I was OVER IT! The treadmill was stuck in the doorway, as if it had decided, right then and there, that this was its forever home. The door frame? Absolutely destroyed. Scratched, hanging on for dear life. At one point, I was distraught that I had torn up the door frame. I touched jagged wood. I just stood there, staring at my finger, now bleeding. So naturally, I Facetime my husband. I’m holding my finger up to the camera, giving him every angle like I’m checking into a virt

I keep hearing it lately, almost like a whisper I can’t ignore. Stop performing. Just… stop. And the truth is, I don’t know how. My whole adult life, I’ve been a performer. Performing my way into being liked, seen, valued. If I’m nice enough. If I work hard enough. If I rarely mess up. If I can just be a little more creative, a little more stylish, a little more kind… More, more, more.

A Morning Routine for a Loud World If someone turns the TV above a 1  when I first wake up, I feel like my ears are bleeding. My husband thinks I’m dramatic, but when I first wake up, my hearing is basically super-sonic. Every sound feels amplified. You know, like when you get in the car in the morning, and the radio comes blasting because the version of you who drove it last night is clearly not the same. Not to mention, this girl does not wake up to a blaring horn alarm. No

The other night, I sat down to reply to a text. That was it. Simple mission. Within minutes, Instagram was open. I was scrolling. And I hadn’t even responded yet. You know the story. You pick up your phone to check the weather, send a quick reply, maybe glance at your calendar… and 30 minutes later, you’ve watched two reels, checked three comments, and somehow ended up deep in the art of making pickle dip. IYKYK.

You know what is a myth? “More Time Equals More Productivity” Just this week I was working, glanced down, saw my painting overalls on the floor, and thought, You know what would be cool? Quilted legs.

The Algorithm & Jesus Show me your social media feed, and I can see into your soul. - Okay, okay, dramatic… but I’m not wrong… Let me let you in on a little secret: social media, “the algorithm,” and your personal feed are fueled by what it thinks you want to see. With the introduction of AI, it’s like having a personal hype person in your pocket. It tells you what you want to hear and keeps building on what it thinks you value. The more you watch, the more you engage, the mo

Sarah laughed at God—and then got called out. Genesis 18 reminds us that the space between what we want and what God says is often where growth happens. In this reflection, I explore trusting God’s timing, putting family first, and learning to follow His plan, even when it doesn’t match our own.

Are you walking beside Jesus, or are you walking in front of Him? Ouch. That is a reality I never really thought about until last week while listening to the podcast Fight Hustle, End Hurry.

A chunky, cropped sweater with large buttons.  A How to Embroider People book. (This may not even be a thing!) A Blythe Leonard bag, the larger size, so it actually fits my laptop. And the list goes on. It’s my want list. A running list on my phone where I dump everything I think I “must have” in the moment.

I’ve never loved New Year goals or resolutions. They’ve always felt forced, like trying to sprint, you hate running. Honestly, my birthday feels more like the start of my year anyway. Instead of resolutions, I choose a word. One word to carry, sit with, wrestle through. This year, it’s a word I’ve already been living with for a while now: Intentional.

I am a terrible gift-giver. Every gift I give, I want it to mean something. I can’t just run into a store and grab whatever is near the checkout line. There’s a whole internal checklist running in my head: Can I support a local shop? Will they actually use this, or will it end up in a drawer? Is it unique? Does it remind me of them?

I care what people think. There, I said it. If you’ve ever struggled with people-pleasing, approval-seeking, or tying your joy to how others perceive you, you’re not alone. I envy the people who can say what needs to be said and then move on with their lives. No replaying the conversation. No spiraling. No wondering if they were too much or not enough.

If you’ve ever felt the pull to do more, be more, or check one more thing off the list before you let yourself breathe, this is for you. This story explores hurry sickness, the search for real peace, and what happens when God invites you to take a holy pause. Consider this a reminder that stepping back might actually be the bravest step forward.

If you want to practice the art of waiting, go ahead and move your Keurig out of the way and step back into a simpler time with a percolator. It takes 17 minutes to make the perfect cup of coffee, 17 minutes, friends.

I’ve been sitting in a fog lately, the kind that settles in after a season of motion, of overcommitment, of striving, of burnout! Coming home from a week in Italy, surrounded by beauty and history, I should feel inspired. But truthfully? I feel disconnected. Sure, maybe it’s jetlag. But I’ve felt this before. Maybe it’s the realization that the world keeps moving without me, that my contribution isn’t as big as I thought. That stings a little more than I’d like to admit

You know, one of the first signs of burnout I totally ignored? When the easy things, like really easy things, suddenly felt impossibly hard.

I don’t run for fitness. I don’t run for fun. But give me a deadline or a mission I believe in? I’m sprinting, and spoiler alert, that sprinting has sent me straight to burnout. I don’t know why I’m wired this way. Why I equate success with hustle. Why I feel most alive when I’m contributing, moving, fixing, and leading. I have a hard time sitting still. I like results. I like action. And yes, I’ve been called a control freak more times than I can count.

I didn’t post a blog post last week, just because it felt too forced. I haven’t even posted on my Instagram in over a week. The HORROR! Why? Honestly, it felt like performing, or more like needing to mark off another notch on my goal of 52 posts this year, or growing a following and having something to show for it. A few weeks ago, I felt a deep pull to stop posting altogether. And what did I do?

So here’s some tea: people can be wildly disappointing. I’ve been there—mad, walked over, hurt to my core, questioning if I’m even capable of loving well. The stories I could tell—but they’re not for the internet to know.

What if I did something kind of crazy—something that makes no logical sense from a marketing perspective? What if I paused? What if I started creating without social media? A pause from posting, scrolling, strategizing. A pause from entertaining so I can lean more into creating. Not a “I’m stuck” pause. Not an “I quit” pause. But a “this no longer fits me” pause.