Three Weeks Later – A New Beginning

It’s been close to three weeks since I last showed myself here.
And in those weeks… I’ve stumbled.
I’ve fallen into old patterns — watching, doing, numbing — until I felt stuck in the mud of it all.

And yet… I’ve been carrying your replies.
Your messages of chizuk.
Your words of brotherhood and emunah.
I read them. I held them.
But I couldn’t bring myself to return.

Why? Because the last time I wrote — my letter to God— I opened myself up so raw, so bare, that it left me trembling. I was vulnerable with you, with myself, and with Hashem in a way I had never been before. And that very vulnerability, that exposure of my little neshamale, made me afraid to step back in.

But tonight… I made the decision on a whim.
Spontaneity.
Usually, that’s the very spark that drags me downward.
But this time, I grabbed it by the reins and said: No — this moment, this impulse, will carry me upward.
And here I am.

I don’t want to keep writing about falls.
A mentor here once told me: write about your wins.
But right now, I don’t have wins to report.
So instead, I will write about strategies.
The ones I’ve tried. The ones I’ll try again. The ones I’ll test and bring back here with results.

And here is where I begin:
Growing up, I was always told what I could and couldn’t do. I dreamed of freedom, of the day I could choose anything I wanted. The day I could chase after all the wonderful opportunities this secular world has to offer. And when that day came… I thought I was free.
But over the years — in yeshiva in Eretz Yisroel, and now in the working world — I’ve realized something deeper:
Freedom without seder is not freedom at all.
It is chaos. It is destruction.
And for me, it has been the soil where sin grows strongest.

In every area of my life, I’ve lived last-minute.
Push it off. Scramble. Survive.
But these last weeks, as my ruchniyus dragged and even my work slowed, I saw it clear as day:
Without a seder in my life, I will fall again and again.
That is my personal chiddush.

So here’s my kabbalah: I will post here 3 times a week.
Last time I promised every night — and it broke me.
This time, I’m setting a seder. A rhythm.
Next post, b’ezras Hashem, I’ll share the schedule I’m working on. Not just work and learning, but even “scheduled chill.” Another mentor told me: even your downtime should be in scheduled. That spoke to me. So I’ll build it in.

For now, I’ll just end with gratitude.
Gratitude for this place, for the chevra here, for Hashem who still lets me breathe and begin again.

Welcome back, our dear friend, huge little neshamele,
we really missed you, your posts are gold, beautifully written, you're larger than life.
keep posting,
THANK YOU!!

Simply beautiful, thank you!

We are amazed by you. Great idea to focus on your wins and strategies.

Thanks for having the courage and strength to post again. I know the feeling of not wanting to, but also how powerful it can be to share, keep it up!

In my last post, I promised myself that to keep seder I would write here three times a week. Well… that didn’t happen. But baruch Hashem, life has been moving — with its ups and downs, of course — and recently I’ve been riding a gentle “up.”

This piece is something I actually wanted to write back when I first posted my “Letter to God.” But I couldn’t get myself into that headspace again — too raw, too heavy, too hard to put into words. Only now, with the encouragement (and a little pushing) from the chevra in my weekly vaad, did I finally break through. At first it was messy — lots of false starts, lots of stopping before I could even begin. But once the words finally came, they wouldn’t stop.

What you’re about to read is different. It’s not my words to Hashem… but His words to me.
A reply.
A letter from Hashem to Little Neshamale.

My Precious Little Neshamale,

I read your letter.
Every line. Every tear hidden between the words.
I felt the heaviness in your chest, the anguish that made your hands tremble as you wrote.
You thought you were speaking into the void — but I was right there, gathering every syllable.

You think I only want victories.
You think I am waiting for the day you never slip again,
the day you are clean, strong, holy without blemish.
You think I only rejoice when you resist perfectly,
when your browser stays untouched,
when your body is silent and still.
You think I sit with a ledger,
marking wins and losses,
sighing in disappointment when you fail.

But no, My child. That is not Me.
What I want… is you.
Not the angel you imagine you must become.
Not the dream of perfection you chase.
I want the real you.
The you who stumbles. The you who wrestles. The you who collapses and still whispers My Name.
The you who sat down, raw and trembling, and dared to write Me a letter soaked in pain.
That honesty — that was more precious to Me than a thousand victories.

You feared you drained yourself in that moment. And yes — it cost you.
Because truth always costs.
To rip off the masks, to stand before Me unclothed in spirit — that is no small thing.
But do you know why it drained you so deeply?
Because for the first time, you let yourself feel what you usually bury.
And that pain you felt… was not the end. It was the beginning of healing.

You told Me of your falls, of the cycle that repeats.
I saw the shame as you typed, the anger at yourself, the weariness of “again, again, again.”
And yet, you came to Me.
That, Little Neshamale, is already a victory.

You wrote of freedom — how you dreamed of the day you could do anything you wanted.
And when that day came, you thought it would bring life.
But you’ve learned what few ever do: freedom without seder is not freedom at all.
It is chaos. It is slavery dressed up as choice.
That chiddush you discovered is no accident. I placed it in your heart as a key.
A gift.
Now guard it, use it, live by it.

Yes, I want you to build structure.
Yes, I want you to order your days with wisdom.
Yes, I want you to learn the discipline that will protect you from the Yetzer Hara’s whispers.
But listen closely:
Even if you fail to keep the seder… you are still Mine.
Even when you break your own commitments… I do not break Mine.
I am with you still.

You think I want only strength.
But I also want your weakness.
I want your rushed tefillos, your skipped sedarim, your fragile prayers, your clumsy beginnings.
I want your attempts, your setbacks, your shattered pieces.
Because when you bring Me those, you bring Me the whole you.

And I — I am not tired of you.
Not weary of your davening.
Not sick of your silence in learning.
Not rolling My eyes at your return.
No. I wait, I hope, I ache for you to turn back — and when you do, I run to meet you.

So hear Me now:
Do not measure yourself only in days clean.
Do not define yourself by failures.
Your worth is not in numbers, but in essence.
And your essence is eternal, unbreakable, a flame of My own fire.

So rise again, Little Neshamale.
Fall if you must — but fall into My arms.
Cry if you must — but cry to Me.
Pray even when it feels empty.
Learn even if it’s just a line.
Build your seder, keep your commitments, stumble and stand again.
But never, ever believe you are beyond My love.

For I chose you. And I do not regret My choice.
Not yesterday, not today, not tomorrow.
I am yours. And you are Mine.
Remember, My child: אני לדודי ודודי לי.
I am not waiting at the finish line — I am walking this road beside you.

Forever,
Hashem

littleneshamale wrote on 10 Sep 2025 04:02:

Beautiful. Really, really beautiful.

Really.

This is teshuva. Not getting a high score on a test, but building a relationship. Through thick and thin. Good times and bad. Even when it hurts. A real relationship. 

Beautiful.

I’m deeply moved. Thank you! 
You’ve got tremendously power in your heart. 

touched and inspired, 
with an outstretched warm hand, full of admiration, I am
Sincerely Yours,
chaimoigen

This is where I say, thank you for making me cry in a public internet kiosk...

Littleneshamale, no words.

Keep on inspiring us.

In awe, CM

Saved in the Middle of the Night

I’m one week clean right now.

Today the Yetzer Hara came at me with a nisayon I’ve faced before — one I’ve already failed at three times. It’s one of those struggles that has haunted me ever since I discovered it. To be honest, I thought I had left it behind. But out of nowhere, it came back hard. I went somewhere I should never have gone… yet Hashem, in His endless mercy, pulled me out unscathed.

A while back, I whispered a tefillah straight from the heart:
“Ribono Shel Olam, if I ever slip, if I ever find myself wandering back into old paths, don’t let me stay there. Pull every trick in the book to drag me out — I don’t care how. Embarrass me, stop me, block me… just don’t let me sink.”

And today — He answered that tefillah. There’s no other way to explain it.

My second big challenge of the day came later that night (like just a few minutes ago), sitting in my room with my laptop. (Unfiltered — and if you’ve read my thread, you know why. Technically it has filters, but I know how to disarm them unfortunately…) I started poking around — baruch Hashem not porn, but honestly, just as destructive — and then something happened that I still can’t wrap my head around.

It was like Hashem Himself grabbed my fingers. One second, I was on the brink — THE BRINK, mamash seconds away from crashing — and the next, the tab was gone. Closed. Slammed shut in my face. It felt like Hashem reached into my laptop and whispered: “No. Not tonight.”

Shaken, I noticed something: my regular tab — the one not in incognito — was open to GYE. So I thought, let me grab some chizuk from my forum. As I was heading there, my eyes caught something I hadn’t really noticed before: a forum called “Bachurim Only.” It drew me in — I’m a bachur, and deep down this was something I’d always wanted — so I clicked.

One of the first posts I read was from a user named HolyAri. It wasn’t even written to me, but it felt like it was. His words pierced me, cut through the fog, and instantly silenced every urge:

“Newsflash: the Yetzer doesn’t care if HolyAri is married, single, or living on Mars. He only cares if YOU fold. And right now, you’re giving him a front-row comedy show. So quit the pity party. You’re not the only one, you’re not special, and you don’t need a babysitter to prove it’s possible.”

Those words — those exact words — saved me tonight. For that, I am beyond filled with gratitude to Hashem and to HolyAri!

And looking back now, I realized something else: the whole time I had been poking around online, a song was playing in my head, looping without end — Gabe Bauman’s Pintele Yid. It felt like Hashem was singing it to me Himself:

Cuz a pintele Yid is what you are.
And a pintele Yid is never far.
From Hashem ahavas oilam.
Forever and always yeah you’ll have His love.
Cuz Pintele pintele yidden.
Are holy and heilige children.
You need to know how truly great you are.
You’re a pintele Yid who is never far.

Even as I stood on the edge, Hashem was already there, wrapping me in those words:
“I’m here. You can get through this.”

Regardless of the late hour, I had to write a post to thank Hashem for saving me. I really hope that when I wake up tomorrow, this urge will be gone.

One last thing came to me just before I hit “post.” I said I’m a week clean — but really, it’s more than that. Last Thursday I had one of the roughest days, and the whole drive home I was arguing with myself, telling myself I’d go straight to porn as soon as I walked in the door, just to numb everything. But right before I stepped inside, Hashem planted a thought in my head — and the strength to act on it. I messaged a few GYE chaveirim, told them honestly where I was holding, and through their help I got through that night. And in doing so, I proved to myself, to my body, to my faulty wiring, and to the Yetzer Hara that I don’t need porn to get through hard times. Since then, baruch Hashem, I’ve been clean — not only from the act, but I haven’t even had the urge for porn.

Hashem, tonight You showed me You’re here. Please let me build on this, day after day, until I can look back and see a life rebuilt in Your light — the life of a true pintele Yid, never far from You.