Lately, I’ve been feeling… different.

It’s subtle, but undeniable. It’s as if a heaviness has quietly lifted, a long-held fog starting to clear. I find myself yearning for joy—not just the fleeting kind, but the deep, soul-level kind. The kind that invites me to laugh out loud, to play, to explore this world as if I’ve been handed a new lens. One that’s clearer, softer, maybe even kinder.

Spiritually, something is shifting within me. I can’t quite explain it, but I feel it. I’m healing. Not the “check off the list” kind of healing, but the quiet, inner kind. The kind that shows up in small, everyday choices. The kind that lets me breathe a little easier, rest a little deeper, and return to myself a little more fully.

One of the biggest catalysts for this change has been travel. Moving through different places, seeing new skies, hearing new languages, tasting unfamiliar food—it’s all been a mirror. Every new experience reflects back a part of me I thought I’d lost. Wonder. Curiosity. Presence.

Watching my kids in these moments—eyes wide, hearts open, soaking it all in—I realize just how much beauty surrounds me. How rich my life truly is. And not just because of the places, but because of the people, the laughter, the shared awe. I look at them and feel a profound gratitude. I enjoy my life. That might sound simple, but for someone who’s spent years simply surviving, it feels like a miracle.

My mother is still sick. Dementia continues to take pieces of her, though every now and then, her old self reappears. And when she does, she still carries her sharpness, her sting. But here’s what’s changed: I no longer meet her from my wounded self.

I’ve started setting boundaries.

Boundaries that protect my peace.
Boundaries that honor the healing I’ve fought so hard for.
Boundaries that let me love from a distance, without losing myself.

This shift doesn’t mean everything is perfect. But it means I’m different. And that difference feels sacred.

I’m learning that healing isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes, it’s quiet. Sometimes, it shows up in how you no longer flinch. How you no longer explain yourself. How you choose rest. How you choose you.

And today, I choose me.
I choose joy.
I choose to explore, to feel, to grow.
I choose this strange, beautiful, and sacred becoming.