Adena M'lynn's Voice

Some people say life is like a box of chocolates— silky choices, soft centers, surprises wrapped in gold foil like blessing after blessing waiting to be unwrapped. But me? My life… my life is more like a dollar-store pack of cherry sours. Yeah— those bright red, round little lies that look sweet at first glance, glassed-over in sugar like they came from a childhood dream. You pick one up, thinking  finally — this one’s gonna be good. This one’s gonna melt sweet on the tongue, go down easy, be the kind of comfort you don’t have to brace yourself for. And the first one? Oh, the first one never misses. It hits you with that candy-coated promise— that  this  time, this moment, this chapter might actually be soft. That maybe the world has finally decided to taste like kindness. So you crave another. Another little red candleball to light up the dark with sugar and hope. But the next one? That next bite? It betrays you. Sour. Sharp. Like a memory you thought you swallowed years...

  I don’t always notice my blessings. Some days I complain without even hearing myself—like breathing out a truth I’ve rehearsed too long. Life feels heavy, and I move through it half-present, as if the edges of reality have blurred just enough to let me slip away. And if I’m being honest, disappearing is familiar. It’s a skill I learned young, long before I knew what to call it. Dissociation, drifting, zoning out—whatever word you choose, it’s the same sensation: I vanish while the world continues on, steady and unbothered. But then something unexpected happens. A moment pierces the moment. Maybe it’s sunlight hitting my face just right or    laughter I didn’t plan to enjoy. And I gasp. It’s small, almost private—like my soul startled me by returning. I gasp, and then I grasp. I reach for the world, for myself, for the blessing I almost missed. Gratitude, for me, is not a polished habit. It’s not journaling in perfect handwriting or whispering thanks before bed. It’s mor...