This space is part journal, part altar, part survival map.
It was born from grief, gaslighting, and the slow erasure of a mother who never stopped loving her children—even when she was written out of their story.
Here, I write from the edge of healing.
From the sacred mess of nervous system repair, shadow work, court documents, moon phases, and moments of radical clarity.
This isn’t a blog about perfection.
It’s about coming undone—and choosing to rebuild with softer bricks and sharper boundaries.
I’m a mother.
I’m healing.
I’m remembering.
And I’m done apologizing for surviving.
Whether you’re here because you’ve been erased, misrepresented, or just trying to make meaning out of pain—this is your place too.
My love lives louder than the lie.
The Light Was Inside Me All Along 