Rediscovering Your Value: A Journey to Building a Foundation of Self-Worth Poem

This poem is inspired by my blog post ‘Rediscovering Your Value: A Journey to Building a Foundation of Self-Worth’. You can find the full post here:

Lesson 129: Rediscovering Your Value: A Journey to Building a Foundation of Self-Worth

You were born enough—
long before the world taught you otherwise,
long before comparison dimmed your light
or someone else’s voice grew louder than your own.

But somewhere along the way
you learned to measure yourself
in likes, in effort, in achievement,
in the shaky mirror of other people’s eyes.
And slowly, quietly, painfully—
you forgot the truth of who you are.

Self-doubt crept in like a shadow,
whispering, Be more. Do more. Earn it.
You began to believe worth was something built,
not something breathed into you at birth.
You began to believe love had conditions
and value had rules.

But listen—
self-worth was never meant to be hunted.
It was meant to be remembered.

You are not the voice that scolds you.
You are not your failures,
nor the ones you fear.
You are not the moments you broke
or the expectations you could not meet.

Your worth lives deeper than that—
beneath the noise,
beneath the scars,
beneath every moment you thought
you weren’t enough.

It reveals itself
in the boundaries you set
when you finally whisper,
My needs matter too.

It grows
in the softness you offer yourself
when you say,
It’s okay. I tried.

It strengthens
in the courage it takes
to stop comparing your journey
to someone else’s highlight reel.

It deepens
each time you honor your strengths,
recognize your gifts,
and walk away from places
that require you to shrink.

It unfolds
in the small steps—
the quiet ones no one sees.

And one day,
without applause,
without witness,
you realize:

Your worth was never lost.
You were simply searching everywhere
but within.

So return to yourself.
Return to the heart you keep overlooking.
Return to the truth waiting beneath your doubt:

You are worthy—
not because of what you do,
but because you are here.
Because you exist.
Because your life carries a brilliance
that asks for no permission at all.

Stand in that.
Grow from that.
Live from that.
And let the world meet you
as someone who finally remembers
their own inherent light.

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The Power of Gratitude And How it Can Change Your Life Poem

This poem is inspired by my blog post ‘The Power of Gratitude And How it Can Change Your Life‘. You can find the full post here:

Lesson 59: The Power of Gratitude And How it Can Change Your Life

In a world that whispers, “Want more, chase fast,”
We forget the blessings already amassed.
We search for tomorrow, for what might appear,
Yet miss the small wonders already here.

Gratitude isn’t just words we say,
It’s a lens, a light, a mindful way.
It shifts our gaze from lack to enough,
Softening the edges when life feels tough.

It brightens the mind, it steadies the soul,
It mends the heart, it makes us whole.
With thanks, our worries begin to release,
Replacing the chaos with calm and peace.

It deepens love, it strengthens ties,
It opens our hearts, it clears our eyes.
A smile, a note, a kind embrace—
Gratitude lingers, it leaves its trace.

It heals the body, it quiets the night, It helps us see meaning where pain had control. Through trials and storms, its roots hold strong,
Teaching us we’ve had strength all along.

So pause today, take a moment to see
The countless gifts surrounding thee.
For life grows richer, softer, true,
When gratitude lives each day in you.

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The Lantern Keeper

On the edge of a vast mountain range lay a trail called The Way of Whispers.
No map could chart it. It changed with each season — rocks shifting, roots rising, fog falling thick as sleep.

Those who walked it sought wisdom. Those who returned, rarely spoke of what they found.

At the trail’s beginning stood a woman named Sera, known to all as the Lantern Keeper. Her duty was to guide travelers through the first mile — to light their way until her lantern’s glow could no longer pierce the mist.

She had done this for years. Watched hundreds come and go.
Some marched ahead, eager to arrive. Others lagged behind, too frightened to continue.
And every time, Sera stood alone at the bend, wondering:
If they stumble in the dark beyond my reach, what good is my light?

One morning, just before dawn, a young man named Tarin arrived.
He looked determined but restless, carrying a small unlit lamp.

“I want to find truth,” he said. “I’ve followed others before, but they always walked too far ahead. This time, I’ll find it myself.”

Sera studied him for a long moment, then nodded.
“Then let’s walk together — not as guide and traveler, but as two who search.”

And so, they began.

The path was steep, the fog thick enough to swallow sound.
Tarin tried to forge ahead, eager to prove his courage.
Sera said nothing — only lifted her lantern higher.

But soon, the light stretched thin, their shadows grew long, and Tarin realized he couldn’t see her anymore.
He stopped, waiting. When she reappeared, he saw something he hadn’t noticed before:
Her light wasn’t brighter. It was steadier.

They matched pace after that. Step for step. Breath for breath.

Hours passed. The fog grew heavier.
At one point, Tarin’s foot slipped, and the lantern in his hand shattered against a rock.
He cursed under his breath. “It’s useless now.”

Sera knelt beside him. “Then share mine.”

She didn’t hand it over. She simply brought her light close enough to illuminate them both.
And in that shared circle of glow, something changed — not in the path, but in them.

They spoke of fear and faith, of ambition and loss. They learned to pause when the other faltered.
And slowly, what had begun as a journey up the mountain became a quiet exchange:
One gave courage, the other gave calm. One saw forward, the other noticed what was near.

Neither led. Neither followed.
They walked with.

By the time the fog broke and dawn touched the peaks, they stood together before the final ascent.
The temple shimmered far above, unreachable by night’s end.

Tarin turned to her. “I thought truth waited at the summit.”

Sera smiled. “It does not wait there. It walks here.”

He looked at her, understanding dawning slowly —
the road had not required a leader at all.
It required companionship.

The lantern she carried now burned between them — not hers, not his, but shared.

Ateambulo means “to walk beside.” It reminds us that real guidance is not control — it’s companionship.

True leaders don’t march ahead shouting orders; they move beside those they guide, steadying the pace, sharing the light.
And true followers aren’t lesser — they’re co-travelers, reflecting courage back to the one who leads.

When we walk ahead, we create distance.
When we walk behind, we surrender power.
But when we walk beside, we learn together — each step an exchange of strength, trust, and understanding.

The world often teaches us to choose: leader or follower.
But the deeper truth of Ateambulo is that we are always both —
sometimes lighting the way, sometimes borrowing another’s light.

And perhaps wisdom itself is not waiting at the end of the road,
but in the gentle rhythm of two souls walking side by side.

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