Anything about Everything

Sometimes I think about the little girl in the bubblegum pink bedroom… The one with magazine cutouts lining the walls. The one choreographing entire concerts behind a closed door. The one who believed everything would make sense by twenty-five (HAHAHA 25.. yeah right). She had big feelings. Big dreams. And no idea what it would take to grow into them. She thought becoming was automatic. She didn’t know it would require loss. Humility. Letting go of versions of herself that once felt permanent. She didn’t know some seasons would strip her down to survival. That storms would come through her house and through her heart. That some friendships wouldn’t follow her into the next chapter. She didn’t know strength would look less like proving and more like rebuilding. Growing into the woman I am now didn’t happen all at once. It happened quietly. In therapy rooms. In hard conversations. In choosing peace over ego. In choosing consistency over chaos. In choosing aga...

  My childhood bedroom wasn’t anything extravagant. But it was mine. The walls changed colors once — to  one very committed season of bubblegum pink. Not soft blush. Not subtle pastel. Bubblegum. Pink. The furniture got rearranged depending on whatever phase I was in. And at one point — in what can only be described as a deeply committed life choice — I cut out every single photo of my favorite boy bands from magazines and created a full border around the top of my walls. Yes. A border.  All the way around. Commitment has never been my issue. What I didn’t consider was the future of said border. Specifically, the year my dad graciously offered to repaint my room while I was away at school — and had to peel down every carefully taped, teenage-delusion-fueled square inch of that masterpiece. I’m pretty sure I got a phone call. I’m also pretty sure I was informed, with colorful language, that the border had to go. Honestly? Fair. That room held e...

I value peace more than excitement. There was a time when I thought intensity meant depth. When loud meant passionate. When constant motion felt productive. Now? I value calm. I value conversations that don’t feel like competitions. Friendships that don’t require decoding. Love that doesn’t make you anxious. I value privacy more. Not secrecy — just sacredness. Not everything meaningful needs an audience. I value consistency over grand gestures. Rest over proving something. Discipline over motivation. And I don’t value what I used to. Name brands don’t impress me. Flashy lifestyles don’t move me. Curated perfection doesn’t convince me. I don’t need expensive to feel secure. I don’t need visible to feel valuable. I don’t need attention to feel important. I value character. Integrity. Self-awareness. Five years ago, I valued being chosen. Now I value choosing well. Peace over performance. Depth over display. Substance over status. If it only lo...