The Deathbed Perspective, Part II
The Deathbed Perspective, Part II It’s only been hours since I wrote about the deathbed perspective — not weeks, not months — and somehow, life already handed me another reminder. I...
The Deathbed Perspective, Part II It’s only been hours since I wrote about the deathbed perspective — not weeks, not months — and somehow, life already handed me another reminder. I...
To live with deathbed perspective isn’t to be morbid. It’s to be awake.
Maybe the path doesn’t belong to us. Maybe we belong to it.
There’s a lie many of us have absorbed—that rage is dangerous, shameful, something to be hidden or medicated. Especially for women, whose hormonal fluctuations are still misunderstood and dismissed, anger...
It’s been years since I’ve formally hosted a dinner party. Not even for Thanksgiving. Not for Christmas. For a long time, I’ve joked that I have hosting PTSD—and honestly, there’s...
It lives in the gut. In the flick of a measuring tape. In the rhythm of painter’s tape and Sharpie lines. It’s not always logical—but it always lands
Conflict is not a sign that something’s broken. It’s a sign that something matters.
"At my core, I am a truth-teller, mirror, and sacred disruptor."
A weekend painting session, a phase shift, and remembering who I am.