Let’s talk about how our bodies hold on to experiences and emotions we never fully process. How they speak to us in ways we can’t always name.

I’m not disconnected from the truth that motherhood is sacred and meaningful. I just need mental stimulation and creativity through work in addition to my duties as a mother.

Let’s just get this out of the way: I sleep 10–12 hours a night. I know. Spoiled.

Or… am I?

I don’t have goals.

Is that bad? It doesn’t feel bad. And honestly, what even is “bad” or “good”? Right or wrong? Probably a conversation for another day.

It wasn't until the last year or so that I realized how much shame people carry around about their prescriptions, especially their mental health meds. I started noticing it in whispers like, “I had to take a Klonopin,” or in DMs from people thanking me for being so open about my scrips (thrift store Klonopin and Zoloft, anyone?).

I’m proud to say I’ve moved past the jealousy of superficial stuff. Sure, I still get a twinge of insecurity when I see a BEAUTIFUL woman, but I’ve learned not to let it linger. I’ve made peace with my body.

But the kind of jealousy I want to talk about is deeper. It’s energetic.

I’ve been teetering on and off ever since.

But this time? What’s the difference between that postpartum comment and today as I write this?

I’m surrounded on both sides!

Okay, so… can we talk about alcohol for a minute?

Does anyone else feel as much weird shame around it as I do?

Below is what I wrote and spoke at my grandfather’s burial last month. I wrote this into the journal I purchased for Hawthorne while I was still pregnant. In it I write to him my thoughts, his milestones, our funny memories, etc. for him to read and enjoy when he’s older.

The story of my mother’s miscarriage was so deeply woven into our family history that I can’t even pinpoint when I first heard it. It was just there—a fundamental thread in the story of me, in the story of her, in the foundation of who we are.

How do we maintain those friendships—the ones we made in high school, college, or our first post-grad job—when adulthood starts throwing everything at us?

Before we go on: I’m HYPED AS FUCK for this trip. The magic of Bali is legendary — my Instagram DMs are flooded with people telling me so. I’ve got a two-hour chakra-focused massage booked, complete with crystals, oils, and sound healing. I’ll be visiting temple ruins. I’m staying at a stunning resort on a mountain, overlooking the ocean. It’s the dreamiest thing.

But hype and dread can coexist, okay?!

Sometimes, the highlight reel exists because I want to make YOU laugh, give YOU a little hope, inspire YOU to drink more water (even if I haven’t).

Even if I can’t necessarily give those things to myself every day.

I want another baby.
But not right now.

I want to feel those magical kicks again, to witness a life dancing and growing inside me. I want a redemptive birth, one that feels empowering and healing.
But not right now.

I Don’t Like Change. Like, at all. Big change, little change, medium change. I know this isn’t unusual, but I’ve been hyper-aware of it for as long as I can remember. I wish I was adaptable.

I grew up in what is now called an almond mom household. (If you’re unfamiliar, an almond mom is a parent who follows incredibly strict or borderline unhealthy eating habits…

Alright, let’s get personal-ish. Friends… what do I have to say about friends? To be honest, this topic was suggested by ONE of my friends, so I didn’t have any big opinions or wisdom to share at first.

I’d say I grew up in a full-send Catholic household, but that wouldn’t be entirely true. I guess I fell somewhere between the fully devout and the CEO Catholics—you know, the ones who only show up for mass on Christmas and Easter.