There’s a certain kind of courage that comes with returning to something you once loved. Not trying something new — but stepping back into a part of yourself that already knows the way. For me, that part has always been creative. Art. Expression. Making something out of nothing and trusting that it matters. She was always there for it. 🤍 Every version of me that dared to create had her somewhere nearby — watching, encouraging, commenting, reminding me that what I was doing w

If this season feels quiet for you — not busy, not chaotic, just still — I want you to know that I see you. I get it. I understand it. In many ways, I am you. There’s so much conversation this time of year about overwhelm coming from too much — too many events, too much noise, too much to do. But for many of us, the overwhelm comes from the opposite. From the absence. From the silence. From waking up on Christmas morning and realizing it feels like… just another day. And that

Lately, people keep saying some version of the same thing. “You look different.” “There’s something about you.” “You’re glowing.” Which is confusing, because I am tired. Manuscript-deep tired. The kind of tired that comes from living inside your own story for weeks on end—reopening rooms you once sealed shut and deciding, again and again, whether to tell the truth or soften the edges. I assumed it was good lighting. Or hydration. Or denial. But when I mentioned it to my thera

On grief, becoming, and the signs that keep us going. Everywhere I look, people are talking about fall — pumpkin spice everything, cozy sweaters, the romance of changing leaves. But I’ve always dreaded this time of year. The air turns heavy, damp, and gray — the kind that seeps into my bones before the real cold even arrives. My joints ache, my body protests, and everything in me starts to pull inward. People romanticize this season — the candles, the cinnamon, the cozy every