Blindsided. Unraveled. And Still, I Came Back.

Old patterns, familiar pain—and a path back to myself.

It came out of nowhere.
A message. A sentence. Just enough to knock the wind out of me.

I’d been gliding—full of vision, creative energy humming, excitement building.
And then—bam. One small moment… and I was off center.

My body knew before my brain caught up.
Knees a little weak. That hollow feeling in my chest.
A familiar ache rising—grief mixed with disappointment mixed with here we go again.

Maybe you’ve felt it too.
You’re building something beautiful, reclaiming your energy, showing up for yourself in ways you never have before—and then, out of the blue, something pulls you back into an old pattern. An old dynamic. An old wound.

That happened to me today.

And for a moment, it almost stopped me.
I questioned everything.
I sat on the edge of my day, unsure if I could move forward.

But instead of spiraling, I slowed down.

I wrote out one sentence—a quiet affirmation—over and over until I felt calm return.
I sat still. No phone. No noise. Just me, letting the feelings move through.
Then I closed my eyes and did a simple, no-pressure breathing meditation. No technique. No focus. Just breath.

And when I opened my eyes and saw my easel, I thought—
“Oh yeah. I still get to paint.”
And that was the moment I came back to myself.

Because that’s the thing about these “out of nowhere” moments—
they don’t just knock you off your game.
They also give you a choice:

Collapse into the old story.

~OR~
Or create something new.

I chose to create.

You can choose to create, too.
No, I’m not saying you need to paint.

I’m saying you can choose to use your mind to make something—anything—that brings you back to yourself.

✅Maybe it’s a creative way to balance your checkbook.
✅Maybe it’s how you rework leftovers into something new.
✅Maybe it’s how you show up with presence for a new grandbaby, or what you plant in your garden, or how you bake just for the joy of it.

The point isn’t what you create.
It’s that you choose to engage your mind in a way that reconnects you—to beauty, to presence, to you.

The Anchor That Holds

The Little Red Boat

Years ago, I painted this piece. Just because I wanted to play with the color purple. As usual, my art winds up revealing my truth.

That little red boat captured something I couldn’t fully name at the time—
the deep aloneness I was living through.

Not loneliness. Aloneness.
The kind that strips you down to your core and asks,
"What’s still here when everything else is gone?"

And now, all these years later, I realize—that boat is me.

Because if you look closely, you’ll see: it’s anchored.
The cold winds can howl. The waters can churn.
But it’s not moving.

That’s what faith does.
Not religion—faith.
A quiet, living, breathing trust in life. In your own becoming.
In something solid beneath the storm.

And if you're walking through one of those windswept seasons,
I want to share something that might help you hold steady:

Download My Free Guide: Build Your Faith Muscle

Build Your Faith Muscle

This isn’t doctrine—it’s a soul tool.

Gentle. Grounding. Yours, with love from me to you.