I’m Done Hoarding What No Longer Serves Me Lately, I’ve been peeling back layers—some intentionally, others by force. Each layer uncovers something new: trauma that was done to me… and if I’m honest, some that I’ve inflicted on myself. It’s been uncomfortable. Necessary. Healing. I found myself surrounded by what I now call “organized chaos.” Things that once held meaning or purpose, stacked neatly in my life like trophies. But lately, I had to ask myself—do these things still serve me? And more importantly, do I still serve them? We hold onto stuff—physical, emotional, spiritual—just to prove we survived something. Or that we accomplished something. We keep people around because…

Let’s talk about something we don’t always say out loud— The heartbreak that doesn’t come from a breakup… but from showing up for people who don’t show up for you. You know the kind: You remember their birthday, their interview, their breakdown from three Tuesdays ago. They forget your name when they’re busy. You send long texts, voice notes, lifelines. They reply with dry “okays” and emojis—or not at all. You love out loud. They stay on mute. You give grace. They give breadcrumbs. That kind of relationship? It’s a slow erosion of self. It’s planting in soil that never intends to grow anything back. And if you’re honest—it hurts…