Yule marks the Winter Solstice the longest night of the year when the dark pauses, and the light begins its slow return.
This isn’t about doing more.
It’s about remembering.
The simmer pot is one of the oldest ways to honor this turning of the wheel. As the scent rises, so does intention not forced, not loud, just steady and warm.
You’ll need:
• 1 orange, sliced (sun + renewal)
• Cranberries (life force, continuity)
• Cinnamon sticks (protection, warmth)
• Whole cloves (grounding, clarity)
• Optional: star anise, rosemary, or vanilla for comfort and calm
How to:
Add everything to a pot, cover with water, bring to a gentle simmer, then lower the heat.
Let it carry you through the day. Refill with water as needed.
As it simmers, you don’t need to speak intentions out loud.
Yule isn’t about asking it’s about trusting the return.
Not to impress, not to perform just to let something honest come through.
But almost immediately, the questions arrived.
Is it good enough?
Will it be understood?
Will it reach anyone at all?
What starts as a desire to express something real can so easily turn into self-surveillance. I wondered if my words sounded cliché, or worse self important.
As if wanting to learn the language of poetry required permission. As if feeling deeply was something to apologize for.
So instead of writing, I stared at the page.
Negotiated with myself.
Edited thoughts before they could even breathe.
What’s your motivation?
Days passed like this. Pages stayed empty. Not because there was nothing inside me but because I forgot why I started writing in the first place.
The truth is, my words were never meant to convince anyone of anything. They weren’t meant to be understood by everyone, or even received at all.
They were meant to be a form of healing.
And they still are.
When I remember that, the page softens.
The pressure dissolves.
And the poem writes itself not for an audience, but for my own becoming.
I’m bringing back something I used to love doing on my old blog. Setting intentions for the month ahead.
Even though December is the final stretch of the year (and honestly… can someone explain how 2025 evaporated this fast?), I want to rebuild this habit now, not later.
December feels like a doorway. And I want to walk into it with clarity.
December Intentions
Next month, I want to:
• Reconnect with my socials share more on my blog and Instagram with intention, not pressure.
“December holds space for all of us to choose intention over autopilot.”
• Shift into documenting my running journey. I am running. I am training. My future marathon starts now.
• Dive deeper into my yoga practice and meditation, and share pieces of that path.
• Go on different small adventures the simple kind that remind me I’m alive.
• Visit the Rockefeller Center tree.
• Take my girls to see Santa. ( let my inner child enjoy the magic of the season too)
• Say yes to more art classes and creative play.
• Set up my Project Life album and prepare to document 2026.
• Work on my December Daily and actually enjoy the process.
• Be mindful, kinder to my body, and more aware of the choices that support the version of me I’m becoming.
December is the last chapter of the year, but it’s also the preview of who I’m choosing to step into next.
Entering Level 50 feels less like getting older and more like stepping into a quieter kind of celebration one without the confetti, without the noise.
For some reason, I thought it would be grand balloons, laughter, maybe a room full of people cheering me on.
Instead, it’s will be just me. A celebration of self, alone, with myself, with no hurrah.
I won’t lie I had a wave of FOMO, that ache that asks, “Was I forgotten?”
But then I remembered the one truth that softens everything:
I love myself.
And I love who I am becoming.
Although I’ve reached this age, I feel brand new like a soul reintroduced to her own rhythm. I’m learning to be truth to self, to pour what I love into what I create, and to let that be my offering to the world.
So here I am still evolving, still laughing in places I once cried, still finding beauty in the in-between.
And through it all, I’ve gathered lessons some whispered, some screamed, all earned.
What have you learned so far?
Here are fifty of them.
1. Healing doesn’t mean forgetting.
2. You can love someone and still outgrow them.
3. Grief never leaves; it just changes shoes.
4. Silence says more than a thousand apologies.
5. Joy is sacred protect it like it’s your only light.
6. Laughter during chaos is a form of prayer.
7. Boundaries are self-respect in action.
8. You can’t pour from an empty soul.
9. Coffee is a love language.
10. Motherhood teaches both surrender and strength.
11. Your body remembers what your mind denies.
12. The universe always whispers before it screams.
13. Sometimes “no” is the holiest word you can say.
14. Music can time-travel your heart.
15. Friendship should feel like exhaling.
16. Not everyone deserves access to your softness.
17. You’re allowed to rewrite your story mid-chapter.
18. Forgiveness doesn’t require reconnection.
19. Solitude is not loneliness it’s sacred space.
20. God speaks in coincidences.
21. Perfection is the enemy of peace.
22. Dance in the kitchen it heals more than therapy sometimes.
23. You can be broken and still radiant.
24. Rest is productive.
25. Some lessons repeat until you act differently.
26. Love yourself in public.
27. Spirituality doesn’t need an audience.
28. Laugh at your own pain sometimes it takes its power away.
29. Closure is often a myth; acceptance is real.
30. People only meet you as deeply as they’ve met themselves.
31. You are not what you lost.
32. Gratitude is medicine.
33. You can be soft and still fierce.
34. Energy doesn’t lie trust the vibe.
35. It’s okay to start over at any age.
36. Children are mirrors; they show you your truth.
37. The moon really does know your secrets.
38. Don’t explain your boundaries enforce them.
39. Beauty fades; character glows.
40. Sometimes closure looks like silence.
41. Love that feels like confusion is not love.
42. You are allowed to outgrow your coping mechanisms.
43. Every heartbreak refined you somehow.
44. Laugh at the plot twists.
45. Write it down memory is sacred.
46. The divine is always in the details.
47. Time doesn’t heal everything, but perspective does.
48. You are the poem.
49. Not everything needs to be understood some things are meant to be felt.
50. The best is not behind you; it’s becoming you.
Level 50 isn’t a milestone it’s a mirror.
It reflects the woman I’ve become after walking through shadow and sunrise, holding both grace and grit in the same hands.
This celebration may be quiet, but it’s honest.
And maybe that’s the gift not being seen by everyone, but finally seeing myself.
I’m still learning. Still unlearning. Still becoming.
And this time, I’m doing it with peace in my bones, poetry in my breath, and no need to prove anything to anyone.
I literally could have not been here anymore, and since then, it’s not a lie that I’ve questioned the reason for me to still be here.
Two years ago, life changed. I may seem to mention this allot at times, but for me, it was a culmination of something that truly has changed me forever.
But these two years… they’ve shown me things I might’ve never seen if I hadn’t stayed.
I watched my youngest son graduate college. My oldest daughter walk the stage for high school(being Top 20 thank you very much).
My oldest son marry the love of his life. And my little one? She sang her first solo fearless, radiant, finding her voice.(plus I get the pleasure of hearing her sing all of Hamilton around the house all at the age of 12)
And then there’s me.
Once an avid runner. Ten miles used to feel like meditation. Then the accident came and so did the silence. The first year, I couldn’t run. The second, I could… but I didn’t. Life and I wrestled, and running became a ghost.
But today I laced up again. Not for speed. Not for distance. For me.
And how am I feeling?
Grateful. Shaky. Emotional. Human. Alive.
Because determination isn’t about how fast you move it’s about not letting your spirit stand still.
I can’t believe how quickly we opened and closed our eyes and here we are. Two months away from saying goodbye to 2025. But that doesn’t mean these next two months can’t be full; full of goals, movement, and maybe even a few promises we made to ourselves back in January waiting to be fulfilled.
For me, November arrives carrying a milestone,my milestone birthday.
At the start of the year, I had grand plans. I imagined celebrating on a warm island, drink in hand, ocean breeze in my hair. Then that dream shifted to standing before a roaring waterfall, feeling small and alive at once. But in the end, it seems I’ll be alone in a small city hopefully holding a grand latte watching as life moves around me.
And I’m okay with that.
If this year has taught me anything, it’s this:
Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.
Don’t expect others to carry your dream.
The dream is yours it’s yours to protect, nurture, and bring to life.
I’ve learned to slow down. To mind my words. To keep company that values my time the way I value theirs. There’s a shift happening inside me maybe it’s this milestone birthday, or maybe it’s the long-awaited awakening I’ve been chasing for years. Whatever it is, I feel ready.
This November, I want to live authentically.
I’m starting with Thankful 30 documenting each day something that keeps me grounded in gratitude.
I want to pause, reflect, and notice the small things that make me whisper thank you.
There is a point where your heart start whispering louder than the world. When you realize you’ve been holding so much stories,emotions, half-felt things that need a place to land.
That’s where journal therapy steps in.
This isn’t about being “writer.”
It’s not about pretty pages or perfect words. It’s about truth the kind that lives in your body before it ever makes sense in your mind.
When you write, you start to hear what’s been buried under survival. You start to see the patterns, the pauses,the prayers.
And little by little, the pieces begin to speak.
Journal therapy gives your feelings structure without caging them.
It helps you move through what hurts instead of pretending it’s not there.
It’s a practice of remembering who you are beneath the noise, the expectations,the roles you’ve had to play.
Pem to paper that’s where the heading begins.
In this space, we’ll explore prompts and practices that help you release,reflect, and realign.
You’ll lean to meet yourself on the page with compassion, curiosity, and power.
No masks. No performance. Just presence.
Start here:
Write this question at the top of page:
“What emotion has been waiting the longest to be heard?”
Let your hand move without censoring.
Let it talk. Let it tremble. Let it tell the truth.
Honest storytelling as a form of healing. 