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The Girl, The Shadow Monster and The Lioness of Light

Not everyone who becomes a parent deserves the title. This isn’t about mothers or fathers, it applies to any parent who chooses ego over growth, control over accountability, and comfort over responsibility.Some people create children out of loneliness, obligation, image, control, or unresolved trauma, not love. Yet society insists we stay quiet about that reality, especially when the parent hides behind a role, a gender, or sacrifice. We’re taught to protect the idea of family, even when the truth inside it is harmful.<h3>When Harm Doesn’t Look Like Abuse</h3>Bad parents don’t always look abusive from the outside. They may provide food, clothes, and shelter, yet fail to provide safety, emotional consistency, or accountability. They confuse authority with care, fear with respect, and silence with peace.This behavior exists in mothers and fathers alike. It has nothing to do with gender and everything to do with emotional maturity or the lack of it.In these homes, toxic behavior becomes normalized. Yelling becomes communication. Intimidation becomes leadership. Repeating the same destructive patterns while expecting different results becomes routine, not growth.They raise their voices to get their point across, yet accomplish nothing except fear, resentment, and emotional shutdown. Problems are never resolved, only recycled. Cycles continue because the person in charge refuses to change.<h3>The Bare Minimum Disguised as Parenthood</h3>They wait for others to push them forward. For life to improve on its own. For someone else to fix what they refuse to confront, while doing the bare minimum and blaming everyone else when nothing changes.They believe working, paying bills, or “providing” is the full measure of parenthood. As if financial contribution replaces emotional presence. As if survival replaces care.They point to effort instead of impact. “I work.” “I pay the bills.” As though that excuses neglect, emotional absence, or disengagement.They confuse obligation with involvement. Presence with parenting. And the bare minimum with love.They expect credit for what they were required to do, while offering nothing for the parts that actually matter, guidance, protection, consistency, emotional safety, and accountability.<h3>When the Child Still Hurts</h3>And when the child is still hurting, still struggling, still unmet, they blame the child for needing more than crumbs.Or they blame someone else. An ex. A new partner. A “better half.” A circumstance. A system.There is always an outside reason. Always a scapegoat. Always a story that protects their ego and avoids responsibility.Nothing is ever their fault. If the child is struggling, the child is “ungrateful.” If the relationship is broken, someone else “turned them against them.” If harm is acknowledged, someone else caused it, never them.Accountability is nonexistent. Excuses replace reflection. Deflection replaces responsibility. Apologies, when they appear, are hollow, followed by the same behavior, the same damage, the same denial.<h3>What Children Learn Instead of Stability</h3>And the ugliest truth? Children raised in these environments don’t learn stability, they learn survival.They become hyper-aware. Emotionally guarded. Overly responsible. Desperate to keep the peace.They adapt because they have to.The Shift That Changes EverythingAs the child grows, something shifts. The questions get sharper. The patterns become clearer. And the parent realizes they are no longer the smartest person in the room.That’s when the tension begins.Because nothing threatens a stagnant person more than someone who has outgrown them. Someone who sees through the excuses. Someone who no longer confuses loudness with truth or age with insight.Growth exposes what they avoided. Questions feel like accusations. Boundaries feel like disrespect. Independence feels like betrayal.Rather than reflect, they double down. They interrupt instead of listen. They escalate instead of explain. They retreat into authority because accountability would require humility.They confuse being challenged with being attacked. Being questioned with being undermined. And they respond not with wisdom, but with defensiveness.When control no longer works, guilt becomes the weapon. Your growth is framed as cruelty. Your distance as abandonment. Your clarity as disrespect.Not because you are wrong, but because you are no longer small.So the distance grows. Not because the child is cold. But because proximity now requires pretending.And pretending is something the grown child can no longer do.<h3>Why Society Protects Them</h3>Society often protects the parent, especially when they hide behind sacrifice, gender roles, or “doing their best.” Because it’s easier to defend the idea of family than to face the damage done inside it.<h3>If You Are One of Those Children</h3>If you are one of those children, hear this clearly:At the end of the day, one day you will grow up and you will see the patterns for yourself. You will recognize the cycles, the manipulation, and the lack of accountability that once felt normal because it was all you knew.And when that clarity comes, understand this: Their failures are not yours to bear.Their emotional immaturity, stagnation, and refusal to grow belong to them, not you.You were never meant to carry their shortcomings or fix what they refused to face.Instead, learn from them, not by becoming like them, but by recognizing exactly who not to become. Learn the cost of avoidance. The damage of ego. The consequences of never taking responsibility.<h3>Healing Without Permission</h3>It’s okay if part of healing includes grief. Grief for the parent you needed but never had. Grief for the safety, guidance, and protection that should have been there.You can acknowledge that loss without justifying the behavior. You can release anger without reopening doors. You can move forward without waiting for closure from people who never took responsibility.Healing does not require reconciliation. Distance can be an act of self-respect, not bitterness. Peace does not come from fixing them, it comes from freeing yourself.Choosing to End the CycleAnd then you get to choose.Breaking the cycle means choosing awareness where there was denial. Accountability where there were excuses. Calm communication where there was yelling. Effort where there was complacency.You are not required to repeat what hurt you. You are not obligated to pass down pain disguised as tradition. And you do not owe silence to anyone who refused to change.The cycle ends when clarity replaces confusion, when responsibility replaces blame, and when someone finally decides that dysfunction stops here.That’s not rebellion. That’s growth.

Not Everyone Who Has a Child Becomes a Parent

Dreamers Triumph - The Island DreamerBy: D.N.Once upon a time, on a beautiful island called La Isla del Encanto, there lived a little girl named Isabella.The island shimmered where the mountains met the sea, and at night the coquí frogs sang as if they were guarding everyone’s dreams. Isabella lived in a humble pueblito high in the mountains of Puerto Rico, where the roads curved like ribbons and neighbors waved even when their days were heavy.Isabella had big dreams, dreams that reached farther than the ocean horizon. She dreamed even when life felt uncertain. Even when tomorrow seemed fragile. Even when grown-ups spoke in worried voices.Her family didn’t have much, but they had love. Some days the water stopped running, and they learned to save every drop. Some nights, without warning, the electricity disappeared. When that happened, Isabella would light a small candle and sit at the kitchen table, carefully doing her homework by its warm glow. The shadows danced on the walls, and she learned to write slowly so the wax wouldn’t drip onto her paper.Those nights taught her patience. They taught her focus. They taught her that learning didn’t stop just because the lights went out.Sometimes school was closed, not for celebrations, but because the building needed repairs, teachers were stretched thin, or storms had passed through again. Isabella missed classmates who slowly disappeared, moving away with their families to faraway places in search of work or stability. Each goodbye felt quiet, unfinished.Many people spoke to Isabella without meaning to hurt her, but their words stayed with her.“Isabella,” they would say, “life on the island is hard. Don’t expect too much.”Others warned, “Big dreams belong to people with more resources.”At times, Isabella felt confused. Why did dreaming feel like something dangerous? Why did hoping feel like something you had to defend? She learned early that being brave didn’t mean not feeling scared, it meant carrying fear gently and continuing anyway.Her first dream was to become an artist.She painted whenever she could. Sometimes on paper, sometimes on cardboard boxes, sometimes just in her imagination when there was nothing else. She painted homes rebuilt after storms, hands helping hands, and bright skies that reminded her better days always returned.People passing by would say, “Art won’t fix real problems.”Isabella didn’t argue. She simply kept painting, learning that art was a way to tell stories when words felt too small.Then she dreamed of becoming a scientist.She loved asking questions. Why did the power go out so often? Why did some neighborhoods receive help faster than others? Why did plants still grow after everything seemed broken?She borrowed an old microscope from her teacher, one lens cracked but still useful and studied ants rebuilding their paths after the rain. Watching them taught her something important: even the smallest beings know how to start again.As Isabella grew, she noticed the struggles adults tried to hide. Parents working multiple jobs. Grandparents raising grandchildren. Friends who came to school hungry but still shared what little they had.Sometimes Isabella had to help at home instead of playing. Sometimes she carried responsibilities heavier than her backpack. She learned that childhood on the island often meant growing up sooner than expected.Her biggest dream wasn’t about leaving the island. It was about changing how people saw it and themselves.She wanted her community to know they mattered. That their lives mattered. That surviving didn’t mean they had stopped dreaming.So she started small.She organized beach cleanups, even when the sun was hot and only a few friends showed up. Some people walked past without helping. Others said, “That won’t change anything.”But Isabella learned that change doesn’t arrive all at once. It begins quietly, with small acts repeated again and again.They turned trash into art. Old wood became benches. Bottles became mosaics. Slowly, the beach looked different. Slowly, people joined. Slowly, hope returned.Then came another hurricane.The wind roared. The rain didn’t stop. The island went dark again. Homes were damaged. Roads were blocked. Isabella felt fear tighten in her chest as she watched adults try to stay strong.For a moment, she felt very small.But then she remembered all the candle-lit nights, all the times the island kept going without power, without certainty, without promises.She gathered her friends. They checked on neighbors, shared food, helped clear paths, and sat with elders who felt forgotten. Isabella learned that leadership wasn’t about having control, it was about having care.Together, they rebuilt homes, planted trees, and reminded one another that even when systems fail, people can still hold each other up.Through everything, Isabella understood something deeply important:Success isn’t about never struggling. It’s about continuing, especially when it’s hard.And so, the little island girl grew into an inspiration, not because life was easy, but because she never stopped believing in her people or herself.Her story traveled far, reaching children who studied by candlelight, who missed friends who moved away, who learned strength before they learned ease.And to them, Isabella’s story whispered:Your struggles are real. Your dreams still matter. You are not invisible.The End.And remember, dear reader No matter where you come from, what you’ve lost, or what challenges surround you, your dreams are still allowed.Even in the dark. Even after the storm.Dream big, like Isabella. And keep going, one candle at a time. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;

Dreamers Triumph - The Island Dreamer

Stella and the Cosmic AdventureBy: D.NOnce upon a time, in a quiet little town tucked between rolling hills and whispering trees, there lived a curious girl named Stella. Her house was ordinary and her street was calm, but inside Stella lived a universe of questions, dreams, and stories waiting to be discovered.By day, Stella explored her backyard as if it were an uncharted land. Fallen leaves became secret maps, stones turned into distant planets, and the old oak tree was her lookout tower to the sky. By night, she lay on the cool grass and watched the stars blink awake one by one, wondering what secrets they held and whether they ever wondered about her, too.One evening, the sky shimmered deeper than usual, like velvet dusted with light. Suddenly, a shooting star streaked across the darkness, brighter and slower than any Stella had ever seen. Without hesitation, she closed her eyes and made her wish.“I wish I could explore the universe.”The star slowed. It glowed. And then, impossibly, it stopped.With a soft twinkle and a burst of color, the shooting star transformed into a radiant being made of starlight. Its glow shimmered in golds, blues, and violets, and its voice sounded like wind chimes dancing in the air.“Hello, Stella,” it said warmly. “My name is Sparkle.”Stella wasn’t afraid. Somehow, she felt as if this moment had been waiting for her all along.Sparkle reached out a glowing hand. The air around them softened, as if the night itself had become gentle and flexible. The ground slipped away, not suddenly, not frighteningly, just enough for Stella to realize she was no longer standing still.As they traveled farther from Earth, Stella noticed something strange.They weren’t flying the way airplanes fly, or even the way rockets move. There was no rushing wind, no roaring sound. Instead, the space around them seemed to bend and soften, like warm light folding over itself. Stars stretched into glowing lines, then curved, twisting like ribbons being slowly turned.“Sparkle,” Stella asked, watching the sky rearrange itself, “how are we traveling so fast?”Sparkle smiled and slowed their glow so Stella could really see what was happening.“We’re not really flying through space,” Sparkle explained. “We’re traveling through layers of it.”Sparkle gently waved a hand of light, and the space around them rippled, as if the universe were made of invisible doors stacked together.“Every planet exists in its own place,” Sparkle continued, “but also in its own moment. Some are far away in distance. Some are far away in time. And some are simply hidden between the spaces you can’t see.”Stella watched as the stars folded inward, turning into glowing shapes that curved and overlapped.“This is called fold travel,” Sparkle said. “Instead of crossing the universe step by step, we fold space and time together, like turning the pages of a book until you reach the chapter you want.”With a soft hum, the stars shimmered. Colors shifted. The sky blinked.And suddenly, they arrived.Stella stepped onto a planet where everything was upside down. Rivers flowed upward into floating lakes. Mountains dangled from the sky like stone lanterns, and waterfalls poured gently into the clouds.People walked happily on ceilings, wearing shoes on their heads and hats on their feet. Shadows danced ahead of their owners, waving before they arrived. When Stella laughed, her giggle floated away like a balloon and popped into tiny sparkles that rained back down.“On this planet,” Sparkle said, “gravity enjoys doing the opposite of what it’s told.”When it was time to leave, the world shimmered like a reflection in water. Space folded again, and Stella felt herself step not forward, but elsewhere.They unfolded into a world made entirely of candy. Lollipop trees swayed in sweet breezes, chocolate rivers shimmered warmly, and cotton-candy clouds drifted overhead, changing colors as they passed.Gummy bears bounced instead of walked, and the ground crunched softly like sugar beneath Stella’s feet. She laughed, tasting sweetness she never thought could exist.To leave, a thin thread of starlight appeared, only when Stella smiled. Sparkle followed it, and the planet wrapped itself closed like a present being gently folded.Next came a planet covered by a vast ocean of bubbles. Each bubble held something different, colors, sounds, memories, and feelings.Stella stepped into one and floated through a rainbow storm where raindrops tasted like joy and thunder sounded like applause. When the bubble popped, she landed safely on a cloud-shaped shore that giggled when she sat down.Here, time slowed so much it felt like standing inside a paused breath, until Sparkle tapped the air and everything restarted somewhere new. On another planet, colors were alive.The sky changed moods. Trees painted the air with brush-like branches. Stella’s footsteps glowed, turning into tiny hopping shapes that scampered away.Creatures spoke in color instead of words. A warm yellow glow made Stella feel happy. A soft green shimmer wrapped her in calm.This time, Sparkle opened a doorway shaped like a spiral of light. They stepped through just as it closed behind them.The Whispering Wind Planet Next came a world where the wind told stories.Every breeze carried a tale, some ancient, some silly. One gust whispered about a moon that sneezed so hard it became a comet. Another told a bedtime story about a shy star afraid of the dark.The wind braided Stella’s hair with invisible, sparkling threads. Then the air folded inward, carrying them gently away.Then came the strangest planet of all, where time itself was tangled.Flowers bloomed backward. Sunrises melted into sunsets, then rewound themselves like ribbons pulled gently back into the sky. Creatures were young and old at the same time.“Here,” Sparkle explained, “time prefers to dance.”As they left, moments overlapped, and Stella felt as if several seconds were happening at once, until they settled somewhere new.Finally, they reached a planet built entirely for joy.Slides made of moonlight curved through the sky. Clouds bounced like trampolines. Stars played tag, darting just out of reach, laughing as Stella tried to catch them.Here, Stella realized something incredible.They weren’t just visiting different places. They were visiting different rules.Some planets let gravity play. Some let time run backward. Some existed only for moments before becoming something new.Yet to Stella, it all felt like one long, magical night.As the stars around them began to glow softer, Stella finally asked the question that had been growing quietly inside her.“How did we visit all of this in one night?”Sparkle’s glow softened.“Because time on Earth is only one way of measuring moments,” Sparkle said. “Out here, moments can stretch, overlap, and exist all at once. One night on Earth can hold many adventures across the universe.”Stella nodded. She didn’t understand every word, but she understood the feeling of it and that felt like enough.Soon, Sparkle gently guided her back toward her backyard. The grass returned beneath her feet, cool and familiar, and the night air settled into its quiet hum. The town slept peacefully, as if nothing extraordinary had happened at all.Sparkle hovered for a moment longer, glowing softly against the sky.“Nothing you saw was a dream,” Sparkle whispered. “You simply traveled where time and space listen to imagination.”Then, slowly, Sparkle rose upward and folded back into the stars, taking their place among the constellations.From that night on, Stella noticed the world felt different, brighter, quieter, and fuller all at once.The stars no longer seemed distant or silent. They felt familiar, like old friends watching from far away but never truly gone. When the wind brushed past her, Stella listened closely, half-expecting it to whisper a story. When the sun rose and set, she wondered what dances time might be doing somewhere beyond the sky.Stella still went to school. She still played in her backyard. But now, when she picked up a stone, she wondered what planet it might belong to. When clouds drifted overhead, she imagined whether they bounced somewhere else in the universe. Ordinary moments shimmered with possibility.Sometimes, just before sleep, Stella felt a soft warmth in her chest as if stardust were gently humming inside her. She remembered Sparkle’s words and understood something new: the universe wasn’t just something she had visited. It was something she carried.And on certain nights, when the sky was especially clear and the stars blinked a little brighter than usual, Stella thought she saw one glowing just a bit more than the rest. Not streaking. Not stopping. Just watching.Waiting.Because the universe, Stella knew now, was always folding and unfolding, making room for curiosity, imagination, and brave wishes whispered into the dark.And somewhere beyond time and space, Sparkle smiled.The End.

Book of life Blog

Memory Lane

Caribbean Odyssey

The Girl, The Shadow Monster and The Lioness of Light

Not Everyone Who Has a Child Becomes a Parent

Dreamers Triumph - The Island Dreamer

Stella and the Cosmic Adventure