I smiled gently as I read the title of an email. Not what I expected see that Thursday morning. But, it sure made my day. I wouldn't consider myself a poet. I'm passionate about writing on topics of chronic pain, disability, faith, dance, and will sometimes dive into fictional stories that are stiring in my mind. Poems? I often feel stuck even when attempting to write one. Though I have been more in this past year. Writing poetry feels almost like learning a foreign langauge.

Three days. How was I supposed to make it through three full days of an in person conference? It's not like Diamonds, where there's no traveling and I'm able rest even while listening to sessions. One day in itself would be a lot for me physically. Last month, I attended a conference designed mostly for biblical counselors, ministry leaders, and those in similar fields. This all came about from a conversation at a young adults group I regularly go to at my church. I mentioned

I was nervous stepping into the interview. My hands shaking, not just because of the tremors. I sat at my desk, waiting for the zoom meeting to start and mostly praying that I would able to answer the questions with confidence and clarity. A few months ago, I shared about how I was applying to graduate school. The process involved researching universities in my area, , looking into programs that would still take acceptances for the fall, and figuring out finances. I did expe

I held it together, that is until I reached my car. Tears streamed down my face, but I turned away out of embarrassment, hoping no one saw. It finally set in. The decisions I made months ago were right at the time, but why did I suddenly feel sad? I started to question why I decided to let go of some of the areas in my life I thought were fulfilling. It didn't make sense to me. I should be excited for what's coming later this year. I was smiling more in the early spring as I

Yesterday, was a day to celebrate mothers. This year, I decided to write a poem for my mom, who has blessed my life more than she will ever know. For those who didn't know, my mom was the one who encouraged me to start a blog. She thought that I had a story to share. But, I also wanted others to be able to relate to this poem. And if you don't have a mom or one you are close with, I hope there is another lady, a mentor or teacher who fills that role. Happy Mother's Day! When

The silk pink ribbons wrapped around my ankles. I stood with my shoulders down, one hand gently placed on the wooden barre at the studio. I tried to go fully onto the toe box of my pointe shoes, but my feet still hurt. The pain continued as I proceeded to follow the instructed steps. What should have been more simple felt impossible for my body. I was only seventeen, had already danced en pointe for over a year. Though turns and combinations in center I never could master. An