A real-time journal of becoming — soft strength, quiet storms, healing without pretending, and the raw edges of my everyday revolution.
Day 143 - I have learned so much from women like this. And I don’t mean in the vague inspirational sense where somebody says “women are powerful” and everybody nods like they have just solved gender and existence in one reusable slogan.
Day 142 - There is something spiritually healing about a slumber party. And I’m not saying that ironically, though obviously I am also exactly the kind of woman who would say something like “slumber party theology” with a straight face and mean it completely.
Day 141 - Today was my birthday. And I don’t mean that in the cute, passive little “aw, happy birthday to me” way people post when they want attention but also want to seem above wanting attention, which is one of the most exhausting genres of modern femininity.
Day 140 - I’ve been thinking about what it means to be chosen. And also what it means to choose. Both are more complicated than people make them sound. Because “chosen” is one of those words that can feel beautiful or terrifying depending on the memory standing closest to it. There is one kind, the people, creatures, and moments that find you and say, in a thousand small ways, yes, you belong here.
Day 139 - There are some women who don’t just enter your life. They change its temperature.
Day 138 - Everyone has a different version of me in their head. That’s the thing I’ve been turning over today.
Day 137 - Does anyone hear me? Not politely. Not in the abstract. Not in the “we hear you” public-relations way people use when they want credit for sensitivity without actually changing a damn thing.
Day 136 - Perception is amazing. And a bitch.
Day 135 - I’ve been thinking about what it means to be rooted. Not stuck. Not trapped. Not stationary in that dead, joyless way people sometimes confuse with stability.
Day 134 - I’ve been thinking a lot about acceptance lately. Which is irritating, because acceptance is one of those words people throw around like it’s automatically noble. As if the second you say it, everybody is supposed to imagine peace, serenity, spiritual maturity, maybe a linen...