Childhoodtake2!

April — Renew

Intention: Clear space.
Release habits, commitments, and thoughts that no longer fit who I am becoming.

Dear April.
You are trying so hard to bring about warmth, but, you are struggling to let go of the past.
So you are clinging to the cold, and refusing to move on.

That's okay, April. I do the same thing, and instead of being angry that we are still a little stuck, let's remember that we will move forward in our own time.
We will move on when we are ready and when the cold is no longer bearable.
We will move on when the rain has washed enough of the snow and mud and dirt away.

And we know, when we do, we will bring about a warmth that will be embraced.
When we come out of hibernation, we will have a reawakening.
We have spent so long all cooped up; people are ready to see your face again.
People are ready to love you again.

So, take your time April. Make sure you are ready for the rebirth, for the growth, for the sunshine, and for the spring to flow heaveningly into summer.

In the meantime, let's clear some space. Let's have the rain wash away some of the cold edges.
Let's let the thunder clear the air.
Let's clean out the trash and the old and the no longer needed junk.
Let's make some space for what is to come.

Let's welcome the color that is popping up everywhere.
Let's welcome back the sun as she sets later and later.
Let's say good morning to her as she rises with you now.
Let's make space for what is to come.

Spring and a fresh renewing.

Rest & Remember

This month I will...
Allow stillness.
And remember who I am.

Allow stillness, not because I am tired.
But because I am quieting the loud.
I need to pause more.
I need to hold my heart more.
I need to be so much less reactive.
I need to tell myself that I am safe, I am okay.
It does not need a comment or a thought.
I can let things go, better.
I can hold my heart, and my tongue, better.
I can let myself stay calmer.
I can be the calm I seek in my home.

Remember who I am, not because I forgot, but because I have held on to so much shame for so many years.
Shame of my heart.
Shame of my love.
Shame of my voice, my ideas, my choices.
Shame of who I am.
So, I need to spend this month remembering that I am okay.
I am not going to win over the masses.
I am not going to be everyone's ideal friend, person, wife, mother, boss, co-worker.
But I can still be me.

Dear January, please bring the stillness I need and the opportunities to hold on to myself.

the most
beautiful thing
in this world
is a
human
coming
back
to
life.

the quiet rise.
the slow returning.
the moment the glow
remembers how to glow.

And the moment a human remembers who they are, and wakes the hell up!

Hello reawkening.

It feels intentional, gentle, and powerful all at once. It’s not about becoming someone new; it’s about remembering who you are and letting her lead again.

I have spent the last three years getting really small.
Going away.
But also, listening, learning, growing.
Trying to figure myself out and get quite a bit quieter.
And now, it's time to let quiet growth count just as much as visible wins.
It's time to reconnect with joy, ease.
It's time to choose presence over productivity.
It's time to come back to my body and find a voice.
I am ready to emerge, not explode, but emerge and reawaken.

Because I am still a little shaky, I will start slow.
I will start my day a little slower.
I will not rush to figure this out. It will be more intentional.
I will not fall into old habits of urgency equals growth and productivity equals worth.
I will go slowly.
I will pause, a lot, and ask, what is my fear, and what do I need?

I'm going to rebuild trust, with myself.
I will allow silence to be an answer.
I will release over-giving and over-explaining.
I will practice pausing over and over again. I will not immediately react.
I will hold my heart and think it through.
And most importantly, I will protect peace, my peace, with zero announcements.
I will trust the voice that whispers, enough.
I will choose depth over noise because growth does not have to be loud to be real.
I understand now that boundaries do not require announcements
and peace does not need permission.

I reawaken to my voice...
speaking clearly, kindly, and only when it feels true.
I no longer over-explain, over-give, or over-stay
where my energy is not met with respect.

In my work I will lead with calm instead of urgency.
I will model boundaries, rest, and humanity.
I will focus on sustainable success, not constant growth.
I will not be doing more, but doing what matters.

2026 is not about becoming more.
It is about returning to myself.

2026 is the year I wake up—
gently, intentionally, and fully—
to the life that has been waiting for me all along.

"And the sun took a step back, the leaves lulled themselves to sleep and autumn was awakened." - Raquel Franco

It's fall in NY. The weather is changing, the trees are changing, the plants are starting to hibernate. The mornings have a bite to them now, the evenings too.
Something about this specific change in season brings an actual change in me.
No other season change produces such strong and conflicting emotions.

There is a part of me that is longing for the start of routines and schedules and the quiet that falls on my home. There is also a part of me that is so sad about letting go the warmth, the freeness, the chaos of summer, and all of us together so so much.

There is a part of me that is ready for shorter days and snuggling in. The early darkness that causes us all to feel tired sooner and ready for the hibernation. There is also a part of me that knows how much I am going to miss long days, so much sun, and really late sunsets.

There is a part of me that realizes that the trees remind us how beautiful it is to shed yourself, let things go, let go of what once was so you can grow into something beautiful again and again. There is also a part of me that is sad to see leaves fall and knows I will miss all the green that I have been surrounded with.

There is a part of me that wants to be covered in blankets, wants to be warm in sweats, and sit by the fireplace. There is also a part of me that will miss swimming, bronzed skin, so much sunshine, and warmth from the outside.

This push/pull is where I spend so much of my time. For most of my life. I live in the sadness of letting go and the excitement of what's to come. I live in a world of shedding what is no longer available and the desperation of holding on forever. How more appropriate could it be that this season holds my birthday? The season that starts with my birth, the season of change, of shedding, of hibernation, of letting go?
I hear you universe, I am working on it.

A few weeks ago, I was told something that brought me so much clarity.
Sabrina, someone has to notice how much pain you're in.
Someone has to notice that didn't feel good for you.
Someone has to notice that you're angry, that you're really mad.
Someone has to sit with you, hold you through it.
Make you feel not okay, but heard, and validated.

Someone has to ask you what that felt like for you.
Someone has to say sorry that it happened to you.
Someone has to just listen.
To you, someone has to listen to you.
Someone has to notice.

Someone has to not sweep it under the rug.
Someone has to not tell you that the other person didn't mean it that way.
Someone has to not make you feel like it's not a big deal because it is. You were hurt, that should be a big deal.
Someone has to protect your heart too.
Someone has to notice.

Someone has to not say, "It's okay".
Because it will be okay, but to get to okay, you have to not be okay first.
Someone has to no longer care about intent and just sit with pain.
Someone has to be a little surprised that people feel this comfortable bringing you down.
Someone has to be a little surprised that your heart continues to try.
Someone has to give you a little credit.
Someone has to notice.

Someone has to notice the pain coming through your heart and landing on your face.
Someone has to notice that your insides are tired.
Someone has to notice that you're crying, even if tears aren't falling yet.
Someone has to notice that you're crying, especially when tears are falling.
Someone has to notice.

Someone has to not say you're being too dramatic.
Someone has to not say that you're too sensitive.
Someone has to not wave you off.
Someone has to notice.

You. Someone has to notice you.
Sabrina, someone has to notice how much pain you're in.

So when it hurts, I have to ask for comfort and care.
I have to ask for gentle words.
I have to ask for gentle moments.
I have to ask someone to please be gentle with me right now.
I'm hurting, I'm in pain.
Please, take notice and take care.
Please, hold me. Listen to my pain.
Please, take notice and take gentle care.

Our life's work is to honor the beauty all around you.

Hi 2024. I have been feeling like I have not been handling the last two years well.
I have been sadder than normal. I cried quite a bit, but out of real sadness and confusion.
I got very small, quiet and went away.
Although I'm still figuring out who I now am and how to now act, I do know I don't want to be this small anymore.
I want to remember that I love without boundaries and that's okay.
I want to remember when I was most fulfilled and find my way back.
Because it was beautiful, the life I had, the way I loved, the way I gave.
And my life is still beautiful, I just need to get out of my own way.
I need to get back to honoring beauty.

Our life's work is to honor the beauty all around you.

I want to gain perspective. I want to remember simple joys, and find grace in challenging times. I need a more positive outlook. I want to remember that I am lucky and I want to find an ounce of gratitude for this life. The one full of beauty.

Our life's work is to honor the beauty all around you.

I want my memories to be filled with warmth. I want to be remembered as warm. I want to see the rare glimpse of a red sky. I want to embrace the view from the lake. I want to remember who I am...I want to find simple gorgeous beauty.

Our life's work is to honor the beauty all around you.

I want to rewrite the story I have been told and the one I have been telling myself.
I actually want to be free of my past. My mistakes, my pain. I do not want to forget it, I do not want to burry it, I know I needed it to be who I became.
I just want to be free of it and see the beauty all around me.

Our life's work is to honor the beauty all around you.

I want to trust my intuition of the lives I've lived before this.
I want to trust myself again, even the dark parts of myself that know better. I have already seen the shadows of my mind. I have already dove deep into who I was and now need to navigate who I am, who I want to be. I want to honor the beauty that is change, growth, and new found love.

Our life's work is to honor the beauty all around you.

To the beauty all around us, I come to you on bended knee. I lay down before you with grace, with love in my heart. I will not spend this year taking notice of you, I have already done that. I will spend it honoring you. I do not need to seek you for you are all around.

I humbly honor you.

Our life's work is to honor the beauty all around you.

"August is the slow, gentle month that stretches out the longest across the span of a year. It yawns and lingers on with the light in its palms." - Victoria Erickson

We have had one hell of a summer.
Busy, full of travel and sunshine.
We have had long days and warm ones.
We have been on the go and made some incredible memories.

But this August, we are staying put. And I am going to linger.
I am going linger, in the slow, in the warmth, in the sunshine.
I will watch August yawn and stretch.

Sweet August, we treat you like a race to the summer finish line, but instead, I will linger in you.
We speak about you as if you are the end of the magic that is summer, but instead, I will linger in you.
I will watch all four glorious weeks unfold and I will linger.

I will watch how your nights become a little more brisk.
I will sit in your sunshine.
I will drink you in.
This summer, sweet August, I will linger.

I will listen to your thunder storms.
I will watch your hydrangeas bloom.
I will see how you prepare yourself for fall and I will linger.

I will yawn and stretch with you August.
I will make sure to walk on your streets.
I will surround myself in your warmth and I will linger.

I will walk your beaches and your grass.
I will remember the feeling of the sun on my back.
I will feel the light on my face, and I will linger.

I will watch your sunrises and sunsets August.
I will watch how you go back and forth between warm and cool.
I will remember to go slow with you for now is my time to stop.
I will linger.

I will remember how much time you still give us.
I will remember that you are in no rush.
I will remember how much we ache for your warmth during the dead of winter.
I will linger with you August.

I will be slow and gentle with you.
I will get back to my pace, the one that works for me.
I will walk and not run with you.
I will run and not track with you.
I will catch my breath with you.
And I will linger with you August.

Sweet loving August, spread your light over us and watch us linger.

“Not of exhaustion, but surrender, as though he had given over and relinquished completely that grip upon that blending of pride and hope and vanity and fear, that strength to cling to either defeat or victory, which is the I-Am, and the relinquishment of which is usually death.” - William Faulkner

For you, your life, all of it was a battle.
A battle you fought no matter the carnage. A battle you felt you needed to fight, no matter the victims.
You fought, you were a fighter.
You fought the good, the bad, the every day. You fought what was wrong, what was right, what you thought was right. You fought for rules. You fought for control. You fought for your way.
You pushed.
You pushed away people, love, and normalcy. You also pushed towards a new life, a better one, one you thought would be better.

And so, when you found out, you fought, you pushed, you battled.
You fought us on how hard you were working, working at all.
You fought us on how to be spending your time.
You fought us on how you were not dealing with it, how you were dealing with it, how you dealt with us.

But then there was a moment.
There was one moment in those 13 complicated months of grief and worry that you had one clear moment.
A moment in which you understood and you accepted what was happening.
A moment in which you stopped fighting and you surrendered to the news, you surrendered to what was to come.

And in this one clear and beautiful moment, you surrendered.
Not to the pain, or fear, or chaos.
Not to the exhaustion or devastation.
But to the life you lived, worked for, the one spread in front of you.
And you looked so clear. So calm, so understanding.
You knew it was time.
You said your goodbyes.
You told us what you wanted to say.
It was fleeting, it lasted days, but it was there.

"Anyone who loves someone who’s fought this fight knows it costs all of you." - Lisa Joe Baker

Loving someone through this disease it changes you.
Loving someone through this reality scars you.
It is brutal, this time was brutal.
Add in the complication of us.
Add in the complication of language.
Add in the complication of what was happening.

At first, I watched you surrender without even realizing you were.
Your body was so tired and you wouldn't allow it to be. Your mind was so scared and you were so mad. The fear made you even more complicated.
At times, you were so beautiful, so present, so loving, so honoring of love.
At times, you were so resentful, so terrified, so overwhelmed, so in awe of all you were going to miss.

We were not one of the lucky ones.
We lost you before your next birthday.
We were not able to make your wine that fall.
We did not get to gather for the holidays together.
You didn't make it to be older than your dad when he passed, something you carried in silent fear since the day you lost him.

But somehow, we still got to find love.
I was one of the lucky ones because I felt comfort in my darkest and brightest days.
I was reminded of the love of family, gathered all around me, family.
Family that I fell in the arms of.
Family that picked me up off of floors and grounds.
Family that held me while I slept.
Family that tried to heal me.
Family that taught me how much we show up, even from afar.
Family that reminded me that we are always there for each other.
Family that cried with me.
Family that reminded me that I can laugh again.

So I hold space for grief.
Complicated, fascinating grief.
Grief that comes out in my runs.
Grief that comes out when I write.
Grief that comes out in my dreams.
Grief that comes out in my anger and my resentment and especially in my peace.

I have been thinking of you a lot these days.
Maybe because we are coming up on the anniversary of your death.
Maybe because I am once again going through it.
Maybe because she is crying a lot more right now.
But you are with me.

When you were first diagnosed, my friend forwarded me this poetic quote.
He reminded me of the beauty and fear of death.
He reminded me that love and death are a part of life.
He reminded me that you get this one life, and if you are lucky to get to the end and reflect on all you have lived...and then surrender.

Lovies, this week, I had some pretty special people show up and show their love for me and an agency I hearted. And as I tried really hard to get through what they meant to me, what this place meant to me, what dad meant to me, I couldn't. I couldn't get the words out and I couldn't talk and the harder I tried, the quieter I got.

When I looked up at dad, he was trying so hard to be supportive and I could tell he was telling me I didn't have to, I didn't have to thank him. I didn't have to struggle through this, he knew. I tried, I really did, but it all sounded so quiet.

That night, I wanted to apologize, to tell him that it really did matter to me that he knew, that it mattered to me that he realized I never did any of this alone. That when I was asked, how are you doing all of this, I said, I have Cory. That I always had my lovey, my coach, and that no one has ever believed in me like this. That all of his hard work, all of his giving, all of his efforts, they mattered. I wouldn't have been able to do any of this without him, every single day.

Brin, we show up for each other, this is what we do. The nights I have to coach, the months you are at this alone, we just do it. That's what our family does. We don't ever have to worry about it, because we know the other one is there.

We show up for each other. It sounds so simple, but damn, he could not have been more right. We do just show up for each other and we do just keep going. I wish I could say the months it is just me showing up that I handled it with as much grace and love as dad, but I know I didn't. Still, I continued to show up and he has always shown up for us.

Marriage is so funny that way. There are so many things that a couple could be doing better, there are so many areas they can continue to grow towards each other, there are so many ways we stumble and so many times we just plain old fail. But for the ones that are in this for life, for the ones that found and then built on their family, they find their thing. And this little simple thing is ours, we show up for each other. We are partners in every way possible. It is never ever ever 50/50 in our house. Not one time, not one day. One is always giving more and that person can change day by day or minute by minute. That one person can be the one giving way more for way longer, but they get it, this is what is needed right now. This is how I am showing up. This is how I am there for my family, even when I am not the one there. We just show up.

It's what we do, and it's what we have always done. You know that, there's no need to thank me for us being us.

But there is lovey. Thank you for thinking I had a handle on this and thank you for thinking I could work at it. Thank you for letting me work at it. Thank you for letting me have it take over our lives and thank you for bringing me back and reminding me I can't let it take over. Thank you for believing we had this in us, thank you for wanting them and believing we could do that too. Thank you for seeing me, loving me, the real me, thank you for expecting more out of me and thank you for understanding my limitations. Thank you for knowing when you are not going to stand for something and thank you for letting me think I'm in charge, even though I never am. Thank you, for allowing me to cry and freak out. Thank you for talking me off of ledges and thank you for reminding me no matter what, it will all work out and be okay. Thank you for all of the listening and not just agreeing with me, but really trying to get me to stretch and see things differently. Thank you for loving all of us, as hard as you can and thank you for wanting them so much that you made me want them too. Thank you for your patience, your joy, your dad humor, for all people loving you because they see how great you are. Thank you for holding my hand in a public place, thank you for coming to every single event and being the one I could always find in a crowded and tired room. Thank you for letting me work all hours and thank you for listening to the alarm go off for hours while I willed myself out of bed. Thank you for all of the meals, and cleanups and all of the activities you sign them up for and schedule. Thank you for letting me sit out so much, thank you for all of their mornings and all the hurrying you had to do.

Thank you for always showing up, thank you for realizing it's our thing, and thank you for loving the hell out of us.

Every Friday we unite for five minutes. Only five minutes, that's all we get, that's all we have. And then, right where we are, no edits or second-thoughts, we publish those words. This week, we write on sacrifice.

Go.

Wouldn't you know I have been thinking a lot about this word. All that we as people give up, sacrifice, all that we choose is important and all that we decide is no longer important. As mothers, women, workers, friends, parents, people, children, framily members, family members, we make sacrifices for those we love and what we love every day all day. We give up a lot for the other.

We sacrifice sleep for work, or a run, or quiet time with no one up, or the beauty of a sunrise, or sex, or a late-night talk, or worry. We sacrifice sex for sleep, or closeness, or comfort. We sacrifice our families for our jobs, our jobs for our families, our ambition for a different life. We sacrifice love for achievement and heartache for an easy route. We sacrifice our health for an easier way and we sacrifice the easy way for our health. We sacrifice our careers for family, and little, and protection and building something different.

We sacrifice our mentality for a year, we tell ourselves we can do anything for a year, and we sacrifice it all to get to some goal we created. Because we decided. We sacrifice walking away because we love and we just can't. And we know all along, we are putting something aside and making this other thing our priority.

Stop.