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I have always been someone who needs to talk about my thoughts. Not just talk — process , dissect, analyze, and then probably talk about it again. When I am anxious, I overcommunicate. I seek validation, confirmation, reassurance. I need someone to meet me in the mess of my mind before I can find my way out of it. For most of my life, the only person who could fully match that energy was my mom. Which tracks — because she is probably where I got the tendency from in the first

Change has always been scary for me. I used to hold on to things too tightly. Routines. Relationships. Identities. Even versions of myself that I had already outgrown. If it was familiar, I felt safe. And for a while, that strategy worked. But what I could not see then was how tightly gripping what felt safe was also keeping me stuck. It created harm in quiet ways. Harm in relationships. Harm in my emotions. Harm in my self beliefs. Harm in the way I viewed change as somethin

Growing up, all I knew was basketball. It wasn’t just something I did after school. It wasn’t a hobby. It wasn’t a phase. Basketball was my passion, my identity, my safe place. I gave so much of myself to that sport—my time, my energy, my emotions, my body, my mind. Looking back now, I realize I have never felt a love so strong. It consumed me. “Married to the game.” “Ball is life.” The most cringey statements… yet somehow the most accurate ones. And the older I get, the more