Years went by and I dealt with constant fatigue but I just shrugged it off because I was an athlete and being tired was just part of my personality at that point as a generally reserved girl. When I got to graduate school, I was told my iron was low and that I just needed to take iron pills. I would often forget to take those pills so my iron continued to remain low. I also had a strange allergy that would require me to keep medicine on hand at all times in case I broke out in hives. Again, the doctor could not pinpoint what I was exactly allergic to because it would happen sporadically overnight. I got used to taking allergy medicine every day because at a certain point if I forgot to take it, I would for sure have a reaction that day.

It wasn’t until I got through graduate school that I started getting intense body pains. My hands would ache. My feet would be hot. My legs and arms would also ache and I would be exhausted. I finally decided to go back to the doctor to explain all of the miscellaneous symptoms I had had over the years and I remembered that I had some kind of marker of an autoimmune disease when I was younger. I finally got my diagnosis after so many lab tests.

I felt a bit of relief. It was nice to at least understand that all of the weird experiences I had were related to this “thing” — but it also made me feel limited. Like what if this would keep me from becoming the person I had dreamt of being?

And I was far from alone in that journey to answers. Research shows that the average woman with an autoimmune disease sees 4 different doctors over the course of 4 years before getting a diagnosis — and nearly 80% of all autoimmune disease cases occur in women. Four years of being told something is wrong while the world keeps expecting you to perform.

It wasn’t until years later that I was also diagnosed with ADHD that I realized there were multiple things at play causing my brain fog and irritability — and that the way I was going to live my life from that point forward needed to change. Although I was an athlete through elementary school and high school, it wasn’t until I became immersed into adulthood, managing work, bills, and my health that I had to re-enter a more active lifestyle that would end up being the biggest blessing of my life.

I had gone through college, graduate school, and was working at a top company in the country, while managing both physical and mental challenges that no one on the outside could see.

As a high achiever, many times we sweep our challenges under the rug because we know how capable we are that we don’t believe our struggles are really worth sharing — or often times even really fully acknowledging. Managing highly stressful roles only adds to the harmful impacts of invisible illnesses when we don’t have the support we need to combat them.

The research actually confirms what so many of us have lived quietly — studies show that up to 80% of autoimmune patients reported unusual emotional stress before their diagnosis. And it works both ways: stress doesn’t just trigger the disease, the disease then creates more stress, locking the body in a cycle that’s incredibly hard to break on your own. For women in high pressure roles carrying invisible health burdens, this isn’t a small risk. It’s a slow building crisis that most people around us never see coming.

When I finally got to a place where my body couldn’t handle managing everything on my own, I broke. I know I am not the only one who has cried in 1:1s with a manager before because the stress of managing it all is too much. I had gotten to a point where I was honestly just going through the motions, hiding my tears, and smiling through the fog not knowing when it would end.

When things finally took a pause and I stepped away from my full time position, it took months to heal my nervous system. I poured myself into my faith, attending bible studies, journaling, spending time outside, praying endlessly, and stayed committed to moving my body every day. The season of the pause came out of a breaking that was needed — but I could have gotten there before breaking if I had known and had gotten serious about the help I was needing.

As high achieving women, it can be so hard to ask for help. We don’t think we really need therapy or medication because our experience isn’t “that bad” compared to what other people may be experiencing — just because we’ve been able to manage it so far. But we don’t realize the damage that’s being done to our nervous system over time. There is no medication that will magically make any kind of stress 100% manageable. Life just isn’t easy. And when you’re a woman with a big vision, there will always be big challenges to face along the way. But developing a system, support, and faith to help you through it all is truly life changing.

As someone who has been in a season of what feels like starting over, I know that I feel so much more empowered now than I did a year ago or three years ago. Why? Because I understand better the challenges I face that I ignored for so long and I am working on developing systems to help me navigate life with the body that I have. I also have a deeper rooted faith knowing that it is not my own responsibility to carry the load of the world and the vision placed in my heart — but that I have a God that is here to help me fulfill the mission set in my heart.

I am not being led to achieve ambitious quests for my own personal satisfaction. Now I am driven to truly pursue my purpose and to use my gifts in a way that is impactful to others. I don’t have to carry shame around how my mind and body works. I know that my own unique experience is what makes me the right person for the work I am meant to do and the life I am meant to have — and I get to be thankful for that.

If this resonated with you, share it with another woman in your life who needs to hear it. 🤍

In a world of social media where it seems like so many people have a “platform” or a dedicated perspective or interest, it can be really daunting for me to feel like I have to choose something. I have to choose a career that makes sense because juggling multiple jobs feels insecure and that is also very stressful to manage. But it is also incredibly stressful having to make a choice that just doesn’t quite fit what I want my life to look like.

A lot of people with ADHD struggle with their careers because we have so many interests and it’s critical to stay stimulated with the work we do. I’ve never been the kind of person who can just be satisfied doing a job that doesn’t feel impactful to me but I have never quite found the thing that feels good enough for me to sustain it as “my thing.” That has felt like defeat in many ways. I am often left feeling quite like a wanderer.

To be a creative mind who is also quite sensitive and reserved but longs for social engagement is an interesting place to live. I want to live a life that allows me to be fully expressive but I also want to enjoy the beauty of being unseen.

I’m at a point where I’m learning how to be OK in the middle of things. And to not judge myself for not being in a place where all my “things” fit neatly into a box. I think some of the criticism we believe way face from others when we embrace this is really because other people are also facing the same things. It’s the pursuit of an idealized perfect life that just doesn’t exist. Sometimes our messiness reveals the messiness other people try so badly to hide about themselves too.

Embracing the way that my brain works is my biggest journey for my 30s. If this resonates with you, I hope you join me on this journey too. We are worth living a life that feels full and meaningful. We have so much to offer.

There's a difference between a good opportunity and the right one. That distinction took me years to understand and I’m honestly still learning it.

For a long time, I chased good. Good careers. Good credentials. Good titles that would finally make me feel like enough. I wanted so badly to just feel safe. I poured myself into tech roles and expensive degrees, convinced that if I just followed the obvious path, the one that made sense on paper, the one that looked like success from the outside, I would eventually arrive somewhere that felt like home. But my mindset around my value in the world was a major barrier I couldn’t see.

The Lie I Kept Believing

I am a creative. I always have been. But somewhere along the way, I picked up a belief that creativity wasn't enough, that what came naturally to me was somehow less valuable than what I had to force. Being a creative can be a lonely place when the world doesn't always validate your gifts the way you think it should. Your work is personal. The income can be inconsistent. The path isn't always clear. So instead of leaning into what God placed in me, I kept running away from it, chasing things that felt safer, more legitimate, more logical.

I wasn't running toward purpose. I was running from doubt.

And the tragic irony is that no amount of degrees, job titles, or industry recognition could quiet that doubt, because I was trying to fill a spiritual void with professional achievement. The chase was endless because the finish line kept moving.

The Moment Everything Stopped

Last year, I found myself between jobs after years of being burnt out and needing to rest. The bills were real. The stress from my previous role had taken more from me than I realized. And I had a decision to make: keep searching for the next version of what I'd always done, or finally be honest about whether that path was ever really mine to begin with.

It wasn't an easy moment. Fear is loud when financial pressure is present. But looking back now, I can see that what felt like uncertainty was actually an invitation. My mind and heart needed rest. They needed room to ask questions I had been too busy — or too afraid — to ask. Questions like: Who am I outside of what I do? What do I actually love? What would I pursue if I wasn't afraid of what people thought?

Those questions filled my mind everyday.

The Pivot Isn't a Failure

We live in a culture that celebrates the straight line, the person who knew what they wanted at twenty-two and executed flawlessly. But most of us don't live that story, and there's nothing wrong with that. The pivot is not a sign that you failed. Sometimes it's a sign that you finally listened.

I spent years moving in directions that made good sense but weren't spiritually aligned. I ignored the quiet pull toward creativity because I couldn't see how it would pay off. I dismissed my natural gifts as hobbies rather than honoring them as callings. And in doing so, I traded presence for performance and purpose for practicality.

The pivot back to what I love, back to the gifts God gave me, hasn't been glamorous. I don't have all the answers. I'm not where I imagined I'd be at this point in my life. I’m still learning how to just rest. But for the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm moving in a direction that's actually mine.

Letting God Establish Your Steps

There's a reason Proverbs 16:9 cuts so deep. We are planners by nature. We map out our careers, our timelines, our five-year goals. And there's nothing wrong with vision or ambition. But when our plans become our god, when we grip them so tightly that we can't feel God redirecting us, we miss the better story He's writing.

The verse doesn't say our planning is wrong. It says God is the one who establishes where we actually land. That's both humbling and freeing. It means all the detours, the pivots, the seasons that didn't go according to plan, none of it was wasted. It was being established. Shaped. Redirected toward something more aligned than anything we could have engineered on our own. If we knew all the twists and turns we would make on our journey, we may not ever step a foot forward.

I used to think I needed to have the plan figured out. Now I'm learning to be present with where I am, thankful for what I have, and open to where I'm being led, even when the destination isn't clear.

Not every open door is meant for you. Not every good opportunity is the right one. And sometimes the most courageous thing you can do is close a door that looks impressive from the outside but leads nowhere that resonates on the inside.

For Anyone in the In-Between

If you're in a season of transition, confusion, or quiet, don't rush out of it. Sit in it long enough to hear what it's trying to tell you. Ask yourself whether you've been chasing good or chasing right. Examine whether the path you're on is driven by your spirit or shaped by your fear.

You don't have to have it all figured out. You don't have to justify your pivot to anyone. You just have to stay honest, stay open, and trust that the One who created you knows the purpose He placed inside you better than any job title ever could.

Good isn't always God. But God is always good and His steps for your life are better than any course you could plan on your own.

“Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.” — Proverbs 19:21

God, I pray to surrender to you daily. Everyday I am met with thoughts of inadequacy and insecurity. But I trust that you will heal me and keep me from being reactive to my negative thoughts and emotions. I pray to rest in knowing that you have my ultimate good at heart and whatever happens, it is for the best even if it doesn’t work out the way I want it to. I trust your timing and pray you will mold me into a gentle and quiet spirit that is strong and kind, resilient and forgiving. I pray that you provide me comfort when stress from the unknown is high.

Everyday we fight battles in the world that test our strength and faith. We may not know how the day will end but we can be encouraged knowing that God is always with us and we can invite the Holy Spirit to protect us from thoughts that cause us to react negatively. Emotional regulation requires a mindset and awareness about how we feel internally and how we’re projecting that externally.

Allow the anxiety from not having all the answers about what will happen next and if the things you desire most will be made available to you rest. Keep your heart open to what you are learning and experiencing in this moment and trust that everything is working together for you.

If you feel like you struggle with praying and how to relate verses in the Bible to your own prayer life, check out these prayer cards that have over 40 prayers and verses connected to your needs for managing anxiety, health and wellness, relationships, and more.

Prayer Cards for Women

I sit in my living room watching old episodes of Suits, thinking about how powerful Jessica Pearson appears to be and how I once desired to be that kind of woman. I know I am smart, creative, resourceful, and incredibly capable. And at the same time, I am perfectly content with the oatmeal chocolate chip cookies baking in my oven. Both of those things are true, and I’m still figuring out what to do with that.

That’s the tension I sit in, between the woman I thought I’d be and the woman I’m becoming. And I’m learning that maybe both versions of her are valid.

There are times when I feel like I still haven’t found the thing I’m really good at, like I’m wasting my talents by chasing after different things that never quite feel like enough. But I’m happy to be returning to writing, which is something I can honestly say has always felt like a gift. Though I should be honest, I’ve tried to return to it before. Many times. But every time I approached it like a business, building out content calendars and content pillars and strategies that I never actually followed through on. It wasn’t until recently that I made a different decision. No calendars. No pillars. Nothing to sell. Just my thoughts as they come, the way I used to write as a kid. Letting the creative spirit lead me the way it always naturally did before I tried to make it into something productive.

I’ve been journaling for years, and I’ve also been away from social media for the past four months. That distance has given me more mental space than I expected, more room to be thoughtful about my own world and less consumed by everyone else’s. And somewhere in that quiet, the writing found me again.

The baking found me again too. My dad used to bake cakes and pies all the time when I was growing up, and I loved nothing more than making cookies and brownies alongside him. I’m honestly amazed at how that has followed me into adulthood, how something that simple and that warm has stayed with me through everything. Writing and baking are my small joys. They are therapeutic in ways that are hard to fully explain. They are the things I have carried with me my whole life, and lately I’ve been wondering if that means something.

I think about my desire to be a mother and a wife one day, and I find myself sitting with a question I didn’t expect — what if the most powerful version of me isn’t the one in the corner office? What if she isn’t the stellar businesswoman at all? What if she is the soft woman. The vulnerable one. The one who finds the most joy in being a good mother, a good wife, in creating a home full of warmth and things made by hand. What if that simply was my legacy, even if it never registered as success in the way the world typically measures it?

I have all these accomplishments. And I am proud of them. But if I’m being truly honest, those aren’t the things that feel most special to me. What feels most special is writing. Baking cookies. The idea of one day feeding a family I love with things I created with my own hands. I spent years chasing a version of success that looked impressive from the outside, and I think I’m only now beginning to realize that maybe I want something else entirely. Something quieter. Something softer. Something that has actually been inside me all along.

I think about careers and work and talents and purpose, and how sometimes it seems like our greatest gifts might be closer than we think. What if a career was just something I did, even something I was good at, but my true legacy was in the way I showed up in parenthood or in marriage? I don’t have access to either of those right now, so I can’t know for certain. But I think often about how we move through life collecting experiences — jobs, education, relationships, cities, highs and lows — and how we may never truly meet the thing that defines us until 10, 20, or even 30 years down the road.

We’ve all heard the stories. JK Rowling didn’t find success until her early thirties, after a divorce, raising a child alone, on welfare. Toni Morrison and Maya Angelou didn’t become widely known for their writing until their forties. That gives me hope. It reminds me that it’s okay to simply be grateful for where I am right now, in this moment.

There is real relief in the possibility that my greatest chapter simply hasn’t arrived yet. And I’m okay with that. I know that love is for me. I know that I am here for a reason and that I have things worth sharing with the world. I know that I am more than the sum of my bills, my titles, or my to-do lists. I know I’ve accomplished things that many people only dream about, and I am genuinely grateful for all of it.

To the women in their thirties who feel like they’re starting over, rebranding, or still searching for their thing — it’s coming. Use this season to explore. Release the pressure of having it all figured out, especially when it looks different than what you expected. Practice gratitude daily, for who you are today and for the woman you are still becoming. Be proud of yourself.

You are your greatest hit. Not your job title. Not whether you’re actively walking in your gifts at this exact moment. Allow yourself to unfold like an orchid — blooming fully in some seasons and quietly restoring in others. Give yourself the love and appreciation you deserve, right here, right now.

So here is my love letter to my thirties, to the woman I thought I’d be, and to the woman I’m still becoming. She is enough. She has always been enough.

A friend once told me, during a relationship I wasn’t fully happy in, that I had two choices — I could stay and actually learn to be present in it, or I could leave. Because it wasn’t fair to be halfway in with someone if that wasn’t what I truly wanted. That kind of truth hurts. It’s so much easier to point fingers at what someone else isn’t doing right. But sometimes we have to be reminded that we also have choices and actions to take — to either resolve the issue or help improve the situation.

I’ve been listening to a lot of Christian audiobooks lately, and one theme that keeps coming up is that we have to go to God and ask Him to change our hearts before we can ask God to change the man in our lives. Many times it is through our own personal change that the relationship begins to shift. We learn how to communicate, love, and understand our partner differently, and that actually creates the space for him to show up differently too. We can be so critical of other people, but without personal accountability and self-love, we don’t allow real change to happen. Because we can’t ask someone else to do something we’re not willing to do ourselves.

If I don’t like a job, I can choose to leave. If I don’t like the way someone treats me, I can choose to leave. But if I leave, I have to allow God to remove the pain from my heart, both from the choice not to stay and from the shattered expectations of what I had hoped for. If I choose to stay, I have to lean on God to help me walk through a different perspective, to be grateful, and to trust that He would change my heart so that I may reflect His goodness, and that doing so would ultimately inspire the environment around me.

In neither scenario does holding onto hurt work. It hurts me more than it hurts others. So why would I choose to hold onto it? Why would I do more damage to myself on top of the pain that has already been inflicted?

It comes down to accountability. Are you going to allow this thing to hurt you and disrupt your light? In the grand scheme of things, how much does the validation from this one specific situation really matter? How much will it matter in 10 years? In 20 years? Do you even remember the details of the things you cried about 10 years ago?

Sometimes things hurt us, and we are allowed to feel that pain. But we have to have tools that bring us out of our emotions and back into reality. Remove the fog. Allow the rain to pour, but don’t allow it to drown you.

We have to take accountability for our emotions. We cannot blame every pain on someone else. The truth is, sometimes we do fail. Sometimes we participate in our own betrayal. Sometimes we self-sabotage. I have stayed in situations I knew were not right for me simply because of emotions, because I lacked the self-discipline to make better decisions. We accept the lies people tell us. We lie to ourselves. We ignore the red flags. We return to things we needed to leave in order to heal. We give our power away. We forget who we are and the value we hold. We allow people to take more than they give.

I’ve also been in toxic work environments where I felt unseen and undervalued, and I put so much blame on those environments for not being the right fit. I let it wound my pride. But here’s what I had to realize — first, I didn’t have to accept that lie just because one specific situation wasn’t working out the way I wanted. And second, even if the environment truly wasn’t right for me, so what? Maybe something better was waiting. Instead of pouring energy into the hurt of feeling like I wasn’t enough for that specific place, I could have been investing that same energy into the things I actually felt passionate about. That’s easier said than done, because emotions are genuinely hard to manage. But once you step outside of them, even just for a moment, you start to see more clearly. You realize that not everything is as personal as we make it out to be. That our emotions can cloud our vision and pull us away from the more logical truth, which is that we do have our own accountability to take. And that accountability doesn’t include blaming other people, demonizing them, seeking revenge, or making someone feel bad for “not seeing our worth,” because most of the time, it truly has nothing to do with us.

Yes, sometimes we find ourselves in situations with selfish people or toxic environments. But we can only control what we can control, and that is our heart posture, how we speak to ourselves and others, and how we choose to position ourselves.

We are not broken. We are not victims. We are worthy of everything we desire, regardless of whether our current circumstances reflect that. We must be patient, kind, loving, and gracious with ourselves and with others. We must release the part of our ego that seeks revenge or that interprets everything as a personal attack.

If a job or a manager is toxic, chances are other people feel that way too. If a partner is manipulative or emotionally abusive, they are likely that way with others as well. It says nothing about your worth. We are not special in our misery. We are special in our light, and that is what we have to focus on.

When I think about my relationships moving forward, I am reminded that I get to choose. If someone doesn’t show up with the kind of love I’m looking for, I get to decide whether I still want that person in my life. I don’t lose value because someone doesn’t love me the way I need to be loved. The honest truth is, not everyone is going to be the right fit for me. Not every opportunity is going to be the right one. And as great as I am, I also know I won’t be the best fit for every person I encounter. That isn’t realistic, and measuring my worth against that standard is really damaging. Because the truth I keep coming back to is this: I am worthy regardless. Worthy regardless of who didn’t choose me. Worthy regardless of the job that didn’t work out. Worthy regardless of the expectations that went unmet. My worth was never theirs to give or take away.

This past year, I became a swim instructor for kids. And honestly? It's not something I ever would have sought out. It found me in a season of in-between — between jobs, between plans, between versions of myself. And it turned out to be one of the most meaningful things I've done.

I swam in high school. And while I'm proud of that chapter, swimming was never easy for me emotionally. Every year I would semi-jokingly tell my coach that I was in fact not returning to the team the next year. He would laugh and tell me he would come find me and drag me to the pool. And every year on the first day of practice, there I was.

I had a love hate relationship with swimming for sure. It's a solitary sport in a way that team sports aren't. In soccer, basketball, softball — you have your people around you. You win and lose together. But in the water, it's just you. Your thoughts, your breath, your time on the clock. Yes, there are relays and your team overall but it isn’t the same when you have your own individual races that only depend on you. No one else to carry the weight of it. How well you do relies on how much you’re willing to push yourself. Being a swimmer taught me a lot about accountability and resilience, but it also meant that the hard days were really hard. There were plenty of days I did not want to show up. We practiced 6 days a week — everyday after school and at 9am on Saturdays. I showed up even when I didn’t feel like it, and I'm grateful for that.

When I stepped onto the pool deck as an instructor — not as an athlete, but as someone responsible for another person's experience in the water — things felt very different. I had to learn how to be brave all over again so that I could confidently teach younger kids the very things I had to learn so many years ago.

I worked with kids from ages two to nine. I held babies who were crying and unsure of this strange, wet world. Being in the water is a very different experience than what we’re used to on a daily basis. I helped little ones get comfortable putting their face in the water, which, if you know anything about kids, is a monumental act of trust. I sang songs, asked about their favorite ice cream flavors, and listened to them talk about what makes them excited. I watched students go from clinging to the wall to swimming across the pool. I got to see the exact moment a kid lands their first flip turn and when they successfully swam a full lap of butterfly (which is not an easy feat for a kid or most adults either).

I wasn't prepared for how much I'd love it.

As someone who hopes to be a mom one day, working with other people's children felt vulnerable at first.

What if it was awkward? Sometimes it was.

What if I don’t know what to say? Sometimes I didn’t.

What if I need help? Many times I just asked for it.

There's a weight to the responsibility of teaching anyone but especially wide-eyed kiddos that aren’t your own. But somewhere in the splashing and the small victories and the "watch me, watch me!" moments, I found a version of myself I hadn't fully met yet. Someone nurturing and patient with little people who don’t fully know how to communicate their emotions. Someone who genuinely lights up watching a child grow braver. Although I can feel that part of me, it’s very different getting to actually embody that side of me outloud.

I think a lot now about how the things we don't plan for are often the things that prepare us most. I wasn't looking for a lesson about myself. I was just looking for work. But life has a way of putting you exactly where you need to be, teaching you exactly what you need to learn, and showing you pieces of yourself that were waiting to be found.

Sometimes the random detour is the whole point. Sometimes you’re meant to do something an older version of yourself would have never even thought of simply because you’re in a season to grow.

If you're in a season that feels unplanned, uncertain, or not what you pictured — I hope you can find even a small thread of gratitude in it. Not the forced, performative kind, but the real kind that comes when you stop fighting what is and stay curious about what it might be teaching you.

Ask yourself — what am I learning right now?

There is always something to learn. We are always being prepared, even when we can't see it yet.

And sometimes you're just standing in a pool in the middle of a Tuesday, holding a tiny terrified two-year-old, singing the ABCs and realizing this is exactly where you were supposed to end up.

When He Can’t Receive The Love You Have to Give

Some men will love you sincerely and still not be capable of receiving the love you have to give. Not because you're doing it wrong. Not because the love isn't good. But because something in him — unhealed wounds, walls built long before you arrived, fears he may not even have words for yet — won't let it land. And he may love you still in the best way he knows how. It may show up fragmented in pieces he hopes you will put together.

You can feel this. You pour and pour and sense that somehow, your love is not reaching him. His cup feels like it’s leaking even though you’ve given so much. Your love is sincere. You soften your edges. You adjust to him. You wonder if you're asking for too much or expressing it the wrong way. But the truth is, you can't love someone into readiness. That work belongs to him.

The best lesson I have learned is that holding the standard for the love you deserve does not shame others for being unable to meet you there. We all have inner work to do. You are allowed to love and be loved in return in the way that you need it.

Letting go of someone who has the potential for bruising you is the best gift you can offer to yourself and to the person who needs room to heal.

Promise me, O women of Jerusalem, not to awaken love until the time is right.

- Song of Solomon 8:4

Sometimes space is really what you both need the most. We have to allow God to do the work on us and that can require time spent alone with Him.

When You Want Different Things

Then there's the love that simply outgrows its container. You're compatible in many ways. The friendship is undeniable. But the vision for your lives — where you're going, what you're building, what you believe your future holds — doesn't line up. And you can spend a long time hoping that love will smooth over the difference. Sometimes it does. But when you realize after so much time has been spent that there is still too much space between the life you want and the life you’re able to have with someone else, you have to choose. Ask God to help you.

One of the most loving things you can do for someone is to stop asking them to change their vision to fit yours. Love is not the same thing as true compatibility. You can love someone and still recognize that you are not in alignment.

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord — plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

- Jeremiah 29:11

We have to trust that God has a plan that we can’t fully understand.

When Loving Yourself Means Walking Away

Sometimes letting go isn't about him at all. It's about you. It's about the version of yourself you're becoming — the one who knows what she deserves, who's learning to honor her own needs without apologizing for them.

Self-love is not always a warm bubble bath, candles and affirmations. Sometimes it's the quiet, hard act of removing yourself from something that feels good but isn't growing you. Sometimes it's choosing your peace even when your heart hasn't fully caught up yet. It’s choosing not to respond to a text or a phone call even when you miss them. You know where you’re headed requires something different than what you’ve been comfortable with.

Walking away from love you genuinely felt — especially when no one did anything wrong — takes a particular kind of courage. But you trust that what the future holds will be aligned with what’s truly best for you.

She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future.

- Proverbs 31:25

When you know that your ultimate life mission is to glorify God, you don’t spend too much time focusing on things that take you away from that mission.

You’re Allowed to Grieve

The grief that comes with this kind of letting go is real and it deserves space. You don't have to rush through it because nobody cheated or abused you. You don't have to minimize it because "it just didn't work out." You don’t have to feel awkward about the emotional weight of letting go of something even if it’s what you wanted. Loss is loss, even when it's mutual. Even when it's mature. Even when it was the right decision.

Give yourself permission to mourn what could have been. Then, when you're ready — and only then — give yourself permission to move forward.

Letting go of someone you loved is one of the quieter forms of faith. It's trusting that releasing what isn't for you makes room for what is. It's believing that God's plan for your life isn't derailed by a love that didn't last — it may have even required it. Reflect on the things you learned in the process. What parts of you glowed? What parts of you desired more? What felt new? How would you do things differently? What do you still need to heal?

For the revelation awaits an appointed time; it speaks of the end and will not prove false. Though it linger, wait for it; it will certainly come and will not delay.

- Habakkuk 2:3

God is writing a beautiful love story for you if you give Him the space to do it. Let go of control. Give God the authority over your heart.

I am thankful for the times love has arrived at my door. I get excited to think about the ways God is growing me to be in position to continue walking in my purpose. I pray to become the woman that God created me to be and that if I am granted a life partnership that it may be made to glorify God’s will above all else.

Don’t forget that love and partnership is not for social aesthetics. It isn't for our own personal gratification. It will challenge us to grow. It will require you to have an ultimate faith and surrendering to God.

You can practice letting go now of the things that you desire so that God can fill you with the things that you need. Don’t be afraid. Any heartbrokenness that you experience, God will use to shape you into someone stronger. He is always with you.

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

- Psalm 34:18

With Love,

Taylor Rachelle

Not shy, exactly. Not insecure, despite what people have assumed. Just quiet. Observing. Content in my own interior world in a way that has always felt more like a gift than a lack. I wrote my first poems in elementary school. Not because anyone asked me to. Because writing was how I made sense of being alive, how I processed feelings too big for my small body, how I figured out where I ended and the world began.

I have always known this about myself. And I have spent most of my adult life running from it anyway.

I did what you're supposed to do. I pursued the careers that made sense on paper — technology, corporate finance, the kind of work that signals to the world that you are serious, that you are capable, that you have arrived somewhere worth arriving. I chased the "get it girl" lifestyle because I thought wanting something quieter meant I wasn't wanting enough.

What I found instead was exhaustion.

Not the tired-from-working kind. The deeper kind. The kind that comes from operating so far outside of yourself for so long that you forget what your own rhythm even feels like.

Living the kind of life that pulled me away from my core was very rough. And if I'm honest, it broke something in me. But it also, slowly, quietly, broke something open.

Here is what I know about myself at my core:

I am a writer. I am a gentle person. I am highly sensitive in a world that moves too fast and asks too much. I have ADHD, which means my brain is always doing seventeen things at once, and stillness is something I have to choose, deliberately, every single day. I feel most at home in quiet spaces: cooking slowly, moving my body, sitting outside, making things with my hands. I lead with empathy. I think deeply. I do not need to dominate a room to have something worth saying.

These are not weaknesses I am learning to manage.

These are the most true things about me.

And I am choosing to build my life around them instead of against them.

I am learning to be okay in the not-knowing. To trust that showing up as myself, consistently, is enough of a plan.

I hope you feel the same way too. I hope that we can continue in our journey of self-rediscovery. Coming home to ourselves. Creating safety and security in places that we’ve run away from. Maybe we don’t have all the answers, but we know who we are and how strong, deep, and beautiful that makes us.

With Love,

Taylor Rachelle