And for a long time, I believed that if I kept checking boxes, ease would come.

I performed and perfected. I was annoyingly responsible. The good girl who built a life that looked solid from the outside.

Instead of ease, something else arrived: Grief.

The loss of my dad followed by my brother had me questioning everything. I’m talking full existential crisis. What is life? Who was I if not an overachieving perfectionist who was a victim of my childhood circumstances? Fuck if I knew.

But the Universe giveth. It always had my back. I paid attention to the whispers and followed the quiet nudges. What followed was a magical journey back to myself. One in which I realized performing my way through my life was keeping me from being whole.

What happens when a woman stops asking, “Am I doing this right?” and starts asking, “Is this shit even mine?”

This is for women in that in-between space.

The ones who have done everything right and still feel far from themselves. The ones who sense something is ending, even if they don’t what the hell is beginning. The ones who are not interested in bypassing their pain but are willing to stay with it long enough for something beautiful to emerge.

I am here to offer companionship and guidance while you return back to yourself.

If you’re here, you don’t need fixing my girl. You may simply be standing at the edge of something honest. And that, I’ve learned, is where sovereignty begins.