This is my second spring without her. Last year, everything still felt sharp. The grief was loud then. Heavy. Everywhere. This year feels different. Not easier, at least not for me. Just quieter somehow… and lonelier. Everything I know about gardening, I learned from my mother. We used to wander the nurseries together every spring. Looking at plants we definitely did not need. Debating colour palettes. Picking out “just one more thing.” Talking about what survived the winter

I went to renew my passport today and accidentally became someone’s life coach. Not officially, of course. There was no intake form involved. Just fluorescent lighting, a government cubicle, a scheduled passport appointment, and a man we’ll call Fred who appeared to be one Outlook notification away from disappearing into the woods indefinitely. The day had already started the way many of my days seem to lately. A manuscript still asking things of me.A calendar filling by the

On caregiving, complicated love, and the grief that doesn’t arrive all at once. Sitting in a hospital room, I find myself here again. Seventeen months later. When my father survived the first stroke, we knew this might happen again. Not if—but when. We just didn’t know when. A part of me knew this wasn’t over. That something in his brain was fragile in a way we couldn’t control. And now I am back inside a familiar, disorienting landscape—one I thought I had already walked thr

What I witnessed about courage, being seen, and coming back to yourself I wasn’t planning to go. I had a different circle in mind. I had things to do the next day. My manuscript was waiting for me. But something in me said go. And I’ve learned by now—when that voice shows up, ignoring it usually costs me more than just going. 😉 So I put my name on the waitlist for a women’s circle called Release and Reset. It was already full. I told myself, If it’s meant to happen, it will.

Last week, I learned that the version of the book I’ve been writing isn’t the final version — and neither am I. I was told the manuscript needs to pivot. Not because it isn’t good. Not because it isn’t working. But because there’s something bigger in it. Something deeper. Something I haven’t fully stepped into yet. And for a moment, I felt like everything I had built was slipping. I’ve poured twelve months into this story — twelve months of grief, memory and carefully excavat

Stepping out of your comfort zone is often described as brave and exhilarating. In reality, it can also feel awkward, unsettling and a bit like you’re doing it wrong. Lately, I’ve been doing more of it. Saying yes more often. Letting myself be seen. Letting myself show up as who I actually am, rather than the version I thought I had to be. Movement has always been one of the ways I come back to myself. What’s new is how long I kept that part of me tucked away — carefully boxe