is the only constant we have.
The sun is shining a little sooner these days, lingering just a bit longer before it dips below the horizon, and I can’t help but feel like life itself is reflecting that same rhythm within me. I find that when I’m doing well, when I’m in a space of growth, my words come easier, flowing like a river that has finally been freed from the ice of winter. This journey I’m on—this deep reconnection with my spirit, this peeling back of layers to find the softer, more intuitive version of myself that has been tangled in overthinking—it’s been humbling, but also so incredibly affirming.
Maybe I didn’t even realize how much I needed this affirmation. The confirmation that I am still here, still breathing, still moving toward something greater than myself. And maybe that’s just the nature of life—these changing seasons, the ebb and flow, the warmth and the cold. If the weather never shifted, if we lived in a world of permanent summer or endless winter, we would never appreciate the contrast, never learn to seek the beauty in both the storms and the sun.
Even the wind, even the rain, even the moments that feel like destruction—they hold their own purpose. They extinguish fires that might have raged out of control. They cleanse the air, pushing sickness away, sweeping through the streets and making space for something new. Change, in all its unpredictable ways, is the only constant we have. And as long as there is change, there is proof of life. There will always be moments of light and moments of darkness, but it is how we embrace them, how we surrender to them, that will define us.
I’ve wasted days before, wasted perfectly good health by keeping myself locked away, allowing time to slip through my fingers while I let the weight of my thoughts keep me still. But now? Now, I crave the warmth of the sun on my skin. I crave the sound of birds singing, the hum of life happening all around me. I am healing, deeply, intentionally. I am showing up for myself in ways I once neglected. I am making space for joy, for the magic in the smallest of things. And I am embracing my feminine energy in a way that feels like home—soft, strong, intuitive, radiant. My home will be my sanctuary, my personal fairytale, but my spirit? My spirit is meant to roam freely, to dance with the world, to exist fully in the beauty of each moment.
This journey, I now understand, is mine alone. And anyone who walks beside me—outside of my children, my heartbeats—will do so as an honor, not an expectation. The right people will add light to this path, not take from it. They will be the ones who appreciate the sacredness of this unfolding, the ones who hold space for me as I hold space for myself.
Today, my thoughts are drifting high, nestled in the clouds where the sun kisses the sky with golden warmth. The air feels different, charged with possibility. This year started out rough—so rough that I almost lost sight of myself in the storm. But I stayed, I fought, I endured. And I am so damn proud of myself for not abandoning my own ship, for not letting fear be the thing that dictated my course.
So to anyone who feels lost in the waves, I say this: stay. Stay in your boat, no matter how unsteady it may seem. Do not be the one to sink yourself simply because you fear the unknown ahead. Let the currents of life guide you, trust that the tides are working in your favor, even when it doesn’t seem like it. Your ship will find its way. You will reach the shore. And when you do, you will step onto solid ground with the wisdom of every wave you’ve survived.
And that? That is where the magic happens.
Dear Diary, 