning of your becoming.

If you feel called, take a moment this week to revisit a version of yourself you’ve avoided. Not to judge her — but to bless her. To thank her. To see her with God’s eyes instead of your own.

You might be surprised by the woman who looks back at you.

Evolving in grace,

Dawna‑Rae

🦋 may your heart return to itself again and again