Not a perfect woman.

Not a woman who has all the answers.

An honest woman.

When I started making this album, I was at one of my lowest points — and most people had no idea.

From the outside, I had so much to be grateful for: a career I dreamed about, awards on shelves, songs people knew by heart, and stages I once would’ve done anything to stand on.

But instead of celebrating it, I was looking sideways — comparing my career, success and timeline to everyone else’s.

Comparison doesn’t always take something away. Sometimes, it simply convinces you that what you have isn’t enough.

At the same time, I was dealing with a severe vocal strain. For a singer, losing trust in your voice is terrifying. It’s not just what you do; it feels like who you are. I lost many of the parts of my voice that make me “me”. In between recording sessions were doctor visits and voice therapy.

Looking back, I think that season forced me to ask:

Who am I when I stop measuring myself by what happens next?

Women are taught to measure life by milestones: the career, the relationship, the ring, the baby, the house. And if things happen out of order or not at all, we’re told that we “failed”.

I’ve felt that. I’ve compared careers, relationships and milestones. I’ve looked at someone else’s chapter and let it convince me there was something wrong with mine.

Why would I want to live that way?

That’s the heartbeat of Honest Woman: celebrating womanhood in all its contradictions. Being strong and still wanting to be loved. Being successful and still feeling insecure. Being grateful and still wanting more. Losing yourself and finding your way back.

I’m 36, and my life doesn’t look exactly the way the younger version of me imagined it would. Some parts are bigger than she dreamed. Some broke her heart. Some things she’s still waiting for.

These songs reminded me that my worth was never hiding inside someone else’s life, career, relationship, milestones or timeline.

Neither is yours.

So if you’re wondering why you aren’t “there” yet, I hope you hear me.. it’s because God’s plan for you hasn’t revealed all its beauty yet. Your life is not a race against another woman. Her chapter doesn’t determine yours.

Maybe being an honest woman isn’t having all the answers. Maybe it’s having the courage to tell the truth about the questions and enjoying the journey.

Imperfect. Grateful. Hopeful. Unfinished.

I used to make excuses for my failed relationships..

He has family trauma.

He’s not emotionally mature enough.

He can’t handle a strong woman.

He wants the spotlight.

But eventually, I had to ask myself a much more uncomfortable question: Why did this kind of love keep following me? Because the truth was, these men weren’t actually all that different. Different hobbies. Different jobs. Different childhood trauma. Yes.

But at their core? They all somehow managed to leave me feeling the same way: anxious, insecure, confused, emotionally exhausted, and strangely determined to finally be “chosen.”

Was my picker off? Somewhere between my divorce and my last failed relationship, I began to wonder if I was confusing emotional intensity for emotional safety— and I don’t think I’m the only woman who’s done that.

From the time we’re little girls, we’re fed this fantasy that love is something we win. That if we’re pretty enough, understanding enough, successful enough, funny enough, low-maintenance enough, patient enough…eventually someone will choose us fully and permanently. So when things don’t work out and a man pulls away, our first thought isn’t to say “maybe this person wasn’t capable of giving me what I need.” We think “what did I do wrong?”

And then, eventually, I met someone different.

Not different because he was more exciting or more charming (although he’s very charming!) Different because for the first time in my life, I felt emotionally safe. No mixed signals. No games. He showed up consistently. He communicated clearly. He never wavered. And honestly? At first, it almost felt unfamiliar. I had spent so many years associating love with anxiety that peace almost felt suspicious— but now I think that’s the lesson. Funny enough-true love didn’t feel like a circus at all, it feels like coming home.

Maybe my picker wasn’t broken after all…

I, of course, said, “Oh my gosh, yes.”

What I didn’t know was how much that simple little afternoon would stir up in me.

There I was—34 years old, divorced, stuck in a relationship that was going absolutely nowhere—standing under those bright jewelry store lights trying to smile through a lump in my throat.

I was genuinely happy for her. I really was. But underneath that happiness was something I didn’t want to admit out loud: When would I get to be happy for myself?

Because when you’re a woman, there comes a point where everyone else’s milestones can start feeling like evidence against your own life.

Every engagement announcement.

Every baby shower.

Every wedding photo.

They all seem to whisper the same question:

“What’s wrong with me?”

I think comparison has become one of the biggest yet silent heartbreaks for women. Not because we’re shallow, but because we’ve been conditioned to believe our lives should happen on a timeline.

Social media has only made it harder. We compare our real lives to someone else’s highlight reel, and somewhere along the way we stop seeing all that’s beautiful about our own.

I’m a Grammy winner. I’m a Grand Ole Opry member. I’ve had number one songs. And yet there have still been moments where I’ve looked sideways at other women and felt like I wasn’t enough.

What I know to be true in my 30s has taken me a long time to learn:

Maybe your life isn’t late.

Maybe your story isn’t behind.

Maybe what’s meant for you was never supposed to look exactly like what’s meant for someone else’s.

Maybe being an honest woman means accepting that comparison will always exist—but choosing to celebrate your own life anyway.

I make impactful music. I have a man that loves me. I am healthy. I have the best dogs. I love my friends. I have a home that I love coming home to.

And that’s more than enough for me.