itsShar.com

I believe in God. But I also believe in my higher self. Not as two separate things fighting over me, but as two voices that live inside me with different jobs. Both of them are tired of my chaos, but they still show up anyway. God is the one who guides me, protects me, pulls me back when I’m drifting into chaos. My higher self is the version of me who already knows better, the one I’m growing into, the one who whispers, “Girl… you already have the answer. Be honest.”

So I’m not religious. Not even close. I love God, but I don’t do the whole “perfect disciple” thing.

People expect me to believe in God in a traditional way. No… I read the Bible like it’s a collection of metaphors, warnings, and shady stories about humans being a mess. I take what speaks to me. I leave the rest. I personalize everything. God knows this. He’s fine with it. He made me.

My spirituality is my own business. I believe God is inside me, watching my thoughts like a Netflix series. He’s probably on Season 45 like, “This girl STILL chooses chaos over peace?”

Every time I say I believe in God, two entire communities start fighting over me like I’m the spiritual Champions League trophy. The religious side tells me, “You can only come to God through Jesus,” like God has a VIP entrance with one security guard and no guestlist flexibility. And I’m like… sweetheart, me and God already talk directly. We don’t need a middleman. We have unlimited minutes.

Then the spiritual warriors jump in like, “No, you must drink ayahuasca to meet your higher self.” Excuse me? Why would I fly to a jungle and drink hallucination soup? My higher self and I already speak daily, usually while I’m half anxious and fully dramatic and I don’t need rainforest tea to activate a conversation I already get for free.

One group says I’m not holy enough. The other says I’m not enlightened enough. Meanwhile, God is watching both sides argue and whispering, “Just come as you are. Ignore the noise.”

I don’t judge anyone for how they choose to believe. Pray to God, Allah, Buddha, the universe, your grandma’s candles whatever keeps your soul calm. I genuinely support everybody’s spiritual journey.

But let’s be clear…

if you tell me, you worship the devil, or doing some hocuspocus voodoo stuff. I’m judging you immediately. Respectfully. I will dissolve from the conversation like my ex’s promises.

So here’s the truth …..my truth. Because honestly, nobody on this earth knows anything for sure.

God sits in me. Not above me. Not outside me. In me.

In my instincts, in my corrections, in my courage, in the quiet voice that refuses to let me break. That’s why I don’t go searching for spiritual experiences in the jungle. I already have them in my living room, usually while holding a cup of tea and arguing with myself about whether I’m healed or delusional.

My spirituality is simple. I believe. I trust. I talk to God like He’s my manager, my therapist, my best friend, and the only one who truly knows how dramatic I am.

I’ll pray to God for clarity and then get upset when clarity arrives. God be like, “Here’s the truth you asked for,” and I’m like, “No, not this clarity give me the prettier one.”

My spirit guides probably have a WhatsApp group called, “She’s not listening again.”

Sometimes God encourages me. Sometimes I ignore Him. Sometimes I listen too late. But the connection is always there.

I believe in signs. I believe in intuition. I believe in divine timing. I believe in protection I can’t explain. And I believe God laughs at me. Because He knows I’m trying. Messy, emotional, chaotic but trying.

God shows up for me in ways I don’t always like, but always in ways I end up needing. Sometimes He sends peace. Sometimes He sends a storm, just so I finally learn the lesson I kept dodging. And every single time the dust settles,

God doesn’t give up on me. My higher self rolls her eyes but stays. My intuition screams but never leaves the chat.

I’m not the perfect believer. But I’m a real one. And God sees me exactly as I am.

Love Shar