Better yet, write it down.

There’s something about taking the time to put pen to paper, find a stamp, and send a few words of gratitude into someone’s actual mailbox.

In a world of texts, DMs, and emails, it stands out.

I believe in it so much that I teach it at WIT, and I made a reel about it yesterday.

But then this morning I woke up and realized:

I haven’t said thank you to all of you.

When I started Just Start, I thought I'd write a lot more about business and starting side hustles.

Instead, this has somehow become the one place where I write about almost everything but business.

It’s become a place for things I’m learning, questioning, struggling with, and even celebrating.

And that has been really good for me.

It’s given me a balance I didn’t know I needed.

Every week, I write something, hit send, and have absolutely no idea where it’ll land.

Last week’s piece landed in the hearts of many of you.

I heard from people grieving their own losses.

People who have also grieved privately.

People who have continued showing up while quietly going through some of the hardest seasons of their lives.

Many of you trusted me with your stories in return.

And it reminded me how much can be happening behind the scenes of someone else’s life.

We live in a world where almost anything can become content. Some people can turn on a camera in the middle of their hardest moments and share them in real time.

That’s never really been me. Maybe there’s a place somewhere in the middle?

A place where we don’t have to share everything while we’re living it, but we also don’t have to pretend it never happened.

I’m still figuring that out.

But I do know this:

This little neck of the Substack world has become really special to me.

And you have made it that way.

Those of you who read.
Those who subscribe.
Those who comment.
Those who forward these words to someone else.
Those who send me emails and tell me your stories.
Those who quietly read every week and never say a word.

Thank you.

Thank you for giving my words somewhere to land.

Thank you for turning what could have been me simply sending words out into the internet into something that feels like a conversation.

Thank you for reminding me that even when our experiences are different, so many of the feelings underneath them are shared.

And thank you for being here.

Yesterday, I reminded everyone else to say thank you.

Today, I’m taking my own advice.

THANK YOU.

JUST START

Write it. Send someone an actual thank-you note. It doesn’t need to be for a gift or a favor. Thank them for being who they are in your life.

Say it. Text or call someone who deserves to know that you’re grateful for them. Don’t wait for a reason.

Turn it inward. Thank yourself, too. For continuing to show up. For getting through the days that were hard. For trying again. For making it this far.

Gratitude doesn’t have to be grand. Sometimes it’s a card. Sometimes it’s a text.

Often it’s two words we don’t say nearly enough.

When something doesn’t go the way I hoped, I give myself a little time and then start looking for the way forward.

What can I do?

What’s the lesson?

I’m a doer. An achiever. A “whatever it takes” person.

So when I’ve experienced loss in the past—the end of a relationship, a friendship changing, a plan not working out—I knew what to do.

Feel it. Learn from it.

Get back up. Keep going.

Until I experienced a loss that didn’t respond to any of my old tools.

I tried to find the positive. I focused on work. I reminded myself that other people had been through harder things.

I tried to get back to who I was before.

It didn’t work.

Earlier this year, I had a miscarriage.

I chose to keep it private.

And because I chose to keep my loss private, I also chose to grieve privately.

At the time, that felt right for me.

But private grief is complicated.

The world keeps moving because no one knows yours has stopped.

I sat in rooms where people announced pregnancies.

I sat in business meetings trying to care about things that suddenly felt incredibly unimportant.

I carried extra weight—physically and emotionally—and felt uncomfortable with both.

And through it all, part of me kept thinking I should be handling it better.

Other women have had miscarriages.

Other people have lost someone they love.

People lose relationships, jobs, friendships and dreams every day.

My loss wasn’t unique.

But I’ve learned that loss doesn’t have to be unique to deserve grief.

Still, I wanted to hurry myself along.

Get back to being positive.

Productive.

The person people were used to.

I didn’t want anyone to see the cracks, so I kept trying to show up the way I always had.

But even that became its own kind of staccato rhythm.

I’d reach out. Make plans. Try to be the friend I’d always been.

Then I couldn’t. I’d pull back.

Feel guilty.

Try even harder.

Then retreat even further.

Show up. Pull back. Try again.

My grief had a rhythm, and so did my absence.

It wasn’t intentional. I wasn’t trying to distance myself from people I loved.

I was trying to find my rhythm again.

Some people took my absence personally. I understand why.

But others noticed that my silence was so unlike me that instead of wondering why I wasn’t showing up for them, they showed up for me.

They called.
They checked in.
They texted. And then texted again.
They walked around the park with me.
They let me talk.
They let me not talk.

It has made me think differently about the times someone I love goes quiet.

When someone starts acting unlike themselves, maybe our first question shouldn’t be:

Why aren’t they showing up for me?

Maybe it should be:

I wonder what’s happening with them?

There’s a line in a hymn we sing at church: Loss is gain.

I’ve thought about those words a lot these last few months.

I would never have chosen this loss.

But I can acknowledge what I’ve gained while carrying it.

I’ve gained a deeper love for my husband.

Deeper friendships because I’ve allowed people to see me when I wasn’t the strong one.

More compassion for people who pull away.

More grace for myself.

More time with God.

More appreciation for the smaller things.

And somehow, more peace.

But I think the order matters.

Grief doesn’t need to become a lesson immediately.

Loss doesn’t have to become gain right away.

Sometimes we need to let something simply be a loss.

To hurt.

To acknowledge what’s missing.

To stop trying to turn pain into progress before we’ve even allowed ourselves to feel it.

And then, eventually, we may start to notice what remains.

The people I love.

The people who love me.

My faith.

Little things worth celebrating.

Peace.

Loss has changed the way I see what remains.

And that has been a gain.

JUST START

1. Give yourself permission to grieve. Stop putting a deadline on when you should be okay. You don’t have to rush back to the person you were before.

2. Check on the person who’s gone quiet. Before assuming their absence is about you, reach out. You don’t need the perfect words. Just remind them you’re there.

3. Notice what remains. Not to erase what you’ve lost, but to remember that grief and gratitude can exist at the same time.

We’re taught that staying is a sign of strength.
And sometimes it is.

But sometimes the strongest thing we can do is walk away.

But I think it’s a lot easier to leave something behind when we can see what we are walking towards.

I learned this in my younger years.
I was in a relationship I knew wasn’t good for me.
I walked away more than once.

And more than once, I went back.

For a long time, I thought that meant I wasn’t strong enough to leave.

Looking back, I see it differently.
I knew exactly what I was walking away from.
I just didn’t know what I was walking toward.

There was this huge empty space on the other side.

And sometimes the familiarity of something that isn’t good for us feels less scary than the uncertainty of nothing at all.

Eventually, something changed.
And it wasn’t another relationship.

It was a job.
I found work that gave me purpose.
There were people counting on me.
Things I wanted to accomplish.

Something in front of me that felt bigger than what I was leaving behind.

I finally had something to walk toward.
And that made it easier to finally walk away for good.

I think about that experience now because we tell people to walk away all the time.

Leave the relationship.
Quit the job.
End the friendship.
Stop the habit.
Retire.
Move on.

But we don’t talk nearly enough about what happens next.

What happens when the career that defined you for 30 years is suddenly over?

When the friendship that took up so much space in your life isn’t there anymore?

When you leave behind an identity you’ve carried for so long that you aren’t quite sure who you are without it?

Maybe part of walking away is intentionally creating something to walk toward.

If your career has become your identity, start discovering what gives you purpose outside your title.

If a friendship no longer feels right, start investing in relationships that remind you who you are.

If you’re trying to leave behind an old behavior, think about what you want to put in its place.

Give yourself somewhere to go.

Of course, we don’t always get to know what’s next.

Sometimes we have to walk away before we can see what’s waiting for us.

Sometimes walking away creates the space for what’s next.

And maybe that’s courage too.

Trusting that there is more ahead of you than what you’re leaving behind.

And there’s one more part of this I’ve been thinking about.

Sometimes we’re not the person walking away.
Sometimes we get to be part of what someone else is walking toward.

We can be the friend who shows someone what a healthy friendship feels like.

The employer who gives someone a chance.

The mentor who helps someone see a new version of themselves.

The person who leaves the light on.

We can be a beacon.

Sometimes knowing what we’re walking toward gives us the courage to finally walk away.

And sometimes?

We just have to start walking.

JUST START

1. Name what you’re ready to walk away from. A relationship, habit, expectation, identity, belief, or something else that no longer belongs.

2. Put something in front of you. Ask yourself, What do I want to walk toward? You don’t need the entire plan. You just need something worth taking a step toward.

3. Be something worth walking toward. Someone around you may be trying to find their way out of something. Be the friend, mentor, opportunity, or safe place that reminds them there is something good ahead.

It’s the weight of waiting.

The heaviness of wondering
when something you’ve hoped for
is finally going to happen.

I’ve carried that weight
at different times in my life.

One season,
I watched friends get married.

Have babies.

Build families.

Meanwhile,
I kept waiting and wondering...

“When will it be my turn?”

When I look back on that season,
I’m grateful for something.

The weight of waiting
didn’t keep me
from living.

I traveled.
Built a business.
Gave TEDx talks.
Made incredible friendships.

Filled those years
with memories I’m still grateful for today.

So when I eventually met my husband,
I wasn’t just grateful
that we found each other.

I was grateful
that I hadn’t spent those years
simply waiting on him.

The waiting was part of the story.
It just wasn’t the whole story.

And now...here I am again.

In a different waiting season.

Wondering when.
Wondering how.
Wondering what the next right step is.

And I keep asking myself
the same question:

“How will I carry this wait?”

I don’t want to pretend
that waiting isn’t heavy.

It is.

When your heart longs for something
and it hasn’t happened yet...that ache is real.

I’ve felt it.

I’m feeling it now.

Maybe you are too.

But I’ve learned something.

I can’t let the
heaviness of waiting
outweigh
the gifts of today.

And when I focus on those gifts,
the wait becomes lighter.

We don’t always get to choose
when life asks us to wait.

But we do get to choose
what we do
while we’re waiting.

JUST START

This week, if the thing you’re waiting for wasn’t going to happen for another 6 months...How would you choose to live this week?

1. Write down the thing you’re waiting for. Give it a name instead of letting it quietly take up space in your mind.

2. Plan one activity that has nothing to do with the waiting. Call a friend. Take the trip. Try the class. Go on the date. Create something. Fill your calendar with life—not just anticipation.

3. Ask yourself each morning: “How do I want to carry this wait today?” Then choose one thing that reminds you your life is happening now, not someday.

The waiting may not disappear. But it does become lighter.

Going for a walk?
I should listen to a podcast.

Driving somewhere?
I should make a few phone calls.

Standing in line?
I should scroll and “catch up”.

Waiting for someone?
I should check my DMs.

And then add AI into the mix.

In some ways,
I’ve become incredibly efficient.

In other ways,
I’ve become incredibly uncomfortable
with empty space.

AI helps me brainstorm.
Draft emails.
Organize ideas.
Summarize meetings.
Complete work that used to take hours.

It’s incredible.

But it has also exposed something I wasn’t expecting.

Every minute I save…
I immediately fill.

Instead of creating more space,

I’ve simply become more efficient
at staying busy.

And that has me wondering…

If technology keeps giving me time back…
why do I keep giving it away?

The other night I sat down to watch a show.

Simple enough.

Except within a few minutes,
I picked up my phone and answered a couple of emails.
Checked a few messages.
Scrolled Instagram.

Then realized I had no idea
what was happening in the show.

So I rewound it.

Only to catch myself
doing the exact same thing again.

And I had this thought…

If someone had been filming me,
it would’ve looked ridiculous.

Here I was trying to experience
two things at once…

and fully experiencing neither.

When did doing just one thing stop being enough?

When did watching a show
also require checking email?

When did relaxing become
another opportunity to multitask?

The truth is…

nothing was demanding my attention.

I had simply forgotten
how to give my attention
to one thing at a time.

And I wonder how often
we all do this.

We optimize our work.
Then we optimize our workouts.
Then we optimize our mornings.
Then we optimize our weekends.

Until eventually…

we start optimizing our lives.

We measure a walk
by how many steps we took.

A drive
by how many calls we returned.

A lunch
by how productive it is.

A quiet evening “off”
by how much we got caught up.

And somewhere in all of that…
presence quietly slips away.

And what’s struck me is this:
None of my favorite memories this summer
happened while I was optimizing my time.

Sitting on a balcony
watching my nephew fish.

Holding my husband’s hand
while we drove across the country.

Floating in the pool
with nowhere else to be.

A three-hour brunch with girlfriends
that felt like thirty minutes.

Holding my niece in my arms
for the first time.

None of those moments
crossed something off my to-do list.

But every one of them
added something back to me.

We spend so much of our lives
trying to save time.

Maybe the better question is…

What kind of life are we saving it for?

I’m beginning to think
that wasting time
isn’t always a waste.

The real waste
is never fully experiencing
the thing we’re already doing.

Because maybe the opposite
of wasting time

isn’t productivity.

It’s presence.

JUST START

• The next time you catch yourself reaching for your phone while you’re already doing something...
  Pause.
  Ask yourself: “What am I missing by trying to do both?”
  Finish the first thing first.

• This week give 1 thing your full attention: watch the show, eat the meal, read the book, take the walk.

• Intentionally “waste” 30 minutes.

Twice.

Not the polite kind of laugh.
Not the kind where you smile and say,
“That’s funny.”

The kind that catches you off guard.
The kind you can’t control.

I hadn’t just laughed.
I’d let go.

For three hours...
I wasn’t replaying conversations.
I wasn’t solving problems.
I wasn’t thinking about work.

Or the future.
Or the hard things I can’t control.

I was simply...
laughing.

I tend to take life seriously.
If something hard happens,
I don’t just think about it.

I revisit it.
Replay it.
Analyze it.

Carry it around a little longer than I probably should.

I have my toolkit.

Prayer.
Meditation.
Long walks.
Working out.
Talking with my husband.

All of those help.

But this weekend, I was reminded of another kind of medicine.
The kind that’s sitting across the table from you.

The friends who know your story.
Who don’t need an explanation.
Who make you laugh even through tears.

The kind of laughter that reminds your nervous system,
“You are safe.”

The kind that loosens your shoulders without you noticing.
The kind that makes your problems feel...

not smaller.

Just lighter.

Maybe that’s why we feel different after spending time with the right people.

Not because our circumstances changed.

Because for a little while...

we did.

Somewhere along the way,
we started believing friendship could survive almost entirely through group texts.

Heart reactions.
Memes.
Voice notes.

Those things matter.

But they aren’t the same as sitting across from someone

Who knows your history.
Who knows your laugh.
Who reminds you,
without trying,
who you are.

Maybe laughter isn’t a distraction from life.
Maybe it’s one of the ways we heal inside of it.

JUST START

• Text the friend you’ve been meaning to see and put a date on the calendar.

• Give yourself permission to spend a few hours without trying to solve your life.

• Pay attention to the people who leave you feeling lighter after you’ve been with them.

It’s one of those phrases almost all of us heard growing up.

Usually it came from a parent.
A teacher.
A coach.
Maybe an older sibling.

It was their way of saying,

“Stop.”

“That’s enough.”

“That behavior isn’t helping you.”

When we were little, someone was always looking over our shoulder.

They reminded us what needed to be cut out.

The teasing.
The arguing.
The bad habits.
The friends who weren’t treating us well.

But somewhere along the way, something changed.

Now as adults we need to tell ourselves:

“Cut it out.”

Maybe it’s the one-sided relationship you keep returning to.
The overindulging that leaves Monday feeling heavier.
The mindless scrolling that steals an hour but gives nothing back.
Maybe it’s the way you speak to yourself.

Life has a way of whispering,

“Cut it out.”

Sometimes it sounds like exhaustion.
Sometimes resentment.
Sometimes it’s the same lesson showing up in a different form.
Sometimes it’s a quiet moment when you finally admit,

“I don’t want to keep doing this anymore.”

Those moments aren’t interruptions.

They’re invitations.

Invitations to ask:

What keeps asking to leave my life...that I keep inviting back in?

Because cutting something out isn’t always about losing something.

Sometimes it’s about making room.

Room for peace.
Room for health.
Room for relationships that are reciprocal.
Room for the version of yourself you’ve been trying to become.

If I could sit beside you today and whisper one thing, it would probably be the same thing so many adults told us when we were kids.

“Cut it out.”

Not because you’re doing something wrong.

But because something isn’t serving you anymore.

And I have a feeling...

you wouldn’t have to think very long.

Because deep down,

I think you already know what “it” is.

JUST START

• Take five minutes to do a quick audit of your life.

• Finish this sentence: “I’d be better off without...”

• Don’t overthink it. You probably knew the answer before you finished reading the sentence.

• This week, cut out one thing that consistently costs you more than it gives you.

Because sometimes the smallest thing you remove creates the biggest space for something better.

How do I know?

Some people have told me.
Others have relayed the message.
Some have simply become distant.

The truth is, my life has changed.

I’ve moved to a new state.
I’ve gotten married.
I’ve launched a new business.
I’ve also walked through challenges I haven’t shared publicly.

And whether I like it or not,
all of that has changed what I have to give.

For a long time, I was the person who showed up.

The spontaneous friend.
The family member who could rearrange her workday.
The one who hopped on a plane.
The one who said yes—
and then figured out how to make it happen.

But that version of me
is really hard to maintain now.

I’ve spent more time than I’d like to admit
trying to keep being that version.

Trying to stretch.
Trying to explain.
Trying to make sure no one felt disappointed.

And somewhere along the way...

I realized that in my effort
to not let other people down,

I was letting myself down.
I was abandoning my own needs.

Questioning every interaction.

Re-reading messages.

Wondering what I had done wrong.

Giving other people permission to be human,
while expecting perfection from myself.

And that’s exhausting.
Really exhausting.

Maybe your life has changed too.
Maybe you’re a new parent.
Maybe you’re caring for someone.
Maybe you’ve changed jobs.

Started a business.

Moved.

Fallen in love.

Experienced loss.

Or maybe you’ve simply become someone
with different priorities.

Whatever the reason...

you probably can’t keep living
like the person you were five years ago.

Some people won’t understand that.
Some relationships will change.
Some expectations won’t be met.

And that can be sad.

But maybe disappointing someone else
isn’t always a sign
you’ve done something wrong.

Maybe it’s simply evidence
that your life has changed.

I’ve started asking myself
a different question.

Instead of...

“Who am I letting down?”

I ask...

“Am I letting myself down?”

Because I’ve learned
that trying to keep everyone else happy
comes at a cost.

And too often...

the person paying that cost

is me.

Maybe this season
isn’t asking you
to become everything
for everyone.

Maybe it’s simply asking you
to stop abandoning yourself
to become who everyone else
expects you to be.

JUST START

• Notice one place where you’ve been stretching yourself too thin just to avoid disappointing someone else.

• Pause before automatically saying “yes.”

• Remember: every “yes” to someone else is also a “yes” or a “no” to something in your own life.

• Make sure you’re not repeatedly letting yourself down just to avoid letting someone else down. (read that again)

I was wrong about my company.
I imagined physical locations
in all fifty states.

Instead, WIT became virtual.

It turns out reaching students around the world
fit both the mission
and the life I wanted to build.

I was wrong about love.
There were relationships
I thought would last forever.
Even prayed would last forever.

Thank goodness I was wrong.

Because if I had been right,
I never would have met my husband.

I’ve been wrong about people too.

I’ve made assumptions.
Drawn conclusions.

Decided I knew someone’s heart
based on one interaction...
or one social media post.

Sometimes I was right.
Sometimes I wasn’t.

But I’ve learned that holding too tightly
to being right
often closes the door
to curiosity.

And sometimes...
to connection.

I’ve even been wrong about myself.

Told myself I was
“too old”
“too loud”
“too much”
“too late”

turns out I was wrong.
I wasn’t
too late for love
too much for the right people
too loud for the stage I was meant to stand on
too old for my dreams that were still waiting for me

Maybe someone once told you
you weren’t creative.
you weren’t athletic.
you weren’t smart enough.
you weren’t leadership material.

Maybe you’ve been carrying
someone else’s opinion
as if it were your identity.

Or maybe you’ve been carrying
your own opinion for so long
that you’ve mistaken it for fact.

“I could never do that.”

“I’m just not that kind of person.”

“It’s too late.”

“I’m not good enough.”

What if you’re wrong?

What if the story you’ve been telling yourself
isn’t the truth—
just the conclusion you’ve lived with the longest?

Maybe being wrong
isn’t something to fear.

Because every time I’ve been wrong,
life has surprised me.

Looking back,
I’m grateful I didn’t get
everything I thought I wanted.

Some of the greatest gifts in my life
were waiting
on the other side of...

“I was wrong.”

JUST START

• Notice one belief you’ve been carrying about yourself, another person, or your future.

• Ask yourself: What if I’m wrong?

• Stay with that question for a few minutes before defending your original answer.

• Leave room for a different possibility.

Someone seems distant.

Instead of asking,“Maybe they’re having a hard day?”

I ask,“What did I do?”

And before I know it,
I’m mentally replaying every conversation...
looking for evidence that I somehow caused it.

Business has been no different.

I’ve had plenty of rejection.

Long before WIT, I was pursuing a career in acting.

The auditions.
The “no’s.”
The doors that never opened.

For years the question could have been: “Why didn’t that work out?”

Today I ask a different one:

“What if that had to happen so this could?”

Because every rejection quietly redirected me toward the work I now believe I was meant to do.

I’ve done it in my marriage too.

Sometimes I wonder why we didn’t meet twenty years earlier.

We were living just a few miles apart.

“Why couldn’t we have found each other then?”

That question doesn’t take me anywhere worth going.

A better question is:

“Who were we able to become during those years?”

Maybe the people we became separately
are exactly why we fit so well together today.

And then there are the questions we ask in our hardest moments.

I’ve asked them too.

Curled up on a closet floor.

Sitting on the other end of a devastating phone call.

“Why is this happening to me?”

It’s such a human question.

But eventually, another one always seems to find me.

“Why not me?”

At first I resist it.

“Because I did everything right.”
“Because this isn’t fair.”
“Because I don’t want this.”

But eventually that second question softens something in me.

“Why not me?”

Maybe I’m not being punished. Maybe I’m being prepared.

Maybe this challenge isn’t happening to me.
Maybe it’s shaping something within me.

Maybe one day this pain
will become someone else’s hope.

I’ve started to believe
that the questions we ask
shape the perspective we keep.

And sometimes...

changing the question
changes everything.

JUST START

• Catch yourself asking an unhelpful question:
“Why is this happening to me?”
“What did I do wrong?”
“Why didn’t this work?”

• Replace it with one that creates possibility:
“What can I learn?”
“What else could be true?”
“What if this is leading me somewhere better?”

When the question changes … everything feels different.

I’ve found purpose in being that person.

And if I’m being honest, I’ve found some pride in it too.

The one who remembers.
The one who checks in.
The one who helps.
The one who shows up.

But I’m in a different chapter now.

Life looks different.

And recently, I’ve found myself in a position that feels surprisingly uncomfortable.

I’m the one who needs help.

If you’re someone who struggles being on the receiving end of support, attention, or care, I suspect you know exactly what I’m talking about.

Because those of us who are known for showing up
are often the first to retreat when we need support ourselves.

We don’t want to be a burden.
We don’t want to be an inconvenience.
We do want people to be there.
We just don’t always know how to let them.

I’ve realized this doesn’t just show up in friendships.

It shows up in business too.

As a founder, there have been countless moments when I needed guidance, perspective, or help.

But asking felt uncomfortable.

I thought I was supposed to know.

Supposed to have the answer.Supposed to figure it out.

And because of that, I probably spent more time
struggling than I needed to.

Maybe that’s the trap of being the helper.

We become so comfortable being the resource that we forget we’re allowed to need resources too.

The friend.
The founder.
The leader.
The parent.

The person everyone counts on.

Eventually, each of us gets handed a season when we need support.

The question isn’t whether we’ll need help.
The question is whether we’ll let ourselves receive it.

Because life isn’t just about showing up for others.

It’s also about allowing people the opportunity to show up for you.

And maybe that’s the lesson I’m learning in this season.

Not how to give.
How to receive.

JUST START

• Identify one area of your life where you’re struggling alone.
• Ask yourself: If a friend were in this situation, would I want them to ask for help?
• Offer yourself the same grace.
• Let someone show up for you.

In this situation, I had decided
it was going to be hard.

Why?

The data pointed in that direction.

The research seemed to support it.

Past experiences certainly reinforced it.

Even other people had chimed in to tell me that if I wanted the outcome I was hoping for...

it was going to be hard.

And then today, in a quiet, unassuming moment,
I had a different thought.
“I don’t think it needs to be hard.”

The data hadn’t changed.
The research hadn’t changed.
Past outcomes hadn’t changed.
Other people’s opinions hadn’t changed.

So what had changed?
My thought.

For just a moment,
I set down the assumption of hard.

And in its place,
I let in a different possibility.

Maybe it could be easier than I thought.

Maybe it didn’t have to unfold the same way it had before.

Maybe past experiences weren’t predictions.

Maybe they were simply past experiences.

Evidence of what happened.

Not proof of what will happen.

And now I find myself wondering:
Am I going to pick the hardness back up?

Or am I going to sit here a little longer
and explore the possibility that it gets to be easy?

That just because something was hard in the past
doesn’t mean it has to be hard today.

Or tomorrow.

I think sometimes we marry ourselves to a story.
And then spend our days collecting evidence
to prove that story right.

Maybe the story is true.
But maybe it isn’t.

And sometimes the most powerful thing we can do
is loosen our grip on the story we’ve been telling ourselves
and leave room for a different ending.

JUST START

• Identify one thing you’ve already decided is going to be hard.
• Ask yourself: Is that a fact—or a conclusion I’ve drawn from past experiences?
• Remember: past experiences are evidence of what happened, not proof of what will happen.
• Ask yourself, “Can I leave room for a different ending?”

Reasons to be angry.
Reasons to be discouraged.
Reasons to believe everything is getting worse.

Open your phone.

Turn on the news.

Scroll social media.

It won’t take long before someone reminds you
what’s broken.

And yet...

There is still joy here.

Not someday.
Not when everything gets fixed.
Not when life goes according to plan.

Here.

Today.

But sometimes joy can get buried.

Buried beneath

loss.

disappointment.

stress.

After grappling with a loss,
I was having a hard time finding the joy
in both the big and small moments.

I turned to my husband one night
and announced,

”Let’s do a 30-day joy challenge!”

He was in—
on one condition.

Remove the word challenge.

Fair enough.

So it became a Joy Hunt.

The premise was simple:

Every day,
we would tell each other
about the moments of joy we experienced.

About a week into it,
I stopped tracking.

Not because I lost interest.

Because something shifted.

The Joy Hunt didn’t create more joy -
It simply helped me notice
how much joy was already there.

In the conversation with a friend.
A funny text exchange.
Our walk after dinner.
The laugh I didn’t see coming.

The ordinary moments I had stopped noticing.

Loss.
Grief.
Stress.

They can all act like a wet blanket
on a joyful heart.

Not because joy disappears.

But because the other things get louder.

And sometimes the most rebellious thing we can do
is refuse to let the hard things
be the only things we notice.

Because if we choose to look again,
we will see that

there is still joy here.

JUST START

• Take a Joy Hunt today.

• Before you go to bed, write down three moments of joy you experienced—big or small. Don’t judge whether they’re “big enough” to count.

• Share them with someone you love, or simply say them out loud to yourself.

And if joy feels hard to find right now, don’t assume it’s gone. It’s still there - it just needs some cultivating.

As someone juggling multiple businesses,
projects, and ideas,
it doesn’t take long before the emails pile up.

For years I’d do the same thing.

Delete.

Delete.

Delete.

Delete.

The problem was the emails kept coming back.
Because deleting isn’t the same thing as unsubscribing.
So before long, I'd find myself right back where I started—

Delete.

Delete.

Delete.

And because I’m me, I started wondering
where else in my life
am I deleting instead of unsubscribing?

A negative thought shows up. Delete.

A conversation leaves me feeling drained. Delete.

A behavior I know isn’t serving me. Delete.

But I would still find myself
thinking that thought again
spending time with that person again
engaging in that behavior again
I never unsubscribed, so it kept finding its way back.

Maybe that’s why some patterns feel so stubborn.

We keep managing them.

But we never unsubscribe -

To the belief that we’re behind.
To the relationship that leaves us exhausted.
To the gossip.
To the comparison.

Deleting gives temporary relief.
Unsubscribing creates space.

Space for peace.
Space for better conversations.
Space for healthier thoughts.
Space for something new to arrive.

So yes, clear out that email inbox.
But don’t forget about your life inbox.

The thoughts.
The stories.
The conversations.
The habits.
The commitments.
The people.

Are they worthy of your subscription
or is it time to unsubscribe?

JUST START

• Unsubscribe from one email list you never read.
• Identify one conversation you keep having that never leads anywhere productive. Stop contributing to the cycle—change the subject, set a boundary, or choose not to engage.
• Ask yourself: Where in my life do I need to press an unsubscribe button?

Sifting flour is pretty straightforward.
Sifting through your own life?
That gets messier.

Sometimes we resist the sifting
because we know it may require change.

So we hand out permission slips.

They’re busy.
They’re going through a lot.
Life is stressful right now.

And while those things may be true,
at some point, constantly excusing behavior
starts costing us.

Our energy.
Our peace.
Our self-respect.

Because without discernment,
we slowly slide into people-pleasing.

Into overextending.
Overexplaining.

We stop noticing
what’s reciprocal
and what we’ve been overcompensating for.

We start giving people access to us
because of time spent, history, guilt,
or who they used to be—
not because the connection
is still healthy now.

Discernment is about separating.

What nurtures you
from what drains you.

What brings you peace
from what consistently brings stress.

What’s meant to move forward with you
from what needs to be left behind.

…

Maybe it’s time
to let the sifting begin.

JUST START

• Identify one relationship, habit, or commitment that feels draining instead of nurturing.
• Stop explaining it away for a moment.
• Ask yourself what discernment—not guilt—would choose next.

Even if the dream seems far-fetched

Even if the hope seems unfounded

Even if it is taking years

Even if your heart’s been broken before

Even if you think you don’t have one more
“try again” in you

Even if those closest to you tell you
it’s time to let it go

Even if…

Even if..

Even if. . .

Because maybe the reason
the dream still lives in you
is because it’s meant to -

You wouldn’t have the nudging feeling

You wouldn’t have that dream on your heart

You wouldn’t have the quiet voice whispering, “try again”

You wouldn’t have that hope

IF

it wasn’t going to happen

So today take a deep breath ..
let it out …
and then go about your day -

Do your to-do list
Make your meals
Handle the calls
Work on that project
Love on your people

And trust that it is
ALL
WORKING
OUT
FOR
YOU

Because sometimes faith looks less like certainty
and more like doing the ordinary
while you wait on the extraordinary

JUST START

• Notice the dream, idea, or hope you keep trying to talk yourself out of.
• Stop asking whether it’s guaranteed—and ask whether it’s worth one more try.
• Then go live your ordinary day while continuing to make space for the possibility of something extraordinary.

At first glance, it didn’t look like a problem.

If anything, it made the tree look fuller.
More green.
More textured.

But when I looked closer,
I could see how tightly it had wrapped itself around the branches.

And nearby, a rose bush had started losing blooms
because the vine was slowly taking over.

So I started pruning.

Unwinding.
Pulling.
Tracing it back to the root.

And somewhere in the middle of all that,
I started thinking about my own life.

About the thoughts that quietly wrap themselves around me.

Limiting beliefs.
Intrusive thoughts.
Old stories.

The kinds of thoughts that don’t always look harmful at first.

Sometimes they even blend in so well
I mistake them for being part of who I am.

But over time, they start changing things.

How I see myself.
How I show up.
What I believe is possible.

As I kept on with the vine,
I started thinking about how this shows up in business, too.

Band-aid fixes.
Systems that never got built.
Problems that get worked around instead of solved.

And before you know it,
years pass.

A limiting belief becomes a core belief.
A temporary workaround becomes the way things operate.

So this week I’m asking myself:

What needs pruning?

In my thoughts.
In my habits.
In my business.
In the stories I keep replaying.

Because whether it’s in our thinking or our business,
temporary fixes have a way of becoming permanent systems.

Maybe it’s time to stop trimming around the issue
and start going to the root.

JUST START

• Identify one recurring frustration in your life or business.
• Ask yourself whether the real issue is a system, a habit, or a belief.
• Stop relying on temporary fixes and start going to the root.

I thought I had forgiven.

I thought enough time had passed—
that something from two decades ago
couldn’t possibly still be impacting
my life today.

And then it did.

We don’t talk enough about how the actions of others—
even from people who may no longer be in our lives—
can still shape how we show up.

It’s like a kind of emotional residue.
Sticky.
Lingering.
Still there, even after we think we’ve cleaned it up.

I thought I had forgiven.

And then I found myself saying things to one person
that were meant for another.

Words I wish I had said years ago—
but didn’t.

And suddenly, they came spilling out
into the present.

Misplaced.
Misdirected.

And that’s when it hit me—

I hadn’t forgiven.
I hadn’t let it go.

And I was still carrying anger and sadness
that didn’t match the life I’m living now.

In the past, I might have pushed it back down.
Told myself I was just tired,
drained,
off.

But this time, I’m not doing that.

I’m going to face it.
And I’m going to forgive.

Me.

Because what I’m starting to realize
is that the anger, the sadness, the resentment
isn’t really toward them anymore.

It’s toward me.

For staying so long.
For putting up with the behavior.
For selling myself short.
For abandoning myself
and slowly becoming someone I hardly recognized.

I want to shake her.
The version of me from back then.

I want to go back and yell at her —
stop wasting time!
wake up!
leave!

To tell her that settling for this
will leave scars.

And then I catch myself.

Because in that moment,
I’m doing to her
what they did to me.

I’m being so hard on her.

So today, I’m choosing something different.

I’m choosing a different kind of care
for both the past and the present.

Forgiveness.
Grace.

And the forgiveness that needs to be given—
is something I can give to myself now.

JUST START

• Notice where you’re being hard on a past version of yourself.
• Pause before the judgment—and offer understanding instead.
• Ask yourself: Is this thought true? Sometimes what you’re feeling is real, but the story you’re telling yourself isn’t.

You don’t have to rewrite the past.
But you can change how you relate to it.

I’m definitely a Golden Girls fan,
so I leaned all the way in—
(cheesecake for dessert… iykyk).

But what I’m really a fan of
are the friendships I’m building
in my new city.

I’ve written before about the move to Nashville—
the highs, the lows,
the joy, the loneliness.

But lately, something has shifted.

I’ve been feeling more gratitude,
and I realized… I wanted to celebrate it.

The party had been on the calendar before a trip got scheduled,
so even though I got home at midnight the night before
and felt completely exhausted,
I knew there was a different kind of energy waiting for me—

the kind that comes from gathering,
from hosting,
from celebrating other people.

We donned our kaftans,
laughed over cheesecake,
and took a moment to share what’s going well—

not just the big, headline moments,
but the small wins, too.

The women in the room spanned five decades,
which meant richer conversations,
different perspectives,
and, as always, a few cultural references that needed explaining.

And somewhere in the middle of it all,
I realized what I was really celebrating—

not just the friendships in that room,
but the ones forming in the book club I’ve joined,
the connections that have come from simply saying yes.

The yes to showing up.
The yes to making the plan.
The yes to going—even when I was tired.

The yes to staying connected—
even when life (and travel) pulls me in different directions.

So to the ones who extended the invitations,
who included me,
who welcomed me into their circles—

This post is for you.
Thank you for being my friend.

JUST START
• Think of one invite you’ve been hesitating on—say yes.
• If nothing’s on the calendar, make a plan. Host a dinner or a HH meetup.
• Show up —even if you’re tired. I know it’s tempting to bow out when making new friends - but showing up matters!

This isn’t just about friendship.
It’s about saying yes to building a life that feels fun and fulfilling.

No matter what.

Even if it means
overextending,
overcommitting,
overexhausting yourself.

And if you’re anything like me,
that same level of
effort and follow-through
isn’t always directed towards you.

Your goals.
Your commitments.
Your needs.

I think it’s time for that to shift.

I don’t think it’s selfish
to give yourself the same
attention,
respect,
and follow-through
that you give to others.

In fact, I think it’s selfish not to.

Because how many times have you gone to bed thinking—

Tomorrow will be different.
Tomorrow I’ll start.
Tomorrow I’ll set that boundary.
Tomorrow I’ll say “no”.
Tomorrow I’ll say “yes”.

And then tomorrow comes…
and you don’t.

You don’t go for the walk.
You don’t do the workout.
You don’t say yes to that opportunity.
You don’t stop scrolling.

But you do
go the extra mile for someone else
cancel that workout to do a favor
spend time overly anticipating the needs of others

Why are we so willing
to break our word to ourselves?

Don’t we deserve better?

Maybe keeping your word
isn’t just about showing up for others.
Maybe it’s about showing up for yourself.

JUST START
• Choose one thing you said you’d do for yourself - do it today.
• Do it — even if it’s small, even if it’s just for a short period of time.
• Give yourself a dose of that same commitment and time that you give others.

Warning: When you stop overextending yourself, some people won’t like it. Why? Because it was working for them.
Stay the course.

I told myself I would wake-up early and watch the sunrise today
I’m so glad I kept my word!