Can you believe it’s September? I hope you have all been settling into new routines and that this new season is off to a gentle start.

I find myself feeling especially reflective as we head into the fall months.

This week, I wanted to share my take on “I met my younger self for coffee”, inspired by the original poem by Jennae Cecelia. (This poem will also be in my upcoming poetry collection Gently we Journey, which is available for preorder here.)

I hope it can resonate with you.

And, I hope it can encourage you to sit with this prompt, whether you choose to write about it or simply reflect on it: If you met your younger self for coffee, what would that look like? How would it feel? What would you say?

And, if you feel moved to share, please let us know your reflections in the comments. 💜💜

I hope you all have a wonderful week.

All my love,

Liz

I met my younger self for coffee

I met my younger self for coffee.

When I arrived,

she was already there waiting for me.

She sat at the table

With an anxious smile,

Nervously shaking her knee.

I asked her what she wanted,

It would be my treat:

She chose a Frappuccino and thanked me

I set her drink down,

met her gaze

And calmly took a seat.

I could tell that she was unsure

How to proceed

That questions and concerns

Were surfacing quietly

I watched a list of topics

Flash through her eyes

I told her she could ask me anything,

Whatever she may need.

She said “I’ve made some choices I regret.”

I said, “something beautiful

will still come from them,

you just haven’t seen it yet.”

She said “I’m so scared of grief.

Has it found me?”

I said, “it’s a constant companion

but so is the love you received.”

At that, I squeezed her hand tenderly.

A tear fell from her eye

As she nodded solemnly.

But it was then that I knew

What she needed from me:

She didn’t need all the answers

Or details or every story.

She just needed, for a moment,

To see what I see,

That it’s all mattered

And made her into who she’s meant to be.

To know that things will

Still be hard sometimes,

They will still be scary

There will still be moments

Of pain and deep uncertainty.

But there’s a love that will surround her,

Her safe space and security.

And it’ll find her

In the most unexpected people

And places and hold on tightly.

So I looked at her

And let the tears fall freely,

And I said:

“Never be ashamed of vulnerability,

In letting others see

The heart beneath.

And you’ll be so surprised

At all the ways you love

And learn and grow on the journey.

At all the ways you see others

And get to feel seen.

At the depths of love

That meet you,

Beyond what you

could have ever dreamed.”

As we got up to leave

I pulled her in for a hug

And I told her

that I’m proud of her,

Heard her say between sobs

That she’s so proud of me.

And I told her maybe, at a later date,

We could reconvene

And invite along another woman

I think we’d both like to meet:

One who’s made up of

Both of our stories, both our histories.

Maybe one day we’d all sit down

And have another coffee.

She said she’d love that

And we smiled

With gratitude and relief

then we parted ways,

Though in some ways

I knew I’d never leave her

And she’d never leave me.

I’d like to say a big thank you to Jennae Cecilia for bringing this idea into the world. If you’d like to check her out, her Instagram can be found here with info about her books and poetry. 💜

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That is how I’d been feeling, and I know SO many people can relate.

It can feel like things just pile up, one thing after another, and there are days when it all feels manageable, but there are also days when everything feels incredibly overwhelming.

I’ve found that feelings of overwhelm are often accompanied by feelings of isolation as well, especially as seasons start to change.

But, I wanted to share something with you, something that made me feel seen for a moment, something that really stuck with me.

I went to grab a coffee and eventually noticed that something was written on the cup:

“Hard is not impossible!”

As I read it, I could feel the tears coming. I desperately needed that reminder at that exact moment.

When we are in the thick of a challenging season, it can feel so hard to see how we are going to put one foot in front of the other.

And it deeply matters that we acknowledge the “hard”: that we don't downplay it or dismiss it or demand it to be anything that it’s not.

But, this little sentence reminded me that there is still hope to be found in the midst of the “hard”.

Hard is challenging. Hard is heartbreaking. Hard is exhausting.

But hard is not impossible.

There is no way that the barista could have known how much that would connect with me, how much it would impact me.

And it got me thinking about how encouragement comes in so many unexpected places:

A text from a friend.

A smile from a stranger.

A few words on a coffee cup.

So, in case you needed this pick-me-up today as well:

Hard is not impossible.

Walking alongside you, friends.

Sending you all love through whatever you’re facing today.

Have you experienced an unexpected encouragement recently? I would love to hear about it in the comments. 💜

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I hope you have been enjoying the last few weeks of your summer. ☀️

I’d love to hear about what you’ve all been up to lately! (Please let me know in the comments 🫶🏻).

This past week, I got to go to a Dashboard Confessional concert. They have been a favorite artist of mine for years. They are one of those artists that I started listening to…

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I stopped and thought:

“Wow, it’s still dark, and I can already hear them.”

And that thought stuck with me all day.

The birds were singing.

Before they saw the light. Before the morning.

And that felt like hope to me.

I wrote this poem inspired by the birds, whose song gave me words I didn’t know I needed.

I hope this can resonate with you as well. Thank you for reading, friends. Have a great week. 💜

Birdsong before Sunrise

The birds were singing before sunrise

I was surprised to hear them

Before they’d even seen

The first rays of light

As I looked around

At the yard still slumbering

And the sky still grey

I thought

What a brave way to start the day

Birds singing before sunrise

They sing before the light,

And maybe it’s because

They know that

Even when they can’t see it,

It’s coming

Maybe they know that

even before the sun greets them,

It’s rising

And maybe that’s what we do too

When life has been

Especially dark

Especially hard

And dawn has yet to dawn

Maybe we remember

We hope

We believe

That it will come again

Even before

The shadows have gone.

And maybe

In the painful night

Of our circumstances

Our hearts are still singing

Like birds before sunrise

Because they believe

In the light just

Out of sight

They believe that soon,

It will arrive.

So we keep singing

Even before we see it,

When things are far from alright.

Before we see the hope

The light

On the horizon

Before the hello

To the tender morning light.

Maybe like birds before sunrise,

We lift our voices

To a sky that’s still grey

Maybe like birds before sunrise

Our war cry is

To sing anyway.

It was on my heart to revisit this poem with you all this week. I hope it can be a comfort to your heart as you look to the week ahead.

Big hugs,

Liz

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I am SO deeply excited to share with you that my new book “Gently We Journey” is available for pre-order with an official release date of October 20th through Pencil x Paper Publishing. 💙

“Gently We Journey” is a poetry collection in honor of the roads we travel and the people who walk alongside us.

It is a reflection on how far we’ve come, …

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For the last couple of years, I have written mostly about grief, and most of the “Gently, We Journey” newsletter entries have been on grief as well.

I have felt so honored to be able to hold space for such a tender topic. It is a subject that is so near and dear to my heart…

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It seems like in a moment, everything changes, both around us and within us.

While we grieve the loss of our loved ones, I’ve found that there are also so many losses within ourselves to grieve as well.

Loss of identity

There are pieces of ourselves that are expressed primarily through our different relationships. Different people bring out different parts of our personality and allow us to fill unique roles and relational dynamics. When we lose someone, we often experience a sense of lost identity as well. While the love is still there, it can no longer be expressed in the same way it used to be. It is a huge adjustment, and it, in and of itself, is a major thing to grieve.

Loss of security

When a heart experiences loss, nothing feels safe anymore. The world feels like a darker place. Hope feels far away. Everything that we depended on and relied upon has suddenly changed.  It can feel like we are constantly looking over our shoulders, distrusting the world around us, trying to predict where the next wave of loss and unpredictability will come from.

Loss of normalcy

Grief brings about a loss of normalcy and routine, especially when the person you lost was a crucial part of your everyday. No area of life is unaffected and that shift can feel incredibly hard and overwhelming. Reminders of our loss are everywhere as we adjust our schedules, cancel plans, and find ways to process our loss while the world continues as normal. Nothing feels normal for someone grieving, and it can be such an isolating experience.

Loss of hopes and dreams

When we lose someone, we don’t just lose that person but lose the opportunity to make so many hopes and dreams a reality: dreams of our loved ones being there for our big moments and hopes for a future that has them in it. This loss is something we each navigate as we go. Milestones, holidays, and special dates can make this aspect of loss feel especially tender.

Loss has so many complicated layers to it, with more revealing themselves as we go. But each and every layer of loss is present because of the underlying love we carry for those who are gone.

Grieving the losses within ourselves is another way to acknowledge our pain and honor our process along the way. 🙏🏼

Thank you for revisiting this tender topic from the archives with me this week.

Acknowledging and honoring these losses has been an important part of grieving for me. I hope this list has made you feel seen in your grieving process too.

Are there any other losses you would add to the list? We would love to hear from you. 🤍

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How has your summer been going?

Mine has been beautiful and busy and also humbling and challenging.

Last summer, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease. And this year, I’m in between doctors and tests for some other things as well.

One of them is something called POTS.

It makes my heart rate spike, especially when I stand or get overheated.…

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In those moments, we often feel a deep desire to fix, advise, add perspective, or change the subject.

But, to the friend who enters into the dark and painful spaces as a listening ear and a comforting presence:

Thank you for giving me a space to let down my walls and lean on the support of your empathetic heart.

Thank you for the comfort you bring simply by being there.

Thank you for listening with the intention of making me feel heard, not the intention of crafting a good response (because you know there isn’t one in a situation like this).

Thank you for crying with me, for laughing with me, for the “just checking in” text messages, for the invitation to go on a walk or go for a coffee.

Thank you for the grace on days when I am a bit quieter, when my pain is catching up with me.

Thank you for reminiscing with me and allowing me to share memories and stories, even if I’ve told you them already.

Thank you for noticing the condition of my heart, for noticing the sorrow in my soul, for making me feel seen exactly where I am.

Thank you for not shying away from my broken heart. Thank you for sitting here as I try and make sense of the pieces, and for accepting the silence when I don’t have the words to say.

Thank you for modeling this type of deep love, the love that I also hope to give back to you along the way.

Thank you for showing me what it looks like to walk alongside one another (or on days when that’s too hard, to sit beside one another). Thank you for showing me that although we have our own personal journeys to take, we can make it through together.

Thank you for always reminding me that I am loved, I am known, and I am never alone.

Your presence has mattered so much to me.

Your love has made such an impact on me.

I will never have the words for how much it’s meant to me.

I will never have the words for how much YOU mean to me.

And for that and a million other things:

Thank you.

Thank you for revisiting this post from the archives with me. It was on my heart to share it with you all again this week. I hope it makes you think of someone who has been a light in a dark season. We all need each other. 🙏🏼

All my love,

Liz 💜

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And with time, I’ve found that I have often felt conflicted by the arrival of another unexpected visitor: joy.

Maybe you’ve felt that tension too. Or maybe you’re still waiting for the day when you do.

I remember one of the first instances I felt this tension after loss. In my first few moments of sincere laughter, I recall a strange mixture of guilt and shame washing over me. It felt like the joy was somehow off-limits or not appropriate for my grieving heart.

But I realize now that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Guilt often tries to attach itself to our grieving. It tries its best to set down roots and cast shadows on the glimmers of light that emerge within our broken hearts.

Letting go of the moments of guilt has been an ongoing process. It has taken time and patience with myself.

But letting go of the guilt has also felt like a long-awaited exhale. Letting go of the guilt has allowed me to go deeper into my grief and has given my heart permission to experience a lot of seemingly contrasting experiences and emotions all at once.

Because grief is not only tears. Grief is a balancing act of so many conflicting realities. It is uncontrollable sobs followed by laughing at a shared memory. It is a lingering darkness followed by a glimmer of hope felt in the warm presence of a supportive friend. It is deep loss felt in missing moments with a loved one followed by the ache and intensity of the love you have for the people surrounding you.

It’s feeling scared of time, aware of time, desperate for time, and grateful for time. All at once.

Our hearts become homes for grief. The grief makes itself comfortable, unpacks its suitcase, and leaves its mark everywhere. But it does not displace the love that has always lived there. The love never leaves. They coexist, despite the aching tension that creates sometimes.

And just as grief has settled into our souls, with time, another visitor comes and gently knocks at our door: joy.

This joy does not replace the grief that came before it.

This joy has known pain and heartbreak and loss.

This joy is a testament to love’s endurance and it honors everything that came before it.

This joy knows that seemingly opposite things can all ache to be seen and heard in our hearts at once.

This joy acknowledges the hard things while also encouraging our hearts to make room for the hope that can still be found here too.

It can be so hard to let go of the guilt that tries to storm in.

It can be so hard to send the shame packing when it’s spent so much time trying to whisper hurtful things to our hearts in the darkness.

It can be so hard to make sense of the ways our lives have changed and to make room for all of the emotions we find ourselves going through.

But this joy is for me. This joy is for you.

It is a testament to all we’ve been through.

I wrote this poem to encourage every heart seeking to allow joy to trickle in. If it feels like it’s too soon, it is okay to take your time here.

Every heart’s pace and process will be different. But, I hope when your heart is ready, you feel joy return to you like an old and long-awaited friend. I hope this poem can be a comfort to you today:

Joy after loss

Is not a betrayal.

The pain you’ve felt

Does not have to shut the door

Of your shattered heart

To the possibility of

Something beautiful

Awakening within

Your weary soul.

This joy is yours,

It is deepened

By everything you’ve been through.

This joy is yours,

It’ll honor every moment,

The old and the new

This joy is yours,

To sustain and strengthen all you do.

It’s yours.

Don’t let the darkness

Take it from you.

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Help teach me

the art of surrender.

Show me what it means

to let go

and invite you in

to all of my fears

and unknowns.

Show me what it feels like

to remember

that I’m never alone.

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Another Father’s Day approaches, and your absence is louder than ever.

It seems that my body remembers the date before my heart and mind are even ready to acknowledge it.

It reminds me in the tension that settles into my shoulders and the irritability that flows out of me that leaves me asking:

“Where did THAT come from?”

The grief trickles into my days in new ways all the time.

I recently went to a concert, and I ended up breaking down in tears because I was so overwhelmed at the weight of missing you. We shared a passion for music, and grief wanted to sing along with me that night too.

But, I am lucky enough to have people in my life who make room for it: who make room for you. 💜

There have been so many losses wrapped up in the loss of you.

Losing you brought a loss of comfort and stability. The world feels darker and scarier somehow without you in it, as though your light was keeping the fear at bay. Now, it runs rampant most days.

Losing you brought about a change in my identity. Where is the girl that you alone brought out of me? It took me a long time to realize how much I miss her, too.

But losing you also brought about an increased urgency. I’ve learned the importance of presence and intentionality. I’ve learned how vital it is to tell the people we love how much they matter and to do it constantly.

You modeled that for me.

I realize now that there must have been days that you felt scared like I do. But, I can feel that your love is the firm foundation it always was, and I’ve learned that the source of your strength was a Loving Father who never left you. And somehow, He’s here with me now and He’s there with you, too.

I’ve learned that fear and faith can coexist, and often do, and in our darkest moments, there is a Light that never wavers. You taught me to turn to Him and trust Him to guide my way, like He did for you.

I’ve learned that the love you overflowed into my heart and into the hearts of those you loved has never stopped growing. What you’ve planted continues to bloom, a family tree ever-evolving with each of us growing new branches of the story.

I’ve learned that death may separate us for now, but it won’t keep us apart forever. It doesn’t have that kind of power.

And as the days have turned into months and years, things have changed so much.

I wonder if you’d be proud of the changes you’d see in me.

I wonder if you’d recognize this version of me.

I wonder if you’d see your wit interwoven into the fabric of who I have become or hear your music echoing through my heart and my speakers with increasing frequency.

I wonder if you’d notice how my heart still breaks open sometimes with fresh reminders of your absence when a song comes on in the grocery store, when I think my eyes meet yours in the passing gaze of a stranger, or when a painful date approaches on the calendar.

I miss you and love you and wish you could be here with me even though I find myself wondering more and more about what you’re seeing in Eternity.

But today, I am reminded of the time I flew home from Georgia and surprised you. You were on your patio, and I snuck up behind you.

Your eyes lit up as you pulled me in for a hug and you said to me,

“I’m so glad to see you. I’m so glad to see you.”

Joy. Reunion. Homecoming.

I am lucky enough to have that moment on video. And when my heart feels able, I can hear your voice. I can see the happiness radiating from our faces. I can almost feel the hug. I go back and visit you there. And I know in my heart that this is but a shadow of the joy we will get to feel when we are together again someday.

And instead of the pain of goodbye, I’ll get the healing power of “Hello” with our next hug in Eternity.

In the meantime, I hope you’re proud of me. I hope you somehow see the ways I’ve tried to honor your love and legacy.

Because of all the things that grief has taken from me, it will never take the love that you gave to me and the role you gifted me:

I am and will always be my father’s daughter.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I wouldn’t be who I am without you. I love you immensely.

Until Eternity. Hold on to that hug for me.

Love,
Your Baby Girl

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I recently signed a contract with an incredible publisher: Pencil x Paper Publishing. 💛

They are truly wonderful people, and we share a vision for what poetry can be: a connector, a source of comfort and encouragement, and an art-form that brings people together in a way few thin…

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With the change of season upon us, I really wanted to share a poem about light: about continuing to look for it in our everyday, about continuing to fight for it even when it feels far away, abo…

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How kind it is

To think of your past self

With gentleness

For all the lessons

you learned

For all the ways you’ve grown

for all the times

You tried your best.

Please never forget

How kind it is

To offer yourself extra space

to rest, to recover, to reflect

To process without putting

Too much expectation on

Your he…

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There are so many sorrows and situations that can make us wonder “what happened to the person I’ve been?”

Our journeys are tiring, and along the way we come face to face with grief, hardship, frustration, fear, anxiety, disappointment, uncertainty, and so much more.

Each emotion demands so much from our bandwidth, and it can be so hard to process it all.

As we juggle these moving pieces, doing our best to balance and maintain everything, it can be easy to lose sight of who we are in the middle of all of it.

So, if you’ve felt the sensation of not feeling quite like yourself lately, please know that you are not alone.

I truly believe that so many of us experience this from time to time. And it helps so much to shed light on these thoughts, to see that there are so many of us who share the same struggles.

I wrote a poem reflecting on this topic, and I am hopeful it will resonate with you as well.

If it feels like you’ve lost yourself along the way, I hope you find some comfort in these words.

Walking alongside you, friends. 🤍🙏🏻

It Will Return To You

It’s a unique kind of ache

To feel like you’ve lost yourself,

To feel out of sorts and out of place

While, from the outside,

you still look mostly the same.

I know the restlessness that comes with

Feeling uncomfortable in your own skin,

With wondering where the pieces

Of yourself have gone

Or where that spark has been.

But like the world around us,

our hearts are seasonal too.

And the beauty of who you are

Will return to you.

There are days when it’s more subtle

But it still rests within your chest

There are moments when it’s more dormant

But that spark has never left.

So on the days when you

Struggle to see it

Find it hard to remember the truth,

Find it hard to remember

The last time you truly felt like “you”,

The last time you saw

Glimpses of the person that you knew:

Know, deep in your bones

That it’s still within you,

Every part and every hue.

Even in the times that it

feels a little more subdued.

Just like the cycling seasons,

the sunrise

or the flower in bloom

The beauty of who you are

Remains and

will return to you.

*Thank you for revisiting this poem with me. I hope it can be a comfort to you this week. Sending you all so much love-Liz💜*

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I imagine it was a tender time for so many. 🙏🏼

Holding space for your pain today. I pray that this weekend you were able to honor your love and your loss in a way that felt healing for your hurting heart.

I wanted to share a prayer I wrote with you all entitled “O Morning Star”. It is a prayer of hope: for sustenan…

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Honestly, I am still soaking it all in. 🩷 It was an experience I’ll forever cherish.

I met two dear writing friends who I have known for over five years, and we FINALLY got to hug and see one another face to face. 😭

I …

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I stopped and thought:

“Wow, it’s still dark, and I can already hear them.”

And that thought stuck with me all day.

The birds were singing.

Before they saw the light. Before the morning.

And that felt like hope to me.

I wrote th…

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It’s not something that I’ve shared about much yet, so this feels especially vulnerable for me. 💜

While I wasn’t officially diagnosed until last year, I can see that there were always signs of it ever since I was a little gir…

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