Anything about Everything

  I will absolutely hype you up first. New haircut? Elite . Big move? Bold . Trying something that scares you? Already proud. Encouragement, to me, starts with reminding you that you’re capable. Now — I will say — in the past I’ve been accused of being toxically positive . Which… fair. Everyone is entitled to their opinion. There was a season where my instinct was to immediately fix, reframe, silver-line everything. I’ve learned that not every hard moment needs a motivational quote. Sometimes encouragement is just sitting in it with someone. Letting it be heavy. Letting it be frustrating. Letting it be unfair. I don’t rush people out of their feelings anymore. I listen. I validate. I ask better questions. And then — when the timing is right — I remind them who they are. I’ll remind you of what you’ve already survived. Of the strength you downplay. Of the growth you can’t see because you’re living inside it. Encouragement isn’t pretending it’s easy. ...

  I’m done apologizing for outgrowing things. For wanting a slower life. For choosing quiet over chaos. For protecting my time like it matters — because it does. I’m done apologizing for going to bed early. For not responding immediately. For saying no without a five-minute explanation attached. I’m done apologizing for discipline. For lifting heavy. For building routines that look repetitive but feel powerful. For choosing consistency over constant stimulation. I’m done apologizing for the way my priorities have shifted. My marriage comes first. My health matters. My peace is not negotiable. I’m done shrinking so other people feel comfortable. Done editing myself to stay palatable. Done carrying emotional weight that was never mine to hold. I don’t owe access to everyone. I don’t owe urgency to everything. I don’t owe my old self a permanent residence in my present. Growth isn’t rude. Boundaries aren’t cold. Peace isn’t boring. It’s taken years — a...

  I’m not becoming someone new. I’m becoming consistent. More disciplined with my time. More protective of my peace. Less available for things that drain me. I’m becoming the kind of woman who keeps promises to herself. Who shows up even when motivation doesn’t. Who understands that strength and softness aren’t opposites. I’m becoming steadier in my marriage. More present in my friendships. More rooted in who I actually am. Not louder. Not busier. Not chasing. Just clearer. Becoming isn’t dramatic. It’s quiet decisions made daily. And I trust where they’re taking me.

  Love used to feel like fireworks to me. Big gestures. Big feelings. Big moments. Now it looks steadier. It looks like my husband reaching for my hand in the middle of an ordinary day. It looks like hard conversations that end in understanding instead of distance. It looks like choosing each other — especially when it would be easier not to. I’ve seen that kind of love before. In my grandparents. In my parents. Not flashy. Not performative. Just consistent. Love looks like friends who show up without needing an invitation. It looks like family who keeps rooting for you as you grow and change. It looks like people who make space for your becoming. It’s not loud most of the time. It’s consistency. It’s patience. It’s staying when things get hard. Love, to me now, looks like safety without shrinking. Like loyalty without losing yourself. Like peace that doesn’t feel temporary. Fireworks burn bright — and fade. The love I want, stays.

  Home used to mean a place… a  street I could point to. A room with my things in it. A door that locked. Then 2021 taught me how quickly walls can disappear. And somewhere in the rebuilding, I realized home was never just drywall and a roof. Home is the steady presence of my husband at the end of a long day. It’s the way Mike and I choose each other — especially when life feels loud. It’s the inside jokes, the shared routines, the quiet evenings that don’t need to be exciting to feel full. Home is my family — the history, the roots, the people who knew me long before I became who I am now. It’s traditions that ground me and voices that feel familiar no matter how much time passes. Home is also the friends who opened their doors without hesitation. The ones who made space — physically and emotionally — when I need it most. The people who prove that stability isn’t always a structure. Sometimes it’s a circle. Home now feels chosen. Built. Protected. It’s resilienc...