Picking Up The Pen Again

Well... it's been a minute.

Actually, it's been a lot of minutes.

The last time I sat down to write here was sometime in early 2025, and if I'm being honest, I didn't stop writing because I ran out of things to say. Anyone who knows me knows that's never been the problem.

The problem was life.

Life came in swinging and apparently forgot there was supposed to be an intermission.

Somewhere between life, family, advocacy, healing, surviving, showing up for everyone else, and trying to keep my own head above water, the writing got pushed aside. Not intentionally. Not dramatically. It just slowly drifted further and further down the list until one day I realized I couldn't remember the last time I'd sat down and written something for me.

And that's a strange thing for a person whose entire life has been built around words.

I've always written my way through things. Through grief. Through growth. Through heartbreak. Through healing. Through those moments where life makes absolutely no sense and you're just standing there staring at the wreckage thinking, "Well... this is unfortunate."

Writing has always been where I sort through the noise. It's where I figure out what I think, what I feel, and occasionally discover that the thing keeping me awake at 3 a.m. wasn't nearly as complicated as I made it in my head.

But somewhere along the way, the noise got louder than the page.

And if I'm really honest, there were times I didn't have the energy to unpack everything I was carrying. It was easier to keep moving than it was to stop long enough to feel it. So I did what a lot of us do. I kept going. I handled what needed handling. I survived what needed surviving.

The trouble with survival mode, though, is that eventually it starts feeling normal.

Then one day you look around and realize you've been existing for a while, but you haven't really been creating.

You haven't been feeding the parts of yourself that make you feel like you.

That's where I've been.

Not lost exactly. Just disconnected from a piece of myself that has always mattered.

So no, this isn't some dramatic comeback post. There won't be fireworks. There won't be a perfectly curated reinvention. Creator knows the internet has enough of those already.

This is simply me finding my way back to something that has always been medicine.

Back to the stories.

Back to the observations.

Back to the things that make me laugh, make me think, make me angry, make me question humanity, and occasionally make me want to lovingly shake people by the shoulders.

Back to writing.

Because despite everything, I still believe words matter.

And because if the past couple of years have taught me anything, it's that waiting for life to settle down before doing the things that feed your soul is a terrible strategy.

Life doesn't settle down.

It just finds new ways to keep things interesting.

So I'm done waiting.

The kettle's on.

The words are coming back.

And I have a feeling we've got a lot to talk about.

          🥰🫖 𝒥ℛ𝒯