Category: Lifestyle

Okay but how did I fully miss posting on the first day of spring? Like… hello??

Anyway, the vibe this season is all about reinvention, rebirth, and stepping into the rest of the year feeling like a dewy goddess.

Yes, I’m four days late posting about it—but honestly? I’ve already made two major spring posts, so if anything, I was early. Let’s call it that.

So maybe I missed the official date, but emotionally? I’ve been in spring mode for a while now—and that’s what really counts.

Plus, this season I’ve already:

• Dyed my hair
• Started wearing makeup (and my new glasses!)
• Picked up some much-needed closet essentials

Safe to say… my rebirth energy is thriving.

I really hate that I’m still getting hate from different people about how Hector and I announced we were married.

Yes, we waited a year.
Yes, we didn’t tell people the day it happened.
And yes, we originally wanted to wait until year five.

And honestly, I don’t regret it.

What I do regret is how comfortable people have become with calling me manipulative, dishonest, and untrustworthy over something that was never theirs to be involved in to begin with.

Hector and I made a personal decision about our relationship and our marriage. We chose to keep it private for a year because we wanted to. It wasn’t some calculated move. It wasn’t a scheme. It wasn’t about hurting anyone or breaking anyone’s trust. It was simply two people choosing to protect a major life decision while we settled into it.

That’s it.

Somehow, that turned into people acting like they were betrayed, like we owed them immediate access to one of the most important moments of our lives. And that’s the part that doesn’t sit right with me. Because marriage isn’t a public event just because other people care about you. It’s not a community project. It’s not something that requires permission or real-time updates to be valid.

It’s a commitment between two people.

Waiting to share it didn’t change anything about the marriage itself. It didn’t make it fake. It didn’t make it dishonest. It didn’t make it manipulative. The only thing it did was delay when other people found out.

And apparently, that delay is what people are upset about.

But here’s the truth: not everyone is entitled to immediate access to every part of your life. Not every milestone has to be announced the moment it happens. Not every decision needs to be shared in real time just to make other people feel included.

Privacy is not manipulation.

Keeping something to yourself for a while is not betrayal.

And choosing peace over public reaction is not dishonesty.

I’m frustrated because the conversation has shifted away from what marriage actually is — love, commitment, partnership, and building a life together — and turned into a debate about timing and announcements, as if that matters more than the relationship itself.

It doesn’t.

What matters is that Hector and I chose each other. What matters is that we built our first year of marriage quietly and intentionally. What matters is that we made a decision that worked for us, even if it didn’t work for everyone else.

People are allowed to feel surprised. They’re allowed to feel confused. They’re even allowed to feel hurt for a moment while they process something unexpected. But turning that surprise into ongoing accusations and name-calling crosses a line.

Because at some point, it stops being concern and starts being entitlement.

And I’m tired of carrying the weight of other people’s expectations about how I should share my life.

No one was lied to.
No one was manipulated.
No one was harmed by us choosing to keep our marriage private for a year.

The only thing that happened is that people didn’t know right away.

That’s not betrayal. That’s timing.

At the end of the day, our marriage belongs to us. Not to social media, not to extended circles, not to outside opinions, and not to anyone who feels they were owed an announcement on their schedule.

We shared it when we were ready.

And that should have been enough.

I realized I haven’t really talked about school in a while. The last thing I mentioned, I think, was that I was quitting… well, turns out that’s not happening. Somehow, I got accepted into all the universities I applied to. Honestly, who would have guessed that was even possible? Not me.

Money ended up being the deciding factor, so I narrowed it down to two local schools. But with my new job, things feel a little easier to manage. And in the spirit of reconnecting with myself this year—balancing work, maybe school, and life in general—I’m giving myself a little space to figure things out. I don’t have to confirm my acceptance until May 1, which feels like a tiny gift of breathing room before diving in fully.

On top of that, I’m planning to get a cottage food operating permit. If you haven’t heard of it, it’s basically a way to make food at home legally and sell it—think bread, cookies, pies… all the good things. I’m still figuring out the exact steps, but I’m excited to learn and create, and maybe even bring a little extra joy to my days (and others’) with baked goods.

I’m also thinking about bringing back my bunny’s hangout Instagram. It feels like a nice way to share this little journey—baking, farmers markets, and the quiet, happy moments in between.

Here’s to slowing down, exploring, and savoring the small things along the way.

So we all know I have a niece.

And she just turned 12.

TWELVE.

She still needs a permission slip for field trips and I’m over here like, “So what are we thinking? Dermatologist? Tech girly? Something with benefits, dental, and a cute little 401(k) match?”

Before you sprint to the comments — I tell her all the time, “You don’t have to decide right now. You are literally a child.”

And I mean it.

She doesn’t have to know at 16.
She doesn’t even have to know at 18.

But at 18? Baby. You will be enrolled somewhere. A college of your choosing. Community, state, international— I do not care. Just pick a campus and a direction.

Do I sound dramatic? Yes.
Am I? Also yes.

But here’s the tea.

I don’t want her to have my life.

Now listen — I’m content. I laugh. I love. I have my little joys. I am not sitting in a dark room spiraling 24/7. That’s what the internet is for.

But do I have regrets?

Oh, absolutely.

Mostly that I didn’t go to school younger. Because some mornings I wake up, stare at the ceiling, and think, “I’m almost 30… what am I doing?” Why am I looking at student loans at the same age other people are trying to buy homes?

I don’t want her to know what it feels like to live paycheck to paycheck. I want her to buy a house, not rent. I want her to buy a new car because she wants it — not because her old one died at a red light and took her dignity with it.

A three-day vacation should not feel like financial Russian roulette.

I tell her all this and she goes, “Okay.” Then immediately returns to middle school drama.

Which — fair. She’s 12. Her biggest stress should be who unfollowed who, not the housing market.

I don’t have the degree. I don’t have the certificates. I don’t have the salary that makes trips feel casual.

What I do have? Lived experience. Overdraft fees. And clarity.

Clarity will humble you.

Because on the bad days, depression whispers, “You’re never going to afford the life you want.”

And I want things. I want to take a train from California to Seattle and just watch the coastline blur into trees. I want to drive all of Route 66 with snacks in the passenger seat and nowhere to be. I want to go to New York and be a full tourist. Statue selfies. Overpriced coffee. Bad pizza opinions.

I see my friends doing it and I’m like, “How?”

Yes, budgeting.

But also degrees. Certifications. Jobs that pay enough to budget in the first place.

So yeah, I push her.

Not because I think I’m a failure. Not because my life is tragic.

But because I want her to have choices.

One day she’ll understand that when I ask, “What are you going to be?” I’m not talking about status. I’m talking about security.

I want her to wake up at 30 and not feel behind. I want her to book random trips without checking her bank account first. I want her to struggle with success problems, not survival ones.

If she were my kid, she’d get the same speech.

Soft life. Stable income. Options.

That’s the vibe.

I just spent a week in crisis mode.

My mom was in and out of the hospital, and for seven straight days my brain was locked into that sharp, electric state of What changed? Is she okay? What now? Every phone buzz meant something. Every nurse walking in meant something. Every sound could mean something.

When you’re in that space, everything else in your life feels small. Work stress? Whatever. Bills? Annoying but not urgent. Dog drama? Please. There are bigger things happening.

And then you come home.

And all those “small” stressors are still sitting there waiting for you — except now you’re exhausted.

I got back and immediately started a new job. No buffer. No recovery day. Just straight from hospital mode to “Hi, nice to meet you, I’m so excited to be here” mode.

My female dog is still in heat. My male dog has apparently decided this is his villain era and has started marking everywhere. We live next to a train, so there’s always noise, always rumbling, always something happening. And I’m trying to keep up with my mom’s medical records and doctor updates from a different state because love doesn’t magically get easier with distance.

Oh, and my car decided this would be a great time for the CVT transmission to start acting up.

And I’ve had migraines every single day since I’ve been back.

It hasn’t even been a week.

And then, because the universe apparently loves timing, I got a conditional acceptance to one of the colleges I applied to.

Which should feel exciting. And part of me knows it is. But it also feels heavy.

The acceptance came before I dropped out of school, so now I don’t even know what that means for me. I don’t even fully understand what “conditional acceptance” means. Does it mean I’m in? Does it mean I’m almost in? Does it mean I have to fix something first? I don’t know.

And the thought of going to the community college I’m currently attending just to track down a counselor and figure out what I’m supposed to do feels overwhelming. I don’t have the energy. I barely have the energy to manage what’s directly in front of me right now.

So instead of feeling proud, I feel this creeping fear that this is just going to be another opportunity that slips through my fingers.

Like I’m watching doors open and I’m too tired to walk through them.

While I was with my mom, all my normal life stress felt so silly. Like why do I let this stuff get to me? Why do I care so much about emails, deadlines, paperwork?

But now I’m back, and everything feels louder than it should.

I’m usually a deep sleeper. Like, nothing wakes me up. But at the hospital I trained myself to wake up at every tiny sound. Every shuffle, every monitor beep, every door opening — my body was ready. And now I’m home and I’m still waking up at every little noise.

Two dogs. A train. Neighbors. Just the normal sounds of life.

My brain is still on duty.

I think that’s the part no one really talks about. You don’t just switch off crisis mode because you changed locations. Your nervous system doesn’t care that you’re technically “back to normal.” It’s still scanning for danger. Still listening. Still bracing.

And I didn’t give myself any transition time. I didn’t land softly. I didn’t rest. I just went straight from Crisis Daughter to New Employee to Responsible Adult to Dog Referee to Long-Distance Medical Coordinator to “Figure Out Your Academic Future Immediately.”

Of course I’m tired.

The migraines, the light sleep, the snapping over small things, the feeling wired but exhausted at the same time — it’s not me being dramatic. It’s a stress hangover.

I think I’m realizing you can’t shame yourself into calming down. You can’t tell your body, “This is dumb, relax,” and expect it to listen. You actually have to let yourself come down. Let yourself land. Admit that even if other people have it worse, this is still a lot.

Maybe the answer isn’t solving everything perfectly right now. Maybe it’s sending one email instead of planning out my entire academic future. Maybe it’s telling myself before bed, “There is no emergency tonight.” Maybe it’s accepting that I’m overwhelmed instead of pretending I’m handling it flawlessly.

If you’ve ever held it together for someone you love and then tried to jump straight back into regular life, you probably get it.

Sometimes the hardest part isn’t the crisis.

It’s the quiet after.