Paragnost, Psycholoog autodidact & Mental Coach, Leila Amaryllis de Vries

29/09/2025

Een egeltje in de tuin!

29/09/2025

27/09/2025

27/09/2025

❤️✊🏻

Before the fame. Before the red carpets. Before The Green Mile,
Michael Clarke Duncan was a quiet man with strong hands and a gentle heart, digging ditches under the Chicago sky.
He was huge — like a walking mountain — but he never tried to take more space than he needed.
He wasn’t loud. He wasn’t pushy.
He was humble, kind, almost invisible.
His mother, who raised him alone, always said:
“Your size is a gift. But your kindness? That’s your true strength.”
He worked at club doors, guarding celebrities he dreamed of one day standing beside.
Outside the velvet rope, he was muscle.
Inside, he was full of dreams no one noticed.
People said he was too big.
Too soft.
Too emotional to ever be a leading man.
Until one day on the set of Armageddon, Bruce Willis saw him cry — not acting, but for real.
That moment changed everything.
Bruce saw what the world hadn’t:
A man with the body of a giant and the heart of someone waiting to be truly seen.
That moment led to The Green Mile.
To John Coffey.
To a performance so full of humanity it made the world cry with him.
Michael didn’t act those tears.
He lived them.
He remembered his mother’s words, the rejection, and the years of being looked at but never really known.
“Being strong doesn’t mean fighting back,” he said.
“It means standing tall… without breaking.”
When he passed in 2012, we didn’t just lose a big man.
We lost a rare soul — someone who cried without shame, listened before speaking, and taught us that the strongest men sometimes don’t raise their voices — they wait for someone to believe in them.