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How I begin again: show up, make a mess, taste the progress, and celebrate the tiny wins. 🥝🥭🍊 What small messy things are you starting again?

Let me introduce you to my friend Mr.Suck-A-Lot #dialysis

If you’re confused, same… Let me catch you up real quick and answer how did we get here?

Nature is actually insane when you think about it ✨

You can pour concrete over the earth, and somehow, something green still finds a way through it. Trees grow sideways searching for sunlight. Vines twist, climb, adapt, and reshape themselves around whatever is in front of them just to keep reaching upward. Nature is constantly figuring it out in real time, quietly refusing to quit.

Meanwhile, I send one risky text and need 4-7 business days to emotionally recover 🫠

But seriously… I think that’s why being in nature has been affecting me so deeply lately. Nothing there fights the reality of change. A tree can look empty, uneven, ugly, half-dead for months, and nobody questions whether it’s failing at being a tree. The ocean disappears from the shore every day and still returns without doubting itself once. Everything natural sheds, collapses, rests, overgrows, adapts, mutates, survives. Nature always prevails because it doesn’t resist what it needs to become next.

Humans, though? We experience one hard season and immediately think we’re broken forever.

I think resilience is way less glamorous than people make it sound. I think it has less to do with “pushing through” and more to do with learning how to exist honestly in different seasons of your life without turning against yourself.

Some experiences don’t just “teach you lessons.” They alter your chemistry. Your body. Your nervous system. Your perception of people. Your relationship to time. And I think pretending otherwise is part of why so many people secretly feel weird, or even broken, for changing after survival.

Nature has been kindly reminding me that transformation is not always beautiful while it’s happening. Sometimes it looks chaotic, isolated, deeply unphotogenic. But the interesting part is that nature never seems embarrassed by that process. It just keeps going. Quietly. Relentlessly. Toward light.

Anyway… here I am practicing tai chi and taking notes from plants because they seem to handle adversity better than I do.🌳🤍

Nature is actually insane when you think about it ✨

You can pour concrete over the earth, and somehow, something green still finds a way through it. Trees grow sideways searching for sunlight. Vines twist, climb, adapt, and reshape themselves around whatever is in front of them just to keep reaching upward. Nature is constantly figuring it out in real time, quietly refusing to quit.

Meanwhile, I send one risky text and need 4-7 business days to emotionally recover 🫠

But seriously… I think that’s why being in nature has been affecting me so deeply lately. Nothing there fights the reality of change. A tree can look empty, uneven, ugly, half-dead for months, and nobody questions whether it’s failing at being a tree. The ocean disappears from the shore every day and still returns without doubting itself once. Everything natural sheds, collapses, rests, overgrows, adapts, mutates, survives. Nature always prevails because it doesn’t resist what it needs to become next.

Humans, though? We experience one hard season and immediately think we’re broken forever.

I think resilience is way less glamorous than people make it sound. I think it has less to do with “pushing through” and more to do with learning how to exist honestly in different seasons of your life without turning against yourself.

Some experiences don’t just “teach you lessons.” They alter your chemistry. Your body. Your nervous system. Your perception of people. Your relationship to time. And I think pretending otherwise is part of why so many people secretly feel weird, or even broken, for changing after survival.

Nature has been kindly reminding me that transformation is not always beautiful while it’s happening. Sometimes it looks chaotic, isolated, deeply unphotogenic. But the interesting part is that nature never seems embarrassed by that process. It just keeps going. Quietly. Relentlessly. Toward light.

Anyway… here I am practicing tai chi and taking notes from plants because they seem to handle adversity better than I do.🌳🤍

Nature is actually insane when you think about it ✨

You can pour concrete over the earth, and somehow, something green still finds a way through it. Trees grow sideways searching for sunlight. Vines twist, climb, adapt, and reshape themselves around whatever is in front of them just to keep reaching upward. Nature is constantly figuring it out in real time, quietly refusing to quit.

Meanwhile, I send one risky text and need 4-7 business days to emotionally recover 🫠

But seriously… I think that’s why being in nature has been affecting me so deeply lately. Nothing there fights the reality of change. A tree can look empty, uneven, ugly, half-dead for months, and nobody questions whether it’s failing at being a tree. The ocean disappears from the shore every day and still returns without doubting itself once. Everything natural sheds, collapses, rests, overgrows, adapts, mutates, survives. Nature always prevails because it doesn’t resist what it needs to become next.

Humans, though? We experience one hard season and immediately think we’re broken forever.

I think resilience is way less glamorous than people make it sound. I think it has less to do with “pushing through” and more to do with learning how to exist honestly in different seasons of your life without turning against yourself.

Some experiences don’t just “teach you lessons.” They alter your chemistry. Your body. Your nervous system. Your perception of people. Your relationship to time. And I think pretending otherwise is part of why so many people secretly feel weird, or even broken, for changing after survival.

Nature has been kindly reminding me that transformation is not always beautiful while it’s happening. Sometimes it looks chaotic, isolated, deeply unphotogenic. But the interesting part is that nature never seems embarrassed by that process. It just keeps going. Quietly. Relentlessly. Toward light.

Anyway… here I am practicing tai chi and taking notes from plants because they seem to handle adversity better than I do.🌳🤍

Nature is actually insane when you think about it ✨

You can pour concrete over the earth, and somehow, something green still finds a way through it. Trees grow sideways searching for sunlight. Vines twist, climb, adapt, and reshape themselves around whatever is in front of them just to keep reaching upward. Nature is constantly figuring it out in real time, quietly refusing to quit.

Meanwhile, I send one risky text and need 4-7 business days to emotionally recover 🫠

But seriously… I think that’s why being in nature has been affecting me so deeply lately. Nothing there fights the reality of change. A tree can look empty, uneven, ugly, half-dead for months, and nobody questions whether it’s failing at being a tree. The ocean disappears from the shore every day and still returns without doubting itself once. Everything natural sheds, collapses, rests, overgrows, adapts, mutates, survives. Nature always prevails because it doesn’t resist what it needs to become next.

Humans, though? We experience one hard season and immediately think we’re broken forever.

I think resilience is way less glamorous than people make it sound. I think it has less to do with “pushing through” and more to do with learning how to exist honestly in different seasons of your life without turning against yourself.

Some experiences don’t just “teach you lessons.” They alter your chemistry. Your body. Your nervous system. Your perception of people. Your relationship to time. And I think pretending otherwise is part of why so many people secretly feel weird, or even broken, for changing after survival.

Nature has been kindly reminding me that transformation is not always beautiful while it’s happening. Sometimes it looks chaotic, isolated, deeply unphotogenic. But the interesting part is that nature never seems embarrassed by that process. It just keeps going. Quietly. Relentlessly. Toward light.

Anyway… here I am practicing tai chi and taking notes from plants because they seem to handle adversity better than I do.🌳🤍

Nature is actually insane when you think about it ✨

You can pour concrete over the earth, and somehow, something green still finds a way through it. Trees grow sideways searching for sunlight. Vines twist, climb, adapt, and reshape themselves around whatever is in front of them just to keep reaching upward. Nature is constantly figuring it out in real time, quietly refusing to quit.

Meanwhile, I send one risky text and need 4-7 business days to emotionally recover 🫠

But seriously… I think that’s why being in nature has been affecting me so deeply lately. Nothing there fights the reality of change. A tree can look empty, uneven, ugly, half-dead for months, and nobody questions whether it’s failing at being a tree. The ocean disappears from the shore every day and still returns without doubting itself once. Everything natural sheds, collapses, rests, overgrows, adapts, mutates, survives. Nature always prevails because it doesn’t resist what it needs to become next.

Humans, though? We experience one hard season and immediately think we’re broken forever.

I think resilience is way less glamorous than people make it sound. I think it has less to do with “pushing through” and more to do with learning how to exist honestly in different seasons of your life without turning against yourself.

Some experiences don’t just “teach you lessons.” They alter your chemistry. Your body. Your nervous system. Your perception of people. Your relationship to time. And I think pretending otherwise is part of why so many people secretly feel weird, or even broken, for changing after survival.

Nature has been kindly reminding me that transformation is not always beautiful while it’s happening. Sometimes it looks chaotic, isolated, deeply unphotogenic. But the interesting part is that nature never seems embarrassed by that process. It just keeps going. Quietly. Relentlessly. Toward light.

Anyway… here I am practicing tai chi and taking notes from plants because they seem to handle adversity better than I do.🌳🤍

happy mother’s day to my mama bear 🤍
my softness, my fire, my humor, my resilience.
thank you for loving me through every version of me ✨

I had dinner with @_nic.as the other night, and we got into it, not just what gratitude is, but what it actually feels like. Because for me, it’s not a concept. It’s this very distinct sensation: lightness, warmth, a slight tingling in my chest. Like, for a second, nothing is pulling or asking or demanding everything just… is.

And the thing is, I don’t feel that often. Which made me pause. Why? What even is gratitude, really? And how do we experience more of it without forcing it?

So I started asking and, as always, the universe delivered.

First, @ilsse_p told me how she was taught to be grateful at a really young age. Her mom didn’t just have her bless her food she had her thank it. Thank it for nourishing her, fueling her, healing her. I found that fascinating. And let me tell you—it made me a believer. Not only are the vibes in that family immaculate, but these women are glowing.

Days later, I saw @miguelangelanka at our writing club. We wrote about discipline (which… is not my strongest trait), and during reflection, he suggested I write about gratitude. That did something to me.

So I did what anyone with a discipline problem does—I outsourced it. I asked my other half to be my accountability partner. He offered to carve out 10 min in the morning and 10 at night, just to say out loud what we’re grateful for. And what began as an experiment became a ritual.

Here’s what I’ve started to learn:

Gratitude begins as a realization before it ever becomes a habit.

It’s that tiny moment of “… wait.” When you unclench for a second, and you notice something you usually rush right past. That part can’t be forced. You either feel it, or you don’t.

But this is where we either deepen it or lose it—what happens after that moment.

Not in a “list 5 things” way (unless that genuinely hits), but in how you move once you’ve noticed.

It’s subtle, but it changes everything.

It’s not loud.

It’s a shift in perception:
from what’s missing
to what’s already holding me that I didn’t see

You don’t feel gratitude when you try to force it; you feel it when you slow down enough to notice what’s been there all along.

I had dinner with @_nic.as the other night, and we got into it, not just what gratitude is, but what it actually feels like. Because for me, it’s not a concept. It’s this very distinct sensation: lightness, warmth, a slight tingling in my chest. Like, for a second, nothing is pulling or asking or demanding everything just… is.

And the thing is, I don’t feel that often. Which made me pause. Why? What even is gratitude, really? And how do we experience more of it without forcing it?

So I started asking and, as always, the universe delivered.

First, @ilsse_p told me how she was taught to be grateful at a really young age. Her mom didn’t just have her bless her food she had her thank it. Thank it for nourishing her, fueling her, healing her. I found that fascinating. And let me tell you—it made me a believer. Not only are the vibes in that family immaculate, but these women are glowing.

Days later, I saw @miguelangelanka at our writing club. We wrote about discipline (which… is not my strongest trait), and during reflection, he suggested I write about gratitude. That did something to me.

So I did what anyone with a discipline problem does—I outsourced it. I asked my other half to be my accountability partner. He offered to carve out 10 min in the morning and 10 at night, just to say out loud what we’re grateful for. And what began as an experiment became a ritual.

Here’s what I’ve started to learn:

Gratitude begins as a realization before it ever becomes a habit.

It’s that tiny moment of “… wait.” When you unclench for a second, and you notice something you usually rush right past. That part can’t be forced. You either feel it, or you don’t.

But this is where we either deepen it or lose it—what happens after that moment.

Not in a “list 5 things” way (unless that genuinely hits), but in how you move once you’ve noticed.

It’s subtle, but it changes everything.

It’s not loud.

It’s a shift in perception:
from what’s missing
to what’s already holding me that I didn’t see

You don’t feel gratitude when you try to force it; you feel it when you slow down enough to notice what’s been there all along.

I had dinner with @_nic.as the other night, and we got into it, not just what gratitude is, but what it actually feels like. Because for me, it’s not a concept. It’s this very distinct sensation: lightness, warmth, a slight tingling in my chest. Like, for a second, nothing is pulling or asking or demanding everything just… is.

And the thing is, I don’t feel that often. Which made me pause. Why? What even is gratitude, really? And how do we experience more of it without forcing it?

So I started asking and, as always, the universe delivered.

First, @ilsse_p told me how she was taught to be grateful at a really young age. Her mom didn’t just have her bless her food she had her thank it. Thank it for nourishing her, fueling her, healing her. I found that fascinating. And let me tell you—it made me a believer. Not only are the vibes in that family immaculate, but these women are glowing.

Days later, I saw @miguelangelanka at our writing club. We wrote about discipline (which… is not my strongest trait), and during reflection, he suggested I write about gratitude. That did something to me.

So I did what anyone with a discipline problem does—I outsourced it. I asked my other half to be my accountability partner. He offered to carve out 10 min in the morning and 10 at night, just to say out loud what we’re grateful for. And what began as an experiment became a ritual.

Here’s what I’ve started to learn:

Gratitude begins as a realization before it ever becomes a habit.

It’s that tiny moment of “… wait.” When you unclench for a second, and you notice something you usually rush right past. That part can’t be forced. You either feel it, or you don’t.

But this is where we either deepen it or lose it—what happens after that moment.

Not in a “list 5 things” way (unless that genuinely hits), but in how you move once you’ve noticed.

It’s subtle, but it changes everything.

It’s not loud.

It’s a shift in perception:
from what’s missing
to what’s already holding me that I didn’t see

You don’t feel gratitude when you try to force it; you feel it when you slow down enough to notice what’s been there all along.

I had dinner with @_nic.as the other night, and we got into it, not just what gratitude is, but what it actually feels like. Because for me, it’s not a concept. It’s this very distinct sensation: lightness, warmth, a slight tingling in my chest. Like, for a second, nothing is pulling or asking or demanding everything just… is.

And the thing is, I don’t feel that often. Which made me pause. Why? What even is gratitude, really? And how do we experience more of it without forcing it?

So I started asking and, as always, the universe delivered.

First, @ilsse_p told me how she was taught to be grateful at a really young age. Her mom didn’t just have her bless her food she had her thank it. Thank it for nourishing her, fueling her, healing her. I found that fascinating. And let me tell you—it made me a believer. Not only are the vibes in that family immaculate, but these women are glowing.

Days later, I saw @miguelangelanka at our writing club. We wrote about discipline (which… is not my strongest trait), and during reflection, he suggested I write about gratitude. That did something to me.

So I did what anyone with a discipline problem does—I outsourced it. I asked my other half to be my accountability partner. He offered to carve out 10 min in the morning and 10 at night, just to say out loud what we’re grateful for. And what began as an experiment became a ritual.

Here’s what I’ve started to learn:

Gratitude begins as a realization before it ever becomes a habit.

It’s that tiny moment of “… wait.” When you unclench for a second, and you notice something you usually rush right past. That part can’t be forced. You either feel it, or you don’t.

But this is where we either deepen it or lose it—what happens after that moment.

Not in a “list 5 things” way (unless that genuinely hits), but in how you move once you’ve noticed.

It’s subtle, but it changes everything.

It’s not loud.

It’s a shift in perception:
from what’s missing
to what’s already holding me that I didn’t see

You don’t feel gratitude when you try to force it; you feel it when you slow down enough to notice what’s been there all along.

I had dinner with @_nic.as the other night, and we got into it, not just what gratitude is, but what it actually feels like. Because for me, it’s not a concept. It’s this very distinct sensation: lightness, warmth, a slight tingling in my chest. Like, for a second, nothing is pulling or asking or demanding everything just… is.

And the thing is, I don’t feel that often. Which made me pause. Why? What even is gratitude, really? And how do we experience more of it without forcing it?

So I started asking and, as always, the universe delivered.

First, @ilsse_p told me how she was taught to be grateful at a really young age. Her mom didn’t just have her bless her food she had her thank it. Thank it for nourishing her, fueling her, healing her. I found that fascinating. And let me tell you—it made me a believer. Not only are the vibes in that family immaculate, but these women are glowing.

Days later, I saw @miguelangelanka at our writing club. We wrote about discipline (which… is not my strongest trait), and during reflection, he suggested I write about gratitude. That did something to me.

So I did what anyone with a discipline problem does—I outsourced it. I asked my other half to be my accountability partner. He offered to carve out 10 min in the morning and 10 at night, just to say out loud what we’re grateful for. And what began as an experiment became a ritual.

Here’s what I’ve started to learn:

Gratitude begins as a realization before it ever becomes a habit.

It’s that tiny moment of “… wait.” When you unclench for a second, and you notice something you usually rush right past. That part can’t be forced. You either feel it, or you don’t.

But this is where we either deepen it or lose it—what happens after that moment.

Not in a “list 5 things” way (unless that genuinely hits), but in how you move once you’ve noticed.

It’s subtle, but it changes everything.

It’s not loud.

It’s a shift in perception:
from what’s missing
to what’s already holding me that I didn’t see

You don’t feel gratitude when you try to force it; you feel it when you slow down enough to notice what’s been there all along.

I had dinner with @_nic.as the other night, and we got into it, not just what gratitude is, but what it actually feels like. Because for me, it’s not a concept. It’s this very distinct sensation: lightness, warmth, a slight tingling in my chest. Like, for a second, nothing is pulling or asking or demanding everything just… is.

And the thing is, I don’t feel that often. Which made me pause. Why? What even is gratitude, really? And how do we experience more of it without forcing it?

So I started asking and, as always, the universe delivered.

First, @ilsse_p told me how she was taught to be grateful at a really young age. Her mom didn’t just have her bless her food she had her thank it. Thank it for nourishing her, fueling her, healing her. I found that fascinating. And let me tell you—it made me a believer. Not only are the vibes in that family immaculate, but these women are glowing.

Days later, I saw @miguelangelanka at our writing club. We wrote about discipline (which… is not my strongest trait), and during reflection, he suggested I write about gratitude. That did something to me.

So I did what anyone with a discipline problem does—I outsourced it. I asked my other half to be my accountability partner. He offered to carve out 10 min in the morning and 10 at night, just to say out loud what we’re grateful for. And what began as an experiment became a ritual.

Here’s what I’ve started to learn:

Gratitude begins as a realization before it ever becomes a habit.

It’s that tiny moment of “… wait.” When you unclench for a second, and you notice something you usually rush right past. That part can’t be forced. You either feel it, or you don’t.

But this is where we either deepen it or lose it—what happens after that moment.

Not in a “list 5 things” way (unless that genuinely hits), but in how you move once you’ve noticed.

It’s subtle, but it changes everything.

It’s not loud.

It’s a shift in perception:
from what’s missing
to what’s already holding me that I didn’t see

You don’t feel gratitude when you try to force it; you feel it when you slow down enough to notice what’s been there all along.

I had dinner with @_nic.as the other night, and we got into it, not just what gratitude is, but what it actually feels like. Because for me, it’s not a concept. It’s this very distinct sensation: lightness, warmth, a slight tingling in my chest. Like, for a second, nothing is pulling or asking or demanding everything just… is.

And the thing is, I don’t feel that often. Which made me pause. Why? What even is gratitude, really? And how do we experience more of it without forcing it?

So I started asking and, as always, the universe delivered.

First, @ilsse_p told me how she was taught to be grateful at a really young age. Her mom didn’t just have her bless her food she had her thank it. Thank it for nourishing her, fueling her, healing her. I found that fascinating. And let me tell you—it made me a believer. Not only are the vibes in that family immaculate, but these women are glowing.

Days later, I saw @miguelangelanka at our writing club. We wrote about discipline (which… is not my strongest trait), and during reflection, he suggested I write about gratitude. That did something to me.

So I did what anyone with a discipline problem does—I outsourced it. I asked my other half to be my accountability partner. He offered to carve out 10 min in the morning and 10 at night, just to say out loud what we’re grateful for. And what began as an experiment became a ritual.

Here’s what I’ve started to learn:

Gratitude begins as a realization before it ever becomes a habit.

It’s that tiny moment of “… wait.” When you unclench for a second, and you notice something you usually rush right past. That part can’t be forced. You either feel it, or you don’t.

But this is where we either deepen it or lose it—what happens after that moment.

Not in a “list 5 things” way (unless that genuinely hits), but in how you move once you’ve noticed.

It’s subtle, but it changes everything.

It’s not loud.

It’s a shift in perception:
from what’s missing
to what’s already holding me that I didn’t see

You don’t feel gratitude when you try to force it; you feel it when you slow down enough to notice what’s been there all along.

I had dinner with @_nic.as the other night, and we got into it, not just what gratitude is, but what it actually feels like. Because for me, it’s not a concept. It’s this very distinct sensation: lightness, warmth, a slight tingling in my chest. Like, for a second, nothing is pulling or asking or demanding everything just… is.

And the thing is, I don’t feel that often. Which made me pause. Why? What even is gratitude, really? And how do we experience more of it without forcing it?

So I started asking and, as always, the universe delivered.

First, @ilsse_p told me how she was taught to be grateful at a really young age. Her mom didn’t just have her bless her food she had her thank it. Thank it for nourishing her, fueling her, healing her. I found that fascinating. And let me tell you—it made me a believer. Not only are the vibes in that family immaculate, but these women are glowing.

Days later, I saw @miguelangelanka at our writing club. We wrote about discipline (which… is not my strongest trait), and during reflection, he suggested I write about gratitude. That did something to me.

So I did what anyone with a discipline problem does—I outsourced it. I asked my other half to be my accountability partner. He offered to carve out 10 min in the morning and 10 at night, just to say out loud what we’re grateful for. And what began as an experiment became a ritual.

Here’s what I’ve started to learn:

Gratitude begins as a realization before it ever becomes a habit.

It’s that tiny moment of “… wait.” When you unclench for a second, and you notice something you usually rush right past. That part can’t be forced. You either feel it, or you don’t.

But this is where we either deepen it or lose it—what happens after that moment.

Not in a “list 5 things” way (unless that genuinely hits), but in how you move once you’ve noticed.

It’s subtle, but it changes everything.

It’s not loud.

It’s a shift in perception:
from what’s missing
to what’s already holding me that I didn’t see

You don’t feel gratitude when you try to force it; you feel it when you slow down enough to notice what’s been there all along.

I had dinner with @_nic.as the other night, and we got into it, not just what gratitude is, but what it actually feels like. Because for me, it’s not a concept. It’s this very distinct sensation: lightness, warmth, a slight tingling in my chest. Like, for a second, nothing is pulling or asking or demanding everything just… is.

And the thing is, I don’t feel that often. Which made me pause. Why? What even is gratitude, really? And how do we experience more of it without forcing it?

So I started asking and, as always, the universe delivered.

First, @ilsse_p told me how she was taught to be grateful at a really young age. Her mom didn’t just have her bless her food she had her thank it. Thank it for nourishing her, fueling her, healing her. I found that fascinating. And let me tell you—it made me a believer. Not only are the vibes in that family immaculate, but these women are glowing.

Days later, I saw @miguelangelanka at our writing club. We wrote about discipline (which… is not my strongest trait), and during reflection, he suggested I write about gratitude. That did something to me.

So I did what anyone with a discipline problem does—I outsourced it. I asked my other half to be my accountability partner. He offered to carve out 10 min in the morning and 10 at night, just to say out loud what we’re grateful for. And what began as an experiment became a ritual.

Here’s what I’ve started to learn:

Gratitude begins as a realization before it ever becomes a habit.

It’s that tiny moment of “… wait.” When you unclench for a second, and you notice something you usually rush right past. That part can’t be forced. You either feel it, or you don’t.

But this is where we either deepen it or lose it—what happens after that moment.

Not in a “list 5 things” way (unless that genuinely hits), but in how you move once you’ve noticed.

It’s subtle, but it changes everything.

It’s not loud.

It’s a shift in perception:
from what’s missing
to what’s already holding me that I didn’t see

You don’t feel gratitude when you try to force it; you feel it when you slow down enough to notice what’s been there all along.

I had dinner with @_nic.as the other night, and we got into it, not just what gratitude is, but what it actually feels like. Because for me, it’s not a concept. It’s this very distinct sensation: lightness, warmth, a slight tingling in my chest. Like, for a second, nothing is pulling or asking or demanding everything just… is.

And the thing is, I don’t feel that often. Which made me pause. Why? What even is gratitude, really? And how do we experience more of it without forcing it?

So I started asking and, as always, the universe delivered.

First, @ilsse_p told me how she was taught to be grateful at a really young age. Her mom didn’t just have her bless her food she had her thank it. Thank it for nourishing her, fueling her, healing her. I found that fascinating. And let me tell you—it made me a believer. Not only are the vibes in that family immaculate, but these women are glowing.

Days later, I saw @miguelangelanka at our writing club. We wrote about discipline (which… is not my strongest trait), and during reflection, he suggested I write about gratitude. That did something to me.

So I did what anyone with a discipline problem does—I outsourced it. I asked my other half to be my accountability partner. He offered to carve out 10 min in the morning and 10 at night, just to say out loud what we’re grateful for. And what began as an experiment became a ritual.

Here’s what I’ve started to learn:

Gratitude begins as a realization before it ever becomes a habit.

It’s that tiny moment of “… wait.” When you unclench for a second, and you notice something you usually rush right past. That part can’t be forced. You either feel it, or you don’t.

But this is where we either deepen it or lose it—what happens after that moment.

Not in a “list 5 things” way (unless that genuinely hits), but in how you move once you’ve noticed.

It’s subtle, but it changes everything.

It’s not loud.

It’s a shift in perception:
from what’s missing
to what’s already holding me that I didn’t see

You don’t feel gratitude when you try to force it; you feel it when you slow down enough to notice what’s been there all along.

I had dinner with @_nic.as the other night, and we got into it, not just what gratitude is, but what it actually feels like. Because for me, it’s not a concept. It’s this very distinct sensation: lightness, warmth, a slight tingling in my chest. Like, for a second, nothing is pulling or asking or demanding everything just… is.

And the thing is, I don’t feel that often. Which made me pause. Why? What even is gratitude, really? And how do we experience more of it without forcing it?

So I started asking and, as always, the universe delivered.

First, @ilsse_p told me how she was taught to be grateful at a really young age. Her mom didn’t just have her bless her food she had her thank it. Thank it for nourishing her, fueling her, healing her. I found that fascinating. And let me tell you—it made me a believer. Not only are the vibes in that family immaculate, but these women are glowing.

Days later, I saw @miguelangelanka at our writing club. We wrote about discipline (which… is not my strongest trait), and during reflection, he suggested I write about gratitude. That did something to me.

So I did what anyone with a discipline problem does—I outsourced it. I asked my other half to be my accountability partner. He offered to carve out 10 min in the morning and 10 at night, just to say out loud what we’re grateful for. And what began as an experiment became a ritual.

Here’s what I’ve started to learn:

Gratitude begins as a realization before it ever becomes a habit.

It’s that tiny moment of “… wait.” When you unclench for a second, and you notice something you usually rush right past. That part can’t be forced. You either feel it, or you don’t.

But this is where we either deepen it or lose it—what happens after that moment.

Not in a “list 5 things” way (unless that genuinely hits), but in how you move once you’ve noticed.

It’s subtle, but it changes everything.

It’s not loud.

It’s a shift in perception:
from what’s missing
to what’s already holding me that I didn’t see

You don’t feel gratitude when you try to force it; you feel it when you slow down enough to notice what’s been there all along.

I had dinner with @_nic.as the other night, and we got into it, not just what gratitude is, but what it actually feels like. Because for me, it’s not a concept. It’s this very distinct sensation: lightness, warmth, a slight tingling in my chest. Like, for a second, nothing is pulling or asking or demanding everything just… is.

And the thing is, I don’t feel that often. Which made me pause. Why? What even is gratitude, really? And how do we experience more of it without forcing it?

So I started asking and, as always, the universe delivered.

First, @ilsse_p told me how she was taught to be grateful at a really young age. Her mom didn’t just have her bless her food she had her thank it. Thank it for nourishing her, fueling her, healing her. I found that fascinating. And let me tell you—it made me a believer. Not only are the vibes in that family immaculate, but these women are glowing.

Days later, I saw @miguelangelanka at our writing club. We wrote about discipline (which… is not my strongest trait), and during reflection, he suggested I write about gratitude. That did something to me.

So I did what anyone with a discipline problem does—I outsourced it. I asked my other half to be my accountability partner. He offered to carve out 10 min in the morning and 10 at night, just to say out loud what we’re grateful for. And what began as an experiment became a ritual.

Here’s what I’ve started to learn:

Gratitude begins as a realization before it ever becomes a habit.

It’s that tiny moment of “… wait.” When you unclench for a second, and you notice something you usually rush right past. That part can’t be forced. You either feel it, or you don’t.

But this is where we either deepen it or lose it—what happens after that moment.

Not in a “list 5 things” way (unless that genuinely hits), but in how you move once you’ve noticed.

It’s subtle, but it changes everything.

It’s not loud.

It’s a shift in perception:
from what’s missing
to what’s already holding me that I didn’t see

You don’t feel gratitude when you try to force it; you feel it when you slow down enough to notice what’s been there all along.

I had dinner with @_nic.as the other night, and we got into it, not just what gratitude is, but what it actually feels like. Because for me, it’s not a concept. It’s this very distinct sensation: lightness, warmth, a slight tingling in my chest. Like, for a second, nothing is pulling or asking or demanding everything just… is.

And the thing is, I don’t feel that often. Which made me pause. Why? What even is gratitude, really? And how do we experience more of it without forcing it?

So I started asking and, as always, the universe delivered.

First, @ilsse_p told me how she was taught to be grateful at a really young age. Her mom didn’t just have her bless her food she had her thank it. Thank it for nourishing her, fueling her, healing her. I found that fascinating. And let me tell you—it made me a believer. Not only are the vibes in that family immaculate, but these women are glowing.

Days later, I saw @miguelangelanka at our writing club. We wrote about discipline (which… is not my strongest trait), and during reflection, he suggested I write about gratitude. That did something to me.

So I did what anyone with a discipline problem does—I outsourced it. I asked my other half to be my accountability partner. He offered to carve out 10 min in the morning and 10 at night, just to say out loud what we’re grateful for. And what began as an experiment became a ritual.

Here’s what I’ve started to learn:

Gratitude begins as a realization before it ever becomes a habit.

It’s that tiny moment of “… wait.” When you unclench for a second, and you notice something you usually rush right past. That part can’t be forced. You either feel it, or you don’t.

But this is where we either deepen it or lose it—what happens after that moment.

Not in a “list 5 things” way (unless that genuinely hits), but in how you move once you’ve noticed.

It’s subtle, but it changes everything.

It’s not loud.

It’s a shift in perception:
from what’s missing
to what’s already holding me that I didn’t see

You don’t feel gratitude when you try to force it; you feel it when you slow down enough to notice what’s been there all along.

Hey friends, I know it’s been a minute.
January and February were exactly what I expected… a rollercoaster. It’s just now starting to slow down.

This is an update, but honestly, it’s more for me.
A reminder of what actually matters.
A reminder of radical acceptance.
A reminder to love myself while I grow.

As I turn 28 this month, I look back at 23-year-old me, thinking I was starting a healing journey.
But I wasn’t. It became a survival journey.

And baby, those two are not the same thing.

Lately, I’ve realized something uneasy:
The hardest part of all of this hasn’t been the medical side; although, universe, please give me a break.

The hardest part has been my mind.

In the past 5 years, I thought being strong meant not breaking.
Like I could go through everything and somehow come out the same.
As if it were that simple, to watch your life fall apart and not be untouched.

That definition took me to the wrong places, the wrong people, and the wrong mindset.
A mindset built on guilt.

Outdated guilt
Trying to live up to a version of me that existed before everything changed.

And yeah… that version of me didn’t have her body interrupt her life. She hadn’t faced mortality yet.

So, of course, I felt like I was falling short.

That pressure made it hard to love myself.
And I won’t lie...sometimes it still is.
That voice that says, “You’re not living up to your full potential.”
It comes in waves.

But here’s what I keep coming back to:

1. What actually matters is your relationship with your own mind. Because you don’t get to leave it. Ever.
2. Radical acceptance is acknowledging things as they are. Not liking them. Not approving them.
But not fighting them either.
3. Loving yourself isn’t standing still and admiring who you are. It’s staying with yourself and giving yourself grace while you change.

This is what strength means to me now:

Staying open in a life that has given you every reason to close.
To feel things without letting them dictate your actions.
Recovering from setbacks and keep going.
To take responsibility.
Adjusting instead of collapsing.

To still break… because you will.
But choosing to rebuild with purpose.

Hey friends, I know it’s been a minute.
January and February were exactly what I expected… a rollercoaster. It’s just now starting to slow down.

This is an update, but honestly, it’s more for me.
A reminder of what actually matters.
A reminder of radical acceptance.
A reminder to love myself while I grow.

As I turn 28 this month, I look back at 23-year-old me, thinking I was starting a healing journey.
But I wasn’t. It became a survival journey.

And baby, those two are not the same thing.

Lately, I’ve realized something uneasy:
The hardest part of all of this hasn’t been the medical side; although, universe, please give me a break.

The hardest part has been my mind.

In the past 5 years, I thought being strong meant not breaking.
Like I could go through everything and somehow come out the same.
As if it were that simple, to watch your life fall apart and not be untouched.

That definition took me to the wrong places, the wrong people, and the wrong mindset.
A mindset built on guilt.

Outdated guilt
Trying to live up to a version of me that existed before everything changed.

And yeah… that version of me didn’t have her body interrupt her life. She hadn’t faced mortality yet.

So, of course, I felt like I was falling short.

That pressure made it hard to love myself.
And I won’t lie...sometimes it still is.
That voice that says, “You’re not living up to your full potential.”
It comes in waves.

But here’s what I keep coming back to:

1. What actually matters is your relationship with your own mind. Because you don’t get to leave it. Ever.
2. Radical acceptance is acknowledging things as they are. Not liking them. Not approving them.
But not fighting them either.
3. Loving yourself isn’t standing still and admiring who you are. It’s staying with yourself and giving yourself grace while you change.

This is what strength means to me now:

Staying open in a life that has given you every reason to close.
To feel things without letting them dictate your actions.
Recovering from setbacks and keep going.
To take responsibility.
Adjusting instead of collapsing.

To still break… because you will.
But choosing to rebuild with purpose.

Hey friends, I know it’s been a minute.
January and February were exactly what I expected… a rollercoaster. It’s just now starting to slow down.

This is an update, but honestly, it’s more for me.
A reminder of what actually matters.
A reminder of radical acceptance.
A reminder to love myself while I grow.

As I turn 28 this month, I look back at 23-year-old me, thinking I was starting a healing journey.
But I wasn’t. It became a survival journey.

And baby, those two are not the same thing.

Lately, I’ve realized something uneasy:
The hardest part of all of this hasn’t been the medical side; although, universe, please give me a break.

The hardest part has been my mind.

In the past 5 years, I thought being strong meant not breaking.
Like I could go through everything and somehow come out the same.
As if it were that simple, to watch your life fall apart and not be untouched.

That definition took me to the wrong places, the wrong people, and the wrong mindset.
A mindset built on guilt.

Outdated guilt
Trying to live up to a version of me that existed before everything changed.

And yeah… that version of me didn’t have her body interrupt her life. She hadn’t faced mortality yet.

So, of course, I felt like I was falling short.

That pressure made it hard to love myself.
And I won’t lie...sometimes it still is.
That voice that says, “You’re not living up to your full potential.”
It comes in waves.

But here’s what I keep coming back to:

1. What actually matters is your relationship with your own mind. Because you don’t get to leave it. Ever.
2. Radical acceptance is acknowledging things as they are. Not liking them. Not approving them.
But not fighting them either.
3. Loving yourself isn’t standing still and admiring who you are. It’s staying with yourself and giving yourself grace while you change.

This is what strength means to me now:

Staying open in a life that has given you every reason to close.
To feel things without letting them dictate your actions.
Recovering from setbacks and keep going.
To take responsibility.
Adjusting instead of collapsing.

To still break… because you will.
But choosing to rebuild with purpose.

Hey friends, I know it’s been a minute.
January and February were exactly what I expected… a rollercoaster. It’s just now starting to slow down.

This is an update, but honestly, it’s more for me.
A reminder of what actually matters.
A reminder of radical acceptance.
A reminder to love myself while I grow.

As I turn 28 this month, I look back at 23-year-old me, thinking I was starting a healing journey.
But I wasn’t. It became a survival journey.

And baby, those two are not the same thing.

Lately, I’ve realized something uneasy:
The hardest part of all of this hasn’t been the medical side; although, universe, please give me a break.

The hardest part has been my mind.

In the past 5 years, I thought being strong meant not breaking.
Like I could go through everything and somehow come out the same.
As if it were that simple, to watch your life fall apart and not be untouched.

That definition took me to the wrong places, the wrong people, and the wrong mindset.
A mindset built on guilt.

Outdated guilt
Trying to live up to a version of me that existed before everything changed.

And yeah… that version of me didn’t have her body interrupt her life. She hadn’t faced mortality yet.

So, of course, I felt like I was falling short.

That pressure made it hard to love myself.
And I won’t lie...sometimes it still is.
That voice that says, “You’re not living up to your full potential.”
It comes in waves.

But here’s what I keep coming back to:

1. What actually matters is your relationship with your own mind. Because you don’t get to leave it. Ever.
2. Radical acceptance is acknowledging things as they are. Not liking them. Not approving them.
But not fighting them either.
3. Loving yourself isn’t standing still and admiring who you are. It’s staying with yourself and giving yourself grace while you change.

This is what strength means to me now:

Staying open in a life that has given you every reason to close.
To feel things without letting them dictate your actions.
Recovering from setbacks and keep going.
To take responsibility.
Adjusting instead of collapsing.

To still break… because you will.
But choosing to rebuild with purpose.

Hey friends, I know it’s been a minute.
January and February were exactly what I expected… a rollercoaster. It’s just now starting to slow down.

This is an update, but honestly, it’s more for me.
A reminder of what actually matters.
A reminder of radical acceptance.
A reminder to love myself while I grow.

As I turn 28 this month, I look back at 23-year-old me, thinking I was starting a healing journey.
But I wasn’t. It became a survival journey.

And baby, those two are not the same thing.

Lately, I’ve realized something uneasy:
The hardest part of all of this hasn’t been the medical side; although, universe, please give me a break.

The hardest part has been my mind.

In the past 5 years, I thought being strong meant not breaking.
Like I could go through everything and somehow come out the same.
As if it were that simple, to watch your life fall apart and not be untouched.

That definition took me to the wrong places, the wrong people, and the wrong mindset.
A mindset built on guilt.

Outdated guilt
Trying to live up to a version of me that existed before everything changed.

And yeah… that version of me didn’t have her body interrupt her life. She hadn’t faced mortality yet.

So, of course, I felt like I was falling short.

That pressure made it hard to love myself.
And I won’t lie...sometimes it still is.
That voice that says, “You’re not living up to your full potential.”
It comes in waves.

But here’s what I keep coming back to:

1. What actually matters is your relationship with your own mind. Because you don’t get to leave it. Ever.
2. Radical acceptance is acknowledging things as they are. Not liking them. Not approving them.
But not fighting them either.
3. Loving yourself isn’t standing still and admiring who you are. It’s staying with yourself and giving yourself grace while you change.

This is what strength means to me now:

Staying open in a life that has given you every reason to close.
To feel things without letting them dictate your actions.
Recovering from setbacks and keep going.
To take responsibility.
Adjusting instead of collapsing.

To still break… because you will.
But choosing to rebuild with purpose.

Hey friends, I know it’s been a minute.
January and February were exactly what I expected… a rollercoaster. It’s just now starting to slow down.

This is an update, but honestly, it’s more for me.
A reminder of what actually matters.
A reminder of radical acceptance.
A reminder to love myself while I grow.

As I turn 28 this month, I look back at 23-year-old me, thinking I was starting a healing journey.
But I wasn’t. It became a survival journey.

And baby, those two are not the same thing.

Lately, I’ve realized something uneasy:
The hardest part of all of this hasn’t been the medical side; although, universe, please give me a break.

The hardest part has been my mind.

In the past 5 years, I thought being strong meant not breaking.
Like I could go through everything and somehow come out the same.
As if it were that simple, to watch your life fall apart and not be untouched.

That definition took me to the wrong places, the wrong people, and the wrong mindset.
A mindset built on guilt.

Outdated guilt
Trying to live up to a version of me that existed before everything changed.

And yeah… that version of me didn’t have her body interrupt her life. She hadn’t faced mortality yet.

So, of course, I felt like I was falling short.

That pressure made it hard to love myself.
And I won’t lie...sometimes it still is.
That voice that says, “You’re not living up to your full potential.”
It comes in waves.

But here’s what I keep coming back to:

1. What actually matters is your relationship with your own mind. Because you don’t get to leave it. Ever.
2. Radical acceptance is acknowledging things as they are. Not liking them. Not approving them.
But not fighting them either.
3. Loving yourself isn’t standing still and admiring who you are. It’s staying with yourself and giving yourself grace while you change.

This is what strength means to me now:

Staying open in a life that has given you every reason to close.
To feel things without letting them dictate your actions.
Recovering from setbacks and keep going.
To take responsibility.
Adjusting instead of collapsing.

To still break… because you will.
But choosing to rebuild with purpose.

Hey friends, I know it’s been a minute.
January and February were exactly what I expected… a rollercoaster. It’s just now starting to slow down.

This is an update, but honestly, it’s more for me.
A reminder of what actually matters.
A reminder of radical acceptance.
A reminder to love myself while I grow.

As I turn 28 this month, I look back at 23-year-old me, thinking I was starting a healing journey.
But I wasn’t. It became a survival journey.

And baby, those two are not the same thing.

Lately, I’ve realized something uneasy:
The hardest part of all of this hasn’t been the medical side; although, universe, please give me a break.

The hardest part has been my mind.

In the past 5 years, I thought being strong meant not breaking.
Like I could go through everything and somehow come out the same.
As if it were that simple, to watch your life fall apart and not be untouched.

That definition took me to the wrong places, the wrong people, and the wrong mindset.
A mindset built on guilt.

Outdated guilt
Trying to live up to a version of me that existed before everything changed.

And yeah… that version of me didn’t have her body interrupt her life. She hadn’t faced mortality yet.

So, of course, I felt like I was falling short.

That pressure made it hard to love myself.
And I won’t lie...sometimes it still is.
That voice that says, “You’re not living up to your full potential.”
It comes in waves.

But here’s what I keep coming back to:

1. What actually matters is your relationship with your own mind. Because you don’t get to leave it. Ever.
2. Radical acceptance is acknowledging things as they are. Not liking them. Not approving them.
But not fighting them either.
3. Loving yourself isn’t standing still and admiring who you are. It’s staying with yourself and giving yourself grace while you change.

This is what strength means to me now:

Staying open in a life that has given you every reason to close.
To feel things without letting them dictate your actions.
Recovering from setbacks and keep going.
To take responsibility.
Adjusting instead of collapsing.

To still break… because you will.
But choosing to rebuild with purpose.

Hey friends, I know it’s been a minute.
January and February were exactly what I expected… a rollercoaster. It’s just now starting to slow down.

This is an update, but honestly, it’s more for me.
A reminder of what actually matters.
A reminder of radical acceptance.
A reminder to love myself while I grow.

As I turn 28 this month, I look back at 23-year-old me, thinking I was starting a healing journey.
But I wasn’t. It became a survival journey.

And baby, those two are not the same thing.

Lately, I’ve realized something uneasy:
The hardest part of all of this hasn’t been the medical side; although, universe, please give me a break.

The hardest part has been my mind.

In the past 5 years, I thought being strong meant not breaking.
Like I could go through everything and somehow come out the same.
As if it were that simple, to watch your life fall apart and not be untouched.

That definition took me to the wrong places, the wrong people, and the wrong mindset.
A mindset built on guilt.

Outdated guilt
Trying to live up to a version of me that existed before everything changed.

And yeah… that version of me didn’t have her body interrupt her life. She hadn’t faced mortality yet.

So, of course, I felt like I was falling short.

That pressure made it hard to love myself.
And I won’t lie...sometimes it still is.
That voice that says, “You’re not living up to your full potential.”
It comes in waves.

But here’s what I keep coming back to:

1. What actually matters is your relationship with your own mind. Because you don’t get to leave it. Ever.
2. Radical acceptance is acknowledging things as they are. Not liking them. Not approving them.
But not fighting them either.
3. Loving yourself isn’t standing still and admiring who you are. It’s staying with yourself and giving yourself grace while you change.

This is what strength means to me now:

Staying open in a life that has given you every reason to close.
To feel things without letting them dictate your actions.
Recovering from setbacks and keep going.
To take responsibility.
Adjusting instead of collapsing.

To still break… because you will.
But choosing to rebuild with purpose.

Hey friends, I know it’s been a minute.
January and February were exactly what I expected… a rollercoaster. It’s just now starting to slow down.

This is an update, but honestly, it’s more for me.
A reminder of what actually matters.
A reminder of radical acceptance.
A reminder to love myself while I grow.

As I turn 28 this month, I look back at 23-year-old me, thinking I was starting a healing journey.
But I wasn’t. It became a survival journey.

And baby, those two are not the same thing.

Lately, I’ve realized something uneasy:
The hardest part of all of this hasn’t been the medical side; although, universe, please give me a break.

The hardest part has been my mind.

In the past 5 years, I thought being strong meant not breaking.
Like I could go through everything and somehow come out the same.
As if it were that simple, to watch your life fall apart and not be untouched.

That definition took me to the wrong places, the wrong people, and the wrong mindset.
A mindset built on guilt.

Outdated guilt
Trying to live up to a version of me that existed before everything changed.

And yeah… that version of me didn’t have her body interrupt her life. She hadn’t faced mortality yet.

So, of course, I felt like I was falling short.

That pressure made it hard to love myself.
And I won’t lie...sometimes it still is.
That voice that says, “You’re not living up to your full potential.”
It comes in waves.

But here’s what I keep coming back to:

1. What actually matters is your relationship with your own mind. Because you don’t get to leave it. Ever.
2. Radical acceptance is acknowledging things as they are. Not liking them. Not approving them.
But not fighting them either.
3. Loving yourself isn’t standing still and admiring who you are. It’s staying with yourself and giving yourself grace while you change.

This is what strength means to me now:

Staying open in a life that has given you every reason to close.
To feel things without letting them dictate your actions.
Recovering from setbacks and keep going.
To take responsibility.
Adjusting instead of collapsing.

To still break… because you will.
But choosing to rebuild with purpose.

Hey friends, I know it’s been a minute.
January and February were exactly what I expected… a rollercoaster. It’s just now starting to slow down.

This is an update, but honestly, it’s more for me.
A reminder of what actually matters.
A reminder of radical acceptance.
A reminder to love myself while I grow.

As I turn 28 this month, I look back at 23-year-old me, thinking I was starting a healing journey.
But I wasn’t. It became a survival journey.

And baby, those two are not the same thing.

Lately, I’ve realized something uneasy:
The hardest part of all of this hasn’t been the medical side; although, universe, please give me a break.

The hardest part has been my mind.

In the past 5 years, I thought being strong meant not breaking.
Like I could go through everything and somehow come out the same.
As if it were that simple, to watch your life fall apart and not be untouched.

That definition took me to the wrong places, the wrong people, and the wrong mindset.
A mindset built on guilt.

Outdated guilt
Trying to live up to a version of me that existed before everything changed.

And yeah… that version of me didn’t have her body interrupt her life. She hadn’t faced mortality yet.

So, of course, I felt like I was falling short.

That pressure made it hard to love myself.
And I won’t lie...sometimes it still is.
That voice that says, “You’re not living up to your full potential.”
It comes in waves.

But here’s what I keep coming back to:

1. What actually matters is your relationship with your own mind. Because you don’t get to leave it. Ever.
2. Radical acceptance is acknowledging things as they are. Not liking them. Not approving them.
But not fighting them either.
3. Loving yourself isn’t standing still and admiring who you are. It’s staying with yourself and giving yourself grace while you change.

This is what strength means to me now:

Staying open in a life that has given you every reason to close.
To feel things without letting them dictate your actions.
Recovering from setbacks and keep going.
To take responsibility.
Adjusting instead of collapsing.

To still break… because you will.
But choosing to rebuild with purpose.

Hey friends, I know it’s been a minute.
January and February were exactly what I expected… a rollercoaster. It’s just now starting to slow down.

This is an update, but honestly, it’s more for me.
A reminder of what actually matters.
A reminder of radical acceptance.
A reminder to love myself while I grow.

As I turn 28 this month, I look back at 23-year-old me, thinking I was starting a healing journey.
But I wasn’t. It became a survival journey.

And baby, those two are not the same thing.

Lately, I’ve realized something uneasy:
The hardest part of all of this hasn’t been the medical side; although, universe, please give me a break.

The hardest part has been my mind.

In the past 5 years, I thought being strong meant not breaking.
Like I could go through everything and somehow come out the same.
As if it were that simple, to watch your life fall apart and not be untouched.

That definition took me to the wrong places, the wrong people, and the wrong mindset.
A mindset built on guilt.

Outdated guilt
Trying to live up to a version of me that existed before everything changed.

And yeah… that version of me didn’t have her body interrupt her life. She hadn’t faced mortality yet.

So, of course, I felt like I was falling short.

That pressure made it hard to love myself.
And I won’t lie...sometimes it still is.
That voice that says, “You’re not living up to your full potential.”
It comes in waves.

But here’s what I keep coming back to:

1. What actually matters is your relationship with your own mind. Because you don’t get to leave it. Ever.
2. Radical acceptance is acknowledging things as they are. Not liking them. Not approving them.
But not fighting them either.
3. Loving yourself isn’t standing still and admiring who you are. It’s staying with yourself and giving yourself grace while you change.

This is what strength means to me now:

Staying open in a life that has given you every reason to close.
To feel things without letting them dictate your actions.
Recovering from setbacks and keep going.
To take responsibility.
Adjusting instead of collapsing.

To still break… because you will.
But choosing to rebuild with purpose.

Hey friends, I know it’s been a minute.
January and February were exactly what I expected… a rollercoaster. It’s just now starting to slow down.

This is an update, but honestly, it’s more for me.
A reminder of what actually matters.
A reminder of radical acceptance.
A reminder to love myself while I grow.

As I turn 28 this month, I look back at 23-year-old me, thinking I was starting a healing journey.
But I wasn’t. It became a survival journey.

And baby, those two are not the same thing.

Lately, I’ve realized something uneasy:
The hardest part of all of this hasn’t been the medical side; although, universe, please give me a break.

The hardest part has been my mind.

In the past 5 years, I thought being strong meant not breaking.
Like I could go through everything and somehow come out the same.
As if it were that simple, to watch your life fall apart and not be untouched.

That definition took me to the wrong places, the wrong people, and the wrong mindset.
A mindset built on guilt.

Outdated guilt
Trying to live up to a version of me that existed before everything changed.

And yeah… that version of me didn’t have her body interrupt her life. She hadn’t faced mortality yet.

So, of course, I felt like I was falling short.

That pressure made it hard to love myself.
And I won’t lie...sometimes it still is.
That voice that says, “You’re not living up to your full potential.”
It comes in waves.

But here’s what I keep coming back to:

1. What actually matters is your relationship with your own mind. Because you don’t get to leave it. Ever.
2. Radical acceptance is acknowledging things as they are. Not liking them. Not approving them.
But not fighting them either.
3. Loving yourself isn’t standing still and admiring who you are. It’s staying with yourself and giving yourself grace while you change.

This is what strength means to me now:

Staying open in a life that has given you every reason to close.
To feel things without letting them dictate your actions.
Recovering from setbacks and keep going.
To take responsibility.
Adjusting instead of collapsing.

To still break… because you will.
But choosing to rebuild with purpose.

Regis called me to do one of the most meaningful documentation projects I’ve done. We’ll keep the details while it evolves, but here’s a little sneak 🫶🏼

Regis called me to do one of the most meaningful documentation projects I’ve done. We’ll keep the details while it evolves, but here’s a little sneak 🫶🏼

Regis called me to do one of the most meaningful documentation projects I’ve done. We’ll keep the details while it evolves, but here’s a little sneak 🫶🏼

Regis called me to do one of the most meaningful documentation projects I’ve done. We’ll keep the details while it evolves, but here’s a little sneak 🫶🏼

Regis called me to do one of the most meaningful documentation projects I’ve done. We’ll keep the details while it evolves, but here’s a little sneak 🫶🏼

Hi, I’m revisiting these long captions where my heart spills out
It’s been almost a year since I updated everyone here.
Honestly, I didn’t know how to explain everything in simple words
The people who’ve seen me know it’s complex
Maybe too heavy for one caption
Nothing new, just life keeps reminding me how thin the line is between here and gone
Small update: I made the executive decision to return home.
Last year, when I came back, cancer was in remission, kidneys were at 20%, and now we have epilepsy. It was a battle that left me feeling defeated, like I hardly recognized the person in the mirror
This year felt like I lost myself, not all at once, but in pieces
Quietly
Slowly
In ways I didn’t see coming
In a body that looked fine but didn’t feel like home anymore
In love that began to hurt more than heal
While my health was technically at its best, my soul was wrecked
There were days I couldn’t feel anything
And others where I felt all at once
Nights I lay awake wondering if I’d ever get back to who I was,
and mornings where I knew that version of me was already gone
This wasn’t a year of clarity
This was survival, the bare minimum, hold on by a thread kind.
The “I don’t know who I am anymore”
Maybe you know that space too?
Where you smile on autopilot, say “I’m good” even when you’re barely there
However, what this year gave me was brutal and holy all at once
It forced me to watch everything I love slip through my hands and realize what’s actually worth holding
It gave me stillness that feels less like peace and more like surrender
The one that shows up when your body can’t take any more chaos
A tenderness for the ones who carry pain so quietly it becomes part of their breathing
It forced me to let go of control, timelines, and the need for things to make sense
And a desire to start over, not as who I was before all this, but as whoever’s left after this chapter ends
It took me a while to realize that maybe I didn’t lose myself.
You can only lose something that you have, but you can’t lose something that you are
I hope this makes sense to you as you read it
Thank you for loving me through the silence
We’re getting better, maybe not fast, but still better

Hi, I’m revisiting these long captions where my heart spills out
It’s been almost a year since I updated everyone here.
Honestly, I didn’t know how to explain everything in simple words
The people who’ve seen me know it’s complex
Maybe too heavy for one caption
Nothing new, just life keeps reminding me how thin the line is between here and gone
Small update: I made the executive decision to return home.
Last year, when I came back, cancer was in remission, kidneys were at 20%, and now we have epilepsy. It was a battle that left me feeling defeated, like I hardly recognized the person in the mirror
This year felt like I lost myself, not all at once, but in pieces
Quietly
Slowly
In ways I didn’t see coming
In a body that looked fine but didn’t feel like home anymore
In love that began to hurt more than heal
While my health was technically at its best, my soul was wrecked
There were days I couldn’t feel anything
And others where I felt all at once
Nights I lay awake wondering if I’d ever get back to who I was,
and mornings where I knew that version of me was already gone
This wasn’t a year of clarity
This was survival, the bare minimum, hold on by a thread kind.
The “I don’t know who I am anymore”
Maybe you know that space too?
Where you smile on autopilot, say “I’m good” even when you’re barely there
However, what this year gave me was brutal and holy all at once
It forced me to watch everything I love slip through my hands and realize what’s actually worth holding
It gave me stillness that feels less like peace and more like surrender
The one that shows up when your body can’t take any more chaos
A tenderness for the ones who carry pain so quietly it becomes part of their breathing
It forced me to let go of control, timelines, and the need for things to make sense
And a desire to start over, not as who I was before all this, but as whoever’s left after this chapter ends
It took me a while to realize that maybe I didn’t lose myself.
You can only lose something that you have, but you can’t lose something that you are
I hope this makes sense to you as you read it
Thank you for loving me through the silence
We’re getting better, maybe not fast, but still better

Hi, I’m revisiting these long captions where my heart spills out
It’s been almost a year since I updated everyone here.
Honestly, I didn’t know how to explain everything in simple words
The people who’ve seen me know it’s complex
Maybe too heavy for one caption
Nothing new, just life keeps reminding me how thin the line is between here and gone
Small update: I made the executive decision to return home.
Last year, when I came back, cancer was in remission, kidneys were at 20%, and now we have epilepsy. It was a battle that left me feeling defeated, like I hardly recognized the person in the mirror
This year felt like I lost myself, not all at once, but in pieces
Quietly
Slowly
In ways I didn’t see coming
In a body that looked fine but didn’t feel like home anymore
In love that began to hurt more than heal
While my health was technically at its best, my soul was wrecked
There were days I couldn’t feel anything
And others where I felt all at once
Nights I lay awake wondering if I’d ever get back to who I was,
and mornings where I knew that version of me was already gone
This wasn’t a year of clarity
This was survival, the bare minimum, hold on by a thread kind.
The “I don’t know who I am anymore”
Maybe you know that space too?
Where you smile on autopilot, say “I’m good” even when you’re barely there
However, what this year gave me was brutal and holy all at once
It forced me to watch everything I love slip through my hands and realize what’s actually worth holding
It gave me stillness that feels less like peace and more like surrender
The one that shows up when your body can’t take any more chaos
A tenderness for the ones who carry pain so quietly it becomes part of their breathing
It forced me to let go of control, timelines, and the need for things to make sense
And a desire to start over, not as who I was before all this, but as whoever’s left after this chapter ends
It took me a while to realize that maybe I didn’t lose myself.
You can only lose something that you have, but you can’t lose something that you are
I hope this makes sense to you as you read it
Thank you for loving me through the silence
We’re getting better, maybe not fast, but still better

Hi, I’m revisiting these long captions where my heart spills out
It’s been almost a year since I updated everyone here.
Honestly, I didn’t know how to explain everything in simple words
The people who’ve seen me know it’s complex
Maybe too heavy for one caption
Nothing new, just life keeps reminding me how thin the line is between here and gone
Small update: I made the executive decision to return home.
Last year, when I came back, cancer was in remission, kidneys were at 20%, and now we have epilepsy. It was a battle that left me feeling defeated, like I hardly recognized the person in the mirror
This year felt like I lost myself, not all at once, but in pieces
Quietly
Slowly
In ways I didn’t see coming
In a body that looked fine but didn’t feel like home anymore
In love that began to hurt more than heal
While my health was technically at its best, my soul was wrecked
There were days I couldn’t feel anything
And others where I felt all at once
Nights I lay awake wondering if I’d ever get back to who I was,
and mornings where I knew that version of me was already gone
This wasn’t a year of clarity
This was survival, the bare minimum, hold on by a thread kind.
The “I don’t know who I am anymore”
Maybe you know that space too?
Where you smile on autopilot, say “I’m good” even when you’re barely there
However, what this year gave me was brutal and holy all at once
It forced me to watch everything I love slip through my hands and realize what’s actually worth holding
It gave me stillness that feels less like peace and more like surrender
The one that shows up when your body can’t take any more chaos
A tenderness for the ones who carry pain so quietly it becomes part of their breathing
It forced me to let go of control, timelines, and the need for things to make sense
And a desire to start over, not as who I was before all this, but as whoever’s left after this chapter ends
It took me a while to realize that maybe I didn’t lose myself.
You can only lose something that you have, but you can’t lose something that you are
I hope this makes sense to you as you read it
Thank you for loving me through the silence
We’re getting better, maybe not fast, but still better

Hi, I’m revisiting these long captions where my heart spills out
It’s been almost a year since I updated everyone here.
Honestly, I didn’t know how to explain everything in simple words
The people who’ve seen me know it’s complex
Maybe too heavy for one caption
Nothing new, just life keeps reminding me how thin the line is between here and gone
Small update: I made the executive decision to return home.
Last year, when I came back, cancer was in remission, kidneys were at 20%, and now we have epilepsy. It was a battle that left me feeling defeated, like I hardly recognized the person in the mirror
This year felt like I lost myself, not all at once, but in pieces
Quietly
Slowly
In ways I didn’t see coming
In a body that looked fine but didn’t feel like home anymore
In love that began to hurt more than heal
While my health was technically at its best, my soul was wrecked
There were days I couldn’t feel anything
And others where I felt all at once
Nights I lay awake wondering if I’d ever get back to who I was,
and mornings where I knew that version of me was already gone
This wasn’t a year of clarity
This was survival, the bare minimum, hold on by a thread kind.
The “I don’t know who I am anymore”
Maybe you know that space too?
Where you smile on autopilot, say “I’m good” even when you’re barely there
However, what this year gave me was brutal and holy all at once
It forced me to watch everything I love slip through my hands and realize what’s actually worth holding
It gave me stillness that feels less like peace and more like surrender
The one that shows up when your body can’t take any more chaos
A tenderness for the ones who carry pain so quietly it becomes part of their breathing
It forced me to let go of control, timelines, and the need for things to make sense
And a desire to start over, not as who I was before all this, but as whoever’s left after this chapter ends
It took me a while to realize that maybe I didn’t lose myself.
You can only lose something that you have, but you can’t lose something that you are
I hope this makes sense to you as you read it
Thank you for loving me through the silence
We’re getting better, maybe not fast, but still better

Hi, I’m revisiting these long captions where my heart spills out
It’s been almost a year since I updated everyone here.
Honestly, I didn’t know how to explain everything in simple words
The people who’ve seen me know it’s complex
Maybe too heavy for one caption
Nothing new, just life keeps reminding me how thin the line is between here and gone
Small update: I made the executive decision to return home.
Last year, when I came back, cancer was in remission, kidneys were at 20%, and now we have epilepsy. It was a battle that left me feeling defeated, like I hardly recognized the person in the mirror
This year felt like I lost myself, not all at once, but in pieces
Quietly
Slowly
In ways I didn’t see coming
In a body that looked fine but didn’t feel like home anymore
In love that began to hurt more than heal
While my health was technically at its best, my soul was wrecked
There were days I couldn’t feel anything
And others where I felt all at once
Nights I lay awake wondering if I’d ever get back to who I was,
and mornings where I knew that version of me was already gone
This wasn’t a year of clarity
This was survival, the bare minimum, hold on by a thread kind.
The “I don’t know who I am anymore”
Maybe you know that space too?
Where you smile on autopilot, say “I’m good” even when you’re barely there
However, what this year gave me was brutal and holy all at once
It forced me to watch everything I love slip through my hands and realize what’s actually worth holding
It gave me stillness that feels less like peace and more like surrender
The one that shows up when your body can’t take any more chaos
A tenderness for the ones who carry pain so quietly it becomes part of their breathing
It forced me to let go of control, timelines, and the need for things to make sense
And a desire to start over, not as who I was before all this, but as whoever’s left after this chapter ends
It took me a while to realize that maybe I didn’t lose myself.
You can only lose something that you have, but you can’t lose something that you are
I hope this makes sense to you as you read it
Thank you for loving me through the silence
We’re getting better, maybe not fast, but still better

Hi, I’m revisiting these long captions where my heart spills out
It’s been almost a year since I updated everyone here.
Honestly, I didn’t know how to explain everything in simple words
The people who’ve seen me know it’s complex
Maybe too heavy for one caption
Nothing new, just life keeps reminding me how thin the line is between here and gone
Small update: I made the executive decision to return home.
Last year, when I came back, cancer was in remission, kidneys were at 20%, and now we have epilepsy. It was a battle that left me feeling defeated, like I hardly recognized the person in the mirror
This year felt like I lost myself, not all at once, but in pieces
Quietly
Slowly
In ways I didn’t see coming
In a body that looked fine but didn’t feel like home anymore
In love that began to hurt more than heal
While my health was technically at its best, my soul was wrecked
There were days I couldn’t feel anything
And others where I felt all at once
Nights I lay awake wondering if I’d ever get back to who I was,
and mornings where I knew that version of me was already gone
This wasn’t a year of clarity
This was survival, the bare minimum, hold on by a thread kind.
The “I don’t know who I am anymore”
Maybe you know that space too?
Where you smile on autopilot, say “I’m good” even when you’re barely there
However, what this year gave me was brutal and holy all at once
It forced me to watch everything I love slip through my hands and realize what’s actually worth holding
It gave me stillness that feels less like peace and more like surrender
The one that shows up when your body can’t take any more chaos
A tenderness for the ones who carry pain so quietly it becomes part of their breathing
It forced me to let go of control, timelines, and the need for things to make sense
And a desire to start over, not as who I was before all this, but as whoever’s left after this chapter ends
It took me a while to realize that maybe I didn’t lose myself.
You can only lose something that you have, but you can’t lose something that you are
I hope this makes sense to you as you read it
Thank you for loving me through the silence
We’re getting better, maybe not fast, but still better

Hi, I’m revisiting these long captions where my heart spills out
It’s been almost a year since I updated everyone here.
Honestly, I didn’t know how to explain everything in simple words
The people who’ve seen me know it’s complex
Maybe too heavy for one caption
Nothing new, just life keeps reminding me how thin the line is between here and gone
Small update: I made the executive decision to return home.
Last year, when I came back, cancer was in remission, kidneys were at 20%, and now we have epilepsy. It was a battle that left me feeling defeated, like I hardly recognized the person in the mirror
This year felt like I lost myself, not all at once, but in pieces
Quietly
Slowly
In ways I didn’t see coming
In a body that looked fine but didn’t feel like home anymore
In love that began to hurt more than heal
While my health was technically at its best, my soul was wrecked
There were days I couldn’t feel anything
And others where I felt all at once
Nights I lay awake wondering if I’d ever get back to who I was,
and mornings where I knew that version of me was already gone
This wasn’t a year of clarity
This was survival, the bare minimum, hold on by a thread kind.
The “I don’t know who I am anymore”
Maybe you know that space too?
Where you smile on autopilot, say “I’m good” even when you’re barely there
However, what this year gave me was brutal and holy all at once
It forced me to watch everything I love slip through my hands and realize what’s actually worth holding
It gave me stillness that feels less like peace and more like surrender
The one that shows up when your body can’t take any more chaos
A tenderness for the ones who carry pain so quietly it becomes part of their breathing
It forced me to let go of control, timelines, and the need for things to make sense
And a desire to start over, not as who I was before all this, but as whoever’s left after this chapter ends
It took me a while to realize that maybe I didn’t lose myself.
You can only lose something that you have, but you can’t lose something that you are
I hope this makes sense to you as you read it
Thank you for loving me through the silence
We’re getting better, maybe not fast, but still better

Hi, I’m revisiting these long captions where my heart spills out
It’s been almost a year since I updated everyone here.
Honestly, I didn’t know how to explain everything in simple words
The people who’ve seen me know it’s complex
Maybe too heavy for one caption
Nothing new, just life keeps reminding me how thin the line is between here and gone
Small update: I made the executive decision to return home.
Last year, when I came back, cancer was in remission, kidneys were at 20%, and now we have epilepsy. It was a battle that left me feeling defeated, like I hardly recognized the person in the mirror
This year felt like I lost myself, not all at once, but in pieces
Quietly
Slowly
In ways I didn’t see coming
In a body that looked fine but didn’t feel like home anymore
In love that began to hurt more than heal
While my health was technically at its best, my soul was wrecked
There were days I couldn’t feel anything
And others where I felt all at once
Nights I lay awake wondering if I’d ever get back to who I was,
and mornings where I knew that version of me was already gone
This wasn’t a year of clarity
This was survival, the bare minimum, hold on by a thread kind.
The “I don’t know who I am anymore”
Maybe you know that space too?
Where you smile on autopilot, say “I’m good” even when you’re barely there
However, what this year gave me was brutal and holy all at once
It forced me to watch everything I love slip through my hands and realize what’s actually worth holding
It gave me stillness that feels less like peace and more like surrender
The one that shows up when your body can’t take any more chaos
A tenderness for the ones who carry pain so quietly it becomes part of their breathing
It forced me to let go of control, timelines, and the need for things to make sense
And a desire to start over, not as who I was before all this, but as whoever’s left after this chapter ends
It took me a while to realize that maybe I didn’t lose myself.
You can only lose something that you have, but you can’t lose something that you are
I hope this makes sense to you as you read it
Thank you for loving me through the silence
We’re getting better, maybe not fast, but still better

Hi, I’m revisiting these long captions where my heart spills out
It’s been almost a year since I updated everyone here.
Honestly, I didn’t know how to explain everything in simple words
The people who’ve seen me know it’s complex
Maybe too heavy for one caption
Nothing new, just life keeps reminding me how thin the line is between here and gone
Small update: I made the executive decision to return home.
Last year, when I came back, cancer was in remission, kidneys were at 20%, and now we have epilepsy. It was a battle that left me feeling defeated, like I hardly recognized the person in the mirror
This year felt like I lost myself, not all at once, but in pieces
Quietly
Slowly
In ways I didn’t see coming
In a body that looked fine but didn’t feel like home anymore
In love that began to hurt more than heal
While my health was technically at its best, my soul was wrecked
There were days I couldn’t feel anything
And others where I felt all at once
Nights I lay awake wondering if I’d ever get back to who I was,
and mornings where I knew that version of me was already gone
This wasn’t a year of clarity
This was survival, the bare minimum, hold on by a thread kind.
The “I don’t know who I am anymore”
Maybe you know that space too?
Where you smile on autopilot, say “I’m good” even when you’re barely there
However, what this year gave me was brutal and holy all at once
It forced me to watch everything I love slip through my hands and realize what’s actually worth holding
It gave me stillness that feels less like peace and more like surrender
The one that shows up when your body can’t take any more chaos
A tenderness for the ones who carry pain so quietly it becomes part of their breathing
It forced me to let go of control, timelines, and the need for things to make sense
And a desire to start over, not as who I was before all this, but as whoever’s left after this chapter ends
It took me a while to realize that maybe I didn’t lose myself.
You can only lose something that you have, but you can’t lose something that you are
I hope this makes sense to you as you read it
Thank you for loving me through the silence
We’re getting better, maybe not fast, but still better

Hi, I’m revisiting these long captions where my heart spills out
It’s been almost a year since I updated everyone here.
Honestly, I didn’t know how to explain everything in simple words
The people who’ve seen me know it’s complex
Maybe too heavy for one caption
Nothing new, just life keeps reminding me how thin the line is between here and gone
Small update: I made the executive decision to return home.
Last year, when I came back, cancer was in remission, kidneys were at 20%, and now we have epilepsy. It was a battle that left me feeling defeated, like I hardly recognized the person in the mirror
This year felt like I lost myself, not all at once, but in pieces
Quietly
Slowly
In ways I didn’t see coming
In a body that looked fine but didn’t feel like home anymore
In love that began to hurt more than heal
While my health was technically at its best, my soul was wrecked
There were days I couldn’t feel anything
And others where I felt all at once
Nights I lay awake wondering if I’d ever get back to who I was,
and mornings where I knew that version of me was already gone
This wasn’t a year of clarity
This was survival, the bare minimum, hold on by a thread kind.
The “I don’t know who I am anymore”
Maybe you know that space too?
Where you smile on autopilot, say “I’m good” even when you’re barely there
However, what this year gave me was brutal and holy all at once
It forced me to watch everything I love slip through my hands and realize what’s actually worth holding
It gave me stillness that feels less like peace and more like surrender
The one that shows up when your body can’t take any more chaos
A tenderness for the ones who carry pain so quietly it becomes part of their breathing
It forced me to let go of control, timelines, and the need for things to make sense
And a desire to start over, not as who I was before all this, but as whoever’s left after this chapter ends
It took me a while to realize that maybe I didn’t lose myself.
You can only lose something that you have, but you can’t lose something that you are
I hope this makes sense to you as you read it
Thank you for loving me through the silence
We’re getting better, maybe not fast, but still better

Hi, I’m revisiting these long captions where my heart spills out
It’s been almost a year since I updated everyone here.
Honestly, I didn’t know how to explain everything in simple words
The people who’ve seen me know it’s complex
Maybe too heavy for one caption
Nothing new, just life keeps reminding me how thin the line is between here and gone
Small update: I made the executive decision to return home.
Last year, when I came back, cancer was in remission, kidneys were at 20%, and now we have epilepsy. It was a battle that left me feeling defeated, like I hardly recognized the person in the mirror
This year felt like I lost myself, not all at once, but in pieces
Quietly
Slowly
In ways I didn’t see coming
In a body that looked fine but didn’t feel like home anymore
In love that began to hurt more than heal
While my health was technically at its best, my soul was wrecked
There were days I couldn’t feel anything
And others where I felt all at once
Nights I lay awake wondering if I’d ever get back to who I was,
and mornings where I knew that version of me was already gone
This wasn’t a year of clarity
This was survival, the bare minimum, hold on by a thread kind.
The “I don’t know who I am anymore”
Maybe you know that space too?
Where you smile on autopilot, say “I’m good” even when you’re barely there
However, what this year gave me was brutal and holy all at once
It forced me to watch everything I love slip through my hands and realize what’s actually worth holding
It gave me stillness that feels less like peace and more like surrender
The one that shows up when your body can’t take any more chaos
A tenderness for the ones who carry pain so quietly it becomes part of their breathing
It forced me to let go of control, timelines, and the need for things to make sense
And a desire to start over, not as who I was before all this, but as whoever’s left after this chapter ends
It took me a while to realize that maybe I didn’t lose myself.
You can only lose something that you have, but you can’t lose something that you are
I hope this makes sense to you as you read it
Thank you for loving me through the silence
We’re getting better, maybe not fast, but still better

Hi, I’m revisiting these long captions where my heart spills out
It’s been almost a year since I updated everyone here.
Honestly, I didn’t know how to explain everything in simple words
The people who’ve seen me know it’s complex
Maybe too heavy for one caption
Nothing new, just life keeps reminding me how thin the line is between here and gone
Small update: I made the executive decision to return home.
Last year, when I came back, cancer was in remission, kidneys were at 20%, and now we have epilepsy. It was a battle that left me feeling defeated, like I hardly recognized the person in the mirror
This year felt like I lost myself, not all at once, but in pieces
Quietly
Slowly
In ways I didn’t see coming
In a body that looked fine but didn’t feel like home anymore
In love that began to hurt more than heal
While my health was technically at its best, my soul was wrecked
There were days I couldn’t feel anything
And others where I felt all at once
Nights I lay awake wondering if I’d ever get back to who I was,
and mornings where I knew that version of me was already gone
This wasn’t a year of clarity
This was survival, the bare minimum, hold on by a thread kind.
The “I don’t know who I am anymore”
Maybe you know that space too?
Where you smile on autopilot, say “I’m good” even when you’re barely there
However, what this year gave me was brutal and holy all at once
It forced me to watch everything I love slip through my hands and realize what’s actually worth holding
It gave me stillness that feels less like peace and more like surrender
The one that shows up when your body can’t take any more chaos
A tenderness for the ones who carry pain so quietly it becomes part of their breathing
It forced me to let go of control, timelines, and the need for things to make sense
And a desire to start over, not as who I was before all this, but as whoever’s left after this chapter ends
It took me a while to realize that maybe I didn’t lose myself.
You can only lose something that you have, but you can’t lose something that you are
I hope this makes sense to you as you read it
Thank you for loving me through the silence
We’re getting better, maybe not fast, but still better

Hi, I’m revisiting these long captions where my heart spills out
It’s been almost a year since I updated everyone here.
Honestly, I didn’t know how to explain everything in simple words
The people who’ve seen me know it’s complex
Maybe too heavy for one caption
Nothing new, just life keeps reminding me how thin the line is between here and gone
Small update: I made the executive decision to return home.
Last year, when I came back, cancer was in remission, kidneys were at 20%, and now we have epilepsy. It was a battle that left me feeling defeated, like I hardly recognized the person in the mirror
This year felt like I lost myself, not all at once, but in pieces
Quietly
Slowly
In ways I didn’t see coming
In a body that looked fine but didn’t feel like home anymore
In love that began to hurt more than heal
While my health was technically at its best, my soul was wrecked
There were days I couldn’t feel anything
And others where I felt all at once
Nights I lay awake wondering if I’d ever get back to who I was,
and mornings where I knew that version of me was already gone
This wasn’t a year of clarity
This was survival, the bare minimum, hold on by a thread kind.
The “I don’t know who I am anymore”
Maybe you know that space too?
Where you smile on autopilot, say “I’m good” even when you’re barely there
However, what this year gave me was brutal and holy all at once
It forced me to watch everything I love slip through my hands and realize what’s actually worth holding
It gave me stillness that feels less like peace and more like surrender
The one that shows up when your body can’t take any more chaos
A tenderness for the ones who carry pain so quietly it becomes part of their breathing
It forced me to let go of control, timelines, and the need for things to make sense
And a desire to start over, not as who I was before all this, but as whoever’s left after this chapter ends
It took me a while to realize that maybe I didn’t lose myself.
You can only lose something that you have, but you can’t lose something that you are
I hope this makes sense to you as you read it
Thank you for loving me through the silence
We’re getting better, maybe not fast, but still better

Hi, I’m revisiting these long captions where my heart spills out
It’s been almost a year since I updated everyone here.
Honestly, I didn’t know how to explain everything in simple words
The people who’ve seen me know it’s complex
Maybe too heavy for one caption
Nothing new, just life keeps reminding me how thin the line is between here and gone
Small update: I made the executive decision to return home.
Last year, when I came back, cancer was in remission, kidneys were at 20%, and now we have epilepsy. It was a battle that left me feeling defeated, like I hardly recognized the person in the mirror
This year felt like I lost myself, not all at once, but in pieces
Quietly
Slowly
In ways I didn’t see coming
In a body that looked fine but didn’t feel like home anymore
In love that began to hurt more than heal
While my health was technically at its best, my soul was wrecked
There were days I couldn’t feel anything
And others where I felt all at once
Nights I lay awake wondering if I’d ever get back to who I was,
and mornings where I knew that version of me was already gone
This wasn’t a year of clarity
This was survival, the bare minimum, hold on by a thread kind.
The “I don’t know who I am anymore”
Maybe you know that space too?
Where you smile on autopilot, say “I’m good” even when you’re barely there
However, what this year gave me was brutal and holy all at once
It forced me to watch everything I love slip through my hands and realize what’s actually worth holding
It gave me stillness that feels less like peace and more like surrender
The one that shows up when your body can’t take any more chaos
A tenderness for the ones who carry pain so quietly it becomes part of their breathing
It forced me to let go of control, timelines, and the need for things to make sense
And a desire to start over, not as who I was before all this, but as whoever’s left after this chapter ends
It took me a while to realize that maybe I didn’t lose myself.
You can only lose something that you have, but you can’t lose something that you are
I hope this makes sense to you as you read it
Thank you for loving me through the silence
We’re getting better, maybe not fast, but still better

Hi, I’m revisiting these long captions where my heart spills out
It’s been almost a year since I updated everyone here.
Honestly, I didn’t know how to explain everything in simple words
The people who’ve seen me know it’s complex
Maybe too heavy for one caption
Nothing new, just life keeps reminding me how thin the line is between here and gone
Small update: I made the executive decision to return home.
Last year, when I came back, cancer was in remission, kidneys were at 20%, and now we have epilepsy. It was a battle that left me feeling defeated, like I hardly recognized the person in the mirror
This year felt like I lost myself, not all at once, but in pieces
Quietly
Slowly
In ways I didn’t see coming
In a body that looked fine but didn’t feel like home anymore
In love that began to hurt more than heal
While my health was technically at its best, my soul was wrecked
There were days I couldn’t feel anything
And others where I felt all at once
Nights I lay awake wondering if I’d ever get back to who I was,
and mornings where I knew that version of me was already gone
This wasn’t a year of clarity
This was survival, the bare minimum, hold on by a thread kind.
The “I don’t know who I am anymore”
Maybe you know that space too?
Where you smile on autopilot, say “I’m good” even when you’re barely there
However, what this year gave me was brutal and holy all at once
It forced me to watch everything I love slip through my hands and realize what’s actually worth holding
It gave me stillness that feels less like peace and more like surrender
The one that shows up when your body can’t take any more chaos
A tenderness for the ones who carry pain so quietly it becomes part of their breathing
It forced me to let go of control, timelines, and the need for things to make sense
And a desire to start over, not as who I was before all this, but as whoever’s left after this chapter ends
It took me a while to realize that maybe I didn’t lose myself.
You can only lose something that you have, but you can’t lose something that you are
I hope this makes sense to you as you read it
Thank you for loving me through the silence
We’re getting better, maybe not fast, but still better

Hi, I’m revisiting these long captions where my heart spills out
It’s been almost a year since I updated everyone here.
Honestly, I didn’t know how to explain everything in simple words
The people who’ve seen me know it’s complex
Maybe too heavy for one caption
Nothing new, just life keeps reminding me how thin the line is between here and gone
Small update: I made the executive decision to return home.
Last year, when I came back, cancer was in remission, kidneys were at 20%, and now we have epilepsy. It was a battle that left me feeling defeated, like I hardly recognized the person in the mirror
This year felt like I lost myself, not all at once, but in pieces
Quietly
Slowly
In ways I didn’t see coming
In a body that looked fine but didn’t feel like home anymore
In love that began to hurt more than heal
While my health was technically at its best, my soul was wrecked
There were days I couldn’t feel anything
And others where I felt all at once
Nights I lay awake wondering if I’d ever get back to who I was,
and mornings where I knew that version of me was already gone
This wasn’t a year of clarity
This was survival, the bare minimum, hold on by a thread kind.
The “I don’t know who I am anymore”
Maybe you know that space too?
Where you smile on autopilot, say “I’m good” even when you’re barely there
However, what this year gave me was brutal and holy all at once
It forced me to watch everything I love slip through my hands and realize what’s actually worth holding
It gave me stillness that feels less like peace and more like surrender
The one that shows up when your body can’t take any more chaos
A tenderness for the ones who carry pain so quietly it becomes part of their breathing
It forced me to let go of control, timelines, and the need for things to make sense
And a desire to start over, not as who I was before all this, but as whoever’s left after this chapter ends
It took me a while to realize that maybe I didn’t lose myself.
You can only lose something that you have, but you can’t lose something that you are
I hope this makes sense to you as you read it
Thank you for loving me through the silence
We’re getting better, maybe not fast, but still better

Hi, I’m revisiting these long captions where my heart spills out
It’s been almost a year since I updated everyone here.
Honestly, I didn’t know how to explain everything in simple words
The people who’ve seen me know it’s complex
Maybe too heavy for one caption
Nothing new, just life keeps reminding me how thin the line is between here and gone
Small update: I made the executive decision to return home.
Last year, when I came back, cancer was in remission, kidneys were at 20%, and now we have epilepsy. It was a battle that left me feeling defeated, like I hardly recognized the person in the mirror
This year felt like I lost myself, not all at once, but in pieces
Quietly
Slowly
In ways I didn’t see coming
In a body that looked fine but didn’t feel like home anymore
In love that began to hurt more than heal
While my health was technically at its best, my soul was wrecked
There were days I couldn’t feel anything
And others where I felt all at once
Nights I lay awake wondering if I’d ever get back to who I was,
and mornings where I knew that version of me was already gone
This wasn’t a year of clarity
This was survival, the bare minimum, hold on by a thread kind.
The “I don’t know who I am anymore”
Maybe you know that space too?
Where you smile on autopilot, say “I’m good” even when you’re barely there
However, what this year gave me was brutal and holy all at once
It forced me to watch everything I love slip through my hands and realize what’s actually worth holding
It gave me stillness that feels less like peace and more like surrender
The one that shows up when your body can’t take any more chaos
A tenderness for the ones who carry pain so quietly it becomes part of their breathing
It forced me to let go of control, timelines, and the need for things to make sense
And a desire to start over, not as who I was before all this, but as whoever’s left after this chapter ends
It took me a while to realize that maybe I didn’t lose myself.
You can only lose something that you have, but you can’t lose something that you are
I hope this makes sense to you as you read it
Thank you for loving me through the silence
We’re getting better, maybe not fast, but still better

Hi, I’m revisiting these long captions where my heart spills out
It’s been almost a year since I updated everyone here.
Honestly, I didn’t know how to explain everything in simple words
The people who’ve seen me know it’s complex
Maybe too heavy for one caption
Nothing new, just life keeps reminding me how thin the line is between here and gone
Small update: I made the executive decision to return home.
Last year, when I came back, cancer was in remission, kidneys were at 20%, and now we have epilepsy. It was a battle that left me feeling defeated, like I hardly recognized the person in the mirror
This year felt like I lost myself, not all at once, but in pieces
Quietly
Slowly
In ways I didn’t see coming
In a body that looked fine but didn’t feel like home anymore
In love that began to hurt more than heal
While my health was technically at its best, my soul was wrecked
There were days I couldn’t feel anything
And others where I felt all at once
Nights I lay awake wondering if I’d ever get back to who I was,
and mornings where I knew that version of me was already gone
This wasn’t a year of clarity
This was survival, the bare minimum, hold on by a thread kind.
The “I don’t know who I am anymore”
Maybe you know that space too?
Where you smile on autopilot, say “I’m good” even when you’re barely there
However, what this year gave me was brutal and holy all at once
It forced me to watch everything I love slip through my hands and realize what’s actually worth holding
It gave me stillness that feels less like peace and more like surrender
The one that shows up when your body can’t take any more chaos
A tenderness for the ones who carry pain so quietly it becomes part of their breathing
It forced me to let go of control, timelines, and the need for things to make sense
And a desire to start over, not as who I was before all this, but as whoever’s left after this chapter ends
It took me a while to realize that maybe I didn’t lose myself.
You can only lose something that you have, but you can’t lose something that you are
I hope this makes sense to you as you read it
Thank you for loving me through the silence
We’re getting better, maybe not fast, but still better

Hi, I’m revisiting these long captions where my heart spills out
It’s been almost a year since I updated everyone here.
Honestly, I didn’t know how to explain everything in simple words
The people who’ve seen me know it’s complex
Maybe too heavy for one caption
Nothing new, just life keeps reminding me how thin the line is between here and gone
Small update: I made the executive decision to return home.
Last year, when I came back, cancer was in remission, kidneys were at 20%, and now we have epilepsy. It was a battle that left me feeling defeated, like I hardly recognized the person in the mirror
This year felt like I lost myself, not all at once, but in pieces
Quietly
Slowly
In ways I didn’t see coming
In a body that looked fine but didn’t feel like home anymore
In love that began to hurt more than heal
While my health was technically at its best, my soul was wrecked
There were days I couldn’t feel anything
And others where I felt all at once
Nights I lay awake wondering if I’d ever get back to who I was,
and mornings where I knew that version of me was already gone
This wasn’t a year of clarity
This was survival, the bare minimum, hold on by a thread kind.
The “I don’t know who I am anymore”
Maybe you know that space too?
Where you smile on autopilot, say “I’m good” even when you’re barely there
However, what this year gave me was brutal and holy all at once
It forced me to watch everything I love slip through my hands and realize what’s actually worth holding
It gave me stillness that feels less like peace and more like surrender
The one that shows up when your body can’t take any more chaos
A tenderness for the ones who carry pain so quietly it becomes part of their breathing
It forced me to let go of control, timelines, and the need for things to make sense
And a desire to start over, not as who I was before all this, but as whoever’s left after this chapter ends
It took me a while to realize that maybe I didn’t lose myself.
You can only lose something that you have, but you can’t lose something that you are
I hope this makes sense to you as you read it
Thank you for loving me through the silence
We’re getting better, maybe not fast, but still better

Hello, my friends. I disappeared for a while. These last few months have left me wordless. This is my attempt to find the right words. Let me start from the beginning, which is really another end.

In my last post, I talked about making choices. One of them was starting a new treatment, which I began in July. You never know what tomorrow will bring, and this brought me into a short coma. It was a blessing to wake up and recover quickly; my treatment was suspended indefinitely.
So now what?

Well, I have been trying —to figure it out now, to figure it out today.

Today, I celebrate my life. It’s my anniversary. A year ago, my kidneys failed, and I was ready to go surrounded by plenty of love.

Yet, today is not the day to talk about that. Today is a day of reminders and gratitude.

1. Life is this amazing gift we are given every day. Don’t dismiss a second of it. Your “normal” day might be someone else’s dream.
2. That light that you hold. Hold it close, but also share it- let it glow, and no matter what, don’t ever let it turn off.
3. Anything can happen. Time is the owner of that; let it do its thing.
4. You need to feel at peace more than you need to feel in control.
5. Slow down to be; to enjoy, learn, and love this version of you. You will never be her again.
6. The time that’s worth is marked by the beat of our hearts; there’s no perfect moment. Wear it, do it, tell them now.
7. No risk, no magic.
8.Sometimes, the bad things in our lives set us straight on the path to the most incredible things that will happen to us. Patience and trust.
9. It is not who arrives; it is who stays. Love, love, love them, and let them know.
10. How we choose to see the world creates the world we see.
11.Dance the most you can, but most importantly, dance with whomever you want the most.
12.Be grateful not only for everything around you but also for everything about you.

Hello, my friends. I disappeared for a while. These last few months have left me wordless. This is my attempt to find the right words. Let me start from the beginning, which is really another end.

In my last post, I talked about making choices. One of them was starting a new treatment, which I began in July. You never know what tomorrow will bring, and this brought me into a short coma. It was a blessing to wake up and recover quickly; my treatment was suspended indefinitely.
So now what?

Well, I have been trying —to figure it out now, to figure it out today.

Today, I celebrate my life. It’s my anniversary. A year ago, my kidneys failed, and I was ready to go surrounded by plenty of love.

Yet, today is not the day to talk about that. Today is a day of reminders and gratitude.

1. Life is this amazing gift we are given every day. Don’t dismiss a second of it. Your “normal” day might be someone else’s dream.
2. That light that you hold. Hold it close, but also share it- let it glow, and no matter what, don’t ever let it turn off.
3. Anything can happen. Time is the owner of that; let it do its thing.
4. You need to feel at peace more than you need to feel in control.
5. Slow down to be; to enjoy, learn, and love this version of you. You will never be her again.
6. The time that’s worth is marked by the beat of our hearts; there’s no perfect moment. Wear it, do it, tell them now.
7. No risk, no magic.
8.Sometimes, the bad things in our lives set us straight on the path to the most incredible things that will happen to us. Patience and trust.
9. It is not who arrives; it is who stays. Love, love, love them, and let them know.
10. How we choose to see the world creates the world we see.
11.Dance the most you can, but most importantly, dance with whomever you want the most.
12.Be grateful not only for everything around you but also for everything about you.

Hello, my friends. I disappeared for a while. These last few months have left me wordless. This is my attempt to find the right words. Let me start from the beginning, which is really another end.

In my last post, I talked about making choices. One of them was starting a new treatment, which I began in July. You never know what tomorrow will bring, and this brought me into a short coma. It was a blessing to wake up and recover quickly; my treatment was suspended indefinitely.
So now what?

Well, I have been trying —to figure it out now, to figure it out today.

Today, I celebrate my life. It’s my anniversary. A year ago, my kidneys failed, and I was ready to go surrounded by plenty of love.

Yet, today is not the day to talk about that. Today is a day of reminders and gratitude.

1. Life is this amazing gift we are given every day. Don’t dismiss a second of it. Your “normal” day might be someone else’s dream.
2. That light that you hold. Hold it close, but also share it- let it glow, and no matter what, don’t ever let it turn off.
3. Anything can happen. Time is the owner of that; let it do its thing.
4. You need to feel at peace more than you need to feel in control.
5. Slow down to be; to enjoy, learn, and love this version of you. You will never be her again.
6. The time that’s worth is marked by the beat of our hearts; there’s no perfect moment. Wear it, do it, tell them now.
7. No risk, no magic.
8.Sometimes, the bad things in our lives set us straight on the path to the most incredible things that will happen to us. Patience and trust.
9. It is not who arrives; it is who stays. Love, love, love them, and let them know.
10. How we choose to see the world creates the world we see.
11.Dance the most you can, but most importantly, dance with whomever you want the most.
12.Be grateful not only for everything around you but also for everything about you.

Hello, my friends. I disappeared for a while. These last few months have left me wordless. This is my attempt to find the right words. Let me start from the beginning, which is really another end.

In my last post, I talked about making choices. One of them was starting a new treatment, which I began in July. You never know what tomorrow will bring, and this brought me into a short coma. It was a blessing to wake up and recover quickly; my treatment was suspended indefinitely.
So now what?

Well, I have been trying —to figure it out now, to figure it out today.

Today, I celebrate my life. It’s my anniversary. A year ago, my kidneys failed, and I was ready to go surrounded by plenty of love.

Yet, today is not the day to talk about that. Today is a day of reminders and gratitude.

1. Life is this amazing gift we are given every day. Don’t dismiss a second of it. Your “normal” day might be someone else’s dream.
2. That light that you hold. Hold it close, but also share it- let it glow, and no matter what, don’t ever let it turn off.
3. Anything can happen. Time is the owner of that; let it do its thing.
4. You need to feel at peace more than you need to feel in control.
5. Slow down to be; to enjoy, learn, and love this version of you. You will never be her again.
6. The time that’s worth is marked by the beat of our hearts; there’s no perfect moment. Wear it, do it, tell them now.
7. No risk, no magic.
8.Sometimes, the bad things in our lives set us straight on the path to the most incredible things that will happen to us. Patience and trust.
9. It is not who arrives; it is who stays. Love, love, love them, and let them know.
10. How we choose to see the world creates the world we see.
11.Dance the most you can, but most importantly, dance with whomever you want the most.
12.Be grateful not only for everything around you but also for everything about you.

Hello, my friends. I disappeared for a while. These last few months have left me wordless. This is my attempt to find the right words. Let me start from the beginning, which is really another end.

In my last post, I talked about making choices. One of them was starting a new treatment, which I began in July. You never know what tomorrow will bring, and this brought me into a short coma. It was a blessing to wake up and recover quickly; my treatment was suspended indefinitely.
So now what?

Well, I have been trying —to figure it out now, to figure it out today.

Today, I celebrate my life. It’s my anniversary. A year ago, my kidneys failed, and I was ready to go surrounded by plenty of love.

Yet, today is not the day to talk about that. Today is a day of reminders and gratitude.

1. Life is this amazing gift we are given every day. Don’t dismiss a second of it. Your “normal” day might be someone else’s dream.
2. That light that you hold. Hold it close, but also share it- let it glow, and no matter what, don’t ever let it turn off.
3. Anything can happen. Time is the owner of that; let it do its thing.
4. You need to feel at peace more than you need to feel in control.
5. Slow down to be; to enjoy, learn, and love this version of you. You will never be her again.
6. The time that’s worth is marked by the beat of our hearts; there’s no perfect moment. Wear it, do it, tell them now.
7. No risk, no magic.
8.Sometimes, the bad things in our lives set us straight on the path to the most incredible things that will happen to us. Patience and trust.
9. It is not who arrives; it is who stays. Love, love, love them, and let them know.
10. How we choose to see the world creates the world we see.
11.Dance the most you can, but most importantly, dance with whomever you want the most.
12.Be grateful not only for everything around you but also for everything about you.

Hello, my friends. I disappeared for a while. These last few months have left me wordless. This is my attempt to find the right words. Let me start from the beginning, which is really another end.

In my last post, I talked about making choices. One of them was starting a new treatment, which I began in July. You never know what tomorrow will bring, and this brought me into a short coma. It was a blessing to wake up and recover quickly; my treatment was suspended indefinitely.
So now what?

Well, I have been trying —to figure it out now, to figure it out today.

Today, I celebrate my life. It’s my anniversary. A year ago, my kidneys failed, and I was ready to go surrounded by plenty of love.

Yet, today is not the day to talk about that. Today is a day of reminders and gratitude.

1. Life is this amazing gift we are given every day. Don’t dismiss a second of it. Your “normal” day might be someone else’s dream.
2. That light that you hold. Hold it close, but also share it- let it glow, and no matter what, don’t ever let it turn off.
3. Anything can happen. Time is the owner of that; let it do its thing.
4. You need to feel at peace more than you need to feel in control.
5. Slow down to be; to enjoy, learn, and love this version of you. You will never be her again.
6. The time that’s worth is marked by the beat of our hearts; there’s no perfect moment. Wear it, do it, tell them now.
7. No risk, no magic.
8.Sometimes, the bad things in our lives set us straight on the path to the most incredible things that will happen to us. Patience and trust.
9. It is not who arrives; it is who stays. Love, love, love them, and let them know.
10. How we choose to see the world creates the world we see.
11.Dance the most you can, but most importantly, dance with whomever you want the most.
12.Be grateful not only for everything around you but also for everything about you.

Hello, my friends. I disappeared for a while. These last few months have left me wordless. This is my attempt to find the right words. Let me start from the beginning, which is really another end.

In my last post, I talked about making choices. One of them was starting a new treatment, which I began in July. You never know what tomorrow will bring, and this brought me into a short coma. It was a blessing to wake up and recover quickly; my treatment was suspended indefinitely.
So now what?

Well, I have been trying —to figure it out now, to figure it out today.

Today, I celebrate my life. It’s my anniversary. A year ago, my kidneys failed, and I was ready to go surrounded by plenty of love.

Yet, today is not the day to talk about that. Today is a day of reminders and gratitude.

1. Life is this amazing gift we are given every day. Don’t dismiss a second of it. Your “normal” day might be someone else’s dream.
2. That light that you hold. Hold it close, but also share it- let it glow, and no matter what, don’t ever let it turn off.
3. Anything can happen. Time is the owner of that; let it do its thing.
4. You need to feel at peace more than you need to feel in control.
5. Slow down to be; to enjoy, learn, and love this version of you. You will never be her again.
6. The time that’s worth is marked by the beat of our hearts; there’s no perfect moment. Wear it, do it, tell them now.
7. No risk, no magic.
8.Sometimes, the bad things in our lives set us straight on the path to the most incredible things that will happen to us. Patience and trust.
9. It is not who arrives; it is who stays. Love, love, love them, and let them know.
10. How we choose to see the world creates the world we see.
11.Dance the most you can, but most importantly, dance with whomever you want the most.
12.Be grateful not only for everything around you but also for everything about you.

Hello, my friends. I disappeared for a while. These last few months have left me wordless. This is my attempt to find the right words. Let me start from the beginning, which is really another end.

In my last post, I talked about making choices. One of them was starting a new treatment, which I began in July. You never know what tomorrow will bring, and this brought me into a short coma. It was a blessing to wake up and recover quickly; my treatment was suspended indefinitely.
So now what?

Well, I have been trying —to figure it out now, to figure it out today.

Today, I celebrate my life. It’s my anniversary. A year ago, my kidneys failed, and I was ready to go surrounded by plenty of love.

Yet, today is not the day to talk about that. Today is a day of reminders and gratitude.

1. Life is this amazing gift we are given every day. Don’t dismiss a second of it. Your “normal” day might be someone else’s dream.
2. That light that you hold. Hold it close, but also share it- let it glow, and no matter what, don’t ever let it turn off.
3. Anything can happen. Time is the owner of that; let it do its thing.
4. You need to feel at peace more than you need to feel in control.
5. Slow down to be; to enjoy, learn, and love this version of you. You will never be her again.
6. The time that’s worth is marked by the beat of our hearts; there’s no perfect moment. Wear it, do it, tell them now.
7. No risk, no magic.
8.Sometimes, the bad things in our lives set us straight on the path to the most incredible things that will happen to us. Patience and trust.
9. It is not who arrives; it is who stays. Love, love, love them, and let them know.
10. How we choose to see the world creates the world we see.
11.Dance the most you can, but most importantly, dance with whomever you want the most.
12.Be grateful not only for everything around you but also for everything about you.

Hello, my friends. I disappeared for a while. These last few months have left me wordless. This is my attempt to find the right words. Let me start from the beginning, which is really another end.

In my last post, I talked about making choices. One of them was starting a new treatment, which I began in July. You never know what tomorrow will bring, and this brought me into a short coma. It was a blessing to wake up and recover quickly; my treatment was suspended indefinitely.
So now what?

Well, I have been trying —to figure it out now, to figure it out today.

Today, I celebrate my life. It’s my anniversary. A year ago, my kidneys failed, and I was ready to go surrounded by plenty of love.

Yet, today is not the day to talk about that. Today is a day of reminders and gratitude.

1. Life is this amazing gift we are given every day. Don’t dismiss a second of it. Your “normal” day might be someone else’s dream.
2. That light that you hold. Hold it close, but also share it- let it glow, and no matter what, don’t ever let it turn off.
3. Anything can happen. Time is the owner of that; let it do its thing.
4. You need to feel at peace more than you need to feel in control.
5. Slow down to be; to enjoy, learn, and love this version of you. You will never be her again.
6. The time that’s worth is marked by the beat of our hearts; there’s no perfect moment. Wear it, do it, tell them now.
7. No risk, no magic.
8.Sometimes, the bad things in our lives set us straight on the path to the most incredible things that will happen to us. Patience and trust.
9. It is not who arrives; it is who stays. Love, love, love them, and let them know.
10. How we choose to see the world creates the world we see.
11.Dance the most you can, but most importantly, dance with whomever you want the most.
12.Be grateful not only for everything around you but also for everything about you.

Hello, my friends. I disappeared for a while. These last few months have left me wordless. This is my attempt to find the right words. Let me start from the beginning, which is really another end.

In my last post, I talked about making choices. One of them was starting a new treatment, which I began in July. You never know what tomorrow will bring, and this brought me into a short coma. It was a blessing to wake up and recover quickly; my treatment was suspended indefinitely.
So now what?

Well, I have been trying —to figure it out now, to figure it out today.

Today, I celebrate my life. It’s my anniversary. A year ago, my kidneys failed, and I was ready to go surrounded by plenty of love.

Yet, today is not the day to talk about that. Today is a day of reminders and gratitude.

1. Life is this amazing gift we are given every day. Don’t dismiss a second of it. Your “normal” day might be someone else’s dream.
2. That light that you hold. Hold it close, but also share it- let it glow, and no matter what, don’t ever let it turn off.
3. Anything can happen. Time is the owner of that; let it do its thing.
4. You need to feel at peace more than you need to feel in control.
5. Slow down to be; to enjoy, learn, and love this version of you. You will never be her again.
6. The time that’s worth is marked by the beat of our hearts; there’s no perfect moment. Wear it, do it, tell them now.
7. No risk, no magic.
8.Sometimes, the bad things in our lives set us straight on the path to the most incredible things that will happen to us. Patience and trust.
9. It is not who arrives; it is who stays. Love, love, love them, and let them know.
10. How we choose to see the world creates the world we see.
11.Dance the most you can, but most importantly, dance with whomever you want the most.
12.Be grateful not only for everything around you but also for everything about you.

Hello, my friends. I disappeared for a while. These last few months have left me wordless. This is my attempt to find the right words. Let me start from the beginning, which is really another end.

In my last post, I talked about making choices. One of them was starting a new treatment, which I began in July. You never know what tomorrow will bring, and this brought me into a short coma. It was a blessing to wake up and recover quickly; my treatment was suspended indefinitely.
So now what?

Well, I have been trying —to figure it out now, to figure it out today.

Today, I celebrate my life. It’s my anniversary. A year ago, my kidneys failed, and I was ready to go surrounded by plenty of love.

Yet, today is not the day to talk about that. Today is a day of reminders and gratitude.

1. Life is this amazing gift we are given every day. Don’t dismiss a second of it. Your “normal” day might be someone else’s dream.
2. That light that you hold. Hold it close, but also share it- let it glow, and no matter what, don’t ever let it turn off.
3. Anything can happen. Time is the owner of that; let it do its thing.
4. You need to feel at peace more than you need to feel in control.
5. Slow down to be; to enjoy, learn, and love this version of you. You will never be her again.
6. The time that’s worth is marked by the beat of our hearts; there’s no perfect moment. Wear it, do it, tell them now.
7. No risk, no magic.
8.Sometimes, the bad things in our lives set us straight on the path to the most incredible things that will happen to us. Patience and trust.
9. It is not who arrives; it is who stays. Love, love, love them, and let them know.
10. How we choose to see the world creates the world we see.
11.Dance the most you can, but most importantly, dance with whomever you want the most.
12.Be grateful not only for everything around you but also for everything about you.

Hello, my friends. I disappeared for a while. These last few months have left me wordless. This is my attempt to find the right words. Let me start from the beginning, which is really another end.

In my last post, I talked about making choices. One of them was starting a new treatment, which I began in July. You never know what tomorrow will bring, and this brought me into a short coma. It was a blessing to wake up and recover quickly; my treatment was suspended indefinitely.
So now what?

Well, I have been trying —to figure it out now, to figure it out today.

Today, I celebrate my life. It’s my anniversary. A year ago, my kidneys failed, and I was ready to go surrounded by plenty of love.

Yet, today is not the day to talk about that. Today is a day of reminders and gratitude.

1. Life is this amazing gift we are given every day. Don’t dismiss a second of it. Your “normal” day might be someone else’s dream.
2. That light that you hold. Hold it close, but also share it- let it glow, and no matter what, don’t ever let it turn off.
3. Anything can happen. Time is the owner of that; let it do its thing.
4. You need to feel at peace more than you need to feel in control.
5. Slow down to be; to enjoy, learn, and love this version of you. You will never be her again.
6. The time that’s worth is marked by the beat of our hearts; there’s no perfect moment. Wear it, do it, tell them now.
7. No risk, no magic.
8.Sometimes, the bad things in our lives set us straight on the path to the most incredible things that will happen to us. Patience and trust.
9. It is not who arrives; it is who stays. Love, love, love them, and let them know.
10. How we choose to see the world creates the world we see.
11.Dance the most you can, but most importantly, dance with whomever you want the most.
12.Be grateful not only for everything around you but also for everything about you.

Hello, my friends. I disappeared for a while. These last few months have left me wordless. This is my attempt to find the right words. Let me start from the beginning, which is really another end.

In my last post, I talked about making choices. One of them was starting a new treatment, which I began in July. You never know what tomorrow will bring, and this brought me into a short coma. It was a blessing to wake up and recover quickly; my treatment was suspended indefinitely.
So now what?

Well, I have been trying —to figure it out now, to figure it out today.

Today, I celebrate my life. It’s my anniversary. A year ago, my kidneys failed, and I was ready to go surrounded by plenty of love.

Yet, today is not the day to talk about that. Today is a day of reminders and gratitude.

1. Life is this amazing gift we are given every day. Don’t dismiss a second of it. Your “normal” day might be someone else’s dream.
2. That light that you hold. Hold it close, but also share it- let it glow, and no matter what, don’t ever let it turn off.
3. Anything can happen. Time is the owner of that; let it do its thing.
4. You need to feel at peace more than you need to feel in control.
5. Slow down to be; to enjoy, learn, and love this version of you. You will never be her again.
6. The time that’s worth is marked by the beat of our hearts; there’s no perfect moment. Wear it, do it, tell them now.
7. No risk, no magic.
8.Sometimes, the bad things in our lives set us straight on the path to the most incredible things that will happen to us. Patience and trust.
9. It is not who arrives; it is who stays. Love, love, love them, and let them know.
10. How we choose to see the world creates the world we see.
11.Dance the most you can, but most importantly, dance with whomever you want the most.
12.Be grateful not only for everything around you but also for everything about you.

Hello, my friends. I disappeared for a while. These last few months have left me wordless. This is my attempt to find the right words. Let me start from the beginning, which is really another end.

In my last post, I talked about making choices. One of them was starting a new treatment, which I began in July. You never know what tomorrow will bring, and this brought me into a short coma. It was a blessing to wake up and recover quickly; my treatment was suspended indefinitely.
So now what?

Well, I have been trying —to figure it out now, to figure it out today.

Today, I celebrate my life. It’s my anniversary. A year ago, my kidneys failed, and I was ready to go surrounded by plenty of love.

Yet, today is not the day to talk about that. Today is a day of reminders and gratitude.

1. Life is this amazing gift we are given every day. Don’t dismiss a second of it. Your “normal” day might be someone else’s dream.
2. That light that you hold. Hold it close, but also share it- let it glow, and no matter what, don’t ever let it turn off.
3. Anything can happen. Time is the owner of that; let it do its thing.
4. You need to feel at peace more than you need to feel in control.
5. Slow down to be; to enjoy, learn, and love this version of you. You will never be her again.
6. The time that’s worth is marked by the beat of our hearts; there’s no perfect moment. Wear it, do it, tell them now.
7. No risk, no magic.
8.Sometimes, the bad things in our lives set us straight on the path to the most incredible things that will happen to us. Patience and trust.
9. It is not who arrives; it is who stays. Love, love, love them, and let them know.
10. How we choose to see the world creates the world we see.
11.Dance the most you can, but most importantly, dance with whomever you want the most.
12.Be grateful not only for everything around you but also for everything about you.

Making choices is never easy, especially when making difficult ones.

This month is a big one for me, one filled with really tough choices to make. And I often wonder, what is the right choice? How do I pick?

Our choices shape our lives; they influence our experiences, relationships, and opportunities. In reality, our choices CHANGE our lives.
Throughout our journey, we face significant decision points that determine its course. These decisions range from seemingly mundane options, like what I’ll eat today, to more profound life-altering decisions, such as whom to marry, which career path to pursue—or, in my case, which therapy will give me the best quality of life.

It’s a constant struggle, this decision-making process. I often reflect on the complexity of it all, the inevitable missed opportunities, and the what-ifs. What could have been if I had chosen ‘this’ instead of ‘that’—what it could be if I chose differently.

You see, each choice will set a distinct path, unfolding different possibilities and consequences. Each choice spawns a new reality, creating an infinite number of possible worlds. Each choice we make holds a space for a different outcome... sometimes blurring life and death.

So, how do I make the right choice when my life depends on it?
Is there even such a thing as the right choice?

Well, it is subjective, isn’t it?

But here’s what I’ve come to believe: when you’re torn between options, there’s no such thing as a good or bad choice. Whatever you choose, THAT will be the right choice for you, however of the outcome. It’s always the right choice when you pick your heart. Even when it’s hard to see, find the meaning and beauty in the present moment, regardless of which choices led you there. And then, when you have to choose, pick the one that will give you a story to tell. Trust your intuition. Embrace adventure. Choose risk, choose chance... choose love. Be bold and be confident when choosing to live the full human experience.

That, my friends, is the right choice—choosing yourself, choosing your life. It’s a decision that no one else can make for you and that it is always worth making.

Making choices is never easy, especially when making difficult ones.

This month is a big one for me, one filled with really tough choices to make. And I often wonder, what is the right choice? How do I pick?

Our choices shape our lives; they influence our experiences, relationships, and opportunities. In reality, our choices CHANGE our lives.
Throughout our journey, we face significant decision points that determine its course. These decisions range from seemingly mundane options, like what I’ll eat today, to more profound life-altering decisions, such as whom to marry, which career path to pursue—or, in my case, which therapy will give me the best quality of life.

It’s a constant struggle, this decision-making process. I often reflect on the complexity of it all, the inevitable missed opportunities, and the what-ifs. What could have been if I had chosen ‘this’ instead of ‘that’—what it could be if I chose differently.

You see, each choice will set a distinct path, unfolding different possibilities and consequences. Each choice spawns a new reality, creating an infinite number of possible worlds. Each choice we make holds a space for a different outcome... sometimes blurring life and death.

So, how do I make the right choice when my life depends on it?
Is there even such a thing as the right choice?

Well, it is subjective, isn’t it?

But here’s what I’ve come to believe: when you’re torn between options, there’s no such thing as a good or bad choice. Whatever you choose, THAT will be the right choice for you, however of the outcome. It’s always the right choice when you pick your heart. Even when it’s hard to see, find the meaning and beauty in the present moment, regardless of which choices led you there. And then, when you have to choose, pick the one that will give you a story to tell. Trust your intuition. Embrace adventure. Choose risk, choose chance... choose love. Be bold and be confident when choosing to live the full human experience.

That, my friends, is the right choice—choosing yourself, choosing your life. It’s a decision that no one else can make for you and that it is always worth making.

Making choices is never easy, especially when making difficult ones.

This month is a big one for me, one filled with really tough choices to make. And I often wonder, what is the right choice? How do I pick?

Our choices shape our lives; they influence our experiences, relationships, and opportunities. In reality, our choices CHANGE our lives.
Throughout our journey, we face significant decision points that determine its course. These decisions range from seemingly mundane options, like what I’ll eat today, to more profound life-altering decisions, such as whom to marry, which career path to pursue—or, in my case, which therapy will give me the best quality of life.

It’s a constant struggle, this decision-making process. I often reflect on the complexity of it all, the inevitable missed opportunities, and the what-ifs. What could have been if I had chosen ‘this’ instead of ‘that’—what it could be if I chose differently.

You see, each choice will set a distinct path, unfolding different possibilities and consequences. Each choice spawns a new reality, creating an infinite number of possible worlds. Each choice we make holds a space for a different outcome... sometimes blurring life and death.

So, how do I make the right choice when my life depends on it?
Is there even such a thing as the right choice?

Well, it is subjective, isn’t it?

But here’s what I’ve come to believe: when you’re torn between options, there’s no such thing as a good or bad choice. Whatever you choose, THAT will be the right choice for you, however of the outcome. It’s always the right choice when you pick your heart. Even when it’s hard to see, find the meaning and beauty in the present moment, regardless of which choices led you there. And then, when you have to choose, pick the one that will give you a story to tell. Trust your intuition. Embrace adventure. Choose risk, choose chance... choose love. Be bold and be confident when choosing to live the full human experience.

That, my friends, is the right choice—choosing yourself, choosing your life. It’s a decision that no one else can make for you and that it is always worth making.

Making choices is never easy, especially when making difficult ones.

This month is a big one for me, one filled with really tough choices to make. And I often wonder, what is the right choice? How do I pick?

Our choices shape our lives; they influence our experiences, relationships, and opportunities. In reality, our choices CHANGE our lives.
Throughout our journey, we face significant decision points that determine its course. These decisions range from seemingly mundane options, like what I’ll eat today, to more profound life-altering decisions, such as whom to marry, which career path to pursue—or, in my case, which therapy will give me the best quality of life.

It’s a constant struggle, this decision-making process. I often reflect on the complexity of it all, the inevitable missed opportunities, and the what-ifs. What could have been if I had chosen ‘this’ instead of ‘that’—what it could be if I chose differently.

You see, each choice will set a distinct path, unfolding different possibilities and consequences. Each choice spawns a new reality, creating an infinite number of possible worlds. Each choice we make holds a space for a different outcome... sometimes blurring life and death.

So, how do I make the right choice when my life depends on it?
Is there even such a thing as the right choice?

Well, it is subjective, isn’t it?

But here’s what I’ve come to believe: when you’re torn between options, there’s no such thing as a good or bad choice. Whatever you choose, THAT will be the right choice for you, however of the outcome. It’s always the right choice when you pick your heart. Even when it’s hard to see, find the meaning and beauty in the present moment, regardless of which choices led you there. And then, when you have to choose, pick the one that will give you a story to tell. Trust your intuition. Embrace adventure. Choose risk, choose chance... choose love. Be bold and be confident when choosing to live the full human experience.

That, my friends, is the right choice—choosing yourself, choosing your life. It’s a decision that no one else can make for you and that it is always worth making.

Making choices is never easy, especially when making difficult ones.

This month is a big one for me, one filled with really tough choices to make. And I often wonder, what is the right choice? How do I pick?

Our choices shape our lives; they influence our experiences, relationships, and opportunities. In reality, our choices CHANGE our lives.
Throughout our journey, we face significant decision points that determine its course. These decisions range from seemingly mundane options, like what I’ll eat today, to more profound life-altering decisions, such as whom to marry, which career path to pursue—or, in my case, which therapy will give me the best quality of life.

It’s a constant struggle, this decision-making process. I often reflect on the complexity of it all, the inevitable missed opportunities, and the what-ifs. What could have been if I had chosen ‘this’ instead of ‘that’—what it could be if I chose differently.

You see, each choice will set a distinct path, unfolding different possibilities and consequences. Each choice spawns a new reality, creating an infinite number of possible worlds. Each choice we make holds a space for a different outcome... sometimes blurring life and death.

So, how do I make the right choice when my life depends on it?
Is there even such a thing as the right choice?

Well, it is subjective, isn’t it?

But here’s what I’ve come to believe: when you’re torn between options, there’s no such thing as a good or bad choice. Whatever you choose, THAT will be the right choice for you, however of the outcome. It’s always the right choice when you pick your heart. Even when it’s hard to see, find the meaning and beauty in the present moment, regardless of which choices led you there. And then, when you have to choose, pick the one that will give you a story to tell. Trust your intuition. Embrace adventure. Choose risk, choose chance... choose love. Be bold and be confident when choosing to live the full human experience.

That, my friends, is the right choice—choosing yourself, choosing your life. It’s a decision that no one else can make for you and that it is always worth making.

Making choices is never easy, especially when making difficult ones.

This month is a big one for me, one filled with really tough choices to make. And I often wonder, what is the right choice? How do I pick?

Our choices shape our lives; they influence our experiences, relationships, and opportunities. In reality, our choices CHANGE our lives.
Throughout our journey, we face significant decision points that determine its course. These decisions range from seemingly mundane options, like what I’ll eat today, to more profound life-altering decisions, such as whom to marry, which career path to pursue—or, in my case, which therapy will give me the best quality of life.

It’s a constant struggle, this decision-making process. I often reflect on the complexity of it all, the inevitable missed opportunities, and the what-ifs. What could have been if I had chosen ‘this’ instead of ‘that’—what it could be if I chose differently.

You see, each choice will set a distinct path, unfolding different possibilities and consequences. Each choice spawns a new reality, creating an infinite number of possible worlds. Each choice we make holds a space for a different outcome... sometimes blurring life and death.

So, how do I make the right choice when my life depends on it?
Is there even such a thing as the right choice?

Well, it is subjective, isn’t it?

But here’s what I’ve come to believe: when you’re torn between options, there’s no such thing as a good or bad choice. Whatever you choose, THAT will be the right choice for you, however of the outcome. It’s always the right choice when you pick your heart. Even when it’s hard to see, find the meaning and beauty in the present moment, regardless of which choices led you there. And then, when you have to choose, pick the one that will give you a story to tell. Trust your intuition. Embrace adventure. Choose risk, choose chance... choose love. Be bold and be confident when choosing to live the full human experience.

That, my friends, is the right choice—choosing yourself, choosing your life. It’s a decision that no one else can make for you and that it is always worth making.

Making choices is never easy, especially when making difficult ones.

This month is a big one for me, one filled with really tough choices to make. And I often wonder, what is the right choice? How do I pick?

Our choices shape our lives; they influence our experiences, relationships, and opportunities. In reality, our choices CHANGE our lives.
Throughout our journey, we face significant decision points that determine its course. These decisions range from seemingly mundane options, like what I’ll eat today, to more profound life-altering decisions, such as whom to marry, which career path to pursue—or, in my case, which therapy will give me the best quality of life.

It’s a constant struggle, this decision-making process. I often reflect on the complexity of it all, the inevitable missed opportunities, and the what-ifs. What could have been if I had chosen ‘this’ instead of ‘that’—what it could be if I chose differently.

You see, each choice will set a distinct path, unfolding different possibilities and consequences. Each choice spawns a new reality, creating an infinite number of possible worlds. Each choice we make holds a space for a different outcome... sometimes blurring life and death.

So, how do I make the right choice when my life depends on it?
Is there even such a thing as the right choice?

Well, it is subjective, isn’t it?

But here’s what I’ve come to believe: when you’re torn between options, there’s no such thing as a good or bad choice. Whatever you choose, THAT will be the right choice for you, however of the outcome. It’s always the right choice when you pick your heart. Even when it’s hard to see, find the meaning and beauty in the present moment, regardless of which choices led you there. And then, when you have to choose, pick the one that will give you a story to tell. Trust your intuition. Embrace adventure. Choose risk, choose chance... choose love. Be bold and be confident when choosing to live the full human experience.

That, my friends, is the right choice—choosing yourself, choosing your life. It’s a decision that no one else can make for you and that it is always worth making.

Making choices is never easy, especially when making difficult ones.

This month is a big one for me, one filled with really tough choices to make. And I often wonder, what is the right choice? How do I pick?

Our choices shape our lives; they influence our experiences, relationships, and opportunities. In reality, our choices CHANGE our lives.
Throughout our journey, we face significant decision points that determine its course. These decisions range from seemingly mundane options, like what I’ll eat today, to more profound life-altering decisions, such as whom to marry, which career path to pursue—or, in my case, which therapy will give me the best quality of life.

It’s a constant struggle, this decision-making process. I often reflect on the complexity of it all, the inevitable missed opportunities, and the what-ifs. What could have been if I had chosen ‘this’ instead of ‘that’—what it could be if I chose differently.

You see, each choice will set a distinct path, unfolding different possibilities and consequences. Each choice spawns a new reality, creating an infinite number of possible worlds. Each choice we make holds a space for a different outcome... sometimes blurring life and death.

So, how do I make the right choice when my life depends on it?
Is there even such a thing as the right choice?

Well, it is subjective, isn’t it?

But here’s what I’ve come to believe: when you’re torn between options, there’s no such thing as a good or bad choice. Whatever you choose, THAT will be the right choice for you, however of the outcome. It’s always the right choice when you pick your heart. Even when it’s hard to see, find the meaning and beauty in the present moment, regardless of which choices led you there. And then, when you have to choose, pick the one that will give you a story to tell. Trust your intuition. Embrace adventure. Choose risk, choose chance... choose love. Be bold and be confident when choosing to live the full human experience.

That, my friends, is the right choice—choosing yourself, choosing your life. It’s a decision that no one else can make for you and that it is always worth making.

Making choices is never easy, especially when making difficult ones.

This month is a big one for me, one filled with really tough choices to make. And I often wonder, what is the right choice? How do I pick?

Our choices shape our lives; they influence our experiences, relationships, and opportunities. In reality, our choices CHANGE our lives.
Throughout our journey, we face significant decision points that determine its course. These decisions range from seemingly mundane options, like what I’ll eat today, to more profound life-altering decisions, such as whom to marry, which career path to pursue—or, in my case, which therapy will give me the best quality of life.

It’s a constant struggle, this decision-making process. I often reflect on the complexity of it all, the inevitable missed opportunities, and the what-ifs. What could have been if I had chosen ‘this’ instead of ‘that’—what it could be if I chose differently.

You see, each choice will set a distinct path, unfolding different possibilities and consequences. Each choice spawns a new reality, creating an infinite number of possible worlds. Each choice we make holds a space for a different outcome... sometimes blurring life and death.

So, how do I make the right choice when my life depends on it?
Is there even such a thing as the right choice?

Well, it is subjective, isn’t it?

But here’s what I’ve come to believe: when you’re torn between options, there’s no such thing as a good or bad choice. Whatever you choose, THAT will be the right choice for you, however of the outcome. It’s always the right choice when you pick your heart. Even when it’s hard to see, find the meaning and beauty in the present moment, regardless of which choices led you there. And then, when you have to choose, pick the one that will give you a story to tell. Trust your intuition. Embrace adventure. Choose risk, choose chance... choose love. Be bold and be confident when choosing to live the full human experience.

That, my friends, is the right choice—choosing yourself, choosing your life. It’s a decision that no one else can make for you and that it is always worth making.

Making choices is never easy, especially when making difficult ones.

This month is a big one for me, one filled with really tough choices to make. And I often wonder, what is the right choice? How do I pick?

Our choices shape our lives; they influence our experiences, relationships, and opportunities. In reality, our choices CHANGE our lives.
Throughout our journey, we face significant decision points that determine its course. These decisions range from seemingly mundane options, like what I’ll eat today, to more profound life-altering decisions, such as whom to marry, which career path to pursue—or, in my case, which therapy will give me the best quality of life.

It’s a constant struggle, this decision-making process. I often reflect on the complexity of it all, the inevitable missed opportunities, and the what-ifs. What could have been if I had chosen ‘this’ instead of ‘that’—what it could be if I chose differently.

You see, each choice will set a distinct path, unfolding different possibilities and consequences. Each choice spawns a new reality, creating an infinite number of possible worlds. Each choice we make holds a space for a different outcome... sometimes blurring life and death.

So, how do I make the right choice when my life depends on it?
Is there even such a thing as the right choice?

Well, it is subjective, isn’t it?

But here’s what I’ve come to believe: when you’re torn between options, there’s no such thing as a good or bad choice. Whatever you choose, THAT will be the right choice for you, however of the outcome. It’s always the right choice when you pick your heart. Even when it’s hard to see, find the meaning and beauty in the present moment, regardless of which choices led you there. And then, when you have to choose, pick the one that will give you a story to tell. Trust your intuition. Embrace adventure. Choose risk, choose chance... choose love. Be bold and be confident when choosing to live the full human experience.

That, my friends, is the right choice—choosing yourself, choosing your life. It’s a decision that no one else can make for you and that it is always worth making.

Hi friends, it’s been long!

I took some time “off,” but here I am again, ready to talk about it!

Remember last September? I was in California when my health took a sudden turn, and I ended up in the hospital.
Here is where I quote my girlfriends, trying to cheer me up:
“The worst already happened; it cannot get any worse from here.”

WELL… unfortunately, it did.

I faced kidney and bone marrow failure. I was in urgent need of blood, unable to move, couldn’t continue chemotherapy, hallucinating... In other words, I was dying. I think about those fragile moments when my closest people came to say goodbyes and when the doctors had no options but to wait for me to come back. I remember the tears and the whispered words of love and hope that filled the room. I think about the now and how I made it through. I think about the why and the opportunities I’ve been given. I think about life and what it means to live it, but also what it means to let it go.

These past months, I have been welcoming the knowing that death belongs to life and life belongs to death. Holding uncertainty and time close to my heart. I have been learning to live and love the life I own, no matter how “worse” it gets. It’s challenging to shift perspectives, hopes, and lifestyles and accept the inevitable. It’s been difficult for me to slow down and rest. I don’t want to; in my eyes, life moves too fast, and I don’t want to miss it. Yet, in moments like this, you must slow down and define all the important things for yourself—to determine what life means. While I am still working on that answer, my life has been an adventure filled with wild and unusual. I want to love it, feel it all, embrace it, and live it to my fullest till the last day.

This dump is me attempting to do so back in California half a year later. I’ve made peace with this place and everything I experienced here.

I am now slowing down...and I invite you to slow down with me and treasure every beat that life gifts you.

I invite you to define life—your life... and what it means to truly live it.

You are on perfect timing, so don’t be afraid of uncertainty; although scary at times, it always has a way of surprising you.

Hi friends, it’s been long!

I took some time “off,” but here I am again, ready to talk about it!

Remember last September? I was in California when my health took a sudden turn, and I ended up in the hospital.
Here is where I quote my girlfriends, trying to cheer me up:
“The worst already happened; it cannot get any worse from here.”

WELL… unfortunately, it did.

I faced kidney and bone marrow failure. I was in urgent need of blood, unable to move, couldn’t continue chemotherapy, hallucinating... In other words, I was dying. I think about those fragile moments when my closest people came to say goodbyes and when the doctors had no options but to wait for me to come back. I remember the tears and the whispered words of love and hope that filled the room. I think about the now and how I made it through. I think about the why and the opportunities I’ve been given. I think about life and what it means to live it, but also what it means to let it go.

These past months, I have been welcoming the knowing that death belongs to life and life belongs to death. Holding uncertainty and time close to my heart. I have been learning to live and love the life I own, no matter how “worse” it gets. It’s challenging to shift perspectives, hopes, and lifestyles and accept the inevitable. It’s been difficult for me to slow down and rest. I don’t want to; in my eyes, life moves too fast, and I don’t want to miss it. Yet, in moments like this, you must slow down and define all the important things for yourself—to determine what life means. While I am still working on that answer, my life has been an adventure filled with wild and unusual. I want to love it, feel it all, embrace it, and live it to my fullest till the last day.

This dump is me attempting to do so back in California half a year later. I’ve made peace with this place and everything I experienced here.

I am now slowing down...and I invite you to slow down with me and treasure every beat that life gifts you.

I invite you to define life—your life... and what it means to truly live it.

You are on perfect timing, so don’t be afraid of uncertainty; although scary at times, it always has a way of surprising you.

Hi friends, it’s been long!

I took some time “off,” but here I am again, ready to talk about it!

Remember last September? I was in California when my health took a sudden turn, and I ended up in the hospital.
Here is where I quote my girlfriends, trying to cheer me up:
“The worst already happened; it cannot get any worse from here.”

WELL… unfortunately, it did.

I faced kidney and bone marrow failure. I was in urgent need of blood, unable to move, couldn’t continue chemotherapy, hallucinating... In other words, I was dying. I think about those fragile moments when my closest people came to say goodbyes and when the doctors had no options but to wait for me to come back. I remember the tears and the whispered words of love and hope that filled the room. I think about the now and how I made it through. I think about the why and the opportunities I’ve been given. I think about life and what it means to live it, but also what it means to let it go.

These past months, I have been welcoming the knowing that death belongs to life and life belongs to death. Holding uncertainty and time close to my heart. I have been learning to live and love the life I own, no matter how “worse” it gets. It’s challenging to shift perspectives, hopes, and lifestyles and accept the inevitable. It’s been difficult for me to slow down and rest. I don’t want to; in my eyes, life moves too fast, and I don’t want to miss it. Yet, in moments like this, you must slow down and define all the important things for yourself—to determine what life means. While I am still working on that answer, my life has been an adventure filled with wild and unusual. I want to love it, feel it all, embrace it, and live it to my fullest till the last day.

This dump is me attempting to do so back in California half a year later. I’ve made peace with this place and everything I experienced here.

I am now slowing down...and I invite you to slow down with me and treasure every beat that life gifts you.

I invite you to define life—your life... and what it means to truly live it.

You are on perfect timing, so don’t be afraid of uncertainty; although scary at times, it always has a way of surprising you.

Hi friends, it’s been long!

I took some time “off,” but here I am again, ready to talk about it!

Remember last September? I was in California when my health took a sudden turn, and I ended up in the hospital.
Here is where I quote my girlfriends, trying to cheer me up:
“The worst already happened; it cannot get any worse from here.”

WELL… unfortunately, it did.

I faced kidney and bone marrow failure. I was in urgent need of blood, unable to move, couldn’t continue chemotherapy, hallucinating... In other words, I was dying. I think about those fragile moments when my closest people came to say goodbyes and when the doctors had no options but to wait for me to come back. I remember the tears and the whispered words of love and hope that filled the room. I think about the now and how I made it through. I think about the why and the opportunities I’ve been given. I think about life and what it means to live it, but also what it means to let it go.

These past months, I have been welcoming the knowing that death belongs to life and life belongs to death. Holding uncertainty and time close to my heart. I have been learning to live and love the life I own, no matter how “worse” it gets. It’s challenging to shift perspectives, hopes, and lifestyles and accept the inevitable. It’s been difficult for me to slow down and rest. I don’t want to; in my eyes, life moves too fast, and I don’t want to miss it. Yet, in moments like this, you must slow down and define all the important things for yourself—to determine what life means. While I am still working on that answer, my life has been an adventure filled with wild and unusual. I want to love it, feel it all, embrace it, and live it to my fullest till the last day.

This dump is me attempting to do so back in California half a year later. I’ve made peace with this place and everything I experienced here.

I am now slowing down...and I invite you to slow down with me and treasure every beat that life gifts you.

I invite you to define life—your life... and what it means to truly live it.

You are on perfect timing, so don’t be afraid of uncertainty; although scary at times, it always has a way of surprising you.

Hi friends, it’s been long!

I took some time “off,” but here I am again, ready to talk about it!

Remember last September? I was in California when my health took a sudden turn, and I ended up in the hospital.
Here is where I quote my girlfriends, trying to cheer me up:
“The worst already happened; it cannot get any worse from here.”

WELL… unfortunately, it did.

I faced kidney and bone marrow failure. I was in urgent need of blood, unable to move, couldn’t continue chemotherapy, hallucinating... In other words, I was dying. I think about those fragile moments when my closest people came to say goodbyes and when the doctors had no options but to wait for me to come back. I remember the tears and the whispered words of love and hope that filled the room. I think about the now and how I made it through. I think about the why and the opportunities I’ve been given. I think about life and what it means to live it, but also what it means to let it go.

These past months, I have been welcoming the knowing that death belongs to life and life belongs to death. Holding uncertainty and time close to my heart. I have been learning to live and love the life I own, no matter how “worse” it gets. It’s challenging to shift perspectives, hopes, and lifestyles and accept the inevitable. It’s been difficult for me to slow down and rest. I don’t want to; in my eyes, life moves too fast, and I don’t want to miss it. Yet, in moments like this, you must slow down and define all the important things for yourself—to determine what life means. While I am still working on that answer, my life has been an adventure filled with wild and unusual. I want to love it, feel it all, embrace it, and live it to my fullest till the last day.

This dump is me attempting to do so back in California half a year later. I’ve made peace with this place and everything I experienced here.

I am now slowing down...and I invite you to slow down with me and treasure every beat that life gifts you.

I invite you to define life—your life... and what it means to truly live it.

You are on perfect timing, so don’t be afraid of uncertainty; although scary at times, it always has a way of surprising you.

Hi friends, it’s been long!

I took some time “off,” but here I am again, ready to talk about it!

Remember last September? I was in California when my health took a sudden turn, and I ended up in the hospital.
Here is where I quote my girlfriends, trying to cheer me up:
“The worst already happened; it cannot get any worse from here.”

WELL… unfortunately, it did.

I faced kidney and bone marrow failure. I was in urgent need of blood, unable to move, couldn’t continue chemotherapy, hallucinating... In other words, I was dying. I think about those fragile moments when my closest people came to say goodbyes and when the doctors had no options but to wait for me to come back. I remember the tears and the whispered words of love and hope that filled the room. I think about the now and how I made it through. I think about the why and the opportunities I’ve been given. I think about life and what it means to live it, but also what it means to let it go.

These past months, I have been welcoming the knowing that death belongs to life and life belongs to death. Holding uncertainty and time close to my heart. I have been learning to live and love the life I own, no matter how “worse” it gets. It’s challenging to shift perspectives, hopes, and lifestyles and accept the inevitable. It’s been difficult for me to slow down and rest. I don’t want to; in my eyes, life moves too fast, and I don’t want to miss it. Yet, in moments like this, you must slow down and define all the important things for yourself—to determine what life means. While I am still working on that answer, my life has been an adventure filled with wild and unusual. I want to love it, feel it all, embrace it, and live it to my fullest till the last day.

This dump is me attempting to do so back in California half a year later. I’ve made peace with this place and everything I experienced here.

I am now slowing down...and I invite you to slow down with me and treasure every beat that life gifts you.

I invite you to define life—your life... and what it means to truly live it.

You are on perfect timing, so don’t be afraid of uncertainty; although scary at times, it always has a way of surprising you.

Hi friends, it’s been long!

I took some time “off,” but here I am again, ready to talk about it!

Remember last September? I was in California when my health took a sudden turn, and I ended up in the hospital.
Here is where I quote my girlfriends, trying to cheer me up:
“The worst already happened; it cannot get any worse from here.”

WELL… unfortunately, it did.

I faced kidney and bone marrow failure. I was in urgent need of blood, unable to move, couldn’t continue chemotherapy, hallucinating... In other words, I was dying. I think about those fragile moments when my closest people came to say goodbyes and when the doctors had no options but to wait for me to come back. I remember the tears and the whispered words of love and hope that filled the room. I think about the now and how I made it through. I think about the why and the opportunities I’ve been given. I think about life and what it means to live it, but also what it means to let it go.

These past months, I have been welcoming the knowing that death belongs to life and life belongs to death. Holding uncertainty and time close to my heart. I have been learning to live and love the life I own, no matter how “worse” it gets. It’s challenging to shift perspectives, hopes, and lifestyles and accept the inevitable. It’s been difficult for me to slow down and rest. I don’t want to; in my eyes, life moves too fast, and I don’t want to miss it. Yet, in moments like this, you must slow down and define all the important things for yourself—to determine what life means. While I am still working on that answer, my life has been an adventure filled with wild and unusual. I want to love it, feel it all, embrace it, and live it to my fullest till the last day.

This dump is me attempting to do so back in California half a year later. I’ve made peace with this place and everything I experienced here.

I am now slowing down...and I invite you to slow down with me and treasure every beat that life gifts you.

I invite you to define life—your life... and what it means to truly live it.

You are on perfect timing, so don’t be afraid of uncertainty; although scary at times, it always has a way of surprising you.

Hi friends, it’s been long!

I took some time “off,” but here I am again, ready to talk about it!

Remember last September? I was in California when my health took a sudden turn, and I ended up in the hospital.
Here is where I quote my girlfriends, trying to cheer me up:
“The worst already happened; it cannot get any worse from here.”

WELL… unfortunately, it did.

I faced kidney and bone marrow failure. I was in urgent need of blood, unable to move, couldn’t continue chemotherapy, hallucinating... In other words, I was dying. I think about those fragile moments when my closest people came to say goodbyes and when the doctors had no options but to wait for me to come back. I remember the tears and the whispered words of love and hope that filled the room. I think about the now and how I made it through. I think about the why and the opportunities I’ve been given. I think about life and what it means to live it, but also what it means to let it go.

These past months, I have been welcoming the knowing that death belongs to life and life belongs to death. Holding uncertainty and time close to my heart. I have been learning to live and love the life I own, no matter how “worse” it gets. It’s challenging to shift perspectives, hopes, and lifestyles and accept the inevitable. It’s been difficult for me to slow down and rest. I don’t want to; in my eyes, life moves too fast, and I don’t want to miss it. Yet, in moments like this, you must slow down and define all the important things for yourself—to determine what life means. While I am still working on that answer, my life has been an adventure filled with wild and unusual. I want to love it, feel it all, embrace it, and live it to my fullest till the last day.

This dump is me attempting to do so back in California half a year later. I’ve made peace with this place and everything I experienced here.

I am now slowing down...and I invite you to slow down with me and treasure every beat that life gifts you.

I invite you to define life—your life... and what it means to truly live it.

You are on perfect timing, so don’t be afraid of uncertainty; although scary at times, it always has a way of surprising you.

Hi friends, it’s been long!

I took some time “off,” but here I am again, ready to talk about it!

Remember last September? I was in California when my health took a sudden turn, and I ended up in the hospital.
Here is where I quote my girlfriends, trying to cheer me up:
“The worst already happened; it cannot get any worse from here.”

WELL… unfortunately, it did.

I faced kidney and bone marrow failure. I was in urgent need of blood, unable to move, couldn’t continue chemotherapy, hallucinating... In other words, I was dying. I think about those fragile moments when my closest people came to say goodbyes and when the doctors had no options but to wait for me to come back. I remember the tears and the whispered words of love and hope that filled the room. I think about the now and how I made it through. I think about the why and the opportunities I’ve been given. I think about life and what it means to live it, but also what it means to let it go.

These past months, I have been welcoming the knowing that death belongs to life and life belongs to death. Holding uncertainty and time close to my heart. I have been learning to live and love the life I own, no matter how “worse” it gets. It’s challenging to shift perspectives, hopes, and lifestyles and accept the inevitable. It’s been difficult for me to slow down and rest. I don’t want to; in my eyes, life moves too fast, and I don’t want to miss it. Yet, in moments like this, you must slow down and define all the important things for yourself—to determine what life means. While I am still working on that answer, my life has been an adventure filled with wild and unusual. I want to love it, feel it all, embrace it, and live it to my fullest till the last day.

This dump is me attempting to do so back in California half a year later. I’ve made peace with this place and everything I experienced here.

I am now slowing down...and I invite you to slow down with me and treasure every beat that life gifts you.

I invite you to define life—your life... and what it means to truly live it.

You are on perfect timing, so don’t be afraid of uncertainty; although scary at times, it always has a way of surprising you.

Hi friends, it’s been long!

I took some time “off,” but here I am again, ready to talk about it!

Remember last September? I was in California when my health took a sudden turn, and I ended up in the hospital.
Here is where I quote my girlfriends, trying to cheer me up:
“The worst already happened; it cannot get any worse from here.”

WELL… unfortunately, it did.

I faced kidney and bone marrow failure. I was in urgent need of blood, unable to move, couldn’t continue chemotherapy, hallucinating... In other words, I was dying. I think about those fragile moments when my closest people came to say goodbyes and when the doctors had no options but to wait for me to come back. I remember the tears and the whispered words of love and hope that filled the room. I think about the now and how I made it through. I think about the why and the opportunities I’ve been given. I think about life and what it means to live it, but also what it means to let it go.

These past months, I have been welcoming the knowing that death belongs to life and life belongs to death. Holding uncertainty and time close to my heart. I have been learning to live and love the life I own, no matter how “worse” it gets. It’s challenging to shift perspectives, hopes, and lifestyles and accept the inevitable. It’s been difficult for me to slow down and rest. I don’t want to; in my eyes, life moves too fast, and I don’t want to miss it. Yet, in moments like this, you must slow down and define all the important things for yourself—to determine what life means. While I am still working on that answer, my life has been an adventure filled with wild and unusual. I want to love it, feel it all, embrace it, and live it to my fullest till the last day.

This dump is me attempting to do so back in California half a year later. I’ve made peace with this place and everything I experienced here.

I am now slowing down...and I invite you to slow down with me and treasure every beat that life gifts you.

I invite you to define life—your life... and what it means to truly live it.

You are on perfect timing, so don’t be afraid of uncertainty; although scary at times, it always has a way of surprising you.