Sonder

I think the bio kind of says it all—though, knowing me, I’ll probably say more anyway. For someone who insists she’s not particularly interesting, I seem to stumble headfirst into an awful lot of plot twists.

As our good friend Lizzie Bennet once said: “I’m 27 years old, I’ve no money and no prospects. I am a burden to my parents.” It hits a little too close to home, honestly. I’d like to say I’m being dramatic, but the truth is… maybe I’m just being honest.

Or tired.

Or both.

Life lately feels like a choose-your-own-adventure where I’m stuck rereading the same three pages, hoping one of them changes. Business, love, family—every part of it feels like it’s holding its breath, waiting for me to either get it together or completely fall apart.

Right now, I’m in bed. It’s late. The kind of late where everything feels heavier and nothing makes sense. My mind’s a TV with the remote jammed—I keep flipping channels, but nothing sticks. Nothing soothes. Just static between every thought.

But here’s the thing: I’m still here. Still showing up. Still sketching hope into the margins, even when the storyline gets dark. So yeah, maybe I’m a mess—but I’m my mess.

And that has to count for something.