Yesterday I was changing a picture frame, which is one of those ridiculously boring little projects that apparently comes with owning a new home because once you move into a new space, suddenly everything starts looking a little tired. You want things to feel fresh. You want new towels and new plants and new pillows and, apparently, new picture frames, because somehow the perfectly acceptable frame you’ve owned for years suddenly looks like it has no business coming into this next chapter with you.

And I’ve noticed that about myself since moving into this house. I keep wanting to freshen things up, change things around, decide what belongs here and what doesn’t, and sometimes that means bigger things and sometimes it means standing over a table on a random afternoon taking an old painting out of an old frame because I decided it needed a new one.

That was it.
That was the project.

Except when I took the painting out and turned it over, there was handwriting on the back.

I actually s...

My mother has been gone for almost exactly three years.
And yet, she is always with me.

And when I say always, I mean my mother has apparently decided that death is absolutely not going to interfere with her ability to insert herself into my life 😂

She sends me signs constantly.
Sometimes they’re subtle and sometimes they’re so fucking obvious that all I can do is cry, laugh and say, “Okay, Mami. I get it.”

This is one of those stories…
Every year my friend Tiffany plans a vacation for her birthday in September, and I’ve already traveled with her twice before. This year after much deliberation, she landed on Spain. Mallorca to be exact.

Of course I wanted to go!
That was never really the question.
The question was whether I should go.

Because truthfully with everything happening with work, knowing my last day would be at the end of July and I’m stepping into this weird transitional chapter of my life, decorated with a brand new Mortgage payment I kept wondering whether flying off to Spain was th...

By the time you read this, I’ll be gone.

Well, not gone gone.

Just Passport in hand, gone.

I’ll be somewhere between Barcelona and Mallorca, sitting at a little café with a glass of vino tinto and something delicious in front of me, or lying on a beach staring at the Mediterranean, doing absolutely nothing productive and feeling very fucking good about it.

My phone will hopefully be somewhere at the bottom of my purse, with 12 missed calls, 57 unread emails, and 125 group chat notifications, God I hate the group chats! Does anyone know how can we ban this type of aggression?

But anyway- I have this feeling that something is going to come from this trip and I mean like something inside of me, Like some overdue needed clarity and spiritual insight.

I can feel it coming, even though I don’t completely know what it is yet...

That’s why it’s not a surprise that yet again Facebook and its memories feature showed me September 2014, because exactly twelve years ago, I got on my first in...

A funny thing happened this morning.

One of those Facebook memories popped up from exactly 17 years ago, and there I was, looking at a version of myself I almost don't recognize anymore.

I had just moved out of my marital home. My marriage was ending. I was starting the process of getting divorced, trying to figure out what the hell my life was going to look like, and apparently my body had decided it couldn't hold one more ounce of stress because I broke out in hives.

Not little stress hives, either, like Hives! Everywhere!
They lasted eight freaking weeks.

I went to a few doctors, and nobody could figure out what was wrong with me. I still have a scar on my knee from where one dermatologist literally took a small scissor and cut off a piece of my skin for a biopsy- guy was a butcher, but anyways. Looking back now, of course I know exactly was wrong with me. My entire life had blown apart and I had absolutely no idea what was going to happen next.

I was scared. I had two kids. I had bills. ...

 A couple of weeks after my birthday bank in May, I was lying in bed doing absolutely nothing.

It was Saturday morning, my coffee in one hand, my phone in the other, Dexter asleep somewhere in the room. I wasn't journaling or meditating or trying to have some profound moment. If I'm being completely honest, I’m pretty sure I was scrolling Instagram.

And then I noticed something... I was laying right in the middle of my king-size bed.

Which sounds like a completely ridiculous thing to notice.

Except I couldn't stop thinking about it!

Because even after almost 17 years of being divorced, I had always slept on one side of my bed. The same side, actually. I never decided that there was any other side other than my side of the bed and I never thought about it at all. That's just where I always slept.

And now somehow I had migrated into the middle.

I actually laughed when I realized it because, seriously, how did it take me seventeen years to use the whole fucking bed?

At first I thoug...

There is a narrative being pushed hard online right now, especially toward women and especially toward mothers.

Entrepreneurship equals freedom.
Entrepreneurship equals presence.
Entrepreneurship equals being more available for your kids.

And yes - parts of that are true.

But underneath that narrative is a dark undertow that no one wants to talk about, because it doesn’t photograph well and it doesn’t sell beautifully packaged programs.

There is something deeply toxic happening in the way we glorify entrepreneurship for women. And if we don’t name it honestly, we keep normalizing behavior that slowly breaks women while telling them they should feel lucky.

Let me be very specific.

The Image That Made My Stomach Drop
I was scrolling Instagram recently and saw a post from a woman who had just become a mother.
She was sitting at her desk. Not casually working - working.
Two computer monitors in front of her.
Software dashboards open everywhere.

She had breast pumps suctioned to both breasts.
And next ...

I got my first tattoo when I was 30.

When I was younger, I was pretty wild and reckless. I had a few piercings... including a tongue ring, and my parents were furious! I didn’t care. It was the cool thing to do, even though I couldn’t eat for three days afterward. Not my smartest decision, but very on brand for who I was back then.

That first tattoo was on my ankle. A fairy. Nothing particularly deep or symbolic other than I love Faeries! So I picked it straight off the wall.

But here’s the part that still makes me smile.

The tattoo artist was also the owner of the shop in Hollywood and he happened to be my client at the bank. At the time, I was still married, working full-time in banking, and trying to balance this very buttoned-up professional life with who I actually was underneath.

A few years later, I helped him get a small business loan. Same person who tattooed my ankle was now sitting across from me in a bank office, trusting me with his livelihood. Life is funny like that.

He did a ...

Everyone loves to talk about the big money shifts.

The six-figure breakthroughs.
The “I manifested $50,000 overnight” stories.
The flashy wins.

But here’s the truth no one glamorizes:
sometimes feeling safer, more confident, and more comfortable with money starts with the smallest, most ridiculous things.

Like hangers.

Yes. Hangers.

For years, I’ve had plastic hangers. Matching ones, at least. All white. All black. I even had zero shame about wire hangers when they came back from the dry cleaner, even though Mommie Dearest permanently branded “no more wire hangers” into my subconscious.

And then there are those hangers.
The ones with the pant clips.

Why are they so hard to find?
Why do they feel like rare collectibles?

I never bought them intentionally. I only had the ones that came with clothes I purchased. That’s how I built my collection. Accidentally. One clip hanger at a time.

Now here’s the part that makes this even funnier.

I have a walk-in closet that could literally ...

I didn’t expect this week to change me the way it did.

On December 19th, my mom’s birthday, I sent out an email that felt tender and nostalgic. It was written from a place of remembering her, of honoring everything that’s been lost and everything that’s been carried forward. After I sent it, I did something I don’t always do very well. I paused.

I didn’t rush into the next thing.
I didn’t try to be productive.
I let myself be still.

And in that stillness, something inside me quietly shifted…

A few days later, I picked up the final check from my mother’s estate. On the surface, it was paperwork, another task to complete. But standing there, holding it in my hands, I felt the weight of what it actually meant, it was the end. This was it, the last piece. The final closure of her life in the practical sense. No more forms. No more loose ends.

When I came home later that same day, my son told me he wants to propose to his girlfriend.

He’s going to use my wedding ring. When my grandmother passed a...

Over the holidays I had created a little pile of items I needed to place inside my wallet. One of the items being my new drivers license with my new address, but I had been so busy I hadn’t gotten around to putting it away. However, now that the holidays are over I stared at the small pile on my bedroom dresser, and I contemplated putting off this little task yet again; but thats when I got to thinking about my relationship with money and why I had been avoiding my wallet.

Typically when people think about the new year they begin to plan out their goals, and make a list of tasks they want to achieve. In addition, we also spend time cleaning up and decluttering. We throw out what we don’t need, and make room for new things in our homes and in our lives. But have you ever cleaned out your wallet as part of your new years detox process? If you are serious about creating positive energy and allowing new opportunities to manifest, your wallet needs to be carefully reviewed.

It amazing the...