We live in the age of highlights
Smiles are uploaded , struggles are archived
Strength is filtered , pain is cropped

But mental health does not live in captions
It lives in the quiet spaces , between
Expectations and exhaustion , faith and fear
Success and silence

I learned this the hard way
There was a time I thought strength meant endurance without confession
That resilience meant silence . That being okay was a responsibility not a reality
I could motivate others , show up for people , lead , build , create ,
Yet still go home internally empty . functioning but not fine

Mental health struggles rarely arrive with announcements

They arrive disguised as fatigue , irritability , loss of joy ,
Spiritual dryness , disconnection
A constant mental noise you cannot switch off

In many of our communities we are taught to pray but not always to process ,
To believe but not always to speak
To endure but not always to feel ,

Yet healing begins where honesty enters ,
Let us speak
Let us listen
Let us heal , out loud.

By MAKHOSINI S MPOFU

The post The Quiet Battles We Don’t Post About~ By MAKHOSINI S MPOFU appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

Poem By : Nonny Vee

The post Financial Choice~ By Nonny appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

A soul so bright,
Torn apart by darkness and endless fight.
Bipolar disorder’s waves crash on her shore,
As schizophrenia’s whispers echo evermore.

Her loved ones, they couldn’t understand,
The turmoil raged like a stormy land.
They rejected her with words that cut deep,
Leaving her to face the demons, asleep.

Her thoughts, a jumbled mess, like a puzzle unsolved,
As paranoia’s grip tightens, her heart evolves.
The world, a distorted lens, through which she views,
A reality warped by the voices that accuse.

Oh, Shamyne, dear one, don’t lose your way,
Through the darkness that surrounds, there’s still a ray.
Of hope, of love, of light that shines so bright,
Guiding you through the blackest of nights.

You are strong, though your mind may stray,
You are brave, though the voices whisper, night and day.
You are loved, though rejected, by those who don’t see,
The beauty, the worth, that’s you, wild and free.

Shamyne, dear one, hold on to hope’s refrain,
For you are not alone in this struggle, this pain.
Some care, who understand, who see,
The beauty, the strength, that’s you, wild and free.

By :Shamyne Mwila
Facebook: Shamyne Mwila

(20+) Facebook

The post Dear Self~ By Shamyne Doreen Mwila appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

It’s past midnight.
I’m on the edge of my bed.
The only sounds…
my pounding heart
and my grandmother’s
ancient clock.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
It’s almost deafening.

Maybe I should sleep.
But what if I don’t wake up?
I can’t close my eyes.
My mind is just dancing to fear.
I’ve given myself a racing heart
just by thinking.

I wish I’d said nothing
when they asked for the signs.
The symptoms that led them to cancer.
I wish I had kept my mouth shut.
Maybe then…
some other kind of miracle
would have found me.

By: Mutshidzi

The post I wish I had Said Nothing~By Mutshidzi appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

To smile when your bones hum with ache,
to laugh even as your hands tremble
not because the hurt is gone,
but because you’ve made a pact with the light
to outshine it.

To dance when the sky splits open,
not in spite of the storm,
but because of it
to let the rain baptize you
into something unbreakable.

That, right there…
is the alchemy of a survivor:
taking the weight of what tried to crush you
and turning it into wings.

You wear your scars like constellations,
mapping where the battles were won.
Your heart, a drum that still beats
in a rhythm even sorrow couldn’t steal.

They don’t see the nights you pressed your face
into the pillow, muffling sobs,
or the mornings you had to relearn
how to stand without folding.

But here you are
not just alive, but living,
not just breathing, but singing
the anthem of your own revival.

You are the quiet rebellion,
the proof that pain is not the end of the story,
just the ink it’s written in.

By: Mutshidzi

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The Pain of Miscarrying the seed you looked forward to seeing
Miscarriage, you are a thief
Miscarriage, you are cruel
Miscarriage, you are a restless wanderer, searching for the warriors of this earth whom you can attack.
I am talking about our mothers, our women, our birthers
Miscarriage, you never consider, but do as you please
I am enough of you.

It is our young mothers who have a choice to terminate if they want to.
It is our young child carriers who decide if they will keep or destroy the innocent seed, but little do they know the pain of losing,
Only if they knew how it feels when you, I mean, you Miscarriage when you arrive and destroy.
The tears, the pain, the sorrow, the fights.
Miscarriage, you are cruel.
Miscarriage, you are a restless wanderer, searching for the warriors of this earth whom you can attack.

Blessed is the womb.
Blessed is the woman.
Blessed is the process of giving birth.
I am talking about our mothers, our women, our birthers
Miscarriage, you never consider, but do as you please
I am enough of you.

Miscarriage, please take a step back.
Let go and let nature take its course
Let loose and allow people to multiply in numbers
Let go and stop the pain and tears dripping from our sisters and mothers of this country.
Let you be and allow joy and fresh souls around.
The Pain of Miscarrying the seed you looked forward to seeing
Miscarriage, you are a thief
Miscarriage, you are cruel
Miscarriage, you are a restless wanderer, searching for the warriors of this earth whom you can attack.

May the spirit of Miscarriage fade off!!!

By: Nonny Vee

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My name is Charlotte Mugabe, and in 2023, I experienced one of the most challenging periods of my life. On the 3rd of June 2023, I was preparing to go out with my girlfriends to celebrate my birthday, little did I know that day was going to be the start of a fight for my life. I glammed up for the day, and I was looking good, and everything was good. My husband went to drop me off at the restaurant to meet up with my friends. My friends and I had dinner, enjoying good conversation, laughing, and doing all the fun and girly stuff. Behold, all of a sudden, I felt hot and I couldn’t breathe and my heart was beating out of my chest. Everyone started to panic; I panicked as well. I thought that was it, I was going to die. My girls began praying for me, and it got a bit better. I then later went to the clinic that night, and they just dismissed me, saying it could have been something I ate that made me feel that way. 2 days passed, I was better, then on the third day I started to feel weird, like every time I ate I would feel food coming back to my throat and be stuck there.

It was horrible; I went from doctor to doctor with them prescribing the same medicine that would not work, all of them telling me it was due to acid reflux. I did everything they asked me to do, but nothing worked. tried Chinese medicine, Indian medicine, our own traditional medicine, was ineffective. At that point, I had lost a lot of weight and was still not getting answers. We prayed, people prayed from my church, other churches as well, I even gave up on myself, that dying would have made it easier. I remember calling my mother and telling her that I was tired and I just wanted to die. The only time I would catch a break was when I would fall asleep at night. It went on from June to November, still with the same pain but no help. It got to a point whenever I would leave the house I would feel like I am dying (my heart beating fast and having difficulty breathing), even when people came to see me or call me I would get the same feeling, could this be witchcraft I would ask myself I mean I am African, or was I going crazy/mad. I recall a Pastor from my church visiting me with a group of friends.

He saw me, and he was terrified. He then went to tell one of the psychiatrists from church, who later saw me and was able to diagnose me differently from all the doctors I had seen. I was so happy to get a different diagnosis, like this could be it. He said Charlotte, you have an anxiety disorder and this was in December 2023, when I started getting sick in June. No one knew what was wrong with me, which could have prevented all of the drama I went through, as some people do not realise it when they have mental disorders. A lot of women go through this in silence because of so many stigmas attached to the ‘mental illnesses’. I started my healing journey right there after the diagnosis, and I am happy to say I am way better with the help of my family, psychiatrist, therapist and my church family. Also, I wouldn’t have done this without prayer. It has been a journey, I am only sharing a glimpse of what I went through, because Hell is the only word that comes to mind when I think of the journey.

To this day, I still wake up at night and cry my eyes out. I am still here by God’s grace!!!

By Charlotte Mugabe 

Social media handles:

Facebook: charlotte mugabe-mudavanhu

Instagram: charlotte mugabe-mudavanhu

The post My Mental Health Journey by Charlotte Mugabe appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

I have fewer stories hanging on my gullet.
Untold stories of moments we shared,
and the laughter that quaked the room.
This is because I do not write in times of happiness.

I went through my pieces—
they carry grief like an infant,
cradled in my mind to this day.
Darkness overshadowed those moments,
or perhaps I simply said less
during my days of awe.

So I came back to fill in the blanks
and talk about the good,
to strike a balance like a pendulum
that swings side to side,
like the yin-yang sign,
carrying light and deep darkness.

Yet, my mind sits still in silence,
mourning the goodness I once beheld.
Fingers all covered with glaciers,
melting and wetting the pages,
washing off the ink
that once attempted to tell your story.

©️Larona Tlhobogang

The post Balancing The Shadows~ By Larona appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

But love, I am so tired.
The betrayal sits inside me
like an elephant on my chest.
Every fight drags it deeper
not just the infidelity, the lies,
But the why.
Why her? Why them?
Was it my body? My brokenness?
Was I not enough, or was she the dream
You couldn’t resist?
I see her face sometimes,
A ghost in my mirror.
She’s beautiful.
And I am here,
stitching my worth back together
with hands that keep shaking.

I forgave you.
But forgiveness isn’t forgetting.
It’s learning to breathe
around the knife still lodged in my ribs.
Some days, I wield it against you…
hurl accusations like stones,
Watch you crumble.
Then guilt swallows me whole.
I hate who I’ve become:
a woman who measures your pain
to see if it matches mine.
That isn’t love.
That’s a war neither of us wins.

But I don’t want war.
I want us.
The way we were.
The way we could be.
I want to believe
In the man who held me through storms,
Who called me his future
long before rings made it official.
I want to trust
that the vows we whispered in the dark
are stronger than the wounds.
Because despite it all,
I still choose you.

Every morning,
every battle,
every stumble towards grace.

So here’s my truth, love:
I am broken.
But I am yours.
And if you’ll still have me…
If you’ll fight beside me
to rebuild what the desert storms
tried to steal…
Then take my hand.
Not as penance,
not as surrender,
But as a promise:
We are one.
Even when it hurts.
Even when we forget how
Seven years have passed.
Then ten.
Let the next seventy be softer.
Let them be ours.

Yours, always

Anonymous

The post The Woman I’ve Become (part 2)~ Anonymous appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

Weightless Gift nu Azwi-Hilton

Upon an ovoid hill, the still silence broke,
Where love once hung beneath the oak,
Not for applause, nor pride, nor fame,
But for the lost, He bore the flame.

No crown of gold, but spiky thorns instead.
No royal robe, but raw wounds that bled.
The hands that shaped the stars above,
Were pierced to show the depth of love.

He saw a tainted world in shattered glass,
Each soul marred by its shadowed past.
Yet still He chose the acrid bitter cup,
And drank it full facilely to lift us up.

This was no debt that we could pay,
No ladder well-built by work or way.
But grace, unearned, fell soft like rain,
To cleanse the hearts that harbored pain.

And mercy… Oh, that sacred strand,
Stitched life into what once was dead.
Not counting wrongs, not querying why,
But soft-whispering hope with every sigh.

So here we stand, not by our might,
But bathed in undeserving astute light.
The cost was great, and the gift is free.
A passionate love beyond all boundaries.

By Azwi-Hilton

IG and X: Azwi-Hilton

Instagram

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