The main Wild Poise collection — everyday wonder, soft rebellion, quiet power, and all the beautifully untamed insights I share along the way.
Welcome to Wild Poise. I didn't plan to start a public journal. I definitely didn't plan to start a blog. And I certainly didn't plan to spend this chapter of my life turning chaos into paragraphs and then leaving them lying around on the internet for strangers to find. But life has a sense of humor. And apparently so do I.
Sunday Scaries are rude because they wait until you trust the day. They let you have your little coffee. They let you open the blinds. They let you pretend you’re becoming the kind of woman who folds laundry before it becomes a textile based threat.
Then late afternoon hits, the light gets weird, your laptop starts breathing in the other room, and your nervous system whispers, "Tomorrow is coming."
That’s the Sunday Scaries.
Not just “ugh, Monday.” Not just “I don’t want to work.” No.
Mondays don’t ease in. They enter. They kick the door open wearing business casual, carrying a clipboard, and acting like your entire life is already behind schedule.
You open your eyes and suddenly the world expects you to be motivated, functional, emotionally regulated, ambitious, hydrated, grateful, responsive, and wearing pants with a waistband that doesn’t emotionally disrespect you.
My dog, Roger, has zero responsibilities, pays no bills, contributes absolutely nothing to household chores, and still somehow manages to teach me more about life than any human I have ever dated.
He has never had a job. He does not understand mirrors. He does not comprehend taxes, heartbreak, overthinking, screenshots sent to the group chat, or the phrase “just circling back.” He does, however, understand me. Sometimes better than I understand myself.
Some people hear “taste” and think money. Or aesthetics. Or whatever minimal beige influencer culture keeps trying to force feed us. That’s cute for them. You know the vibe. A white couch no one can actually live on, a sad little olive tree fighting for its life in the corner, and a $68 candle named something like Fig, Linen, and Emotional Distance.
I have decided I am no longer letting strangers with podcasts, comment sections, and suspiciously shiny foreheads hijack my nervous system before noon.
Brave of me. Possibly delusional. We’ll see.
Because rage bait is everywhere now. It’s in the hot takes, the stitched videos, the “nobody is talking about this” posts where, somehow, everyone is talking about it. It’s in the perfectly edited outrage, the moral panic with captions, the influencer scandals, the gender war nonsense, the fake concern, the real cruelty, and the comment sections where everyone sounds like they were raised by a locked iPad and unresolved parental tension.
And I keep taking the bait.
I change my mind weekly. Honestly? Lately it feels like hourly. The holiday season does something to the brain. Like someone plugged my internal compass into twinkle lights and now everything short-circuits at the faint smell of cinnamon. One minute I’m determined to have a calm, organized December. The next minute I’m in the corner of Target clutching a throw blanket I absolutely do not need, but suddenly feel spiritually connected to.
I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you can absolutely be the main character. Even in a discount grocery store with suspiciously cheap avocados and fluorescent lighting that reveals your soul. Trust me. I know because I keep doing it by accident. Some people have their main-character moments in glamorous places, fancy restaurants, rooftop bars, faraway beaches. I have them in Aldi. Between the hummus and the off-brand cereal.
If you ever want to understand the true nature of a woman, ask her what her inner world sounds like.
Mine? It’s a group chat. A full one. Muted, of course. But active in a way that defies science, sleep schedules, and common sense.
People assume quiet girls have quiet minds. Absolutely not. If anything, the quiet ones have the loudest internal conversations. We just don’t broadcast them, because we aren’t trying to be the main character of the universe. Just our own lives…most days.
Holidays have this strange talent for turning perfectly normal humans into loud, glitter covered chaos goblins who suddenly develop Olympic level opinions about your life. Meanwhile, you, the quiet, observant one, are standing in the corner nursing a drink and reading the room like it’s your side-hustle. This guide is for the girls who don’t need to be the loudest person in the room to own it.