march

small documentations of continued self-actualization

3/6/25

8:33 am

i’m sitting on my couch drinking cold brew while the sun shines through my bay windows. i’m listening to waiting room by phoebe bridgers on repeat, because i love emotional self harm. i’m shopping for a new bed frame. i just got a new client request for this sunday which will have me at 8 clients that day which is likely too many for my emotional state, but i need money, because i am 29 living alone in Chicago and i’ve put off this part of growing up for a decade by continuing to go to school. i’m about to FaceTime one of my best friends, because i love chatting in the morning. i’m planning my day so i can attend a group meditation tonight, because i need to be tending to my nervous system. someone backed into my car yesterday, and i sobbed on the phone to my best friends asking why i can’t get a break. we can be so black and white. this moment is a break. there will be many others.

dramatic notes app but real:

“buying Japanese Breakfast tickets as i sit in my car waiting for the cop to show up to file a police report b/c someone backed into my car

a day will come when you realize it was an honor to hold my tears”

7:19 pm

i just left another breath work meditation where we focused on box breathing. in between breaths there is death and rebirth. i’m in time of life in between breaths. we followed breath work up with a charkra meditation, i found myself angry at my root chakra. i’m so tired of reminding myself i’m grounded. i felt so drawn to my creative one. so energized. so ready for whats mine.

3/7/25

2:29 pm

laying in a bubble bath with the window open as it’s snowing. i cried to my therapist about missing God today then stopped crying because i was in pure shock. i had such a visceral experience meditating last night that i felt like an imposter in such a spiritual space despite having given my life over again and again to a god i so desperately wanted to please. in many ways, i think i’m just now able to process the grief of my faith while ushering in a new love for Spirit.

3/8/24

10:03 am

“if i were to see five new york conversation to people it would be two people waiting their turn to talk.” - my book, Happy Hour.

8:00 pm

walking in a rich neighborhood lined with beautiful brownstones. i love fantasizing about living in one with a library filled from the floor to the ceilings with books. i’m going to a show at a record store with my new friend derek. i got coffee with two new friends earlier. spring is on the way.

3/9/35

5:35 pm

sitting a table at my neighborhood wine bar. i just finished work and my chest is so heavy. how could i ever detach from what i do when my heart gets broken and put back together multiple times a day? it’s 60 degrees in chicago & everything feels so alive. i finally let you go.

7:36 pm

finishing my book and feeling emotional. it’s been such a long three months. i get so attached to my clients. i think my writing means nothing, and then i’m told someone picked up writing because of my bravery. we know so little about impact. we assume so much.

3/12/25

7:59

why do i keep not writing it’s so annoying. walking to see faye webster with my new friends.

3/16/25

8:48 am

i’m sitting on my couch drinking coffee viewing writing as strengthening a muscle meaning i must practice everyday. i’ve taken some time off, both intentionally and unintentionally. i repel discipline it seems. someone asked me if i could live without writing the other day, and i immediately felt sick. as much as i champion self honesty in all forms, i’m human, too. the blank page is the one place i deeply i cannot hide.

12:41 pm

in between sessions sitting in my office staring at the snow. as soon as mid-day begins, my anxiety peaks. i’m unsure why she chose that time. i’ve heard many say the same about night time, but for me, its the meat of the day. when the sun shines most, my mind swirls. my chest tightens. i ground myself and remember everything is okay.

my brother and my dad are in town, and i struggle to properly articulate the effect their presence has on me. it’s like i finally got to breathe as soon as they arrived. to be known so deeply is such a gift. we should extend it more to others.

3/17/25

last night i asked my dad what he liked about the bar we were in and my brother said, “you love that question.” he wasn’t judging. he thinks it’s a good question, too. i realized in that moment that every boyfriend i’ve ever had ends up getting angry that i want to know what they like about me.

3/20/25

i woke up this morning to snow. i wish i could say i felt delight, but i all i felt was nothing. will this ache end? i had an 8 am client and working with her helped me turn in to myself. i tasked her with dreaming about her future self while recalling her past self so that we could locate her present self’s feelings. i think i’m onto something with that.

before our session, i journaled for the first time in weeks. i hate the journal i’m writing in. it was gifted to me two years ago at my 28th birthday party, but i didn’t start it for quite some time. it’s pink and has a cheesy saying and has seen me through two break ups and a move. it generally feels dark, but i’m too stubborn to buy a new one. i want to feel the feeling of finishing something i despised at points, knowing it was holding me the entire time.

i went to the co-op to get coffee beans, chicken sausage, cottage cheese, bone broth, and la croix. i love spending time in my kitchen. i haven’t been doing it as much lately. why do we leave what we love?

i’m listening to my audio book, responding to work emails, and making my pour over. i just cleaned my kitchen, and i’m about to put my bed frame together before going to the gym, seeing more clients, and seeing a show. what propelled me to rite again as the moment of eagerly pouring my coffee into my mug, watching it splash out all over the counter. i do well with mess. i love its earnest.

3/26/25

8:49 am

i told myself i wouldn’t drop the ball on writing, and i absolutely did. some of the days feel so uninspiring. what a lie. i just returned from a trip to nashville where i was enveloped in so much love. how could we ever forget that’s all that matters? i’m actually asking myself, but it makes me feel better to include you, too.

be a fucking poet.

if writing is a muscle, i must continuously work mine. what good is a squat PR if i didn’t notice the 7 different types of bird chirps outside of my window this morning? who cares bout my therapeutic retention rate if my i can’t outline each way my heart breaks every time i remember you or what i made you into?

10:58 am

i made myself come to a coffee shop to write rather than sitting inside my house before the gym and work. on the way here i confirmed a date for my first writing work shop. when i got here the barista only charged me $1 for my drip i’m now drinking in my art institute of chicago mug gifted to me by my best friend during the time she nursed me back to life.

be a fucking poet.

3/30/25

8:22 pm

i am so tired. i’m writing my therapy notes while watching white lotus. i had 4 clients today and a massive hangover. drinking is so evil. doing a catwalk on large table on the rooftop of your friend’s apartment complex for their 30th birthday is so exactly right. are you ever in a moment where you know people don’t know what category to place you in? i relish those.

i’m coming back to this place. this substack. this format. this home. my arms are reaching up. they’re also allowing in.