A Hug Without Hands

There are days that scrape you raw. Days that leave you searching for the things that feel like a hug, even when no arms are around. A rawness that makes you ache for softness, a soft place to land. That was my Monday this week.

The days come and go. While I remain grateful and know that joy and grief can co-exist, some days still creep up like moss in a swamp. It doesn’t mean the gut-wrenching feelings caused by the rawness disappear, or that I immediately get over disappointments. No. Each day is a new day, a chance to begin again. I’m proud of myself for honoring my feelings, for holding onto the joy I have today, and for smiling simply because I can.

Sitting with discomfort has become something I’ve grown into. Years ago, I learned that being able to sit with discomfort, to allow time to pass, and to be honest with how you feel is healing in itself. Yes, I speak up when things bother me, and yes, I can be silent with my thoughts and spiral inward. But most importantly, I feel. I apologize when I’m wrong. I cry. I’m sensitive. I’m self-aware.

“Hey, it be like that sometimes” LOL, it’s real. But living abroad while going through the motions has taken a toll on me this past year. I’m still developing community and finding spaces that allow me to unfold organically. I make intentional decisions, yet I still reserve much of my vulnerability for therapy. I’m just being honest.

There is comfort in romanticizing your life. I imagine small, tender moments that make me smile and quiet my racing heartbeat: a four-cheese tortellini in a dimly lit Italian restaurant, Sunday morning writing sessions as sunlight spills across the page, burnt Sienna sunsets that linger on the horizon, the gentle sway of my favorite playlist, Jazz for Lovers, long sighs without explanation, a fresh bouquet of hand-picked flowers, a bottomless brunch on a sunny afternoon, intimate touches and lingering glances, the soft ritual of self-forgiveness, the slow draw of Sade on repeat, steamy “me time,” intentional rest, moments of deep self-reflection, the comfort of Palmer’s Cocoa Butter warming my skin after a shower, walking barefoot across the earth, the small thrill of pure dark chocolate, salty sauna sessions, and the familiar greeting at my favorite restaurant: “Hello, beautiful.”

This past Monday, I recognized just how tough the day was unfolding. A nap didn’t cure the anger I was feeling or the sadness I allowed myself to weep, but by nightfall, I made it work in the best way I felt soothed enough to do. I often whisper to myself: Do something that will make you feel alive, or get lost in the moment—any moment. I remind myself often: You’ve done hard things. You can overcome hard things.

August, My Love

I want August to feel like a love I’ve missed

something once familiar but long neglected.

Like creativity without deadlines.

Like rest without guilt.

I want to meet myself again, slowly, and without apology.

She will be gentle, like warm oil after a long, steamy shower filled with eucalyptus.

Her radiance will spill into the soft places, restoring what’s been cracked and forgotten.

August won’t be rushed or grasping.

She will simply be, smoothing everything she touches.

She will dance in humid rain, sweat out the “what-ifs,” and cry tears of joy after triumph.

Reckoning.

A return.

Still worthy of softness, still capable of glow.

Her love will feel like innocent blue butterflies fluttering toward new beginnings,

their wings brushing my forehead

leaving more than a kiss.

She will feel like the sharp creases in a love letter.

She will carry my obsessions: true crime, romance novels, and the countless edits of my own work.

Yet she will feel free. Awakened.

The caress she’s been craving will be answered with intentional care, quiet romance, and the courage to feel beyond the surface.

August will be mine to embrace

to take back,

to hold close,

to win back the gold.

She’s mine.

The Scent of Sienna and Ink

She almost didn’t feel it, the slim weight of a folded letter, tucked deep inside the lining of her fall sienna secondhand coat.

A year later, it still knew what to say.

Shanghai,

You hold this story of a new beginning.

Something in me stirs, as if I have arrived not just in a new city, but in an unfamiliar version of myself, softer, quieter, still becoming.

Time flows gently here, like the water beneath the bridges. Water towns full of love and whispers, where every stone path feels like a soft-spoken love story. I have found a love within myself, a new layer of my beautiful structure, and a confidence that lingers like perfume on ankles and creased inner elbows.

Before meeting you, I had a heart full of questions and two suitcases packed with hope. My inner child felt joy, excitement, and nervousness. She giggled, letting the blue butterflies dance, fluttering at the thought of a magical escape.

A quiet part of me unraveled when I realized my life would now live between water, storage units, and memories I’d have to let go of.

Finding peace with this still hasn’t quite returned to me, but I’ve learned to gather particles of the things I cannot change.

I had no idea what waited on the other side of the ocean, after a soul-numbing 15-hour flight. All I had were childhood musicals blasting through my headphones like a lifeline, a flight attendant who clearly sensed I was one emotional sneeze away from unraveling, and just enough vodka to remind fear it wasn’t flying solo.

With overwhelmed tear ducts, we landed.

And I tagged the airline in a tweet to express my sincerest gratitude.

The presence in the air was different.

My first month, I cried tears of fear and change. Grief seeped from my pores. I was clogged with emotions I had been afraid to express.

Shanghai, you made me split at the seams.

I felt like I was trying to put biscuits back inside a can that had already burst.

I didn’t realize this would be my new beginning.

Now, I stand at the edge of your skyline, with a wide-open heart.

I seek possibility. I explore my curiosity.

You hum beneath my feet, alive, electric, and still unknowable in places.

You’ve allowed my heart to unfold, not just in acceptance, but in taking a leap of faith. Alone.

Shanghai, you are not just a city on a map to me.

You are a story I’ve yet to live, pages I’m ready to turn, chapters I’m ready to complete.

In the noise of the city, I’ve found a new silence.

A city that drifts in on steam and song, dumplings at dusk, rooftops glowing, and music echoing through the streets.

My relationships have been tested.

But my spirit , my stubborn, tender tenacity — says: don’t quit.

I’m committed to fulfilling this dream, this goal of not only living abroad, but of making the little girl inside of me proud.

We are going to travel the world, write, and embrace experiences that captivate joy.

This is not only a letter.

It is a story of a new beginning.

You do not ask me who I was before.

You ask me who I am becoming.

And I am listening.

With love,

Heather

The Love I Never Had To Question

There is something that tells me this is not just about Ava Jade, the relocation, the silent tours met with tears at midnight or my recognizable distance. Visibly frustrated, I move my prints and reposition myself away from the windowsill and turn toward Ashton. Before I can open my mouth to respond, my phone rings.

This is the closing of a chapter that I’m spending time with. The writing, editing and imagining where these two characters go from here is something that keeps my mind active, my imagination soaring and my deepest desires longing. Somewhere along the way these two lost one another and the magnetic force pulling them apart is stronger than I anticipated.

Writing is where I meet myself most honestly. It’s where fantasies bloom, truths unravel, and my bare heart feels safe enough to be seen.

Writing is where I feel held, emotionally and spiritually.

The pages feel like a home I’m meeting for the first time.

It’s quiet, familiar, and already holding a part of me. The journey up a brass staircase, leading to an attic of old memories, cream-colored lace dresses and a dim streak of light. The pages hold the secrets, truths, and confessions of a bold woman letting go of people-pleasing and playing it safe.

Jewel-toned stained glass and leaded windows remind me of the little girl that often overstayed her welcome for safety. The little girl that never knew how to say no, or wasn’t given the opportunity to. Eventually, she often fled to live a life of ease. The ink, the pages, and the rhythm of my hand share an unconditional love, an unbreakable bond; one that my characters will embrace and bring to life.

The soft sounds of a cackling fireplace invite me and my haunted past to throw away what I don’t want to keep. Flames flicker and remind me that the past is the past, let it go, leave it here, and allow words and the writing to find its depth. Humid evenings by the fireplace feels like a gentle unraveling of the soul.

Safety flows off my tongue when I quietly speak about the feelings that overwhelm me. Writing is where I can release those feelings, whether it be short prose love letters, chapters of my novel, or blog entries of my deepest thoughts.

I don’t question my loyalty to writing.

Writing loves me back.

Silk Dresses, Red Wine, and the Truth That Undressed Me

I met her at a restaurant that didn’t need a name, the kind of place you find when you’ve outgrown noise and crave nuance. The lighting was dim, deep golden, and forgiving. Sage-colored velvet booths hugged the corners, and the air smelled like warm truffle and old secrets. I wore a red silk slip dress that caught the candlelight just right, and a red lip stain sharp enough to slice through memory.

Across the table, she looked up, younger, softer, still carrying dreams she hadn’t yet bled for.

Earlier that afternoon, I made dinner reservations for us at 8. It’s 8:11. She’s late.

My early arrival was intentional, a sexy entrance and a reconnection with myself at the bar. A moment to ease my anxiety, revisit a part of me I had misplaced, and catch a flicker of dopamine from the lustful eye contact exchanged with the bartender. Let’s be honest: it’s the only kind of seductive action I’ve seen in months.

She’s here.

Her firm, perky breasts filled out the black lace, off-the-shoulder top, accented by a pearl necklace. Her shoulders were toned, her posture proud. I could tell she’d been staying disciplined, experimenting with diets like challenges she was determined to master. If I could bottle that freedom, focus, and fire again, I would.

My relationship with food, with my body, and with the expectations I set for myself has evolved. I love my body. But I’m still in a chokehold over something sweet.

We sat.

Our server, Alivia, took our drink order. She met my eyes with a subtle hint of truth and walked away with a smile full of hope. In that moment, I knew what I needed to do: serve honesty. Exhale. Meet my younger self with the grace she deserved, with the courage to try and the permission to not know everything yet.

She smiled, nervous. I smiled, knowing. And just like that, dinner between two grieving yet optimistic women began.

Her energy lit up the table. The salted-rim margarita she ordered screamed of a night out waiting to happen. I ordered a glass of Merlot. Was it a good decision? Probably not. The wine would undress my thoughts, pull me into old memories of lust and late nights, back when I was her age, with a premium roster.

I’m tired.

The kind of tired that doesn’t beg for rest, just space.

The kind that makes a woman wonder who she used to be… and who she left behind.

I looked at her and wondered who she decided to be tonight. Her alter ego always shows up for moments like these. Is it Ava? Or Praline? New Orleans left a mark on her, deep, velvet-soft, and unshakable.

She’s been on my mind lately.

I’m glad she called. Honestly, I’ve been wondering, if I hadn’t taken the steps to evolve, where would I be now?

Still slowly killing myself, staying in places no longer meant for me? Still craving attention from someone who only ever satisfied me sexually?

Some days, my wondering worries me. But then I remember, this path wasn’t just about growth. It was about pain, too. The kind that clears space for joy, love, and peace.

She flipped through the menu and asked, “Should we get the calamari or the oysters?”

I swirled my wine without looking up. “Both.”

Romanticizing our life, celebrating ourselves, and being the main attraction, that’s non-negotiable now. We live it. Affirm it. We’ve adopted the mindset: fuck anyone’s opinion of this lifestyle.

She understood. I told her it took time to get here. This intimacy, loving ourselves out loud, was earned.

She complimented me. Said I looked radiant, confident, happier.

I thanked her. Told her her words meant more than she knew. Seven years goes by fast. But seven years opens your eyes.

She confessed that she doesn’t know where to begin again. That after the collapse of a forever dream, her confidence, worth, and ego were stripped. Her voice trembled. She was hearing herself say it out loud for the first time.

She said her identity was built on performing, for others, for approval. She gave until her hands ached. Burnout was her home.

I told her life gets better the moment she gets real about what she wants. That she’s the one holding the wheel. But yes, some lessons will break her. That’s how she’ll start to see the full picture. Life is fleeting.

We laughed about casual dating.

Then I sobered. I told her not to let solitude become a waiting room for heartbreak. People will move on. Again and again. And she’ll be left holding time she can’t get back.

I encouraged her to be safe. To have fun. To protect her peace, and never bet everything on one person.

Then, almost shyly, she brought up her decision not to have children.

She’s known for years that motherhood wasn’t part of her vision. It’s been a dealbreaker in relationships. She’s doing the work in therapy. She’s making peace with it.

Beyoncé’s “Heaven” played in my mind as I watched her fight back tears, tears of confusion, hope, second-guessing all mixing behind her eyes.

She asked about my thirties. Asked if I ever got back with what’s-his-name.

I told her I never imagined this stretch without sex, but I’m learning to love this space, solitude, growth, freedom, all wrapped in the intimacy of being with myself, in a new country.

She tilted her head, listening as I explained:

Yes, I think about romantic connection.

But this era?

This era has cracked me wide open, spiritually and mentally.

I reminded her that choosing not to marry or have children by a certain age doesn’t make her behind. Her confidence will grow. Her clarity will deepen. She’s not envious of anyone else’s timeline, and that’s her power.

While we waited for the check, I said gently:

You’re responsible for unlearning the patterns that keep you stuck.

At some point, you have to decide to stop repeating the cycle, the one that leaves you with an overwhelmed nervous system, swollen hands, and overactive tear ducts.

She nodded slowly, taking it in. I told her that stepping out on faith, releasing the fear of judgment, and leaning into discomfort, that’s where the journey begins.

Throughout the evening, I spoke kindly to her. I listened. I offered love. I held space for her, to simply be.

After dinner, there was only a red smear on my fifth glass of wine. She was quiet. Not defeated, just changed.

She saw it now:

Becoming this woman would cost her more than she imagined…

But give her more than she ever knew to want.

I stood to leave, silk brushing against my legs like careless whispers. I reached for her hand, lightly. She held it, then invited me in for a hug. I could feel her still hesitating around emotional vulnerability.

She sat back down to confirm her ride. Watched me go. Eyes wide. Heart cracked open. Finally ready.

I didn’t look back.

Some versions of you aren’t meant to come with you.

They’re meant to bless you, teach you,

then be left behind.

The Quiet Power of Permission

Sometimes, the journey back to ourselves isn’t loud or dramatic. It’s soft. Quiet. It happens in the space where we finally allow ourselves to just be.

When the noise in my head gets too loud, I quiet it with words.

Writing is how I find my way back.

I give myself permission to begin again, without limits.

I live for soft nights, calm tones, and unwavering self-love.

I choose to honor and love the parts of myself that perfectionism once silenced.

There is value in the developing journey, the continued path of elevation.

It’s not about rushing to the finish line. It’s about saying:

I deserve.

I’ve opened the door to permission.

It’s not grand or perfect inside.

It’s soft. Honest.

Maybe a little dusty with neglect, but unmistakably mine.

It’s within this space that I find all the forgotten parts of myself.

I’m welcoming my gentleness,

my grief,

my WILD joy,

my tired spirit asking for rest,

my creativity waiting patiently to be heard.

Giving myself permission is an inner green light, a green flag.

It’s a quiet but firm yes.

It’s not about becoming someone new.

It’s about allowing yourself to come home, to all of you.

Consider this your own green light. You’re allowed to soften. You’re allowed to begin again.

my love letter to Sanya

I watered my roots, wrote to my inner child, allowing myself to feel again. You provided me with the space, peace and clarity needed to see clearly.

The shore re-visiting second after second with a roar powerful to awaken the inner depths of my soul.

Thank you.

While gratitude is heavily present, I still find myself caught in uncontrollable tides.

Change is hard but necessary.

Loss isn’t always in the form of losing another person, but sometimes within yourself. Who is this person I’ve become? Who is this person reintroducing herself to a new way of being?

Your reminder of exploration, courage and ultimately abundant gratitude, thank you.

My fire hasn’t gone out but ash seems to pile up and bury a light that withstands storms meant to destroy my wick.

Dancing to a beat that never rested and embracing a fierceness meant for me, the feeling of escape reminded me of what’s meant for me.

I discover parts of myself hidden in spaces where I’ve grasped onto comfortability. As I continue to transition and expand toward achievable horizons, I am embracing change and accepting uncertainty.

Thank you, Sanya.

Inner Child JOY

She’s proud of you.

Your inner child is someone who admires the woman that you’ve become. She’s filled with joy, and she feels safe with you.

She’s experiencing life with the tools and inner work you’ve done, and are continuing to do to make this possible.

The aisle she’s walking down is filled with tenacity, anticipation, and experiences far more than you could’ve ever dreamed.

Pieces of the crown are fit for a Queen on her throne of resilience, courage and abundance.

The layers of protection are thick, aware and forgives the past mistakes made out of trauma responses, knowledge at the time and the means of survival.

Your faith and strength stands taller than beanstalks that aren’t cut down by raised voices and shifted blame.

The joy in her laughter is authentic because the comfort felt at home and the peace that is unfolding in her moments of solitude are finally making sense. .

Your inner child isn’t just tasting cotton candy, she’s feeling it. The sugar rush isn’t slowing down.

She’s happy.

I Met My Younger Self for Coffee

I met my younger self for coffee.

I was ten minutes early; she was right on time.

I ordered a Flat White; she ordered a London Fog with extra vanilla. 

I tilted my head, closed my eyes, and exhaled. She looked at me in complete awe and smiled. 

We both have a matching red lip stain. Some things never change. 

“What’s been on your mind lately?” She asked.

I paused. Wondering if I should let it all out. I smiled and said, “Not much, just taking things day by day.” 

She said she’s thinking about giving up on therapy after one session. I assured her that after eight years of consistency, it’s worth it and necessary.

She gazed out the window and said, “But if I quit now, I’d be starting all over again.”

I assured her that quitting and starting over with intentionality for her true passion is the best decision she could ever make. 

She said that she really wants to travel, write and explore the world.

I told her that I moved abroad, life is getting better and I’m in love with my first full novel.  

She doesn’t know this, but I think about her often. It’s her perseverance, courage, and mistakes along the way that has shaped me into the woman I am today.

Before leaving, she gave me a tight hug and whispered, “I’m so proud of you.”

Rest: Hell, My Body Needs This

Rest.

There is a powerful message in the concept of filling your own cup. Yes, filling your cup, allowing your cup to overflow and learning daily, that you cannot pour from an empty cup.

But what do you do when your cup is dry? Not empty, but dry?

Rest.

In my first published book, I wrote a small note to myself about my cup being chipped, empty and dry at times. That was my first self-reminder about its importance.

“What comes out of the cup is for ya”ll. What’s in the cup is mine. But I’ve got to keep my cup full. ”

— Iyanla Vanzant

This past week, I experienced JOY, happiness, fatigue, grief, and all the emotions that make us human. Right? I pay close attention to the days I feel fatigued and exhausted. Lack of rest and clarity can disrupt quite a bit in our daily lives, I am a huge advocate for naps! Or in other words, resting my eyes. Our bodies can feel, detect and warn us when it is time to slow down, take a pause and FULL on stop.

This memo was loud and clear for me this past week. I fully cancelled Thursday.

Thursday morning, I was halfway through an assignment and multiple e-mails. Needless to say, I had so many tabs open in my mind; a growing to-do list, imposter syndrome wouldn’t let me rest, and I was constantly going on a few hours of sleep. I had class within the hour, so my anxiety crept upon me and wouldn’t allow me to type let alone finish my assignment. I began to panic.

Oh! To add insult to injury, the weather was a mixture of rain, snow, bitter cold, and I checked my ovulation calendar …let’s just say, I cried a salty river. I came to the abrupt conclusion, I needed to rest.

I’ve grown from feeling guilty when I take a day off, skip an assignment, call out from anything, and simply put ME first. I’ve grown past that. I recognize that everyone’s situation and circumstances may be different, but it took some severe ill moments for me, personally, to learn this.

Right before my move to Philly, I was committed to the hospital. I was in the hospital as a result of stress and exhaustion. I was still committed to finishing up my transition reports at work , packing my apartment, financial budgeting, trying to maintain my sanity and all the things in between. I had some amazing moments with friends before I left Atlanta, but stress and exhaustion had me weak and in a hospital bed. This wasn’t the first time, but I vowed it would be the last, if I had any control over it. I knew my breaking points, but I ignored them.

Last Thursday, it felt good to be on do not disturb in all aspects; with work, school, personal relationships and all. I even muted the dating apps! I stripped down, allowed my tears to flow and slept all day. I realized I had emotions I needed to feel, productivity I needed to put at a halt, and honestly shut down and rest. My body needed it. I’ve been at capacity, and moving forward I am holding myself accountable to paying attention to that a bit more.

Living a life of ease, patience, and rest is what I am committed to. That is a component of self-care and self-love is for me.

What did Savannah (Whitney Houston) say in Waiting to Exhale? “Hell, my body needs this.” I felt Savannah on the level she was coming from, but in this context, I’m speaking rest.

It’s Sunday evening and I am basking in my rest and pleasures. I have a glass of dry red wine, chocolate covered cashews, and Jumping the Broom is playing as background noise. I’ve shared my current read below, and I have found that reading throughout the week has added a switch up to my daily routine.

I encourage you to find something simple to switch up your weekly routines to avoid burnout. Maybe make a fun to-do list that relates to things that you find enjoyable, things you can mix into your daily work and pleasure habits. Find time for YOU and REST.

Take care.

Current read: WILL - Memoir by Will Smith

Would you all like my weekly reads? My writing playlists? Leave a comment below, let me know.

Heather J.

Free Mind: Small Progress is Progress

Free Mind.

The thoughts that were going through my mind this morning were thoughts of gratitude and adoration for self. True appreciation and comfort for self.

I’m so fucking proud of ME.

After my self-massage out of the shower, I looked at myself in the mirror and spoke those words to myself, I really meant it. I focused on who I was in that exact moment, the space surrounding me and who was looking at. I reflected on this past week. A smile appeared, I laughed. I am proud of me.

I don’t tell myself that enough.

The small steps toward my own healing and growth make me proud; I am able to recognize my own progress. This past Wednesday, I was able to be honest with myself in a session with my psychiatrist about a particular situation that recently transpired. After a helpful suggestion, I responded by saying out loud “my emotional maturity about that isn’t where it needs to be right now.” You may read this and think it’s simple. It’s not. It was not easy admitting that out loud, but when I did, I was honest. That is what really mattered to me in that moment. The ability to be honest, receive feedback, and remind myself that it may take some time to get me there. So until I am there, I was encouraged to spend time with that feeling. Not having an immediate solution works well for me. Also, with this situation and in that moment what was most helpful and rewarding to me was identifying and acknowledging my emotions.

This past week, I resonated and re-posted an image seen on social media: “say it with me: I can be proud of myself and want more for myself at the same damn time” (MichellCClark). Both can be at the same time, yes. There are some days I struggle with the latter more than others and find myself drowning in thoughts of comparison. I can be honest and say that. But even wanting more for myself can be areas of growth on the internal work I’m doing.

Focusing on gratitude, while reflecting intentionally has served such a great purpose. I am not in the same space I was at the start of 2021. For that, I am beyond grateful. The amount of growth, lessons, laughter, tears and new forming spaces has opened my eyes up to be grateful each morning I wake up. In my yawning, scrolling, aching, and morning routines, I find a new meaning in being present.

I am proud of myself for not giving up.

Even on my toughest days, I see my beautiful blessings.

My Sunday will be spent creating beautiful stories. Currently, I’m working on a few project (both short pieces and longer works). Learning to have fun with what I’m doing, embracing who I am and believing I am capable has been rewarding. I’m proud of myself for having the courage to share my work, read my work aloud. Small steps but progress.

Fearless, 2022.

2022: Fearless

Can you escape yourself when you’re alone?

I’ve tried. I feel like I’m in the middle of a beautiful chaos.

The only thing I haven’t done that Solange named in Cranes in the Sky is “sexed it away.” It has been quite some time, casual dating in Philly has been hard, ha! I could start a whole new blog on that topic alone.

2021, thank you for being that year for me. That year that made me uncomfortable and scared of the thought of being alone. Not in a romantic way at all, but in a way that I had to sit with me. I had to face me. Confronting Heather in various ways and putting myself in check was not at all easy. As this year has come to a close, it is natural for reflections to glide alongside. Throughout 2021 I’ve made some mistakes, some decisions I’ve questioned and I have sat with an enormous amount of both pain & grief. With that, I’ve also experienced great amounts of gratitude and I’ve been able to see happiness while in the midst of both pain and grief. All things can exist in the same.

Experiencing one of the toughest transitions thus far in my life has also been one of the loneliest. I’ve had time to transparently sit with the thought “this has been tough.” I can name that and admit it has been tough. Moving during a pandemic has been extremely hard. It was one thing experiencing the pandemic while living in Atlanta with a community (friends), my dog Ava, and familiar places where I felt safe. Since living in Philadelphia, I have found it challenging to make friends (making friends as an adult already comes with its challenges), indulge in things I enjoy, and overall just adapting to a new lifestyle, quickly.

In a previous post, I shared my acceptance of being okay with the termination of phases in my life. The truth is though, it isn’t easy. I didn’t expect it to be easy, but the stretching, growing, aching and everything that comes along with change hit hard this past year. I purposely avoided season 5 of Insecure because it’s all too familiar. The space I’ve been in, I am sure the tears would’ve been non-stop each Sunday evening. I’ve been able to avoid some spoilers and I’ll get around to watching it soon.

On the outside, family and friends saw me beginning a new adventure in life. I packed up everything I owned and moved to Philly. I started my MFA in Creative Writing at Temple University, said no to things that were no longer working for me, and honestly, opted for something different. Going after my dreams had a new meaning for me, right before 30. You can change your mind at any time, I did just that. But the reality is, it has been lonely.

Inside, what you all didn’t see, was how bad I have been hurting this past year.

Transitioning from a full-time career, and taking a leap of FAITH came with quite a bit. The loss of meaningful relationships hit hard this year. My loneliness caused by the pandemic heightened. I questioned every decision I made. The fear of missing out crept up some of my gloomiest days. Grief still visits me on days I think I am over some friendships I lost this year.

There is beauty in not having everything figured out. For that, I will never complain.

God has kept me this year. New relationships have formed in my life, and I’ve nourished them with the strength in which I can. Meaning, I have tried to be kind to myself and not push past my limits.

2021,

I vowed to put myself first.

2022,

I am putting myself first without the fear of shame or guilt.

Each year, I choose a word that I intentionally focus on, meditate on, and lead with. One thing I am truly committed to doing is believing that I am deeply deserving of the things I desire.

My word for 2021: WORTHY

But I still allowed fear to lead me. Why? Because I didn’t believe I was capable. I questioned almost every blessing presented to me. I believed I was worthy but still allowed imposter syndrome to creep up and haunt me.

I’m done living in fear.

2022: FEARLESS

Scripture: Therefore I say to you, whatever things you ask when you pray, believe that you receive them, and you will have them. - Mark 11:24