Every entry, held quietly.

Faith, for me, isn't what I thought it would be. It's smaller. Quieter. Less certainty and more company. Fewer answers and more presence. Some days I don't know what I believe. But I know I'm not alone in the not-knowing…

To the friend I still haven't called back, It isn't you. It's that I don't have the language yet for what I'm sitting with, and I can hear the questions inside your kindness. I will call. I promise. But first I'm trying…

I used to hope for gentler people. Now I try to be one. To listen without fixing. To speak without sharpening. To stay without needing anyone to become smaller for me. Let me be, on my best days, the kind of quiet someon…

A hummingbird stopped at my window this morning. Just hovered there, looking in. I hadn't cried in weeks. I cried at a bird. I think that counts as something. I'm going to let it count.

Today I made a doctor's appointment without overthinking it. That sounds small. It isn't, for me. A year ago I would have drafted the phone call three times in my head first. I'm writing this down so future me remembers:…

I still miss him some days. Not really him. The version of him I'd written in my head. I know those aren't the same person. I know missing a story isn't the same as wanting the real thing back. But feelings don't always…

The first time I said out loud that I wasn't okay, I said it to a stranger in a coffee shop. She was reading a book I liked. I don't know why it came out. She didn't flinch. She just closed her book and said, "I'm really…

How do you know when it's time to let something go? Not for anyone else. For you. Because you're tired of carrying it around. I keep setting it down and then picking it back up in the morning like a bag I forgot I packed…

She used to leave the porch light on for me, even on the nights we didn't speak. Especially those nights. I didn't know that was a kind of language. A quiet way of saying: whatever today was, you still have a way home. I…

If you're listening, I don't need you to fix anything tonight. I just need you to sit with me until my thoughts slow down. That would be enough. Honestly, that would be everything.

I used to think growing up was linear. A tidy climb toward some steadier version of me. It isn't. Some mornings I wake up feeling whole, and by dinner I'm twelve again, replaying a conversation I can't change. What I'm l…

To the version of me from a year ago, I know why you kept quiet. It wasn't weakness. It was hope wearing your face, whispering that tomorrow would feel a little softer. I forgive you for the nights you rehearsed apologie…