And I’m laughing.

Kind of.

Y’all do know I’m a business, right?

Actually, let me correct that.

Y’all do know I’m several businesses, right?

Because sometimes I get the distinct impression that because I don’t clock in at 9:00 and clock out at 5:00, people assume I’m just...

available.

Doing nothing.

Hanging out.

Gallivanting around Atlanta with a cocktail in my hand and a flower tucked behind my ear.

And listen.

Occasionally, I am doing that.

But even then, there’s a pretty good chance I’m working.

My Work Just Doesn’t Look Like Yours

I don’t have traditional office hours.

My Monday might look like your Saturday.

My Wednesday morning might be spent in a garden.

Thursday could be cocktails.

Friday could be a meeting, a photo shoot, an invoice, an event proposal, a board responsibility, a client call, writing, recipe development, or six of those things before lunch.

And sometimes Tuesday at 2:00 PM is when I need to sit my ass down and do absolutely nothing.

That’s not unemployment.

That’s entrepreneurship.

Flexibility Is Not the Same as Availability

I think this is where people get confused.

Because I control my schedule, people sometimes assume my schedule is open.

It isn’t.

Flexible does not mean free.

Being able to move something doesn’t mean I don’t already have something to do.

Being home doesn’t mean I’m not working.

Not having somewhere to physically report doesn’t mean nobody is expecting something from me.

And not having a boss doesn’t mean I don’t have accountability.

Actually...

I have several bosses.

They’re called clients, partners, boards, deadlines, invoices, communities, collaborators, and the businesses I built.

And every single one of them wants something. 😂

I Respect Everybody Else’s Shit

This is probably the part that frustrates me the most.

I walk into the world every day understanding that other people’s lives are important.

You have work?

I respect that.

You have a meeting?

I respect that.

You have childcare?

I respect that.

You’re tired?

I respect that.

You have something happening that I don’t completely understand, but you’ve told me it matters to you?

I respect that.

I don’t need your life to look like mine before I decide it’s legitimate.

And I need that same courtesy.

Please Stop Assuming I’m Not Doing Anything

This is the assumption I really want us to retire.

Just because you don’t see me working doesn’t mean I’m not working.

Just because my work sometimes happens at a dinner table, behind a bar, in a garden, on an airplane, at an event, in my pajamas, or sitting in front of my laptop doesn’t make it less real.

There is an enormous amount of invisible labor behind entrepreneurship.

Emails.

Budgets.

Contracts.

Follow-ups.

Planning.

Fundraising.

Relationships.

Strategy.

Content.

Administrative work.

And, my personal favorite...

Trying to get people to pay invoices for work that has already been completed.

That alone deserves a pension.

Yes, I Have Multiple Businesses

And apparently I need to say this part out loud too.

I have multiple businesses.

Plural.

And I am allowed to.

We celebrate people all the time for being founders, entrepreneurs, investors, creators, executives, and multi-hyphenates.

So why would I make myself smaller because my professional life doesn’t fit neatly onto one business card?

I don’t need to pick one thing just so other people can understand me more easily.

I know what I’m building.

And Yes, I Think I’m Important

There.

I said it.

I think I’m important.

Actually—

I know I’m important.

And that isn’t ego.

It doesn’t mean I’m more important than anyone else.

It means I finally understand that I don’t have to make myself less important to prove that I respect everybody else.

My time matters.

My commitments matter.

My ideas matter.

My businesses matter.

The things I’ve built matter.

I matter.

There is nothing arrogant about knowing that.

Entrepreneurship Doesn’t Have to Look Miserable to Count

I think sometimes we’re more comfortable recognizing entrepreneurship when someone looks exhausted.

If you’re running around stressed, answering emails at midnight, complaining that you haven’t taken a vacation in four years...

Oh, you’re working working.

But if you build a life where you can have lunch on a Tuesday?

Take an afternoon off?

Travel?

Sit in your garden?

Have a cocktail?

Suddenly people start wondering whether you have a job.

Baby...

the flexibility was part of the point.

I didn’t choose entrepreneurship so I could recreate a job I didn’t want and then become my own worst boss.

I want to work.

I also want to live.

Respect the Work Even If You Don’t Understand the Schedule

That’s really all I’m asking.

You don’t have to understand how my calendar works.

You don’t have to understand how all my businesses connect.

You don’t even have to understand why I chose this life.

But please don’t confuse unconventional with unserious.

Don’t mistake flexibility for a lack of responsibility.

Don’t assume access to my time simply because you don’t see a traditional workplace around me.

And don’t make me prove that I’m busy before you’ll respect my no.

Closing

So yes...

Sometimes I’m working.

Sometimes I’m creating.

Sometimes I’m gardening.

Sometimes I’m traveling.

Sometimes I’m sitting somewhere drinking something delicious in the middle of a weekday.

And sometimes I’m doing absolutely nothing because I intentionally built a life where I’m allowed to do that too.

None of those things diminish the businesses I’ve built.

I respect the way other people make a living.

I respect their schedules.

I respect their obligations.

I respect their time.

I expect the same respect for mine.

Because y’all do know I’m a business, right?

Actually...

I’m several.

Make it work, baby.

Call To Action

Have you ever had someone treat your work like it wasn’t “real” because it didn’t look traditional?

And more importantly, have you ever found yourself over-explaining your work because you needed someone else to believe it mattered?

I think I finally understand something about myself.

I wasn’t meant for a normal life.

And for once, I’m not saying that with arrogance.

I’m saying it with relief.

Because I have spent years wondering why I couldn’t seem to make my life look the way I thought it was supposed to.

Why there was always another idea.

Another project.

Another dream.

Another version of myself asking to be explored.

Why couldn’t I just settle down?

Pick one thing.

Follow the plan.

Be satisfied.

Maybe because that was never going to be my life.

What Is Normal Anyway?

We’re handed this picture pretty early.

Grow up.

Build a career.

Fall in love.

Create a family.

Buy the house.

Work.

Retire.

Live happily ever after somewhere in between.

And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that life.

For some people, it’s beautiful.

But somewhere along the way, I started treating it like the only evidence that I was doing adulthood correctly.

And my life kept refusing to cooperate.

I Thought I Was Doing Something Wrong

There have been so many times I’ve looked around and wondered:

Why does everything have to be so complicated with me?

Why can’t I just have one job?

Why do I need to create things?

Why do I care so deeply about community?

Why do I want to write?

Why do I want to speak?

Why do I want to build?

Why am I always imagining what something could become?

For years, I treated those questions like evidence that I needed to calm down.

Maybe I didn’t need to calm down.

Maybe I needed to understand myself.

My Life Has Never Fit Into One Box

I can love cocktails and gardens.

Business and community.

Beauty and substance.

Ambition and softness.

I can want financial success and still care deeply about service.

I can want to be seen and still need periods where nobody has access to me.

I can build something beautiful and decide later that I’ve outgrown it.

I can change.

I can evolve.

I can contradict an earlier version of myself.

None of that means I’m lost.

It means I’m alive.

Extraordinary Doesn’t Always Mean Glamorous

This is the part I’m beginning to understand.

An unconventional life isn’t necessarily an easier life.

Sometimes it’s harder.

There isn’t always a blueprint.

You make decisions other people don’t understand.

You take risks.

You fail publicly.

You start over.

You build things without knowing whether they’ll work.

You spend a lot of time explaining what you do because there isn’t a convenient little box to check.

And sometimes you wonder what the hell you’re doing.

But then there are moments when everything connects.

And you realize:

Oh.

This is why.

Maybe I’ve Been Measuring My Life With the Wrong Ruler

Maybe the question isn’t:

Why doesn’t my life look normal yet?

Maybe the question is:

Does my life look like me?

Does it contain the things I value?

Does it leave room for curiosity?

Does it allow me to serve?

Does it give me opportunities to create?

Does it make me laugh?

Does it challenge me?

Does it give me something worth waking up for?

Because maybe that’s a better measurement of a life.

Normal Was Never the Assignment

There’s something incredibly freeing about realizing I don’t have to force my life into a shape it doesn’t want to take.

I don’t have to make myself smaller, so my life makes sense to other people.

I don’t have to explain every pivot.

I don’t have to apologize because I want more than one thing.

And I don’t have to keep looking at someone else’s life wondering why mine doesn’t resemble it.

Their life isn’t my assignment.

Mine is.

I Still Want Some Very Normal Things

And here’s the funny part.

I still want peace.

I want home.

I want financial security.

I want my children to be okay.

I want good friends.

I want meaningful work.

I still believe in love, even if I’m not looking for it today…

I want mornings when nothing dramatic happens and evenings when I can sit somewhere beautiful and exhale.

Maybe those are normal things.

Maybe I just want to arrive at them in my own way.

Closing

I wasn’t meant for a normal life.

I finally understand that.

And strangely, realizing it makes me feel more peaceful, not less.

Because I can stop trying to become the woman whose life makes perfect sense on paper.

I can just become the woman whose life makes sense to her.

There will probably always be another idea.

Another adventure.

Another thing I want to build.

Another version of myself I haven’t met yet.

And instead of asking when I’m finally going to settle into a normal life...

Maybe I can finally start enjoying this extraordinary, complicated, imperfect one that’s already mine.

Because maybe I wasn’t failing at normal.

Maybe normal was never the assignment.

Call To Action

Have you ever looked at your life and wondered why it didn’t look the way you thought it was supposed to?

What if you’re not behind, lost, or doing it wrong?

What if you’re simply building a life that looks like you?

“Are you really busy… or are you running from something?”

Ma’am.

I have things to do.

But, like most irritatingly good therapist questions, it stayed with me.

And every once in a while, when I look at my calendar, agree to one more thing, start another project, or realize I’ve managed to fill every available inch of my day...

I hear her voice.

Are you really busy?

Or are you running from something?

And unfortunately...

Sometimes I have to admit she had a point.

But I Really Am Busy

Here’s the thing.

I have a full life.

There are people who depend on me.

There are businesses to run.

There are communities I care about.

There are ideas I genuinely want to bring to life.

There are rooms I want to be in, people I want to support, things I want to create, places I want to go, and experiences I don’t want to miss.

Some of my busyness isn’t dysfunction.

It’s purpose.

It’s ambition.

It’s curiosity.

It’s the result of building a life with a lot of moving pieces.

And I don’t want to pathologize that.

Sometimes a busy woman is just...

busy.

But Then There’s the Other Kind of Busy

You know the kind.

The kind where suddenly reorganizing something becomes absolutely urgent because sitting quietly for twenty minutes feels unbearable.

The kind where you say yes to another obligation even though you’re exhausted.

The kind where you’re constantly moving, answering, planning, producing, fixing, helping, building...

because movement means you don’t have to think too much.

Or feel too much.

That kind of busy is different.

That’s not productivity.

That’s hiding with a really impressive calendar.

I Make Time for What I Want

This is another truth I’ve had to admit.

I make time for the things I want.

Maybe not immediately.

Maybe not perfectly.

But when something really matters to me, I usually find a way.

Which means “I’m too busy” isn’t always completely true.

Sometimes it means:

I don’t have the capacity.

I don’t want to.

This isn’t a priority right now.

I’m protecting my energy.

I’m scared.

I’m avoiding something.

Or simply...

I’d rather spend that time somewhere else.

And maybe I need to get more comfortable saying those things instead.

My Busyness Is Also Part of Who I Am

I don’t want to become suspicious of every full day.

I like doing things.

I like creating.

I like building.

I like showing up for my community.

I like having ideas and then figuring out how to make them real.

There are parts of my life that require me to be visible, available, engaged, and present.

And honestly?

I like a lot of it.

I’m busy with things that make me feel like me.

That’s different from filling my life because I’m afraid of what I’ll hear when everything gets quiet.

So How Do I Know the Difference?

I’m learning to ask myself a better question.

Not:

“Am I too busy?”

But:

“What is all this busyness doing for me?”

Is it filling me?

Or distracting me?

Am I doing this because I want to?

Or because I don’t want to be alone with myself?

Do I feel tired but fulfilled?

Or tired and numb?

Would I still choose this if I weren’t trying to prove anything, escape anything, or avoid feeling anything?

Those answers usually tell me what I need to know.

Maybe Rest Is Part of the Work

I’m also learning that an empty space on my calendar isn’t a problem that needs solving.

I don’t have to fill every opening.

I don’t have to monetize every idea.

I don’t have to attend everything I’m invited to.

And I don’t have to constantly produce evidence that my life matters.

Sometimes I can just...

be.

That’s still a little uncomfortable for me.

Which probably means I need to practice it.

Closing

So, am I really busy?

Yes.

Absolutely.

Please see my calendar, lol

But am I occasionally running from something?

Also yes.

And maybe both things can be true.

I can have a beautiful, complicated, purpose-filled life...

and still occasionally use that life to avoid sitting with myself.

The goal isn’t to stop being busy.

I don’t think that’s who I am.

The goal is to make sure I’m busy because I’m living...

not because I’m hiding.

Because I want a full life.

But I also want to be able to sit quietly inside that life and know I’m okay when nothing needs me.

Call To Action

When you say, “I’m busy,” what do you really mean?

Are you building a life that fills you...

or filling your life so you don’t have to feel what’s underneath it?

I love love.

I always have.

I’m the kind of woman who falls hard.

Who believes in partnership.

Who notices the little things.

Who imagines a future.

Who loves with her whole heart.

And if I’m being honest...

That’s probably why heartbreak has always hit me so deeply.

Because I never halfway loved.

Loving Big Has Never Been My Problem

People sometimes talk about falling in love as if it’s foolish.

As if caring deeply is the mistake.

I don’t believe that; I can’t believe that.

I don’t regret loving.

I regret the times I loved someone more faithfully than I loved myself.

There’s a difference.

One builds connection.

The other slowly erases you.

I’ve Been Thinking About Victory

When I say, “Love is a privilege reserved for the victor,” I don’t mean someone who defeated another person.

I mean someone who survived themselves.

The woman who finally chose peace over chaos.

The one who stopped confusing anxiety with chemistry.

The one who learned that consistency is more romantic than intensity.

The one who no longer mistakes being chosen for being cherished.

That’s victory.

Today, My Heart Is Off the Market

People ask if I’m dating.

My DMs have certainly asked, lol.

And honestly...

I’m flattered.

But I’m not available.

Not because I’m bitter.

Not because I’ve stopped believing in love.

But because I’ve worked too hard to rebuild the life I’m living now.

My peace has become sacred.

My mornings feel lighter.

My laughter comes easier.

I’ve learned how to enjoy my own company again.

I’m not willing to trade that away just because someone showed interest.

Safe. Happy. Celibate.

There was a time when those words would’ve sounded lonely to me.

Today?

They sound like freedom.

I’m single.

I’m safe.

I’m happy.

I’m celibate.

Not because I’m hiding from love.

Because I’m protecting the version of myself that fought so hard to get here.

And that’s a version worth honoring.

Notice I Said “Today”

Here’s the important part.

I didn’t say...

Forever.

Because I still believe in love.

I still believe someone can walk into my life and make it better.

I still believe healthy partnership exists.

But I’m no longer in a hurry to prove it.

Love doesn’t need my urgency.

It deserves my readiness.

Victory Changed Me

Winning isn’t finding someone.

Winning is no longer abandoning yourself while searching for them.

Winning is sleeping peacefully.

Laughing again.

Trusting yourself again.

Building a life you genuinely enjoy.

So if love finds me one day...

I hope it finds a woman who no longer needs it to complete her.

Only someone who wants to share what she’s already built.

Closing

I still love love.

Probably always will.

But today...

I love my peace a little more.

I love the woman I’m becoming.

I love waking up without questioning my worth.

And if love comes again...

It won’t rescue me.

It’ll meet me.

Because love isn’t something I’m chasing anymore.

It’s something I’ll welcome when the time is right.

Today...

I’m choosing me.

And for today…

That’s victory.

Call To Action

Have you ever realized that protecting your peace wasn’t giving up on love...

Was it finally believing you deserved a healthier version of it?

“You’re only as sick as your secrets.”

At first, I thought it was only about addiction.

Over time, I realized it was about something much bigger.

It was about shame.

The Things We Hide

Not all secrets are dramatic.

Sometimes they’re quiet.

The anxiety you pretend isn’t there.

The relationship that’s falling apart behind closed doors.

The debt.

The diagnosis.

The loneliness.

The grief that everyone assumes you’ve “moved on” from.

The version of yourself you’re afraid someone might discover.

Sometimes the biggest secret is simply pretending you’re okay.

Shame Loves Silence

I’ve learned that shame is strange.

It grows best in silence.

It convinces you that if people really knew...

They wouldn’t love you.

They wouldn’t respect you.

They wouldn’t stay.

So you carry it.

You smile.

You perform.

You tell everyone you’re “fine.”

Meanwhile...

You’re carrying something so heavy that it’s changing how you move through the world.

The Cost of Hiding

Secrets are expensive.

They cost peace.

They cost sleep.

They cost connection.

They cost authenticity.

Because every time you hide a piece of yourself, you also hide the possibility of someone meeting you there with compassion.

Not everyone will.

But some people will.

And you’ll never know if you never let them in.

Vulnerability Isn’t Weakness

For a long time, I thought strength meant carrying everything by myself.

Not asking for help.

Not letting people see me struggle.

Not letting anyone know I was hurting.

Now I think strength looks different.

Sometimes strength sounds like:

“I’m not okay.”

“I need help.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ve been carrying this alone.”

Those aren’t signs of weakness.

They’re invitations for healing.

You Don’t Have to Tell Everyone

I’ve also learned something important.

Not every truth belongs to everybody.

Some things are sacred.

Some stories deserve trusted ears.

Healing isn’t about broadcasting your pain.

It’s about refusing to let shame become your closest companion.

There’s wisdom in choosing who gets access to your story.

There’s freedom in no longer carrying it alone.

What I’ve Been Learning

I’ve spent a lot of time trying to appear strong.

Capable.

Resilient.

The one who could handle anything.

But lately...

I’ve realized that the people I admire most aren’t the ones who never struggle.

They’re the ones who tell the truth about their struggle.

Not because they want sympathy.

Because they’re tired of pretending.

Closing

Maybe we’re only as sick as our secrets.

Not because the secret defines us.

But because hiding keeps us from healing.

So I’m learning to put down what I’ve been carrying.

One truth at a time.

One trusted conversation at a time.

One honest moment at a time.

Because freedom isn’t found in pretending.

It’s found in finally believing that the truth about me doesn’t make me unworthy of love.

It makes me human.

Call To Action

Have you ever carried something in silence because you were afraid of how people would see you?

What would it feel like to let one trusted person help you carry it?

I’ve always wanted to be respectful.

Respectful of people’s time.

Respectful of their budgets.

Respectful of their circumstances.

Respectful of where they are in life.

And for a long time, I wore that like a badge of honor.

Until I realized something.

Sometimes, I was being so respectful of everyone else...

That I wasn’t being respectful of myself.

Respect Isn’t Silence

Somewhere along the way, I started believing that asking for what I wanted might make me seem difficult.

That negotiating meant I wasn’t grateful.

That following up on an unpaid invoice was somehow rude.

That asking for support made me needy.

That saying, “This is what my work is worth,” sounded arrogant.

So I stayed quiet.

Not because I didn’t know my value.

Because I didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.

The Cost of Being “Easy”

Being easy to work with is a beautiful quality.

Until it becomes an invitation for people to overlook you.

I’ve accepted less than I deserved because I didn’t want to appear demanding.

I’ve waited longer than I should have because I wanted to be patient.

I’ve convinced myself that someone would eventually do the right thing...

Without me ever having to ask.

Sometimes they did.

But many times...

They simply assumed I was okay with less.

People Can’t Respond to What You Never Say

This has been one of the hardest lessons for me.

People aren’t mind readers.

They don’t always know:

• what you need

• what you’re hoping for

• what your expectations are

• what feels fair to you

Sometimes the conversation you’ve been avoiding is the very thing that creates clarity.

Not conflict.

Clarity.

Asking Doesn’t Make You Ungrateful

I’ve had to remind myself that I can be grateful...

...and still negotiate.

I can appreciate an opportunity...

...and still ask to be compensated fairly.

I can love someone...

...and still ask for my needs to be met.

Gratitude and self-respect can exist in the same sentence.

Respect Goes Both Ways

I’ve spent so much time making sure other people felt respected.

Now I’m asking myself a different question.

Do I feel respected?

Because respect isn’t just how I treat others.

It’s also how I allow myself to be treated.

And when something feels unbalanced...

It’s okay to say something.

My Voice Deserves a Seat at the Table

I’m learning that speaking up doesn’t make me difficult.

It makes me honest.

It doesn’t make me entitled.

It makes me clear.

There is strength in saying:

“This is what I need.”

“This is what I believe is fair.”

“This doesn’t work for me.”

Not with anger.

Not with apology.

Just with confidence.

Closing

I still want to be respectful.

I always will.

But not at the expense of my own voice.

Not at the expense of my own needs.

Not at the expense of my own worth.

Because I’ve learned that advocating for yourself isn’t selfish.

It’s part of respecting yourself.

And I deserve that too.

Call To Action

When was the last time you stayed quiet to avoid making someone else uncomfortable?

What would happen if, just this once, you asked for what you really wanted—or what you truly deserved?

Maybe it’s because they always seem to focus on doing more. More places. More accomplishments. More experiences. More things to check off before time runs out.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized I’m not interested in collecting accomplishments anymore.

I’m interested in collecting peace.

Today, I’m turning 48.

Forty-eight.

When I was younger, I imagined this age would look completely different. I thought I’d have the house. The husband. The retirement account with more zeros than anxiety. The career would be effortless. Life would have settled into something predictable.

Instead...

I’m rebuilding.

I’m dreaming again.

I’m learning how to be gentle with a woman who has spent decades believing her worth was measured by what she produced.

This year, I don’t want a bucket list.

I want a becoming list.

Not because I’m unhappy with who I am.

Because I finally love myself enough to invest in who I’m becoming.

So before I turn 49, here are forty-eight promises I’m making—not to impress anyone else—but to honor the life I’m building.

1.

Buy my first home by myself.

Not because homeownership defines success.

Because I deserve a place that finally feels like exhaling.

2.

Plant something I’ve never grown before.

There’s something beautiful about believing in a harvest you’ve never seen.

3.

Keep saying no without apologizing.

“No” is a complete sentence.

I’m finally learning that.

4.

Choose rest before burnout.

The garden taught me that even the richest soil needs seasons of stillness.

Maybe I do too.

5.

Take myself somewhere beautiful.

Not because I’m waiting for someone to travel with me.

Because I am excellent company.

6.

Continue building wealth, not just earning income.

Money is freedom.

Freedom is peace.

Peace is the luxury I’ve always been chasing.

7.

Finish more books than excuses.

8.

Drink more water.

Yes...this stays on every list, lol.

9.

Protect my joy like it’s confidential information.

Because not everyone deserves access to it.

10.

Dance in my kitchen.

Even if no music is playing.

11.

Host dinners simply because I love feeding people.

12.

Ask for help before I’m exhausted.

Strength isn’t carrying everything alone.

13.

Keep writing.

Even when only one person reads it.

Because maybe that one person needed it.

14.

Grow A Sip of Paradise Garden without sacrificing myself.

I don’t want to build another beautiful thing while abandoning the woman creating it.

15.

Celebrate every paid invoice.

Hospitality taught me passion.

Business is teaching me boundaries.

16.

Cook more from my own garden.

17.

Trust my intuition the first time.

She has been right far more often than fear.

18.

Call my friends before they have to call me.

19.

Watch more sunsets.

Emails can wait.

20.

Speak on stages that honor my value.

No more shrinking.

No more discounting.

21.

Stop explaining my boundaries.

People who respect them don’t require a presentation.

22.

Keep lifting weights.

Strong women age differently.

23.

Take more photos.

Not because I need proof I existed.

Because one day I’ll want to remember this version of me.

24.

Forgive myself for the years I survived instead of lived.

She did the best she could.

25.

Sleep.

Real sleep.

26.

Watch the sunrise from my own porch.

I’m claiming this before I even have the porch.

27.

Laugh so hard I cry.

Preferably often.

28.

Stop trying to convince people of my worth.

People who get it...

Get it.

29.

Plant flowers for absolutely no reason.

Beauty is reason enough, and I absolutely love flowers!

30.

Say yes to opportunities that scare me.

The right kind of fear usually points toward growth.

31.

Continue choosing softness.

The world has asked enough hardness from me already.

32.

Keep mentoring people.

Someone once believed in me.

Now it’s my turn.

33.

Spend less time proving.

More time becoming.

34.

Buy fresh flowers for my kitchen.

Just because.

35.

Take my health seriously.

Not out of fear.

Out of love.

36.

Create a home that smells like herbs, books, and good food.

37.

Protect my peace from unnecessary chaos.

Even if the chaos comes dressed as opportunity.

38.

Travel somewhere I’ve never been.

With curiosity instead of urgency.

39.

Trust that what’s meant for me won’t require me to abandon myself.

40.

Remember that healing isn’t linear.

Neither is gardening.

41.

Laugh at my mistakes.

Eventually, lol.

42.

Keep believing that community changes lives.

I’ve seen it happen.

43.

Never lose my sense of wonder.

44.

Celebrate small victories.

Harvests don’t appear overnight.

45.

Love people generously.

Without abandoning myself.

46.

Become the woman little Keyatta needed.

She deserves to meet her someday.

47.

Wake up grateful more often than worried.

Because gratitude changes the way we see everything.

48.

Remember this...

I am not behind.

I didn’t miss my life.

I didn’t fail because my timeline looked different.

Every heartbreak.

Every harvest.

Every “no.”

Every lesson.

Every unexpected detour.

Every person who underestimated me.

Every season spent rebuilding instead of arriving...

...brought me here.

To a woman who knows herself more deeply than she ever has.

To a woman who finally understands that success isn’t measured by applause.

It’s measured by peace.

Maybe this list won’t be finished before 49.

Maybe life will interrupt it.

Maybe I’ll rewrite parts of it.

That’s okay.

Because this isn’t really a list of things to accomplish.

It’s a love letter to the woman I’m becoming.

And for the first time in a very long time...

I can’t wait to meet her.

What would be on your becoming list? If you had one year to become more of yourself—not someone else—what promises would you make? I’d love to read them in the comments.

P.S.

Happy Birthday Keyatta

There’s a phrase I used to hear a lot.

“I’m not being mean, I’m just being honest.”

Sometimes it came after my feelings had already been hurt.

Sometimes it came after I questioned the way something was said to me.

Sometimes it came after I was made to feel too sensitive for reacting to words that cut deeply.

And eventually I started wondering...

Is that really honesty?

Or is it something else?

Honesty Doesn’t Need a Disclaimer

I’ve noticed something.

People who say they’re about to be honest often aren’t introducing honesty.

They’re introducing permission.

Permission to say something without considering how it lands.

Permission to avoid accountability for the delivery.

Permission to be unnecessarily harsh while expecting the other person to appreciate “the truth.”

But honesty doesn’t need a warning label.

Because honesty and kindness are not opposites.

Truth Without Compassion Isn’t Connection

I’ve learned that you can tell someone the truth...

...without humiliating them.

...without belittling them.

...without making them feel small.

The goal of honesty should be understanding.

Not victory.

If the truth leaves someone feeling worthless instead of informed, maybe the problem isn’t the truth.

Maybe it’s how it was delivered.

Delivery Matters

I’ve heard people say,

“I’m just telling it like it is.”

But who decided honesty had to sound like disrespect?

The same truth can be spoken in a hundred different ways.

One builds trust.

The other builds walls.

Words matter.

Tone matters.

Timing matters.

Intent matters.

Because if someone walks away remembering your cruelty instead of your message...

You probably missed the point.

Honesty Isn’t an Excuse

One of the hardest lessons I’ve learned is that honesty doesn’t erase responsibility.

You are still responsible for the impact of your words.

Not every emotional reaction means someone is “too sensitive.”

Sometimes it means they were hurt.

And those are not the same thing.

I’ve Started Asking a Different Question

Instead of asking,

“Was it true?”

I ask,

“Was it necessary?”

“Was it respectful?”

“Was it said with care?”

Because I want to be someone whose honesty helps people grow...

Not someone who uses honesty as an excuse to wound them.

What I’m Choosing Now

I’ve become much more intentional with my own words.

Not because I’m afraid of difficult conversations.

But because I know what it feels like to mistake harshness for honesty.

I don’t want to leave people feeling smaller after talking to me.

I want them to leave feeling respected.

Even if the conversation was hard.

Especially if the conversation was hard.

Closing

Yes...

I want honesty.

Real honesty.

The kind that tells the truth while protecting someone’s dignity.

The kind that says hard things with compassion.

The kind that remembers there is a human being on the other side of the conversation.

Because there is a difference between being honest...

...and being hurtful.

And I hope we never confuse the two.

Call To Action

Has someone ever defended hurtful words by saying they were “just being honest”?

How do you balance honesty with compassion in your own relationships?

Life has taught me something I didn't always want to believe.

There is always a choice.

Not always an easy one.

Not always the one we hoped for.

But a choice nonetheless.

We Don't Choose Everything

We don't choose who leaves.

We don't choose betrayal.

We don't choose illness.

We don't choose loss.

We don't choose the phone calls that change our lives.

We don't choose every door that closes in front of us.

Sometimes life simply happens.

And it happens without asking for permission.

But We Do Choose What Happens Next

That's the part I forget sometimes.

I may not get to choose what happened.

But I do get to choose what happens because it happened.

I get to choose whether I become bitter...

...or wiser.

Whether I stay stuck...

...or keep moving.

Whether I let one person's opinion define my worth...

...or decide that my value was never theirs to determine.

Choice Isn't Always Loud

Sometimes choice looks heroic.

Sometimes it looks like quitting the job.

Leaving the relationship.

Moving to a new city.

Starting the business.

But most days...

Choice is much quieter.

It's choosing to get out of bed.

Choosing to answer the phone.

Choosing therapy.

Choosing forgiveness.

Choosing boundaries.

Choosing to believe tomorrow can be different than yesterday.

Those choices change lives just as much as the dramatic ones.

Every Day I'm Choosing

Lately I've realized how many choices I've been making.

I'm choosing peace.

I'm choosing community.

I'm choosing to write.

I'm choosing to build A Sip of Paradise Garden.

I'm choosing to believe that love still exists even after heartbreak.

I'm choosing myself.

Not because it's easy.

Because it's necessary.

The Choice That Changed Everything

I used to think healing happened to people.

Now I think healing begins with a decision.

A decision that says...

I don't want to live like this anymore.

I don't want this pain to become my personality.

I don't want this disappointment to write the rest of my life.

That single choice changes everything.

Not overnight.

But eventually.

Freedom Lives Inside the Decision

One of the greatest gifts we have is choice.

It reminds us that we are participants in our lives.

Not just spectators.

Even when we feel powerless...

There is usually one decision left to make.

One boundary.

One conversation.

One prayer.

One act of courage.

One tiny step.

And sometimes...

That's enough to change the direction of everything.

Closing

There is always a choice.

Maybe not over what happened.

But always over what happens next.

Today...

I choose hope.

I choose growth.

I choose peace.

I choose myself.

And tomorrow...

I'll choose again.

Call To Action

What choice have you been avoiding because it feels difficult?

And what would happen if today became the day you finally made it?

Something funny has been happening lately.

My DMs have gotten... interesting.

Some are sweet.

Some are thoughtful.

Some are absolutely wild.

And while I won’t pretend that the attention isn’t flattering, it has also forced me to admit something to myself:

I’m not ready.

The Difference Between Flattered and Available

For a long time, I thought those two things were connected.

If someone was kind...
If someone was attractive...
If someone was interested...

Then maybe I should be interested too.

But lately, I’ve realized something.

Being flattered doesn’t mean I’m available.

It doesn’t mean I’m healed.

It doesn’t mean I’m ready to invite someone into my life.

It just means someone sees something they like.

And that’s okay.

The Truth About Starting Over

What nobody tells you about heartbreak is that eventually the world expects you to move on.

People start asking if you’re dating.

Friends start sending you prospects.

The algorithms start showing you relationship content again.

And one day, someone slides into your DMs.

Then another.

And another.

As if the universe has quietly decided your mourning period is over.

Meanwhile, you’re still trying to remember who you are.

I Love My Peace Right Now

That’s the thing.

I actually love my life.

I like my routines.

I like my projects.

I love my garden.

I love my work.

I love the woman I’m becoming.

And for the first time in a long time, I’m not looking for someone to complete the picture.

I’m trying to fully see the picture myself.

It’s Not a No Forever

That’s the part people misunderstand.

Not ready isn’t rejection.

Not ready isn’t bitterness.

Not ready isn’t fear.

It’s honesty.

Because the truth is, I still believe in love.

I still believe in partnership.

I still believe in finding someone who feels like home.

I just don’t think healing should be rushed because someone attractive showed up.

I’ve Worked Too Hard to Find Myself Again

There was a time when I would’ve ignored my own instincts.

When I would’ve entertained something simply because I didn’t want to be alone.

But I’ve worked too hard for this version of me.

Too hard for my peace.

Too hard for my healing.

To hand it over before I’m ready.

What I’m Saying Yes To

Maybe the better question isn’t who I’m saying no to.

Maybe it’s what I’m saying yes to.

I’m saying yes to myself.

Yes to my growth.

Yes to my healing.

Yes to discovering who I am when I am not trying to be what someone else needs.

And right now?

That’s enough.

Closing

So yes...

You can keep asking.

You can keep flirting.

You can even make me blush a little.

But right now, I’m not ready to say yes.

Not because I’ve given up on love.

But because I’ve finally stopped giving up on myself.

And that’s a relationship worth protecting, too.

Call To Action

Have you ever been flattered by someone’s interest but known deep down that you weren’t ready?

What helped you honor your timing instead of rushing the process?

The stories we inherit.

The stories we’re told.

The stories we tell ourselves.

And most importantly...

The stories we decide to keep.

The Power of Repetition

It’s funny how easily a story can become an identity.

You experience something painful.

Then something similar happens again.

And before you know it, you’re no longer describing what happened.

You’re describing who you think you are.

The woman who gets left.

The person who always struggles.

The one who never gets chosen.

The one who can’t get it right.

The one who always has to fight harder than everyone else.

The story gets repeated so many times that it starts to sound like the truth.

But What If It’s Just a Chapter?

That’s the thing about stories.

We forget that chapters are not endings.

A painful season can feel permanent while you’re living it.

Heartbreak feels endless when your heart is broken.

Failure feels final when you’re standing in it.

Loss feels defining when you’re grieving.

But eventually, you turn the page.

And what felt like the entire book becomes one chapter.

One important chapter.

But not the whole story.

The Stories I’ve Carried

There are stories I’ve carried for years.

Stories about love.

Stories about success.

Stories about being enough.

Stories about what I deserve.

Some of them protected me.

Some of them limited me.

Some of them weren’t even mine to begin with.

Yet I carried them anyway.

Because familiarity can feel safer than possibility.

When the Story Stops Serving You

At some point, you have to ask yourself:

Is this true?

Or is this just familiar?

Because there is a difference.

Maybe you’re not incapable of love.

Maybe you’ve been hurt.

Maybe you’re not failing.

Maybe you’re learning.

Maybe you’re not behind.

Maybe your path looks different.

Maybe the story you’ve been repeating is no longer the story you’re living.

Permission to Rewrite

I used to think rewriting the story meant pretending the hard things never happened.

Now I understand it’s something entirely different.

It’s honoring what happened without allowing it to define everything that comes next.

It’s saying:

Yes, I was hurt.

But I am not broken.

Yes, I made mistakes.

But I am not my mistakes.

Yes, things ended.

But I am not finished.

The Future Doesn’t Need My Permission

One of the most beautiful realizations I’ve had lately is this:

The future is coming whether I believe in it or not.

New opportunities.

New friendships.

New love.

New versions of myself.

They are already on their way.

The question is whether I’ll be willing to meet them.

Or whether I’ll stay trapped in an old story that’s already ending.

Closing

This doesn’t have to be my story.

Not the heartbreak.

Not the disappointment.

Not the fear.

Not the version of me that only knows how to survive.

I can honor where I’ve been without building a permanent home there.

I can carry the lesson without carrying the weight forever.

And maybe that’s what healing really is.

Not forgetting what happened.

But refusing to let it write the rest of the book.

Call To Action

What story have you been telling yourself that no longer fits who you’re becoming?

And what would happen if you gave yourself permission to write a new one?

Many years ago, I used to produce web series.

A couple of them even became award-winning.

And during that time, there was a line from one of the shows—Love Crimes—that never left me.

“Aren’t we all real-life Shonda Rhimes characters?”

At the time, it felt funny.
Sharp.
A little dramatic.

But over the years… I realized how true it actually was.

The Space Between Reality and Fiction

There’s something about Shonda Rhimes’ characters that feels familiar.

The complicated love stories.
The ambition.
The mistakes.
The secrets.
The emotional unraveling.

The way people can be brilliant and broken at the same time.

And maybe that’s why those stories resonate so deeply.

Because underneath all the monologues and dramatic lighting…
They feel human.

We Are All Carrying Something

When you really think about it, most people are walking around carrying entire storylines nobody knows about.

Heartbreak.
Grief.
Reinvention.
Identity shifts.
Dreams that didn’t happen the way they imagined.

Some people are surviving divorces.
Some are rebuilding themselves quietly.
Some are pretending to be okay because life doesn’t pause long enough for them to fall apart properly.

And somehow… they still show up.

Still work.
Still parent.
Still love people.

That feels very Shonda Rhimes to me.

The Performance of Being Fine

One thing I’ve noticed about adulthood is how often we perform normalcy while privately going through something life-changing.

You answer emails while your heart is breaking.
You show up polished while questioning your entire identity.
You laugh at dinner while grieving a version of your life that no longer exists.

And nobody around you fully knows the scene you just survived before walking into the room.

The Main Character Illusion

I think part of growing up is realizing that everyone believes they’re carrying the hardest storyline.

And maybe in some ways, they are.

Because pain always feels personal when you’re inside it.

But life becomes softer when you realize:

• everyone is complicated

• everyone has regrets

• everyone is trying to figure something out

Nobody is as together as they appear.

Maybe That’s What Connects Us

Not perfection.

Not success.

Not having everything figured out.

But the fact that we’re all trying to navigate these deeply human experiences while still wanting to be loved, understood, and chosen.

That’s the real plot.

Closing

So yes…

Maybe we are all real-life Shonda Rhimes characters.

Complex.
Emotional.
Messy.
Beautiful.

Trying to hold our lives together while delivering monologues to ourselves in the shower.

Trying to heal while still functioning.

Trying to become who we’re meant to be in the middle of all the chaos.

And somehow…

Still hoping for a good ending.

Call To Action

If your life had a season title right now, what would it be?

And what storyline are you currently trying to survive or rewrite?

They aren’t just bartenders.

They aren’t just artists.

They aren’t just friends.

They are energy.

They are stories.

They are the people who somehow make every room feel a little lighter simply by walking into it.

This week, I lost one of those people.

His name was Jamal.

Some knew him as an artist. Some knew him as a musician. Some knew him as an actor. Many knew him behind a bar. Most knew him as a free spirit who moved through life with a creativity and authenticity that couldn’t be taught.

To many, he was simply “The Bearded Tender.”

To me, he was a friend.

The hospitality industry teaches us strange lessons about grief.

We spend years celebrating people. We toast their birthdays. We hug them at events. We work doubles together. We close bars together. We witness breakups, breakthroughs, triumphs, and failures over late-night staff meals and after-shift drinks.

Then one day, someone is simply gone.

No last shift.

No last call.

No chance to say goodbye.

Just silence where laughter used to live.

As I have gotten older, loss has changed shape.

When I was younger, grief felt loud. It arrived all at once.

Now grief feels quieter.

It shows up when a song comes on unexpectedly.

It appears when I pass a place that holds a memory.

It sneaks in when I think, “I should call them,” before remembering I can’t.

The hardest part isn’t always the loss itself.

Sometimes it’s carrying all the things left unsaid.

The jokes you never got to finish.

The flowers you meant to give.

The hug you assumed there would be time for later.

The conversation you thought could wait.

If there is one lesson I continue to learn, it is this:

Nothing is promised.

Not tomorrow.

Not next week.

Not after the busy season.

Not after we finally get caught up.

We are all walking each other home.

Every friend.

Every coworker.

Every guest.

Every person we meet.

For a little while, our paths overlap.

Then eventually they don’t.

What a privilege it is that they overlapped at all.

Today, I am thinking about Jamal.

I am thinking about creativity.

I am thinking about community.

I am thinking about the beautiful, complicated people who choose hospitality as a life.

And I am reminding myself to love the people who are still here.

To say the thing.

To make the call.

To send the text.

To forgive.

To laugh.

To gather.

To celebrate.

To show up.

Because none of us know when the last round will be poured.

Rest easy, my friend.

The shift is over.

May your spirit be free.

And may those of us left behind remember to love each other a little harder while we still can.

A Simple Acknowledgment

As your Sistar, as a friend, and as someone whose life was made better by your presence, I want to pause and simply speak your name.

Jamal Rashad Parker.

Brother Parker.

May your spirit find light, peace, truth, and rest.

May those who loved you find comfort in the memories you left behind.

May those who are grieving find the strength to carry your laughter, your creativity, and your free spirit forward.

May justice move with clarity and compassion.

May your journey beyond this life be gentle.

Today, I light a candle for you.

I offer a prayer for you.

I raise a glass in your honor.

And I thank God that our paths crossed at all.

You were here.

You mattered.

You were loved.

And you will not be forgotten.

Sister Mincey

House of Rose Chapter 47 - Atlanta GA

I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to understand other people.

Trying to see both sides.
Trying to keep the peace.
Trying to be fair, understanding, and compassionate.

And while those things sound beautiful…
somewhere along the way, I realized something:

I kept extending grace to everyone except myself.

Always Trying to Understand Everyone Else

I’ve talked myself out of my own feelings before.

Maybe they didn’t mean it like that.
Maybe they were hurting too.
Maybe I should’ve communicated better.
Maybe I’m overreacting.

And while empathy is important, there’s a point where constantly trying to understand everyone else becomes a betrayal of yourself.

Because who was protecting me while I was busy protecting everyone else’s perspective?

The Moment I Realized It

I realized there were moments where I stood against myself just to avoid disappointing other people.

I minimized what hurt me.
I questioned my instincts.
I abandoned my own boundaries trying to maintain a connection.

And the truth is…

That kind of self-abandonment doesn’t feel noble after a while.

It feels exhausting.

Choosing Myself Without Becoming Cruel

For a long time, I thought choosing myself meant becoming selfish.

Hard.
Cold.
Uncaring.

But I’m learning that choosing yourself can actually look very soft.

It can look like:

• believing your own feelings

• honoring your limits

• no longer arguing yourself out of what you know hurts you

It can look like finally standing beside yourself instead of constantly questioning your own experience.

What Loyalty to Myself Looks Like Now

Loyalty to myself means:

• not shrinking to make other people comfortable

• not carrying blame that doesn’t fully belong to me

• not betraying my peace just to keep access to people who mishandle me

It means I stop treating myself like the enemy in every situation.

I Deserve My Own Support Too

That’s the part I’m really learning.

I deserve my own compassion, too.

Not just accountability.
Not just criticism.
Not just pressure to grow endlessly.

But support.

Grace.

Care.

From myself.

Closing

So whose side am I on?

Mine.

Not in a way that disconnects me from people.
Not in a way that lacks empathy.

But in a way that finally says:

I matter here too.

My feelings matter.
My peace matters.
My healing matters.

And I don’t have to abandon myself to prove that I’m a good person.

Call To Action

Have you ever realized you were giving everyone grace except yourself?

What would it feel like to finally stand beside yourself instead of against yourself?

Can the love be stronger than the mistakes?

Because I know I’m not perfect.

I’ve made mistakes in every relationship I’ve ever been in.
I’ve said the wrong things.
Handled things poorly sometimes.
Reacted from hurt instead of clarity.

I’m human.

And for a long time, I carried the weight of that heavily.

Especially after my last relationship.

When Love Stops Feeling Safe

I loved this man the best way I knew how.

Not perfectly.
But sincerely.

I apologized when I needed to.
I prayed.
I tried to adjust.
I listened.
I did everything he said he needed from me…

Until somehow, it still wasn’t enough.

And that’s the part that broke me.

Not just losing the relationship…
but feeling like no matter how much love I gave, how much I tried to fix, bend, heal, or become…

I could still be thrown away.

The Dangerous Thing About Trying to Earn Love

There’s something painful that happens when love becomes conditional.

You start believing:

• If you just communicate better

• If you just love harder

• If you just become softer, quieter, easier…

maybe you’ll finally be enough to keep.

And before you realize it, you’re no longer showing up as yourself.

You’re showing up as someone trying not to be abandoned.

Owning My Part Without Carrying It All

I can acknowledge my mistakes without making myself the villain of the entire story.

That’s something I’m learning now.

Because love is not sustained by one person apologizing forever.

Relationships are complicated.
People are complicated.

And sometimes two people hurt each other while still loving each other deeply.

That truth hurts too.

What Broke Me the Most

I think what hurt the most was not just the ending.

It was how disposable I felt in it.

How quickly years of love, memories, effort, friendship, and partnership seemed to stop mattering.

One day, I was someone building a life with him.

And the next…
I felt discarded.

That kind of pain sits differently; it still does.

But Here’s What I’m Trying to Remember

Being left does not mean I was worthless.

Being imperfect does not mean I was unlovable.

And being hurt does not mean I deserved to be abandoned emotionally.

I am still learning how to separate my mistakes from my value.

Can Love Be Stronger Than the Mistakes?

I think sometimes it can.

But only when both people are willing to:

• extend grace

• take accountability

• choose each other through the hard parts

Love cannot survive on one person carrying the entire emotional weight.

That’s not partnership.

That’s jail.

Closing

I don’t think I’ll ever be perfect in love.

But I know I loved honestly.

And maybe right now, that has to be enough for me to hold onto.

Not the version of me that begged to stay.
Not the version of me trying to prove my worth.

But the version of me that loved deeply, even while still learning herself.

And maybe that woman deserves compassion, too.

Come To Action

Have you ever blamed yourself entirely for a relationship ending?

What would it look like to hold yourself accountable… without abandoning yourself in the process?

Working for myself wasn’t some big, clear decision.
It didn’t come with a perfect plan or a guaranteed outcome.

It came from a series of choices.
Moments where I realized I wanted something different.

Something that felt like mine.

Choosing Ownership

There’s something about working for yourself that changes the way you move.

Your time is yours.
Your ideas are yours.
Your decisions, right or wrong, belong to you.

And that kind of ownership?

It’s powerful.

But it’s also real.

The Parts People Don’t Always See

Liking working for yourself doesn’t mean it’s easy.

It looks like:

• figuring things out in real time

• carrying responsibility even when you’re tired

• building structure where there isn’t any

There’s no one to pass things off to.
No one to blame when something doesn’t work.

It’s all you.

But That’s Also the Point

Because when something does work?

When something lands, grows, or becomes something real…

You know exactly where it came from.

Your ideas.
Your effort.
Your consistency.

And there’s a different kind of pride in that.

Creating a Life That Fits

Working for myself has allowed me to build a life that actually fits me.

Not just professionally, but personally.

I can:

• move with intention

• create space where I need it

• align my work with what I care about

And that alignment matters more to me than anything else.

Freedom With Responsibility

I like working for myself.

Not because it’s easier
but because it’s honest.

It requires me to show up.
To be disciplined.
To trust myself, even when things aren’t clear.

It asks more of me.

But it also gives more back.

Closing

I don’t have everything figured out.

Some days feel structured.
Some days feel uncertain.

But at the end of it all

I know I’m building something that belongs to me.

And that feels right.

Call To Action

What does “working for yourself” look like for you, whether you’re there yet or not?

And what part of it are you most drawn to?

Not because I didn’t understand it…
but because of what seemed to come with it.

It felt like I had to choose.

Be the pretty one…
or be the smart one.

But not both.

The Box People Put You In

There’s a certain way people look at you when they decide who you are too quickly.

A compliment that doesn’t feel like one.
An assumption hidden inside a smile.

“You’re so pretty.”

And somehow, that meant I had to prove everything else.

That I was capable.
That I was thoughtful.
That I was more than what you saw first.

Working Twice as Hard to Be Taken Seriously

I found myself over-explaining.
Over-performing.
Overcompensating.

Making sure I sounded a certain way.
Carried myself a certain way.
Knew more. Did more. Proved more.

Because I didn’t want to be dismissed.

I didn’t want to be reduced to something surface-level.

The Quiet Frustration

What frustrated me the most wasn’t being seen as pretty.

It was feeling like that came with limitations.

Like beauty canceled out depth.
Like presence meant I lacked substance.

And that never sat right with me.

Because I knew who I was.

Reclaiming Both

Somewhere along the way, I stopped trying to choose.

I stopped shrinking one part of myself to make another part more comfortable for people.

I allowed myself to be:

• thoughtful and expressive

• intentional and intuitive

• grounded and soft

I allowed myself to exist fully.

There Was Never a Choice

The truth is… there was never a choice to begin with.

That was something placed on me.

Something I internalized.

Something I had to unlearn.

Because I am not one thing.

And I don’t need to minimize any part of myself to be taken seriously.

What I Know Now

I know now that people will always try to categorize you.

It makes things easier for them.

But I don’t have to participate in that.

I don’t have to explain myself into being understood.

I don’t have to earn the right to be seen fully.

Closing

You can be pretty.

You can be smart.

You can be complex, layered, evolving.

You can be all of it.

Without apology.

Without explanation.

Without choosing.

Call To Action

Have you ever felt like you had to choose between different parts of yourself to be taken seriously?

What would it look like to stop choosing… and just be?

I’ve been thinking about what kind of person I want to be.

Not just in big moments.
But in the everyday ones.

How I show up.
How I move.
What I stand for.

And the phrase that keeps coming back to me is this:

I want to be a gladiator in a suit.

Strength Doesn’t Always Look Loud

When I think about a gladiator, I think about strength.

Protection.
Discipline.
Someone who stands in the arena and doesn’t back down.

But the suit?

That’s something else.

That’s intention.
That’s presence.
That’s knowing how to move through the world with grace while still being ready for whatever comes.

Holding Both at the Same Time

I don’t want to choose between being soft and being strong.

I want both.

I want to:

• take care of my community

• stand up for people who don’t always have a voice

• create spaces where people feel seen and supported

And I want to do it with care.

With thought.
With integrity.

Doing the Right Thing, Even When It’s Hard

Being a good person sounds simple.

But it’s not always easy.

It looks like:

• making decisions that don’t always benefit you first

• showing up when it would be easier to stay quiet

• choosing integrity when no one is watching

That’s the real work.

That’s the arena.

Who I’m Fighting For

I’m not fighting for ego.

I’m fighting for:

• my community

• my kids

• the people who trust me to show up for them

I’m fighting to build something that matters.

Something that lasts.

Something that makes life a little better for the people around me.

What This Means for Me

Being a gladiator in a suit means I don’t lose myself in the process.

I don’t harden so much that I forget how to care.

And I don’t soften so much that I forget how to stand firm.

It means I move with purpose.

I protect what matters.

And I do it in a way that still feels like me.

Closing

I don’t need to be perfect, I don’t want to be.

But I do want to be intentional.

I want to be someone who shows up with both strength and grace.

Someone who can stand in the hard moments…
and still choose to do good.

So yes—

I want to be a gladiator in a suit.

Call To Action

What does strength look like for you right now?

And are you allowing yourself to hold both power and softness at the same time?

I was standing at the CFM EAV farmers’ market with a friend of mine, Judith Winfrey, late last year, talking the way you do when you’re around people who understand the work.

The real work.
The kind that doesn’t always get seen.

She was leading an initiative that day, giving away free produce, in response to the bad economy and high grocery prices.

Not because it was easy.
Not because there was extra.

But because people needed it.

And somehow, they found a way to make it work
to support local farmers,
to honor their labor,
and still show up for the community in a real way.

That kind of care doesn’t happen by accident.

It happens because someone decides to be intentional.

The Moment That Stayed With Me

In the middle of our conversation, just talking about life, about the work, about showing up, she said something simple:

“We have to be the light.”

And it landed.

Not as a quote.
Not as something poetic.

But as a responsibility.

What It Actually Means

Being the light isn’t about being perfect.

It’s not about always having the energy.
It’s not about always getting it right.

It’s about choosing, again and again
to show up with intention.

Even when things feel heavy.
Even when the world feels uncertain.
Even when you’re tired.

It’s deciding that your presence, your work, your care…
will add something good to the spaces you’re in.

Light Looks Like Action

Sometimes we think light is soft.

But the kind of light I saw that day?

It looked like:

• organizing resources when things feel limited

• creating access where there are gaps

• making sure people are fed, literally and emotionally

It looked like community.

It looked like accountability.

It looked like love in motion.

Not Waiting for Someone Else

There’s a part of us that waits.

Waits for systems to change.
Waits for someone else to step in.
Waits for things to get better on their own.

But that day reminded me

Sometimes, we are the ones we’re waiting for.

And that doesn’t mean we have to do everything.

But it does mean we can do something.

Carrying It Forward

I’ve been thinking about what it means to carry light.

Not just in big moments.
But in everyday choices.

How I show up for people.
How I build.
How I give.
How I lead.

Because being the light isn’t a one-time decision.

It’s a way of moving through the world.

Closing

We don’t always get to control what’s happening around us.

But we do get to decide what we bring into it.

And maybe that’s where the real power is.

Not in waiting for things to change,
but in choosing to be a part of that change.

So wherever I am…
whatever I’m building…
whoever I’m in community with…

I’m carrying that with me.

We have to be the light.

Call To Action

What does being “the light” look like in your life right now?

Where are you being called to show up,
even in a small way?

I don’t think we talk enough about what freedom actually costs.

We celebrate it.

We chase it.

We say we want it.

But we don’t always name what it requires.

What Freedom Really Means

Freedom isn’t just doing what you want.

It’s choosing your life, fully.

It’s deciding:

How you spend your time

Who you allow access to you

what you say yes to… and what you walk away from

And that kind of choice?

It comes with weight.

The Cost No One Prepares You For

The cost of freedom is high.

It looks like:

Walking away from things that once felt secure

Making decisions without guarantees

Standing alone in choices other people don’t understand

It’s not always glamorous.

Sometimes it’s quiet.

Sometimes it’s lonely.

Sometimes it feels like you’re holding everything together by yourself.

Outgrowing What Once Fit

There’s a part of freedom that requires you to outgrow versions of your life that used to make sense.

People.

Places.

Patterns.

And that doesn’t always feel empowering in the moment.

Sometimes it feels like loss.

Even when you know it’s necessary.

The Responsibility That Comes With It

Freedom also means you can’t blame anyone else.

Not for your direction.

Not for your choices.

Not for where you end up.

And while that’s powerful…

it’s also heavy.

Why It’s Still Worth It

Even with all of that… I wouldn’t trade it.

Because on the other side of that weight is something real:

Ownership.

Alignment.

A life that actually feels like mine.

Not something I inherited.

Not something I stayed in out of comfort.

But something I chose.

A Different Kind of Peace

Freedom doesn’t always feel like ease.

But it does feel like truth.

And there’s a different kind of peace that comes with that.

Not the kind that avoids discomfort—

but the kind that knows:

I’m exactly where I decided to be.

Closing

The cost of freedom is high.

But so is the cost of staying in a life that no longer fits.

So I’m choosing the cost that gives me back to myself.

Every time.

Call To Action

Where in your life are you feeling the cost of freedom right now?

And are you willing to keep choosing it?