Category: At Home in My Body

Love after heartbreak doesn’t fall from the sky like some wild miracle. It doesn’t appear because you were finally good enough or healed enough. It comes because you choose it. Because somewhere inside you, even after all the pain, there’s still a soft spot that wants to try again. After heartbreak, it’s easy to grow…

I used to panic when I messed up—like I had failed not just at the task, but at being good enough. That feeling stuck with me for years. And now, as a parent, I notice how easy it is to pass that same fear onto my kids without meaning to. The pressure to get it…

When you’ve been hurt before, love doesn’t come with the same wide-eyed innocence. It comes with memory. With lessons. With a heart that’s been cracked open, maybe more than once. And that can make it feel complicated—like maybe you’re too aware now, too cautious, too marked by the past to try again. But the truth…

Let’s start here: feelings are not facts, but they are real. They are signals from your body and mind saying, “Hey, something matters here.” And just because someone else doesn’t get it, or minimizes it, doesn’t mean you’re wrong to feel the way you do. Maybe growing up, you were told to “stop crying” or…

Starting again can feel like standing at the edge of a cliff, wondering if the ground will catch you this time. After everything you’ve been through, the last thing you want is to fall the same way again. And yet… something inside you reaches forward. Hopes, quietly. Wants connection again. But here’s what’s important to…

Life doesn’t sit still and wait for us to feel brave. It doesn’t ask if we’ve healed enough, planned enough, or figured everything out. It just keeps moving—quietly, steadily, sometimes even painfully—pulling us along whether we feel ready or not. There were moments I wanted to press pause. To catch my breath. To stay a…

I’ve had seasons where money came in, and I spent it like it would always be there—quickly, without pause. Not out of greed, but out of habit, sometimes even desperation. It felt good for a moment… but it vanished just as fast. And what was left? Not peace. Not progress. Just more stress. That’s what…

Somewhere along the way, the world decided that a woman’s worth could be measured in inches. That thinness meant discipline, beauty, even morality. And if you weren’t thin, then you must have failed. Failed at control. Failed at caring for yourself. Failed at being lovable. I believed that for a long time. I spent years…

Some days, I wish there were a blueprint. A voice from the sky telling me what to do next. A divine script I could follow so I wouldn’t feel so unsure. But there isn’t. There never was. Just me. Just life, happening, unfolding, surprising me, breaking me open, and making me new again. And maybe…