The Divine Meets You Where You're At: Even While Crying on the Bathroom Floor

 

The Divine Meets You Where You're At: Even While Crying on the Bathroom Floor

I’ve come to believe that every spiritual path holds a piece of truth - not just religion, not just meditation, not just whatever language we assign to the unseen. All of it. Every doorway, every tradition, every moment that breaks you open or brings you to your knees. The more life I’ve lived, the more loss I’ve walked through, the more I’ve rebuilt myself from ashes I didn’t ask for, the clearer it has become: truth meets us where we are when we’re willing to meet it. It doesn’t belong to any one belief system. And it doesn’t force itself on us - it waits, patiently, until we’re ready to ask, listen, or receive.

I grew up Catholic, wrapped in ritual long before I understood its meaning - rosaries tucked in drawers, church every Sunday, memorized prayers learned by heart. Even now, though I would say I’m more spiritual than religious, those early imprints still live in me. Not in the rigid way they once did, but as a quiet hum beneath everything I do. My beliefs didn’t fall away; they widened. They stretched as my life stretched me, evolving each time I survived something I never thought I’d have to endure.

Because when you’ve been on the bathroom floor at two in the morning, shaking, begging for something - anything - to help you get through the next breath... you learn quickly that the divine doesn’t live only in churches. It doesn’t wait for Sunday. It doesn’t require perfection. It finds you everywhere. In grief. In the moment you think you can’t go on. In the strange peace that arrives out of nowhere. In the synchronicities that make no logical sense but feel like someone is whispering, You’re not alone. Keep going.

That’s why, when someone tries to force their beliefs on me - insists that their way is the only way - or my work is demonic, I can’t help but smile a little. Because if there’s one thing my life has taught me, it’s that the divine is far too vast to be contained in a single doctrine. Life has shown me too many ways the sacred finds people - in pews and hospitals, in meditation cushions and AA meetings, in formal prayers and wordless cries. My own personal experience has already shown me that God, Spirit, the Universe - whatever name you give it - is multilingual. Multi-dimensional. Fluid. Personal.

Some of that understanding came quietly, through observation. And some of it came through experiences I still don’t have language for - moments that arrived without warning and left no room for doubt. When my intuition sharpened, when my clairs began to open, when I started hearing, sensing, and knowing things I never had access to before... there wasn’t a single cell in my body that registered fear. It didn’t feel dark. It didn’t feel dangerous. It felt familiar. Loving. Like something I had forgotten was finally returning. If anything, it was the opposite of demonic - it was clarifying, comforting, and deeply connected. And that kind of peace doesn’t come from darkness.

After losing my husband, after losing both of my parents, after walking through a dark night of the soul that rewired me from the inside out, something in me woke up. I began to understand that spirituality isn’t a belief system - it’s a relationship. A living, breathing dialogue with something both inside you and infinitely beyond you. It’s not a set of rules. It’s not a place you go. It’s the way you listen, the way you allow yourself to be guided by a wisdom you don’t always have language for.

And because of that, my spirituality has never looked the same for long. It changes as I change. It expands as I expand. Sometimes it feels like prayer. Sometimes it feels like intuition. Sometimes it feels like science and nervous system regulation. Sometimes it feels like music or movement or a moment of clarity that hits out of nowhere. Sometimes it feels like remembering - a quiet recognition that I’ve been here before, that something greater is still holding me.

What resonates in one season won’t resonate in the next, and that’s the beauty of spiritual evolution. We’re not meant to stick with one expression forever. We’re meant to outgrow, wander, return, rediscover. We’re meant to let our beliefs breathe with us.

That’s why I trust what feels true in my body more than anything someone tells me is “right.” My life experiences have carved out a kind of inner compass - a knowing I didn’t have before I lost so much. And because of that, I can honor my Catholic upbringing without being confined by it, the same way I can embrace spirituality without needing to call it a religion. My beliefs have stretched to hold everything I’ve lived through, including the mystical moments that defied explanation and changed me quietly, irrevocably.

Spirituality isn’t about choosing one lane. It’s about realizing all lanes lead to the same truth: you are guided, supported, and more connected than you ever imagined. And the path you’re drawn to - whether it’s religion, meditation, therapy, prayer, or something that doesn’t have a name - is the exact one your soul needs right now.

And that will evolve.
It’s supposed to.

So if your path looks different from everyone else’s, let it. If your beliefs evolve, let them. If God meets you in unexpected places, trust it. Your spiritual life is not meant to be a performance - it’s meant to be personal. What matters isn’t the label you use or the rituals you choose. What matters is that it feels true in your body. Because truth is God’s signature, and anything that resonates deeply is simply His way of guiding you home.

In devotion to your healing, 

Jean 

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