Creating holiday magic from the ground up I used to think the magic of Christmas belonged to childhood. To those who grew up with matching pajamas, steady traditions, and stories retold every December without fail. I used to believe that Christmas magic was inherited, like an heirloom passed down through generations. But when you grow…

There are moments in trauma healing that feel like someone has reached into your chest and touched an old bruise you didn’t realize was still tender. Not to hurt it, but to acknowledge it. That’s what happened when my estranged brother reached out. A simple message. An invitation to meet. And then the words I…

When a single sentence becomes a generational shift Some stories don’t arrive loudly. They slip in as a line in a report, a pause in a sentence, a moment that settles in your chest and quietly rearranges something deep inside. This week’s Trauma Tuesday is one of those moments—a reminder that healing doesn’t always look…

Today, I told my husband to lie to me—and I meant it. If you know me, you know my number one pet peeve has always been lying. I hate it. I pride myself on honesty, even when the truth is uncomfortable. So for me to actually ask for a lie? That’s not something I did…

Descended, Not Defined I come from a line of women who were never quite “typical.” My mother. Her mother. Her sister. All likely neurodivergent—undiagnosed, unsupported, and uncontained. Not women you’d call “high-functioning.” They didn’t mask. They didn’t assimilate. They lived on the margins—off systems, disconnected from stability, estranged from each other… and eventually, from me.…

Today, I washed poop off a toddler, underwear, and myself. I am tired. Not “I need a nap” tired—soul tired. I am pull-string doll tired. Repeating the same phrases over and over like I’m the only one who hears them. “We don’t climb the furniture.” “Gentle hands.” “Because I said so—again.” Redirection? Ha. I know…

Intro: As I prepare to welcome my second son into the world, I find myself living in the tension between fear and faith. This is a glimpse into the quiet, anxious prayers and steady declarations that carry me through these final weeks. The possibility of loss and tragedy as I await the birth of my…

Swamp Witch Energy I’ve been home with my son for days dealing with the most disgusting virus. Even once he started feeling better, the sensory stuff lingered—chewing and spitting out food, then wiping it on me. Our “sweet” picnic moment? Yeah, that included me getting smeared with regurgitated sandwich. I redirected him to the towel…