Hope is a practice.
I envy the writers who can let their piece be focused on one thing. Every time I sit down to write these days, I'm overwhelmed by how much I can't say in the space that I have to say it. I put so much pressure on
The same heart that breaks wide open… can hold it all.
When my mom died, I lost more than her. I lost my sense of self. I lost my creativity. Everything I did was to accomplish something. No frills. No exploring. No creativity. Just did enough to survive the loss. Grief stripped me down to only what I could carry, and
✨ A pep talk from me to me to look back on later ✨ (repost)
I’m spinning my wheels. Convincing myself that my story & my words are not needed in book form. It is time to stop overthinking it. This book isn’t about perfection—it’s about showing up and being real with myself. I don’t need to worry about sounding
Hugging my inner writing nag.
She keeps me Moving Bravely when all hope seems lost. Writing is incredible. People are just out there pairing words together to express an idea or experience. Sometimes, I forget that I am one of those people. I’m not sure how normal this is for the average person, but