For half my life I walked this pain like it was an old friend.   It met me young. It shaped my posture. It adjusted my attitude. It sharpened my tongue and softened my heart all at once.   Pain was my shadow before I even understood what healing meant.   Some people learn to walk with grace. I learned to walk with grit. Ankles rolled, knees bruised, back screaming—but I moved. Always moved. Always forward. Because sitting still felt like surrender, and I wasn’t ready to lose.

Can you really take the wrong turn so badly that you never get back on track? Can one impulsive decision, one moment of fear, one bad relationship, one missed opportunity… really rob you of the life you were meant to live?   That question used to haunt me.   I’d lie awake replaying choices like broken records—rewinding, pausing, analyzing. What if I’d stayed? What if I’d left sooner? What if I’d fought harder, been softer, stayed silent, spoken up? Was this version of my life

There’s a rhythm to life, a pulse that calls us forward. Sometimes, it’s soft and whispering, nudging us in the direction we need to go. Other times, it’s loud and undeniable, commanding our attention and pushing us to take action. No matter the volume, when life calls, we all have a choice: to answer, or to remain in silence.   For me, this journey has been about learning to answer—truly answer—when life calls. After my accident, there was a period where I felt like I was in

There’s something powerful in the act of simply breathing. We breathe to live, to speak, to walk through life without even thinking about it. It’s automatic. But what happens when you stop, take a deep breath in, and refuse to exhale?   I’m not talking about holding your breath until you can’t take it anymore. I’m talking about the practice of pausing, really pausing, in the chaos of life. Sometimes, we forget to stop and let the air fill our lungs, to let the stillness settl

They say everything happens for a reason — as if that one sentence can hold the weight of heartbreak, loss, and unanswered prayers. But I’ve always wondered if maybe that phrase is just something we whisper when we can’t make sense of the wreckage. When we need to find a reason not to fall apart. When we’re searching for meaning in the mess.   Because truthfully, sometimes things just happen. The car hits. The phone rings. The diagnosis comes. The person you thought would nev

When my head is too loud and my heart is too heavy, there are two steady forces that never waver: Orion and Oliver.   They don’t care about the lies my head tells. They don’t care about the grief my heart carries. They only know me as theirs. And in their eyes, I am whole.   Orion – My Old Soul   Orion has always felt like an old soul in a dog’s body. There’s a knowing in the way he looks at me—like we’ve met before, in another lifetime, and he’s here again to guide me throug

Sneakers vs. Stilettos   There’s a reason I called this journey Sneakers and Stilettos. It wasn’t random, wasn’t just fashion. It was survival. It was identity. It was contradiction and truth wrapped in leather and laces.   Sneakers and stilettos are more than shoes—they are masks, symbols, languages I speak without words.   Sneakers — My Survival   Sneakers are the first thing I reach for when I’m tired, when my body aches, when the pain demands comfort above all else. They

My head keeps playing tricks on me and tells me I’m alive, but my heart knows far too well I’m done.   It’s a sentence I whisper to myself in the silence of late nights, when the TV hums in the background but the room feels too quiet. It’s the kind of truth that sits heavy on the chest, a truth you can’t confess in casual conversation because no one really wants to hear it. People want resilience. They want “you’re doing better, right?” They want the version of you who’s okay

In My Mind I’m Still in My 20s, Yet the Mirror Shows My Body and Skin Changing   There are days I catch my reflection and do a double take. Like—wait a second, who invited this grown woman into my bathroom mirror? Because in my mind, I’m still in my 20s. I still feel like that girl who could run on caffeine and chaos, wear heels for twelve hours straight, and recover from heartbreak with a wild night out and some red lipstick.   But the mirror? The mirror has opinions. She’s

I don’t remember the exact moment I started unraveling. I just know it was quiet.   Like when a house settles and you don’t hear it crack until everything has already shifted.   Pain crept in the way shadows do—slowly, subtly, until one day I woke up and couldn’t see the light. Not just metaphorically. The literal sunlight streaming through my window started to feel offensive, like it was mocking me for what I’d lost. My body. My plans. My identity.   At my lowest, I pulled t

1. The Wind That Broke Me   I was born into winters that didn’t ask for permission. Romanian blood in a Chicago girl’s body. I grew up with layers, with grit, with the kind of cold that made your bones ache before you even opened the door, the kind of cold that makes you tough, makes you fast, makes you numb. Chicago teaches you how to survive, it teaches you how to carry groceries with one hand and pepper spray in the other; how to keep walking even when your face is frozen;

Let me just say this upfront: healing didn’t look like bubble baths and crystals for me. It didn’t look like silent retreats or perfectly curated Pinterest quotes. My healing looked like crying on the floor in an oversized hoodie one day… and strutting into a room like I owned it in stilettos the next. This is my healing journey: messy, personal, real -- and completely on my terms. Trauma Has a Way of Changing You — Without Permission. There was a version of me before: carefr

Sneakers and Stilettos isn’t just a mood — it’s a whole way of moving through life. See, here’s the thing about being a woman — especially a woman who’s lived, survived, rebuilt, and walked through fire in both sneakers and stilettos. There’s no mystery about my body. I own my curves. My scars. My strength. My softness. My walk commands attention whether I’m in Jordans or red bottoms. There’s nothing secret about my shape — what you see is what you get. But the real mystery?

There’s a version of me that didn’t dream. Not because she didn’t want to—but because she physically, emotionally, and mentally couldn’t. She was just trying to make it to tomorrow. Just trying to keep her body from breaking down, her mind from spiraling, her heart from giving up.   In that chapter of life, dreaming felt like betrayal. It felt dangerous. Because what if I wanted more and couldn’t have it? What if I imagined something beautiful and life handed me pain instead?

There’s a version of me I barely recognize now. She lived in survival mode. Not because she wanted to—but because she had to. Every day was about getting through. getting through the pain. getting through the appointments, getting through the silence of being forgotten, getting through the weight of a life that didn’t look like the one she imagined. And when you’re surviving, you don’t dream, you don’t make vision boards, you don’t manifest your best life, you don’t sit aroun

Fifteen years ago, my life as I knew it ended. On a day that should have been ordinary, a car crash left me teetering on the precipice of death. What I didn’t realize then was that the accident was not just an end; it was also the beginning of a life I had never anticipated—a life that would force me to leave behind everything I thought I knew and rebuild from the ashes of my former self. I was reborn, though not in the way anyone would hope for. My old life died that day, an

For the longest time, I was a people-pleaser. I said yes to things that drained me, to friendships that weren’t reciprocal, to expectations that didn’t align with who I truly was. I thought saying yes made me kind, likable, worthy. But in reality, it left me exhausted, unfulfilled, and disconnected from myself.   Then life forced me to slow down. After my accident, I had to rethink everything—how I moved, how I saw myself, how I engaged with the world. It was in this space of

There’s a saying that goes, “I cried because I could wear no shoes, until I met a man who had no feet.” It’s a simple yet profound reflection on how easily we get wrapped up in our own challenges, only to realize that others may be facing even greater battles. In the aftermath of my injury, when the simplest tasks felt impossible, I could have easily gotten lost in the frustration of my new reality. I remember the days when something as basic as slipping on a pair of shoes se

In the aftermath of an injury, many individuals face a profound shift in their identity. The journey of recovery is not just about physical healing; it encompasses emotional, psychological, and social dimensions as well. Understanding how to rebuild one’s identity after an injury is crucial for fostering resilience and finding a new sense of purpose. This blog post explores the multifaceted process of identity reconstruction, offering insights and practical strategies for nav

Poetry has long been a refuge for those seeking solace, understanding, and healing. In a world that often feels chaotic and overwhelming, the written word can serve as a powerful tool for emotional expression and personal growth. This blog post explores how poetry can facilitate healing, offering insights and practical tips for those looking to find strength in words. A close-up view of an open notebook filled with handwritten poetry. The Therapeutic Power of Poetry Understan