I have spent much of my life measuring myself against invisible standards. Enough productivity. Enough beauty. Enough restraint. Enough usefulness. Enough to be chosen. Enough to stay. Enough to be loved. Even when no one is asking, the question hums beneath the surface: Am I enough? I have been noticing over the last year how quickly that question is projected outward – toward partners, work, audiences of all kinds. As if enoughness is something that is gifted to those most

Lately, I have noticed that I don’t want to become anything. I don’t want to fix, or be fixed, I don’t want to optimize my healing for efficiency. I just want to….be. I want to feel every sensation in my body as it courses through me. I don’t want to rush to be anywhere for anybody. I don’t want to live in a place of urgency or be made to feel that someone is urgently waiting for me. I want to get there when I get there – wherever ‘there’ is. I want to sip my coffee slowly ea

There is a season of becoming that does not come with clarity or confidence. It comes with pauses, sighs and a strange sense of disorientation. You wake up one day and realize you no longer fit inside the life you’ve been living, but you also can’t yet see what comes next. This is where I am now – somewhere between leaving and arriving. I am not just grieving the end of my marriage. I am grieving the version of myself that stayed too long. The one who tried. The one who thoug

For the last ten years or so, I would choose a "theme" word to concentrate on for the new year. Something I felt deeply inside of me that...