You were made for more than resentment and exhaustion.
So much more.

Maybe this blog isn’t about being the expert, the healed one, the always-joyful voice. Maybe it’s about being a fellow traveler. A hand reaching across the mess. A voice saying, “Me too.”

What if the parts you’ve discarded—the ones you’ve called extra, childish, frivolous—are the parts we’re all aching for?
What if your love of drawing, or dancing, or poetry, or baking, or baseball, or magic—is not silly, but sacred?