“Pleasure is found first in anticipation, later in memory.” - Anais Nin Some days my praise is quiet. So quiet it almost feels like nothing…until I sit with it long enough to hear it. It’s in the soft clink of my waist beads, barely kissing against my skin when I move. Not loud. Not performative. Just there. Like breath. I don’t rush it. I don’t force it to sound like anything holy. I just let it be what it is. And somehow… it becomes everything. The sound… it reminds me of

“Grief never ends… but it changes. It’s a passage, not a place to stay.” – Hollye Jacobs Ten. A simple number, but one that carries so much meaning. Ten represents completion—a full cycle, a milestone, a marker of time that asks us to pause and look back before moving forward. Today marks ten years since Aaron passed away. Ten years. A decade of birthdays, graduations, holidays, accomplishments, disappointments, laughter, tears, and ordinary Tuesdays that somehow mattered

And a softness came from the starlight and filled me full to the bone. -William Butler Yeats Softness, for me, is not weakness—it’s a sacred response to safety. It’s what unfolds when I finally loosen my grip on control and allow surrender to take the lead. In a world that often demands armor, I am learning to make space instead—space to breathe, to feel, to exist without bracing myself for impact. Surrender doesn’t mean giving up; it means trusting enough to put my guard d

"The greatest act of courage is to be and to own all of who you are — without apology, without excuses, without masks to cover the truth of who you are." – Debbie Ford There comes a moment—quiet, yet undeniable—when you realize you can no longer postpone yourself. For a long time, I lived in the space between who I was and who I thought I needed to become. I carried expectations that were never mine, held onto timelines that didn’t unfold, and grieved a life I once believe

"Sit with me beneath the moon and love me in the quiet ways." Sip me slow. Take your time. Be careful with my broken pieces. Sit with me in silence as we watch the moon. Don't rush to fill the quiet. Some wounds soften best beneath soft light and patient hands. Learn the language of my pauses, the ache hidden behind my smile, the way I still flinch at being left behind. Love me gently when I forget how to love myself. Remind me that healing is not a straight line, that even s

“Put yourself at the top of your to-do list every single day and the rest will fall into place.” – Unknown You can’t pour from an empty cup. How many times have you heard this? I hear this all the time. Guess what? I only pour from an empty cup. I am the last on the list. I don’t show up for myself. I keep pouring and pouring with no reciprocation from anyone. And the crazy part? I make it look natural, like it’s just who I am. Like it doesn’t drain me. Like it doesn’t hurt w

"The essence of femininity lies in the art of balance between strength and softness." – Maya James I am learning how to come home to myself. I have spent seasons surviving, holding everything and everyone together, often at the expense of my own softness. Finding my way back to my feminine energy has not been an easy path—it has been tender, imperfect, and deeply human. I am giving myself grace to honor the woman I had to become, while also making room to grow into the woman

Patience is not just waiting for something. It's about how you wait, or your attitude while waiting. -Joyce Meyer Have you ever felt like all you do is wait? I know that delayed is not denied, but I feel both delayed and denied a lot of the time. I feel like all I do is wait. I feel denied, and mostly, I feel forgotten. Waiting has a way of stretching time until it feels personal. It’s not just waiting on answers or outcomes—it’s waiting on clarity, on relief, on the moment w

Grief doesn't change you. It reveals you. -John Green The life I imagined for myself ended long before I had the chance to step fully into it. In its place came a quiet, abrupt interruption—the kind that doesn’t announce itself but reshapes everything it touches. Widowhood arrived not only as the loss of the person I loved, but as the unraveling of the future we had stitched together in whispered plans, shared routines, and simple assumptions about tomorrow. In the stillness

Why should I be unhappy? Every parcel of my being is in full bloom. --Rumi What lies beneath? What lies beneath? Beneath all the parts that I hide. The parts I hope no one sees. The parts I don't want them to see. What lies beneath the insecurities, the shame, the hurt, and the pain? How do I get past all that to what awaits on the other side? My goal is always to be as authentic and transparent as I can when writing. However, I don't always share everything. There have been