This week in the garden has been a mix of encouragement and frustration. Some of my plants are thriving while others are clearly struggling, and honestly, I think the strange weather has a lot to do with it.
My spinach and okra have not been doing well at all. The spinach started bolting and looking stressed almost overnight, and the okra just seems unhappy no matter what I try. Between the random temperature swings, heavy rain, cooler nights, and sudden heat, I think the plants are having a hard time adjusting. Gardening really teaches patience because sometimes you can do everything “right” and nature still has other plans.
Thankfully, not everything is struggling. The potatoes are making steady progress and the corn is finally starting to look strong and established. My tomatoes are filling out nicely, the peppers are slowly taking off, and the peanuts are doing much better than I expected. Seeing those little wins helps balance out the disappointment of losing or struggling with other crops.
One thing I’m learning this season is that every garden tells a story. Some plants thrive in certain conditions while others refuse to cooperate. Instead of looking at setbacks as failures, I’m trying to see them as lessons for the next season. I may end up restarting the okra in a different area with more heat, and I’ll probably wait until cooler temperatures return before trying another round of spinach.
Even with the challenges, I still enjoy walking through the garden every morning. There’s something peaceful about watching things grow slowly over time. Progress may not always look perfect, but progress is still progress.
Mother’s Day is a layered day for millions of women.
In one breath, we are overjoyed to celebrate the bond we share with our children. We hold them close, laugh with them, and feel gratitude for the opportunity to love them in ways we may not have been loved ourselves. But in the next breath, many of us are grieving. Not necessarily because our mothers are gone, but because of the painful realization that we never truly experienced the kind of mothering we needed.
There is a particular kind of grief that comes from watching someone give to others what they could never seem to give to you.
Sometimes I look back at the way my mother treated my siblings and wonder if she truly saw me as her child at all. I witnessed her capacity for love, tenderness, and compassion. I saw her celebrate others, support others, and show up emotionally for others. That is what made it hurt even more. It wasn’t that she lacked the ability to love. It was realizing that, somehow, that love rarely reached me.
For a long time, I questioned myself because of it. Children naturally assume that love is earned. So when it is withheld, inconsistent, or conditional, many of us grow up believing we must have done something wrong. We spend years trying to become more lovable, more agreeable, more accomplished, more useful — hoping that eventually we will receive the softness we have been craving all along.
But some wounds do not come from loud abuse. Some come quietly through emotional absence, comparison, neglect, favoritism, or simply never feeling chosen.
Mother’s Day can reopen those wounds.
It can be painful to scroll through celebration after celebration while carrying the silent grief of never feeling protected, nurtured, or emotionally safe. Society often speaks about motherhood as though it is automatically loving, but many people are learning that giving birth and providing emotional care are not always the same thing.
And yet, despite all of this, many wounded daughters grow up to become incredibly loving mothers themselves.
There is something both heartbreaking and beautiful about learning to give your children the love you once begged for. Many mothers are actively breaking cycles while simultaneously grieving the childhoods they never had. That emotional contradiction is exhausting. It is possible to deeply love your children while mourning the fact that no one loved you in that same way.
Both things can exist at once.
For those carrying complicated feelings this Mother’s Day, you are not alone. Your grief does not make you ungrateful, bitter, or broken. It makes you human. Healing often begins when we finally allow ourselves to acknowledge what we lost instead of pretending it never mattered.
And maybe that is where the real healing begins: Not in forcing ourselves to celebrate what hurt us, but in becoming the kind of love we deserved all along.
I got into running before the age of 10, and for a long time, it was just a part of who I was. Over the years, I stepped away from it more than once—sometimes because of injuries, and other times because life, especially motherhood, demanded more of me. Running slowly became something I used to do… instead of something I returned to. But as my children got older, I started to feel this quiet pull. Like something in me was asking me to come back to it. To lace up my shoes again. To reconnect with what once felt natural.
I was never the fastest runner, and honestly, that was never the point. I ran because it was something I could control. Because it gave me space. Because, for a little while, the focus could just be on me and what I needed. Then everything shifted.
Two years ago, my mother passed away from a preventable medical condition at the age of 65. That loss changed how I look at my health—and my future. What made it even harder to ignore was the pattern. My maternal grandmother also passed away at 65. She was the youngest in her generation. Just like my mother. And just like me. That realization stayed with me. And I knew I didn’t want that to be my story.
I want to outlive them both. I want something different. And the only way that happens is by taking control of my health. So, at the end of 2025, I made the decision to start running again—consistently this time. Around Christmas, the idea came to me:
65 half marathons.
Not all at once, and not rushed, but over time and with intention, I plan to run at least two half marathons a year—knowing realistically I may need to average closer to three to reach my goal of 65 before my 65th birthday. This journey isn’t about running for the sake of running; it’s about making a decision and understanding that it will be challenging at times. I’m choosing to share this because I want to encourage anyone who finds themselves thinking about their mortality or facing health challenges. Life will always bring obstacles, but when we learn to look at them through a different lens, those same challenges can lead us to something meaningful—maybe even something joyful
Just Showing Up
These days, my routine is pretty simple. I follow my training plan on Runna, I lace up my shoes, and I go. Some days feel strong. Some days feel slow. Some days, I don’t feel like going at all. And on those days, I’ve learned something important. I don’t have to be perfect. I just have to show up. And when my body needs rest? I take it. Because I’m not trying to burn out or get injured trying to prove something. I’m trying to build something that lasts.
Changing the Direction
At some point, this stopped being about “just getting in shape.” It became something deeper. Health doesn’t just happen. It’s built on the small decisions. In the habits we keep. In the moments we choose to show up—even when we don’t feel like it. Running has become one of those habits. Not because it’s always easy. But because it creates space—for clarity, for strength, and for something that feels like peace.
Finding Something I Didn’t Expect
I didn’t expect to enjoy this. That’s probably the most surprising part. Running has given me a kind of stillness I didn’t know I needed. There’s something about being out there, moving forward—even when things feel heavy—that shifts something mentally. It clears space. And in that space, I’ve found something that feels a lot like joy. Another part of this journey that I didn’t expect was the sense of community. I joined two local running groups, and through them, I’ve met some really great people—people who understand the effort it takes just to show up. On the days when my motivation is low, that sense of community makes a difference. It helps keep me accountable. It reminds me that I’m not doing this alone. And that’s something I’m truly grateful for.
Thinking About the Future
I’m in my early 40s now. And I think about the future a little differently. I’m not just thinking about getting through the day or the week. I’m thinking about being here long enough—and healthy enough—to really live. To show up for my children. To be present in their lives. And maybe one day, to meet my grandchildren. That matters to me.
Learning to Listen
One thing running is teaching me is how to listen to my body. Don’t ignore pain. I learned that the hard way and was sidelined for several years. Running is going to hurt, and it is good to know which pain to take seriously and which one to listen to. Don’t push past everything; sometimes rest is exactly what you need. Because rest is part of the work, too, learning this concept has helped my running so much more than before. And choosing not to get injured? That’s part of the discipline.
The Story I’m Writing Now
This isn’t about being the fastest runner. Or having the perfect training schedule. Or doing everything right. This is about showing up for myself in a way I didn’t before, about choosing health. About choosing longevity. About choosing something different. One run at a time. I have tried out different running apps over the years to help create a safe and realistic training schedule. I downloaded the Runna app in May of 2025, and I used it to train for the Blue and Gray Half Marathon in December 2025. I felt strong and ready for that. Sticking with the running schedule my team of trainers created really helped me feel strong and confident to complete that race.
Let’s Talk
If you’ve been thinking about taking control of your health…Start where you are. Start small- by either getting a gym membership, joining local fitness clubs in your area, and setting small goals that can be expanded as you grow on your health journey. It is not about perfection; it is about taking control of your health and learning about what works for you. Running works for me because it allows me to be out in nature. You don’t need perfect timing or perfect conditions; there will never be a perfect time or season to take charge of your life and health. If you decide to start today, then go for it.
Running has become more than a routine — it’s been a return to discipline, breath, and strength. Over the past few months, I’ve trained consistently and challenged myself in new ways. I’ve completed a few races so far. The first was the Shamrock 5K in March. Then there the Race Towards Autism Acceptance 5K in April, Marine Corps Historic Half Marathon in May. The Father’s Legacy Inaugural 5K was held first. The most recent race was the Fallen Heroes 5 Miler on July 4th, 2025. Each race brought its own lessons — in perseverance, in honoring the moment, and in trusting my body’s quiet power.
Some mornings were hard. Some finishes were emotional. But every step has been worth it.
Right now, I’m deep in training for something big — my very first full marathon! I’ll be running the Richmond Marathon this October. I couldn’t be more excited. I am also a little nervous for the journey ahead. It’s a milestone I’ve dreamed about for years, and I’m ready to meet it head-on.
On the Page: Stories Taking Root
Writing has been both refuge and revelation. I recently completed my debut novel, Songs of the Eleven Suns. It is the first book in a trilogy that explores the delicate balance between land and sea. It delves into memory and myth, as well as love and legacy. It’s a story rooted in ancestry and longing — and one that’s been with me for a long time.
Working on this book stretched me in every way. I poured so much of myself into its pages. It was not just the craft of writing, but the emotional truth beneath the story. Seeing it finished felt like watching a dream step into the light.
Alongside that, I’ve been working on a deeply personal poetry chapbook titled Dark, Still Rising. It’s a collection centered on themes of defiance, self-love, childhood, ancestry, and healing. It is written as a lyrical tribute to dark brown skin, identity, and survival. These poems have helped me rediscover voice, power, and presence in the quietest corners of myself.
Now, I’m continuing the journey with Book Two of the trilogy. I am expanding the world, deepening the characters, and raising the stakes. It’s thrilling to return to a place I know so well and keep discovering new depths.
There’s more to come — and I can’t wait to bring you along as these stories continue to unfold.
Below are the links for the books…if you are interested!!
Haven Harvest Living 