Soul-fully Mine

Soul-fully Mine A soft space to land after the storm. Healing from abuse, mental illness, and grief. First, I tell my story. Then, I hold yours.

Soul-fully mine… and someday, soul-fully yours.

2017 ➡️ 2026Sometimes I look at the woman in the first photo and wish I could tell her what was coming.That she would la...
06/07/2026

2017 ➡️ 2026

Sometimes I look at the woman in the first photo and wish I could tell her what was coming.

That she would laugh again.
That she would find peace again.
That she would learn what it feels like to be genuinely loved.
That God wasn’t finished with her.

The road between these photos wasn’t easy. It was messy, painful, and full of lessons I never would have chosen for myself.

But somehow, through grace, healing, and a whole lot of second chances, I made it here.

Not perfect.

Just grateful.

You’re still here.
After everything.

That’s not nothing.
That’s everything. 🤍

05/06/2026

I’ve wanted a phoenix tattoo for a very long time, but I knew I didn’t want it to just be “pretty.”

I wanted it to mean something.

This piece represents rebirth to me. The version of myself that burned everything to the ground trying to survive life my own way… and the version of me that God slowly rebuilt afterward.

There was a time I truly didn’t know if I’d make it through the darkness in my own mind. But somehow, through grace, healing, faith, restoration, and a whole lot of messy rebuilding… I did.

Not perfectly.
Not instantly.
But little by little.

This tattoo is a reminder that ashes are not the end of the story. ❤️

04/03/2026

there was a version of me
who stayed quiet to keep the peace
who showed up even when she was running on empty
who bent herself into something smaller
just to be easier to love

she was praised for it, too
called strong
called selfless
called “so good to everyone”

but no one saw what it was costing her

because slowly
she disappeared

healing didn’t look like a glow up
it looked like saying no
like canceling plans
like choosing rest over being reliable
like disappointing people who were used to having full access to me

and maybe that’s the part no one prepares you for

sometimes choosing yourself
feels like letting people down

so let them

you deserve a life that doesn’t require you
to abandon yourself to maintain it

03/28/2026

who takes care of you?

There was a version of me that kept waiting.

Waiting for someone to notice I wasn’t okay.
Waiting for someone to step in.
Waiting for someone to care the way I needed.

And sometimes people did… a little.
But not in the ways that actually held me together.

So I learned.

Not all at once.
Not gracefully.
Not without breaking first.

I learned how to take care of myself.
How to check in with me.
How to protect my energy, my peace… my fire.

Because the truth is…
some people will watch you burn if it keeps them warm.

And that doesn’t make you unworthy.
It just means you were never meant to rely on them for survival.

God never left me there.
Even when I felt alone… I wasn’t.

Now I’m learning how to show up for myself
the way I always needed someone else to.

Slowly.
Softly.

03/25/2026

Some songs don’t just play…
they remember things.

Versions of me
I thought would be the end of my story.

But I’m still here.
Still stitching.
Still choosing to stay.

Healing didn’t come all at once.
It came like this…
quiet, repetitive, sacred.

And somehow, that was enough.

03/17/2026

Some people heal quietly.

I tried that.

Turns out my healing came out loud.

Loud boundaries.
Loud truth.
Loud growth.

I spent years trying to shrink myself to make other people comfortable.

Not anymore.

Healing didn’t make me smaller.

It made me impossible to ignore.

Some weeks the healing doesn’t look loud.It doesn’t look like victory laps or breakthroughs or sunrise epiphanies.Someti...
12/02/2025

Some weeks the healing doesn’t look loud.
It doesn’t look like victory laps or breakthroughs or sunrise epiphanies.

Sometimes it’s smaller than that.
Quieter.
Almost forgettable.

A breath that didn’t shake.
A morning I didn’t have to sleepwalk through.
A laugh I didn’t have to force.
A softness between my fingers.
Light in a place I didn’t expect it.
And a moment that didn’t slip right past me.

For a long time I lost whole days.
Whole months.
Whole years I will never get back.

Time moved without me in it.
Life happened around me.
My body was here but I wasn’t.

So when I say these tiny mercies matter, I mean it in a way I can’t even measure.

Being able to feel a moment while I’m living it.
Being able to notice something gentle.
Being awake inside my own life.
That is a miracle to me.

Healing didn’t come back all at once.
It came back in pieces.
In breaths and mornings and laughter and light.

And every small mercy reminds me that I’m here now.
Actually here.
And I’m learning not to miss it.

If you’re healing slowly, softly, quietly, in ways no one else can see…
you’re not alone.
Your small mercies count too.
They’re proof you’re coming back to yourself.

One tiny moment at a time.

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Roseville, MI
48066

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