Welcome to the part of my blog where the pretty filters come off.

This isn’t a space for advice or answers. It’s a space for truth. My truth. The raw kind—the kind that doesn’t fit neatly into captions or coffee mugs. The kind that makes you stare at the ceiling at 2 a.m. and wonder how you’re still here.

In the past year, I’ve faced more loss than I thought a heart could hold. I’ve had to stay strong for my daughters when I didn’t feel strong at all. I’ve cried in the shower. I’ve smiled through pain. I’ve kept going—because that’s what we do, right? We keep going.

This category exists because I needed a place to put the weight I’ve been carrying. If you’re here, maybe you’re carrying something too. Maybe you’ve lost someone, or some version of yourself. Maybe you’re still picking up pieces you didn’t even drop.

You’ll find stories here about grief. About trauma. About the complicated ways we survive things we never asked for. Some days, I’ll be angry. Some days, numb. Some days, I might find a little light.

You don’t have to read it all. You don’t have to agree with how I grieve. I just ask that if you’re here, you come with compassion—toward me, toward yourself, toward anyone trying to heal while life keeps moving.

This is healing in progress. There’s no timeline. No end goal. Just the next breath. And then the one after that.

Thanks for being here.

— M