Very Trying Month: A Summary

 February, in the key of “Are you kidding me?”

February arrived with the energy of a landlord knocking on the door with a clipboard. Every time I turned around, something else needed fixing: a car, then another car, then the fridge, oh and also my computer. It felt like the universe was running a stress test on my adulthood, one appliance at a time.  Certain things were supposed to happen and didn't, which means the limbo continues—like a sitcom character who keeps walking into the same room expecting a different plot.

And yet, somehow, I didn’t fall apart. I just… folded inward. The hermit switch flipped itself on. I needed it in order just to survive.

There’s a particular mode I drop into when life gets too loud. It’s not glamorous. It’s not social. It’s not even particularly visible. It’s the mode where I stop trying to perform “being fine” and instead start quietly building things. This month, that mode took over completely. And in that, some stuff really changed for me.

I accepted new creative paths I didn’t see coming. I let myself disappear into ideas, frameworks, emotional logic, and the kind of world‑building that feels like breathing. I wasn’t hiding. I was incubating.

It was a month of “No, I can’t go out—I’m busy rearranging the architecture of my brain.”

Even in hermit mode, I wasn’t alone. I had conversations that were so sharp and strange and nourishing they felt like someone tapping a tuning fork against my ribcage. The kind of conversations that make you remember you’re alive, even when you’re living like a cryptid in your own house.

They didn’t fix anything practical. They didn’t make the repairs cheaper or end the inertia. But they made the month feel less like a series of invoices and more like a turning point. When I zoom out, February wasn’t a disaster. It was a recalibration. A stripping‑down. A reminder that I’m someone who builds when things break, someone who goes quiet when the world gets loud, someone who finds clarity in the middle of logistical nonsense.

It wasn’t pretty. But it was honest. And maybe that’s enough for a month that felt like a suffocating, mundane hell. 

Patience

I am really trying to be patient. It isn't easy. I have a lot of stuff in the works. Surgeries, appointments, art stuff I'm working on, and other things.  There is only so much of any of it that I can do at any given time. It's frustrating. When you're in the hurry up and wait place, you still feel a sense of urgency. You never feel just settled about anything. 

I'm doing what I can to try and stay calm about all of this. I really am.

Ode to an Empty: Mitchell & Peach — English Leaf Body Soufflé

 Mitchell & Peach — English Leaf Body Soufflé

A product I didn’t expect to love… and then absolutely did.

I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating: I truly didn’t think I would like Mitchell & Peach’s English Leaf Body Soufflé. The scent hits you hard at first — sharp, green, almost aggressively herbal. But the texture of the cream was so good that I kept using it anyway. And somewhere along the way, something shifted. The intensity softened, the basil mellowed, and suddenly it worked beautifully with my chemistry. That surprise is what made me fall for it.

1. Did I use this?

Absolutely. I squeezed out every last drop.

2. Was it a good amount?

It lasted two full months, which felt perfect for something I was using constantly. And honestly, considering how often I end up tossing half‑empty skincare bottles, finishing this one felt like a small personal victory. I didn’t need it to last longer — it lived exactly the right lifespan.

3. Did I enjoy it?

I adored it. I didn’t just like the scent; I craved it. It became part of my daily scent architecture, something I needed woven into whatever else I was wearing. The cream melted into my skin beautifully, and the softness it left behind was something I savored every time.

4. Did it live up to my expectations?

This one took me on a journey. When I first learned I was getting it, I was excited. When I actually smelled it, that excitement dipped hard. But once I let it settle and interact with my skin, the excitement came back — stronger, even. It was a whole little drama, and honestly, that’s part of what made me love it.

5. Would I repurchase?

Yes. The way this cream changed how my body layered other scents was unique and special. I’m going to miss that effect, and it’s not something I can easily replace. With something this distinctive, it’s hard to walk away.

Beauty as Sovereignty

There comes a point in a woman’s life — usually somewhere after 40, definitely after 50 — when the world starts acting like she’s fading out of frame. Not because she has, but because people stop looking. Or worse, they look through her, as if she’s become part of the wallpaper.

I refuse that fate.

And I think more of us should.

Because beauty, at this stage of life, isn’t about chasing youth or pleasing strangers. It’s about sovereignty — the radical act of choosing how you want to exist in your own skin.

I decide the terms.

Not the trend cycle. Not the beauty industry. Not the people who think visibility has an expiration date. Me.

I choose the texture, the mess, the shine.

Some days that means a full face of makeup that looks like I’m going somewhere important, even if I’m not. Some days it’s bare skin and too much gloss. Some days it’s glitter on my legs because it makes me laugh. Some days it’s letting my hair grow where it grows, because I’m not here to curate my humanity for anyone else’s comfort.

I’m not here to be palatable; I’m here to be Present.

Pretty is optional. Presence is not. Presence is what fills a room. Presence is what says, “I’m still here, and I’m not dimming myself to make you comfortable.” And that includes accepting our bodies as they are at the moment, closing reality over shame.

Because yes — I’m fat.

Not “curvy,” not “plus‑size,” not “working on it.” Fat.

And I’m still beautiful.

Not in a “despite” way. Not in a “body positivity” way. In a sovereign way.

My body is not an apology, it’s a declaration. It's chub and scars and hair and tears and sweat and scent and breath and math.

A declaration that I have lived.

A declaration that I have survived things that would have flattened a lesser person.

A declaration that I am allowed to take up space — physical, emotional, visual — without asking permission.

Women over 50 are often told to shrink.

Shrink your waist. 

Shrink your voice.

Shrink your presence.

Shrink your expectations.

Shrink your wardrobe into something “age‑appropriate.”

No.

Absolutely not.

Beauty is not compliance — it’s authorship.

It’s the story I write on my skin every morning.

It’s the way I choose to be seen, even in a world that sometimes pretends not to see me.

It’s the way I refuse to disappear.

When I put on makeup, I’m not trying to rewind the clock. I’m not trying to look younger, smaller, sweeter, or safer. I’m not trying to be the kind of woman who blends into the background.

I’m trying to be sovereign.

I’m trying to say:

“I am here. I matter. I deserve to look as good as I want to look.”

And if that makes someone uncomfortable?

That’s their problem.

Not mine.

Beauty, at this age, is not a performance for others.

It’s a ritual for myself.

Not a mask, but a crown.

Not perfection, but power.

This is beauty as sovereignty — the kind that doesn’t ask for permission, doesn’t apologize for existing, and doesn’t shrink to fit anyone’s expectations.

And if the world wants to look away?

Let it.

I’ll still be here, shining on my own terms.

Pauses

I have had some pauses in my life recently. Times when things stopped or shut down for a while, and I couldn't access them. This was frustrating. Deeply frustrating. In fact, tonight was one of those times when I reached the limit of the various resources I could access. But after that, I pivoted what I was doing and worked on some other things. Because of this, I ended up doing stuff that I wouldn't have done had I kept going the way I was before. It allowed me to recenter and go in a different creative direction. And that ended up being a really good thing.

And there is some major metaphor here for my life, but I'm not sure I'm ready to unpack it yet. I think I need to sit with that, just pause for a bit and let that idea breathe. I'll get back to it when I'm ready.

Returned Car

I have my Santa Fe back! The door opens. It's great. I'm so happy.

The problem is that now the van is trying to mess up. We need to take it to the shop next week and hope that it won't cost us a lot of money. 


Ugh, the never-ending car drama. I'm so over it.

Sliding

I try to keep fairly meticulous notes about my life. What I eat, what I do, how I feel, weekly goals, monthly goals, etc. Today I realized I didn't set any weekly goals for myself. This worried me for a bit because I know I am better off having that as part of my routine and I don't want to lose it.

Then I remembered that last week was very stressful. My car is in the shop. I didn't feel well. Someone is threatening my future stability. It's just a lot. I mean, it's usually a lot but lately it just seems like my momentum is going but everything is still requiring so much from me, from my roommate, from everyone. 

So yeah, I was too overwhelmed on Sunday to set goals. I may be too overwhelmed this week as well. Hopefully not, but if I am, I just have to realize it's part of the process.