Sparks Refuse Dark

Somewhere along the way, you learned that healing meant becoming someone new—cleaner, calmer, more put-together. You tucked away your grief like loose change in a coat pocket, swallowed your truth to keep the peace, and mistook silence for strength. You waited for permission to be soft in a world that rewards hardness. But here's what no one told you: tenderness is not weakness. It's rebellion. And your scars are not flaws—they're soil. Ashes in My Pocket is an invitation to stop arriving empty-handed. It's a quiet companion for those who are done performing wholeness and ready to compost their past into something fertile. Through candlelight rituals, borrowed wisdom, flickering doubts, and kitchen-table epiphanies, this book walks beside you—not ahead—as you learn to carry your history with grace, build a hearth in the chaos, and pass your match without losing your flame. You won't find grand promises here. No five-step plans to enlightenment. Just honest reflections from someone still learning how to burn gently in a loud world. Because transformation doesn't arrive with fanfare. It shows up as a spark—in a paused breath, a softened word, a choice to respond instead of react. This is not a manual for becoming perfect. It's a manifesto for showing up—ashes and all—and discovering that your imperfect presence is already enough to warm someone else's dark. Light your candle. Turn the page. You belong here. And if you're wondering whether you're "ready" to begin: You are. Not because you've healed enough. But because you're still willing to try. This book meets you exactly where you are—with smudged hands, unanswered questions, and a heart that's been singed but not extinguished. It doesn't ask you to leave anything behind. It simply asks you to bring it all—your grief, your doubt, your quiet courage—and let it sit beside you as you tend your flame. Because healing isn't about erasing the past. It's about learning to carry it with care. And in these pages, you'll find no judgment—only companionship. No pressure—only space. No finish line—only the next small act of kindness toward yourself and the world. So go ahead. Let your hands tremble. Let your tears fall. Let your light flicker. You don't have to be steady to be sacred. You just have to be here. And here, with your ashes and your match, you are already enough.