I posted the “Coming Soon” sign like it was a prayer. A declaration. A dare to myself. And then? I ghosted my own ambition.

The agony of writer’s block is not poetic. It’s paralyzing. It’s not sipping tea while gazing thoughtfully out a window—it’s Googling “what font says I have my shit together?” at 2 a.m. It’s convincing yourself that one more Coursera class will finally unlock your greatness.

Those who know me know this: I’m rarely at a loss for words. I journal almost daily, a sacred rhythm I’ve kept for two decades. But the moment I dared to announce something real—our new website, a writing revival—my voice went poof.

Perfectionism wrapped itself around me like a weighted blanket that wouldn’t let go.

My website? A wild west of broken links and DIY chaos. My coding skills? Laughable. My brain? Fully hijacked by learning loops that felt productive but were actually elaborate avoidance schemes.

Because perfectionism isn’t just an itch—it’s a full-body rash I inherited, and I’ve been scratching it ever since.

Here’s what I know today: it will never be ready. Not the site. Not me. Not the story.

But the story still wants to be told.

It wants to be told in the awkwardness of learning new tech and in the hilarity of realizing I alphabetized my bookshelf instead of blogging. It wants to be told through the lens of a 52-year-old woman who wakes up to a body that feels like it’s running on a beta version of menopause.

My brain breaks sometimes. Life gets really weird. But that’s where the story lives—in the windy detours, not the straight paths.

And today? I’m pressing publish.

Sending love and hugs. Ultimately Love Wins.

Letter to Self

Dear Me,

You don’t need perfect. You need permission.

To show up messy. To share the broken links. To trust that someone, somewhere, needs the story that only you can tell.

Keep going. Especially when it’s awkward. Especially when it’s quiet. Especially when your brain would rather paint furniture.

You’re not lost. You’re building. You’re becoming.

And honey, you’re doing just fine.

Love,
Me