There was a time in my life when photography felt like breathing. Not because I was making a fortune or curating a perfect social media feed, but because for the first time in a very long time, I felt truly present.

Have you ever noticed how something feels more "real" the moment you write it down? Not typed, not rushed into a digital cloud, but truly etched by your own hand onto paper. There’s a profound energy exchange that happens in that moment. For centuries, mystics and seekers have believed that writing our desires helps bridge the gap between the ethereal thought and the physical world.

There’s a word we’ve all heard before. Maybe from a magician. Maybe from childhood. Maybe whispered in play, followed by a little ta-da! moment.

There was a time in my life when I truly believed I was just… part of the background. Not invisible because people saw me. Not unwanted because I was welcomed into the room. But selfishly (or so I believed), I was never quite center stage.

gentle reminder that peace is possible.

There’s a quiet truth I don’t talk about enough… Even the “self-esteem coach” has days where she doesn’t feel like herself. Days when the affirmations feel far away. Days where the light feels dimmer. Days where I look at my life and think "Am I really who I say I am?" Lately, I’ve been feeling the weight of imposter syndrome in a way that’s hard to ignore, and if I’m being honest with you… I’m tired! Not just “I need a nap” tired, but deep, emotional, stretched-in-every-direction tired.

We hear a lot about self-care these days.

It happened on a random Wednesday night. The house was quiet, the world was asleep, and there I was, scrolling through TikTok like so many of us do when we can't fall asleep. Then something happened. A video made me laugh. Not just a little chuckle—but the kind of laugh that completely takes over your body. The kind where you can’t breathe, your eyes water, and you feel like you might actually pass out from laughing so hard. Absolute, total exhaustion!  The “I can’t stop” kind of laugh. Growing up in my family, we had a name for those moments. We call them a "funny five minutes.” My kiddos and I have now condensed it to a Funny Five.  My mom, my grandma, and my mom’s sisters would get them too. Someone would say something completely ridiculous, and suddenly we’d all be caught in one of those uncontrollable laughing fits where no one could stop. The kind where the more you try to calm down, the worse it gets, and last night, I found myself in one of those moments.

There’s a quiet moment that arrives in parenthood that no one truly prepares you for. It’s the moment you realize your child is no longer a little child. My oldest turns 17 today. Seventeen!  I say it out loud, and it still feels surreal, like time gently slipped through my hands while I was busy packing lunches, tying shoes, cheering from the sidelines, and learning how to be someone’s safe place in this world. I am so excited for him. I truly am. I’m excited for the life he’s building, the thoughts he’s forming, the independence he’s discovering, and the man he is becoming. But if I’m being completely honest,  there’s also a quiet sadness that sits beside that excitement. A tender awareness that this is the final year of his boyhood before he is technically an adult, and that realization definitely caught me off guard. Because when I look at him, I still see the little guy who never wanted to leave my side. The one who loved cuddles and kisses and our “mommy and me” time. The one who ran and jumped through the house pretending to be Spider-Man, convinced he was Captain America, and who could spend hours watching cars with complete wonder. My sweet little Beaner Boss. That version of him will always live lovingly in my heart.

There are moments when time seems to slow down. When headlines stop feeling like news and start feeling personal, and when they reach into our memories, our families, and our sense of safety. The tragedy in Tumbler Ridge is one of those moments. For many of us, grief like this isn’t distant. It echoes through lived experiences, through schools we once walked, communities we’ve loved, and milestones that were forever marked by collective sorrow.

Self-doubt doesn’t always arrive dramatically. It rarely storms in with warning signs or flashing lights. More often than not, it slips in quietly, like a whisper in the background of our thoughts...Are you really ready? Who do you think you are? What if you fail? And if we’re honest, we’ve all felt it. I was reminded of this in a surprising place recently, watching my favorite NFL team, the Seattle Seahawks, celebrate a Super Bowl victory. Confetti falling. Joy everywhere. The Lombardi Trophy lifted high. In that powerful moment, the quarterback shared something beautifully simple:

When we hear the words self-care, many of us picture candles, spa days, or a quiet cup of tea, and don’t get me wrong, I love all of those things, but self-care is so much deeper than that.