Confidence and self-love isn’t something that just shows up one day with a bow on top. It doesn’t tap you on the shoulder like, “Hey girl, you’ve got it now.” It’s slow. It’s fucking frustrating. Sometimes it feels like building a house of cards in the middle of a windstorm.
It wasn’t until my early 30s, while navigating the chaos of raising five kids, that I truly fell in love with reading. At that point in my life, books became more than words on a page; they became my lifeline. Now, reading isn’t just a pastime. It’s my escape, my reset button, and my way to recharge so I can show up as my best self for my family.
There was a time when I thought therapy was for other people. You know, the ones who had “real” problems or the ones whose lives had unraveled entirely. Not someone like me; functioning (mostly), married (barely), raising five kids, and just doing her best to hold it all together. But life has a way of humbling you, doesn’t it?
My life is anything but calm and quiet. Between marriage, parenting, managing school, sports, work, and finances, I find myself constantly juggling a million responsibilities. Like everyone else, I sometimes wonder if I’m getting this whole “life” thing right.
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