There are days when my body feels louder than my mind… when the tension gathers in my shoulders, my breath gets shallow, and everything inside me tightens before I even know why. Anxiety, for me, often arrives in my body first. It shows up as pressure, buzzing, heat, or that familiar sense of being “too full” even when nothing is happening on the outside. Over the years, I’ve learned to meet these moments with tenderness instead of shame. When my body feels overwhelmed, these are the five things that bring me back home to myself… gently, quietly, and without pressure. Each one is a soft doorway to calm. A ritual. A reminder that I’m still here.

Another year is closing softly, quietly, like a storybook page turning under warm lantern light. And as I sit here reflecting on everything that unfolded, I feel both humbled and deeply proud. This year stretched me, transformed me, held me, and taught me. It asked me to rise in new ways while also returning to pieces of myself I thought I had outgrown. More than anything, it reminded me why I tell stories in the first place: to create connection, to offer comfort, to leave a little light for someone else to find their way. Here are the moments that shaped my year and what I’m carrying with me into the next chapter.

After every creative storm comes the quiet. A space that asks not for output, but for softness. I’ve learned the hard way that rest isn’t a reward; it’s part of the art itself. The body knows when it’s time to exhale, even when the mind still wants to sprint.

The week after filming always feels like the in-between of worlds… too full of echoes to be silent, too quiet to be loud. There’s also a special kind of fatigue that comes after pouring your whole soul into a story. It’s equal parts joy and ache. This time, instead of rushing to the next thing, I decided to treat recovery like another creative ritual… one made of slow mornings, cups of tea, and small acts of gentleness.

The first time I watched Legally Blonde, I knew two things:

1. I wanted a bend-and-snap moment someday.

2. I needed a go-to nail girl in my life.

Years ago, I met Jamie when she was working in another salon. Even back then, her work stood out, and I adored every appointment I had with her. Fast forward to today, and Jamie is the proud owner of Posh & Polished, a women-owned salon right here in Lakeside.

There’s a word I keep coming back to whenever I think about creating warmth, connection, and comfort in my home: Hygge (pronounced HEW-gə or HOO-gə). This little word—born of Norwegian and Danish roots—doesn’t just mean “cozy.” It speaks to a whole way of being. Hygge is about leaning into the small rituals that make us feel safe, held, and content: candlelight glowing in the evening, a pot of tea shared with a friend, a blanket tucked around your shoulders on a stormy night. It’s not about perfection or grand gestures—it’s about savoring the ordinary moments that make life feel soft around the edges.

There are seasons when writing feels like flying. And there are seasons when writing feels like clawing your way through fog. This post is for the latter. Whether you’re navigating burnout, low energy, high sensitivity, emotional overload, or just the foggy numbness that sometimes rolls in unannounced… this is how I write when it feels like I can’t.

I believe that magick is a living, breathing thread that runs through everything… through God, through nature, through story, and through you. And in a world that often prizes speed over stillness, logic over intuition, and productivity over presence… returning to our magick can feel radical. Rebellious, even.