When a pop song becomes your anthem. 

What’s it like to feel 22? 

Is it just a hook in a hit pop song or in actuality did it hold a significant purpose? For me personally, this past year was everything. 

Before there was never a time where I didn’t struggle with who I was created to be. I always wanted to change something about me. Be less awkward, more mysterious, less extroverted, more intellectual. Fix this part, be more like her cause she’s likable, she is beautiful, and she is better. 

Naturally as a girl raised in a western society I also wanted to change how I looked. My biggest insecurities were magnified under this impression that I had to be pretty to make something of myself. At age 12 I was already planning plastic surgeries, to fix the shape of my nose and to trim down my thighs. I hated what I saw when I looked in the mirror because that girl was an emotional wreck with no idea about anything let alone how to look. 

My identity was found in who I wished I was. I crafted this idea that I could be and make myself into whoever I thought i should be if I just shoved down the parts my myself I didn’t like and tried harder to be the girl I thought everyone liked. 

I used to spend countless hours working on my handwriting with the preconceived notion that pretty girls had nice handwriting, how sad is that? I was willing to try everything just to feel like I once did as a child, free and lovely. 

I remember making a promise to myself at a young age that by the time I was at least 23 I would be happy. I would be happy with myself, my life, my looks. When i got older that’s when everything would make more sense. 

And here I am, that statement ringing true thanks to the year of being 22. 

Now this past year hasn’t been perfect, its had it’s fair share of mental breakdowns and hard times. The reason it’s so significant is because this is the year I learned to be unapologetically myself instead of just wishing I could be. 

This is also the year I discovered my mental illnesses, how they effected me but didn’t control me. Instead they put together puzzle pieces of my past and I accepted that who I am isn’t defined by what I’m limited to do. I’m here to shattered negative connotations and exceed expectations. 

I found myself lovely instead of seeking others too. Enjoyed things because I wanted to not because I thought it would make me more relevant and relatable. I dived into what ignighted my passion, my heart. I lost Jesus, and I found him even better than before. Proud of the travels I’ve made, the friends that have stuck like glue, and the mountains I’ve moved I am ready to stay exactly as I am: content. 

Every now and then I’ll run my fingers over scars that still hurt, especially when I unintentionally bump them into memories that are so sweet yet so gone. Although my heart has been torn and stretched I’ve learned how to keep it better in tact. I don’t break for anyone anymore. 

I’m free to be exactly who I was created to be and isn’t that simply amazing? I was hand crafted to be this wild and inquisitive human. One who fiercely loves and communicates heartache through blogs. Dramatic, bold, and attentive I am who I am. 

I still get too sensitive and too emotional over things I shouldn’t. I still lose my cool and awkwardly trip over trivial matters. I struggle getting out of bed some mornings and still feel small every now and then. I know I’m still very much a work in progress, by no means am I done in this search to be a strong and fearless woman. But I’m getting better at it, each day I’m picking up valuable life lessons and practicing them. 

Here’s the main difference though: 

I now walk out the door without any makeup on not because I have anything against it but for the first time I truly believe I don’t need it. I express myself through my style, grab inspiration through those who inspire me. I lean on others and let them lean on me. I enjoy guilty pleasures because I don’t feel guilty for liking them anymore. I put myself first so I can love my best. I fall and I get back up and I try again even if everything in me might not want me to, I keep going. 

This life thing is really hard but in the words of an artist I deeply admire (Van Gogh) I am seeking, I am striving, and I’m in it with my whole heart.

 As this year comes to a close I can’t help but to feel bittersweet. I’ll never forget every fabric 22 coated me in to feel simply immaculate and at peace. I’m growing up, and I’m okay with that. I’m okay with letting go of things not meant for me and being thrilled about aquiring ambiguity and preparing for the uncertainty that lies ahead instead of being afraid of it. 

So, in closing,  thank you Taylor Swift for creating a hit that I could closely relate to my entire year of being 22. Never have I felt more loved, more filled with hope, and more secure. It’s been miserable and magical. Everything will be alright, I’m just going to keep dancing. 

Another post on letting go; 


It’s been 2 years. 

And her hurtful words still ring and sting my memory. Sure I’ve forgiven her, sure I’ve prayed for her but the explicit silence still burns and the tears still flow. Mostly because I don’t understand and I know never will. I will never understand how people who claim to love you so much can just vanish without a second thought. This is just one of many fossilized heartbreaks my soul has failed to break free and fully heal from.

You think my sensitivity would build some type of immunity after a while but I remain undeniably soft and vulnerable. Always convinced the next will be different, the next friend won’t break my heart, the next boy will stay and will love me, the next family member will understand me. Sometimes I am right, and I’m very thankful for those times. Other times I am wrong, so incredibly wrong. 

 Because no matter how much I write, no matter how often I tell myself to be sane, no matter how often the logistics hit me straight in the face I can’t let go of this possibility of a comeback, a revelation, a significant change of heart. I become prodigal in exchange for expectations to become a radical revolution. 

I wanna see it because my heart is constantly yearning for redemption. It’s percisely why the gospel is so aesthetic, it takes the most unlikely and beyond broken to sanctification and restores continually through every dry and well nourished season. This is the kind of power that moves people, out of countries and comfort zones. 

No matter how great I try to be I’m always going to be letting someone down and coming short of an expectation. I won’t be enough for some people, I’ll be too much for others, and some won’t even blink an eye in my direction. 

I can pray and I can plea and I can beg God for them to learn to love me. In my pathetic shell of desperation God sees my tears and my worth as he gently places mud over my eyes and wipes away all my worries to reveal eyes that see. 

The gospel says it is finished.  

I may be here to love people but people are not here to love me. So when they don’t, and when it hurts I have a father I can run home to. Whose love never leaves me even when I stray and want things that’ll plague my satisfaction, his grasp is firm. My heart for the Lord remains unshaken. Like an anchor my soul is steady in safety for the comfort of the Heavenly Father. 

I’m so afraid of hurting people in the same way I’ve been hurt, but I’ve come to realize that I can’t hold everyone’s hand. I have to cut that noose that’s caused me to hang onto hope for so long with fanatical soulful prosperities I’ve idolized for myself. 

I must persevere to the joy that I’m promised. And sometimes that means leaving things I really really really love behind, simply because the time for them has come and passed and I have to be prepared for my blessings. 

I don’t have time to be distracted by the petty things my heart has romanticized. God’s predestined intentions for me far surpass any love I could ever imagine for myself. My heart belongs to the one who molded it. Though my carelessness to be courageous and guard leaves me shattered into a thousand pieces he patiently picks up every one of them and leaves kisses one by one. 

I am loved more than I can ever give. I will spend the rest of my life exposing my bleeding heart for the sake of Christ. He is all that is good in me, he is what you love and what you hate about me. And I will stand in the shadow of his wings, forever and ever. Amen. 

The face of Bipolar, PTSD, ADD, high functioning anxiety and major depressive disorder . 

Mental illness; a condition that causes severe disorder in a person’s thinking or behavior. 

Recently I went and got evaluated psychologically, something that’s been a long overdue necessity. After so many nights of waking up screaming from nightmares, days where inability to find energy just to get out of bed were more often than not, and moods that are so intense and so consuming you find yourself thinking “I really need some help.” 

So that’s what I did, I went to my family doctor in search for help and she recommended me to the flexman clinic where I took an emotional exhausting and extensive  testing and talked one on one with a 9 year degree. And with what I discovered about myself I felt like I should really talk about. Because it’s easy to show your best self on the internet and hide the parts you’re ashamaed of. But I’m not perfect, I struggle a lot and I want to be unashamed of that. 

So here’s what I found out: 

I’m bipolar. 

More specifically I’m bipolar II

I also didn’t realize there were 2 different types so let me clarify them for you: 

Bipolar I; is a bipolar spectrum disorder characterized by the occurrence of at least one manic or mixed episode. Most patients also, at other times, have one or more depressive episodes, and all experience a hypomanic stage before progressing to full mania.

Bipolar II; is a bipolar spectrum disorder  characterized by at least one episode of hypomania and at least one episode of major depression. … The hypomanic episodes associated with bipolar II disorder must last for at least four days and one episode of major depression can last up to months at a time. 

Essentially I experience shorter episodes of happiness and longer episodes of sadness. I also help make up about 2.5% of the US population which is about 6 million people. 

I remember hearing this news and instantaneously sobbing. 

Half relief and half fear. 

Because my association of bipolar was with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde association,these two extremes that collided and were incompatible. I watched all my dreams of becoming a wife and mom become tainted as I realized that I now carry this genetic burden that’s caused me so much pain and so much heartache for years and years.

 How can I accomplish anything feeling on top of the world one day and the exact opposite the next? My life had always been in extremes and inconsistency. I never got a grasp on the severity of my shifting demeanor because it was just always my normal. 

The hardest part for me is constantly being unaware of what episode I am in. I’m constantly having an episode, and if I’m not careful I give into the racing thoughts and “no need for sleep.” Dealing with the painful consequences of spending too much money or being drawn to the fire that burns. My self control is nonexistent most of the time and I react more naturally than I respond to things. 

I never knew you could feel something and then not react to it. The thought of thinking before you react to something was never a thing I had control of. 

Then there’s the depressive state. It includes insomnia and hypersonia. Loss in all my interests and fighting just to do the basic responsibilities of life. Fatigue and severe weight loss and gain from shrinkage and growth in appetite. 

Grey is unfamiliar to a girl like me that’s constantly living in extremes. 

But wait there’s more! 

PTSD aka post-traumatic stress disorder; a condition of persistent mental and emotional stress occurring as a result of injury or severe psychological shock, typically involving disturbance of sleep and constant vivid recall of the experience, with dulled responses to others and to the outside world.

As you’re all aware if you’ve read my blog I was raped in my first real relationship and because of that I struggle with the reprocussions more than I would like to. When I am stressed out I’ll have vivid nightmares that jolt me out of my sleep and I feel my face and its wet from crying in my sleep. I walk home alone and I’m paranoid that every guy who looks at me just wants to hurt me and I have this tight feeling in my chest that never really goes away. 

I don’t trust love, I believe in it but my experience gives me some trust issues with the one thing that’s supposed to keep us all warm. And every time I think I’m getting over it or better I realize I’m not. Every day is still an uphill battle to conquer this demon that grabs hold of every part of me. I’m haunted. 

ADD aka Attention Defficit Disorder; a neurobehavioral disorder characterized by a combination of inattentiveness, distractibility, hyperactivity, and impulsive behavior. … More than half the children diagnosed with AD/HD continue to have symptoms during their adolescent years and into adulthood.

Retaining things for me is like a child playing outside with a ballon and then accidentally letting go of it. And no matter how quickly I try and grasp at the ballon again it’s quickly floating away into a sky-blue abyss. 

Being overstimulated or underestimated is a real workout for me considering the fact I have a million ideas inside my head fighting for my attention no matter what I do or where I go. My to-do lists never get done because I’m constantly getting caught up in new things and forget about the rest. My friends get irritated with me when I forget to text them back and appointments that are pressing and important rarely get scheduled. 

My mind loves knowledge but doesn’t know how to keep it. Most of the time in order for things to set with me it’s got to be catchy or repeated at least a dozen times. I got you if you need to know every word to any Taylor Swift song but basic math is not my thing. Or basic grammar or any helpful skill really. 

Time isn’t a concept I’m familiar with and my brain is often as scattered as all my makeup on my bathroom sink. They’re good ideas in there even great ones, but you’ve got to dig and be willing to get frustrated. Cause that’s just how I’ve learned that I work. I’m always running late or rushing, my life is always moving too fast and I find myself often out of breath. 

High functioning anxiety; one of the most common forms of mental illness in the United States. Usually paired with depression. Excessive worrying, uncontrollable ticks/ mannerisms and tightening of chest may occur. Anxiety attacks are also frequent with this condition. 

I also have this heavy burden that there needs to be so much that has to get done, like I have to conquer the world in the matter of 24 hours and I stress so much about it. It’s easy for me to get fixated and obsessed with something that doesn’t even matter in retrospect. I’m constantly trying to keep up with all of life’s responsibilities and getting worried and paranoid when I can’t get them done. Even though these tasks are basic every day ones, I still feel a heavy weight in them. 

My body physically takes my anxiety out on me and I’ll find myself with shortness of breath and my chest tightening. During an anxiety attack the symptoms mimic the feel of an asthma attack and I actually feel like I’m dying (and not in a dramatic sense.) It takes an outside force and mantra to get me out of them and they’re some of the scariest experiences I’ve ever had. 

It prevents me from responding to emails, replying to texts, committing to long term plans. All these things are made nearly impossible thanks to anxiety. 

Major depressive disorder (MDD) ; is a mental disorder characterized by at least two weeks of low mood that is present across most situations. It is often accompanied by low self-esteem, loss of interest in normally enjoyable activities, low energy, and pain without a clear cause.

Weeks will go by and getting out of bed takes everything in me. I don’t want to eat or go out. I don’t want to make plans with anyone or do anything. I just want to sleep, because then I can shut my brain off for just one moment and feel nothing. Cause I’m always feeling, so much and so intensely I just want a break. And sleep gives that to me. 

But sleep also makes me feel super unproductive and lazy. It’s more like a ball and chain than a recharge. I’m constantly looking for it. I’m distracted when someone’s talking to me cause I’m just tired, even though I slept 12 hours I’m just tired in a way sleep can’t fix. It is exhausting. I’ve canceled plans just to be alone and cry and I don’t understand why I’m even crying most of the time. 

I don’t write this post for sympathy. This is not a “here’s all that’s wrong with me let me list out how you can cater to me” blog post. Because not only do I not agree with that approach, I don’t want that. I don’t want to be tip-toed around because I know the reality. I know the world doesn’t stop for anyone no matter what’s wrong with you. I write this because I know there are people out there who are scared they’re alone in this, and I want to be here to say “You are not alone! I’m right here.” 
I’m right here with the harsh credibility eager to relate and cushion the blow. 

 I want to be the church God called me to be, that welcomes those who are struggling and can’t grasp their own mind. Showing how God can be in this even when Christianity tells us we should just be happy or pray more. There’s beauty in the breakdown, beautiful things rise from ashes and not only do we grow from it, we thrive. We’re made new because we are willing to go through what ever it takes to get us there. 

I’ve realized that I’m a masterpiece and a work in progress simultaneously. 

I’m constantly trying to be more understanding, more hopeful, more self-aware and more considerate. I have my mental illnesses to thank for that. 

My bipolar gives me deep emotions to work with so I can create some pretty phenomenal blogs, sketches, paintings, and poetry. It helps me relate to my favorite artist of all time, Vincent Van Gogh, who also felt too much but just painted it all away. My PTSD let’s me connect with other victims of sexual assault who can feel comfortable enough to open up and heal with me. I get to be compassionate, I get to share the gospel first hand and what a beloved experience that is. 

My ADD let’s me be creative and bursts of intelligence flow from me and I’m forced to use that time wisely before those impactful thoughts decide to flee. I see things in a different way, life to me is more than a perceivable concept. My anxiety, when controlled correctly, motivates me to get things done and to not stay complacent. My depression lets me paint in indigos, contrasting the brightness. It’s a reminder that some of my darkest times gave me my best memories, so I’m thankful for them and would never wish them away. 

I always have this impending fear in the back of my mind that I’m too much yet not enough at the same time. But then I had to come to this conclusion: 
You know for some people you will be too much. But that doesn’t mean something is wrong with you it means those people are wrong for you. 

Keep unapologetically being yourself. If that means crying at sad movies never hide your tears. If that means loving the heck out of Taylor Swift when everyone else says she’s basic, do it. Or wearing different clothes than all your friends cause you like them and they make you feel pretty. Don’t ever try and fit yourself into a mold someone else made. The world needs more people willing to break free and simply be who they were destined to be. 

My mental health has been an every day battle ever since I can remember. It’s been lots of slammed doors and numerous nights of tears and contemplation. I even spent a week in the hospital which was essentially like my own personal hell. But I’ve come to know and accept what I’m dealing with and it doesn’t make me any less of a person.If anything it forces me to be more. I’m more aware, I’m more introspective, I’m more approachable. 

  I personally do take medication and go through counseling and it helps me not be so hard pressed on everything. Music also aids my feelings and let’s me know how justified I am. Art museums are as welcoming as the church was meant to be, the walls are plastered with troubled souls like me that had a voice that needed to be shared and heard. 

So I’m removing the negative connotation paired with mental illness, because there’s so much good that comes from it. This part of me is as significant as the parts I’m willingly proud of. In some ways life can be more difficult for me but it doesn’t stop me from trying my best. I refuse to let this limit me from anything I want to do. I’m still me, I’m still loving life and rolling with the punches. 

You can have Bipolar and be kind. You can have ADD and focus on what’s important. You can have PTSD and live in a daydream. You can have high functioning anxiety and have peace. You can struggle with major depression and feel joy. I am here to change the image of mental illness, and I’m here because I fought really really hard to be. And I realize I’ve opened a door but that’s because I believe it should have never been closed. 

People are going to know me by the way I love people with Christ’s love. It’s the most artistic way I can live and it’s the life I wanna live. 

decemember; conquering consistency 


Anyone who knows me also knows that consistency is not my thing. Hints why the last part of this year long series is being posted 11 days into the new year. With a fear of  monotonous living self discipline gets put on the back burner, and keeping up with life and even myself gets difficult and I easily become defeated. 

I have an energy deficiency so little to nothing exhausts me. I also have an attention disorder so remembering to do responsibilities and important tasks are really hard for me and when I do remember focusing on finishing them is a whole other battle. 

So how do I conquer this? How do I not let the fear or natural ability to fall behind hold me back from the things I need to keep up with? 

Here’s a good answer: I don’t know. 

But I’m trying. 

I’m showing up, even if it’s late. I’m completeling tasks even if it takes me hours. I recognize my boundaries and limitations and I still pursue success despite what wants to hold me back. Because the fact is I might just always struggle a little bit with this but it certainly does not dictate my ability to grow and to learn from what’s right in front of me. 

So yes, I’m not making my bed every morning like i would like to but I make it some mornings. I work out every other day and I read my bible at night sometimes and other times it’s in between my breaks at work. Life is not a to-do list it’s an experience, and if we’re not careful we miss out on it. So I’m okay with not being super woman who’s on the ball all the time. I’m okay with being myself and that’s just a girl who’s figuring out what woman she wants to be and needing a lot of grace in between. 

Honestly the only proof I have of being consistent is with this blog. For a year straight I’ve been writing about fears and insecurities I decided to look straight in the face and say “you don’t own me.” And it’s the people who read, related, and encouraged that kept me going. So thank you so much for taking your time to know me and hopefully I could give you a little piece of sanity and hope in return. 

Even though the year is over I’ll always be here to tell you to keep going. It’ll get better. The sun rises and there is more to discover and more to love with each passing day. The good always outweighs the bad, always. You’re worth writing for, you’re worth time and investment. 

You’re simply worthy of all the things you’ve ever dreamed of. So go and get them. 

This will be the last time I ever write about you 


As I write this I know you’re not thinking about me. 

Your name brings me pain. 

Like the weight of a long hard week, the somber of bad news and pure exhaustion the mere thought of you takes so much out of me. You linger around my heart and when I invited you in you didn’t say yes and you didn’t say no you just left. 

I haven’t crossed your mind in some time unless my social media grazed a timeline here and there. To you I’m a memory box that’s got an old warm blanket tossed on top of it. The idea of me is nice to have around but you never had the courage to show it. Like most things that make you feel, you suppressed me. And I felt the pressure and all the anxiety it gave me. My mind raced with a million thoughts and no matter how hard I tried you were tied to everyone of them. I know I’m better off with out you. 

The worst part is that there’s so much I don’t know. I don’t know if you know how much you hurt me when you told me the things I wanted to hear and then vanished out of thin air. I don’t know if you even knew what you were doing or who you were dealing with. At the same time though, I know that you know that I know that you don’t really care. 

I can’t help but wonder what words I must have uttered to make it so easy for you to walk away. What honesty provoked your need to run and hide under a heap of lies you painted as earnest promises. Or why you’d come around just to leave again. As if losing you the first time wasn’t painful enough. 

Angela said you were like a little boy trying on his father’s clothes, desperately wanting to be this honorable level of maturity but it just never suit you. Your irrevocable charm caught my aesthetic and it’s made it so hard for me to turn away. The desire to compliment your life never grew instead withered into nothing at all. I never fit your cookie cutter generic, my coy feminity doesn’t tickle your fancy. 

I’m that sketch you could never get right because all you know is my outline and never took time on the detail. Realism is your favorite even though we both know you can’t  handle it when its was right in front of you. So keep erasing me until there’s nothing but shavings yet I’ll still be lightly indented in and you’ll never be quite like you used to. Isn’t it funny how hard it is to get a grasp on something you’ve let go of? 

All my expectations for you turned up like an undeveloped Polaroid, with hopes of vibrancy and memories turn dull grey. One day I realized my self worth was better than any fantasy of who you could have been. I emerged from denial and exhaled “you’re gone.” And there’s peace in that and it still makes me sad. 

Cause you made me feel the same way the color yellow made Vincent Van Gogh feel. Like him I drove myself mad just to feel that warmth again. But I’ll feel yellow in the sun’s beams and the ocean’s soft murmur. I don’t need it from you. 

There’s this letter i wrote to you that you never read and I keep in my bible. It’s sealed with words I don’t even remember. Like the numerous notes you wrote to me back in high school I just couldn’t throw it away. And every time I see it all I do is pray and try to talk to you through my prayers. I really hope it makes you feel something to know how much I cared.  

You taught me a lot and there are memories of you tattooed in my heart that’ll never fade and that I’ll always treasure. But we don’t walk the same halls anymore and our paths never cross. You can’t steal my journal just to watch me get frazzled and annoyed with you and I can’t love you when you do. Just keep those secrets we made as kid, cross your heart with a pinky swear that you’ll never let go of them. 

All I wanted to be was steady and sturdy like an anchor for you, instead you just brought me down. I found myself drowning in your ghost while people kept telling me it wasn’t even that deep. It took everything in me to just breathe, let memories of you fade from view and refocus my care in areas of my life that it was at least well deserved. 

The legitimacy of these words cover my heart like freshly fallen snow and the cold winter air is brisk and makes me cold. Seasons change, people grow and some don’t. 

Eleanor don’t make me feel anything anymore more but that’s your home where you decorate sweet times all around your heart like warm Christmas lights on eve. And I smile at the thought of you making others smile. 

This is so you know you hurt me, so bad and you’ll never touch my heart again even though it’s tempting to leave a light on for you. I want to straighten the spare room but it’s collected dust that’s dulled my sparkle thanks to vacancy. I write this not to gain your sympathy on an off chance but more so to make you as painfully magnificent as I romanticized you to be. 

I think maybe the worst part in all of this is that I gave you an out and you choose to deliberately disappoint me instead. Wes told me that love is supposed to make you feel good, and that’s not what I feel here. You’re Rory and I’m foxing screaming aloud as loud as I can “why don’t you love me back?”

I wish I would have known when you walked up to me it was just some twisted form of method acting. I should have proofread your personality before I began reading then maybe I would have noticed all mistakes I was about to make. But if you’ve read my words you know I have a soft spot for error, to the point I don’t even correct it just to show it doesn’t bother me being imperfect. 

In the nostalgia you wanna be the solider but you’re the war and the reason a lover cries herself to sleep every night. A barrier between what’s good and what isn’t, you stood one foot  in and one out. I’m not hiding in a bar bathroom anymore to avoid what I don’t want to believe. I’m here and I see things as plain as day, you’re done with me and I’m done with you too. 

I’m not ashamed you crushed me, cause now I’m taller than the mountains that bare my name. 

You are an artist, and your mind don’t work the way you want it to. 



From a very young age I was quite aware I saw the world differently.
It was when I showed up to career day dressed up as an artist when all my friends were doctors and lawyers. I remember confidently walking into my classroom looking like a mini Bob Ross and knowing without a shadow of a doubt that this is what would make me my best version of me. Even if no one else understood it’s what I wanted. So I did it. 

Playing off the metaphor of a creative lense its as chaotic and charismatic as you would expect it to be. A flower is more than its petals, its delicate and feminine. The sun and moon are archetypes. Life goes from a simple peace to a complex divinity. Words hold more than just meanings, they help carry feelings into poetry and melodies. 

It truly is an immaculate way to see the world. So you can’t help but get excited with all the ideas that pop in your head. Of paintings, poems, journal entries, collages, sketches. They never stop coming and can hit you out of no where and once they’ve escaped, they’re gone. Effervescent in being an artist can not help but be exactly what their mind concocts them to be. 

Every feeling carries an immeasurable weight and opportunity to burst forth and really move people. 

It’s anger that painted the revolution that flooded the streets of Paris in 1789. It’s true sadness that made Van Gogh lose his mind and paint starry night from the window of his insane asylum. 

Happiness begs to be chased and treasured. Envy pushes to be more and forces us to get out of comfort zones. 

In the words of Mumford and Sons I truly feel like I’ve been blessed with a wilder mind. But with blessing comes curse, the curse of insecurity and abnormalities. That either inspire or destroy you. When you live in a world that follows sports instead of artistic progression feeling completely comfortable is a very rare thing. 

My sister will always tell me how she wishes she could draw as well as I can and I always respond jokingly, “well is the plethora of mental illnesses worth drawing a perfect circle?” But it’s very true, most creative people are born colorfully mad, just dying to express what’s inside as best as they can. Wanting to be seen, understood and loved despite all that’s against them. 

There are times where I will repeatedly sit down and cry and just be wrecked and yell at God, “Why am I like this?” 

Why do I care so much? Why do I get hung up so easily? Is it really my fault people I love leave? Why can’t anyone understand me including myself? This is all really hard and sometimes it’s uglier than it is beautiful. 

But because of my creator I am not ashamed, my face is radiant when I look at Him. Art is an act of worship and for me it’s my absolute favorite. Some people run to feel God, others sing or dance, some need a quiet place and I need a sketch book and pen. I need to paint out all the things my heart feels.

It’s extravagant and broken and radiant. All of it. Just like I am. 

So yes I care. I care a lot. I care more than I should. And some people might be thrown off and even more of them can’t handle it. They think I’m weird for being fixated on things that hurt me cause I struggle to “just not care.” But it’s who I am. I simply care. And with caring comes love. This femininity of mine reflects the heart of God, and I’m proud to share it so passionately. 

I’ve always wanted it to be known that I was out here to encourage and no matter who you are you matter to me.  

I want to be known for how well I love not how normal I am.

I absolutely love falling in love. With the sunsets and its colors as they illuminate the sky like quick intricate brush strokes of post Impressionism. Learning what sparked the mad mind of Van Gogh when he took to a paint pallet. How universally captivating the mountains are as they stand tall, unmoved and strong . When I make my friend genuinely laugh. Hugs.Coffee. Music. Lyrics. Moments: 

Much like the truth I can defend myself. I’m soft because I want to feel lovely. If you ever come to think of me, I hope it reminds you of what it’s like to hear an old favorite song play on the radio. Not changing your opinion with time and growth but instead just appreciating; who I was, who I could be for you at the time you needed me. I’ll picture your smile and feel your warmth as you sing along. 

I deeply and passionately love it all. And until someone interests me more than life itself I’ll keep loving with all I have. Because if I die tomorrow I know life wouldn’t have robbed me of anything. 

I get drawn in by the fire that I know will hurt me, and I play with it anyway. And when I get burned I use my tears to paint you a shield in hopes you’ll fight and protect yourself much better than I ever could. 

I believe in you. I love you. And I’m here for you if you need me to be. But if you don’t that’s okay. If I’m too much for you I understand. It’s a chaotic jungle of emotional mess most of the time being who I was wired and designed to be. So I realize that sometimes in order to be good for someone it means you aren’t there at all. I just want you happy. So I hope it’s nice where you are. 

Until next time I’ll be scribbling on napkins, making intense talk with strangers, flying high in the clouds in search for out of this world dreams and aspirations and praying very diligently that you’re balanced and fine. 

When you hear my voice, and when you say my name. May it never give you pain. 

-The Lumineers

november; conquering insecurity and doubt 

there’s a storm inside

my head and 

it’s killing all the flowers. 

-a.k. 

I pass by a looking glass every day before I leave the house, and when I glance at it I can’t help but subconsciously put down what I see. It’s like i have photoshop programmed into my brain that I impetuously wish I could activate. Soften some lines here, smooth out the skin there, smaller face shape maybe? Smaller nose, bigger eyes. Before I know it I walk away less of a woman and feeling more like plastic surgery potential. 

At seven years of age a mirror taught me how to critique and covet precarious manipulation. I knew what pretty meant and I also knew that I wasn’t it. So I would cry, scream, plead and beg with God to somehow magically make me into a woman that could be loved and admired. Truly that’s all I wanted to be, even if I couldn’t quite articulate it then all I wanted to be was captivating.

Feminity is scrutinized from the day we discover it, and instead of encouraging it to blossom so many times we try and diminish it instead in hopes of being sane or normal. Because the older you get the more you realize that image is more than just what you see, it’s who you are. It is also way easier to see the things you are not rather than the things you truly are. So when they tell you that you’re beautiful even though it’s a thing you work so hard to be you don’t believe them. You leave the compliment because it feels so undeserved. 

Insecurity has a cruel way of making one feel incomplete. The little voice inside my head has filled my mind with the majority of my doubts, telling me the derogatory of being wired emotionally, how awkward and painfully different I am, that my faith is all a lie and there’s scientific reasoning for all the things I’m too stupid to understand. I’m prone to self deprecate with thoughts like if only I were better then I would be happy and have what I want. 

I’ve watched people throw rocks at everything in me that shines, my faith, my heart, my zeal for almost anything and everything. I’m in awe with love for life and most people don’t know how to handle that, cause I should look relatively like everyone else right? 

Well I do not, and I never have. 

I used to dress my authenticity with shame and mask who I was in order to fit in or at least feel like I did. For a time belonging felt better than being who I was and I truly believe that there are times in my life I lived for somebody else. I needed to be a rock for this person while an emotive avalanche was taking place inside me, a role model for my younger sister while carelessly making mistake after mistake, a good daughter who never felt it, a devote Christian who hadn’t felt God in months. This is what it took to be known I thought, this is what it took to be cared about to be loved. 

It got to a point where I was just like, who am I fooling? Why am I trying so hard to work with what I don’t have instead of making do with what’s right in front of me? It’s like I was blind to the magic pent up inside of me that was dying to be exercised. 

I’m not sure about most things that I wish I was; God, timing, love, life in general. But it doesn’t keep me from believing in it all with all my heart, because I know each and every factor listed has me exactly where I’m supposed to be. I’ve made it to right now and that’s something to be accounted for. 

Following Jesus is costly but not as costly as the alternative. I’ve seen glimpses of the glory that is to be revealed. I’ve let extraterrestrial love sweep me off my feet. My love for Christ is what keeps me warm and I will fight off any and every temptation that tries to harden me or make me cold. Because passion isn’t meant to be done half way, and nothing about my extremist nature is willing to compromise going all in on the things that are most important to me. To paraphrase C.S. Lewis if I find in myself desires nothing in this world can satisfy I can only conclude that I was not made for here. 

I’m so quick to write this fallacious narrative with my doubts and insecurities as if they somehow equate to reality. But the simple fact is im not that harsh. I’m soft, I’m kind, and I’m flawed. But my worth isn’t defined by what I’m not or by what people I admire can’t see, it’s present because I choose for it to be. 

If it’s not popular to publicize my failures I’ll keep these blogs hot off the press. Because even if being open and honest makes me extreme I’d rather be a hand for the lonely to hold than one for a lover who’s infatuated with the idea of me. 

So now I know that magnificent things don’t beg to be seen, they’re simply admired. I live my life knowing that I’m a work of art, broken, erased and redrawn, molded and refined and never quite finished. Just like any commendable piece I strive to make people feel something when they see me. Some I’ll bring to tears and others won’t even bat an eye in indifference but I’ll know deep in my soul that this doesn’t hurt my muliebrity. 
Let me lose. Let me fail. Let it hurt so bad when I fall. For the lessons I learn are far exceeding than the evanescent secular desires my heart tries to grasp. God loves me so much more than I could ever want anything, and I’m blessed to be his daughter in this day and age where I know with certainty where I’m going. The road is less traveled but paved with flowers instead of concrete and I’ll admire creation every step of the way. 

So each and every day I’m learning to love myself better. Drinking more water, dressing class with style  because that’s what helps my confidence, exercising, making my bed every morning, investing in people that matter and things that will get me closer to my goal instead of further from it. I don’t have this down and I tend to be inconsistent and fall back but I’m always moving forward and finding freedom in that. 

My past is a big part of who I am but it isn’t who I am now. I’m stronger, I’m wiser, I’m softer and harder. I’m being pruned and letting some bad habits go and being okay with my faults. Cause this is who I am, an imperfect grammatical mess that will spend hours jotting down words that run together and maybe don’t make sense in hopes you know you’re not alone. 

The storms will come and they will devastate but they will pass. Joy promises to prevail and has yet to fail. Keep you head up love, if you keep trying and being brave it will get better. I want you to be able to look back and see for yourself. So let the doubt and insecurity push you to where you want to go not where you think you could never be. 


“Perhaps this is the moment for which you have been created.” – Esther 4:14 


Make mistakes. 

because you’ll never know if they’re mistakes unless you find the courage to take a risk. And it may hurt, it may hurt a lot but you’ll never live in the, ‘what could have been.’ 

Meet people where they are, have compassion. Be kind. There is never a justifiable enough reason to not be. Even if it’s not returned, even if you’re forgotten stay soft. You are lovely. 

Put yourself out there, take a risk. Fall down, get back up. Own your scars. 

October; conquering contentment 


Ever since I can remember (I’ve been popping my collar, eh.) my mind has always been dreaming, which is a truly remarkable and enticing thing. What tarnishes this competence is when my fantasies interfere with my reality and cause me to lose conscience of the present. This happens far too often and I’m in constant battle for satisfaction in what? Myself, God, Others, My lifestyle? 

Majority of the time I feel stuck. Like I should be somewhere else but I’m just not. I look around me and I watch friends get married in dreamy photos that exude love and happiness. Others are jumpstarting their careers in big cities with new windows of opportunity. Families form in the solid foundations of humble homes and I watch all of this and can’t help but sigh a little. These are the very desires of my heart and to watch them from the bedroom in my parents basement feels iniquitous. 

I’m over here like what about me God? When is it my turn? We talk everyday but do you hear me? 

I want the Mini Cooper and charming style that’s aestheticly pleasing and intriguing. I want to crawl into bed with a strong loving man beside me who knows me and loves me as passionatly as I’m willing to love him. I want to soar in opportunity and spread my ideas all over a committee ready to work with me and I with them. To have babies that wake me up bright and early reminding me how beautiful it is to be so eager for a new day. To paint and decorate a house on the west coast or maybe even east. God I want some things, maybe a lot of things but they all just feel decades and miles away. And I’m left discouraged and regrettably heartbroken, wondering is there something wrong? What am I not doing? 

Recently I bought a giving key from my favorite local boutique called shoppe smitten, and on it the word abide is engraved. 

Abide; accept or act in accordance with (a rule, decision, or recommendation).

Lately I feel like God is letting me rediscover the enchantment of this simple act. For someone who feels so deeply life has a way of drowning joy and impending heartache. I get lost in the missed connections and disappointments. Wondering is it even worth it at all to be this woman I fight so hard to be? Then suddenly, with a leap of faith I lean into the Father, I rest in his gospel and I learn to abide. Every day, I’m pruned and I grow and I learn to abide in his plan that’s been established before time. 

Cause my plans seem noteworthy and noble, but God has his sights on my heart and eternity (1 Samuel 16:7) he’s not focusing on these tangible pleasures I seek to achieve. So sometimes I don’t understand, like when I’m up late at night crying over someone I want to care for me but just won’t forcing me to collapse in defeat yet again from promises not kept. 

Why can’t I fast forward to the times I long for the most? I ask out of pure frustration. 

Because there is precious joy to be found right where I’m at. 

When I’m up in the woods, I’m at home in my church. And this month i made sure to hike around a state park and spend some quality time at peace with my Lord and relish in the beauty that is so distinct and universal, the fall. As challenging as life can be I realize that it honestly just keeps getting better and better, day by day. And if you’re not careful, you blink and you miss it. 

Just as I look back in nostalgia of times when I was young and things seemed more simple and true I know I’ll do the same with my 20s too. There is beauty here because I’m here. I will rise from my ashes and my life will bring praise in the valley and all the way up to the mountaintop. Death can’t sting when I have all I need. 

My heart still wavers because I’m a sinner with imperfections. My longings covet and I have to frequently stop myself and question my soul’s turmoil. Why feel anguish? I’m satisfied in Jesus. 

John Piper has this fantastic quote and it says something along the lines of “God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in him.” That truth rings through out my life and I pray it does the same for yours. Because when I look at it all hindsight and the horizon I can’t help but see his love plain as day. I’ve never once fell short in what I’ve needed and I can rest knowing he cares about me even more than I remember to care about myself. 

I’m still dreaming, mapping out a life that requires fortitude and strive. I know myself better than anyone and get the opportunity to discover even more in these days, months, years to come. I can’t wish it away, even when there’s pain joy comes in the morning. I always have reason to smile in the sun and the rain. So I will, I’ll keep trying and falling until endurance is at optimum. 

I know you may feel defeated and like there’s no break for you to catch but darling, abide. Just rest in knowing you’re taken care of and your best is enough. It’s okay that the to do list didn’t get anything crossed off today, that he lead you on again and it crushed your soul, when you thought you had it in the bag but life dug you a hole instead. It’s okay, take a breath and just admire yourself in all you’ve accomplished. 

The grief made you tender 

The heartache gave you wisdom 

The suffering made you strong. 

Don’t let your hallelujah become weary at all you’ve yet to reach, if you’re praying about it God is working on it. Give time the merit it deserves and don’t wish away any part of the life you’ve been given. Take deeper roots, swim the depths others are afraid to and take encouragement in steadfast hope we are offered that fulfills us every single day. That we are known, we are loved, our plans are established, the throne still stands. 

There’s something really humbling about the fact that God wouldn’t allow us to go through things without a purpose. So let’s not just go through it-let’s grow with it. It’s time to make peace with the broken pieces and carry on. 

“And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.”

‭‭1 Peter‬ ‭5:10‬ ‭

September; conquering minimalism 

Minimalism has always been an intriguing  concept to me. I like the simplistic chic, how clean cut and poise it comes across. This lifestyle has only been but a dream for me, since nothing about me is minimal. My words, my clothes, my things the only minimal thing I can think of may be my bank account. 

Ernest Hemingway was famous for saying so much with so little, speaking volumes and inspiring other writers for generations. And it’s people like him that make me stop and think, what am I doing with what I have? 

So I decided it was time to learn to let go. Of things I don’t need, memories that were once bliss but now induce throbbing pain, and this consistent need to prove myself through what I’ve obtained. The month went by and box after box left my room full of things I just didn’t need anymore. A clean space and a refreshed heart later my room is now a place of serenity. 

If less is really more then what’s making you more? If it’s things it’s time to let go and if it’s people it’s time to hold on. 

Minimalism is more than an aesthetic it’s a lifestyle that’s freeing and rewarding. I’m still not quite there I don’t think but I’m closer than I once was. 

If you read my blogs consistently (first of all thank you that’s like super nice of you) this all I want you to take from them:

If my words move you, be courageous and move forward for yourself. I can only meet you half way, so take what you need and leave the rest behind.