A Transformative Death
Death has been knocking at my door—literally, and in that other way life does it…When it doesn’t take a body, it takes an illusion. Some days, I tried to outsmart it.I deflected. I stayed busy. I spiritualized.I did the whole “I’m unbothered” performance—Meanwhile, my nervous system was backstage like,“Girl… we are very bothered.” But death—this…
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The Discipline of Staying
I do not confuse busyness with brilliance.I’ve met urgency—it talks too much.Progress, on the other hand,shows up quietly, on time,and minds its business. Focus is not dramatic.It doesn’t announce itself on social media.It just keeps workingwhile distractions audition for my attentionlike unpaid interns. I stay. Not because I lack options,But because I respect momentum.I’ve learned…
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Still, I Rise—Quietly
I walk in abundance without announcing it.That alone unsettles rooms.Not because I’m loud—But because I’m not looking aroundto see who noticed. My confidence is silent.It rattles many.That is not my problem.Stillness has a way of exposingthose addicted to noise. I don’t chase compliments.I let them pass like birds—beautiful, fleeting, unnecessary to catch.I know who I…
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A Vow for 2026
In 2026, we choose laughter as our balm—not the brittle kind that hides the ache,but the deep, bellied laughterthat loosens grief from the ribsand reminds the body it is safe again. We choose support as our sanctuary,a place without performance,where shoulders soften,where silence is held with reverence,where no one is asked to bleed alone. This…
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Self Love
Self-love is not a trend.It is a return. It is the quiet, radical decisionto stop abandoning yourselfto be understood. Self-love is choosing your nervous systemover chaos disguised as passion.It is resting without apology.Leaving without explanation.Saying no without rehearsing guilt. It is the moment you realizeYou do not need to be harder, louder, prettier,or more palatable…
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Obituary for What No Longer Belongs to Me
I guard my freedomthe way elders guard recipes—no substitutions,no rush,No strangers touching the pot. My nervous system is a sanctuary,not a battlefield,not your dumping ground,not a place for chaosto rehearse its trauma monologue.If your presence raises my blood pressureinstead of my consciousness—please, darling,See yourself out. I am no longer impressed by urgency.I do not respond…
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The Divorce Was Final Before the Papers Ever Were
I did not leave quietly—I noticed quietly.There is a difference. Silence, I learned, is not always peace.Sometimes it is a well-rehearsed choirsinging you out of the roomwithout ever opening its mouth. We were “family,” they said—the kind that never says your nameWhen you are absent,the kind that edits you out of photoswith eye contact alone.They…
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The Door Opens
I woke up on the first day of 2026With my feet already planted in promise.No alarm clock.No urgency.Just abundance clearing its throatand saying, Good morning. We’re doing this together. The calendar turned,and so did I—not out of pressure,but out of pleasure.Because this year doesn’t ask me to prove myself.It recognizes me on sight. This is…
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Farewell, With Lipstick and Grace
On this last day—December standing at the doorwith her coat on, tapping her watch—I turn around and look at you,2025,and say,whew. You were not subtle.You arrived like a plot twistwith good intentions and sharp elbows.You gave me champagne highs,flatline silences,and lessons disguised as detours.You asked me questionsI did not know I was brave enough to…
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Buttoned Up, Blessed, and Not Looking Back
December comes in like a woman who knows—knows when to leave the party,knows when the music has said all it can say,knows when it’s time to fix her collarand reclaim her power in silence. These final days?I button myself up.Not out of fear—out of reverence.Out of knowing my strength deserves containment,not explanation. I regain myself…
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December, or the Art of Becoming Without Apology
I am not rushing toward the new year.I am letting it find me—shoes off, heart open,laughing in the doorway of December. This month does not ask for reinvention.It asks for presence.For breath.For noticing the way the light softens at four-thirty,the way time itself seems to exhaleand say, You made it. Sit down. December is not…
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Grandmother’s Fire, December’s Crown
December arrives with a ledger and a mirror.It does not ask permission.It asks for truth. This is the month that pulls receipts from the soul—what survived, what burned,What nearly broke you,and what dared to rise anyway.December is not gentle.She is honest.She sharpens her memory and says,Look again. You are still here. They placed their bets…
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