My earliest memory is that of domestic violence. My body learned tension from watching adults. From the energy in the room — or even the next room over. I paid attention to what couldn’t be seen but could be felt. I somehow knew I needed to stay quiet. It wasn’t something I thought through — I just knew. Maybe it was fear. I’m not sure. I only know that silence felt necessary. It became normal for me to focus on the TV when these violent situations happened. I would lock my a

Once upon a time, accomplishments were things you could put on a résumé. Now they’re more… situational. If everyone eats — success. If no one cries in public — exceptional performance ( this one deserves a medal ). If I drink my coffee while it’s still warm — historic achievement ( still, no crying in public takes the win). Some days, being productive looks like doing laundry and putting it away. Other days, it looks like offering every possible solution you can think of — sn

Lately, I’ve noticed something quiet happening. I still run every scenario through my head—that part of me hasn’t disappeared. But the fear behind it has softened. I’m no longer convinced that the worst-case outcomes are the ones that will play out. For someone who spent most of her life in survival mode—where a lot actually did go wrong—this steadiness feels unfamiliar in the best way. It’s welcome. And it feels like something that’s been a long time coming. Something I neve

There comes a moment in healing when you realize something uncomfortable but freeing: you weren’t “too sensitive,” “too emotional,” or “bad at coping.” You were surviving — and you survived for a very long time. When a child grows up in chaos, inconsistency, emotional neglect, or fear, survival mode isn’t a choice. It’s a necessity. The nervous system learns to stay alert, scan for danger, and prepare for the next problem before it arrives. That adaptation can save a child. B

There comes a moment when survival ends — not because life is suddenly easy, but because clarity finally arrives. This is where I’m at now. Right now, I’m in a place of clarity I didn’t always have the energy or safety to reach. I’m not angry the way I used to be. I’m not scrambling to explain myself. I’m not questioning what I already know in my body. I’m quieter — not because I have less to say, but because I no longer feel the need to convince anyone of my truth. I’ve spen

Introduction Some grief doesn’t come from losing a person—it comes from letting go of the family dynamic you hoped would exist. This kind of grief is quiet, ongoing, and often carried while you’re still showing up every day as a parent. It’s grieving expectations, support, and the version of life you once believed would feel more shared. This grief can show up in co-parenting relationships, extended family dynamics, or anywhere expectations once lived. Grief That Isn’t Always

Introduction Co-parenting is often framed as a team effort—but what happens when you’re doing most of the work alone? This piece is for parents navigating co-parenting with someone who is emotionally inconsistent, unreliable, or minimally involved. It’s about telling the truth without shaming, setting boundaries without guilt, and choosing healing for yourself and your child. The Reality No One Likes to Say Out Loud Some parents show up only when it’s convenient. Others want

Feeling Lost or Overwhelmed? Your Inner Child Might Hold the Key Sometimes, in the natural progression of life, we forget a part of ourselves - the little child inside who still needs love, attention, and care. That little one carries memories, emotions, and dreams that shape who we are today. Healing your inner child isn't about dwelling on the past. It ' s about noticing the parts of you that still feel unheard, unseen, or unprotected - and gently giving them what they mis

The Simple Joy That Sparked This Reflection My little one recently celebrated a birthday, and she absolutely loves balloons. They bring her so much joy. Watching her light up over something so simple made me think about the children who can’t — or haven’t — experienced that same joy. Children who have never played with a balloon. Children who don’t get to experience the simple, magical moments that so many of us take for granted. That thought makes my soul ache. Because every

I've been carrying this dream in my heart for a long time - the dream of creating spaces where love and healing can take root and flourish. A place where children who've known pain can rediscover joy, and where I can keep learning what it means to continue living through authenticity and faith. But even soul work begins in small ways. Today, mine begins here - with a single note from the heart. My thoughts have felt tangled lately, but I am learning that clarity doesn't alwa