Not the drawer filled with dead batteries, mystery keys, and pens that stopped working in 2017 although we probably have that one too. 😂
I mean the emotional junk drawer.
It holds the conversation we keep avoiding, the boundary we haven’t set, the grief we promised to revisit, the dream we keep postponing, and the need we keep calling “too much.”
We tuck things away because sometimes we genuinely don’t have the energy to deal with them.
But not right now can quietly become never.
Eventually, the drawer stops closing. An old resentment gets tangled around a new disagreement. A buried need shows up as frustration. One small moment produces a much larger reaction because it was never only about that moment.
It was everything already inside the drawer.
With the full moon and lunar eclipse approaching, perhaps we can allow a little light to reach one thing we’ve kept tucked away. Not because the moon is magically reorganizing our emotional lives if only but because awareness gives us somewhere to begin.
You don’t have to clean out the entire drawer today.
Choose one thing.
Name it. Write about why you tucked it away and what it needs from you now.
Does it need a conversation? A boundary? Rest? Grief? Or simply an honest acknowledgment that it still exists?
What we tuck away doesn’t disappear.
But we can decide what deserves our attention, what needs a proper place, and what we are finally ready to throw the hell out.
Journal Prompt
What needs to come out of my emotional junk drawer?
Begin with:
I keep telling myself I’ll deal with __________ later, but…
There was a season where I kept showing up to my own life like a stranger. Going through every motion. Doing every task. And still feeling like I was disappearing.
Are ready to reset?
I want to be honest with you about that season, because I think you might know it too. The alarm goes off before sunrise. You make everybody else’s morning happen.
You hold the house, hold the family, hold the job, hold your tongue when you’re tired. And somewhere in the middle of all that holding, you forget to hold yourself.
That’s where this journal came from. Not from a place of having it figured out. From a place of being in it.
I needed something that would meet me where I actually was. Not where I was supposed to be.
I’ve been on a path toward becoming a journal therapy practitioner. That work cracked something open in me, because it showed me that writing isn’t just creative expression.
It’s a way of locating yourself. A way of asking: what do I actually think? What do I actually feel? What do I actually need right now, underneath all this noise?
And I realized I had never given myself seven consecutive days to just answer those questions.
seven days
That’s what 7 Days of Alignment is. It’s a guided digital journal, and each day has a specific focus: how you’re showing up, what you’re carrying, what you’re ready to put down, what you actually want. Real prompts. Not surface-level. Not “write three things you’re grateful for.” The kind of questions that make you sit with the pen for a second before you answer.
Seven days is not a transformation. I won’t promise you that. But it is a reorientation. And sometimes that’s the only thing standing between you and your own life.
I priced it at $7. On purpose. Because I know what it’s like to want something for your mental health and not be able to justify the cost. Seven dollars is a coffee. It’s a single song download. It’s the smallest investment you could make in yourself this week. I wanted the price to never be the reason someone didn’t try.
If you’ve been running on empty and wondering why nothing feels aligned, this is the place to start.
I’m not going to tell you this will fix everything. Life keeps moving, the lease still needs to be handled, the bills still arrive. But when you know where you stand inside yourself, you navigate all of it differently. You stop reacting from exhaustion and start responding from something steadier.
That’s what seven days gave me. I want that for you too.
I could give you a list of reasons life, work, the weight of everything I’ve been carrying but honestly? Sometimes the people who write about healing need a minute to just be in it without documenting it. This past month has been that for me.
But I’m back. And I’m coming back with something that’s been living in my Moleskine notebook for the past two weeks, taking up space in the best possible way.
I’ve been writing down 100 things I want.
Not need. Not should have. Want.
You’d think that would be easy. It is not.
The first ten come fast. A house. Peace. More money. Travel. Health. You write them down feeling good about yourself, like yes, I know exactly who I am and what I’m building toward. And then you hit item eleven and something shifts.
Because now you have to go deeper.
Now you’re not just listing the obvious things you’re being asked to get honest about the quieter ones. The ones you’ve talked yourself out of. The ones that feel too small to say out loud or too big to believe. The ones you stopped wanting because someone once made you feel like you shouldn’t.
That’s where the real work is.
I’m not going to share my list with you. That feels sacred to me it lives in my notebook, between me and God and every ancestor who’s ever rooted for me. But I will tell you what the process of building it has felt like, because I think that’s actually the part worth talking about.
Around item 30, I had to get honest about things I’d been quietly grieving versions of my life I thought I’d let go of but apparently hadn’t. Around item 50, I started laughing because some of what I wrote felt ridiculous. Audacious. The kind of thing you whisper, not say. And I wrote it anyway.
It’s uncomfortable. In the best way.
By item 70, I was crying. Not from sadness from recognition. Like something in me had been waiting for permission to be seen.
Here’s what I’d tell you if you want to try this:
Start without rules. Don’t organize by category, don’t second-guess what belongs. Just write. Let it be a mess. Categories will find themselves.
Don’t edit while you’re building. The moment you cross something out because it feels silly or selfish or unrealistic, you’ve started lying to yourself. This is not the place for that.
Sit with the discomfort when it stalls. It will stall. That stall is usually pointing at something important. What you can’t name yet is often what you need the most.
This isn’t a vision board exercise. This is an excavation. You’re not just dreaming you’re deciding. There’s a difference.
I didn’t set out to create a journal. I set out to survive. There have been seasons in my life where the only thing that kept me grounded was writing.
Not pretty writing. Not polished writing. Just honest words on a page that helped me figure out what I was feeling when I couldn’t say it out loud.
That’s what 7 Days of Alignment is born from. It’s a seven-day guided journal for anyone who is in the middle of something grief, change, becoming, all of the above.
Each day gives you one affirmation to hold in your body and one prompt to take you deeper. No experience required. No perfection expected.
Will you take the challenge?
Just you and the page.
I’ve been working toward this for a while, and I won’t pretend it didn’t feel vulnerable to put it out into the world.
But if even one person picks this up on a hard day and feels a little less alone because of it, then it was worth every bit of courage it took to hit publish.
So check it out HERE if you are ready to give yourself 7 Days of Alignment.
when I knocked down my own tower and finally let myself see what it is I want to work toward. Tuesday came and the feelings didn’t leave. They lingered, pressed in, asking to be acknowledged.
So I began to encapsulate them, to plan because planning is part of what I’m building now.
By Wednesday, Thursday, and now Friday,
the lesson became clear: support matters.
Not a crowd. Not a circle for show. But someone who listens really listens who acknowledges the trials, who tries to understand.
I may not have what people call a group of friends, but having support that hears me
has made all the difference. In this journey of entering my sovereignty, I know I have to stay true to myself.
I know I have to keep going. This is a hard hill to climb.
But knowing I have the ability to succeed and the drive, and the support is what’s keeping me moving forward, even now.
The world is quieter. The days are slower. And if you’re anything like me, your body and mind are still catching up after everything the year before demanded.
This month, I’m choosing self-love in its most practical form not as a trend, not as perfection, but as care that meets me where I am.
This is my January self-love bucket list. No pressure. No timelines. Just reminders.
Speak kindly to yourself every day
Not affirmations shouted into the mirror but soft corrections when the inner voice turns sharp.
The way you’d speak to someone you love who’s doing their best.
Set boundaries to protect your peace
Peace isn’t something you earn after burnout.
It’s something you protect before you get there.
Move your body in a way that feels good
Not punishment. Not obligation.
Just movement that reminds you you’re alive — even on days when energy is low and motivation is thin.
Plan a solo date doing something you love
Coffee alone. A museum. A long walk.
Time with yourself counts.
Celebrate your wins (big or small)
Getting through the day is a win.
Showing up tired is a win.
Resting when you need to is also a win.
Start a positive morning routine
Nothing elaborate.
One candle. One deep breath. One intentional moment before the noise begins.
Get off your phone & enjoy the moment
Presence is a form of self-respect.
Journal about things you love about yourself
Not who you’re becoming.
Who you already are.
Treat yourself to a cozy self-care evening
Warm drinks. Soft lighting. Early sleep.
You don’t need to justify rest.
January is not about proving anything.
It’s about rebuilding trust with yourself slowly, gently, honestly.
If all you do today is survive and take one small step toward care, that is more than enough.
You’re allowed to move at the speed of your healing.
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.
Honest storytelling as a form of healing. 