Harmony in Breaking

​I’m not going to lie—2025 tested me in ways I never expected.

During the last 6 months of 2025, everything felt heavy. It seemed to be one thing after another. Within a two-week period, five pivotal moments landed all at once. These weren’t just small things, these were the kind that knock the wind out of you. The kind that force you to confront parts of yourself you didn’t know were broken or needed to heal. The kind that if allowed, you knew could break you with no return. 

I was told something that surprised me by someone I barely knew:

It’s okay to stop.

It’s okay to feel.

It’s okay to break.

A wonderful person I know gently reminded me that I didn’t have to move forward right away—that pausing and checking in with myself was allowed.

But I couldn’t. Not fully.

Have you ever had so much happen that you’re afraid that if you really let yourself feel it all, you won’t make it back out? 

I was terrified of that.

I’ve been in dark places before. More times than I like to admit. And I knew what it looked like when everything shattered at once. I couldn’t afford that—not as a mother, not as a woman rebuilding her life, not as someone who still needed to show up.

So I didn’t let myself feel everything all at once.

Instead, I did it in steps.

Controlled. Intentional. Measured.

I let myself feel just enough that I could still be a mom.

Still work.

Still show up.

And honestly? It worked for me.

It wasn’t messy in the way people romanticize healing. It wasn’t some dramatic breakdown followed by instant clarity. It was quieter than that. Cleaner. I didn’t completely shatter—I allowed small, deliberate breaks. Moments where time stood still and I let myself cry. Scream. Ask why—over and over again.

And then I got back up.

When I look back now, I don’t see the pain the way I used to. I don’t see the fear or the exhaustion or the weight of it all.

I see myself.

Proud.

Proud that I stayed sober.

Proud that I didn’t make impulsive or destructive choices.

Proud that I did it myself.

Instead, I learned who I am when things get hard.

I grew.

I wrote a book. An entire book. Something I once only dreamed about. 

I relaunched my business. Built it back up from a place of purpose instead of survival. 

I created a life I’m actually happy inside of.

And months ago? I didn’t think any of this was possible.

I didn’t know what I was capable of. I didn’t know how much strength I had left. But every single thing that happened—every hard moment—lit a fire in me. And each time something new came along, that fire burned hotter.

Not to destroy me—but to fuel me.

I’m not sharing this for pity. I’m not sharing it for praise.

I’m sharing it because I hope that the next time something happens that threatens to break you open, you remember this: you get to use it as fuel.

Light the fire.

Let it carry you.

Soar so high that one day you barely remember how low you were.

And when you look back, I hope you feel the kind of pride that stops you in your tracks. I’ll be right there cheering you on- because you’ve got this. 

Don’t stop.

And never forget how far you’ve come.

So much love.