Finding Forty

I’ve rewritten this post a dozen times.

First it was too polished. Then too raw. Then it didn’t sound like me at all.

And maybe that’s the best way to start: with a confession that I’m still finding my voice.

I’m Jane. Wife, teacher, mother, writer. Former foster parent.

Lover of soft blankets, hard questions, and the quiet spaces where real life tends to whisper.

I started this blog not because I have answers—but because I have stories. Because I’m learning that we make sense of things by saying them out loud, by stringing sentences together until something sacred emerges. Because the past shaped me, the present is stretching me, and the future? Well… I’m still making peace with how uncertain it feels.

This blog isn’t meant to be perfect. It won’t be shiny or scripted.

It will be equal parts grace and grief. It will hold space for the woman I was, the mother I’m becoming, and the days when I’m both at once.

You’ll find reflections here—on motherhood and memory, on faith and doubt, on marriage and identity and everything tender in between. Some days will look like poetry. Others will feel like laundry lists.

But my hope is that, somehow, something here will feel like a warm light left on just for you.

If you’re walking through something you can’t name yet—if you’re tired, or healing, or holding joy and sorrow in the same hand—then I want you to know this: You are not alone.

This space is for the in-between. And I’m so glad you’re here.

Let’s begin. 🌿