Grief is a strange thing. You can go years, months, or days feeling like you’re okay, and then out of nowhere it knocks you to your knees and steals the breath from your lungs. Suddenly the memories and emotions come rushing back, flooding through your entire body.
Grief comes in waves. When the wound is still fresh, the waves are relentless. The pain feels unbearable, and you’re not sure you can survive it. You don’t know how you’re supposed to move forward when the life you thought you had is suddenly gone.
When you’re young, you don’t always know how to cope. Sometimes the only thing you know how to do is bury the pain and lose yourself in being the fun, carefree girl everyone expects you to be.
But life does go on. Somehow, you keep moving forward. You learn to live with the choices, the memories, and the trauma. Some days you take a few steps forward, only to feel like you’ve taken ten steps back the next. It’s a vicious cycle—but it’s also part of learning how to carry the grief and still keep living.
You never truly get over grief—you simply learn how to move forward with it. You tuck it away deep inside, carrying it quietly as life continues. You try to find ways to keep going without returning to the place you once were—the place you thought you’d be, the life you had imagined, the place your heart once chose as home.
My journey has been a roller coaster of highs and lows. In my younger years, I was a hot, chaotic mess—fun, reckless, and trying to figure life out as I went. But I’m grateful for my life. Every experience I’ve had has shaped who I am today, and I wouldn’t change any of it.
I have changed, though. I’ve matured. I’ve calmed down. I’m a different person now.
Yet sometimes, in the quiet moments when I let my mind wander deep into my soul, I find myself back there again—facing the grief, the what ifs. Wondering what I did wrong, what I could have said differently, if I should have fought harder, tried harder, loved harder.
You try to think with your mind, but sometimes your heart has a will of its own—and mine took me on a wild journey. ❤️
I started this blog during a time when I was in a lot of pain. I was deeply sad and felt like I only had one lifeline left. I was drowning. Writing became a way to release those feelings, a way to put pieces of my heart out into the world without fully revealing myself.
For years now, this blog has slowly turned into something different. It’s mostly become a place for life updates—just a way of keeping up with writing and sharing a monthly snapshot of life as it unfolds.
I’ve never been someone who easily shares my emotions. I tend to build walls and push people away. At first, this blog was another version of that—hiding behind words while trying to let the pain out.
But the truth is, I wasn’t being honest with myself.
I know my true feelings. I know my true heart. My heart has holes in it—it’s a little damaged and bruised, and there’s a huge piece missing. Sometimes it feels like I’m walking through life with a missing limb… something I foolishly gave away when I was young and naive.
But time has a way of softening the sharpest edges of grief.
My heart chooses peace now. I am happy.
This is something I will carry with me for the rest of my life. A part of me will always remain behind, resting quietly with my grief.
And that’s okay.
My life is beautiful. It’s not the path I once imagined for myself, but it’s the path that led me exactly where I’m meant to be.