This started because I needed somewhere to put things

I didn’t build this website because I had something figured out.

I built it because I didn’t.

Because motherhood — and the version of myself inside it — started feeling heavier than it looked from the outside.

I was functioning.

I was showing up.

I was getting things done.

And still thinking,
Why does this feel harder than it should?

So I started journaling more seriously.

Not the aesthetic kind.
Not the gratitude journal with matching pens.

The kind where you sit down and write before you can talk yourself out of it.

The kind where you admit things mid-sentence.

The kind that makes you stare at the page and think,
Oh. That’s what’s actually going on.

That helped.

Not in a “new woman unlocked” way.

In a quieter way.

It helped me see what I was carrying — the anxiety, the mental load, the guilt, the anger that shows up when you’re stretched thin, the identity shifts no one prepares you for.

And once I could see it, it wasn’t quite as suffocating.

That’s where these letters come from.

They’re not advice.

They’re not systems.

They’re not a soft-spoken self-improvement plan.

They’re what it sounds like when a mother says what she’s actually thinking.

Sometimes gently.

Sometimes tired.

Occasionally sarcastic.

Often mid-figuring-it-out.

If you’ve read one already, you know this isn’t polished inspiration.

It’s more like sitting next to someone who says,
“I don’t know either. But this is what it feels like.”

Motherhood changes us.

Not just in sweet ways.

In nervous-system ways.

In identity ways.

In the way you suddenly realize you haven’t been alone in your own head for years.

There are seasons where you feel capable and strong.

And seasons where you feel anxious, reactive, burnt out, self-critical — and then guilty for feeling that way because, technically, everything is fine.

I’m still inside that.

Still learning.

Still unlearning.

Still untangling old patterns while actively parenting real humans.

So there will be more volumes.

Not because I have answers.

But because I’m still living this.

Journaling helps me understand what’s happening inside me.

Sharing it honestly keeps it from turning into something sharp and lonely.

If you landed here after reading a letter and thought,
Oh. That felt uncomfortably accurate.

That’s the point.

Not to fix you.

Not to convince you.

Just to name things clearly enough that you don’t feel slightly defective for experiencing them.

You don’t have to read in order.

You don’t have to turn any of this into a growth project.

You can just read.

And see if something settles.

That’s all this is.