And every time it happens I laugh because honestly…I really do know a lot of people lol. I always joke around andsay I could make friends with a fly if needed.

I love talking to people. I love learning about people. I love community. I can see another Black woman in the grocery store and smile and say hi. I can be standing in a store trying to decide if I should buy a shirt and ask the random person next to me what they think. I’ll compliment somebody’s shoes and somehow five minutes later we’re talking about where we work, where we go to church and exchanging Instagrams. 😂

Small talk never hurt anybody. And the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve realized that a lot of the community I have didn’t necessarily just find me.

I actively looked for it.

I have my book reading friends, my gym friends, my church friends, my spiritual friends, my entrepreneur friends, my Pilates and fitness friends, my foodie friends, my therapist friends, my higher education friends and then of course the friends who somehow fall into five different categories at once lol.

I think somewhere along the way I became really intentional about identifying the different kinds of community I wanted in my life and then being willing to participate in creating it.

And I think that last part matters.

We talk a lot about wanting community.

We want our village. We want people who check on us. People we can call. People who invite us places. People who remember our birthdays and celebrate our wins and sit with us when life gets weird.

But sometimes we forget that somebody has to actually build the village.

Somebody has to send the text.
Somebody has to say “we should hang out.”
Somebody has to invite everybody over.
Somebody has to introduce two people and say “wait y’all would actually really like each other.”

Somebody has to be willing to go first. And I think I’ve become okay with being that somebody.

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This Sunday, I actually have an event coming up called The Color of Friendship and the whole idea behind it is so simple. I just want people to come sit on blankets, eat snacks, color and meet each other.

That’s it.

No networking agenda. No “what do you do for work?” pressure. No trying to figure out what somebody can do for you.

I just want my people to meet my other people.

I want to be able to tell one friend “wait she loves that too” or “you two would get along because…” and then watch them build a relationship that has absolutely nothing to do with me.

There’s something really beautiful to me about that.

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I don’t want to be the center of my community. I want to be part of a community that continues growing around all of us.

And all of this has had me thinking about how building community can somehow be really easy and really hard at the same time.

Because sometimes the actual actions are simple.

1. Say hi.

2. Send the text.

3. Give the compliment.

4. Accept the invitation.

5. Ask someone if they want to grab coffee.

6. Tell somebody you enjoyed talking to them.

7. Go to the event even though you don’t know anybody.

But mentally and emotionally? Whew. That’s where it can get complicated. Because our minds start telling us everything that could go wrong:

• What if they don’t like me?

• What if I come across as weird?

• What if I reach out and they don’t respond?

• What if I’m always the one initiating?

• What if I let somebody into my life and they hurt me?

• What if I trust the wrong person?

• What if I show people who I really am and they judge me?

And those aren’t silly fears. Especially if you’ve experienced friendship breakups, betrayal, rejection, abandonment or relationships where you felt like you were constantly giving more than you were receiving.

Sometimes when we say “it’s hard to make friends as an adult,” we’re not only talking about finding people.

Sometimes we’re talking about how scary it feels to try again.

And I think one thing that’s helped me is that I’ve at least been willing to give the idea of a new friendship a try.

Not every person I meet becomes my best friend. Not every conversation turns into a friendship. Not everybody I invite somewhere comes.

Sometimes I reach out first. Sometimes somebody doesn’t match my energy.

Sometimes a friendship stays very specific to a certain space or season of my life and honestly…I think that’s okay too.

Your gym friend can just be your gym friend.

Your coworker can be somebody you genuinely enjoy eating lunch with.

The woman you met at Pilates can be somebody you send reels to every once in a while.

The person you met at church can become somebody you pray with.

And maybe eventually some of those relationships grow into something deeper.

I think sometimes we put so much pressure on friendship that we forget community can have layers.

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You can have people you’re incredibly close to and people you simply enjoy. People you talk to every day and people you see once every few months. People you call when you’re crying and people you call when you want somebody to try a new restaurant with you.

All of it counts.

And maybe part of building community is allowing relationships to become whatever they’re supposed to become instead of deciding every new person needs to fill some huge role in our lives.

But I also think building community requires us to look at ourselves a little bit.

Because it’s easy to talk about the kind of friendships we wish we had.

It’s a little harder to ask ourselves whether we’re practicing the things we’re asking other people to give us.

Are we initiating? Are we checking on people? Are we making plans?

Are we allowing ourselves to be known? Are we creating opportunities for connection or are we waiting for somebody else to notice we’re lonely? Are we giving new people a fair chance or making them pay for what old friends did to us? Are we willing to experience a little friendship rejection without deciding that means we’re unlikeable?

And probably one of the biggest questions…Am I being the kind of friend I’m asking God and life to send me?

Because community is something we receive, but I think it’s also something we practice.

Sometimes your village starts with you saying hi.

A few questions I want you to sit with this week:

• When you say you want more community, what does community actually look like to you?

• What makes it difficult for you to initiate new friendships?

• Are you comfortable being the person who reaches out first?

• How do you respond when someone doesn’t reciprocate your attempt at friendship?

• Have past friendship experiences made you more guarded with new people?

• Do you expect one or two friends to meet needs that could be spread across a larger community?

• Are you allowing different friendships to serve different purposes in your life?

• And the big one…Are you able to be the kind of friend you expect other people to be?

A small practice to try this week:

Think about one area of your life where you wish you had more community.

Maybe you want more friends who share your faith. Maybe you want girlfriends who like being active. Maybe you want other entrepreneurs around you. Maybe you’re a mom who needs mom friends. Maybe you just want somebody who will randomly text you and say “you wanna go eat?” 😂

Whatever it is, instead of only thinking about how you haven’t found those people yet, ask yourself:

What is one thing I can do to create an opportunity for that community to find me?

Maybe you attend something, you invite somebody somewhere. Maybe you finally respond to the person who has been trying to hang out with you. Maybe you compliment somebody and let the conversation go a little further than you normally would. Maybe you host something yourself.

It doesn’t have to become a lifelong friendship. Just practice being open to connection. You never know who you’re saying hi to.

• Not every friendship has to become a deep friendship to still be meaningful.

• You are allowed to have different friends for different parts of your life.

• Reaching out first doesn’t automatically mean you care more. Sometimes you’re just the person willing to initiate.

• Someone not reciprocating your attempt at friendship doesn’t mean there is something wrong with you. Sometimes people just aren’t available for the connection you’re offering.

• You don’t have to wait until someone invites you into community. You can create it too.

• Your past friendship experiences can teach you discernment without convincing you to close yourself off completely.

• Being friendly doesn’t mean giving everyone immediate access to you. You can be open and still have boundaries.

• Some friendships are for a season. That doesn’t make the season any less meaningful.

• You don’t need everybody to like you in order to keep introducing yourself.

• Sometimes community starts with something as small as saying hi.

Affirmations to sit with this week:

• I can be open to new connections without abandoning my discernment.

• I am willing to initiate the kind of community I want to experience.

• I don’t have to take every friendship rejection personally.

• I can appreciate relationships for what they are without forcing them to become more.

• I am worthy of friendships where care, effort and consideration are mutual.

• I can allow people to get to know me little by little.

• I don’t have to wait to be chosen. I can extend the invitation too.

• I can honor the friendships I already have while remaining open to new ones.

• I trust myself to recognize when a friendship feels healthy, reciprocal and safe.

• I can be the kind of friend I hope to have.

• There is room in my life for new people, new experiences and new forms of community.

• I am allowed to build my village one conversation, one invitation and one friendship at a time.

  ---

Your support helps me continue creating these letters and allows me to spend more time writing the kinds of conversations that help us slow down, reflect, and grow.

As a paid subscriber, you’ll receive full access to every post, including deeper reflections, journal prompts, affirmations, and The Healing Room.

Thank you for reading, sharing, and being here. It means more than you know.

I was productive.
I was checking boxes.
I was saying yes to opportunities.
I was staying busy.

But if I’m honest, I wasn’t always living in alignment.

Sometimes we get so focused on becoming who we think we’re supposed to be that we slowly lose touch with who we actually are.

That’s what inspired this month’s calendar.

August is about alignment.

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Not perfection.
Not having your entire life figured out.
Not becoming the “best version” of yourself overnight.

Just learning to notice the places where your inner world and your outer life aren’t quite matching anymore.

Alignment asks different questions.

• Am I saying yes because I genuinely want to?

• Does this relationship leave me feeling safe?

• Does my routine support the life I’m trying to build?

• Am I living from purpose...or from pressure?

This month’s practices are intentionally simple because I don’t believe healing always requires adding more to your schedule.

August Wellness Calendar

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Sometimes alignment looks like...

• going to bed earlier instead of answering one more email.
• saying no without overexplaining.
• praying instead of trying to control every outcome.
• spending ten quiet minutes outside.
• reaching out to an old friend.
• asking for what you need.
• taking a guilt-free nap.

Tiny decisions often shape our lives more than dramatic ones.

As you move through August, my hope isn’t that you complete every prompt perfectly.

My hope is that you become more aware.

More honest.

More connected to yourself.

Because when we live in alignment with our values, our bodies often experience what they’ve been craving all along:

A little more peace.

A little more clarity.

A little more freedom.

August Wellness Calendar

1.58MB ∙ PDF file

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This calendar isn’t about earning wellness.

It’s about practicing it.

I hope August gives you permission to choose what actually fits your life, not just what looks good from the outside.

More money.
More opportunities.
More success.
More things.

But lately I’ve been wondering if abundance is actually something much quieter than that.

Maybe abundance is realizing you already have more strength than you give yourself credit for. Maybe it’s noticing the friendships that continue to show up for you. Maybe it’s looking at your life and seeing evidence of God’s provision even when things haven’t unfolded exactly how you planned.

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This month’s calendar isn’t about chasing more.

It’s about noticing.

Noticing what’s working.
Noticing what’s growing.
Noticing what’s already present.

July Wellness Calendar

1.57MB ∙ PDF file

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Because sometimes we become so focused on what’s next that we forget to acknowledge what is.

And if I’m honest, I think many of us have gotten really good at moving the goalpost on ourselves.

We accomplish something and immediately focus on the next thing.

We make it through a hard season and barely stop long enough to recognize our own resilience.

We receive an answered prayer and quickly move on to the next request.

This month, I want us to practice something different.

I want us to slow down enough to recognize the abundance that already exists around us and within us.

Not in a toxic positivity kind of way.

Not in a “just be grateful” kind of way.

But in a grounded way.

A way that allows us to hold both truth and hope at the same time.

Life can be difficult.

Things can still feel uncertain.

You can still have goals you’re working toward.

And there can still be goodness here.

Both can be true.

July Wellness Calendar

1.57MB ∙ PDF file

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This month’s calendar includes small invitations to:

• Release things that are draining your energy

• Practice receiving support instead of carrying everything alone

• Reflect on God’s faithfulness

• Notice what is already going right

• Move your body for enjoyment rather than obligation

• Offer yourself more compassion

• Slow down enough to acknowledge your growth

My hope is that these daily practices help you reconnect with the idea that abundance isn’t always found in what you’re gaining.

Sometimes it’s found in what you’ve already been given.

And sometimes it’s found in realizing that you are already enough while you’re still becoming.

Not all the time but sometimes life is genuinely confusing and we really don’t know what to do. Sometimes it feels like there isn’t a clear right answer, and we’re navigating situations that are messy and complicated and we need more time to figure things out.

Sometimes I think we’re hoping that if we think about something long enough, we’ll eventually arrive at a different conclusion than the one we’ve already come to.

I saw a quote recently that said, “You already know what to do. You’re negotiating with comfort.”

I’ve been sitting with that for days.

I don’t think most of us struggle with awareness as much as we struggle with what awareness requires from us.

A lot of us know when something doesn’t feel right.

We know when we’re exhausted.

We know when a friendship has become one-sided.

We know when a relationship is no longer giving us what we need.

We know when we’re avoiding a conversation.

We know when we’re abandoning ourselves.

The hard part is that once we acknowledge those things, we have to decide what we’re going to do about them.

And that’s where things get uncomfortable.

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I think that’s why so many of us stay stuck in places we’ve already outgrown. Not because we’re clueless. Not because we’re incapable. Not because we’re waiting for one final sign from the universe.

I think we’re often trying to avoid what comes after the decision.

Because what if we’re wrong?

What if we regret it?

What if things don’t work out the way we hoped?

What if we leave something behind and never find something better?

What if setting the boundary changes the relationship?

What if speaking up disappoints someone?

What if choosing ourselves means losing something we care about?

Those are real questions.

And I think sometimes when we say we’re confused, what we’re actually saying is that we’re scared.

Scared of disappointing people or making the wrong choice or letting go of something we’ve spent years hoping would change. Sometimes we’re scared to admit that something isn’t working because once we admit it, we have to decide what happens next.

That’s a very different experience than being confused.

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I’ve also been thinking about how often we confuse comfort with peace.

Comfort isn’t always a good thing and it isn’t always a bad thing. Sometimes comfort is exactly what we need. But comfort can also keep us attached to situations that no longer serve us simply because they’re familiar.

We know the rules there.

We know what to expect.

We know how to survive there.

Even if we’re unhappy.

Even if we’re tired.

Even if some part of us knows we’ve been settling.

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Familiarity can feel safer than possibility.

I see this all the time with grief.

People think grief is only about losing something.

But grief also shows up when we’re forced to let go of an idea.

The idea that a parent will eventually become the parent we need.

The idea that a relationship will become healthy if we just love hard enough.

The idea that a friendship will return to what it used to be.

The idea that a job will finally start feeling fulfilling.

We’re grieving what we hoped something would become and we’re not quite ready to release it.

And honestly, that makes sense. Because letting go isn’t just about losing what is. It’s also about losing what could have been.

That’s why change is so difficult.

Not because we’re weak.

Not because we’re lazy.

Not because we lack discipline.

Change is difficult because every decision costs something.

Growth costs something.

Boundaries cost something.

Healing costs something.

Honesty costs something.

The question is whether what you’re holding onto is costing you even more.

I don’t know what area of your life this applies to.

Maybe it’s a relationship, your career, or a friendship. Maybe it’s a version of yourself you’ve outgrown.

But I wonder what would happen if you stopped asking yourself, “What should I do?” and started asking yourself, “What am I afraid will happen if I do what I already know needs to be done?”

I think our answer to that question reveals a lot. Maybe more than we realize.

A few questions I want you to sit with this week:

• Am I seeking clarity right now, or am I seeking certainty?

• Where have I mistaken familiarity for peace?

• What would change if I trusted myself a little more?

• Is there a conversation, boundary, decision, or truth I've been postponing because I don't want to deal with what comes after?

A small practice to try this week:

Think about an area of your life where you feel stuck. Maybe it’s a relationship. Maybe it’s a friendship. Maybe it’s a decision you’ve been carrying around for months.

Ask yourself: “What do I already know?”

Then ask yourself: “What am I afraid will happen if I act on what I know?”

Spend a few minutes journaling without trying to fix anything. Just be honest.

You may discover that what has felt like confusion is actually fear, grief, uncertainty, or discomfort.

And that’s important information too.

• Familiar does not automatically mean healthy.

• You can know what needs to change and still feel scared to change it.

• Sometimes we're not negotiating with comfort. We're negotiating with grief.

• Not every difficult decision comes with certainty.

• The version of you that wants to stay safe and the version of you that wants to grow are both trying to protect you.

• Avoiding the truth doesn't make it disappear. It usually just delays the conversation.

Affirmations to sit with this week:

• I can be honest with myself, even when the truth feels uncomfortable.

• I do not need perfect certainty to take my next step.

• I trust myself to navigate what comes after the decision.

• I can honor my fear without allowing it to make my decisions for me.

• My growth may require discomfort, but discomfort does not mean I am making the wrong choice.

• I am capable of facing the reality of what is, not just the hope of what could be.

  ---

Your support helps me continue creating these letters and allows me to spend more time writing the kinds of conversations that help us slow down, reflect, and grow.

As a paid subscriber, you’ll receive full access to every post, including deeper reflections, journal prompts, affirmations, and The Healing Room.

Thank you for reading, sharing, and being here. It means more than you know.

For some people, a simple “I’m sorry” is enough. For others, they want changed behavior. Some people want accountability. Some people want repair.

I’ve slowly started to realize that for me, I am not always looking for an apology. Sometimes I’m looking for understanding.

I think that’s why certain apologies have never landed the way I thought they would. The words were there, but something still felt missing and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

When I say I want understanding, I don’t mean I need someone to agree with me about every detail of what happened. I don’t need them to see the situation exactly the way I do. I think what I’m looking for is evidence that they understand the impact.

That they understand why it hurt.

That they understand why trust changed.

That they understand why I pulled away.

That they understand why something that seemed small to them felt big to me.

I think a lot of us have had the experience of finally getting an apology only to realize it didn’t bring the relief we thought it would.

Have you ever waited months, maybe even years, to hear someone say sorry? Then they finally did and you just sat there thinking, “That’s it?”

Not because you wanted them to suffer. Not because you wanted a dramatic speech. But because the apology didn’t make you feel understood.

Sometimes it feels like people apologize because they want the tension to end, or they feel guilty, or…someone just told them they should.

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But being understood feels different.

Being understood sounds like someone taking the time to learn your experience instead of immediately defending their intentions.

Being understood sounds like, “I can see why that hurt you.”

Being understood sounds like, “I didn’t realize the impact that had.”

Being understood sounds like curiosity instead of defensiveness.

And maybe that’s why some hurts linger. Not because nobody said sorry, but because we never felt seen.

The older I get, the more I realize that understanding and agreement are not the same thing.

Someone can understand your pain and still remember the situation differently.

Someone can understand your hurt and still believe they were doing the best they could. They can understand your experience without completely agreeing with your interpretation of every detail.

I think that’s what makes understanding feel so powerful. It doesn’t require two people to have the same story. It just requires one person to be willing to listen to someone else’s.

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At the same time, I’ve also been thinking about what happens when that understanding never comes. There are some people who may never understand our experience.

Not because we didn’t explain it well enough.

Not because we didn’t try hard enough.

Not because we didn’t find the right words.

Sometimes people are simply not in a place where they can hold the impact of what happened. And that can be its own kind of grief.

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There is something painful about realizing that the closure you wanted may never come from the person you wanted it from.

But there is also something freeing about it.

Because at some point, we have to decide whether our healing will remain tied to someone else’s understanding.

That’s a hard question and it’s one I’m still sitting with myself.

Our pain doesn’t become real only after someone else acknowledges or agrees with it.

And while understanding can be incredibly healing, there are times when we have to learn how to validate our own experiences when someone else cannot.

And maybe that’s the work. Maybe the goal isn’t to stop wanting understanding. Maybe the goal is learning how to move forward even when it doesn’t arrive.

A few questions I want you to sit with this week:

• Can you think of a time when someone apologized, but it still didn’t feel like enough? What do you think was missing?

• Are there any situations in your life where you are waiting for understanding more than an apology?

• Is there someone you’ve been hoping will finally “get it”? What would it mean if they never did?

A small practice to try this week:

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We don’t always say it out loud because it sounds confusing.

Who would miss someone who lied to them? In fact, how can you miss someone who hurt you? Who made you cry more than they made you smile? How can you miss someone who wasn’t actually good for you?

These are valid questions. And we also have valid feelings. But because we don’t know what to do with those feelings, we usually start judging ourselves for having them.

We tell ourselves we should be over it by now.

We tell ourselves we shouldn’t care anymore.

We tell ourselves that missing them must mean we made the wrong decision.

But I don’t know if that’s actually true.

I think one of the hardest parts of healing is realizing that missing someone and wanting them back are not the same thing.

A lot of us know we don’t want to go back.

We know why the relationship ended. We know what wasn’t working. We know how much energy we spent hoping things would change.

And yet... there are still moments when we think about them.

A song comes on. A memory pops up. Something good happens and for a second we want to tell them. Then the guilt creeps in.

“Why am I still thinking about them?”

“What’s wrong with me?”

“Why am I not over this?”

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But maybe we’re asking the wrong question.

Instead of asking why we still miss them, maybe we need to ask what we’re actually grieving.

I think that’s what makes certain losses so painful.

We’re not only grieving what happened. We’re also grieving what never happened.

The conversation we never got to have, the apology we never received. The healthy relationship we kept hoping would eventually show up.

The future we imagined. The version of the story we thought we were moving toward.

That’s a different kind of grief. One that doesn’t get talked about nearly enough.

Especially when the person is still alive. Especially when they’re still posting online. Still existing in your world while simultaneously being unavailable to you in all the ways that mattered most.

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I think a lot of us have experienced that kind of grief.

The grief of realizing someone cannot give you what you’ve spent years hoping they would. That’s a hard thing to accept.

Because acceptance often requires us to let go of possibility. Not reality. Possibility.

And sometimes possibility is the thing we’ve been holding onto the tightest.

As a therapist, one thing I’ve learned is that our nervous systems don’t only remember pain. They remember the connection too. They remember laughter. Comfort. Familiarity.

The feeling of being chosen. The feeling of having someone to call. The little rituals and routines that became part of our lives.

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If relationships were painful all the time, nobody would stay. Most unhealthy relationships contain moments that feel beautiful. That’s part of what makes them so confusing. So when we miss someone, it doesn’t automatically mean we’re forgetting what they did.

It might simply mean we’re remembering that they mattered.

That we were attached. That we invested our hearts somewhere. That we hoped.

And honestly? I think a lot of us confuse grief with evidence. We think missing someone is evidence that we should call them. Evidence that we should go back. Evidence that we’re not healed. Evidence that we made a mistake.

But what if missing them is simply evidence that you cared? What if it means the relationship had an impact on you? What if it means you’re human?

Awareness doesn’t immediately dissolve attachment.

Most of us have had the experience of our head understanding something long before our heart catches up. And maybe that’s where some grace is needed.

Not because you should stay stuck. Not because you should ignore what happened.

But because healing is rarely as clean as we want it to be.

I think we secretly believe healing should make us feel indifferent. Like one day we’ll wake up and feel absolutely nothing. No sadness. No longing. No memories. No grief.

But I’ve learned that healing isn’t always the absence of feeling.

Sometimes healing looks like saying,

“Yeah, I miss them.”

“And I still know why it had to end.”

I think that’s the part we don’t give ourselves enough credit for. Being able to hold two truths at the same time. Recognizing that someone mattered while also recognizing they weren’t healthy for you. Acknowledging the good without minimizing the harm. Feeling the grief without turning it into a reason to return.

And if you’re struggling with that right now, I want you to know that your feelings don’t automatically mean you’re moving backward.

Sometimes they’re just showing you where something mattered. Sometimes they’re showing you where there was attachment. Sometimes they’re showing you where there is still grief.

And grief doesn’t always ask us to go back. Sometimes it simply asks us to tell the truth.

The truth about what we lost, what we hoped for, and what happened.

And maybe the truth is this:

• You can miss someone and still know they weren’t good for you.

• You can love someone and still need distance from them.

• You can grieve a relationship and still be grateful it’s over.

Those things can exist together.

And maybe that’s not a sign that you’re confused. Maybe it’s a sign that you’re finally being honest.

A few questions I want you to sit with this week:

• When I think about the person I miss, what do I actually miss most?

• What future, hope, or possibility did I lose when this relationship ended?

• If I removed guilt from the equation, what honest feelings would I allow myself to have about this person?

A small practice to try this week:

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So many people silently grieve their relationship with their parents, siblings, grandparents, or other family members and just keep pushing because “that’s life.”

We tell ourselves that every family has issues, nobody’s family is perfect, and we should just be grateful for what we have.

But I don’t think we spend enough time holding space for the grief that comes from loving people who are still alive, still in our faces, and still unable to have a healthy relationship with us..

That’s a very specific kind of grief because nobody died. There’s no funeral, no sympathy cards, no bereavement leave…Yet somehow you’re still mourning something.

You’re mourning the relationship you wish existed.

I think that’s why this kind of grief can feel so confusing. How do you explain to people that you’re grieving your mother, but she’s still alive? How do you explain that you’re grieving your father, but he still calls sometimes? How do you explain that your sibling didn’t necessarily do anything terrible, but every interaction leaves you feeling disappointed, misunderstood, unseen, or exhausted?

Most people hear the word grief and think about loss through death. But grief is bigger than that.

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If we’re being honest, a lot of us have been carrying around hopes for our families for a very long time.

Maybe you hoped your parent would finally apologize or your sibling would become more emotionally mature. Maybe you hoped family gatherings would stop feeling so tense, or someone would finally ask how you’re doing and actually care about the answer.

Maybe you hoped one day you’d feel emotionally safe around the people who were supposed to know you best.

And when those things don’t happen, year after year after year, something inside of us starts to ache. Not because we’re expecting perfection but because we’re human.

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Not because they’re evil.

Not because they don’t love you in their own way.

But because they may not have the capacity.

And I know that’s not always the answer we want.

Because if you’re anything like the people I sit with or me, there’s often a part of us that keeps hoping.

Maybe this holiday will be different.

Maybe this conversation will be different.

Maybe this year will be different.

Maybe now they’ll understand.

Hope can be beautiful.

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But sometimes hope can also keep us emotionally stuck in places we've already outgrown.

Sometimes grief is realizing you’ve spent years waiting for people to become who you needed them to be, and that’s a completely different kind of heartbreak because you’re not grieving what happened. You’re grieving what never happened.

You’re grieving the conversations.

The support.

The closeness.

The protection.

The emotional safety.

The version of the relationship you imagined could exist.

And I think many of us rush past that grief because we feel guilty.

We tell ourselves things like:

“At least they’re still here.”

“They did the best they could.”

“It could have been worse.”

And maybe all of those things are true.

But something being understandable doesn’t automatically make it less painful.

You can understand why your parent struggles emotionally and still grieve the impact it had on you. You can love your family and still feel hurt by them. You can appreciate what they did provide and still acknowledge what was missing.

Those things can exist together.

What I’ve learned from grief work is that healing often begins when we stop arguing with reality.

Not because we like reality. Not because we approve of it.

But because fighting reality keeps us stuck waiting for a version of people that may never arrive.

And that’s where chosen family becomes important.

Not as a replacement.

I don’t think chosen family completely replaces the grief.

I don’t think your best friend suddenly becomes your mom.

I don’t think a mentor magically fills every wound.

But I do think healing sometimes looks like allowing more people to love you than the people you share DNA with.

For some of us, chosen family is the first place we’ve experienced consistency.

It’s the friend who checks on you when you’re struggling.

It’s the older woman at church who remembers every detail of your life.

It’s the mentor who sees your potential.

It’s the people who celebrate your birthday without being reminded.

It’s the friend who sits with you during hard seasons instead of disappearing.

It’s the people who make you feel like you matter.

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The older I get, the more I realize family isn’t only about who raised you.

Sometimes family is who stays.

Sometimes family is who sees you.

Sometimes family is who creates space for you to be fully yourself.

And if you’re grieving the family you wish you had, I want you to know that grief deserves space.

Not because I want you to stay stuck there.

But because grief that isn’t acknowledged usually finds other ways to show up.

Sometimes as resentment.

Sometimes as anxiety.

Sometimes as loneliness.

Sometimes as constantly chasing love from people who have already shown us what they’re capable of giving.

You don’t have to pretend you’re okay with something that hurts. You don’t have to force gratitude before you’re ready. You don’t have to convince yourself it doesn’t matter.

Maybe part of healing is simply being honest.

This hurts.

I wish it were different.

I wish we were closer.

I wish things felt healthier.

I wish I had a different experience.

And then slowly, over time, learning how to build community, connection, and belonging without waiting for someone else to become who they’ve never been.

That’s not giving up.

That’s making room for your life to grow beyond your disappointment.

A few questions I want you to sit with this week:

• What family relationship do I find myself grieving or acting like I don’t care about

• What family relationships am I still hoping will change one day?

• Who in my life currently makes me feel seen, safe, supported, or valued?

A small practice to try this week:

Read more

Not because we’re weak or because we don’t know what we need.

But because somewhere along the way, we learned that peace was something we had to earn.

We learned that speaking up might upset someone. That saying no might disappoint someone. That expressing a need might make us seem difficult.

So instead, we become flexible.

Understanding.

Easygoing.

We tell ourselves it’s not a big deal.

We let things slide.

We stay quiet.

We accommodate.

We adjust.

We convince ourselves we’re being mature.

But deep down?

Something hurts.

Because every time you silence yourself to avoid making someone else uncomfortable, a small part of you notices.

Your body notices.

Your nervous system notices.

You notice.

Even if you don’t have the words for it.

And that’s what makes this so tricky.

Most of the time it looks responsible and kind.

It looks like being the bigger person or saying, “It’s okay,” when it actually isn’t.

It looks like agreeing to plans you don’t want or like answering calls when you’re exhausted.

It looks like staying in conversations that leave you feeling small or fake laughing at things that hurt your feelings.

It looks like pretending you’re fine because addressing it feels like too much work.

Because it happens in these tiny moments, many people don’t realize how often they’re doing it.

Let me ask you a few questions:

How often do you leave a conversation feeling frustrated, but you never actually tell the person what bothered you?

How often do you hope people will notice what you need instead of saying it out loud?

How often do you tell yourself, “It’s not worth bringing up,” only to think about it for the next three days?

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Sometimes we think our problem is resentment.

But resentment is often just grief.

Grief over all the times we disappeared to make someone else comfortable.

Grief over all the versions of ourselves that never got a seat at the table.

Because here’s the thing most people don’t talk about:

People-pleasing isn’t usually about pleasing people.

It’s about protecting relationships.

It’s about protecting belonging.

It’s about protecting safety.

Maybe growing up, conflict felt unsafe.

Maybe love felt inconsistent.

Maybe expressing emotions led to criticism, punishment, rejection, or withdrawal.

Maybe you learned that your needs created problems.

So your nervous system became incredibly intelligent.

It learned:

“Keep everyone comfortable.”

“Stay agreeable.”

“Don’t make things harder.”

“Don’t ask for too much.”

And honestly?

That strategy may have helped you survive.

But what protects you as a child can limit you as an adult.

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Because eventually you start paying for peace with pieces of yourself.

And that’s a very expensive price.

Read that again.

Keeping the peace often means suppressing reality.

Creating peace requires honesty.

Keeping the peace says:

“I’ll carry the discomfort so nobody else has to.”

Creating peace says:

“We can both survive this conversation.”

Keeping the peace avoids tension.

Creating peace moves through tension.

That’s why boundaries feel so uncomfortable at first.

Not because they’re wrong.

But because they force us to stop using self-abandonment as our primary coping strategy.

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And if you’ve spent years earning love through accommodation, that can feel terrifying.

You may even feel guilty, or selfish, and mean and difficult.

But what if those feelings aren’t evidence that you’re doing something wrong? What if they’re evidence that you’re doing something different? What if you’re simply learning a new way to exist in relationships?

A way where your needs matter too.

A way where your comfort matters too.

A way where your voice gets to be in the room.

Because every time you abandon yourself to keep the peace, you’re teaching yourself something.

You’re teaching yourself:

• Their feelings matter more than mine.

• Their comfort matters more than mine.

• Their needs matter more than mine.

And after enough repetitions, you start believing it.

Not consciously.

But emotionally, relationally, and nervous-system-wise.

And then one day you wake up feeling disconnected from yourself without understanding why.

Because you’ve spent so much energy maintaining harmony around you that you’ve lost touch with the person inside you.

You.

The version of you that has preferences, needs, opinions, boundaries, desires, and dreams.

The version of you that deserves a voice.

The goal isn’t to become difficult.

The goal isn’t to stop caring about people.

The goal isn’t to start arguments.

That’s the kind of peace worth building.

Not the peace that costs you yourself.

The peace that includes you, too.

A few questions I want you to sit with this week:

• Where in my life am I saying “it’s fine” when it actually isn’t?

• What am I afraid might happen if I were completely honest about what I need?

• When did I first learn that keeping others comfortable was my responsibility?

A small practice to try this week:

Read more

And for some reason…instead of responding to that realization with compassion,
a lot of us respond with embarrassment.

We look back at old versions of ourselves and cringe.

At the relationship we stayed in too long.
The friendship we kept trying to save.
The boundary we didn’t set.
The apology we accepted too quickly.
The way we abandoned ourselves just to keep the peace.
The moments we ignored our body.
Ignored our exhaustion.
Ignored our intuition.
Ignored ourselves.

And now that we can see it clearly, we start talking to our younger selves like they were stupid.

“You should’ve known better.”
“How did you not see that?”
“That was obviously unhealthy.”
“You were too trusting.”
“You ignored the signs.”

But I want us to slow down there for a second.

Because hindsight has a way of making survival look foolish.

And that’s not fair.

That’s important.

Because wisdom rarely arrives before experience.

Most people do not magically wake up with secure attachment.
Strong boundaries.
Discernment.
Self-worth.
Emotional regulation.
Healthy communication.
The ability to leave at the first red flag.

Most people learn those things after pain.

After betrayal.
After burnout.
After overgiving.
After being manipulated.
After choosing people who felt familiar instead of safe.
After repeating the same cycle enough times to finally ask:

“Wait… why do I keep ending up here?”

And honestly?

That question alone changes people.

Because eventually you realize: you weren’t failing on purpose.

You were operating from the level of awareness, survival, love, fear, loneliness, trauma, hope, or emotional capacity you had at the time.

That doesn’t mean every choice was healthy.
But it does mean your choices made sense to the version of you making them.

And I think that nuance matters.

Because sometimes people say: “Well, you knew better.”

But did you? Or did you simply know information without yet having the emotional experience required to fully understand it?

There’s a difference.

You can know someone is unhealthy and still not understand why you keep going back.

You can know you deserve better and still tolerate less because your nervous system confuses inconsistency with love.

You can know boundaries are important and still panic every time someone gets upset with you.

You can know rest matters and still feel guilty every time you slow down.

Knowledge and embodiment are not the same thing.

And healing usually happens in the gap between the two.

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I think this is why so many people become overly self-critical during growth.

Because once awareness arrives,
they expect immediate transformation.

But awareness is only the beginning.

Sometimes your mind understands something months before your body catches up.

Sometimes your patterns stay longer than your logic.

Sometimes you outgrow something emotionally before you know how to leave it physically.

And that doesn’t make you weak.
It makes you human.

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There’s also something else I’ve been thinking about lately:

A lot of us learned to measure growth through self-correction instead of self-understanding.

So every mistake becomes evidence.
Every emotional reaction becomes something to monitor.
Every unhealthy pattern becomes another reason to shame ourselves into changing faster.

And eventually, healing starts feeling like surveillance.

You become hyper-aware of yourself.
Overanalyzing every reaction.
Every attachment.
Every emotion.
Every text message.
Every trigger.

You’re constantly asking:

“Am I healed yet?”
“Am I doing this right?”
“Why am I still struggling with this?”

And underneath all of those questions is usually a quieter fear:

“If I’m still struggling… maybe I haven’t grown at all.”

But that’s not true.

Sometimes growth looks like noticing the pattern sooner.

Sometimes growth looks like leaving one month earlier instead of five years later.

Sometimes growth looks like finally admitting: “This hurts me.”

Sometimes growth looks like not abandoning yourself after the mistake.

That matters too.

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And I really need people to understand this part:

You cannot hate yourself into wisdom.

You cannot bully yourself into healing.

You cannot shame yourself into becoming softer, safer, wiser, or more emotionally healthy.

In fact, shame usually keeps people stuck longer.

Because shame makes people hide.
Defend.
Perform.
Pretend.
Overcompensate.
Or stay trapped in cycles where they constantly feel “behind” everyone else.

Compassion is what actually creates enough safety for reflection.

Not humiliation.

A few questions I want you to sit with this week:

• What’s something I keep punishing myself for not learning sooner?

• What experiences finally taught me the lesson I know now?

• What would change if I viewed my past with curiosity instead of condemnation?

A small practice to try this week:

The next time you hear yourself say:

“I should’ve known better…”

Pause.

And ask yourself:

“Would I speak this way to someone I deeply loved who was learning in real time?”

Then try replacing the thought with:

“I understand this differently now because life expanded my understanding.”

That’s it.

No spiraling.
No self-punishment.
No turning your growth into another opportunity to be cruel to yourself.

Just noticing.
Just softening.
Just allowing yourself to be human for a second.

• Some lessons can only be understood after lived experience.

• Your younger self did not have access to your current wisdom.

• Awareness without compassion can become self-destruction.

• You are allowed to be a work in progress without treating yourself like a disappointment.

• Growth does not erase the humanity of the version of you who struggled.

• Sometimes the lesson was never “be smarter.” Sometimes it was “be gentler with yourself while learning.”

Affirmations to sit with this week:

• I can honor my growth without humiliating my past.

• I am allowed to learn slowly and still be worthy of love.

• My mistakes are not proof that I am broken.

• I do not need to punish myself to prove I’ve changed.

• I can be accountable without abandoning myself.

• Time taught me what pressure never could.

  ---

Your support helps me continue creating these letters and allows me to spend more time writing the kinds of conversations that help us slow down, reflect, and grow.

As a paid subscriber, you’ll receive full access to every post, including deeper reflections, journal prompts, affirmations, and The Healing Room.

Thank you for reading, sharing, and being here. It means more than you know.

This month, I wanted to focus on balance. Not the kind where everything is perfectly organized and you suddenly become a new person overnight. I mean the kind where we start noticing when we’re running on empty. The kind where we stop acting like living in a constant state of survival is “normal.” The kind where rest doesn’t have to be earned first.

A lot of people have gotten really good at functioning while overwhelmed (myself included).

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We’re answering emails with anxiety.
Showing up tired.
Laughing while emotionally checked out.
Saying “I’m fine” because there’s no energy left to explain otherwise.

And eventually the body starts talking too.

Through tension.
Irritation.
Exhaustion.
Avoidance.
Shutting down.
Feeling disconnected from yourself.

So this month is full of softer check-ins.

It’s full of small moments to slow down.
To notice your body.
To stop abandoning yourself in tiny ways.
To make space for rest before your body forces it on you.

Nothing here is meant to feel like homework. You do not need to complete every day perfectly.

This calendar is simply here to help people come back to themselves a little more gently.

June Wellness Calendar

1.78MB ∙ PDF file

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You’ll also notice little moments throughout the month that invite prayer, stillness, honesty, and reflection. Nothing performative. Just reminders that people were never meant to carry life completely alone.

Take what you need.
Skip what you don’t.

And maybe this month…balance looks less like “doing everything well”
and more like finally listening to yourself before burnout speaks for you.

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The part where you finally see yourself clearly.

Your patterns.
Your triggers.
Your tone.
The way your body tightens before you even realize you’re anxious.

And at first… it feels like progress. Like, wow… I’m really becoming aware.

But somewhere along the way, it can start to feel like something else. Like you’re watching yourself all the time.

Monitoring.
Analyzing.
Correcting.

“Why did I say that like that?”
“Was that too much?”
“Did I overreact?”
“Should I have handled that differently?”

And now instead of feeling free…you feel tense.

Because you’re not just living anymore.
You’re observing yourself live.

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I see this a lot.

Self-awareness slowly turns into self-surveillance.

Where every emotion gets questioned.
Every reaction gets evaluated.
Every mistake feels like something that needs to be fixed immediately.

And it’s exhausting because the goal was never to become perfect. The goal was to become present.

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There’s a difference between:

“I notice this about myself…” and “I need to fix this about myself right now.”

That space in between? That’s where compassion is supposed to live, but a lot of us skip over that part.

So now you’re deeply aware…but not deeply kind to yourself. And that combination will burn you out every time. Because awareness without compassion just turns into pressure.

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Let me say this gently:

Not every moment needs to be analyzed.
Not every reaction needs a post-mortem.
Not every version of you needs to be improved in real time.

Sometimes you’re allowed to just be a person who is still learning.

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If you’ve been feeling this lately, try softening your approach instead of sharpening it.

Instead of:
“Why am I like this?”

Try:
“Something in me felt triggered there… I wonder why.”

Instead of:
“I need to fix this.”

Try:
“I want to understand this a little more.”

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You don’t need to watch yourself this closely to grow. You don’t need to get everything right to be healing. And you most definitely don’t need to turn every moment into a lesson.

Sometimes growth looks like noticing and choosing not to judge what you see. You’re allowed to be aware of yourself without being hard on yourself.

Both can exist.

And when they do, that’s usually where real healing starts.

Read more

it’s soft.
it’s simple.
and it’s really about coming back to yourself.

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nothing on here is meant to overwhelm you.
it’s more like… small check-ins throughout the month.

some days are about slowing your body down.
some days ask you to be honest with yourself.
some days are just reminders to rest, go outside, or stop overthinking something that doesn’t need that much energy.

like life is picking up again and you have to decide how you want to move with it.

not rushed.
not anxious.
not trying to prove anything.

just… more grounded.
more aware.
a little more trusting of yourself.

May 2026 Wellness Calendar

1.36MB ∙ PDF file

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you’ll see a few days in this calendar that invite you to pray, to pause, to ask God for guidance. nothing heavy, just small ways to not carry everything alone.

take what you need. skip what you don’t.

you don’t have to do this perfectly. you don’t have to do it every day.

it’s just something to come back to when you need it..

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January felt heavy. February asked a lot of us emotionally. And March… well, March was deep. We did real work in March. We sat with things we’d been avoiding, faced fears we hadn’t named yet, and asked ourselves some hard questions. That takes something out of you.

So when I sat down to put together April’s calendar, I kept coming back to one thought: we need some air.

Not bypass-your-feelings air. Not toxic-positivity air. I mean the kind of lightness that comes when you’ve done the inner work, and you’re finally ready to let yourself enjoy being alive again. The kind of joy that doesn’t feel guilty. The kind of movement that isn’t punishment. The kind of connection that reminds you why people are worth showing up for.

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April is the month I want you to remember what it feels like to just… be.

This month's calendar is built around four themes that I genuinely believe belong together, and I think once you start working through the days, you'll feel why.

What we’re focusing on this month:

Joy & Play: Do something because it’s fun. Dance to a playlist. Revisit something your 10-year-old self loved. No productivity required.

Body Care: Move, nourish, and rest your body. not as discipline, but as a genuine thank-you for everything it carries you through.

Relationships: Reach out. Show up. Say the thing you’ve been meaning to say. Community is part of your wellness too.

Faith: Quiet prayer, resting in God’s presence, a reminder that you are held. Sprinkled through the month for grounding.

April 2026 Wellness Calendar

1.54MB ∙ PDF file

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You'll also notice that Fridays are always Freebie days because sometimes self-care looks like a face mask and a reality show, and I will never judge you for that.

The journal prompts this month are some of my favorites I’ve written so far. There’s one that asks where you’ve seen God show up for you this month, even in small ways. I want you to sit with that one. And another that asks what playful parts of you have you been neglecting. That one might surprise you with what comes up.

You don’t have to do it every single day perfectly. You never did. The calendar is an invitation, not a checklist. Pick it up when you can, put it down when life happens, and come back to it without any guilt. That’s the whole point.

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For years, I didn’t know what I looked like as a baby, and this bothered me.

Recently, as an adult, I’ve been slowly meeting my dad’s side of the family. My dad has been telling me about his favorite sister, Sondra, and how I remind him so much of her. Well, last week I was in Dallas, and my dad got to meet up with my Aunt Sondra, and she handed him a stack of photos and a photo album. He passed them to me and to my surprise…There I was. Little me at two weeks old. I finally got to see what I looked like as a baby! I also got to see my parents on their wedding day, before the divorce, before the distance, before the version of the story I grew up hearing.

I’ve been sitting with these photos for the last few days.

And something cracked open in me. Not painfully, but gently. Like a door I didn’t know had been closed.

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As children, we don’t have the luxury of nuance. We take in whatever our parents hand us. Their wounds, their narratives, their version of who the other person was and we carry it as truth. Not because we’re naive. Because why wouldn’t we? They’re our parents. They’re our whole world.

I didn’t grow up knowing my dad’s side of the family for reasons that made complete sense to me as a child. My mom had her reasons. And I loved her. So I held her perspective as my own.

What adulthood has taught me and what reconnecting with family I barely knew has reinforced is that my mom’s story was true. And my dad’s story was true. And neither story was the whole story.

Both of my parents hurt each other. Both of them loved me. Both things are real.

Meeting my dad’s family as an adult has been full of quiet grief alongside the joy. I met my grandfather right before he died. My grandmother on that side has had Alzheimer’s for years so I know there are conversations I will never get to have. Questions that will never be answered.

At the same time, my grandmother on my mom’s side, the woman I was named after, the grandmother I knew, just passed away early last month (this lead to my trip to Dallas). If it were not for this trip, I don’t know when I would’ve unlocked these new lessons I learned about my dad’s side of the family.

Grief has a way of arriving from all directions at once.

What I’ve also discovered on my dad’s side is a lineage I didn’t know I had. Aunts who went to college. A family member who owns group homes. Characteristics in them I recognize in myself, ways of thinking, ways of moving through the world that I thought were just mine. They were never just mine.

That has been one of the most disorienting and beautiful realizations of my adulthood.

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As a therapist, I spend a lot of time helping people examine the narratives they’ve built about themselves and others. Where did this belief come from? Whose voice is that, really? Is this still true for you now?

Turns out, I’m in that work too.

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What I’m learning slowly, sometimes uncomfortably, is that perspective is not a fixed thing. It shifts. It expands. And the perspectives we inherited as children don’t have to become the ceiling of our understanding as adults.

I can hold compassion for my mom’s experience and curiosity about my dad’s family at the same time. I can grieve the time I lost and still be grateful for what’s being found. I can acknowledge the hurt that shaped my childhood without letting it determine what’s possible now.

None of this is betrayal. It’s growth.

Now I want to hear from you

One thing I really want to do more of is actually hear from the people who read my Substack. I write, but I also want to know what’s going on with you. Your stories, your experiences, and what this brings up. So I have a few questions, and I genuinely hope you’ll answer them:

What was your family experience like growing up?

Did you grow up knowing both sides of your family? Was there a side you didn’t have access to and if so, have you ever gone back to find out more? What did you discover?

When did you stop taking your parents’ word as the whole truth?

Was there a moment a conversation, a realization, something you found out that made you step back and think: wait, there’s more to this story than what I was told? What did that feel like? Was it freeing, or did it bring up grief, or both?

I’ll be reading every response. This is one of those topics I think a lot of us carry quietly, and I want this to be a space where we can say it out loud.

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I kept this one close. Usually, I love to bring y’all along for the ride. If I’m doing a challenge, reading a book, trying something new, my first instinct is to share it. But this time I felt led to do it alone first, before saying a word. And I’m so glad I listened to that nudge.

What I Did (Every Day for the last 75 Days)

No app. No accountability partner. Just me and God, showing up daily with five simple things:

1. Stretch for at least 10 minutes

2. Eat a piece of fruit

3. Write down a prayer

4. Read a chapter from the Bible

5. Drink at least 24 ounces of water

I’m not even calling it the 75 Hard or any spin-off of that, because what happened over these 75 days felt like something much deeper than a fitness challenge. It felt like spiritual formation.

What I Actually Learned

I got to sit with God. Really sit. Without performing it for anyone, without crafting a caption about it, without making it content. It was just me in the quiet, learning things about Jesus on my own terms.

I reflected on thought patterns I’d been glossing over. Habits I’d been tolerating. Behaviors I’d been explaining away. I saw small, subtle ways the enemy was trying to get into my head (not through big dramatic attacks), but through the slow drip of distraction and misplaced priorities.

I also had to sit with myself on the hard days. There were days I was completing these things at 11:50 PM, scrambling, cutting it close, barely making it. And instead of just checking the box, I had to ask myself: Why did this feel like an afterthought today? What did I prioritize over my time with God?

That question hit differently every single time.

The Thing That’s Sticking With Me

There are so many places I look for God. In other people, in conversations, in books, in signs. And He’s in all of those things, I believe that. But these 75 days reminded me that sometimes I don’t need to search. I just need to be still. I don’t need to find Him in other places, people, or things when I can just break away and sit with Him directly.

He’s always with me. I just have to choose to show up for that.

Now I’m Sharing It With You

I don’t want to stop doing these five things. They don’t feel like a challenge anymore, they feel like a necessity. That’s how you know something worked.

And now that I’ve had my time with it, I want to invite you in.

If you’re feeling like you need more discipline, more stillness, more of God in your everyday, I want you to try this. Not for anyone else. Not to post about it. Just for you and Him.

75 With My God Challenge

4.47MB ∙ PDF file

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I’d love to hear how it goes. But take your time telling me. 🤍

We’re heading into month 3 out of 12 and something tells me we don’t need to go harder, but we need to take a moment and put some things down and rest.

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Daylight savings is also happening this month so I think it’s only right we make space for our minds, bodies, and routines to adjust.

Think about it, what if we changed with the time?

What if this month wasn’t about squeezing more in…but letting the time shift be permission to slow down?

This month’s calendar is really simple.

There are rest days.
There are “you choose” days.
There are questions about what you’re carrying.
There are small things like going to bed earlier or taking a walk without music.

If daylight savings makes you tired, rest more.
If it makes you reflective, journal more.
If it makes you emotional, be honest about that.

We don’t have to push through every transition.

March 2026 Wellness Calendar

1.7MB ∙ PDF file

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Remember when it comes to these calendars:

• You’re allowed to rest instead of “keep up.”

• You’re allowed to repeat the same prompt because it’s still speaking to you.

• You’re allowed to skip days and come back like nothing happened.

Some days you’ll do a lot. Some days you’ll just breathe. Both days count.

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I always feel compelled to share whtat I’ve learned because this isn’t something I’ve figured out once and for all but it is something I know how to better confront.

Every time I find myself feeling stuck, heavy, disconnected, or quietly frustrated with my life, I eventually arrive at the same realization: living outside of my truth does nothing for me. And it never will.

Not emotionally. Not spiritually. Not mentally.

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What it does do is make me harder on myself. I start questioning my worth, my decisions, my capacity. I tell myself I should be more grateful, more patient, more understanding when really, I’m just misaligned.

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And I think that’s where so many of us get confused. We assume something is just wrong with us.

We start negotiating with fear. Telling ourselves we’ll live more honestly later. When things feel safer. When we feel braver. When we’ve figured everything out.

But life doesn’t pause while we’re waiting.

And that’s not meant to scare you. It’s meant to name what’s already happening in so many quiet ways.

And that’s not meant to be harsh. It’s meant to be honest.

What I’ve learned personally and professionally is that our truth isn’t the thing trapping us.

Avoiding it is.

We spend so much time imagining our truth as this heavy, restrictive thing. Like once we choose it, we’ll be stuck. Labeled. Judged. Locked into a life we can’t undo.

But most of the heaviness comes from not choosing it.

From carrying two versions of yourself at once. From performing a life that looks okay while quietly grieving the one that feels right. From constantly asking “what if?” instead of asking “what do I know about myself now?”

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It’s unfair how long we talk ourselves out of the life that actually feels like ours.

Unfair how much time we spend shrinking, second-guessing, and explaining away our own needs.

We convince ourselves that our truth will cost us everything without acknowledging what it’s already costing us:

• Time.

• Peace.

• Presence.

• A sense of internal alignment.

And yes, living in your truth can change things. It can shift relationships. It can close doors. It can require grief.

But living without it slowly disconnects you from yourself.

And that disconnection adds up.

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If this feels close to home, I want you to hear this gently:

You don’t have to live your truth all at once.
You don’t have to announce it.
You don’t have to be fearless.

You just have to stop pretending you don’t know what you know.

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Sometimes living in your truth starts quietly with honesty in your own body. With small choices that feel a little more aligned. With letting yourself want what you want without immediately talking yourself out of it.

This isn’t about pressure. It’s about permission.

Let me know if this message helps.

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Our Homework This Week:

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And I love this because I remember how much I used to struggle with consistency. Honestly, sometimes I still do.

But over time, I’ve found a way to work through it that’s been really helpful for me. A way that actually sticks.

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For a long time, I struggled with consistency. It was just something that I did not understand. I could not pass the 3-day mark with things. I used to think consistency was a gift that some people were born with, and I missed the memo.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that I wasn’t struggling because I was inconsistent. I was struggling because I was trying to do consistency the way other people defined it.

And every time I couldn’t keep up with that version of consistency, I was slowly but surely chipping away at the possibility of finding my own consistent routine or pattern.

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What finally changed things for me wasn’t trying harder. It was letting go of how I expected consistency to look and feel.

I had to be honest with myself and realize that it’s really hard to be consistent in anything else when you’re consistently beating yourself up.

I had to re-imagine my entire approach towards consistency.

I wasn’t failing at consistency. I was afraid of it. Afraid of disappointing myself again. Afraid of falling off. Afraid of confirming something I already believed about myself.

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My expectations around consistency needed to meet me where I was at. I could not expect myself to build a huge habit or behavior pattern in a matter of thirty minutes or three days.

I had to hold space to learn why I needed the new habit or pattern, what kept me from it for so long, and who or what could help me on my journey of learning.

I had to take baby steps and actually treat them like baby steps. I had to stop thinking that because I was a certain age, that meant I was the same age as that experience.

For example, I am biologically 32 years old, but it’s only been 5 years since my brother passed, so when I am dealing with my grief, I don’t act as if I have 32 years of experience. I remind myself that I have 5, and I think about how I would support a 5-year-old learning something new. (I hope this example makes sense, if it doesn’t, let me know).

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Instead of Why can’t I do this? I started asking, What stage am I actually in here?

Am I a newborn in this area?
A toddler?
A child?
A teenager?
An adult?

Sure, I’m an adult in years. But if I’ve only been trying something for a few months, I’m a newborn by experience.

And once I saw it that way, everything changed. Because if I were teaching a newborn how to do something, I wouldn’t rush them. I wouldn’t expect mastery. I wouldn’t shame them for not getting it right.

I’d be patient.
I’d repeat myself.
I’d hold them until they grasped the concept.

So I started treating myself the same way.

Instead of asking, Why am I not there yet? I ask, What’s my first step here?

Not the perfect or impressive step, just the first one.

Baby steps are what helped me build consistency. And more than that, they helped me build confidence in my ability to keep showing up.

Consistency became less intimidating and more exciting because I wasn’t trying to prove anything. I was learning.

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If consistency feels heavy for you right now, pause and ask yourself:

What stage am I actually in with this?
What would patience look like instead of pressure?
What’s one small step I could take without scaring myself?

You don’t need a new personality.
You don’t need more discipline.
You need curiosity.

Because you can’t grow consistency from a mindset rooted in doubt. But you can grow it from compassion, curiosity, and gentle repetition.

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Our Homework This Week:

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Love.
Loneliness.
Longing.
All of it.

Every year it shows up dressed in hearts and expectations, and somehow, we’re supposed to know exactly how to feel about it. Grateful. Chosen. Happy. Or at least okay.

But the truth is, February can be tender. Not because of Valentine’s Day, but because it quietly asks, do you feel loved right now?

And that question doesn’t always have a neat answer.

Some years, love feels obvious.
Some years, it feels scattered.
Some years, it feels like something you’re still learning how to give yourself.

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I’ve had Februarys where I felt full. And others where I felt like I was standing on the outside of something, watching it happen for everyone else.

What I’m learning is that love doesn’t disappear just because it doesn’t look the way we were taught it should.

Sometimes love looks like feeding yourself something warm.
Sometimes it looks like prayer whispered under your breath.
Sometimes it looks like a long shower without rushing.
Sometimes it looks like choosing rest instead of pushing through.

Love doesn’t always announce itself.
Sometimes it shows up quietly and waits to be noticed.

That’s what this February calendar is about.

Not fixing how you feel.
Not forcing gratitude.
Not pretending this month is easier than it is.

Just noticing where love already exists and letting it count.

This month, we’re moving through the lens of allowing love just to be. This calendar isn’t here to push us. It’s here to keep us company.

As you move through February, notice what makes you feel held.
Notice what softens you. Notice what reminds you that you’re worthy of care exactly as you are.

February 2026 Wellness Calendar

1010KB ∙ PDF file

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Remember when it comes to these calendars:

• You’re allowed to rest instead of “keep up.”

• You’re allowed to repeat the same prompt because it’s still speaking to you.

• You’re allowed to skip days and come back like nothing happened.

Some days you’ll do a lot. Some days you’ll just breathe. Both days count.

After you download this calendar, I want you to come back and comment below: What do you want your February to look like?

I want you to read the comments from other community members as well.

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I’m asking because I made a resource guide, and I want to keep adding to it.

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If there’s one thing I really love doing, it’s creating resources and sharing them. I’m always thinking about how a younger version of me would’ve loved this kind of support. It’s something to come back to when things feel heavy, confusing, or just hard to name.

CLICK HERE

A few years ago, I created a wellness resource guide, and I’ve loved sharing it with people ever since. But since then, I’ve learned so much more about mental health, about emotional care, and about the many different ways support can show up. Updating this guide felt important because growth changes what we notice, what we need, and what we recommend.

If you’re anything like me, you move through different seasons where you need different tools. One minute, I’m reading books, the next I’m listening to podcasts. Sometimes I want reflection cards. Sometimes I want games. Sometimes I want a group or a space where I don’t have to explain myself. I like having options. So that’s what’s in this guide.

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Every section reflects something I’ve seen people need over and over again.

• Apps for emotional check-ins.

• Crisis support for moments when things feel urgent.

• Therapy search tools for when someone finally says, “I think I’m ready to talk to someone.”

• Books, podcasts, and community spaces for when support needs to feel quiet or indirect.

We all want different things. What helps one person might not land for another. And that’s okay.

This guide will keep evolving, and I want to add your recommendations to it.

If there’s a resource that’s been genuinely helpful for you, something you wish more people knew about, please tell me. I want this to stay a living document, shaped by real experiences and real needs.

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You don’t have to use everything in it. You don’t have to need it all at once.

It’s just here when WE need it.

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If someone comes to mind while you’re reading this, feel free to share it with them too.