This is a space carved out of quiet mornings, late-night thoughts, dog-eared pages… a space for the in-between. For the version of you who knows you’re grown but still growing. Who’s soft, but strong. Who’s healing, but still hurting sometimes.
Here, I write about life in my 30s… what grounds me, what challenges me, and what lights me up. You’ll find reflections on mental health, movement that feels like medicine, and the tender, tireless work of becoming who we already are.
No blueprints. No rush. Just a slow, steady unfolding.
Welcome home.
“You are so kind to others.Why are you so cruel to yourself?” I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, how easily the harshest voice becomes my own. It’s automatic, almost.A glance in the mirror turns into a running list of everything I wish I could change.Your face looks puffy today.Are you bloated or just…
If love had a face, it would look like yours. Tired eyes that never missed a moment, calloused hands that held too much, a heart that made space for both roles when the world asked too much of you. You didn’t just raise me, you carried me through a storm you never asked for. When…
Most days, I don’t remember. They blur together, folding into a rhythm I moved through without much thought… morning alarms, text messages, grocery store runs, dinner plans… moments of joy and pain caught up in the flow of everyday life. But some days stay. The ones where everything shifted, or nothing did, but I felt…
Still Becoming 