@chanellelimm: i have trust issues so i tested it myself 😅

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Friday 26 June 2026 05:42:43 GMT
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ciaenc
CIA :
Lash map and style reveal po huhu 🥹
2026-08-22 12:34:19
0
_urfaveshine
sunshine :
LUV ITTT HAHAHA
2026-06-26 06:04:56
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pransyana23
pransyana♈️🧿 :
hindi ba nagmumuta muta mie?
2026-08-04 02:39:52
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amirajazmine
amirajazmine :
ang liwanag po ng shower niyo
2026-06-28 16:46:06
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tiujieanne
Jieanne Tiu :
Omg IM SOLD
2026-06-28 05:18:53
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jc.shepherd
🌻 :
GRABE BAAA
2026-06-28 03:11:04
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kyleyalater
Athena :
sinama mo pa kami maligo
2026-06-26 06:56:30
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ptrclazatinn
riri :
umabot na tayo sa cr
2026-06-26 05:56:39
0
veloreal1
veloreal :
🥰🥰🥰
2026-07-04 16:23:12
0
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A year ago this week, I stepped away from AT&T on medical leave. I thought I was stepping away temporarily. I didn’t know I was standing at the edge of a life I hadn’t planned yet. I was exhausted, anxious, and struggling to focus. I was trying to navigate investigations at work and felt like I was walking on eggshells with the person who managed me. My personal life was already heavy. I was facing a divorce, raising my girls, worrying about debt and bills, and wondering how long my savings could carry us. I believed God might be telling me it was time to leave, but trusting that feeling did not make me feel safe. I remember not being able to stop crying. Even when my psychiatrist supported me taking time away, I was scared I’d be sent back. I worried the stress would undo whatever healing I could make. I had spent so long being the person who could handle it that I didn’t know what to do when I couldn’t just push through. I thought I would return ready to conquer 2026. Instead, on December 29, AT&T ended my role. After more than a decade of giving that company my work, leadership, loyalty, and life, I was suddenly trying to understand who I was without the title, the routine, the paycheck, and the future I thought I had earned. I won’t rewrite that as an easy blessing. It hurt. I felt shocked, angry, scared, and deeply disappointed. I had to grieve the job and the version of my future I’d been counting on, while still taking care of my children and figuring out what came next. But this year taught me that being overwhelmed didn’t mean I was incapable. My body and mind were telling me I couldn’t keep carrying everything the same way. Rest wasn’t laziness. Needing help wasn’t failure. And my worth was never the job title I worked so hard to earn. I learned that I had skills beyond AT&T. I knew how to sell, train, lead, communicate, solve problems, and help people grow. For years, I thought those skills belonged to the company. They belonged to me. I could take them with me. I learned that rebuilding doesn’t look like one big, triumphant leap. Sometimes it looks like making a video when you’re not sure anyone will watch. Finishing a home project one piece at a time. Writing the book you’ve carried inside you. Showing up for your kids while you’re still trying to find your own footing. Making something out of the life you have, even when it doesn’t look like the life you expected. I published Still, She Bloomed. I kept creating. I let people see more of the real process: the home, the food, the motherhood, the faith, the setbacks, and the small wins. I learned that my story didn’t have to be polished to matter. And I learned that an audience is an opportunity I can build on, not a promise that everything will suddenly be easy. I’m still learning how to trust myself when I don’t have every answer. I’m still learning that freedom can feel frightening before it feels peaceful. But I no longer believe I have to stay somewhere that is costing me my health just because I know how to survive there. This first year of freedom did not begin with me feeling fearless. It began with me crying, scared about money, and unsure of what came next. And I kept going. AT&T was a huge chapter of my life. It was never the whole story. The job ended. I didn’t.
A year ago this week, I stepped away from AT&T on medical leave. I thought I was stepping away temporarily. I didn’t know I was standing at the edge of a life I hadn’t planned yet. I was exhausted, anxious, and struggling to focus. I was trying to navigate investigations at work and felt like I was walking on eggshells with the person who managed me. My personal life was already heavy. I was facing a divorce, raising my girls, worrying about debt and bills, and wondering how long my savings could carry us. I believed God might be telling me it was time to leave, but trusting that feeling did not make me feel safe. I remember not being able to stop crying. Even when my psychiatrist supported me taking time away, I was scared I’d be sent back. I worried the stress would undo whatever healing I could make. I had spent so long being the person who could handle it that I didn’t know what to do when I couldn’t just push through. I thought I would return ready to conquer 2026. Instead, on December 29, AT&T ended my role. After more than a decade of giving that company my work, leadership, loyalty, and life, I was suddenly trying to understand who I was without the title, the routine, the paycheck, and the future I thought I had earned. I won’t rewrite that as an easy blessing. It hurt. I felt shocked, angry, scared, and deeply disappointed. I had to grieve the job and the version of my future I’d been counting on, while still taking care of my children and figuring out what came next. But this year taught me that being overwhelmed didn’t mean I was incapable. My body and mind were telling me I couldn’t keep carrying everything the same way. Rest wasn’t laziness. Needing help wasn’t failure. And my worth was never the job title I worked so hard to earn. I learned that I had skills beyond AT&T. I knew how to sell, train, lead, communicate, solve problems, and help people grow. For years, I thought those skills belonged to the company. They belonged to me. I could take them with me. I learned that rebuilding doesn’t look like one big, triumphant leap. Sometimes it looks like making a video when you’re not sure anyone will watch. Finishing a home project one piece at a time. Writing the book you’ve carried inside you. Showing up for your kids while you’re still trying to find your own footing. Making something out of the life you have, even when it doesn’t look like the life you expected. I published Still, She Bloomed. I kept creating. I let people see more of the real process: the home, the food, the motherhood, the faith, the setbacks, and the small wins. I learned that my story didn’t have to be polished to matter. And I learned that an audience is an opportunity I can build on, not a promise that everything will suddenly be easy. I’m still learning how to trust myself when I don’t have every answer. I’m still learning that freedom can feel frightening before it feels peaceful. But I no longer believe I have to stay somewhere that is costing me my health just because I know how to survive there. This first year of freedom did not begin with me feeling fearless. It began with me crying, scared about money, and unsure of what came next. And I kept going. AT&T was a huge chapter of my life. It was never the whole story. The job ended. I didn’t.

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