Have you ever felt like life was moving too slowly for your dreams — like you were stuck waiting for a destiny that kept missing its appointment with you?
I know that ache intimately.From chasing timelines to wrestling with self-doubt, financial strain, heartbreak, healing, and delayed dreams — I once believed the Universe had forgotten me.
But slowly, through seasons of breaking and becoming, I learned:
The Universe’s timing is never wrong. It is sacred. It is deliberate. It is divine.This poem is a love letter to every unseen step, every unanswered prayer, every moment of doubt that was actually a hidden blessing. It’s a story of trusting — even when the path felt painfully slow.
If you’re in a season of waiting, building, healing, or becoming — may these words remind you:
You are right on time.
There were days I clawed at closed doors,
knuckles bruised from knocking where I wasn’t meant to enter.
There were nights I wept over maps that led to dead ends,
praying for shortcuts, aching for arrivals that weren’t ready yet.
I thought I was behind.
Behind in love, behind in dreams,
behind in building the life I whispered about when the world slept.
I wore impatience like second skin —
a restless heart, a mind sprinting toward futures
that hadn’t yet been watered enough to bloom.
But the Universe, kind and stubborn,
had its own rhythms —
a symphony I had not yet learned to hear.
There were seasons my body fought itself,
aching under the weight of expectations and exhaustion.
I punished the vessel that carried me,
forgetting it was doing the best it could
through the storms I hadn’t even named yet.
But healing whispered:
“Your body is not your enemy.
It is the garden where miracles are planted.
Be patient. Nurture. Wait for the bloom.”
And so I began again —
a slower, softer dance with myself,
eating not just for hunger but for wholeness,
moving not just for appearance but for power,
resting without guilt,
thanking my bones and blood for carrying dreams
far heavier than they were ever meant to hold alone.
Mentally, I once lived in hurricanes —
overthinking until my mind spun into galaxies of doubt.
I mistook survival for living.
I mistook control for safety.
But growth cracked open the windows.
Breath by breath, I chose trust over terror.
I chose silence over self-sabotage.
I chose to believe that not knowing
didn’t mean failing — it meant becoming.
Healing isn’t loud,
it’s a steady reclaiming.
It’s the soft hum of “Maybe I’m exactly where I need to be.”
Financially, I ached to leap before I could walk.
I wanted abundance to rain down immediately,
wanted to skip the slow lessons,
the scraping, the saving, the starting again.
There were months of stretching every coin,
of whispering prayers over grocery bills,
of weighing wants against needs
with the precision of a tightrope walker.
But looking back,
those months taught me to build solid foundations —
to honor every seed planted,
to trust that harvests don’t come to the impatient,
but to those who water their dreams even when the soil looks barren.
Now, I know:
True wealth begins long before the zeros multiply.
It begins in gratitude.
In resourcefulness.
In vision held fiercely even when reality looked small.
Spiritually, I wrestled with surrender.
I thought faith was loud —
a constant declaring, a battle-cry against every fear.
But trust taught me that sometimes faith is silent.
It’s a deep breath before the leap.
It’s a knowing without proof.
It’s sitting in the dark and still believing the sun remembers how to rise.
The Universe has never been against me.
It has always been a patient gardener,
pulling me back when the storms were too heavy,
rooting me deeper when the winds threatened to break me.
Teaching me to let go —
to open clenched fists,
to leave space where I once tried to force.
I used to see delays as punishments.
Now I see them as alignments.
I used to see loneliness as abandonment.
Now I see it as preparation.
I used to see rejection as failure.
Now I see it as redirection to something sacred,
something meant,
something mine.
There is no rush anymore.
No need to sprint toward timelines built on fear.
I trust the slow unfolding.
I trust the detours, the pauses, the spaces between.
I trust the Universe’s greater plan —
even when I can’t yet see the blueprints.
Every delayed dream is still alive.
Every answered prayer still on its way,
carried by unseen hands.
I know now:
My story was never forgotten.
It was being written — in stardust, in miracles I hadn’t earned yet,
in love I hadn’t grown enough to receive yet.
Today, I move differently.
I chase less, and attract more.
I beg less, and believe more.
I grip less, and open more.
I fear less, and become more.
In the hands of the stars,
I am safe.
I am held.
I am right on time.
And oh, what a beautiful journey it is —
this trusting, this surrendering,
this dancing with destiny
under a sky that has always known my name.
If you are navigating your own winding path — please remember:
Every delay, every detour, every heartbreak is not a punishment, but a preparation.
You are not late to your life. You are not forgotten. You are not failing.The Universe is aligning miracles for you — the kind you can’t even imagine yet.
Trust the process.
Trust yourself.
Trust the unseen magic moving on your behalf.Thank you for reading “In the Hands of the Stars.”
I hope these words hold your heart the way the stars have always held mine.
Stay soft, stay strong, and keep becoming.
Your story is unfolding beautifully — right on time.
