Becoming a mother means watching pieces of yourself walk around outside your body. It’s knowing that your heart no longer beats just for you, that your breath, your choices, your sacrifices, all ripple outward into this tiny being who looks to you as their anchor. You become someone’s safe place, their definition of home, before they even have words to understand it.

It is the greatest gift, and the most humbling task, because it demands everything from you—patience when you’re tired, strength when you feel weak, love even on the days you feel empty. Children have a way of mirroring you back to yourself, showing you your own edges and tenderness. They strip away ego. They remind you that control is an illusion, that life is unpredictable, that growth often comes through surrender.

It humbles you because it’s not about perfection—it’s about presence. It’s about showing up, again and again, in love. That is where the greatness lives. That is where the miracle is.

<3

This is desire made holy. My skin stretching into new, my hips aching like tectonic plates shifting for a planet to be born.

And there’s nothing small about it. It’s galaxies turning inward. It’s a heartbeat that doesn’t belong to you echoing inside your own ribs. It’s breasts that swell like fruit, hormones that sing like wind. Every part of my body has become an altar—soft, sacred, alive.

No one tells you how romantic it is- To carry proof that you were desired (and definitely still are). I found something more vast than I’d ever known: beauty that doesn’t ask to be pretty. Beauty that is raw, pulsating, and whole.

I am your Vessel. I am your Creator. I am your Mother.

But, I was a daughter first.

Reaching for love before I knew what it was.

I learned it in the way my mother traced circles on my back when I couldn’t sleep, in the way my father so graciously shared how much he loved me with his words.

Love could be loud, or it could be quiet, or it could be something you spend a lifetime trying to understand.

I carry their tenderness and their wounds, their wisdom and their weight.

Daughters do that.

Life moves in seasons, and with each shift, I have been called to be something new.

The thought of you, tiny and whole, fills my entire being with pink glittery smoke.

I sip from a glowing chalice which spills every which way, and makes this world and the next, glow a vibrant shimmer.

This is the world I want to give you: one filled with all the beauty, softness, and glitter I can gather. A place where the air hums with magic, where colors sing, and the sky shifts like silk draped in sunset that bleed into the stars.

More than anything, I want to show you that this world can hold you, just as you are. I want the ocean to cradle you like a Mother, the trees to rock you gently in their sway, and the earth to shake you awake. This world has been waiting for you, shaping itself in quiet anticipation, ready to welcome you home.

I want you to see the beauty in the mess, the magic in the uncertain.

So, I sip from this overflowing glow, letting it spill into everything I do, into this ooey-gooey world. Into the way I prepare for you.

I am your Mother.

xoxo

Learning to let him go wasn’t a single moment. It’s a process, slow and layered, where every day I wrestle with my own heart, like roots reaching deeper into the soil. I feel the pull to stay, to keep holding on, to believe that with more time, he might meet me where I stand. But deep down, I know the truth. I know I can’t shrink myself to fit the space he offers, and as much as I want to wait for him, it isn’t fair to either of us. My heart is far too grand to be put on pause.

It hurts to face that reality—

So, I loosen my grip, not all at once, but in gentle moments, day by day. I’ve found peace in the idea that letting him go isn’t about giving up. It’s about trusting that the right thing, though painful, is to allow him space to grow, and in doing so, give myself permission to feel the pain of his absence, but to keep moving forward. I realize now that love hasn’t disappeared just because we are no longer together. It lingers in the small moments, in the details of life, quietly weaving itself into the everyday. Like a candle flame, growth glows softly, steady and true, nurturing its warmth as it gradually illuminates the darkness around it.

I find it in the mornings, in the way the sunlight creeps through the eucalyptus, the warmth enveloping me. I notice it in the silence of a walk, where my thoughts drift freely. Love has been there all along, not just in grand gestures, but in the everyday details. I am learning that love exists even in moments of solitude, in the care I give myself, in the way I carry on.

Love, I realize, exists in the little things I had overlooked before, now alive with new meaning.

I love him. That hasn’t changed. I love him enough to step back, to allow him to find his own path, even if it means we may never walk the same one again. And in the process, I am learning to love myself more, knowing that I deserve to be met fully, not halfway. As I move through my days, I feel a sense of expansion—a growing trust in myself, in my ability to feel deeply without being consumed by it. I am softening into the profound newness of being an independent woman. Softening feels like letting go of the tension I didn’t realize I was holding. It’s allowing myself to exhale, to ease into the moment without the need to control or defend. Softening doesn’t mean weakness—it’s a quiet kind of strength, the choice to be gentle with myself. It’s learning to meet life with open hands instead of clenched fists, to trust that I can hold pain and joy together without breaking. In softening, I give myself permission to be tender, to be vulnerable, and to find peace in the spaces where I once felt hardened. It’s present in the kindness I show myself, in the ways I tend to my own needs, and in the simple beauty of being alive.

The wind is a reminder that, no matter how still things may seem, life is always in motion, carrying us forward even when we cannot see the path ahead.

And like the wind, I carry on—restless yet unwavering, moving forward with force. It isn’t easy, but it’s natural, this way of letting myself drift through the days, flowing with the currents of life rather than fighting against them. Not everything needs to be controlled.

Some things are better left to unravel on their own.

The ferry ride from Nicaragua to El Salvador was not just a physical crossing but a passage through my own soul. The waters churned beneath me, mirroring the turmoil in my heart. With each wave, a new tear fell, unearthing emotions I had buried deep within me. I hadn’t cried that hard since I was a little girl, and it felt as though all the uncried tears of years gone by had finally found their release. I cried for our love that exists at the wrong time, for moto rides on the beach, for after-dinner ice cream runs, for quiet moments, for silly moments. I cried for the color green, for all the dogs, for friendships, for goodbyes, for chocolate bananas and Pedro smoothies. I cried for you, I weeped. I left a piece of my heart in Nicaragua.

Yet, in that pain, there was a strange and quiet beauty, a rawness that stripped away the layers I had built around my heart. This love, as painful as it was to leave behind, was not in vain. It was a love that touched the very core of who I am, awakening parts of me I hadn’t known were asleep. It showed me the depth of my capacity to feel, to hurt, and to love with intensity.

Coming home now is a journey of rediscovery, a process of piecing myself back together, but not in the same way I was before. This love, and the pain of letting it go, has changed me. It has moved me closer to myself, closer to understanding what it means to truly love and be loved, even if that love was never meant to last forever. I am different now—stronger in some ways, softer in others. The pain of this love has etched itself into my being, but it has also carved out space for something new—a deeper connection to myself, to my desires, and to the kind of love I want to welcome into my life.

This journey home is about more than just returning to a physical place. It is about coming back to myself, to the person I am becoming through this experience. The pain I feel is not just a wound; it is also a guide, leading me toward a fuller understanding of who I am and what I need. It is a reminder that love, even when it doesn’t last, is never wasted. It moves us, shapes us, and ultimately, brings us closer to the essence of who we are.

As I stand on the threshold of this new chapter, I carry with me the love I left behind, not as a burden, but as a testament to my capacity to feel deeply. It is a part of me now, woven into the fabric of my being, and it will continue to guide me as I move forward, closer to myself, and closer to the love I am yet to find.

Supporting him feels like standing beside a river. The river flows at its own pace, sometimes fast and unpredictable, other times slow and calm. I can’t control its direction or speed—I can only be there, watching it move, knowing that it has its own path to follow. I stand on the bank, offering my presence, my warmth, but I try not to step into the current. I know that trying to force the river to change its course would be futile, and I might lose myself in the process. Instead, I admire its beauty, its strength, and its mystery, knowing that I don’t need to be in the water to appreciate it.

I can see his struggles, and I know they’re not about me. I’m not perfect to say the least, but I am confident I know how to love when love is present.

There are lots of intrusive thoughts that try to weave their way into my precious mind. Am I the problem? Am I being the supportive woman a man needs in his life? Is it selfish to want more? To need reassurance, affection, and connection? I know that he’s not intentionally hurting me, but the emotional distance hurts all the same. It makes me feel like I’m constantly chasing something that’s always just out of reach.

The river doesn’t need me to keep flowing, just as he doesn’t need me to find his own happiness. But I’m here, steady and unwavering, ready to walk alongside him as he moves through his life. I know that my happiness isn’t tied to where the river goes or how fast it moves. I find my joy in the simple act of being present, knowing that I can step away at any time and still be whole.

In this way, I am content to let the river be what it is, just as I let him be who he is. My role isn’t to change him or to make him stay; it’s to appreciate him for who he is while maintaining my own sense of self. I’m strong enough to stand on my own, just as the river is strong enough to carve its path. And in that understanding, I find peace.

Going there for solitude, to pull off the road and cry.

Going there for the smell of sweet peas, and marvel at spring.

Going there for any god damn reason just to feel something, to feel my pain, to feel my gratitude.

I chose to take your truck up this lime green winding paved road. To see the view. To be the view. To listen to what the birds sing. To rap to sublime.

I go there and speak to you. And wish I could call you and tell you the things I wasn’t able to say before.

But here I can say those things. Here is safe. Right here under the oak. Right here beside the reservoir. Right here I am with you.

I wink to the sun.

I sway in the wind.

I kiss my worries away.

life can be silly in those ways. The ways that give me goosebumps. The ways that make the trees turn. My mind doesn’t make any sense because it is filled with silly little thoughts. Thoughts that I come up with, off the cuff, while I lie awake in bed at 1:34am. it’s always changing. Maybe I should go, leave this place and look for new silence. I can try new foods, I’ll fall asleep cold. I’ll kiss someone new. I can try new things and succeed in my own way. Maybe I’ll run. I’ll climb a mountain. I’ll cry. And maybe for once I’ll stop second-guessing myself. I will love everything under the sun. I will love. I will be loved. I will still love him. and him. and you.

Love is a song playing in the truck with all my windows down and my hair blowing in the wind

Love is letting you go. And holding you close

Love is forgiveness

Love is remembering

Love can be compelling and complex

Love can be simple and lonely

Love is trust

Love is pain

Love is unconditional

Love. Love. Love.

Love is loving you even when you don’t love me back

Daunting, because this last year has not been the easiest for me. Don’t roll your eyes because I know I am dramatic. It is dramatic, this is my life we’re talking about and I have been spiraling for a while now. My world has been stretched thin, gnawed at, and spit up. It has been a journey through autonomy and I am trying to breathe each moment with grace. Like S, when she inquires about the state of my heart.

And when I read the text, little tears leaked down my cheeks. I didn’t know how to answer.

“Where the fuck is your heart at Makena??”

I am a selfless lover, a hopeless romantic. I love to love.

Love is dynamic. Forever changing, and keeping up with love has been my ultimate challenge. I keep going back to the same mistakes, believing his silly words, and pretending that I am the muse that fills his lungs. I want to go back to the beginning where we’d meet in the middle, where nothing else mattered accept our two handlines and whiskey filled flask, where our bodies were like magnets that wouldn’t dare separate. But it’s October of 2023 and I can't go back in time. Life doesn’t work that way, and even when I think of the past, it’s tainted by the ways he’s came and gone. My associations of home, sand, and egg tacos are silenced now by the goosebumps on my skin.

Love lies on the other side of the creek. All I need to do is leap.

This is how I love myself. Through the complexities of love. Since feeling is first, and I too have a hard time paying attention to anything but my feelings, I will extend my arms around myself, I will dance in the living room, I will settle in with my heart.. But first I need to exhale.

You beautiful thing…

You annoyingly bright beautiful thing….

I seem to always make my way to right here. “I’m gonna go get some air” and I know what I’m in for. I know that once I am here, I can breathe again. I can forget about all the anxiety, I can just lay here. Some people will join me in this moment of cadence. Melting into the brick stairs. Eyes gleaming upwards. I’d say it’s the best seat on the property, others may disagree.

And there you are. Looking down upon me with bright beaming glow. But your glow doesn’t keep my mind from fluttering. Like a gurgling creek or a babbling brook, racing and flowing and crashing into things. The glow casts a spell on me, I can hear the music dancing through the house. The saxophone guy just showed up. I can hear the whispers of distant kisses. And the yawns of those who can’t hang. I can hear you leaving. Without a goodbye, without a kiss. I am here now. And the chalice I drank from with “psychedelic” written on painters tape has gotten me feeling silly.

I like that it’s just you and I out here. Speaking freely to one another or to another. But it’s time for me to come back to earth and follow the music.

I wonder if I'll see you at RCR this weekend. Will you be as wasted as you were last time, slurring your words and falling out of apple trees? Will you notice me and give me a smirk that stings? I'll smile back, and that sting will become a burn, a wound I keep opening and squeezing lime into. I'll lick it clean and take a shot of tequila while I'm at it. I wonder if you think about me as often as I think about you. I wonder if I still make you sad. You say “It's so hard to see you” and so I stay away.

But truth is, I miss you so much, and I yearn to be in your arms. I want to dance in the living room, twirling around all night until we end up in the sheets. I want to sing in the truck as we head up the coast to the spot we call ours. I want breakfast on the tailgate and your lips on mine. I want your hands around my neck, our bodies close. I want to walk along the creek, silently and whole-heartedly. I want to cry, happy tears, over the poem you wrote for me and read to me as I lay in your lap.

Oh! Sweet Nuthin’

Last night, I dreamt of you. You were sitting beside me on my bed. and I said, 'let me show you the corners where the sun hits.'"

my great happiness

was the sound of your voice

when calling my name

a sentiment

that I was yours

…

I think about you

when I’m gazing at the sea

where once you were and now

you’re only a memory

your voice reaches me always,

and I answer constantly

my heart breaking

as summer passes.

my tenderness would be apparent to you

if you looked to the sea

and said my name.

as I look at myself

though not like a reflection

because I do not see you in the night

therefore I do not imagine your permanence

when I think about you

I think about him

and other unrealistic things

like love

but you are not a wish

you are the twinkling star

hidden on my bookshelf

and make breakfast with him

and drink coffee in the garden

where strawberries grow and the chickens cluck

as the sun peeks through the fog.

we are both

in love

with one another but also

with the golden berries,

the cabbage,

and sometimes potatoes.

it’s doesn't matter to me what you do for a living

or who you are when I am not around

tell me a story, beloved,

as I lay beside you

on a blanket near the creek

Am I your queen

?

covering the eucalyptus,

and kissing the dunes.

I watch as it rolls in

slowly,

yet all at once.

The trees have disappeared now

and so have the dunes

I’m waiting for you, fog

to cover me.

Make me disappear,

make me into water vapor

So that I too can cover the eucalyptus and

kiss the dunes.

My burning heart liquified.