A Sunday Prayer: Healing & Transforming Pain Into Purpose
That’s me. Taking a selfie. In the background. A Shadow of my old self. Still, standing in front of a glass window, overlooking the Manhattan skyline. Letting go of my past. Staying grounded in my present. And claiming my future. I <3 New York.
A Sunday Prayer for whoever needs it.
If you’re walking through a season of grief, transition, or emotional fatigue - I see you.
This ache? This heartbreak you’re feeling? It’s not weakness. It’s grief meeting grace. It’s proof that your heart hasn’t hardened. That even after all the betrayal, the burdens, the burnout… you still care. You still dream. You still show up.
It’s okay to grieve.
The loss of family, friends, and patterns of dysfunction that felt so familiar they betrayed you into believing they were real love.
But, all along, your body knew it felt wrong. Your nervous system knew it was not safe. Your soul knew it was misaligned.
Grieve.
The loss of a past you thought was meant to nurture you.
Gratitude.
Be thankful you still feel, you still cry, you still ache.
It means that while life has been hard, you have not hardened.
Pray.
Pray for inner peace, for inner strength, and for divine guidance.
You are not broken.
You are not lost.
You are not behind.
You are healing ancestral wounds.
You are breaking generational patterns.
You are transforming pain into purpose.
Keep. Going.
P.S. Resources and Reflections
If this post resonated with you, here are a few thoughtful resources that helped me process my lived experience around healing past trauma.
Read:
The Seven Spiritual Laws of Sucess
Self-Compassion: The Proven Power of Being Kind to Yourself
About the Author
Mery Vieira is the founder of The LGLP Journal, a soft but strong space for healing, evolving, and stepping into your power. As a writer, brand strategist, and legacy builder, she shares honest reflections and practical tools to help women grow through life’s challenges and become the best version of themselves.
The Double-Edged Sword: A Reflection on Beauty & Bias
They say beauty is a gift.
But for many women, it has felt more like a negotiation. A double-edged sword. A silent contract we never signed.
As a little girl, I was bullied at the playground for my “fish lips” and “big eyes” - only to be praised later in adulthood for the same “sensuous mouth” and “inviting eyes.” Strangers complimented me. Teachers made comments. Girls admired, then women distanced. Boys approached, then men possessed. I learned quickly that being beautiful did not mean being safe. It meant being watched. Judged. Envied. Resented. Wanted. And, too often, punished.
I used to believe my beauty was a trap. But now I understand it was never the beauty that hurt me. It was the world’s response to it. And the silence I was forced to keep. I carry this story not only as a woman, but as a writer, a mother, and a leader.
As a writer, I reclaim the narrative. I give language to the pain so many of us were told to swallow - I write not to perform, but to reveal. My voice is my refusal to be silenced.
As a mother, I bear witness. I raise a child whose beauty is layered, complex, and political. They are darker. They are queer. And they, too, know the sting of being misunderstood, underestimated, or overcategorized. I mother them not into fear, but into freedom. I teach them what I’m still learning: that their worth is not transactional. That their body is not a battleground. That their soul has a purpose, and that we will discover it together.
As a leader in the workplace, I am often misjudged. Some say I am too intense; others say I’m too meek and need to improve my executive presence. To live at the intersection of being a woman, a woman of color, and a woman who is considered attractive in the workplace often puts me in a vulnerable position. My merit and character are constantly under surveillance.
Other people’s perceptions of what it means to be Black, and how I should show up as a Black woman, are constantly challenged. Men and women alike wonder whether I earned my way through my career or if I leveraged my looks or my body. They may not say it aloud, but I feel it in how they treat me: how they discredit me, disrespect me, and undermine not only my work, but my very existence.
It’s been a long road to restoring my own self-worth. Every day, I fight to heal and grow through my lived experiences. At work, I try to lead with transparency. I lead to build, and to build up others, even if I am doubted.
I’ve been asked to show up as my authentic self, but the truth is, it hasn’t always mattered. They don’t see me for who I am.
I’ve had to reckon with myself because I’ve been misunderstood for so long. But today, as I reflect on what it means to survive in this world, I realize the only person I need to be authentic with is myself. I cannot control how others perceive me. I can only show up as my best self.
My hope is that workplaces will make room for compassionate leadership and create environments that don’t demand we show up fragmented and fearful, but whole and supported.
This past week has been hard, taking in all the commentary about Cassie Ventura. I think of how she was silenced for years and is now reclaiming her truth with courage. I think of Marilyn Monroe, consumed by the very gaze that made her iconic. Of Princess Diana, beloved yet broken by a world obsessed with her every move. Of Rita Hayworth, who said, “Men go to bed with Gilda but wake up with me.” Of Cleopatra and Nefertiti, icons of power and beauty whose legacies were filtered through the lens of conquest. Of the wives of Henry VIII, discarded when they were deemed no longer useful. Of the women burned as witches, their wisdom mistaken for threat. Of every woman who has ever had to calculate the risk of being seen.
We are the descendants of women who bartered their safety for survival. Who had to choose between being admired and being protected. Who negotiated daily between being desired and being respected.
But this is not just a story of suffering.
This is a reclamation.
I no longer apologize for my beauty.
I no longer carry shame for how the world responds to my light.
I am here to create, to mother, to lead, and to do so in the full expression of who I am.
I write this not just for me. I write this for all of us.
With love and support,
Mery Vieira
Edited by: Mahani Vieira Badjie
“A woman’s power lies not in her ability to mimic men, but in her ability to master herself.
— Ayesha K. Faines
P.S. Resources and Reflections
If this post resonated with you, here are a few thoughtful resources that helped me process my lived experience around beauty, authenticity, and finding safety as a woman.
Watch:
Teal Swan – Pretty Privilege? Why It’s Hard Being a Beautiful Woman
A raw, powerful exploration of the hidden cost of beauty and the emotional toll of being objectified, misunderstood, and often dismissed.
Read:
Beauty Sick: How the Cultural Obsession with Appearance Hurts Girls and Women by Dr. Renee Engeln
An evidence-based yet deeply personal exploration of how our culture’s fixation on appearance erodes confidence and connection.
The Beauty Myth by Naomi Wolf
A classic feminist text that exposes how beauty standards are used as tools of power and control.
Explore:
Feminine Archetype Quiz
In loving memory of Ayesha K. Faines—visionary founder of Women Love Power—whose legacy continues to guide women in reclaiming their voice, sensuality, and power.
About the Author
Mery Vieira is the founder of The LGLP Journal, a soft but strong space for healing, evolving, and stepping into your power. As a writer, brand strategist, and legacy builder, she shares honest reflections and practical tools to help women grow through life’s challenges and become the best version of themselves.