We think we’re saying it clearly. We think they’re listening closely. But so often, the conversation drifts — between intention and interpretation, between what’s meant and what’s heard. This is a reflection on that space in between — the one that makes or breaks connection.
This is a personal reflection on faith—written not to challenge anyone’s beliefs, but to honour the quiet, questioning path that shaped my own.
It explores the idea of Zion not as a place of arrival, but as a way of being: still, honest, sacred in its simplicity.
For anyone seeking meaning without performance, and presence without fear.
There was a time I thought becoming meant fixing, softening, achieving. But I was wrong. Wholeness doesn’t arrive through performance. It begins, quietly, with grace.
There’s a version of me that doesn’t want to be carried, but does want to be guided. This is a piece about the invisible scaffolding we build to keep functioning — even when the inside is cracked and quiet. It's not about collapse. It's about the structure that keeps us upright, even when no one else sees it.
Even in moments of stillness, my mind keeps moving — planning, remembering, holding the weight of things no one sees. This is a reflection on the quiet overwhelm of womanhood, and the clarity I’m beginning to seek.
A personal essay on miscarriage, emotional rupture, and the quiet rituals of healing. Written to remember, to honour, and to return to the self in the wake of loss.
What happens when instinct answers before you do? When logic leaves, and the body remembers the fire?
This is a reflection on the primal, on the inherited, and on becoming the person you once needed—when no one else came.