Posted in inspiration, life, life experience, Self Improvement

Writing My Way Back to Myself

Many people would probably find this hard to believe, especially knowing that I’ve spent over 20 years in payroll, benefits, and various realms of accounting. I’ve built an entire adult career around numbers, systems, and structure. But at my core, I’ve always been a writer.

When I was a little girl, my dream wasn’t spreadsheets or reconciliations, it was words. I went to FIU and studied journalism, with a minor in marketing. I wanted to write for newspapers, to tell big stories, to be part of the news. Looking back now, and seeing where the news industry has gone, I can honestly say I’m not upset that life had other plans for me.

Life happened. I got married. I got divorced. I needed stability. Jobs required business degrees, finance, accounting, human resources, so I walked back into school, changed my major, and moved forward with a different path. And I won’t say I regret it. I genuinely enjoy what I do, especially now working more closely with benefits and having opportunities to support employees directly. I’m good at my job, and I take pride in that.

But I’d be lying if I said I never wonder.
I wonder where life might have gone had I given writing the same dedication I gave my career. Writing has always been there, quietly. I’ve kept blogs for years, writing my thoughts, my stories, my challenges, my growth. Not for an audience. Most people don’t even know they exist. But somehow, writing has always helped me reflect, to look back and realize that I did survive, that I did overcome.

In a way, I’ve become a life blogger,not for money, not for likes, but for myself.

2025 has been a year of reflection. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I do what I do professionally to provide, to put food on the table, to be responsible. But something in me is asking for more, something creative, something meaningful. Not just for me, but for others too.

I want to help people who feel stuck. People who feel like they’re drowning. Sometimes I want to say, “Stand up, you’re in one foot of water. I promise you, it’s going to be okay.” I see people hiding behind excuses, and all I want to tell them is: you’ve got this. Everything you need to save yourself is already inside you.

I recently shared on LinkedIn about journaling and blogging, about how writing allows you to connect the dots backward and finally understand why certain things had to happen. That perspective changes everything.

So I’ve decided I’m going to write again. I’m going to share more.

For me, 2026 will be intentional. Not in the cliché, New Year’s resolution kind of way,but in a way where every day holds meaning. Every day will be written in gratitude, even through struggle, even through worry. And when my thoughts feel worthy of being shared, I’ll share them.
The most interesting part? This isn’t about money. It never has been.

This is about finally giving life to the one part of me I’ve kept quiet for too long. Writing is the thing I love most, the thing I suppressed while I focused on survival and responsibility. And now, I finally know what I want to write about. I finally feel excited to share.

This next chapter isn’t about surviving anymore, it’s about living, with intention, and showing my children what it looks like to honor who you truly are.

Posted in inspiration, life, life experience, love

Surrender, but Still Hope

There comes a time when you stop chasing and start surrendering. I’ve reached that point, where I’ve handed it all to God. I trust that whatever is meant for me will find me, in its time and in its way.

But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still wish.

I wish for those simple, beautiful things, wine nights on the porch with someone who feels like home. Dates that don’t feel like effort, but excitement. Someone who looks forward to seeing me, just as much as I look forward to seeing him. I don’t necessarily need marriage or a big fairytale ending, I just want that kind of love that feels easy and real.

Someone who makes me laugh until my stomach hurts. Who loves country music as much as I do, who wants to go to concerts, cheer for their favorite team, and spend weekends with family. Someone who’s just present. Who calls because they want to hear my voice, not because it’s a routine.

I want love that doesn’t feel forced, not for me, and not for him. The kind that just flows because both people want to be there.

So yes, I surrender to God. I let go of control and stop searching so hard. But surrender doesn’t mean I’ve stopped hoping. My heart still whispers for that connection, that genuine, wholehearted love.

If it’s meant for me, it will come.
And when it does, I’ll be ready, ready to pour into it the same love I’ve been saving all along.

Posted in inspiration, life, life experience, love

A Dream That Felt like Home

Last night I had the sweetest dream. It wasn’t anything grand or wild, just simple, but it left me with such a tender feeling when I woke up. In the dream, I was dating someone wonderful. We’d only been together about a month, and his family was celebrating a birthday. He asked me to come with him.

What struck me most wasn’t him, but them. His family was genuinely happy to have me there. I sat with his mom and sister, and we talked for what felt like forever. It was easy, warm, and welcoming. For a moment, it felt like home.

When I opened my eyes, that’s when it hit me: I’ve never really experienced that in my real life.

Yes, I met my kids’ father’s family, but it wasn’t this big, meaningful “we’re introducing her” moment. I was just the person who came after his last relationship, and it didn’t feel special. After that, the men I dated either weren’t close to their families or weren’t “ready” to bring me into that part of their lives. I’ve even been in long relationships, one, two years, where no one in their family even knew I existed.

And so this dream made me realize something about myself. I’m not just looking for love, I’m looking for a sense of belonging. My own family circle here in Miami is small, it’s really just my mom, my brother, my kids, and my nephew. That’s it. So deep down, I think I’ve always wished for a partner whose family would welcome me, too. To feel like I wasn’t just dating him, but being embraced by the people who raised him, who love him. I want to be someone’s “plus one” where the whole family is actually excited to see me walk through the door.

And this isn’t me being sad or saying, “poor me.” It’s just me realizing, thanks to a dream, what my heart has been quietly hoping for all along.

Because love, to me, isn’t just two people, it’s the way lives intertwine. It’s walking into a room full of people who aren’t blood but still feel like family, and knowing you belong there.

Maybe the dream was only a dream. Or maybe it was a reminder: don’t settle for anything less than the kind of love that feels like home.

Posted in Emptynesting, inspiration, life, life experience, love, Self Improvement

From Sacrifice to Self

Last week was a rough one for me. If you read my last blog, you know I had a moment of deep despair. A moment where I finally decided to surrender, not give up, but surrender. There’s a big difference. In my prayer, I asked God the questions I’ve carried quietly for so long: Why me? Why am I still alone? Why haven’t I lived the life I envisioned, one filled with adventure, meaningful friendships, joy? It’s not for lack of being a good person. So why?

In that prayer, something shifted. I realized I was tired, tired of asking those questions, tired of trying to manipulate life into giving me what I thought I should have. I was exhausted from carrying it all. And in that surrender, I realized something that broke me wide open: I’ve never truly lived for myself.

My entire adult life has been centered around my children. I became a single mom when they were just two and three years old, and I made the choice to put my life on hold to be present in every possible way. Even on weekends they weren’t with me, I’d turn down plans and stay close to home, just in case they needed me. I felt guilty doing things without them, so I simply didn’t. I didn’t go out. I didn’t travel. I paused me. And over time, as I continued saying “no” to friends and family, the invitations stopped coming.

Then, the day after my surrender prayer, something happened. I got into a minor argument with my son. I was upset because he had plans to go out of town again, yet another weekend away. He’s in college now, and most weekends, he’s gone. I felt hurt. I told him so.

And his response stopped me cold:
“Mom, you need to let me live my life. I’m entitled to live my youth.”

He didn’t say it to hurt me. But it did hurt, because I realized, he was right. I’ve given my whole life so that he and his brother could live theirs. I’ve sacrificed willingly. And yet, in that moment, I saw the truth: they never asked me to. I chose that. I did it out of love, but I also clung to it because it became my identity.

That day, I cried, hard. But for the first time, I didn’t cry because I felt empty. I cried because I was being shown something: It’s time to let go. It’s okay now. My boys are 20 and 21. It’s okay to live again. It’s okay to make plans, to go out, to travel, to enjoy life. That doesn’t make me less of a mother. In fact, it’s what I need to be the best version of myself, for them and for me. It’s time I model what it looks like to love others without losing yourself in the process.

And just when I thought that was my big lesson for the week… the universe handed me another one.

This past weekend, I had a moment of weakness, a familiar one. I caught myself almost falling back into an old habit: filling the silence, the loneliness, the space… with something that no longer fits.

I dated someone for two years, a good man, kind and thoughtful, but deep down, I knew from early on that we weren’t right for each other. My journals don’t lie. Entry after entry, I wrote about how I felt unsettled. I stayed because I felt bad. Because he had no family and mine became his. Because guilt can be a powerful prison. I broke up with him multiple times, and each time, he took me back with hope in his heart. To him, I was everything he’d prayed for. And maybe he was settling, too, because truthfully, I never prioritized him. I didn’t give him the love he deserved.

We’ve been out of contact for seven or eight months now. I hadn’t thought about him much at all, until he posted a picture with a new woman on social media. He looked happy. And just like that, I felt something. Not love. Not regret. Just… triggered.

Right before that, he’d left a box of my things with my mom. And the timing? Let’s just say it wasn’t accidental. He knew my family followed him online. He wanted a reaction. And sadly, I gave him one. I even found myself debating whether to reach out. I thought: Maybe I’ll just suggest coffee, just to see if he still wants me. Because I know he would. He told me countless times—no one would ever replace me. But then…

I caught myself.

This was a test.

A test of my surrender. A test of whether I was really ready to stop repeating patterns that don’t serve me. A test of how I handle the waiting.

And that’s where my couch theory comes in.

I look at surrender like this:

It’s like having an old couch you’ve finally gotten rid of because you know it no longer fits. Maybe it didn’t match your decor. Maybe the energy was off. Maybe it was never the right couch in the first place. So you let it go. You sell it. It’s gone.

Then you go out and buy a brand-new couch, the perfect one. The one that suits your mood, your style, your room, your life. But it’s custom. You meet the person who’s going to build it, and you tell them you trust them. You give them a plan, show them exactly where the couch will sit, explain how it should feel in the space. “I trust you to build the perfect couch for this room,” you say. They nod with confidence and tell you it will take four to twelve weeks to build, before delivery.

So now what?

You have no couch.

Your choices:

  1. Sit on the floor and wait patiently.
  2. Go back and drag the old couch back in, the one you already decided didn’t work.
  3. Hop on OfferUp and buy a temporary couch. Something cheap. Something fast. Something that doesn’t match your vision but fills the space, for now.

But we all know what happens: that quick fix ends up costing more in the long run. It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t fit. And when your real couch arrives, now you’ve got to do the work of getting rid of that temporary one, again.

So here I am, waiting. Sitting on the floor, metaphorically speaking. Not recycling old couches. Not buying stand-ins out of loneliness. I’m holding out for what’s meant for me. For what fits.

Yes, it’s hard. Waiting always is. But this time, I know what I’m doing. I know what I deserve. I know that filling space just to feel full isn’t the answer. I’m not here for quick comforts anymore. I’m here for peace, alignment, and truth.

So no more recycled couches.
No more temporary stand-ins.
No more mistaking loneliness for love.

I surrender.

Posted in inspiration, life, life experience, love

Everything but One Thing

Some nights carry a heaviness that no amount of success or self-love can lift. Not because life is broken, but because a very specific piece of it is missing. And that piece matters more than most people realize.

I’m content with what I’ve built. I’ve worked hard, raised two incredible sons, and created a life that makes sense on the outside. Financially, I’m stable. I’ve carved out a career that I enjoy, surrounded by good people. I’ve handled my responsibilities. I’ve shown up. I’ve done the work. And yet, despite all that, there’s an ache that lingers, because emotionally, romantically, intimately, I’m alone. And that absence has a way of coloring everything else.

It’s a unique kind of pain to have everything but love. To be the strong one, the capable one, the one who gets it done, but still come home to silence. It’s not the silence itself that hurts. It’s the realization that no one is thinking about you in the way you long to be thought of. That there’s no one eagerly waiting to see you. No one to share your day with. No one to plan a weekend or dream up a future.

People often say, “Just learn to love yourself. Enjoy your own company.” I have. I do. I’ve spent two decades showing up for myself. I go out to dinner alone. I treat myself well. I laugh. I lift myself when things feel heavy. But let’s be honest, being self-sufficient doesn’t erase the human desire for connection. I don’t want to be saved. I want to be seen. And I’ve never had that, not with a romantic partner.

I’ve never had someone to do life with. Never had a man who truly wanted to build something side by side. Never had someone say, “Let’s take that trip together,” and mean it. I’ve never traveled, not because I didn’t want to, but because I never had someone who wanted to experience that with me. That kind of companionship, that shared enthusiasm for life, has never found its way into my story.

I thought, by now, it would have. I thought once my boys were grown, once I had space for myself, that space would be filled by someone who understood me, someone with ambition, heart, family values, and faith. Someone steady. But here I am at 44, sitting with my dogs on a Friday night, leftovers in the fridge, no plans, and a heart that still wonders why that kind of love hasn’t come.

The other night, I couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t the kind of insomnia that comes from caffeine or stress. It was deeper. I laid there wide awake, fully aware that I wasn’t okay. And in that stillness, I did what I rarely do, I talked to God out loud.

I told Him I surrender.

Not because I’m giving up on love. But because I’m exhausted from trying to force it. Exhausted from constantly hoping today might be the day. I told Him I can’t carry the disappointment anymore. That I would rather trust His timing than keep torturing myself with expectations that never seem to be met.

Surrender, for me, isn’t about losing hope, it’s about trading it for faith. Letting go of control. Letting go of the timeline I imagined. And trying to find peace in what is, rather than what I thought should be.

Because I have done everything right. I’ve grown. I’ve healed. I’ve loved. I’ve given. I’ve created a beautiful life in so many ways. But without that connection, without that person to build and enjoy life with, it sometimes feels like all of it is missing a pulse. Like I have everything, but at the end of the day, it amounts to nothing… because there’s no one to share it with.

So tonight, I sit with the truth. I’m not bitter, but I’m not pretending anymore either. I want what I want. I deserve what I deserve. And if it’s in God’s plan, I’ll be ready to receive it. If not, I trust that my soul will carry this lesson into the next life, and maybe then, it will be my time to feel the kind of love that’s eluded me in this one.

Until then, I’ll keep showing up. Not for the hope of someone coming, but because I know my story matters, even in solitude. Because being alone doesn’t mean I’m not enough. It just means my heart still believes in something more. Quietly. Patiently. Faithfully.