She didn’t just walk beside us — she led with love. This photo holds more than a memory. It’s a reminder of the quiet strength, everyday grace, and legacy that lives on in every step we take.
I’ve always felt like I was just one step away from being enough —
like worthiness was something I had to earn in the eyes of the people I loved. And while I know now that wasn’t true in most cases, it doesn’t erase the way that belief shaped how I saw myself. Mental health is funny like that.
I became a self-fulfilling prophecy. I thought people expected me to fail, and sometimes they treated me like they did — so I failed. And then someone I loved — my mom, my mamaw, an aunt — would pull me out of the hole. I’d be okay for a while. I’d work hard and be good. And then the cycle would repeat.
But through it all, there was one constant: kindness. Love. Acceptance. My mom and mamaw were the only two people I knew I could call, no matter what mess I was in, and they would move mountains to make sure I was okay.
In my twenties, I was told I couldn’t have children. That spiral lasted well into my thirties — until my mom got sick. I moved home to escape a bad relationship and stayed to help my parents. At least, that’s what I tell myself. The truth? It helped me too.
I missed out on so much with my mom growing up — anxiety, feeling unworthy, her working long hours. But this time, we were adults. She was sick. It was just us. And it was glorious. Her illness saved me. Is that horrible to say? Maybe. But it’s the truth.
She got better. I started dating again. The spiral returned. But then two things changed: COVID happened, and in November 2020, I found out I was pregnant — at 39 years old. That’s a story all its own.
In October 2021, my beautiful, kind mother couldn’t fight COVID any longer. I was devastated. A single mom with a five-month-old, grieving the loss of the one person who had always been my safe place. That was a dark time. If it weren’t for certain family members, I don’t think I’d still be here.
Two hearts, one legacy.
She held my daughter the way she held me — with grace, with strength, with unconditional love. In that moment, I saw the past and the future wrapped in one embrace. This is what legacy looks like: joy carried forward.
Eventually, things settled.
I met an amazing man who moved across the country to be with me and treats my daughter like his own. Then my sweet Mamaw relapsed. The cancer returned. She fought with everything she had, soaking up every moment with her family. We lost her in December 2025. The devastation returned.
But this time, it was different. I had support. Someone who truly had my back. Someone who loves me the way I never knew I deserved to be loved. And it changes everything.
I’ve been learning to set boundaries. To stand up for myself. It’s a work in progress. And then — it happened. We call it “the episode.” In May 2025, I had a seizure that led to a stroke and a heart attack. My heart stopped. And this man — this incredible man — brought me back.
Life works in strange ways.
So yeah… the world feels heavy. There’s so much hatred and division. I needed a place to vent, to connect, to heal. Maybe you do too.
I hope you’ll join me on this journey — whatever it becomes. Just remember: You are enough. You are worthy. And we shine together anyway.
This is where it begins.
Not with perfection, but with truth. Not with answers, but with love. You are enough. You are worthy. And together, we shine — even through the dark.
Shine Together Anyway 