Lili

It’s been a whole week since my family went on vacation to Vegas, and honestly… it’s been kind of nice, just being with my own feelings. I’ve been giving myself space to sit in them, to figure out what’s really going on inside me. I’ve noticed I’ve been eating a lot of my comfort foods, which… makes me feel better. A lot better, actually.

I’ve also given myself permission to mope, to do nothing, and then sometimes to do a little cleaning. Not a lot, just enough to make my space feel more… in order. And somewhere in between all of that, I’ve been thinking about life—about how I want to be, what I value in a career, where I stand in terms of my self-confidence. I’m learning to take my time with that, to be patient with myself, to be kinder and more friendly toward me. Because when I’m too harsh, I fall hard. I need to learn to be mindful, gentle with myself, to honor my own pace.

I love helping people. I love giving them the experience they deserve. Like customers, for example—I don’t think anyone should be rushed just because they’re in service. But at the same time, I know people have places to be, and they shouldn’t have to wait either. I wish I could find a place, a company, that really accommodates that balance. It doesn’t have to be the food industry. Maybe an office job. Maybe somewhere I can still look professional, even get my nails done. Maybe a hybrid job I can do from home.

Funny enough, part of me would love to just… not work. Just stay at home and cook or bake, experiment with flavors, create without restrictions. Though, maybe part of the fun is figuring out how to make things taste amazing within limitations, right?

The Edge Between Giving And Wanting

There are days I can’t tell

if my kindness is a gift

or a quiet plea to be loved back.

I say I’m selfless,

but sometimes it feels like I’m just trying to prove

I’m still worth someone’s care.

I give until my heart feels hollow,

and I call it compassion—

because it sounds gentler

than saying I’m afraid to be forgotten.

Still, there’s something soft about it, isn’t there?

To want, and still offer warmth.

To ache, and still reach out.

To keep giving,

even when no one is watching.

Maybe that’s not selfish.

Maybe that’s just human.

gentle reminder

Day two of reminding my inner child that I’m doing better.

that I’m trying.

that even when my mind feels numb, unseen, or out of place — I’m still here.

I’m still showing up for myself.

I’m still learning that I am enough.

Everyone doesn’t need to know my story.

They just need to know that I’m here — living, breathing, figuring things out one day at a time.

Thank you. I love you. we’re doing great. 🤍

Morning mirror, soft light, my hair leans heavy, roots whisper oil, as if the night held too much for me.

I reach for small rituals— a wash that feels like clear water, citrus and calm in the lather, an Organist moment, turning weight into breeze.

And when the hours stretch long, I crown myself again with ease— a touch of dry shampoo, like a breath of air, renewing the day without starting over.

It isn’t just hair, it’s the way I carry myself, lightened, lifted, ready.

🍃 Click here to see my hair routine

Little Fires, Gentle Hands

A mug warms my palms,

steam rising like a sigh of comfort.

The sun tiptoes through the window,

laying golden stripes across the floor.

A giggle hides in the corner of the day,

the trees whisper secrets to the breeze,

and a bird sings just loud enough

to remind me the world is still gentle.

Happiness isn’t loud—

it gathers in tiny sparks:

a smile,

a sip,

a breath,

all weaving together

like threads of a soft sweater,

pulling me close to the truth—

that here, in these small things,

I am held.

And just beyond the window,

leaves tumble in quiet colors,

as if the earth itself

has learned the art

of letting go softly.

Steps In Silence

one lingers at my side,

a quiet heaviness,

settling in my ribs

like it has always belonged there.

it whispers of rest,

of giving in,

of how simple it would be

to stop.

another follows close,

not loud, not urgent—

just steady.

like the hush of breath in winter air,

like a hand brushing mine

when i think i am alone.

it does not push,

it does not demand.

it simply reminds me

that moving is still possible.

together they keep me company—

the weight and the whisper.

and though i carry both,

somehow my feet keep finding earth

beneath them.

sometimes it feels endless,

this slow walk through shadow.

but every so often,

a sliver of light spills across the path—

small, almost easy to miss,

yet enough to catch in my hands

and keep for another day.

healing little me

i see you there

tucked in quiet corners

tiny heart holding old storms

i reach with understanding

soft as the first light of morning

your tears are welcome

your fears are known

i offer gentle words

the ones i wished for long ago

step by step, we breathe together

letting the past settle like soft dust

you are safe

you are seen

you are held

always

and inside me

a quiet courage blooms

soft, steady, enduring

the tender child becoming whole

I keep waiting for the breakthrough,

but instead I find myself stuck—

not better, not worse,

just… here.

It feels heavy,

like I’m holding my breath

for a life that hasn’t started again.

But maybe standing still

is its own kind of fight—

a quiet resilience,

a proof I haven’t given up.

One day the ground will shift,

and I’ll move forward.

Until then,

surviving is enough.