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Eating Isn’t Simple
For many people, food is an afterthought; something woven seamlessly into daily life, family gatherings, and celebrations. For me, it has always been something I have to plan around, fear, and recover from. My relationship with food touches every part of my life; my relationships, my work, my health, my sense of belonging.
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The Weight of Invisibility
I spend a lot of my life reading people. Not because I want to, but because I’ve learned to. Because when what you’re carrying is invisible, you don’t always get to choose what feels safe to say.
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The Weight of What We Inherit
The things we carry in this work are not always chosen. Some are taught. Some are absorbed. And some, we have to learn how to let go of.
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The Work That Finds You
The Work That Finds You explores how purpose unfolds slowly through the people we meet and the care we learn to offer. It’s a reflection on harm reduction, community, and the quiet ways this work shapes those who choose to stay soft in a hard world.
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These Systems Were Never Built for Us
People like to say the system is broken. But the truth is a lot harder to sit with than that. Most of the time, the people deciding which programs receive funding have never worked in the field themselves. They have never held someone’s hand while they cried because they were banned from the one place…
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A Moral Failure
My heart breaks for the human beings who will die because of this decision. It sits heavy in my chest, knowing that the people responsible for making it likely do not feel that same heartbreak. They do not know the lives they are about to have a hand in ending. I do.
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The Weight We Share
To the burnt-out and the lost. To the ones who keep choosing care even when it breaks their hearts. To the ones who have held anger, guilt, and grief in the same breath and kept going anyway. To those who stay, even when it feels like the world has stopped listening. This is my love…
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The Weight of Systems
There’s a space between help and hope — wide enough to hold a system and small enough to fit in the pause before a worker says, “I’m sorry, there’s nothing more I can do.”
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The Weight of Softness
Softness is heavy. It sounds gentle but carrying it every day; in crisis calls, intake notes, late-night worries. It begins to ache in the bones. We are told to bring empathy, to hold space, to stay curious even when the stories are unbearable. And most days, we do. But softness is not weightless. It gathers.…
Being Human Writing
Real lived-experience writing about care, connection, and the invisible challenges people face.
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The Weight of Invisibility
I spend a lot of my life reading people. Not because I want to, but because I’ve learned to. Because when what you’re carrying is invisible, you don’t always get to choose what feels safe to say.
Being Human Writing 