Self-Love Over Self-Sacrifice

The Myth of Selfishness

We’ve been taught that choosing yourself is selfish. That saying “no” makes you rude. That boundaries mean you don’t care. But what if the opposite is true?

For years, I was a people pleaser—saying yes when I wanted to say no, doing things out of obligation, and tying my worth to other people’s approval. If someone thought I was stuck up or difficult, I internalized that. I thought I was wrong for speaking my truth.

But the truth is, I wasn’t wrong. I was just conditioned to think that honoring myself was a bad thing.

Self-Worth Starts From Within

So much of this came from childhood. I was raised to believe that obedience equaled respect, that I didn’t have a say. As I grew older, I realized that one of my greatest values was autonomy—being able to make my own choices, use my voice, and learn through my own experiences.

And yes, I still believe in showing up for the people I love. But not at the expense of myself. That’s the shift—from self-sacrifice to self-honor.

Boundaries Are Not Betrayals

Having boundaries doesn’t mean you don’t care. It means you care about *you*, too.

You’re allowed to say, “I don’t have the energy for this today.” You’re allowed to cancel plans. You’re allowed to decline invitations, walk away from unhealthy relationships, and say no without explaining yourself to death.

You matter. And your bandwidth matters.

The Shift: Choosing Yourself

It took me a long time to understand that choosing myself wasn’t betraying anyone. It was actually a reunion—with me.

Whether it’s in friendships, family, relationships, or business—you get to check in with yourself before giving your time, energy, or presence. That doesn’t make you difficult. It makes you deeply self-aware.

You are not here to live for other people’s expectations.

Real Talk: How It Shows Up Today

Now, when I get that full-body “no,” I listen. Whether it's about reconnecting with an ex, overextending myself, or ignoring my own exhaustion—I’ve learned to trust myself.

Is it always easy? No. People get hurt. But I’d rather disappoint someone else than abandon myself.

I ask myself: “Do I want to do this?” And if the answer is no—I don’t. Because I refuse to dishonor my body, mind, or soul to keep the peace.

Reflection

Self-preservation is not selfish, it’s sacred.

Trust your intuition. Speak your truth. Respect your limits. Honor your energy. You are not required to sacrifice your well-being for people who wouldn’t do the same for you.

Here’s what I want you to sit with:

• What would I do today if I stopped performing for approval?

• I give myself full permission to choose myself without guilt.

MOTHERHOOD IS A SACRED STRUGGLE: A Love Letter to all Mamas

A Soulful Reflection for Every Kind of Mama

With Mother’s Day around the corner, I wanted to create a space to speak directly to the hearts of moms—the ones quietly holding it all together. This isn’t a highlight reel or a polished Pinterest-perfect post. This is an honest, layered reflection on what it means to be a mother in all its forms: whether you're partnered, solo, neurodivergent parenting, or simply trying to remember who you are outside of your role as “mom.”

This is for the mothers in survival mode. For the ones showing up with strength no one can measure. For the women carrying invisible loads no one sees—and rarely claps for.

Becoming a Mom Before Becoming Myself

I became a mom at 19—before I had a real chance to discover who I was as a woman. I had always dreamed of having a child, partially because I lacked a strong mother-daughter bond growing up. I thought motherhood would be the way I could reparent myself, break cycles, and finally feel a sense of purpose.

But even though I was excited, I had no idea what was coming. The day I found out I was pregnant is etched into my memory forever. It was 5AM, I was starting a new job, and something told me to take a test. I wasn’t prepared for the word “pregnant” to flash back at me. I wasn’t prepared for the way that one word would shift the entire trajectory of my life.

I didn’t expect to do it alone. But life had other plans. By the time my son was about eight months old, I officially became a single mother.

Solo but Never Stopped

Doing it alone wasn’t easy. I didn’t have consistent support. I didn’t always trust others to follow my boundaries or care for my son the way I would. So I did most of it by myself.

I breastfed for 18 months. I navigated early intervention when my son wasn’t meeting milestones. Eventually, he was diagnosed with Autism and Global Developmental Delay. And while some might view that diagnosis with fear, I viewed it as a doorway. An answer. A path forward.

Because my mission as his mother is simple: get him everything he needs to thrive.

And now? He’s almost six. He’s talking. He’s potty-trained. He’s asking for Oreos (constantly). He’s affectionate, brilliant, silly, and full of light. And I wouldn’t trade any of it.

The Mental Load No One Talks About

Whether your child has special needs or not—being a mother is hard. The mental load is invisible, and yet so heavy.

You’re remembering appointments, school events, playdates, meals, laundry, tantrums. You’re doing it all on two hours of sleep, while also trying to hold onto your sanity. One forgotten load of laundry can feel like the thing that tips your cup over—and not in a good way.

Mothers carry a weight that few recognize. And even when you do ask for help, there’s guilt. There’s judgment. There’s pressure to be strong at all times. And there’s grief.

Grief for the woman you were before motherhood. Grief for the freedom, the spontaneity, the dreams that had to be delayed. And the complicated truth? You can love your children with your entire being and still say, “This is hard.”

Finding Myself Again, Slowly

When you become a mother, it’s easy to forget who you are outside of that title. You tell yourself you don’t have time for hobbies, for self-care, for silence. But what you tell yourself becomes truth.

So I started asking:

• Who was I before I was a mother?

• Who do I want to be now?

• What lights me up outside of parenting?

And I began to reclaim little pieces of myself. Journaling. Resting. Reflecting. Allowing myself to grieve and celebrate at the same time. I stopped waiting for recognition, and started giving myself the grace, love, and permission I needed to heal.

A Message to Every Kind of Mama

This is for you if you're:

• A single mom with no support system.

• A married mom who still feels emotionally alone.

• A special needs mom who never gets to clock out.

• A mom who feels like she lost herself and isn’t sure how to find her way back.

• A stepmom, a hopeful mama, a grieving mama, or a mama in-between.

I see you.
I honor you.
I love you.

You are allowed to be messy and magnificent.
You are still healing and still worthy.
You are not just a mother—you are so much more.

Motherhood isn’t a performance. It’s not productivity. It’s not a Pinterest board. It’s real, raw, daily, soul-stretching work.

And even when no one claps for you, I want you to know:
You’re doing sacred work.
You deserve rest.
You deserve reverence.
You deserve more than just a day of flowers.

You deserve your own damn crown!

QUARTER LIFE CHAOS: How My Crisis Returned Me to Myself

"You’re 25... what could you possibly be stressed about?"

If I had a dollar for every time I heard that, I probably wouldn’t have needed to quit my job in the first place. And sure, from the outside looking in, 25 is young. I have my whole life ahead of me. But that’s never how I’ve felt.

I’ve always carried a weight on my shoulders that made me feel older than I was. Becoming a mom at 19 accelerated that even more. I had one year of “freedom” after high school before everything changed. One year of doing what I wanted without worrying about anyone else. And then—boom—I found out I was pregnant.

I’ll never forget that day. It was surreal. At 20, I gave birth to my son—two weeks after my birthday—and had to grow up fast. Like really fast.

College, Chaos, and the Curveball

I was in class three days after giving birth. No exaggeration. I literally left the hospital and drove an hour to campus to pick up my books. (Why I didn’t have them shipped? I’ll never know.)

I didn’t even feel aligned with college. I had no desire to live in a dorm or deal with roommates—just not my vibe. But I went anyway, mostly because after finding out I was pregnant, I wanted more for myself. I wasn’t sure what that “more” was, but I knew I needed it.

At the time, I thought I wanted to work in medicine—maybe a physician assistant. But after taking a business elective, something clicked. I fell in love with the idea of building something of my own. And that was the beginning of my obsession with entrepreneurship.

Living Someone Else’s Plan

When I was younger, I had a whole vision for my life by 18 or 19: married, five kids, career on lock. (Spoiler: none of that happened.)

By 24, I was working in the dental field—a job I didn’t hate, but one that drained my soul. I loved the industry, loved my coworkers, but every time I sat down to “click-clack” on that keyboard, I felt like I was in a simulation. Like my life was slipping through my fingers in the form of insurance codes and angry patients.

I remember thinking, Is this it?

Is this what people settle for—20+ years of robotic workdays, hoping retirement comes before your spirit fully gives up?

My Breaking Point

I had a vacation planned—three weeks off. I mentioned it at work, didn’t sugarcoat it, and got written up before I even left. That was just the beginning. My son, who has special needs, had therapies scheduled, and I needed to adjust my hours.

Instead of understanding, they hit me with another write-up. "You don't ask—you tell." You’re damn right I tell. I’m not asking permission to care for my son.

At that point, I was juggling real estate, too. They told me I had to prioritize them. I was like, Prioritize YOU over my child and my dreams? Absolutely not.

I drafted my resignation email... then hesitated. Until my son—true story—hit the keyboard and sent it for me. I took it as a sign. That was my last 9–5 job. And I’ve never looked back.

Everyone Had an Opinion... and I Stopped Listening

Of course, my family panicked. "What are you going to do now? Go back to school? Get another job?"

Nope. I was finally going to do what I wanted.

One of the biggest lessons I learned? Don’t let people who’ve never bet on themselves project their fears onto you. Just because they gave up on their dreams doesn’t mean I will. And I stopped sharing my plans with anyone who couldn’t hold space for my vision.

Surround yourself with people who see you the way you see yourself. That’s what changed the game for me.

Becoming Her: The Woman I Was Meant to Be

It wasn’t just about leaving a job. It was about shedding a version of myself that wasn’t authentic. I started reconnecting with who I truly was—the dreamer, the visionary, the deeply organized, big-hearted, high-striving version of myself I had tucked away.

I journaled. I went back to therapy. I reflected. I untangled my own beliefs from the ones I was conditioned to carry. I asked: Are these really my thoughts, or were they planted by someone else’s limitations?

I started to reframe everything:

“I can’t succeed as my own boss” became “I already am.”

“I need a real job to be stable” became “I define stability on my own terms.”

Where I Am Now

Since quitting that job in November, I’ve already nearly doubled what I would’ve made there in an entire year. But more than that—I’m free. I can be there for my son. I don’t need to ask permission to live my life.

I stopped explaining myself to people who don’t get it. I stopped asking people who’ve never built something of their own to validate my vision. And I’ve never felt more in alignment with who I am.

For the Girl in Her Quarter-Life Crisis…

If you’re in the thick of it—feeling like you’re spiraling, like nothing makes sense—let me leave you with this:

• Reflect. Journal. Do a brain dump. Get to the root of it.

• Ask yourself: What beliefs am I holding that don’t belong to me?

• Start replacing those lies with truth.

• Be your own biggest fan—even when it feels scary.

My quarter-life crisis didn’t ruin me. It returned me.
To my dreams.
To my values.
To my voice.

And I promise—it can do the same for you.