Because the more steps you take forward, the further you get from the old version of yourself, the one who was running on empty, trying to be everything to everyone, and losing yourself in the process.

You know that feeling when you’re supposed to show up somewhere and instead of excitement, you feel dread? Not because you don’t care about the people or the event, but because showing up has started to feel like a job? Yeah. That was me.

The Questions I Learned to Ask to Reclaim My Health. For two years, I lived in a state of pain and uncertainty. After being diagnosed with over 45 uterine fibroids, yes, forty-five, because apparently my uterus was an overachiever and I knew a major decision was looming.

Let me set the scene: I had a meeting about my upcoming event on October 26th. Business meeting. Professional. You know, the kind where you're supposed to talk logistics, plans, all that responsible adult stuff. And then there was him, the person I was meeting with. Not my usual guy, but a fill in.

I’ve used my voice as an offering, a gift, to people throughout my life. And if I’m being completely honest? No, it hasn’t always sounded nice. Sometimes it’s been raw, difficult, even uncomfortable to hear. But here’s what I want you to know: my intent has always been to build up, restore, and heal.

He took me dancing, he protected me, he gave me his vision for our relationship. He listened to everything I had to say and showed me that he could be the perfect man. He undoubtedly was my soul mate. I had never met a man who was so attentive and so into me. No matter what or where my scars were, he accepted them.

You’ve worked. You’ve raised families. You’ve educated yourself. You’ve carried relationships on your back. You’ve built, poured, given, stretched, bent, and twisted yourself into shapes you didn’t even recognize — all while keeping everything and everyone else afloat…..

Because somewhere, there’s a woman who needs to hear that she’s not crazy, she’s not selfish, and she’s not alone. Somewhere, there’s a woman who needs permission to want more for herself.

Maybe choosing yourself isn't selfish. Maybe it's necessary. Maybe it's overdue. Maybe it's the most loving thing you can do - for yourself and for the people who have gotten too comfortable expecting you to sacrifice everything for their comfort.

But what if wanting more for ourselves isn’t selfish? What if it’s necessary? What if the problem isn’t with us, but with a system that benefits from our endless giving?

What if the problem isn’t that we don’t love enough, but that we’ve been taught a version of love that’s actually exploitation dressed up as virtue?

This isn’t another story about a man who couldn’t keep it in his pants — we’ve heard those a thousand times, and honestly, we all have the capability to step out on someone.

We’ve all heard the phrase “I’m only doing this because I care about you.” It sounds loving, doesn’t it? But sometimes, beneath those caring words lies something else entirely: control masquerading as help.

Let me paint you a picture that might feel painfully familiar. You’re dating someone who seems to have a PhD in creating their own problems, followed immediately by a master’s degree in acting shocked when those problems blow up in their face.

This is your reminder that your story matters. Every chapter. Every plot twist. Every beautiful, complicated, hope-filled page.

Growing up, my grandmother had a saying for everything. Her words were like little lanterns, lighting the way through life's twists and turns.

In a world that constantly demands our attention, energy, and emotional investment, there’s something profoundly liberating about remembering this simple truth: you have the power to protect your peace.

Wait, WHAT? It's Friday already? Didn't we just have Monday? Wasn't it just January? And hold up—wasn't I just 25 years old five minutes ago?

Let’s talk about that ex you keep texting. No, not that ex—though honestly, stop doing that too. I’m talking about your past self, old situations, and people who’ve basically ghosted you but somehow still live rent-free in your head.