My why
If I were the bragging type,
I’d tell you I’m a highly decorated trauma Olympian.
Unnecessarily skilled at navigating the hard, the heavy, and the unpredictable.
Life fast-forwarded me through innocence and handed me responsibilities that were never mine to carry. Without a model for what home
or safety felt like,
my early life was oriented around survival.
To soften. To root. To remember. To rise.
This is that space,
and I’m so glad you found your way here.
When I finally had the agency to build something of my own, I didn’t build a life,
I built an endurance event.
I over-functioned.
Over-apologized.
Over-analyzed.
And then I had a baby for extra bonus medals
right before my life fell apart.
And so did my identity.
My healing became a sacred mission,
not just to save myself, but to break the cycles for my son. I was devoted.
I read all the books, meditated through the ache, journaled through the grief,
listened to podcasts, and tried to fix what I didn’t yet know how to feel.
I thought if I healed hard enough, I’d finally earn the right to live fully.
Everything I ingested told me to self-care my way through it
but I didn’t even know the self I was supposed to care for
I stopped endlessly dwelling in my healing and started exploring my living instead.
Through the loneliness and the unraveling, I met the self who had been begging to be held and seen, not by someone else, but by me.
I didn’t always love what I found, but this time,
I didn’t abandon her.
I stayed.
My healing work was never going to earn me permission to start living.
Learning to embody my whole self as worthy of living was the healing.