The first time they placed him on my chest, I remember thinking — wow, his head looks so big. It was stuck in the birth canal for so long that it had swollen. But I looked at him and thought, who is this little guy? He’d been inside of me for nine months, and I still didn’t know him.

I want to say something here that I think a lot of moms feel and don’t say. I didn’t feel it right away. Not the instant, overwhelming, movie-scene love that you see in every video, where a mom looks at her baby for the first time and just breaks down crying. I didn’t cry. He felt like a stranger. I knew him and I didn’t know him, both at once, and for a while I thought something was wrong with me for not feeling what I was “supposed” to feel.

I didn’t even get the golden hour everyone talks about — he had to be taken to the NICU before I ever got that stretch of uninterrupted time with him. The connection came later, once I actually got to know him. I loved him right away, but loving him and feeling that instant, all-consuming rush aren’t the same thing, and it took me a minute to understand that. If you’ve felt that too, I need you to know there’s nothing wrong with you.

I almost didn’t get this. I still have a hard time saying that out loud, but it’s true — postpartum eclampsia nearly took me right after he was born. I’m not going to make this about that, because it’s not what this is about. But I find myself crying all the time now. Some of it is grief for how close I came to missing this. Most of it is just happiness, watching him grow and change in front of me.

The last time I remember a feeling that euphoric — that consuming — was when I married his dad. And now when I look into Aidan’s eyes, I want to cry for a completely different reason. I think about how one day he’ll have his own whole, full life. Right now, his dad and I are his entire world. But I know that won’t last forever — before I know it, he’ll be building something of his own, separate from us. For right now, though, he’s the thing that makes my life feel complete.

Every decision I make revolves around him now. What I eat and when. The plans I make, or don’t. Career changes for both his dad and me. They say you make plans and God laughs — well, babies must be pretty close to God’s image, because it’s the same with them.

I can’t wait to see where our lives go from here. And even after everything — the fear, the tears, the parts I didn’t expect to feel — I don’t regret a thing. I will always do my best to be a great mom.

About seven weeks ago, I was in the ICU fighting for my life due to eclampsia. I’m sitting here with Aidan today, finally starting to understand what my body was going through.

There is not really a roadmap for these six weeks before your first postpartum appointment. So it is tough to know what is normal, what is your body healing, and what is a warning sign you should not ignore.

Because I had no idea my risk did not end when my pregnancy did.

So I am writing the post I wish I had read.

Weeks 1-2: Your Body Is Working Harder Than You Know

The first two weeks postpartum are intense. Your uterus is contracting back to its original size, your hormones are shifting dramatically, and your body is trying to recover from one of the most physically demanding things it will ever do.

Bleeding:

You will bleed after delivery. This is called lochia and it is normal. But knowing what is normal matters because not all bleeding is the same.

In the first few days bleeding is typically heavy and bright red, and very similar to a heavy period. It gradually lightens and changes color from red to pink to brown to yellow or white over the course of several weeks.

What is NOT normal:

• Soaking through a pad in less than an hour

• Passing blood clots larger than a golf ball

• Bleeding that gets heavier after it had been getting lighter

• Dizziness, pale skin, or a racing heart alongside heavy bleeding

If any of those happen, seek immediate medical attention. Do not wait to see if it gets better.

Night sweats and chills:

This one caught me off guard. The first few weeks I was waking up completely drenched. Night sweats postpartum are incredibly common and mostly harmless, your body is releasing the extra fluid it accumulated during pregnancy through sweat. It can feel alarming when you do not know what it is.

Chills can accompany this, especially in the first week. However if you have chills alongside a fever above 100.4°F that could indicate infection and warrants a call to your provider.

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Weeks 2-4: The Hormonal Shift Hits

Around week two the initial adrenaline of having a new baby starts to wear off and your hormones begin their dramatic postpartum drop. Estrogen and progesterone fall sharply after delivery and your body feels it.

What this can look like:

• Mood swings that feel out of nowhere

• Crying without knowing why

• Feeling overwhelmed or anxious

• Emotional numbness or feeling disconnected

This is sometimes called the baby blues and it is common in the first two weeks. But if these feelings persist beyond two weeks, intensify, or include thoughts of harming yourself or your baby, that is postpartum depression or anxiety. You are not weak or a bad mother. You are experiencing a medical condition that is treatable.

Hair loss:

Postpartum hair loss is real and can be shocking when it starts. Most women notice it between weeks 2-4, particularly around the edges and temples. Interestingly, I experienced hair loss during my pregnancy rather than after which is less common, but does happen. Everybody is different.

The hair loss is caused by the hormonal shift and is temporary. Most women see regrowth by six months postpartum.

Weeks 4-6: Physical Healing and What To Watch

By weeks four through six many women start to feel more like themselves physically. But this is also the window where warning signs can be easy to dismiss as normal recovery, especially if nobody has told you what to watch for.

This is where I want to be very direct with you.

If you had any of the following during your pregnancy or delivery: preeclampsia, eclampsia, gestational hypertension, or HELLP syndrome, your risk does not end at delivery. Postpartum preeclampsia and eclampsia are real. They can develop or continue for up to six weeks after you deliver. Sometimes longer.

Warning signs that require immediate medical attention — do not wait, do not second guess yourself:

• Headache at the back of your head that comes and goes or will not go away

• Swelling in your hands and fingers, rings that suddenly do not fit or fingers that feel tight are a classic early sign

• Facial swelling particularly around the eyes, especially worse in the morning

• Swelling that appears suddenly, does not improve with rest, or spreads

• Shortness of breath especially if you wake up with it

• Vision changes — blurry vision, spots, flashing lights

• Pain in your upper right abdomen

• Feeling like something is wrong

I want to say that last one again. If something feels off, trust that.

Other things to watch in weeks 4-6:

• Signs of infection at your incision or perineal area: increased redness, warmth, discharge, or pain

• Symptoms of a blood clot: pain, warmth, or significant swelling in one leg, or sudden chest pain and shortness of breath

• Mastitis if you are breastfeeding, flu-like symptoms with breast pain and redness

What Your Six Week Appointment Should Actually Include

Your six week appointment is not just a formality. It is (or should be) a real assessment of how your body has recovered. At minimum your provider should:

• Check your blood pressure

• Test your urine for protein

• Physically examine your incision or perineal healing, not just ask about it

• Screen you for postpartum depression using a validated tool

• Discuss contraception

• Ask about your symptoms and actually listen to the answers

If you had a high risk delivery you should also be getting lab work: liver function, kidney function, and more depending on your history. We will go deep on exactly what to ask for and what the numbers mean in this week’s paid post, including the scripts to use when your provider tries to skip something.

Six weeks felt like a finish line before I had the baby. But now that I’ve made it past that, I’m realizing it’s going to take me a bit more time to feel “recovered”.

You deserve more than a five minute clearance. You deserve a provider who has actually been watching over you and a clear understanding of what your body has been through.

That is why I am writing this. And it is why I am building Ray of Hope, because no woman should have to figure this out alone after the hardest experience of her life.

You are not dramatic. You are not overreacting. You are a mother who deserves to make it home to her baby every single day.

Want the complete six week appointment checklist, the lab values to ask for, and exact scripts to use when your provider dismisses you? That is all in this week’s paid post.

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I shouldn’t be alive right now telling this story.

Trigger warning: This article contains details of a medical emergency, including cardiac arrest, ICU recovery, and postpartum complications. Please read with care.

I had my son on April 6th, 2026. I was so excited to finally welcome him into the world, even though he had a rough start. He was sent to the NICU for four days because he was having trouble breathing. We brought him home on April 10th.

Not even 24 hours later, I woke up in the ICU. Alone. Restraints on my hands. A tube down my throat.

I had my phone next to me. The first thing I did was flip my front camera.

I will never forget what I felt in that moment. Pure fear. Pure confusion. I didn’t know which hospital I was in. I thought for a second that I had never gone home at all. And I didn’t know where my baby was.

That was the worst feeling of my life.

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I looked down. My stomach was flat. The bump was gone.

Slowly, fragments of memory started coming back. Not in order. Not making sense.

I grabbed my phone and texted my husband. What came out was: “Eh AJ in in cuffs How did get here ea we.”

What I meant was, why am I in cuffs. How did we get here.

He told me what happened. And then I forgot. And he told me again. And I forgot again. All of Saturday went like that. My memory failing me over and over, my husband patiently telling me the same story each time, relieved just to have me here to tell it to.

The medication I was on made me forget everything I was told almost as soon as I heard it.

I remember Sunday morning texting my mom and my husband asking when they were coming to see me. Nurses kept coming in. Different people told me different pieces of what had happened, in fragments. Who was watching my baby, and what eclampsia was. That I had been brought back to life.

And then they told me something that stopped me completely.

While I was on medication and barely conscious, I had been writing (scribbly, but legible). Thirteen pages worth, front and back. To communicate with my mom and my husband because I couldn’t speak with the tube in. The doctors couldn’t explain it. But apparently I had been determined, even in that state, to find out what had happened to my baby.

Somewhere in those pages, I had written two words.

Film documentary.

Even in my half-awake, propofol-filled state… I knew. I knew I would need images to one day tell this story. It was like, while I wasn’t fully here, God was revealing something to me. Showing me what this was for.

It wasn’t until Sunday that I found out the full truth of what had happened. My mom gave a Mother’s Day sermon. And in her testimony, she shared what the doctors had told her and my husband while I was unconscious — they had taken them to a small room and told them they weren’t sure what things would look like for me. Whether I was going to make it. Whether I would have brain damage.

Every doctor I had (and I had a whole team, one for almost every organ in my body) told me the same thing.

I shouldn’t be here.

I had been in cardiac arrest. No oxygen for several minutes. It was a miracle, they said, that even a tiny amount of blood must have reached my brain to keep me alive. Nobody could fully explain it. Nobody could fully explain what causes eclampsia in the first place, or how I survived it.

But I am a firm believer that if it’s not your time, it’s not your time.

I was discharged after four days in the hospital. And that’s when I began to understand what had almost taken my life.

I started researching. Eclampsia. Postpartum complications. The fourth trimester. And what I found stopped me cold.

More than 60% of pregnancy-related deaths happen after delivery. Most within the first two weeks, in the window when everyone assumes you’re fine and no one is watching. Most of those deaths were preventable.

I had always thought I was safe once the baby arrived. I didn’t know that wasn’t true.

I am still here, and so is my son. And I believe with everything in me that God kept me on this Earth for a reason.

So I’m building something.

A community where these stories have a space. Events to raise awareness. Resources to make sure every mom has the information I didn’t have before I left that hospital. And a service that puts clinical eyes on postpartum women in the window when the system looks away.

You almost lost me. My son almost lost me. My husband almost lost me.

But you didn’t.

And I’m using every single day I have left to make sure another mom doesn’t go through what I went through. Or worse, doesn’t come back from it.

If this story resonated with you, please share it. Send it to someone who is pregnant. Send it to someone who just had a baby. Send it to someone who loves a mom.

Because the more women who know what to look for, the more of us come home.

Welcome to Ray of Hope Maternal Care. I’m so glad you’re here.

— Nadia 🤍

I’m starting to feel regular contractions, hot flashes, trying to keep moving my body, finishing the last little things like putting the car seat together and getting the house to a point where everything feels ready. And emotionally… it’s a mix of everything.

My nervous system definitely feels a little out of whack right now. It’s like my emotions are sitting right at the edge of a boil—any small increase in temperature and the water spills over. I’m crying easily, whether it’s from happiness or overwhelm.

I’m a little nervous, mostly because I’ve never done this before. But I’m also embracing the unknown and really trusting God. I keep reminding myself that whatever is meant to happen will happen, and that He’ll give me the strength to get through it.

One thing I didn’t expect during pregnancy was how much it would make me think about my own childhood. Both my husband and I have found ourselves reflecting on different moments growing up and having long conversations about the kind of parents we want to be.

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I also had this image in my mind that pregnancy would be blissful from start to finish. Doctors often describe pregnancy as a kind of “relief” from endometriosis—like a break from the pain until after the baby arrives, sometimes even longer if you breastfeed.

But that wasn’t my experience. I’ve had a lot of pain this pregnancy, and for a while I almost felt angry that something I had been basically guaranteed didn’t happen. I didn’t mentally prepare for pregnancy to take such a toll on my body, so there were moments where I had to shift my expectations in ways I never imagined.

Even some of the small things ended up looking different than I thought they would.

I had maternity photos scheduled, but I got sick the day they were supposed to happen. The dress I ordered was delivered to the wrong address and ended up getting stolen. I didn’t have a traditional baby shower—we had a nesting party instead.

And honestly, I’m not even sad about those things. They were just different than the image I had in my mind.

My Substack is called Body Unbound because that’s what I’m trying to do with my life: stop being boxed in by expectations, stop performing for the version of life people think you should have, and instead do what actually makes sense for me and my little family.

That feeling only got stronger during this pregnancy. And I think that’s what I’m most grateful for.

There have been challenges—family situations, friendship shifts, my health—but strangely, every situation seems to have moved in a healthier direction by the end of it.

So now, as this pregnancy comes to a close, I don’t feel like I’m losing my independence. I feel like I’m leaving my old life to begin a new one.

And in a strange way, I feel like this is the moment my body is becoming the most unbound—even though, technically, another little body is still very much bound to mine.

I’m just really excited to see what comes next.

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Getting older doesn’t guarantee you’re growing up.

There are plenty of ways to move through life that look like maturity on the surface. You’re paying bills, keeping the peace, doing what’s expected of everyone, while internally remaining the teenager who is afraid to take up space, afraid to disappoint, and afraid to choose a path that no one else approved first.

I know that version of myself all too well.

I was the girl who played it safe. The one who measured her words. The one who chose harmony over honesty because keeping the peace felt safer than risking disapproval. From the outside, it looked like obedience & “perfection”. From the inside, it felt like shrinking.

Now I’m becoming a mother.

And something about carrying a life has made my own life come into sharper focus. I can still remember being a kid — the way time felt endless, the way decisions were made for me, the way I learned what love looked like by watching the adults around me. And now, somehow, I am the adult. I am the one who will define what love looks like for my child.

That realization was a huge wake-up call.

Because I don’t want my son to be raised by the version of me that is afraid to take risks, afraid to set boundaries, afraid to choose what truly sustains us instead of what simply… keeps the peace.

I want to be whole.

That means challenging myself in ways that don’t always look noble from the outside. It means choosing not to rely on financial help when independence will better serve my immediate family. It means prioritizing what will sustain our household, even when those choices are misunderstood. It means building a business with my husband, not just for income, but to buy back our time. It means traveling, being present, and creating a life where our days together are not an afterthought.

It means healing my body.

This pregnancy has made me acutely aware of how short and fragile life can be. Losing my father at a young age, especially knowing how his health choices contributed to his stroke, has been heavily on my mind lately. We talk so often about sacrifice in dramatic terms: I would die for my family. I would work myself to the bone for the people I love. I would give everything.

But we rarely celebrate the quieter sacrifices.

Eating healthier.
Moving our bodies.
Doing the inner and spiritual work to become emotionally safe parents.
Creating lives that maximize time together instead of glorifying burnout.

These choices don’t look heroic. Sometimes they even look selfish.

But life is short. And love that requires self-abandonment isn’t the only kind of love that exists.

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I am learning that love can look like stewardship.

It can look like choosing healing so my child inherits wholeness instead of wounds.
It can look like building a life that prioritizes presence over performance.
It can look like saying no to what drains us so we can say yes to what sustains us.

I am passionate about the work my husband and I do from 9 to 5. But the point of my life is the 5 to 9 — the hours spent around the table, on the couch, in conversation, in laughter, in stillness. My goal is not to make more money just to upgrade our lifestyle. My goal is to buy time back so we can spend it with the people who matter most.

That kind of love may be misunderstood. It may not look impressive. It may not be transactional or dramatic enough to be celebrated.

But it is real.

And if becoming the best version of myself requires me to take risks, to disappoint expectations, and to choose healing (even when it looks selfish to others) then that is a chance I am willing to take.

Because getting older is inevitable.

Growing up is a choice.

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She held the mirror behind me,
cracks slicing the light into stories I believed.
She called it protection.
I called it truth.

She said I made her bleed,
but it was the mirror in her hands that cut her.
She blamed the reflection
for what the glass had done.

She held the mirror like a shield,
as if hiding behind the glass made her whole.
But the cracks were always on her side.
And the blood was hers, not mine.

She was porcelain — polished, painted,
hairline cracks hidden beneath powder and praise.
She pressed me down with gentle hands,
calling my dreams unstable,
reminding me who was smarter,
who was better,
who was whole.

But the cracks were never mine.
They were hers.
I stopped asking the mirror who I was.
It stopped answering to her.
The cracks split wider, but it was only glass.
She watched my reflection step out of the frame,
and for the first time, I saw her clearly.

When my dad died, it felt like my life skipped chapters and got dark, fast.

The way the Harry Potter movies do, how each one grows darker as innocence fades, except I didn’t get the gradual shift. I went from pt 1 to pt 7 overnight.

I sensed it before I had words for it. There was heaviness and darkness. And I learned, without anyone ever saying it out loud, that if I stayed calm enough, maybe the grief wouldn’t spread.

So I buried myself.

Not because I wanted to die, but I thought maybe if the complex part of me did. Nobody else would have to.

As a child, I didn’t have the language for it. I just knew that my emotions felt dangerous. That if I could hold it all together, maybe the adults around me wouldn’t fall apart. So then I started to absorb and hyper analyze any situation before I would even speak.

I thought: If I’m good my mom will be stronger.

If I say I’m fine, the school counselor won’t look so worried.

If I seem okay, the pastor won’t have to visit as much.

I became very good at being okay.

Looking back now, I see it clearly: I became the scapegoat.

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In Leviticus, the scapegoat carried what the community could not hold. The guilt, the sin, the unspoken weight, and was sent into the wilderness so everyone else could stay whole.

I’ve read that story many times, but looking at it now. I realize it’s what I did emotionally. I tried to carry everyone else’s pain, and send myself away.

And it always worked.

Which is the most dangerous part, because when survival works, it looks a lot like love.

For a long time, I thought love meant self-erasure.

And then Jesus changed that.

I started to understand something I’d never fully grasped before: He died so that I might live. Not to continuously sacrifice myself like I’m the scapegoat.

I realized I had been trying to imitate Christ without resurrection.

All sacrifice, no life.

All burial, no rising.

That saying, “Let go and let God,” was always confusing. But I see it now. Sometimes it means trusting that if we don’t hold everything together, the world won’t end.

Pregnancy has an interesting way of making me face hard truths. Becoming a mother has forced me to ask: What patterns am I passing on? What am I modeling as love? And the answer is clear, I cannot ask my child to carry what I finally have the chance to lay down.

So I’m digging myself out now.

I’m choosing life, presence, and love that isn’t conditional, and I’m done shrinking.

Jesus already died.

I don’t have to.

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For a long time, I thought I was doing something wrong because my “healing journey” didn’t look anything like the people I followed online.

Everyone else seemed to have a really neat starting and ending point.
How I healed my gut.
How I healed my acne.
How I healed my bloat.

There were protocols, glow-ups, and promises of more energy. And while I definitely did find tips along the way that gave me bits of relief, I eventually realized something hard: when you have a chronic illness, products and routines can only take you so far.

There isn’t a final version of your body that’s “healed.”

What there is, is learning how to live in your body in a way that actually supports you.

And that’s not as simple as following someone else’s routine.

That’s where Body Unbound comes in for me. It’s where I share how I navigate living in my body, not because my way is THE way, but because I believe every woman deserves the space to figure out what works for her.

Part of what I had to unlearn was the narrow way the internet defines wellness and self-care. We talk almost exclusively about the physical: supplements, food, workout/skincare routines. But self-care and wellness are multidimensional.

It’s physical, emotional, mental, social, spiritual, financial, and professional.

When one of those areas is strained, the others feel it. And chronic illness has a way of touching all of them.

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I’m still learning how to grieve how much my life has changed because of it.

I used to feel smart in a way that was easy to access. I started college at fifteen. And thinking came really naturally. And then brain fog entered the picture, and so did overwhelm with why my energy suddenly felt gone. With no diagnosis, it felt like suddenly everything felt 20x harder and I didn’t know why. The thought of going back to school full time (especially with a baby that will be here in 9 weeks) feels impossible in a way I didn’t know how to explain to anyone.

People have never truly understood why I couldn’t just “pick a path and stick to it.”
And years ago, I didn’t even have the language for it yet. I felt like a kid feeling a new emotion for the first time, and all I knew was that thinking felt harder, and that scared me.

So I was grieving an identity that had been built around intellect and achievement, while also trying to accept a body that needed something different from me now.

The same is true with work. A traditional 9–5 is borderline impossible for me. When I try to force it, everything else suffers — my health, my relationships, my nervous system. Every decision, big or small, comes with trade-offs.

And on top of that, managing your health comes with extra financial costs — appointments, therapies, treatments that of course insurance doesn’t cover (which is a story for another day)— but this means you’re constantly asking yourself how to build a life that can support your body without draining it.

I don’t have all the answers. But I do know this:

Chronic illness doesn’t ask you to be healed.
It asks you to learn how to live in your body.

Body Unbound is where I’m doing that and where I hope I can help other women feel less alone as they figure it out for themselves, too.

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I’ve been thinking a lot about when wellness stopped being about feeling good and started becoming… aspirational.

Somewhere along the way, wellness got tangled up with luxury, biohacking, and influencer culture. It went from people sharing things they genuinely loved to feeds that feel like a constant audition for brand deals. Perfect mornings, routines, bodies, and lives..

And listen I absolutely loooove curated content. Some people are naturally visual, and I see that as a gift! Their lives look like art, and that is the art form. If I’m getting ready to go out and want makeup inspo, guess what? I’m absolutely going to a beauty creator or a makeup artist’s page. I follow different creators for different things.

What I’ve noticed though, especially in the wellness space, is how copy‑and‑paste everything has become. Same formats, same products, same “non‑negotiables.” Same implication that if you really cared about your health, this is what your life would look like.

And I think that’s where things start to feel off.

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Because wellness shouldn’t require an insane level of aspiration just to feel okay in your own body. When wellness is framed as something you have to buy into (financially, aesthetically, or socially) people start to feel priced out of it.

There’s a fine line between “this is how I live my life and what’s helped me” and “this is how you and everyone else should live their lives.” A lot of wellness content crosses that line without meaning to.

For me, wellness has never been one thing. It’s physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, financial. And if I’m being real, it’s honestly, relational and environmental too.

Physically, wellness has looked like listening to my body instead of optimizing it. There were times tight workout sets hurt my abdomen during flares, so I worked out in T‑shirts and leggings. There were times I couldn’t afford Pilates classes, so I did YouTube videos or followed pelvic floor PTs on TikTok. Movement wasn’t about looking the part, it’s just about showing up in a way my body could tolerate.

Emotionally and mentally, I’ve learned that I will feel sick if I’m surrounded by people I don’t feel safe being my full self around. If I feel like I have to shrink, perform, or withhold parts of myself because I don’t trust someone’s intentions toward me, my body knows and you probably know from my facial expressions too. Evaluating relationships, setting boundaries, choosing peace all costs $0. But it’s some of the most impactful wellness work I’ve ever done.

Spiritually, wellness has looked like church. I found a community there, and reading the Bible has really helped calm my nervous system down. Some of the most healing practices in my life have been completely free. There are Bible apps and you can have a quiet, still, moment. There’s prayer that doesn’t require the perfect journal or aesthetic morning routine.

Financially, wellness has meant making choices that don’t add stress to my life. Implementing things slowly. Using what fits my budget now instead of shaming myself for not being where someone else is. Financial anxiety lives in the body and pretending it doesn’t is dishonest.

And then there’s the environment you’re in. The energy around you. The expectations people quietly place on you. You can do “everything right” and still feel unwell if your nervous system never feels safe.

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Has anyone else noticed there are more large IG/TikTok creators coming to Substack?

A lot of really big creators, the ones who built their platforms on Instagram and TikTok, are quietly moving over to Substack. And honestly, I think it’s a really good pivot.

It feels like so many people are burned out on Instagram right now. Not just from posting, but from the feeling we get after scrolling. I’ve worked in marketing for years, so I used to see it all as normal.

But lately when I scroll on my feed, it doesn’t even feel like people anymore. It’s mostly just ads, the occasional funny video, and really curated lives of strangers I didn’t ask to see. Even the “friends” tab is just videos my friends liked, not my friends’ posts.

It feels like we’ve all been pushed into performing our lives instead of living them.

And I think people are tired.

What I love about Substack is how different it feels. There’s so much depth, vulnerability, and honesty here. You can actually say what you mean, not just what “looks good.”

And I’ve realized something about myself in this shift.

There were parts of my life I really hesitated to share on Instagram because I knew they wouldn’t “perform well.” Especially my health journey. Talking about endometriosis felt too niche, and honestly, I worried it would make me look less credible as a marketer.

Like my page was supposed to be a case study, not a real human experience.

But then, when I did share, people reached out to me, saying they were able to get diagnosed because I was open about what I experienced! And knowing I helped even a few people not be in pain anymore, or on an endless search for answers. That felt way more rewarding than anytime my content had gone viral.

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I’m constantly reminding myself that I don’t have to abandon what I feel called to share, to grow something meaningful. I can build brands for others and still build a life that feels honest and aligned with who I am.

It reminds me of that verse about the narrow path, how the way that leads to life is found by the few, not the many.

And I think that’s what I want right now.

Not a huge audience. Just the right one :)

I don’t want random attention from strangers; I’m here for the strangers who slowly become friends.

This started for me as a question about culture.

I’ve been reflecting on how we as a society talk, what we admire, what headlines grab our attention, and wondering when we became so obsessed with more.

More money, output, optimization, efficiency, growth.

Headlines like “Elon Musk on track to become the wealthiest man in history” aren’t even shocking anymore. They’re treated like milestones for society and proof of progress to a “bigger tomorrow”.

And I keep wondering:
How did we even get here?
When did that become the thing we celebrated?

Because if you zoom out, this obsession with “more” feels… new.

For most of human history, life revolved around survival, community, and meaning. Progress was slow. Wealth existed, but not at this scale, and DEFINITELY not this disconnected from daily life.

Then technology sped everything up.

Industrialization changed time, and capitalism started to redefine value. Then we started getting algorithms that rewarded capturing attention.

And if you ask me, attention is the highest currency, so suddenly.. All eyes were on “more,” and that more just became the expectation.

From a neurological perspective, this makes sense. Our brains are wired to seek reward, novelty, and improvement. When systems constantly dangle “more” in front of us, our nervous systems adapt. Dopamine recalibrates and satisfaction shortens.

From a spiritual perspective, Scripture warned about this long before we had language for it.

Solomon writes about accumulation, pleasure, and achievement, and comes to the conclusion that none of it actually satisfies. Not because those things are evil, but because they were never meant to be ultimate.

Yet culturally, we’ve made them ultimate.

We now live in a world where rest feels irresponsible, limits feel like failure, bodies are treated like machines, and worth is measured by output.

And then we’re surprised when people are burned out, anxious, disconnected, and constantly trying to fix themselves.

What strikes me is that the Bible never centers this kind of striving.

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There is no character praised for maximizing productivity.
No hero story about becoming the most powerful person alive.
No verse that equates holiness with efficiency.

What is centered are things that aren’t always easy to scale:
faithfulness, obedience, patience, restraint, care.

And I’ve wondered if part of the reason we’ve lost sight of them is that they’re hard to display. It’s much easier to post an accomplishment than a virtue.

Modern optimization culture asks, How much more can I extract from myself?
Christian formation asks, Who am I becoming in relation to God and others?

Those are very different questions.

And I think that’s where some of our collective exhaustion comes from.

We’re living inside systems that reward intensity, speed, and expansion, but our bodies and souls are designed for calmness, limits, and meaning.

So when I think about illness, burnout, anxiety, and the constant feeling of never enough, I don’t just see individual problems.

I see a culture that forgot how to stop.

I don’t really have a neat conclusion here. I’m still thinking about how technology, wealth, power, and attention reshaped what we admire, and how that drifted so far from both biology and faith.

But I do know this:

If we were created to love God, love people, and steward our bodies like temples, then a life built on endless optimization was never the goal.

And maybe the growing discomfort so many of us feel isn’t personal failure.

Maybe it’s a signal that something about the system itself is misaligned.

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This week I really tried to consistently cook at home. I’ve noticed it makes a huge difference in how my body feels. When I’m cookingI use less sodium, less sugar, and fewer ingredients that inflame me. And my body responded almost immediately. I had less swelling, less joint pain, fewer cravings, and noticeably more energy. I’m not “healed,” and definitely still struggling a bit. But it felt MUCH easier to break some of the pain cycles that usually take over my days.

The holidays threw me off; eating out, overeating, and being around a lot of people made me feel inflamed and overstimulated. Other people cook with more salt and sugar, which is normal, but I like controlling the ingredients that go into my food, especially when I’m already sensitive. BTW, for the holidays, I will not restrict myself, because I love every minute of it. But I do know that there’s a recovery period.

Pregnancy has also reminded me that I’m not just caring for myself anymore. Every choice affects the little boy I’m growing. And interestingly, my husband has been less inflamed now that we’re cooking at home more. Another small thing is we’ve been consistent with ending our nights with a triple magnesium we love. It helps us unwind and soothes our muscles before bed.

What I Cooked This Week

Crockpot Pot Roast (No Sear, Quick Dinner!)

This is a meal that you should make if you don’t feel like standing over the stove all day. If you’re feet swell like mine, you can even sit down while you chop veggies, and then just throw it all in the Crockpot.

Ingredients

• 1 pot roast (chuck roast)

• Baby carrots

• Little golden potatoes

• Celery, chopped

• ¼ yellow onion, chopped

• 2–3 cloves garlic

• ½ packet Lipton onion soup mix

• Ranch seasoning

• Adobo seasoning

• Seasoned salt

• Salt & pepper

• Garlic powder

• Banana peppers

• Beef broth

• Butter

• Optional: splash of giardiniera juice at the end

Steps

1. Place roast directly into the crockpot.

2. Add carrots, potatoes, celery, onion, and garlic around it.

3. Season with ranch, adobo, seasoned salt, salt, pepper, garlic powder, and Lipton onion mix.

4. Add a few banana peppers on top + a little butter.

5. Pour in beef broth to cover the bottom (½–1 inch).

6. Cook on low 8 hours or high 4–5 hours.

7. Add a splash of giardiniera juice at the end and mix.

8. Serve over mashed potatoes.

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Lemon Chicken Orzo (One-Pot)

Ingredients:

• 4 chicken thighs

• Olive oil

• Paprika

• Garlic powder

• Onion powder

• Salt & pepper

• Lemon pepper

• ½ yellow onion, chopped

• Garlic

• Sun-dried tomatoes

• Juice of ½ lemon

• 2 cups chicken broth

• 1 cup orzo

• ½ cup heavy whipping cream

• Parmesan cheese (grated or shredded)

• 2 handfuls of spinach

Steps

1. Season chicken thighs with olive oil, paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, salt, pepper, and lemon pepper.

2. Heat olive/avocado oil in a pan.

3. Cook chicken 5–7 minutes on each side.

4. Remove and wrap in foil to keep warm.

5. Toast orzo for 1–2 minutes in the same pan.

6. Add onion and garlic.

7. Add sun-dried tomatoes.

8. Add lemon juice.

9. Pour in chicken broth.

10. Simmer on low ~10 minutes, stirring occasionally.

11. Add heavy whipping cream.

12. Add parmesan.

13. Stir in spinach.

14. Re-add chicken on top.

Meals I’m Planning for Next Week

Nothing complex, just something filling that I can enjoy, but that doesn’t require spending too much time on my feet. I just got an immersion blender, and I can’t wait to use it! I haven’t landed on exactly what soup I’m making with it, but here’s some ideas. I also want to use the ingredients I have so that my groceries don’t go bad.

Next Week’s Dinner Ideas:

• Blended vegetable soup (using my new immersion blender)

• Chicken tortilla soup

• A one-pan baked chicken and veggie dinner

• Something with rice bowls for lunches

• Orzo again

• Warm chocolate-and-fruit for dessert

Kitchen Staples

These are the foods I always keep stocked because they make cooking simple and help me avoid processed snacks:

• Onion

• Garlic

• Berries

• Apples

• Potatoes

• Eggs

• Milk

• Anything I can grab quickly without eating junk or staples for most recipes I make.

Body Unbound

I renamed my publication to body unbound, because I see it as a movement. There are so many parts to becoming unbound, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. For me, that looks like using food as medicine, exploring pelvic floor PT, and choosing routines that support my healing.

And if you are trying to make improvements in your own life, I think this is a good place to begin. There are a ton of “glow-up” videos that really only focus on weight loss and external beauty, but I want to have a conversation about functional wellness. Living with chronic illness/pain has made me value sustainability over aesthetics, and my goal is to share everything I learn along the way!

I hope you find something here that helps you care for yourself, too. Even in small ways!

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But the truth is, every time I see this many people, take long car rides, and eat foods I normally avoid, my body flares. It’s almost predictable at this point, that the joy comes with a consequence.

Pregnancy has definitely amplified everything. My appetite is higher, my emotions are easily stirred up, and my body reacts to things I used to brush off. But I wouldn’t trade it. Even in the discomfort, I’m grateful to have the capacity to celebrate and indulge with people I love. I used to live like that all the time, without understanding why I always felt so inflamed, tired, or overstimulated. Now I understand my body more, and I make space for recovery instead of constant punishment.

That’s the part I’m most proud of, I don’t beat myself up for needing rest. I don’t see indulging on the holidays as failure. I let myself enjoy the moment, and I schedule a day of doing absolutely nothing for the next day or two that follows.

Today, I cocooned.

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Thursday we were with my family, and we spent Friday with my in-laws.

But today and tomorrow will likely be spent… on the couch.
And without guilt. Or pushing.
Just warmth and self-care routines.

There’s a snowstorm today, so I’ve been writing, drinking ginger peach turmeric tea under my heated blanket, and binging All Her Fault on Peacock. I did a little Cyber Monday shopping too. I got a heating pad for my shoulders and back (because pregnancy has me hunched and tight), and a maternity ball so I can do the exercises my pelvic floor PT suggested.

I also had a lot of time to reflect these past few days about what gratitude means to me.

I used to see it as being thankful for the material things that I have, but now I see it as more of a practice. I reflect on where I am in life, and the growth I’ve had over the years.

Not so much a list of material blessings.
But the practice of slowing down enough to say:
I’m proud of the woman I’m becoming. I’m grateful for the body I get to care for. I’m glad I get to live both joy and rest.

And holidays always remind me how human we all are. How our bodies hold so much at once… joy, tension, nostalgia, overwhelm, excitement, exhaustion, sometimes all in the same weekend or even the same day. And how important it is to listen to your body & rest when it’s most needed.

How was your holiday? Are you spending any time recovering?
If you feel like sharing, I’d love to hear.

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Before I got pregnant, my days were more full. I was out, experiencing things, and I had more movement in my life. And all of that naturally gave me things to write about. But pregnancy is just… slower.

It’s not that nothing is happening.
It’s that 90% of what’s happening is happening inside me.

And pregnancy brain is real.
Like, I’ll have a thought and then *poof* gone. Completely slips away.
So, needless to say, writing has become much harder.

And a lot of my goals… realistically… have to be put on pause for a second. Not forever. Just for right now.

A friend said something recently that really sat with me. She said pregnancy takes a village, not just because raising kids is a lot of work, but because so many women feel isolated during pregnancy.

That really stuck with me because I’m not necessarily lonely, in the sense that I don’t see anyone ever, but it’s an isolating experience.

This is such an internal, emotional experience. There’s a whole world happening inside me that no one else can feel.

But I’m also so grateful for the people who do check in. Especially moms who already have kids, right now, they are probably where I get my greatest sense of community.

And speaking of good parts, recently I felt quickening and my first little kick.
The quickening felt like bubbles and taps, but that kick?
I’m not going to lie… it startled me.

I was sitting in my car waiting to go inside for my hair appointment, scrolling on TikTok. And then I felt a thud inside of me.

It’s like my body panicked because it was a new feeling, and then I calmed down once I realized. Oh yeah! There’s actually a little human moving around in there. It’s wild because it’s not like I forget I’m pregnant… but feeling a whole person move inside you is a different level of real.

These past few weeks have been fun because I’m also putting the baby registry together, planning my shower, and doing all the fun stuff.
But at the same time, that kick was like — oh right… I actually have to push this baby out.

So I’m starting pelvic floor PT.
Because I want to be as prepared as I can be, and this is something I’ve been putting off for a while.
I want this to be a gentle experience for me and for him.

So now I’ve accepted that it’s okay that my writing is a little different right now…
not deep analysis, just me being honest about where I am and what this feels like.

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Growing up, I always wondered if something was wrong with me because I never heard God the way people in church talked about Him — as if He were speaking to them the same way a friend sitting right next to them would. They’d say, “God told me…” as casually as if they were repeating something someone whispered in their ear.

And I remember thinking…
Why doesn’t God talk to me like that?
Why don’t I hear Him that clearly?
Is it me? Am I missing something?

I didn’t have that kind of experience growing up. I didn’t hear a voice. I didn’t feel a big moment. So I assumed maybe God just wasn’t speaking to me… or worse, maybe I wasn’t spiritual enough to hear Him.

But somewhere in adulthood, I stopped obsessing over what I didn’t experience and started being grateful for what I did feel. Not because God started talking differently, but because I started recognizing Him differently.

And that’s when it hit me: Maybe God had been speaking all along… just not in the way I expected.

God speaks to me through people

It’s the friend or relative who says something so specific to what I’ve been praying about, even though I never told them what I was struggling with.

It’s the random conversation that feels “too on time” to be random.

It’s someone reminding me of something I already knew, but needed to hear out loud.

Almost like God borrows voices.

God speaks to me through discernment

I used to call it intuition, or a gut feeling.
Now I call it the Holy Spirit.

The inner “no” when something looks good on paper.
The nudge to slow down when I feel rushed.
The peace that settles on a decision no one else understands.
The quiet knowing: “Don’t let this person get too close.”

Some people hear God in full sentences.
I think I hear Him in nudges, redirections, and alignment.

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A story from last night

Yesterday my husband and I had a simple Google Meet check-in with a client. Nothing deep, just a normal business call I expected it to take 30 minutes max.

But somewhere in the middle, the conversation turned.

Work talk shifted into life talk… then heart talk… then spiritual talk. And suddenly this man was giving us wisdom. About finances, leadership, running a business, and trusting God’s provision, and it was exactly what we’d both been thinking and praying about privately.

It didn’t even feel like advice. It felt like God using someone’s voice to answer things we hadn’t said out loud.

Then, right there over a video call, he asked if he could pray over us.

So the three of us closed our eyes, sitting behind screens, letting someone pray life over our marriage, our baby, our business, and our future. And when the call ended, my husband and I just sat there for a moment silently, in tears, just… thinking and in awe:

“That was God.”

And the crazy part?
Just a few hours before, I was in the store praying silently in my head. I like to pray throughout the day just randomly, because when I feel anxious thoughts creep in, I like to pray about it.

And then… later that night… those prayers were answered.
Not in a church.
Not in a dramatic moment.
But on a Google Meet call we didn’t even expect to be spiritual.

Maybe we’ve been hearing Him, just not naming it

Maybe God’s voice isn’t always loud.
Maybe it’s woven into timing.
Into “this was too exact to be a coincidence.”

The voice you’re waiting to hear might already be speaking.

Proverbs 15: 22 (NIV): “Plans fail for lack of counsel, but with many advisers they succeed.”

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It’s been a while since I’ve posted on here or written in general.
And sadly, it’s not because I was wrapped up in the joys of pregnancy, it’s because I’ve been struggling.
And tbh, I still am.

I’m writing this from my bed.
Not in a cute, “soft life, slow mornings” kind of way… but in the my body gave up on me before I even got out of bed today kind of way.

I’m pregnant, and I am extremely grateful, but this pregnancy has been nothing like the glowing, energized, “second trimester bliss” version people talk about. I do feel less nauseous than my first trimester, so that is a win! But the second trimester is coming with a lot of body pain…

And nobody really talks about what pregnancy is like when your body was already in pain before you ever got pregnant. When you already had trigger points, inflammation, swelling, fatigue, and tight fascia, and then you add an entire human on top of that. You’re quite literally carrying extra weight.

People talk about “getting your steps in” and “staying active” and “making sure you’re eating enough protein”, which is GREAT advice, and meanwhile I’m just trying to have enough energy to stand long enough to make food… let alone eat it.

My feet swell whether I move or stay still.
My back hurts whether I’m lying down or sitting up.
I can do one thing a day… one errand, one hangout, one “normal person” task, and my body needs two days to recover.
Sometimes I’m out of breath just from flipping over in bed.

And the part that hits me the hardest is that a lot of the things that used to help me before pregnancy. I can’t do right now.

No sauna.
No deep fascia tools.
Half my supplements are paused.
My massage therapist can’t go as deep because I’m pregnant.
Even the supplements I used to rely on had to be adjusted.

It feels like I’m fighting a tougher battle with fewer weapons.

And I think what makes it even harder is how invisible this version of pregnancy is.

The internet is full of the “cute” parts, the bumpdates, the glow, the productive nesting energy, the long walks, the meal-prepped smoothies, and as it should be. It’s fun, it’s exciting, and a good thing to document. When I feel okay enough, I document the good stuff as well.

But 98% of the time, I’m over here feeling like my body is using every bit of energy just to exist, and I’m still somehow supposed to keep up.

The wellness industry right now feels like it’s made for people with pain-free bodies.
People who can go on walks and feel better after, not worse.
People who can push through soreness without having to fight through inflammation.
People who can “be consistent”, and not lose half their healing tools because pregnancy restricts them.

And wellness is often mixed in with the beauty industry more than anything. I am not anti- people enjoying luxury, or doing what makes their bodies feel good. But I want to create a space for the people who do it because they need it to function, not just as an added bonus.

It’s like the whole industry is built around optimization, glow-ups, and discipline, but what about the women whose bodies are just trying to stay functional?

What about the bodies that were already tired?
Already inflamed?
Already hurting before the baby even got here?

What about the version of pregnancy where “wellness” isn’t a lifestyle… it’s survival?

I don’t want to fix my body.
I want to live in it without fighting it every day.

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And I guess I’m just tired of wellness being treated like a reward for the already healthy, when some of us need it just to make it through the day.

I don’t have a neat ending for this.
I’m not on the other side of it yet.
I’m still swollen, still tired, still figuring out how to mother a body that’s already in survival mode while growing an entirely new one inside it.

But I just want to say this out loud in case someone else needs it:

If your pregnancy doesn’t look like the “glowing” version people post online, you’re not failing.

If your body feels like it’s doing the most just to stay upright, you’re not weak.

If you’re grieving the energy, the mobility, the tools you used to have, you’re not dramatic.

If you’re scared that you’re already behind as a mom because your body is struggling, you’re not alone.

There are so many of us walking (or lying down) through versions of pregnancy that don’t get spoken about.
And I want this to be one of the places where we don’t have to pretend.

So if you’re reading this and something in your body says “that’s me,” feel free to share here, in the comments, or even just in your own heart. Whether you’re pregnant, trying to be, or just living in a body that asks more of you than people realize.

I don’t have the answers.
But I do have room for the truth.
And I think that counts for something.

I hope we can support and learn from each other!

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The house didn’t break in a storm.
It crumbled beneath the slow, steady pull of the sea.
We went through storms,
and the waves never made us crumble.
But we built on sand
and called it forever.
The shoreline didn’t crack.
It shifted.
And my mistake
was thinking the house was stronger than the sea.

In the beginning,
the water only kissed our ankles.
We called it safe.
We called it home.
Laughter bounced between us,
weightless on the tide,
always returning,
always soft.

There were days when the tide was low,
the waves held their breath — still, waiting.
And others when they rushed in —
salt on our tongues, sharp and stinging,
like water that finds a cut you didn’t know was there.

The sun pressed its warmth
against our backs,
a kiss that burned
long after it faded.

I mistook the ebb for permanence.
Mistook the flow for forever.
I didn’t see the shoreline inching back,
a handful of sand
leaving with each retreating wave.

But what floats in the beginning
can drown in the end.
The same tide that once held me
began to pull me under.

We drifted so quietly,
I mistook the echoes of our laughter
for closeness.
And by the time the water reached the door,
the house — our house —
had nothing left to stand on.

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Author’s Note:
This piece was inspired by a few things that lingered with me:
A video of houses crumbling as the tide slowly claimed the sand beneath them.
The line “There is a tide in the affairs of men…” from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar.
The quiet way friendships and relationships can shift, not with a storm, but with a steady pull.

There are a million shows you could tune into, and if you don’t like one, you can change the channel in seconds. That means you have about three seconds to convince someone to stay. Exactly three seconds to be more entertaining, more informative, or more eye-catching than the next person in line, or the one who came before you.

It’s no wonder that so much of social media feels performative.

I used to believe I could be a lifestyle creator. But when I was honest with myself, I realized something: most people don’t follow lifestyle influencers because they want to know them. They follow because they’re entertaining. Their editing is unique. Their recipes are brilliant. Their aesthetics are dreamy. Or their personality shines like a spotlight.

And that’s not shade, I follow plenty of lifestyle creators myself. But I know why I follow them: they’re entertaining. It’s no different than music. Lots of people can sing, but some people are pop stars. The internet works the same way.

The Pit of Performance

Somewhere along the way, social media shifted. It became less about connection and more about competition. You’re not just competing with people in your niche; you’re competing for attention against everyone.

Marketing someone’s business in that environment is exhausting. Suddenly, it wasn’t just about telling a story or building a brand. It was about out-editing, out-spending, out-trending everyone else on the timeline. More manpower. Bigger budgets. Constant consumption to stay up to date. And even then, you were still fighting for scraps of attention in an algorithm designed to move on.

Pair that with clients who wanted results without budgets, corporate environments where burnout was brushed off as “part of the job,” and leadership that valued deadlines more than people, and eventually, I had to be honest with myself:

I don’t think I want to chase that anymore.

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What Feels Natural

That doesn’t mean I’ll never post again. I still love creating. I’ll share when it feels good and authentic to who I am. Whether it’s documenting something fun, or meaningful, or when it supports the new business I’m building. But it will be because I believe in it and I know it can help people.

But I don’t want to perform my life. I don’t want to stage it to look more interesting than it is just to convince people to care.

Marketing a business has a purpose. Performing my life for validation doesn’t.

And that’s why blogging, and Substack in particular, feels like home to me. People don’t just come here purely for entertainment; it feels like they come for connection. They come for ideas, for perspective, for a voice they can return to again and again. They come for the author as much as the content.

I think YouTube felt similar, any long-form content where you have to invest more than a few seconds typically forms a stronger connection.

A New Chapter

This time off from work gave me the space to ask myself what I really wanted to do. And the answer surprised me. I realized I wanted to step away from marketing other people’s businesses and start building something of my own, and I wanted it to be about care, wellness, and healing.

I haven’t shared this publicly until now, but I’ve chosen a new career path. I’m training in Fascial Stretch Therapy and building a practice that will focus on helping women with pelvic floor discomfort, PTSD, and prenatal and postpartum care. It’s a path that feels aligned with who I am, and the kind of legacy I want to build.

God has a way of making us uncomfortable when He wants us to move. And while I didn’t expect my next chapter to look like this, I couldn’t be happier stepping away from performance and into my purpose.

Closing Thought

I don’t want to run a show anymore. I want to build something that feels real to me. Something that helps others.

And that feels like a better story to tell.

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If more people got therapy, fewer people would need therapy.
It sounds like an oxymoron, but what I mean is this: if more of us faced our wounds early and learned how to process them, fewer of us would end up hurting others and passing along new wounds that require even more healing.

Pain that isn’t addressed doesn’t disappear; it just changes shape.
It can become criticism that chips away at a partner, defensiveness that closes the door on intimacy, a transactional view of relationships, or an isolating independence that keeps love at arm’s length.
And these patterns don’t stay contained; they ripple into homes, marriages, friendships, and even workplaces.

How Unhealed Trauma Shows Up

Trauma isn’t always a dramatic, one-time event.
Sometimes it’s the slow erosion of a toxic relationship, the constant stress of feeling unheard, or the aftermath of something that steals your sense of safety.
When we stay in unhealthy situations or refuse to do the work of healing, our brains and bodies adapt for survival, but those adaptations can harm the people we love.

Research backs this up.
Studies show that childhood maltreatment and chronic emotional abuse are strongly linked to adult relationship difficulties like higher rates of anxiety and depression, more negative communication, and lower satisfaction.
Long-term exposure to conflict or neglect can rewire stress responses, making someone more likely to react with anger or withdrawal instead of empathy.
Even people who never become “abusers” can still create emotional distance or instability without realizing it.

I’ve seen in my own life how shutting down emotions to survive a painful season can make it hard to see other people’s needs clearly.
It might not look like overt harm, but numbness itself can wound, because it withholds the warmth and connection relationships need to thrive.

Healing doesn’t mean we’re forgetting what happened. It means refusing to let pain write the next chapter.

Therapy, counseling, spiritual guidance, and honest community are not quick fixes, but they interrupt cycles that would otherwise continue to repeat.
When we choose to process our own hurt, we stop it from spilling into our homes, our marriages, and our children’s lives.
Getting help early isn’t a weakness; it’s just love in action.
Because every time one person decides to heal, they make the world a little safer and softer for everyone around them.

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There are moments when I want to vent or debate with people who see things differently. Yet what I never want is to speak just to prove I’m right. It’s easy to chase the feeling of being right instead of doing the right thing. And for me, the “right thing” keeps coming back to identity.

I identify as Christian, Black, and a woman. I’d add wife, dog mom, mom-to-be, and pastor’s daughter in my twenties. These are all words I’ve used to describe myself. But as soon as you share how you identify, people attach expectations. Beliefs about what those identities should mean. It isn’t necessarily bad; it’s just human nature.

Some things have shifted. A simple question like “What do you do for work?” used to be easy. Before I left my corporate role, I would have said, “I work in marketing.” Now I create content and write, but I don’t feel like I “work in marketing” anymore. I’m not a traditional stay-at-home wife either. I live my life in some conservative ways, yet politically I still identify as liberal.

I’ve modeled and acted, played the violin, and at different points earned real income from each. Yet because I don’t do those things every day, I hesitate to claim model or musician, as if someone else gets to decide when those identities expire.

All of it leaves me asking: Who actually determines how we identify? Is it the work we do, how often we do it, or the deeper truth of who God created us to be?

The Season I’m In

Another layer to this question is my current season of life.
Right now, the work God has placed in front of me looks different: fixing my health and growing this baby.

Before pregnancy, I loved long walks, Pilates, yoga, saunas, and the small self-care routines that kept me feeling balanced. Right now I can’t do a lot of those things because of the pregnancy. So some days the best thing I can do for my mental health is simply rest and listen.

I still want to use the gifts God has given me, and I believe one of those gifts is my voice. Just because I’m not making money from it doesn’t mean I’m not using it. Success isn’t always a paycheck; it’s obedience to what God asks of me in each season.

Just because right now my days look like writing from bed, reflecting on Scripture, if I’m sharing words that might help even one person, it isn’t “less than.” Maybe it’s holy work of its own.

What Lasts

The more I sit with these questions, the more I come back to this: in the end, what will matter is that I was a child of God.
Not my job title.
Not how many kids I had.
Not whether I debated enough about what I believed.

Labels can give comfort because they make life feel neat and knowable, but they can also trap us. I think that’s why I sometimes look inconsistent, but I’m just letting go of what doesn’t last.

My calling right now is simpler and harder: to keep becoming a better person, to stay close to Him, to love well.

Maybe the truest measure of this season isn’t what I produce, but how faithfully I listen.