I once read a book in the 2nd grade called “Leo the Late Bloomer”. It was about a little tiger cub that couldn’t do anything right. He couldn’t read, couldn’t write, he couldn’t eat without making a mess. He had trouble finding his voice.  But then one day in his own time he bloomed and all was right in Leo’s world. 

The book concludes with the happy update “and then one day LEO BLOOMED.” 

In his own time. Finally.

The last page shows Leo surrounded by his parents celebrating as he proudly announces, “I made it!” 

For the corresponding class activity my teacher had the students fill out a workbook plugging our name into the blank spaces where Leo’s would normally go. They even had us bring in a little cut out photo of our faces that they would photocopy so we would put it on top of where Leo’s face was. Now each student had their own personalized books.  “Sarah The Late Bloomer” my title read. My round chubby face with a half awkward smile filled the pages of the book, staring back at me. They even had it laminated and bound for us so we could take it home. It was made with that plastic spiral binding that would eventually fall out of the holes if you turned the page too fast and thick laminated pages that would probably last forever.  A lifetime reminder. I know my mother still has it in the attic packed in a box I should go through. 

My teacher was offering us grace.  The book was meant to remind kids that it’s OK if it takes a little longer with things, to bloom. 

The miniature version of myself related to Leo so much and would believe this book was written just for me and believe too that I was a late bloomer for a very long time. And in a lot of ways I was. My mother would even reference the book growing up too many times to count. “Remember that book about Leo?!” She would often recall in reassurance whenever I was worrying about something. Which was often, trying to give myself the grace I usually wasn’t giving myself. Little Sarah grew up with a lot of fear and worried so much about so much that she often made herself sick. 

I think about that little girl a lot. Every day actually. 

That little girl wished her shorts fit better and that someone wanted to go to the spring fair with her as her date. She wished her family looked a little more like everyone else’s and she wasn’t so scared of her father. She wished she was a little better at school especially math and spelling and that she could do more projects and presentations instead of tests. 

But she was creative and curious and kind and eventually found her voice through theater and making things in art class and expressing herself through the imaginary TV show she hosted and dreamed up in the living room for her stuffed animals. She did these things despite her fears and all the hard things she was growing through. She smiled through a lot of it. She just wanted to help others probably because she needed a little extra help herself. She was determined and taught herself to ride a bike, and tie her shoes even though it took longer than she thought it should. It wasn’t easy but she became resilient and dedicated and saw hope and beauty and never gave up. There was really no other way for her.

Looking back I think she easily could have given up a lot of times and I’m thankful she didn’t because then this would be a totally different story. 

The older I’ve become the more I’ve wanted to be who I needed when I was younger. A safe space for the worried little girl who didn’t realize who she would grow into. I’ve wanted to remind her it would all eventually be ok. That her differences were her gifts and strengths. That she would someday feel comfortable in her body no matter her size. She would wear shorts again and ride her bike daily and feel comfortable doing both. That she didn’t need a date to the spring fair or anywhere to remind her of her value and worth. That she would find family in friends. She would be so much smarter than tests ever told her she was. That her creativity is more than something secondary and she should pursue the things that make her happy no matter her skills, no matter the finished product. So I remind myself these things daily and do it all for her. 

I spent my 40th birthday this week at the beach reflecting. 40. I’ve been thinking about my life and all that has lead me to this milestone. A milestone I can’t believe is here but also know that it’s time to step into this new decade. Thinking about the little girl that never even imagined the life I would live and what could be possible. And that is what makes it so beautiful

So I stood on the beach with my eyes closed, right before the sunset on my 40th. I had packed myself a picnic to enjoy golden hour. Listening to the waves crash and the seagulls singing. Breathing in the salty air with children laughing nearby as they tried flying kites as the sea breeze blew through my hair.  

But I also heard something else. A familiar voice I had heard so many times before. It was so quiet at first. A whisper. A little girl. She was speaking words I knew from another time. The voice was about 7 or 8 years old. She was reciting from one of her favorite book but this time it was a little different. The tiny voice got near the end and quietly, but clearly said

“and then one day, SARAH BLOOMED.” 

In her own time. Finally. 

I heard it. In between the crashing waves. I smiled, squeezing my eyes shut even tighter, listening and soaking in what I had just heard. I opened my eyes now looking around at the beauty that surrounded me. The tide coming in and out over my feet, the dogs running in the surf and the kids with their kites. I took a moment to pause. To celebrate myself and her and then I also proudly and quietly said out loud just so only I could hear, “I made it.”

Just like Leo. 

But this time instead of the story ending it was just beginning. 

There was a snowstorm once in late February a few years back and we were snowed in together in Ridgewood Queens. We had just started dating. New enough to still have butterflies but also long enough that we had the talk about being exclusive.

To my friends he was Jason 1. That's because I dated two Jasons once. Not at the same time but back to back. 

Jason 2 made me feel better about Jason 1. Jason 1 made me feel better about my ex. Jason 1 didn't mean that he was better, he wasn't. He was simply #1 because he was the first one after my ex.

No matter how many people I've dated I still only have one ex. That's because he was the first love. And it was the longest love. And the hardest love. But sometimes I still think it was just a mediocre love. Closure is a luxury we don't always get. I think about that a lot.

Jason 1 suggested coming to Queens for the weekend where he lived. We knew the storm was coming. I felt adventurous knowing I may not be able to get back to the city, to work. I also felt a little irresponsible, but also a little romantic. It was nice to feel that way. I had just bought new snow boots.

Shortly after getting there the A train stopped running. All the trains were down but the bars were still open.  We made our way to the neighborhood bar on the corner. We drank a few rounds and he played pool in the back while I tried to win over the bartender. She had been working there for years. She was a tough cookie, I thought I was too. I bought her a shot and as we raised our glasses toasting, she told me I was a lot nicer than the other girls he's brought to the bar before. I thought I misheard her when she said I was nicer than the girl he had with him last weekend. We did another shot. When she gave me my change she slipped in a $2 bill in there and said it was good luck.

The sun had set and the snow had made it up to our knees. We were tipsy with warm cheeks and we giggled as we left the bar and I declared as if the whole neighborhood were listening that I wanted to make meatballs.

So we made our way to the corner market on the way back to his place. I fell down into the snow multiple times as we were crossed 70th avenue, laughing so hard I cried and the tears mixed with snow stung my warm cheeks.

I made snow angels, each time sinking a little bit lower towards the pavement. He didn’t. I really wanted him to make snow angels with me.

By the time we made it to the market I was soaked and we were debating if we should get flat leaf parsley or curly parsley. Flat leaf won. We planned to make meatballs from that trendy place in Chelsea we wanted to try.

We made our way back to the apartment and put our clothes in the dryer, and he lent me a t-shirt. His roommate was out of town for the weekend so we stood in the kitchen without pants on listening to The Smiths and making the meatballs.

The meatballs took longer than the recipe said. Most good things do. I wondered in that moment if that is what it feels like to have better than mediocre. And in that moment I felt like it was.

The meatballs were in the oven and the pasta was cooking. We even used the $8 jar of Rao’s tomato sauce from the top shelf at the store. I’ve only ever splurged on that sauce one other time. I stayed in the kitchen ignoring the old sentiment a watched pot never boils while he was in the other room distracted on his phone. The oven timer went off as I was cutting the garlic bread.

It was time to eat. We drank a bottle of red wine that cost less than the bottle of tomato sauce, and still without pants on as we sat down at the table. The Smiths were still on and the snow was still falling. I immediately declared as if the entire apartment building were listening that these were the best meatballs I had ever had. Ever. I’m Italian and that says something right? But they were so good. Tender, flavorful and would be the perfect lunch a couple days later in a sandwich. A sub. A hoagie. Whatever. I was immediately hoping I could take the leftovers home with me. I was going to regardless. I continued on and on but he was so quiet, and just said they were good but that was it. That was it? Just good? These meatballs were life changing and worth the $23 at that trendy restaurant. I started doing the math in my head and realized our ingredients cost more.

But good. He thought they were just good. I paused. I was disappointed in his reaction. I wanted him to give me more in that moment, maybe not just with the meatballs but with other things too. I made it about the meatballs that night because that’s what I thought it was really about.

I thought about my ex and how he would probably have reacted the same way. Mediocre. These meatballs weren’t mediocre. They were anything but. But this relationship might be.

Ok, I was overthinking.

I cleared the table. We left the dishes in the sink for later and sat close to each other on his sofa while his cat snuggled between us. I was annoyed. Not at the cat but about how Jason 1 has been this whole weekend. Distracted.  He was still on his phone, actually glued to it, texting, typing, smiling to himself as he did. I looked at him, curious about what was making him smile and stretched my neck towards him and I looked at his screen.

And then I saw a new name pop up at the top of the screen.

Serena.

With a kissing face emoji.  He sent a screen full of smooches back to her.

Serena.

My mind raced.

Serena.

He easily explained. A girl he had apparently also been seeing. At the same time. But for longer. She’s the sister of a close friend and they recently met for the first time after months of talking online and they just started dating. We just started dating

Serena.

She lives about an hour outside of the city.

That explains his trip earlier this month to see his friend upstate. He’s taken a couple trips to there by now.

And she’s already visited once.

That explains what the bartender was talking about. I hadn’t misheard. I heard everything clearly. I was nicer than the girl he had there last weekend. For a long time I clung to the fact the random bartender at a random dive bar thought I was a lot nicer than a mean mistress of a woman named Serena. And all the other women before her. I was nicer than all the girls she said. I still feel like it’s a badge of honor I care about. 

My heart sunk. My stomach flopped and my cheeks felt like they were on fire. I stood up. I walked to the dryer to grab my pants. And I left. He didn’t fight to have me stay. My ex didn’t either. My pants were still warm from the dryer that they melted the snowflakes that landed on me outside. I cried and the tears mixed with snow stung my warm cheeks like earlier in the day when I was laughing but I wasn’t laughing now.

I had forgotten the meatballs.

Dammit. If this were a romantic comedy then this would have been the scene where I marched back upstairs (even though he lived in a fourth floor walk up) with a red lip on and effortlessly said something witty yet direct and slighting cutting and dramatically grabbed the Tupperware of meatballs out of the fridge for my leftover sandwiches that week. It would then cut away to me smugly eating meatball subs every day of the week for an entire week to a cute song playing underneath. But this was my real life and I was hurt. It stung like the snow on my cheeks. And my wet pants.

But I was grateful.

That I left.

That I didn’t settle.

It felt like I had just done this before. Left the relationship when I knew I deserved better. After the infidelity after the lack of passion. And I knew when I made that decision the first time I would need to make that decision every time I needed to. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, and that it would often be lonely but I had spent so much time with something I didn’t deserve that I knew I wouldn’t spend time with anything other than what I did deserve again.

The A train was still down. I ordered the most expensive Uber of my life and I went home. I always thought leaving that first time a few months before would be the most important time but this time was important too.

The next day he asked me to meet up for lunch at Google where he worked, to talk. Google is known for the amazing elaborate multiple cafeterias with chefs and gourmet themed menus that changed daily and I had been wanting to go there since the minute he told me he worked there on our first date. I didn’t think it would be under these circumstances. But, I agreed to go. And while closure is a luxury we don’t always get, I didn’t go for the closure this time, I went for the free lunch.

I knew when I left that day as we awkwardly hugged in the gold plated lobby that it was over. I knew before I even agreed to lunch. The thing that upsets me the most about that day is that I can’t even remember what I ate. It was overwhelming enough with all the cafeterias and menu options without the additional fun fact that he was dating two women and we were sitting there discussing it, so I think I’ve blocked this meal out of my mind forever. But I do remember one thing, it wasn’t as good as I thought it would be. It didn’t live up to expectations. It was kinda mediocre. Looking back on it now all of it was mediocre.

I blocked his number shortly after I got home that afternoon instead of responding to the last text from him saying that he really wanted to still be friends.

I matched with Jason 2 on Tinder later that night.

The next day I mailed the $2 bill back to the bar c/o the bartender without a last name because I felt like it was the opposite of good luck. It was returned back to me in the mail a few days later because I didn’t know her last name so I kept it in my wallet for a long time. I  actually collect $2 bills now and always keep one in my wallet, because according to the end of this story they’re good luck after all.

I looked up Jason 1 recently on social media just out of curiosity wondering what he was up to. But I felt like I already knew. He and Serena are married with a baby in upstate New York. Same town she’s always lived in. The same one he visited all those times. I felt relief. Relief that it wasn’t me.

I thought about him a lot in the beginning. Sometimes more than my ex. I think I felt the pain of both at once with this one so initially it felt like it hurt more but it just hurt for both of them all at the same time.

Sometimes when it snowed. Anytime The Smiths came on. I always skipped any Smiths song. I still do. But I recently realized I’ve never really enjoyed The Smiths to begin with and not just because of him. The Cure has always been better.

But then something amazing happened.

It snowed here recently. The biggest snowstorm we’ve had in a while. I wore the same boots I wore then.

The good news is I didn’t even think of him. Not even once. The better news is I thought about the meatballs. And then I pulled up the recipe and decided to make them again.

I woke up and it was your birthday. It felt more ordinary than last year but I think that starts to happen the more time passes without the person worth celebrating.

I looked in the mirror as I got ready for the day. I thought of you. Growing up I never thought I looked like anyone in my family. I have the dark hair and eyes of my father maybe but I didn't know him enough to really know, you know? Instead I wanted to look like you. You were beautiful, elegant, strong. Still staring into the mirror I studied my face, my eyes, my nose. Do I look like you? Even now? I want to so badly, I always have. I scrunched my face, elongating my neck and tilting my head to the left seeing if it made me look any different by doing so, making me look any more like you. Hmmm. Maybe in my nose?

I started the day. I put on my favorite necklace. It was yours. A gold turtle charm you brought back as a souvenir from a vacation from the Cayman Islands. Did you have a good time? I wish I could ask you your favorite part. I'm so thankful mom gave me this necklace for my birthday a few years ago after she read something I once wrote about a turtle. I wear it every day.

I sat down at the coffee shop and drank my coffee black like you always did out a similar Blue Willow mug that they have just like the ones we had in our cabinets at home growing up. It felt like we were having coffee together.

I took a long drive through the countryside passing horses and I stopped on my way home for a hot dog like we always would when we took those drives together. Mom text me she was having one too. She cried while she ate hers. I didn’t tell her right away but I did too. While I ate mine in my car. I put on relish mustard and diced onions on top. What were your favorite toppings? I can't remember but I think you loved diced onions too. I tossed the wrapper on the passenger side floor and hurried home to take out the dog.

I slowly opened the door and walked in my apartment quietly trying not to wake her. I heard her snoring, loudly in the next room, probably on my bed under the covers. I turned on the lights of the bathroom, gently putting my keys on the counter, looking into the mirror one more time. Searching…

June barked. She heard me. I grabbed her leash and we took a little walk around the neighborhood. "Here, lover." I called for her as we headed to the dog park. I smiled since you often used this term of endearment for all your dogs and often me.

We sat in the sun. June rested at my feet. I replayed the events of this ordinary Thursday in my head and remembered I was like you in more ways than not. I'm so grateful for that. I opened up my phone and responded to mom's last text with a photo I had recently snapped of myself. I send a lot of photos to mom these days to remind her I'm OK even on the days I don't feel it. Today was a day I wanted to remind her I was.

"I feel like I look like her today. Do you think I have her nose?" I typed.

I wanted to so badly. She was so beautiful, elegant, strong.

The dots of her response danced on my phone until my phone buzzed back. I looked down at what she wrote.

"You have always looked like her."

I smiled. I zoomed in on the photo I sent. I studied my face, my eyes, my nose. Beautiful, elegant, strong.

I looked like her, my grandmother.

I always have.

I visited a coffee shop I hadn’t been to in a long time and ran into a friend I hadn’t seen in even longer. I ordered my coffee and went and stood with her while I waited. I picked up a cookie to snack on for the wait. It was good to see her.

She was doing really well. Great it seemed. She recently bought a new house, was dating someone new, had hopes of opening up a new small business soon. I was excited for her, nodding and smiling along as she shared her good news taking bites of my cookie. I was hungry yes, but also thought that if I filled up my mouth so full of cookie then maybe I wouldn’t have to talk and tell her how I was doing. Just nod lovingly in support at what she was sharing with me. Chew. Nod. Another bite. When she was done with her updates she looked at me. It was my turn. I smiled and laughed and kindly asked her not to ask about me. I told her that I would rather talk about her and that I didn’t have much to share today. It was true. I really would and I really didn’t. She must have thought I was kidding, I wasn’t. She asked anyway. “So, what’s new with you?” 

I paused. She was waiting. I hadn’t seen her in so long. What would I say? I finished chewing, swallowed my bite and then quietly and quickly responded with some of the cookie still stuck in my throat, “ Well, I have some carrots growing in my garden that I’m excited about.” 

Pause. 

I took another bite.

Silence. 

Carrots growing in my garden? After not seeing a person for the last year and a half and what seems like even longer I responded with “I have carrots growing in my garden.”? 

I took another bite finishing my cookie. 

Well, it was true. I really didn’t want to tell her how I barely got out of bed that day. How I canceled lunch plans with another friend earlier because I didn’t have it in me to be social. I didn’t. This last year left me with a loss of words when I see people it’s been hard to elaborate and soften the struggles in those quick interactions. How watering those carrots ended up being one of the only reasons I did eventually get out of bed. I thought the carrots would be the safest bet. They really were. She smiled, nodded back in support like I had done for her. 

I heard my name. My coffee was ready. 

We hugged and discussed plans for the future. “Let’s see each other soon.” I knew that probably wouldn’t happen until our next random run in. I wonder what would be growing in my garden then? I smiled and waved as I walked to my car. 

It was really good to see her. I was excited for her.

In my car as drove away I sipped on my cold brew and thought about life lately and thought about the carrots. My face still stung from the red warmth of embarrassment that creeped across my cheeks as I talked.

I replayed the interaction over and over again in my head. 

The carrots. It wasn’t enough. It didn’t feel enough at least. 

I instantly began to anticipate all of the other times I would soon be asked how I was doing and about the last year. It has been hard but I’ve made it. I couldn’t say that could I? The next time someone asked? Was it enough? 

I got home and went out onto my balcony to check on my garden. I had watered everything earlier that morning but wanted to check on the carrots. They were in a green pot by the railing in the direct light. I knelt down and felt the sun on my shoulders. I looked at the leafy tops flopping over the sides of the pot. I wanted to save them to make a pesto sauce I read about recently.

And then I saw something new.

The slightest amount of orange sticking above the soil. There was a carrot. I took my hand and touched it. An actual carrot! I’d been waiting for them patiently to grow, not knowing when I would know if they were ready since it was my first time growing them. They took a long time. Like this long year. I ran my fingers through the green tops stopping where the orange nub met the soil. I dug my hands into the dirt around the sides. It went down deeper. I kept digging. I felt the roots.

It’s been growing here. All this time. I didn’t pull it just yet because it still needed some more time to keep growing. I did too. It takes time after all. But it’s still been growing. I’ve been too. Without realizing it. Quietly and slowly like this carrot in the sun. I removed my hands from the pot. I gently covered up the carrots. I brushed off my hands and smiled towards the sky. And I knew in that moment the next time someone asked my answer would simply be the carrots -because of the sun on my skin, my hands in the soil, the slow growth of it all and how those things made me feel-  it was enough.

365 days ago you gave me a four leaf clover because you said it matched my green dress. A dress I bought to wear to Paris for a trip that never happened. I twirled the stem between my fingers, smiling, then carefully slipping the gift between the pages of a cherished book to keep forever, to remember you thinking of me and my green dress that day. I couldn’t wait to tuck it away on a shelf being the only one to know it’s there. A souvenir of that last day last March.

I was the last to leave the restaurant. We hugged. I lingered a little longer and knew it would be the last moment like it for a while. I didn’t know how long a while would be. I didn’t know how drastically different things would become. None of us did. I would have hugged you all a little tighter if so.

I wore the green dress a lot in the beginning. It made me feel hopeful in the uncertainty. It made me daydream of springtime in Paris and getting there someday. Even with nowhere to go I wore the dress, especially then. On the lonely days I wore it, and there were a lot of them. As the days dragged into weeks and weeks dragged into months hope seemed distant like the distance to Paris.

The green dress ended up in a pile on my closet floor with the other clothes I wasn’t wearing to the places I wasn’t going. I put on sweatpants instead. It remained there. My favorite green dress. Crumpled up in the corner, forgotten about for a long time. I couldn’t find the energy to dig through the pile. Or the energy to do a lot of things really. And now we’re here. A year later. 365 days since you gave me that four leaf clover. I thought about your kindness that day, about Paris, and my green dress. I needed to find it. I went to my closet digging through the pile until I found it there. Clover green, wrinkled on the floor. It didn’t deserve to be there like that. I cried. I felt like that pile of clothes. Wrinkled on the floor, forgotten about too. So I grabbed my favorite dress that I had bought for another time in what felt like another life and realized I needed it now just as I needed it then. I slipped it on and as I did I thought about hope again. 🍀

I was sitting at the taco shop where I normally spend weekends working, but this time I was a customer. It was a warm day so the garage doors were open and I could feel the breeze. I watched families play in the grass out front. It was Sunday and Sundays meant that not only were there brunch tacos on the menu but that Austin our back of house manager would usually play the bluegrass station. All day. I think it make him happier to have it on while he cooked tacos on the grill. He’s definitely never admitted that anyone but as the next song came on and I took my seat I looked over to see him singing along to himself as he flipped tortillas and I smiled knowing it was true. 

I was sitting at an empty table writing in my journal as my tacos arrived. I was mid bite as the handsome man to my right started talking to me. He had noticed I was chatting with the staff as I ordered and ate and asked if I worked there too. I nodded yes, smiling in between bites, trying to chew with my mouth closed. 

He was Australian. In his 30’s and in school about to become an equine vet. He was passing through the area and stopped in for tacos on his drive home to Raleigh. I listened to his accent, nodding at every word as he told me about his life. I finished my bite and said something quickly in response to his future job title, unintentionally making him laugh. I liked that I did. Our conversation continued. He dove right in and asked me my story, wanting to know all the details. He seemed to really want to get to know me. 

I wanted to believe him. 

I started with NYC, lighting up as I described the path that got me here, to Greenville South Carolina and to this taco shop, next to this handsome man. It seemed that he lit up too as he heard it. Was he flirting with me? His eyes smiled at every question he asked. I smiled back. I didn’t know for certain but I was definitely flirting with him. 

Our eyes were still locked as he crumpled his napkin and placed it in his basket, the ceremonial way to signal the finish of his meal. He told me he had to hit the road as as he got up and moved close enough to me that I thought this was going to be the part of the rom-com where he gives me his number and we ride off into the sunset together on his horse (because he’s an equine vet after all). Instead, he smiled in the direction of the register and said, “After I leave would you do me a favor? Your coworker over there has the most beautiful smile. I’ve been admiring it the whole time I’ve been here. Would you mind letting her know for me?”

She did. 

My heart sunk. 

My smile faded.

I looked up at him as he was looking over at her. My eyes started to fill up with tears. I was relieved he couldn’t tell but when I realized he didn’t I wanted him to know. It stung.

When I told him that he should tell her that himself he shrugged and said he wasn’t brave enough to. 

In that moment I knew there wasn’t a statement more true. 

We said goodbye and as he rode off into the sunset solo I crumpled up my napkin as well signaling the end of my meal. I grabbed the napkin and headed to the bathroom to dry my eyes with it, wondering if he ever saw my smile. 

__________________________
It was a busy morning at the coffee shop, the kind I loved, where every seat was filled but it still didn’t feel too crowded. Familiar faces surrounded me. 

The gray weather outside hugged us like a warm blanket.  It was cozy.

I was at the espresso machine making drinks, talking with customers. A tall dark haired man waited for his drink at the end of the counter. As we locked eyes he smiled at me. I smiled back, quickly, thinking it was just pleasantries, waiting for him to turn and walk towards the door. 

He remained there and kept looking at me, still smiling. He asked me how my day was going. I felt like he actually wanted to know. 

I wanted to believe him. 

I could tell he wasn’t a regular. I liked that he wasn’t. We started talking and continued long after his drink and name had been called. I continued to make drinks, we continued to talk. I felt the eyes of my other coworkers on me as we did, hopeful, already thinking this was a classic meet cute that turns into something more. 

He excitedly told me about his trip and plans for the weekend while he was in town. He asked to follow me on Instagram. I followed back. He liked me right? 

I know my coworkers thought so. We wrapped up our conversation and he leaned over the counter to grab my hand and say goodbye. His hand was warm. After he squeezed my hand he then introduced himself to my two other coworkers who stood beside me, and were waiting for him to leave so we could giggle and discuss every detail about him the moment the door closed behind him. He moved his glance away from me and towards my one coworker on the end. She had been in the corner doing dishes for most of our conversation. He smiled at her and introduced himself. He then effortlessly and bolding said to her, “I normally don’t do this, but you’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in my life.” He has definitely done that before. 

She was.

My heart sunk. 

My smile faded.

I felt like I had been punched in the gut as I looked at him as he looked at her.

I excused myself and went to the bathroom. My eyes filled with tears as I thought about the last time I heard a man say anything like that to me. 

Never.  

Ever? 

My tears started to flow. 

Never. 

Realizing I never had, I knew I wanted to hear those words so badly wondering if I ever would. 

I unfollowed him on Instagram. 

__________________________
Then one day when I wasn’t looking for anything from a man, I met one. I was in Nashville for the weekend. It was cold and  gray and smelled like snow. I planned to spend my days in coffee shops, writing, feeling inspired. I started to write down some thoughts that day on beauty in my journal. 

I bundled up and left the coffee shop with thoughts of someone else on my mind, waiting for my Uber to arrive. 

And there he was. I liked his salt and pepper hair and the orange flannel he wore. We hit it off. He was charming and funny but so was I and unlike the times before this one I had courage to ask him out. He said yes. 

It started snowing the night we went out and continued coming down, sticking to everything it touched as we stood in a nearly empty parking lot outside of a nearly empty bar after that first date. It started to accumulate on the ground and my feet left a trail of footprints as we walked to his car. It felt like a rare moment, almost as rare as that southern snow falling around us. 

He held my hand and told me I was beautiful. 

Finally. 

I could see his breath as he said it. The thing I thought I wanted to hear. Or thought I needed to hear.

I really wanted to believe him. 

My eyes started to fill up with tears. I smiled. The snowflakes falling around us kissed my eyelashes as he kissed me. 

Then one day a couple months later that Nashville romance came to an end with a text. “I hope you’ve had a great day, but …”

He started seeing someone else. 

It stung.

“I think you’re a really great lady...”  

She was there, I was here. 

My heart sunk.

My smile faded. 

But I was used to that. It seems there’s usually someone else. 

But I wasn’t used to feeling beautiful. 

On a hard night when I wondered why and questioned all the things he had said before to me that I wanted to hear so badly, I went to my bathroom. With tears clinging to my eyes like those snowflakes to my eyelashes that beautiful, Nashville night not too long ago, I turned on the light. I stood there looking in the mirror at the reflection of a woman who just wanted to hear she was beautiful and know it’s true. 

To believe it. 

Feeling completely cracked wide open and uncomfortable with vulnerability I realized: I had never been made to feel beautiful from a man in my life, but it’s not up to the man is it? 

I took a deep breath. 

“You’re beautiful.” I slowly and lovingly said to my reflection looking back at me. 

Finally. 

“You’re beautiful.”

I heard it. I smiled. 

“You’re beautiful.” 

I was. 

“You’re beautiful.” 

I believed her.

There is something about a brand new haircut that makes me feel lighter. A few inches trimmed away and the weight of the world almost lifted. That moment when the cape comes off and you shake your head back and forth so you can feel how the hair falls around your head as you run your fingers through it. 

I had just felt that feeling, leaving the salon lighter than when I entered it. Feeling really really great, wishing I had a date or somewhere fun to go instead of grocery shopping. But off to the grocery store I went. Walking down the street to my car, with extra bounce in my step, still shaking my head back and forth, gently, feeling the waves tickle my cheeks, and the cool breeze that felt like fall carrying the smell of fancy salon product to my nose. 

I stopped at the corner waiting for my turn to cross, pressing the button to the crosswalk. I waited and as I did, I smiled to myself, as that breeze blew through my hair. Still feeling light. And then I heard it, a big truck drive by a little too fast and then suddenly break to slow down and I heard the yelling of a lot of loud words at me and the words “too fat” somewhere in there among them. I looked up I saw a young man, probably not even 20, yell those hateful words in my direction as he and the driver pointed as they laughed at me and then looked back and laughed at each other, together.  

At first I looked around. He couldn’t be talking to me, could he? Still in my workout clothes from my morning workout with part of my shirt that hung over my lower back actually still damp from sweating, just a few hours earlier. I glanced in all directions wondering if anyone else had heard. I was the only person on the sidewalk at that busy intersection. I was still confused. He couldn’t be talking about me with my brand new haircut that made me feel like a million bucks could he? That made me feel lighter. I was so much lighter.

He was. But he wasn’t talking about me but yelling at me. Calling me fat. Laughing at me. 

Time froze for a moment. I thought about how he doesn’t know me. My journey. All that I’ve been through to be strong and proud of the body I’m currently in. A body I don’t ever think or say such words to. Never. A body I’m proud of. A body I move every single days in ways I’m so grateful for. He doesn’t know how I feel about myself. How much I love myself.

And in that moment as the scene continued on in what seemed like slow motion and I looked up, my hair still bouncing in the breeze, new hair product smell still in the air, I looked him in the eyes and smiled. Like, really smiled at him. Intentionally and directly. I caught he off guard. He looked back at me, a bit puzzled, confused by my response. He stopped yelling. I smiled at him because I thought he needed more kindness in his life. He did. He sat back in his seat and softened the minute he saw it. Maybe he does know how I feel about myself. Proud. Full of love. And then as he silently sped off, cowardly just as the words he spoke I stood strongly in the spot on the corner of the crosswalk, still smiling to myself as the breeze blew through my hair. I took out my phone and took this photo to remember the moment he said what he said to me and the even more important moment when I decided not to believe him. 

Still feeling light, even lighter than before, I crossed the street, smiling, running my fingers through my hair the entire way. 🧡

I was in the weight room when I heard the song come on. I hadn’t heard it in a long time.

The power of music.

It can take you back to an exact moment it feels like it’s happening all over again.

This time I was transported back to a season many years ago when we were together. I had visions of you during your Junior year dancing to it. Everyone circled around you, you seamlessly flowing into impressive moves as they all cheered you on. You loved it. I stood to the side, cheering too but feeling uncomfortable, shy almost. I’m not shy. I always felt a little that I was when I went to dances. With you. You loved to move. You were effortless. I was unsure. Of moving my body. How to. I awkwardly swayed feeling like I couldn’t keep up with you.

I tried to think of a time before now when I felt free and effortless. Like you felt free on that dance floor that night in mid October. I had trouble remembering. When was it? It escaped me. Still searching, that thought brought me back. I refocused on the present moment. My accelerated heart rate. The sweat dripping down the side of my face. The weights in my hand. The reps I had done the reps I still had to do. I put them down and grabbed a heavier set. Because I could. I didn’t think I could for a long time and then I remembered the song in the background reminding me of those years we were together and how I wouldn’t even be where I was now. Challenging myself physically and how I wouldn’t then, I didn’t even know how to.

That is such a celebration.

The power of a song.

It can not only take you back to an exact moment, the feeling you had then but it can remind you of how different you are now. And how you don’t want to feel like you did then. I don’t want to feel like I did then. Then you were the strong one, the one who worked out every day and made it a ritual. No matter what you carved out time for you. To move, to meditate. I didn’t. I didn’t have any space for that. I wanted to. It felt far away. You felt far away as you worked out in our second bedroom and I did other things with my time. Now I’m strong, I work out because I want to and making it a ritual for myself. Like you did all those years. The song was coming to an end and just as my time in the weight room was. I had 30 seconds left. I heard the end of the song, I remembered you, and how I felt that night on the dance floor, those mornings while you worked out in the room next to me and I grabbed an even heavier weight. Because I could. Because I didn’t think I would be here. Because I hoped I would.

This time I grabbed it for you.

“Shut it down” my coach said. It was time to switch. I moved to the treadmill.

It was my last station. The end of my work out was approaching. The instructor told us that we didn’t come this far to come this far. She was right.This wasn’t the end.I was out of breath but I was happy. Smiling. Tired. But I felt strong. I was just getting started. And as if this soundtrack on this day was preselected for me when I wasn’t even expecting it, the next song came on. I hadn’t heard it in a long time. Years actually. But as soon as I heard it took me back and gave me the answer to the question I asked myself earlier. When was a time I felt free? Effortless? I finally remembered.

It was right before my Junior year. It was the middle of July and I was in a bar in Oxford England and it was late and a group of us danced under the red flashing lights to the same song that was playing now as I walked on my treadmill with similar orange lights above me. “One more time we’re gonna celebrate. Celebrate and dance so free.” And I did. I felt it. Effortless. I twirled. Freely. I laughed. In my body, just as I was. Light on my feet, not self conscious, not disconnected. Sweating and smiling. Packed between people. The dance floor vibrating in synch with our feet and the beat of the song. What was different this time? You weren’t there. That made a difference I think. We all cheered each other on. I loved it. The attention wasn’t on you. I didn’t feel like I was in the shadows, twirling to myself. I was present. I was happy. I felt joy. Just as I was. It was one of the best nights. That feeling that night is more than words. It is that song. And the feeling I felt that day came back as soon as I heard that song on the speakers that day in the gym. Timed just right -exactly after I had heard that other song that brought up a totally different memory and feeling than this one.

The power of a song.

It can take you back to an exact moment and the feeling you felt.

Sweating and smiling I felt recognized that feeling again. I had been feeling it a lot lately. Free. Just as I was. Never wanting to feel like that girl on that dance floor in October of your Junior year, instead like that girl in July of mine.

And as the song started to come to an end so did my class. My coach called out a countdown to a 30 second all out. Normally I power walked, but this time I thought about the song.The girl in the memory. My feet moved to the beat in the chorus just like that night in the dance club. I increased my speed. Faster. I jogged. I made my speed a little faster. Because I could. Because I didn’t think I would. Because I hoped I would. Someday. And I was.

That is such a celebration.

The song was still in the background, “Music’s got me feeling so free,” reminding me of how I felt in both those moments and memories, how far I had come from both those girls on those dance floors. How neither would know how it would all end up but how I hoped I would be where I was now, feeling how I felt, just as I was, in times where I had felt both far from here and close to here . Halfway there, 30 seconds left. I went even a little faster. Becuase I could. Becuase I didn’t think I would. Becuase I hoped I would. Class was over. So was the song. I wanted both to keep going. The belt below my feet slowed down. The treadmill stopped.

This time I did it for you. 

I looked into the mirror and I smiled at her, the girl I had done it for all along. She smiled back at me. Tears and sweat filled my eyes. 

I wiped my face. Blinked. And looked up. She was still there smiling back. I kept smiling too.

Heart being fast. 

I did it for her. I did it for me. 

And I feel free. 

Today would have been our anniversary. A day I’ll never forget. Even though years have passed since our last one together, with more distance between us with each year that goes by and someday we will have spent more years a part than together it’s a day I’ll always think of us, but -only at the beginning. That’s when it was the best. It was right after Memorial Day weekend and there was a warmth in the air. I could smell summer on the horizon even with the coolness after the sun set. It was breezy that night, I wore my favorite gray hoodie with a hole in the front pocket as we walked and talked and told each other our hearts. I was nervous so I ran my finger along the frayed edge of the pocket where the hole was growing. I tried to stitch that hole over and over again for years after that night so that I could keep my favorite hoodie, just like in some ways I tried to stitch us. But on this one, very first breezy night, there was a lot of hope in the air. This was one of those days where I remember the smell and the temperature so well that over the next 14 years we were together occasionally there would be a cool spring evening just like that one where the weather would remind me of that first night together.

I started to forget what that breeze felt like. Especially after you left.

Until recently.

It was spring this time last year. Right around Memorial Day. The days were warm and the nights were cool. Familiar. I had been working so hard on letting go of so many things that no longer served me, including you. Where there were no longer those certain unhealthy things taking up space, where they had been comfortable for so many years there was room. Lot of it. Giant voids wanting to be filled. Wide open. It was so hard not to fill them. Even in all the self work, in all the clearing out the clutter, some of these unhealthy things remained. Like drinking. And after a typical “fun” night out where I had drank too much and worried far too long after, I laid on my yoga mat, in a fetal position, rocking back and forth.

A year ago I wrote about that exact experience on that mat that day. It was just at the beginning of a big decision, and at the time I wrote it I didn’t realize how big it would be. That moment made this moment I was experiencing a full circle one, 365 days later possible.  Focusing on my my teacher’s words that day “Let go of what no longer serves you. Take what you need, release the rest.” Like a Tibetan bowl, they rang in my ears, resonated in my heart and stayed with me. 

I thought about those things that no longer served me. I thought about my relationship with food as I stretched on that mat, rocking back and forth and how I had gotten into such a healthy place, ending my co-dependent, therapeutic relationship with it and how that was so worth celebrating. Then in lieu of celebration I thought about alcohol, I curled up tighter, rolling back and forth, back and forth, as shame bubbled up.  I reflected on how it had become a more regular occurrence in my life especially in the days since removing mindless eating out of my routine. Because of that swap and how it filled that giant void that was begging to be filled, soothing it, I knew that it added nothing good in my life. Nothing. Drinking always started in good fun, even when I didn’t stop... celebrating even in the excess, until the next day. When I would wake up. Heaviness in my chest. Trouble breathing. Shame and guilt appeared and remained. For days. Sometimes those feelings didn’t leave at all, just getting buried underneath new ones. Like this one memory that will always remain. A memory I’ll never forget, like our anniversary. Sometimes I wish I would forget both.

I think back about a time in NYC years ago where I was at a fancy party for food bloggers and writers, among chefs I admired and I was didn’t’ know anyone. I was excited. I was also already nervous and that in combination with celebration, drank so much. So much. I didn’t mean to. It was all in good fun, until it wasn’t. I felt like every time I drank a small sip from my glass someone from the staff came by, topping me off with more, too much. I got sick at that party that night. So sick. All over the bathroom. I tried to clean up. I was a mess and I’m not just referring to the status of the bathroom tidiness. I didn’t think anyone would know. Oh but they did. I tried to hide it and I was mortified, I barely remember getting home that night which is scary, waking up the next day so ashamed of myself. I bashfully reached out to the PR team that threw the party first thing the next morning apologizing for forgiveness, from them and myself hoping it wasn’t as bad as I hazily remembered and matter of factly receiving a reply, being asked in return to pay a cleaning fee. My face was so red in that moment I thought it would last forever and that people would look at me and know what had happened, even if I never told another soul about it. Until now. Until you.

In the years since this experience I worked really hard on giving myself grace and understanding for that night. All these years later every time I occasionally think of it, that terrible pit in my stomach remains. My face feels flushed. I feel ashamed. That is how I would often feel a day after drinking. Even if it was a fun night. I worried. I beat myself up. Shame. Guilt. I felt terrible after, always. And after all that hard work I was doing to take care of myself mentally and physically this was doing nothing but the opposite of that in both areas. So as I left that one yoga class at the end of May of last year I decided to stop, to take a break from drinking for the month of June. Just to see what came up for me, or what didn’t come up in those 30 days.  One month passed, quickly. More easily than I thought. I was still social, probably more and still went out with friends even to bars. The most amazing thing happened in that first month. I still had fun. Even better, I had fun and then woke up the next day without any of those old feelings. I was in control of all my actions and my words and was intentional. I never felt shame in that way I was so familiar with and haven’t again. I haven’t had to worry about losing control, but not in a controlling way, in a freeing away.

So I went onto month two. And then month three. I didn’t miss it. Wait- I didn’t miss it?  My friends curiously asked when I would start drinking again. I think they worried I wouldn’t be fun anymore, I knew I would be more fun. I always told them I wasn’t sure but I knew this felt right. So I continued on.  I had a lot of mocktails, and seltzers and memories I actually remembered. I was present. I saved money. I saved energy from constantly worrying. At first I would respond to people when they asked that why I wasn’t drinking with “I’m taking a break from drinking for the month.”

Then it became “I’m taking a break from drinking.”

And then evolved into “I don’t drink.”

So after one month that turned into twelve, I celebrate that day in late May and decided that OUR anniversary would become MY anniversary. One year of not drinking. May 31 2019. A date I’ll never forget. It was right after Memorial Day weekend and there was a warmth in the air. I could smell summer on the horizon even with the coolness after the sun set.  It was breezy that night, and on this one, breezy night like that first one before it there was a lot of hope in the air.  I stepped outside and I thought about you but also thought about me and I felt it- that familiar cool breeze after a warm spring day and as the breeze blew over me this time, it felt different, I felt different and it all had a new meaning. Happy anniversary to me.

{You and me walked down the shores of our youth chasing the sunrise, challenging the truth}

I stood by this lake as the sky danced on the water and the fireflies started to appear and I thought of you. I thought about the day at work I was told we had lost you and then I thought about the day I first met you.

You made me nervous with your smile and comfortable with it all at the same time. You were effortless in all that you but cared so much about what you were doing. You were funny. You were talented. So talented. Your kind heart made such an impact on us at work where it was so fast paced that most people didn’t appreciate you until it was too late to. You were a coworker that became a real friend but I never requested you on Facebook. Even though it was a different time then where our friendships weren’t showcased on social media I often wish I had so I could have saved photos of you. I remember one day in passing we bonded over our love of Martin Sexton. One of my favorite musicians from my college years, I have still never met anyone who loved him like my college friends and I did - until you. We had the same favorite song. I felt seen by you in that moment. And in all moments we had together after.

I remember hearing about a play you were performing in. Had you written it? I wouldn’t be surprised and now I wish I saved the program so I could know for certain. I told you in another small but important passing conversation that I would be there, and that I couldn’t wait. You smiled that smile that gave me butterflies and ease at the same time and I could tell it meant a lot to you. I sat right in the front row and kept making eye contact with you throughout the show. You never missed a beat and I felt so honored to be there to see you outside of the work role I saw you in every day. Intermission came. I stayed in my seat because I didn’t know anyone to awkwardly mingle with and you came out to the stage. You sat on a stool with your guitar. It was dark in the theater except enough light to cover you in its warmth. You started strumming and the minute I heard the first cord the hair on my arms stood up and my eyes welled with tears. You sang the lyrics above that meant so much to both of us. We made eye contact. I cried and you smiled. I’ll never forget that moment like I’ll never forget you.

Shortly after you enlisted in the Marines. After you left work wasn’t the same without you. I’ll never forget the day you came and visited us in your uniform right before you were deployed to Afghanistan. You were so handsome. You were so proud. I felt it. We all did. I only saw you quickly that day and now I wish I had taken more time from my “busy” day to visit with you. I remember thinking that I would see you again soon. I didn’t know that would be a lie. You took my breath away and again when I heard you were there I ran over to you, my eyes welled up with tears, and you smiled that smile back at me. I’ll never forget that last moment together, I’ll never forget you.  I wanted to share your name today on this Memorial Day so people as many people as possible could read it. Just once. In between the long weekend trips or holiday cookouts or even in the midst of mourning those they have lost in service too, I wanted them to pause and know you even in a small way. And just like all those small conversations we had in passing, they are important. You are important, even 10 years after leaving us.
If everyone who read this took a moment to think of you, think of how your light will continue to burn bright.

Here is to sharing your name and your story.

To live on anyway you can.

I’ll never forget you.

Thank you for your sacrifice Lance Cpl. Julian Brennan.

As I type this I hear you playing our favorite song, my eyes are full of tears and I know you are smiling down on me like you always did.  To chasing sunrises and challenging the truth. 💛

Self work is a lot of work and is sometimes hard, lonely and slow.

It reminds me of this turtle.

There had just been a summer storm and the smell of fresh rain lingered in the air while rays of sun started to break through the gray clouds. The ground was still wet and warm and because of both there was a hazy mist that covered the entire trail.

I needed to be on my bike that day. I was grateful my work shift ended the same time the storm clouds cleared. I clocked out quickly and I grabbed my helmet hoping to soak up the last couple hours of daylight.  I was halfway to Furman before I realized this little turtle on the trail. Alone. In the middle of it all. Bikes whizzing by. Never slowing down. Did they see him? This tiny turtle in the middle of the road. I slowed down and I greeted my new little friend and asked him where here was going, like I was expecting a response. “Hi little turtle, where are you headed today?”

He didn’t move so.   I didn’t move with him for a few moments. Watching them carefully look ahead to where they were planning on going. The amount of effort it took for them to do just that, moving barely anything at all. I saw both struggle and peace in the perseverance at the same exact time.

I felt like that turtle that day. I’ve felt like this turtle many days before this moment on the trail and many days since. I was out there looking for something that day and found him. A reminder. He was out on that day just trying to get where he was going even though everyone and everything was moving around him so quickly. Cyclists passed us by. Walkers and people pushing strollers and walking dogs effortlessly passed. This turtle remained. At first glance it may look like he’s not doing anything at all but when I looked closer I saw him never not working hard to get where he needed to go but just not going as fast as everyone and everything around them. I wished him a safe journey and I continued on mine.

I rode around the pond at Furman thinking about the hard work I’m doing, the work I’ve done. It’s hard. It’s slow. I thought about the turtle. The sun started to set and I started to head back home.

On my way back I passed the turtle. There he was, in the same exact place I left him. He hadn’t moved at all since I saw him last but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t working hard.

I was working hard too. Some days feeling like I wasn’t moving.  But working the entire time. Just like this turtle.

The next day another summer storm and that misty magic moment after the skies cleared that called me to the trail. So I rode. Until I slowed down in the same spot as yesterday. There my was the turtle. In the same spot. He hadn’t moved at all. Not even a little bit. I started to worry. Was he ok? Is something wrong? Is he even alive? Why hasn’t he moved? I wanted to help him. Pick him up and take him wherever he wanted to go. A whole day later he hadn’t moved.  At all. But then I thought about the effort it took for him probably just to remain. To be in the exact same spot as the day before as everything and everyone moved around him. He’s trying so hard. He had come so far for not traveling any physical distance from yesterday. He was probably tired. I’m sometimes tired from working so hard too. He was alone.  I didn’t want to leave him. I wanted to protect him and I worried he’d be run over but- he remained. So I wished him a safe journey and continued on mine.  I thought-there have been many days I’ve been that turtle. In the same place for a long time but working so hard just to be there. Not being able to do anything else. To just be where I am. Feeling along while doing it. Especially on the days I wasn’t moving as quickly as the world around me.

I rode on. Around Furman and back again. On the ride back I could tell he had moved a little this time as I passed him. Just a little, not much, but I thought about the effort it took him to get there.

I thought about the effort it took me to get here.

The next day was cooler clear and sunny, like the heavy storms from the days before it had helped make it that way, make it extra beautiful now. I thought about the storms in my life. Preparing me for where I was now. I thought about the turtle. Exactly where he was, where I left him and I was curious where he was today. I hit the trail to see. I wanted to check on him, my new little friend. I got to the spot where I had seen him the last two days and he was gone. I rode back and forth a few times to make sure I hadn’t missed him and I was in the right place. I was. He wasn’t there. He had moved. Across the whole trail. Twice the distance he had traveled the two days before. He moved. When he was ready. At his own pace. Alone on his journey. Moving however he needed to whenever he needed to. The world moving by so fast. He moved at his own pace. But he got there.

He made it to the other side.

I carefully looked ahead at the trail ahead of me to where I was going and put my feet back on the pedals. I thought about the turtle. I wished him a safe journey and continued on mine.

I felt like that turtle that day.

It was a Monday evening, early March of 2018 and I was attending Indigo Flow for the first time. Spring was close. I only wore a jean jacket over my yoga clothes that night being grateful that the southern winter had been kinder to me than all the northern ones I had experienced before, as I was being kinder to myself than all the years before this one.

Julie and Katie had just opened their studio to the Village just days before my first class, as they welcomed the rapidly growing community on Pendleton Street and West Greenville and the areas that surrounded it while hoping to outreach to the community that had been established there before any of the new growth around it. Growth. Community. I was seeking both, looking for a safe, welcoming and inclusive place I could practice yoga. I hoped I’d start to find it at Emily’s restorative yoga class that night. I felt it as I walked through the French doors.  And found it - somewhere cocooned in a blanket wrapped up like a warm hug, my leg resting on a block in a supine twist. This was it. Emily’s voice swirled around us as she floated by us as she said “take what you need, leave the rest.” And as the tears filled my eyes and fell down my cheeks, I did.

A year later, on a Monday evening, early March just like the one exactly a year before it Indigo had just celebrated their one year birthday. Spring was in the distance but getting closer. I wore a light sweater over my yoga clothes this time and I returned to a place on a day that meant so much to me. This Monday also celebrated the return of Emily back from maternity leave. She recently took some time to spend with her sweet son Zephryn. This Monday also celebrated my return after a small hiatus from my mat. I often joked that while Emily was away on maternity leave I was so on maternity leave too. I felt some shame and guilt about taking a break from my mat in a place that brought me so much peace and joy. Some days it weighed heavy but where there is shame and guilt there is also room for grace. I gave myself some as I walked back through those French doors and as I rolled out my mat in my favorite place there was room for nothing else on it with me besides gratitude. Grateful she was back. Grateful I was back. A year of practicing together. A new year at Indigo and a new season of growth and community. Everything I had hoped for is right where I was. 

After we welcomed her back and she welcomed us with love like she always does she asked us to stand tall into mountain pose, bringing hands to heart center and focusing on a mantra for our practice, breathing in and breathing out sharing that energy word and intention with the rest of the room. I closed my eyes. Set my mantra and sent it out to the room. We then flowed. I sweat in surrender. “Take what you need,” she said as she floated familiarly around us. “Leave the rest.” I did.

Midway through our flow she asked us to come back to our mantra, our intention we had set at the beginning and with closed eyes and steadied breathe I did. Ready for it. Except this time, nothing. There was quiet. I couldn’t remember my mantra. The one that had seemed really fitting and moving at the time I set it as I started this practice there was silence instead. I stood there for a moment as everyone moved into the next pose, trying to remember what I had originally needed and a totally different mantra revealed itself instead. Loudly. As if I needed a reminder but didn’t realize I needed one.

As we laid on our mats nearing the end of our practice, in a supine twist right before shavashana. Emily dimmed the lights. The room was dark except for a small sliver of golden light that made it’s way from a crack in between those French doors. I looked where the light entered in and where it landed and it landed on me. On my mat, covering my body in a healing, effervescent glow . I looked around, the rest of the room was still dark. The light shined on me, like a warm hug I’ve felt here before. I was in the light. I was the light.

Emily then asked us to come back to our mantra, to remember it one more time.  I squeezed my eyes tight.

“DON’T GIVE UP.” My new mantra was so loud I wondered if they all heard it too. I really hope they felt it.

“Don’t give up.” I heard again. Breathe in, breathe out. Take what I need, release the rest.

I squeezed my eyes even tighter this time.  Feeling the warmth of the light on my body. My heart open full of grace and gratitude. 

I sat up with the rest of the room and slowly opened my eyes.

“Don’t give up.” I heard one last time.

And as the tears that filled my eyes fell down my cheeks, I bowed my head to heart center and responded, sealing my practice, “I won’t.”

A year ago I took my first hike with a friend. To a place she recommended but a pace I set. And for the first time in my life I was ready to set my own pace. This was more than a fun scenic hike for me, I reached out to her because I was ready to conquer a fear that had haunted me for a long time - a fear of physical activity with others. It terrified me. Specifically the idea of taking too long in a group activity and being the last one. Being the last one because of my speed, my body. It not being able to move like everyone else’s. Burning calves, heavy breathe. I would panic. I felt bad for them. I felt bad for me. But I always felt worse for them. I didn’t want to hold them back, I didn’t want to be a burden so I would hold myself back and sit out or give up, usually crying, usually after. I never wanted anyone to know it hurt me.

I often have flashbacks to gym class and always being last. The ENTIRE class waiting for me to finish the mile.

Memories of many walks in New York City when I would be a block behind the people I was walking with. One in particular as we were rushing to make it to an event makes me cringe to this day. They were so far ahead of me. I was struggling so much to make it seem like I was “just taking my time.” They didn’t wait. We made it to the concert in plenty of time that I wonder why we were in such a rush to get there.

Looking back to a beautiful dessert hike in Arizona where I should have been soaking up my surroundings but instead I was the last in the group full of strangers that didn’t know how uncomfortable I was. How hard it was for me to have just shown up, over analyzing every detail leading up to the moment we started moving through the dessert. They were full speed ahead and I was stuck in the back, apologizing to the guide the entire time eventually crying begging her to turn around going back. A hike never completed. One I longed for. 

A time on The Swamp Rabbit Trail on my very first bike ride telling the group I was with to go ahead without me, through tears and shame. 

Looking back on these memories I realized that shame I carried was heavy. It paralyzed me. It took me out of a lot of things before I even tried them. I missed so many experiences because of this and the ones I did try, my mindset got in the way. I wasn’t present.  I played out the entire scenario before I took my first step. And when I took that first step I was worried about the next one. It was exhausting. I was tired of being tired.

So I text my friend Danielle and we planned my first hike.

I wanted to stop waiting, I had already waited for so long on so many things. So, we hiked. It was one of the most beautiful days. I cherish all the new beginnings I’ve had this past year and this one holds such space in my heart.  I stood on the top of that pinnacle and the girl you see in this first photo is on the brink so much change. You can see it in her smile, I can. But she started changing before she made it to the top. Before she even got out of the car to take the hike, or before she went away on her wellness journey the week after, before she lost any weight. She wanted to pursue one of the things that scared her in the body she was in, just as she was. In the only moment that was guaranteed. The one she was in. So she did. Even though she went slow. Even though her knees creaked with every step. Even with her kind friend stood by her side every step of the way and reassured her throughout. She pursued. And from that day forward the minute she saw the sunset on top of Craggy Gardens she continued to pursue fiercely, deeply and for the feeling she had at the top of the world that day.

There have been other hikes since that first one. And there will be more. But what started there that crisp fall day still remains and always will. A year later I rented a car after my shift at the coffee shop, chasing daylight to make it back to the place where so much began. To see the sunset, to feel the cold air on my lungs and to look around at the 360 degree view. To soak in a full circle moment of growth and gratitude. I went 5 miles above the speed limit while driving and thinking about everything that has happened since the hike last year and I cried the entire way, Mumford and Sons After the Storm on repeat. This lyric more fitting for me now more than ever: “Get over your hill and see what you find there...”

I hoped for a moment of reflection, celebration, while being able to walk up the mile craggy walkway hopefully with a little more ease and a little less out of breathe than last time. And I arrived to be greeted with that part of the Parkway closed for the season. My tires slowed to a stop, I turned off the song, my heart sunk. I text my friend who was with me in spirit. I wasn’t going to get to do the hike I had hoped for, looked forward to. To be able to climb and reflect and pause. I pulled off the side of the road to an overlook nearby and cried some more with the lyrics in my mind even though the song no longer played. I had put a lot of pressure on a moment that wasn’t going to happen. Not all moments are exactly how we hoped them to be.  I took a deep breathe, I got out of my car and slowly walked to the edge of the overlook, teetering on the edge, balancing, reminded of the beauty that surrounded me even though the view was different than the one I was hoping for. It was such a beautiful view. A different, beautiful view. The air was cool and the sun was setting under the clouds. I was alone. Peace. Breathe. In and out. In and out. The girl in the last picture was feeling just that. She was having her moment of reflection, celebration and pause that she had hoped for after all. You can see it in her smile, I can.

So parked on the Blue Ridge Parkway, miles away from my original destination even though I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be.  I kept breathing, crying, grateful for the lesson I was learning that day. It was an important one.  The lesson wasn’t in this one specific sentimental hike and in climbing to the top again a year later. The lesson was in realizing that I’ve been climbing every single day since I first started.

My first happy hike. Standing on the edge of so much beauty and change. 

My sweet friend Danielle packed us a picnic and we sat on the edge even though I was so scared. 

And we savored every moment until the last of the sun set. 

A year later. Celebrating the hike that didn’t happen but the hike I’m constantly on. Peace. Pause. Reflection. GRATITUDE. 

The view. Different than I had originally hoped for but exactly where I needed to be.

A year ago I wouldn’t be writing this post. That is what makes it even more beautiful. It makes each word mean even more to me to be able to share it with you. To reflect and celebrate the difference a year can make. I’m grateful for it.

The Ness Fest is this weekend. It’s a two day festival here in Greenville that will be celebrating wellNESS, goodNESS, fitNESS and wholeNESS. All things that have been the foundation to my journey this past year. Especially wholeness. Wellness is wholeness to me. Wholeness has become so influential in my life.

When I heard about this special community driven event happening for the first time I knew I wanted to attend it, something I wouldn’t have been able to say a year ago. My health and wellness journey hadn’t quite started yet and while I had done a lot of personal work to leave NYC and get to Greenville to pursue a better quality of life I was still on the path to the start of this part of my story. Hilton Head Health was on the horizon and the change that followed it was something that seemed far away to me even though I hoped for it so deeply.

That is why today it means so much to me, eyes full of tears typing this to you, to not only mention that The Ness Fest is happening this weekend and that I’ll be attending it but that I’ll be there both days hosting Dear Me, Love Me: Self Care sessions.

YES. It’s happening.

I am so thankful that The Ness Fest is creating a comfortable space for me so that I can welcome others into it, for US to sit and pause, to reflect and write TOGETHER.

This past year has been an immersive lesson in self care for me that’s included writing daily and documenting each moment of this wonderful and wild journey not by focusing on things like the number scale or my new pant size but through my words and what I’m feeling in these experiences.  In between the bike rides and yoga classes they’ve had the long lasting impact on my health and have become so important to me with the new lessons and perspective I’m gaining along the way. I’ve found my voice. On the days I feel solid and on the days I’m uncertain. On the days I want to shout from the rooftops and on the days my voice shakes. Especially on those, I keep writing. And with every word I write even if no one else reads it, my voice keeps getting stronger. My truth compass guides me. Speaking my truth and writing has been such a beautiful gift that I’ve given to myself that I want to share that outlet of self care with you wherever you are, exactly as you are and however you’re feeling. 

In addition to journaling I began writing myself letters on my birthday each year and in moments of celebration as a way to reflect on the year that has passed and look forward to the year head. In the middle of it all. Between change and transition and movement. Life is always in motion and we’re moving so fast that I thought The Ness Fest would be a poignant moment for you to pause, reflect back and look ahead by creating these 20 minute self care sessions for you to sit down with me and write a letter to yourself.

If you could handwrite a letter to yourself right now, today, what would it say?

We send love notes, congratulations cards and words of encouragements to our friends and loved ones. We sign our notes to them with love and well wishes on birthdays and big occasions. Sending them nothing but the best and all the love, but what if we sent that to ourselves? Just because we need a reminder of all that we’re doing. That we need encouragement of all the things we want to do. That we need someone to tell us we’re OK,  that we’re working hard, that we are proud of them. That we are proud of us. Write to yourself like you would your dearest friend and pen pal. After you seal it we’ll hold onto your letter and mail it to you right when you need to receive it and probably when you don’t even realize it you need it. 

I would love it if you stopped by to see me this weekend and write to yourself about the weekend, about your life and about all the things on your mind and in your heart as you experience the festival and prepare to take all the moments home with you. Here is the link for more details and the full schedule. You’ll be able to schedule everything there including self care time with me.

Here’s to trying something new this weekend that maybe pushes you out of your comfort zone in a way you thought you couldn’t a year ago. I’ll be there doing the same right along beside you, grateful for the experience each and every moment along the way. This festival is for all of us- to bring wholeness and wellness to our lives and it can be scary. Remember a year ago I would have been scared to try. Feeling that it wasn’t for me. Looking for someone to reach out their hand saying, I see you, you belong here, let’s do this together. If you’re feeling this way too- send me a message on here so we can get you to experience the thing you don’t think you can do. You can.  You belong here. We all do. It’s worth it to try. Let’s do this together. 

The Ness Fest details HERE

Schedule self care time with me HERE 

Love, light & gratitude, 

Sarah  

I laid in bed. I felt heavy. I was doing the social media scroll on instagram that takes up so much of my time. So much of our time. I went to an old friend’s profile. One I hadn’t spoken to in a year and one that hurt me deeply but one that I needed to always see what she was up to. Why did I always need to see what she was up to?

I knew what it was- just to know. Even if it hurt. A lot. My way of being connected to her even if it was toxic, depleting. But every day I did it. The curiosity would pull on me. It became a part of my routine.  Every morning- I’d wake up and grab my phone, open instagram and scroll through. Once I was done soaking up the vibes of others and feeling their influence even if I didn’t always want to feel it I would type in her name to my search bar. I didn’t follow her but I’d still look, and then watch her stories. Sometimes twice. My mood would feel heavy. My heart would too. Like a gray cloud over both. Almost to torture myself of a friendship that ended. I hoped she was happier now. From what I saw and what she put out there, her negativity remained. I felt it as she complained on video, in her car with a fun face filter. I watched and wondered what part I had in how she was feeling. Ultimately I knew it was less than I thought but in that moment it felt like all of it. I took it on.

I had to stop. I didn’t deserve this. 

So that next morning I woke up and did the same scroll I always did but this time after I watched her stories one more time feeling the weight she was giving me I did it.

I blocked her.

After I let her go and felt the relief I realized there are others that impact me just like her. Those that stir up things that aren’t always positive for me. Triggering thoughts and feelings. Those that weighed me down without even realizing they were. So I continued clearing my feed. Once I started I couldn’t stop which is normally how my constant instagram scroll starts and continues.

That morning in my bed though it was different. Instead of feeling heavy and weighed down from her and them like I normally did, mindlessly scrolling, painfully comparing I slowly unfollowed and muted all of people that made me feel anything other than worthy. No one should ever let us feel less than enough. I was lightening my load. The burden of all their BS that wasn’t mine to carry.  I was thoughtful and mindful as I continued to clean. And while I did it I realized that I have the control over my instagram feed and who I let into it. I’m trying to establish boundaries in my life and starting with social media is a great place to build some.

I can like people in real life and not like them on social media. A lot of it comes from learning  that many of us aren’t always the same people as we project online. It makes me really sad that so many aren’t their true selves across the board privately and publicly but that is their choice. My choice is how I let them into my life and affect me. So, I continued to clean.

The way we start our days set the tone for the rest of it. I challenged myself and changed my routine. Instead of waking up and grabbing my phone and doing a social media scroll, then checking email, I now lay there and think for a few minutes. Set an intention for the day.  Read a bit from a book I’m enjoying or write a few pages of thoughts fresh from my head into a journal beside my bed. I practice gratitude and make note of what I’m grateful for. These small acts are all good things. Things that make me happy and bring me peace. It starts the day in a calm, creative manner instead of filling it with other people’s lives and days and projections before I’ve even started mine. Some days it’s shifted my entire perspective, starting positively and with things that bring me joy.  Our time is precious. If we are spending time online it should count towards something,  to add to our day, to fill us up, not take away from it and tear us down.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

I want to be surrounded by the vibes I hope to put out into the world- good ones. I want to be inspired and inspire and so I did it. I cleaned out my feed just as I would clean out my closet this time of year. Instead of swapping out the short sleeves for sweaters I instead swapped out comparison to community. Connection. Inspiration. Freedom.

Raise your hand if you feel this way too and have people on social media that you always go to to see what they’re doing. Just to know. Even if you hate doing it. Even if you don’t like them that much. Maybe you love them but it’s still stresssful for you. To compare yourself to them. Even if you don’t want to. To feel like you’re missing out on their plans because you’re not there. Even if you’re happy with the plans you’re currently having or the plans you’re not having. The second guessing. The doubt. The FOMO (fear of missing out) instead of JOMO (Joy of missing out). Even if it hurts you. Being reminded of the things we don’t have instead of all the things we do have. The ones that stir up negativity you don’t want to feel....but you go, scroll and look anyway. 🙋🏻‍♀️🙋🏻‍♀️🙋🏻‍♀️🙋🏻‍♀️

I’m sending a loving challenge your way- Stop.

Stop doing that to yourself.

Stop going to their feed so often to see what they’re doing.

Stop going to their feed at all.

Mute them. Hide their stories. Whatever you need to do. They’re taking up valuable space in your head and in your heart. It’s hard. I felt guilty at first but I also know that feeling will pass instead of the lasting impact they have on my daily outcome. And guess what? Fun fact-If you mute them they’ll never know you did. Muting keeps it private. Unfollowing is also a powerful tool to clearing the way but they could know you did. If that matters to you if they know then it may cause more drama than the intention of it all. Honestly, I was so thankful for discovering this mute feature in a time where so many people I know track their followers and the unfollows they get. I know if I unfollowed certain people I would get a DM or text message asking why. That would be hard for me. This way you’ll never be asked or confronted for your choice. I never want you to be confronted for choosing you. And you can unmute them anytime- only if you want to.

You deserve to be inspired. Uplifted. Connected and a part of a community that supports you the way you support it. Anything less is not worth your screen time. Your head and heart time. Your soul time. As followers we are in control. We are responsible.

They say we are what we eat. I also say we are the content we consume. We are also the content we create. As creators we are also in control and also responsible. Being an “influencer” doesn’t speak to me but being a person of influence does. We all have that roll whether we have thousands of followers or none. Both online and in life -we influence.  So fill up fully with the goodness you deserve and put out intentional things. Speak words that don’t intentionally hurt yourself or others. Positivity radiates and so does negativity. Know that our intentions matter. Our actions matter. Our words matter.

Why are you posting what you post?

To show you’re doing something cool? Because someone else is doing it? To make someone jealous? To project you’re feeling better than you are? To try to be someone you don’t always feel like at home? Or to share your passion and creativity? To share your art, your music your writing? To share your story and your heart? To pass along a message that means something to you? To connect with other likeminded kind humans?  To help others?  To motivate? What are the reasons for you?

There’s a big difference in the first part of that list and the end of that list. Where are you located on it? Maybe you don’t realize where you fall.  Didn’t notice. Didn’t care. Don’t care. But I urge you to just check in with yourself when you can. Not with everyone else. Not determining the success of your instagram post with how many likes and shares you got but with how you felt about what you posted. The moment you felt when you took the photo and wrote the words and released it for others to experience. But with you and your why. Sit with it. See how you feel. I love to always check in with my heart and intention of why before I ever put anything out into the world. Sometimes I write and it takes me a while to give it to anyone else. I like to be certain. To be sure in my soul. Intentional and deliberate. Honest. Like today’s intention. To let you know how I’ve been feeling with social media in case you feel it too. To give permission if you need it. To make a safe space for you where you know you’re valued and heard and that you’re not alone in this world where instagram can connect us but also isolate us. To let you know what my heart has been feeling and to share my story so you can relate if it resonates. If it doesn’t may it give you to freedom to share something that is on your heart too. To know you’re not alone. I feel it too. We all do. To continue to slow down in this social media society where living in a social media society matters so much.

But so does our happiness. Our peace. Our confidence in ourselves without followers and likes and others to a validate what we’re doing even if we crave it, have become used to it, told by everyone else that’s how we should hold value and stock.

Once we change our feed to be full of people, places and businesses that bring us the good stuff our conversations about social media will change. Our perspective will change. We’ll spend less time gossiping about the feeds that bring us down, that make us doubt and we’ll talk about the good ones, the ones standing for something on the platform they’ve built to empower, educate, support and engage in a way that makes this world a better place.

They call it a platform for a reason. The definition of a platform is an opportunity to voice one’s views or initiate action. What does that look like for you?

Get cleaning. 

With lots of love & a lighter instagram feed,  

Sarah

P.S- Did you know that when you spend less time scrolling on social media and checking the profiles of people that stress you out and bring you down you’ll have more time to live life freely and unfiltered while not comparing yourself to strangers on the internet. 

I sat down today to get organized. To write my to do list. It’s long. To set my intentions for the month. There’s a lot. Schedule myself for the weeks ahead. I’m busy. Write down ALL that I hoped to do, to accomplish. Be productive. Make the most of the day.

And as I started my list this came out instead.

So I kept writing and writing and writing these words until I didn’t need to feel them under my pen anymore. The rhythm of my writing as a reminder if I ever forget. Here’s to never forgetting. I stopped. My eyes full of tears and my pen out of ink.

My to do list can wait.

THIS list is the most important thing I’ll accomplish today. 💛

This post is a year in the making. Something that has been stirring in my heart for a while.

A question I get often and every single time I meet someone new, which has happened a lot this year as I’ve moved to a new place surrounded by new people. I was even asked it last night. Surrounded by a group of new faces. Sitting around in silence waiting for the answer, asking because they didn’t know.

“What do you do?”

A simple question.

They ask me curiously, probably out of habit as a part of the introduction, but it stirs up so much more for me. It stirs up so much more than the quick answer they may expect back. The elevator pitch I don’t have prepared.

This question has become a part of our daily conversations and greeting when we introduce ourselves and for a long time I stumbled over answering it.

I remember when I first moved to Greenville, without a job it’s almost like every single Uber driver I rode with knew as they asked me about my career before I had even finished buckling my seatbelt. The question that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and felt like I had to answer it since I was in their backseat. I would close my eyes and cringe each time I heard the words from someone I didn’t know. For a while I tried to think of the one “thing” I did and what I was and how it would define me. Even before I moved here. Even when I had a job and food blog and all the things that made good answers to this question. So as I rode in the back seat because uneasiness was sitting in the passenger side I tried to get my elevator pitch across in my 4 minute car ride with a driver I may never see again. Why did I care so much what a stranger thought of me? Why do we care so much what strangers think of us?

One week specifically I remember I answered differently each time I was asked, to see what felt right and would eventually become my thing. For a woman who at the time didn’t have a job and had experienced a major life change I wasn’t giving myself much grace and was spending a lot of time trying to come across to people I don’t know like I was OK and doing something great. But guess what? I was OK and I was doing something great. I was living my truth and on my own journey even if it couldn’t be easily explained in a title and short explanation.

Then I started answering differently.

I stopped trying to define myself. The first time it happened I ran into my nice neighbor from my apartment building at a food event downtown. We didn’t know each other very well and had only met a couple of times with short hellos accompanying our run ins. He was with his wife that day and since we had a few more minutes together than usual when I went to go say hello he waved back at me and asked “So, Sarah, what do you do?”

And just as quickly as he asked it I answered. I told him why I didn’t resonate with that question and instead I was going to tell them what I was currently passionate about even if it wasn’t a job. I could tell at first he wasn’t expecting my response and I was worried I had upset him for not answering the question he had asked. My face was a little red from the rush of adrenaline I felt. From saying what had been bubbling up inside. For saying what I felt. Justice for all the people feeling what I was feeling, or just justice for myself.  I initially wanted to apologize after I spoke from my unemployed creative dreamer’s soap box, but didn’t. For going against the grain. I still didn’t. I owned that uncomfortable moment where I didn’t answer to just answer, box myself in and continue on. I wanted them to know what I was excited about and working on even if I wasn’t working full time. So I told them.

After that interaction the conversation started to change about this topic for me because I started changing the conversation I was

having about it.

We’re more than our jobs. So I started telling people what I was doing other than what my job was. Or lack of job, depending on which month this year I was asked the question.

How many of you have a full time job with a passion project on the side that you pour yourself into when the work day is done no matter how tired you are?

How many of you have a side hustle that brings you more joy than money it generates?

How many of you have a part time job so living life to the fullest can be your priority?

How many of you feel pressure to have the next step figured out?

How many of you have a full time career but you wish you had more time to pursue things that made you happy?

How many of you are unemployed for a circumstance that brings you stress to think about it?

How many of you are choosing to not work right now to press pause and reevaluate?

How many of you don’t know what you want to do next?

In certain seasons in my life I’ve been able to raise my hand to ALL of the above and the one thing I know for sure is the answer doesn’t get easier depending on the scenario I’m in.

Even when I had a career, a full time paycheck and health insurance it was hard to answer that question. I wasn’t always happy with my title. My job. My career path. There was a time I felt bad because of that. For having an opportunity a lot of people wanted and not being fulfilled by it. For having a passion project that brought me passion and wanting to spend more time doing it than the job I went to college for. For having a side hustle that brought no money but brought me joy. A job I was fired from brought me such shame when I was let go because they never told me why. When I decided to leave a steady income to go without one because I was seeking pause and perspective and the pursuit. When my passion project changed and so did my path. When I took two part time jobs at places I love to pay the bills so that living a full and healthy life I love could become my priority.

Sound familiar? Maybe a few or a lot of the above speak to you. Maybe contentment fills your heart with where you currently are. But no matter where we are on that path that question can sometimes can bring up all the things that we feel we aren’t instead of all of things we really are. We are so much more.

I was recently on a job interview and one of the men interviewing me joked about the dreaded “where do you see yourself in 5 years question” and said he wasn’t going to be asking me that but then proceeded to ask one very close to it.

He asked “What are your ultimate career goals?”

Pause.

He then mentioned passions I had previously discussed earlier in the interview like writing, yoga and health and wellness. He then asked if that is where I wanted to end up. Maybe one of those would be my ultimate career goal?

Still pausing.

My internal monologue started racing in the silence. I thought to myself - I don’t know why acting like I know where I’m going to end up has any impact on where I currently am. I also don’t want to just “end up” somewhere. I want to dance there, run there, glide there and float there. Twirling along the way. Laughing hopefully. But not just end up there.

There are lots of goals I have for myself so why did I have to pick just one? What if it changes? I hope it does change and I accomplish lots of them. Even ones I haven’t spoken about yet. It sounded so final. I don’t know what the future holds. So I paused some more when he asked it because I didn’t know. I wanted to do all the things I loved but not be defined by them. I paused when he asked it because I actually did know. I knew it was OK to not have the answer but I think the comfortable silence for me, uncomfortable  silence for him signaled doubt. Could he read my mind? He then quickly filled the quiet and followed up with “... or are you still just figuring it all out?”

You know what happened next.

“Aren’t we all?” I responded back. I was serious, but he laughed.

I didn’t take the job.

I had a wonderful reminder on thoughtful question asking with a woman named Barbara the other day. She sat with her outspoken husband next to me at my favorite coffee shop. I was writing in my journal which is where you can usually find me on my days off. We were both from the same town in Pennsylvania. How random and amazing is that. Or not random at all. Small world filled with big reminders. I knew I liked her and that my story would be safe with her.

She asked me about myself -not what I did but who I was and I told her. About my path to Greenville from NYC and my health and wellness journey.  How I work part at both my favorite coffee shop (where we were currently sitting) and also at my favorite taco shop. How in my free time I love to do yoga and ride my bike and write.

How I’m figuring it all out but love that I am.

That I’m grateful.

“My my,” she responded, “that’s a full life.”

I sat in silence and my eyes welled up with tears. I grasped my pen tighter, sipping my coffee as I responded, “it is.”

In a world moving so fast pushing us to climb the ladder and get that next title, promotion, raise, and prestigious award, please, go at whatever pace you need to. Your own pace. Even if you need to pause some days and crawl the other days. You’re on your way.  It’s OK to go at your own speed and not run after others just because they’re running.

In a world where we need to always seem like we have to have it figured out it’s OK not to. I have a secret: no one really does fully we all just act like we do. Especially on social media.

In a world telling us we should be making more money, doing a job because it makes you happy and brings you joy and where you feel like you’re making a difference is rewarding too and brings in a different kind of abundance even if it’s not in our bank account.

In a world always trying to make us be someone better and more successful than we already are, be yourself.

There’s only one you. There’s only one me. That’s our power.

That’s our gift.

The more I share my story and my words and respond to this question how I want to instead of how I think I should I realize that the journey I’m on is bigger than an elevator pitch and that living my life just as I am is better than anything I could ever put on my resume.

💛Sarah

Doubt. It sometimes creeps in and sticks around for a while. Like when you’re making a cup of cozy tea and manage to get honey on your fingers as you’re trying to sweeten it. Then the bottle gets sticky. The counter. Your clothes. The more you try to wipe it away the stickier it gets until you finally wash it off but it still feels like there’s a little bit left - a reminder. That’s what doubt is like for me and for a long time -I was stuck.

I remember back to my early days working in daytime television I had a producer have me write her scripts for her. She thought she was giving me the valuable career experience I needed as an aspiring producer and instead she was giving me years and years of self doubt. I would submit these scripts after working really hard on them and shortly after proudly putting them in the shared folder where they lived for everyone to see I’d get a call to come into her office.

My heart raced.

I went.

She had the scripts printed. She had scribbled all over them. Scribbled in red pen. Scribbled in red pen all the things that were wrong with my writing, my words, my grammar... my story...

Me.

She told me how stupid I was. How I couldn’t write and that I would never be able to write a proper script. Red pen. Red like my face as I headed back to my desk. Red like my face every time I thought about her for years after. And guess what? For a very long time I believed her. The words stopped coming because I was scared of what she would think. When I started worrying about what she thought I worried about what everyone else thought.  I became hesitant and didn’t consider myself a good writer or even a writer at all . That title scares me still. All titles do.

After that experience I wanted to protect myself, never feel that level of shame again for my work, for being me. I didn’t believe I would be able to become a TV producer like I had dreamed because I couldn’t write scripts or tell stories. My next job didn’t require me to so I stopped pursuing that path and writing all together. I was fearful. I would have someone proofread anything and everything I was writing even an important email over and over and over again. I would rather it be edited, changed and read less as me and more as “correct” than actually get my point across, my message, my story.

The doubt remained.

Sticky like that bottle of honey.

I still believed her. But now - I don’t. Not anymore. Never again. Through my posts on here and Instagram I’m thankful that I’ve found my voice even if my grammar isn’t perfect and my voice sometimes shakes. I used to feel like I had to hide that. Hide the uncertainty, the shakiness, and how I was feeling. Shove it down and be OK, continue on with the grind and push through. Take her abuse without showing her and everyone else it was affecting me. Well it did affect me for a long time in an unhealthy way until I used her negativity to fuel positive change. Positive words and more of them.  To talk about it all - honestly and vulnerably. The shift started as I was posting about food and events in NYC and important moments and life experiences started happening that I wanted to share. In a new way, through my point of view.  So I did.  I started sharing less food pics with short quirky food puns and started sharing my heart. Deeply. Word by word. Because I felt moved to share my story. So I continued to share and share some more. 

Every time I write I think about how I was told I couldn’t. But I can. So I will. 

I’m sure you find spelling errors in my posts all the time and even this post but it’s OK- I write because it brings me joy and when I write I write so you feel like you’re hearing me tell it to you. Directly. Like we’re sharing a cup of coffee at The Village Grind and talking the deep stuff, run on sentences and extra exclamation points. The words flow now. No red pens in sight.

But just as doubt lingers it can disappear.

I put myself and my writing out there in a new way this week.

The idea of it was scary at first because of my old stories aurrounding it but I knew I was ready. I AM READY. So I submitted something to somewhere that would mean a lot to me if my words made it in there. I wrote from my heart about someone I love doing something really important for my community. And I told his story. I treated it as if I were writing to all of you on here because I am and always will be and then... I hit send on the email. I didn’t even have someone else edit it for me before submitting it. Those words were mine as well as any potential spelling errors in there too. And I was proud of them- all of them. Of me. My eyes welled up with tears the minute I sent it. In that moment it didn’t matter to me the feedback I received on the other end. The editing or suggestions. The changes. If it gets published or not. I was doing the thing I was told I couldn’t do, that I would never do and that makes this the happiest ending to my story. 

Actually, this is just the beginning.

I can’t wait to write more.