Fifteen years. I had to sit with that number for a minute. I started this blog in a very different version of my life, long before I knew how much the words would hold, or how many times they’d help me climb out of whatever I was carrying. Back then, I didn’t have a plan. I just knew I needed a place to put the truth.

I look at those early posts now and see a writer who was still figuring out how to speak without apologizing for it. I also see moments of joy, grief, reinvention, and a kind of quiet determination I didn’t have the language for yet. Life was shifting in ways I couldn’t have predicted, and somehow this corner of the internet became the place where I learned how to stay grounded.

Over the years, the writing grew up with me. It held the before and after of losing Ken. It held the long, uneven road of stepping into a new version of myself. It held the creative sparks that eventually became books, journals, and Twisted Plot Paper. It held the days when I felt cracked open and the days when I finally felt steady again.

What these fifteen years have taught me is simple, but not easy:

• Writing is connection. Even when it feels like you’re typing into the void, someone always finds themselves in your words.
• Vulnerability is truth. It isn’t about oversharing. It’s about telling the truth you’re actually ready to tell.
• Reinvention isn’t a single moment. It’s a lifelong practice, and it shows up whether you’re ready or not.
• Carrying the people you’ve lost forward with you can be its own kind of courage.

There are posts that still sit with me. Pieces I wrote in the early days of grief. Essays that cracked something open. Moments when honesty felt like a risk but turned out to be what connected me to people I’d never met. Those posts remind me why I keep coming back here.

The unexpected gifts have been the best part. The community that quietly formed around these stories. The messages from readers who told me they felt less alone because of something I wrote. The way this site opened doors to new projects, new creative chapters, and new versions of myself I hadn’t met yet.

But the thing I’m most proud of is that I stayed with it. I showed up. Not perfectly. Not consistently. But honestly. And that’s enough.

As for what’s next—well, if you’ve been following along, you know something big is taking shape for 2026. The kind of thing you only get to make after years of learning, unlearning, experimenting, and trusting the work to lead you somewhere new. I can’t wait to tell you more.

Thank you for being here, whether you’ve been reading for fifteen years or fifteen minutes. You’ve made this space what it is. Here’s to the next chapter.

If you want the behind-the-scenes of what’s coming, you can join my newsletter. That’s where the real story lives.