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Paddleboarding with Aimee feels like stepping into a sacred space. 🌊

Since my mom left this earth, I’ve been learning how to find her in different places — in the moon, in the quiet, in the stillness… and lately, in the water.
The water holds what my heart can’t always carry. It takes the weight of grief, softens it, and turns it into something peaceful. Like a baptism of healing every time the board touches the surface.

Aimee feels like part of that divine timing.
A grounded, country-grown soul placed in my life at the exact moment I needed steady energy beside me.
No judgment. No pressure. Just presence.
Like the shore that reminds the waves they’re allowed to rise and fall and still belong somewhere.

Our yin and yang isn’t accidental — it feels symbolic.
Light and shadow.
Stillness and movement.
Grief and healing.
Water and earth.

And somewhere between the ripples and the silence, I feel my mom.
Not in a painful way… but in a peaceful, watching-over-me kind of way.
Like the water is carrying her whispers and the sky is holding her spirit. 🌙

Aimee, thank you for being part of this sacred healing journey with me.
Thank you for showing up with love, with patience, and with a heart that understands the quiet language of grief.

Out here on the water, I don’t just find serenity…
I find connection.
I find healing.
I find pieces of her. 🤍

Two weeks in a row of sunset yoga 🌅

Last week I searched the sky for the not-so pink moon, hoping to feel something… hoping to see something that reminded me I’m still being guided.
This week, the moon wasn’t even visible yet.

And somehow that felt symbolic.

Because grief and healing have looked a lot like this lately — showing up even when I don’t see the signs, grounding myself even when the sky feels quiet, breathing through the heaviness, and trusting that what I’m searching for is still there… even when it’s hidden.

My mom feels a lot like the moon now.
Sometimes I see her everywhere — in the sky, in the sunsets, in the quiet moments that wrap around me like a hug.
Other times I can’t see her at all, and the world feels still and empty.
But just like the moon, she never really disappears… she’s still there, still watching over me, still guiding me through the dark even when I can’t see her light.

Being intentional with purpose has been my goal.
To show up. To breathe. To heal. To trust.
To believe that love doesn’t leave — it just changes form.

The moon will rise when it’s ready.
And so will I.
And somewhere in that sky, I know my mom is still shining over me. ✨

Book club is back and 2026 is already bookmarked 📖✨
Let the reading (and yapping) begin.

Christmas Book Club 🤍
So grateful for these beautiful souls.
Women who showed up right when I needed them most — even without knowing it.
Honest hearts, deep conversations, and a kind of love that fills every quiet space.

Yesterday felt like being a kid again.
Gifts exchanged, laughter shared —
but the real magic was simply being together.

Ladies, thank you for holding space for me in ways you’ll never fully know.
Comfort. Joy. Connection. ✨📖

Some seasons ask more from you than you ever imagined you could give.
And you give it—because love doesn’t keep score.

For years, I showed up. Not for recognition. Not for praise.
But because that’s who I am.

Caregiving changes you. Grief changes you.
Watching someone you love slowly fade while still breathing beside you changes you.

I don’t regret being present. I don’t regret loving deeply.
But I’ve learned that loving others should not require losing yourself.

Right now, I’m choosing space—not out of anger, but out of necessity.
Boundaries are not abandonment.
They are how we survive, heal, and continue loving without breaking.

If you’ve ever been the strong one, the reliable one, the one who “always shows up”…
please know this: This chapter is about healing, not explaining.

🤍

There’s a different kind of joy that comes from being surrounded by women who accept the real you. No adjustments needed. Just love. 💕