Anything about Everything

  Alignment feels quieter than I thought it would. It’s not fireworks. It’s not everything clicking overnight. It’s small things. Waking up without dread. Making decisions without over-explaining them. Choosing rest without guilt. What feels aligned lately is steadiness. My marriage feeling like partnership instead of pressure. Friendships that feel reciprocal instead of performative. Work that feels honest instead of impressive. Alignment, for me, looks like not forcing. Not forcing conversations. Not forcing outcomes. Not forcing myself into rooms that don’t feel natural. Seven or eight years ago, my life felt loud. I was living with a roommate. Everything felt heightened. Reactive. Emotional. There was always something happening. Something to process. Something to navigate. I thought that intensity meant connection. I thought constant movement meant growth. Now I know better. Alignment feels like calm. It’s lifting because I want to feel ...

  I’m unlearning the need to make everyone comfortable. Recovering people-pleaser feels accurate…  For a long time, I thought keeping the peace meant being good. Being agreeable meant being kind. Anticipating everyone else’s needs meant I was strong. What it actually meant was I was exhausted. I’m unlearning the reflex to over-explain. To soften my no. To cushion my boundaries so no one feels anything sharp. I’m unlearning the habit of jumping to conclusions. Assuming tone. Reading into pauses. Filling in blanks with worst-case scenarios. I used to think awareness meant scanning for danger. Now I’m learning that peace sometimes means taking things at face value. Not every delayed text is rejection. Not every shift in energy is about me. Not every silence needs a story attached to it. I’m unlearning the urge to fix things immediately . Not every discomfort requires intervention. Not every tension requires me to solve it. I’m unlearning urgency ....

  I love that this season isn’t loud. There were years where everything felt temporary. For five years, I moved almost every year. New leases. New layouts. New “this will do for now.” And then 2021 happened. A storm. A tree through the house. Weeks of not knowing where I’d land next. The place we moved into after that was a gift. It was a fresh start. The first place that felt like rebuilding instead of surviving. But even that felt like a beginning. Where we are now? It feels different. And no — it’s not where we plan to stay forever. But it feels like home. Not because it’s perfect. Not because it’s permanent. But because I’m not living braced anymore. I’m not waiting for the next move. Not half-packed in my head. Not treating everything like it’s temporary. I love that my marriage feels steady inside these walls. That my friendships feel rooted. That an ordinary Tuesday here feels enough. After years of moving, rebuilding, adjusting — b...