I want to share something deeply personal with you today. Over the years, I’ve discovered a quiet, powerful force that has helped me...

For years, I covered my wounds with invisible bandages, hiding the pain, patching myself just wasn't enough to get by. But survival is not the same as living. Thriving meant peeling away those bandages, facing the raw truth, and choosing healing over hiding. It's messy, but it's real. And in that honesty, I found the strength not just to survive, but to bloom.

There was a day when the weight of it all nearly broke me, when getting out of bed felt impossible and hope seemed like a distant memory. Yet in that darkness, something small, a whisper inside, a reminder that I was still here, pushed me forward. I realized survival wasn't enough. I had to choose to live, to breathe, to rise. That was the day I found my will to go on.

In this heartfelt blog post, Kathy reflects on the powerful symbolism of a rocking chair and how it became a source of healing during a difficult time in her life. After going through a painful divorce, Kathy found solace and comfort in the simple act of sitting in a rocking chair on her porch, journaling and reflecting on her journey.

Kathy unpacks the lasting impact of judgment from those closest to her – especially her adopted mother. Kathy confronts the generational silence that forced many children to suppress their truths. This powerful piece encourages readers to challenge harmful narratives, reclaim their voices, and remember that self-love is a process, not a destination.

In this deeply personal reflection, I explore the meaning behind a quote that lingered on my followed the rules, met every expectation – but was she ever truly happy? This post is an invitation to rethink the pressures placed on a women to be polite, quiet, and agreeable. Living fully doesn’t mean being reckless – it means embracing our voices, our laughter, and the freedom to step outside the lines. As I reflect on my mother’s unspoken struggles, I choose to live differently

Music has always had the power to reach into places that words cannot. For many of us, it becomes more than background noise, it becomes a refuge, a lifeline, and a mirror to our most silent struggles. In this post, I share how music became an essential part of my healing journey, carrying me through childhood pain, adult reflection, and moments of deep soul work.

We often speak of heartbreak as something caused by others. But what happens when we are the ones who break our own hearts? When we abandon ourselves to be everything for everyone else–until there’s nothing left? This is my letter to the woman I neglected, dismissed, and silenced. This is a letter to me. Maybe it’s a letter to you, too.

My mom was an incredible cook and baker. Her food wasn’t just nourishment – it was comfort. Not just for our family, but for friends, neighbors, and anyone lucky enough to taste something from her kitchen. People would request her baked goods for events, special occasions, or simply because they craved the warmth her food brought. What I didn’t realize when I was younger was that her cooking was more than a skill – it was her therapy.

" I had spent so long pleasing others that I forgot how to even hear my own voice. But one day, I stopped waiting to be rescued–and chose to rescue myself. That choice didn't come easy, but it changed everything."

Life has a way of throwing us into unexpected plot twists – the kind that leave us disoriented and questioning everything we thought we knew. My divorce was one of those twists. It wasn’t just the end of a marriage – it was the unraveling of the person I thought I was. But as painful as it was, my divorce became the catalyst for the most important journey I’ve ever taken – the journey back to me.