The past week has been busy, but I was able to carve out some time to be with my children. These moments, though sometimes fleeting, have become treasures I hold dearly. I’ve reached a place where I truly appreciate the little moments I get to spend with them. Being with them reminded me that my children have carried some very heavy burdens. It breaks my heart to think about it. I know I’ve made mistakes along the way, but I also know I would never have survived if I hadn’t l

What is our purpose while we are here? I’ve been reflecting on this a lot as I try to find my new purpose. Erikson’s stages of development suggest that we move through core conflicts as we progress through life—trust versus mistrust, autonomy versus shame, initiative versus guilt, industry versus inferiority, identity versus confusion, intimacy versus isolation, generativity versus stagnation, and integrity versus despair. I find myself in the stage of generativity versus sta

Trusting your gut is so important—and it’s something I learned later in life. Honestly, I’m still learning it. When you feel repeatedly frustrated, angry, anxious, or unsettled, your body is trying to tell you something. Those sensations aren’t random. They’re signals. They’re invitations to pause and ask what might be out of alignment. Working in mental health taught me something that has stayed with me: depression often pulls us into the past, while anxiety pulls us into th

I recently went to see the movie The Housemaid. It’s a powerful and well-made film—but I want to say this clearly: it can be very triggering for anyone who is currently living in, or healing from, domestic violence. If that’s you, please take care of yourself and trust your instincts about what you’re ready to watch. I won’t spoil the movie, but I do want to share why it stayed with me. What this film captures so accurately is how domestic abuse—especially emotional abuse—can

Let’s talk honestly about the joys and the challenges of being a mother. First, I want to say this clearly: your journey and your experiences are valid. One common theme I see again and again—from other mothers and within myself—is how easily we minimize our own hardships and accomplishments. We compare our pregnancies, our birth stories, our traumas, our children’s personalities, and our life circumstances to those of others. We tell ourselves that someone else had it harder

As I’ve begun navigating the process of sharing and promoting my book, something has come into clearer focus for me—something that, for a long time, quietly kept me stuck in my own healing. There are many support groups today for people who have lived with “narcissistic” partners or “abusive” partners. These spaces exist for a reason, and I want to say that clearly. They give language to behaviors people didn’t have words for. They validate experiences that were minimized or

One of my most favorite things in this world is being a mother. I adore watching my children grow—their personalities unfolding, their opinions forming, their humor emerging in ways that surprise me. I love watching them navigate friendships, relationships, and the early dreams they’re beginning to hold about who they might become. There is nothing quite like witnessing a human you love so deeply discover themselves. As mothers, our instinct is to protect. We want to shield t

One of the hardest truths I’ve learned is this: healing is nearly impossible when you’re still immersed in ongoing trauma. When the nervous system is constantly on high alert—bracing, protecting, surviving—there is no space to rest, reflect, or repair. Your body stays in defense mode. Your mind stays busy scanning for danger. And your heart stays guarded, not because you want it to, but because it has to. Sometimes the most loving, brave thing you can do for yourself is to st

After trauma, joy can feel unfamiliar—sometimes even unsafe. When your body has learned to brace for impact, relaxation can feel like a mistake. Presence can feel exposed. Happiness can arrive with guilt, as if enjoying a moment means you’re forgetting what you’ve been through—or betraying the parts of you that survived by staying alert. But joy after trauma isn’t about pretending nothing happened. It’s about learning to live with what happened. One of the most important step

There is a kind of grief that doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t come with casseroles or sympathy cards. It lives quietly—in moments that don’t match the picture you once held of motherhood. It shows up when life takes turns you didn’t plan, when circumstances reshape your role, and when the mother you hoped to be feels just out of reach. This grief doesn’t mean you don’t love your children. It means you do. Many of us enter motherhood with a vision: how we’ll show up, how o

For a long time, silence felt like the safest option. Not because I didn’t have a voice—but because every time I used it, something seemed to be taken from me. My words were questioned, dissected, misunderstood, and at times, weaponized. What began as truth-telling often ended in loss. So I learned to be careful. I learned to be quiet. I learned that vulnerability could feel dangerous. When you’ve lost relationships, stability, work, or time with the people you love, openness

For a long time, I believed that silence was the safest option. Not because I had nothing to say—but because experience taught me that telling the truth does not always lead to protection, understanding, or justice. Sometimes it leads to more questions, more judgment, or more harm. So I learned how to survive quietly. This space exists because I no longer believe silence is the same thing as safety. I’m writing for the people who have lived through things that don’t fit neatl