grum*chum

it's been a wild year. perhaps externally. if you were to take a look at my schedule, absolutely.

but internally, new ways of healing and thinking and choosing a slower, more intentional pace (and space).

a year ago I reached out to my therapist again, and we hit a new stride with some real goals of healing my little self, the 6-year-old Allea, even 33-year-old Allea. to remove some deep shame, harmful beliefs, and create new freedoms.

I traveled my heart out all of 2025 until January, then made a hard pivot to decide to travel less for work — to be more present in the city where I'm living, available for farmers markets, pool dates, new coffee places, walks on Fridays, shows on Monday nights. and that's paid off in dividends; less time scattered across airports, more time at home on Friday nights, slow Saturdays and the emotional space to text a local friend to hang out.

already this year, four friends came to visit me over 5 weekends, including my beautiful 15-year-old niece. my heart was so full I can't even explain. I bawled after dropping her off at the airport.

I'm currently on the hunt for a brewery where I can bring my laptop on a Thursday afternoon to sit outside and sip a red ale while checking things off my list.

my business feels stable, my team amazing, and my messaging in the works. some of the best work this year has been internal and reflecting, then seeing what sets me apart and and gets me excited. the kind of help you have to pay to get help with but trusting that it'll make the whole job of getting clients easier and easier once it's dialed in.

I'm taking a big trip during 37 — Rome, Florence, Cinque Terre, Nice, Barcelona. about freaking time! I'm shopping for dresses, tours of the Duomo, food tours, train tickets. a true vacation, not a day tagged onto a conference this time.

spent 10 days in Nebraska in May, getting hugs and face time and Carbon coffee with my loved ones, feeling richer and richer each day, pockets weighed down as I flew home on a Tuesday.

my anticipation for life and work feels moderate, fairly content, semi-optimistic but largely middle-of-the-road and a tinge nervous about what's possible and what's on me to change. there's so much room for "what if?" and the fear of my responsibility to manage that well has me in a standstill. I could live on a beach; why don't I live on a beach? but I like having roots, friends, a local church, walking paths. also 37 and single, no kids, no house, and a cat I'm sure I can cart off to Portugal if I really want.

the decisions available to me are too numerous sometimes. a freedom I created, a cell of "the fear of a better option" trapping me in by a multitude of indecisions.

at 36, I finally felt pissed off enough to shut down the idea of dating for a good, long while. a healing process, a grieving of my time dedicated to this "idea" for 19 years of my life (17 in Lincoln), and choosing to reclaim my mental space. to occupy it with literally anything else. I felt freedom, perspective, anger, disappointment, resentment; basically still on loop.

no pretty poetic words this year, only a record of the truth — another year passed, lessons learned, friends gained and maintained, and a gratitude for the love and affection of the Lord through Himself, community, safe spaces, and air conditioning.

I live with a lot of fear.

Like, enneagram type 6, C-PTSD, lexapro-is-my-friend, anxiety-knows-me-well type of fear.

There's the fear of being greedy. Showy. Too successful. Too visible. Earning too much. Enjoying things too much. That it must mean "what I had before wasn't good enough" (an actual quote from my childhood).

So here I sit on my patio in Nashville, 2 years after leaving Nebraska, in 46° sunshine, reflecting on how little I've let myself truly enjoy my choices... always fearing they'd offend someone else, disappoint them.

I live with a thread of shame tied to every decision — the $1 I spent to get oat milk, the safer car I finally bought, that living in Nashville is bougie, or that I may never live in Nebraska again.

That my unknown is causing someone else harm. That my attempt at a more free "TBD" or "We'll see" life path is actually delaying other peoples' happiness. That I'm selfish for choosing here, not there.

That I love Nashville.

It's weather — short winters, meaning more outdoor walks.

It's proximity — to mountains and my cousin in Atlanta.

It's entertainment — music and invites and all sorts of things to do.

It's people — the women I've come to love and adopt as my own little sisters and emergency contact mom and spiritual leaders and my pastors and the comfort of my little church.

It's convenience — I can fly nonstop to Boston, which is insane to me; I'm 20 minutes from flights to anywhere.

And I love that I've been able to see MYSELF blossom and branch out in a whole new place. That I'm not only me in Nebraska. I brought my ability to create a cozy home. My love of hosting for coffee and donuts and clothing swaps. I still thrift and prefer to eat at home. But now I'll pay $9 for a half-sweet hot vanilla latte with oat milk and not even flinch.

Do you remember in Sabrina the Teenage Witch when she looks in the mirror and sees a whole other life happening on the other side of the glass?

It's wild to look through my looking glass, to see the little me on the other side. She was feisty, but she was scared. She wouldn't let on, but there was always a risk — to making noise, of being silly, to do what I wanted.

Could you imagine her looking through to me? Getting a tattoo in 15 minutes (because I've wanted it for nearly 10 years),

buying the $60 loafer mules and wearing them every day for a week,

then buying a freaking car (which felt like a LOT of shame and unworthiness at the time) but now only days later I'm not feeling more than 2 ounces of guilt about it?

I wrote in my journal today: "I've done good for my little self."

She gets to run a business, have a podcast, enjoy her cat and her alone time, go to Mumford and Sons on a Wednesday night and stand within feet of the stage, roast on the sunny porch in July, travel to 6 new places a year.

AND annnnd she has the best people — people who pick her up from airports, friends who drive 4 hours for lunch with a now-ex-boyfriend because that matters to us, babies who aren't babies who call me Aunt Allea and snuggle next to me.

I've had nearly TWENTY friends visit me in Nashville; either passing through or coming to stay with me, and that is an insane level of goodness showing up in my life here.

She is LOOOOOVED. Loved-loved.

She delights in herself. She delights in others. And she's delighted in too, with fervor and photos and phone records to prove it.

This has been a year of utter opulence for friendship and connection and new places.

In 2026, I want to have less fear of being more, of taking up more space, of creating what I've always wanted to. I'm allowed both my roots and my wonder.

With less shame that it's greedy; that I already have such a full, wonderful life — but that there's even more. More love, more words, more hugs, more friends. More of me.

There's a grief in seeing flaws and shortcomings, but my flaws and shortcomings do not make me unlovable — I am all sorts of lovable just as as I am today.

No one is perfect. We're all learning.

And I'm resourceful — knowing how to ask for wisdom and insight where I don't have it yet.

For Past Allea,

You did your best.

You were patient, kind, allowed space for him to lead though he didn't.

You flirted and had fun. You enjoyed getting to know someone so different from you — and it was sweet.

You accepted care and attention, like none you've received before; you learned to welcome it and feel it deeply, to let it sit securely, to not question it all so much.

You felt what it was like to be delighted in, bragged about. Much like last summer.

You're awesome and are so brag-worthy!

In all of it, all of everything, you've been an amazing friend! Your friends even told me so!

You show up, you care, you make time and space.

You're vulnerable and can be yourself.

You're intentional.

You're not alone in anything; you have an "Allea's Army" and they all want what's absolutely best for you, God's will for you.

Of course, no one knows what that'll be, but there's no rush.

You can take up all the space you need — time and physical — just as you are.

All your wonder + working + depth + self-reflection + joyful dancing + delight + welcomingness.

We want it all, and it's beautiful.

You're beautiful.

You are lovely + needed + wanted + cherished.

the HBIC of your text threads, the cheers, the bragging-to-others

the clapping when you're dancing

the funny voices (now only you make; you realize he stopped)

now: the lone goof

you'll continue to delight

be silly

do a little dance before it's time to go

and your friends will love you for it

you'll love you for it

you delight in happy things and giving compliments

creating room

now give yourself that room to stay as you are

don't go small

it needs to be said:

a manifest

a claim to parts of me that are true and truly lovable:

to romanticize

the perfect coffee mug

sunsets and long walks

snuggles on the couch with Tillie

a cozy bathroom robe

fall friend days in ashland

and Grace Chapel mornings

to fun new pajamas

making plans and getting excited

dipping out of baggage claim while I wait

a kiss here and there (even 5 in a row)

holding hands in the car

a flirty top and clavicle and perfume

delighting in and laughing with

to flirt and blush

jump in,

surprise

fade out,

surprise

—

what do you do when the feelings are gone, fading, from what used to be there, so clearly, so adamantly.

to be the last one standing.

even so, among questions. waiting and patient and discerning. until the answers reveal themselves. nothing more than indifference. respectful indifference with a kind, swift end.

crumpled, confused, distant and alone.

never alone, not truly.

—

always in the learning, I try and deduce the issues, the turning point, the errors, mistakes or events.

none, not really.

something in May.

I'm making space for you

I want to look you in the eye

I was on the east side of town

Half of my heart ached with sadness

It lingered and throbbed for days, even now

the invitation has been there,

RSVP assumed but never returned,

well-intentioned,

but failure to accept.

yet there he lingers, simply waiting —

for the noise to die down

the craze to fade

the eyes of attention to scour the party, finally looking, finally seeing.

to know is not to receive.

allow me, slowly, to test the air and touch the knowing. to turn it over in my hands, test it's realness.

a softness of my own

to allow goodness & kindness through

less walls, more cloth-like, with pores and openings

The tendernensss,

The belovedness,

The desiredness

To allow it to pass through the entryway, to welcome it in?

Or for me to enter into that space, to be the one welcomed, even celebrated, for simply being there.

oh, Lord knows it's always the waiting with me. years and years of it.

so what's another two months, to live and walk and work and sleep and wait, see if it's better then?

there's no real due date, no expiration, just loose plans and potential run-ins, around the corner. or at least I hope for plans. I hope for a lot.

but unlike my mind, there's no choice but to live out time, the 1x time, of the real world, with clocks, daylight, meetings and appointments, social dates and the flip of the calendar.

where will I be when I go home?

who will I be?

when I return?

what about the "in-between" time? in my heart, in the circumstances, this "situation"?

I've learned not to expect much. to keep my head down and on my own affairs, ignorant of what I can't control. they say it "protects" one's peace; so far, so true.

am I numb to the pain? or did it fleet away years ago?

with the grief, with the heartache, the letting go

but even still, it doesn't leave my mind

or keep memories from showing up in my mind's eye, distracting me from the present, like a dream sequence in the upper-right corner of my sight, overlaid with reality

a distraction I don't know what to do with

but to honor it

to hold it's space

to hold space for you, who you were, who you were supposed to be, where you could have been

with it, disappointment. sadness. ache for the life you should have had.

to be a father, to coach those boys, to see yourself as more than you did — the potential, the heart — beyond the brokenness, the despair, the insecurity and the burden you carried in your mind.

why you couldn't see the way out I'll never know, we never will; though we banded together to piece together what solutions we saw, you stiff-armed us all. out of pride? or the disease? one led to the other, or overlaid the other; overpowered?

we all wish it were different, don't you?