Live and Let Live.

I write from my lived experience as a woman navigating chronic illness, disabilities and identity loss. This space centres care not debate.

[a-mind-in-ruins]

Another man will hold her hand. Another man will hug her. Another man will kiss her. Another man will meet her family. Another man will love her. Another man will live the life you wanted with her.

If you’re not okay with that, then don’t fumble her.

[dearblackwoman]

You are worthy of the soft life you’re building for yourself.

[astraxperxaspera]

A Gull and Potato Peel Pie

I have not written much for this blog, but I promised I would write more to myself this year. I found myself stuck in a predicament I didn’t know how to carry alone, and more troubling still, I couldn’t find people who had carried it before me. When I came up short, I decided to write — and maybe someone who’s where I am will find it, and we can share in it together.

February 14th was looming. As a single woman, I felt that familiar societal dread — but something in me stirred. I would not be at home, wine-drunk and miserable. Self-pity be damned, at least for today.

I had already made a dentist appointment — a Saturday, perfect for my schedule — something practical to fill the time. And then I thought: my dentist is downtown. I’ll be my own lover for the day.

I needed something to do with myself, so I returned to an old love. I searched for a good book — something to bear witness to instead of being trapped with my own dizzying thoughts. I needed a crutch, something to have and to hold while I bambi-legged my way through the day alone.

I admit I am no longer used to doing things on my own. I have lost confidence in a thousand small ways. I would tell myself, “That looks fun,” and then wait for someone to accompany me. When they couldn’t, I resigned myself to not going at all.

Then, one beautiful summer day, I felt the chill of winter coming — yes, winter, not fall.

I decided to catch the last dredges of warmth and go to the beach by myself. It felt like resistance. My first step into it.

While gathering my things, I found a book tucked under a pile of clothes on the stairs: Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway. Serendipity at its finest. If you find yourself living with fear, I offer you this kindness.

I was lost — and my fear was that I would never be found.

The question haunted me, and maybe it haunts you too: Who am I?

That became my resolution for the new year: find yourself through the fear. Do things with yourself, for yourself — especially when you are afraid to do them.

Don’t hate me, reader, but I typed into ChatGPT asking for a plan for my big date, and a book recommendation based on others I’d loved. That’s how I found The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.

At first, I was put off by the title. What the actual fuck is a potato peel pie, and what does it have to do with a literary society? But like Sam-I-Am, I told myself to try it. Maybe I’d like it.

I had planned a full day, but after the dentist I realized my face was so numb I couldn’t feel my eyebrow. The fancy tea and baked goods would have to wait — my half-dead tongue deserved mercy.

A part of me said to pack it in and go home. At least I’d fixed my teeth. At least I’d bought the book. But a quiet, insistent voice told me to stay.

I ended up by the ocean, eating lunch — something I’d been too nervous to do alone the summer before. Back then, I felt every imagined eye on me. Not now.

I was resolute in my choices. I believe that when you are in alignment, the world offers signs encouraging you forward. Mine came in the form of a hungry gull.

He wasn’t one of the small white ones. This was a seafaring bird — not to be trifled with. Anything that can traverse the sea with nothing more than wings and flipper-like feet has more grit than I do. What I felt wasn’t fear so much as respect.

He made himself small beside me, staring expectantly at my lunch. I felt bad — mac and cheese can’t be good for seagulls. The thought turned into writing, as it often does, and I begged myself to remember it:

Seagull, I am sad that I have nothing to give you and I’m sure you’re sad there is nothing to get, but you sit here with me anyway. I try to explain, like you could understand, and from the way your head tilts, I think you do. The wind picks up, and you are gone with it.

I realized I was not alone in the world — connection could be made, even with a hungry gull. Then I opened my book.

This is where I met Juliet. If you read it, you’ll meet her too — and you’ll find yourself in her letters as I did.

I forgot what a good book does for the soul. I felt less alone than I had in a long time. Acceptance and grace — things I’d been forcing myself toward through mud and uncertainty — arrived quietly instead.

A great melancholy that had anchored itself to my soul lifted.

Juliet longs to be seen for who she is. She quarrels with herself, and I laughed, because 1946 or 2026, it doesn’t matter — fears are still fears, insecurity still lives in us all. She looks at the world the way I do, and in the turning of the universe, she finds her life. Or rather, her life finds her.

Even after all the darkness they had endured, something bright came after. I believe it has come for me, too.

The mournfulness I carried days before is hard to find now — not gone forever, but softened. Let us not pretend the skies will never grey again. But for now, the clouds have parted, and the warmth of summer finds me in the middle of winter. I hope it finds you too.

I was only 28, staring down a quarter-life crisis, convinced my life was already over. But as Juliet reminds us, it is only beginning.

I spent the whole day with myself, and I loved it.

The day didn’t go to plan. I ended up in a smoke shop, sitting on a couch, content to exist in the world. Later, I found myself at a strip club with my friend — she works there — and one of her coworkers asked if I wanted a private dance. I had never had one before.

Why? I was scared to ask. Scared to do it.

And reader — I did that thing.

It was an experience I wouldn’t trade for the world.

I owe thanks to The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society for giving me back to myself, even if only for a moment. It taught me that I am not stuck, and that I deserve to be seen — quietly.

I am not an intruder in this world. I am a witness to it. And so are you.

Being lost is nothing to fear — it means there is something waiting to be found.

Yours truly, ad astra per aspera

P.S. This day was a small moment of grace in the storm of uncertainty I am still weathering. That is enough for now.

[a-mind-in-ruins]

Every time I'm trying to act heartless, a quiet voice inside me whispers: "this isn't who you are."

[dearblackwoman]

Aesthetic affirmation, money looks good on me, success looks good on me, peace looks good on me, expansion looks natural on me.

[astraxperxaspera]

I Feel Pretty (ugly)

Some people have life come easy and soft. Those people have life flow out in front of them in sprawling green fields. They’re lush and fragrant, and when you ask what they use, they say, oh, I don’t use anything. I find that I am smelling of bitter resentment.

It isn’t by any means always sunny; they occasionally get too much rain and it becomes muddy, but they have never seen a drought.

All I know is the fire of life leaving nothing but charred husks and pockmarked skin.

I know I shouldn’t be, but I am envious.

I used to feel pretty, and when I looked in the mirror, I saw myself. I am not ugly, but these days I feel it, and I wonder if you find yourself feeling the same way.

There’s a girl that lives in my head. She is who I am. But then a reflective surface crawls its way into view, and that girl in my head is shattered by the one living in reality, and I am angry.

Why am I comparing? Who am I comparing myself to? Myself — me from a year ago.

I am haunted. Every other day, a Snapchat memory notification pings on my phone, and I see the girl I have in my head smiling back at me. I am heartbroken that I don’t see her in the mirror anymore, and I am angry that my body waged a war on me that I did not consent to.

I know some will say that I have internalized hate for myself, but it’s not. What I am fighting through is grief. You can’t out-love grief. You live through it.

My identity was stolen by my own body, and what do you do when that happens? I can’t look at myself much anymore. I don’t like the photos I am in. I don’t want to take selfies. I feel ugly. I find myself unable to radically accept this version of me; it’s not who I am.

I find myself pulling and pinching at my skin, trying to smooth it, trying to snap it back twelve months.

I drink spearmint tea. I choke down vitamins. I scrub and buff and polish until my skin is red and raw. I am desperately trying to erase the evidence from my body, and yet the dark spots remain.

I stand under water that’s too hot, massaging my scalp, begging blood back into my follicles. I am crying in the mirror, mourning the girl I once was.

I am in my twenties.

I am balding.

And while I lose my hair, I grow facial hair that teenage boys would envy.

I close my eyes at night and tell myself it’s just time — that in six months it will be different. I fall asleep with small prayers for a miracle stuck on my lips, and I hope that what I’m doing will work and give me back what my body took without asking.

I am not ugly. Neither are you. But I feel it.

with you, — ad astra per aspera

[remanence-of-love]

[heyitssummerrr]

I have SOOO much anger and sadness inside me, I don’t even have a place to keep it

[milk-and-wildflowers]

💌 Dear God, I Don’t Know What to Pray For Anymore

Dear God,

I used to know what to say. I used to have a list. Of people to keep safe, of things to bless, of thanks to give.

It was easy once.

Back when I believed that kindness was armor. Back when I thought faith was something you earned by being small and good and always smiling.

Back when I thought if I kept my promises— you would keep yours too.

But now… I don’t know what to ask for. Because I asked you for him.

I asked you to bless this love. I asked you to keep my heart steady. I asked you to make me gentle, holy, beautiful in the kind of way someone stays for.

And he still left.

So now I sit here with folded hands and nothing to fold into.

Because I don’t want to ask for something I know you won’t give me. And I don’t want to pretend I’m not angry.

Yes, I said it. I’m angry.

At him. At me. At you.

I’m angry that I kept showing up with an open heart and he kept showing up with empty hands.

I’m angry that I stayed good and still got broken.

And maybe that’s not fair. Maybe that’s not how it works. But it’s how it feels.

Still… I don’t want to stop talking to you.

Even if I don’t have the words. Even if all I can offer is the silence between Our Father and Amen.

So if you’re still listening—

Please hold the parts of me I can’t hold right now. Please see me, even when I don’t shine. Please don’t leave, even when I don’t pray the right way.

I don’t need miracles anymore.

Just mercy.

Just a quiet place to rest my heart.

Love always, Abilene

[ifeellikepablo]

✌️✨✨dear diary…🙇‍♀️✨

in less than a month, 2026 has already taught me an insanely valuable lesson on the power of actually liking yourself. my entire life I submitted myself to the idea that it was only me trying - and the entire world was working against me. I think God puts things in our ears at times we need to hear them. listening to silly Kendrick song I’ve always loved I thought about it closely “it was always me versus the world, until I found it’s me vs me.”

I will never succeed in moving beyond myself until I understand the weight that my self perception puts on me. The ways I limit myself. The ways I hate myself. The ways I doubt myself. The ways I assume weakness.

The simple change of seeing a situation as “whatever the outcome is will not change the unwavering love and confidence I have within myself. It’s in me as long as I’m here.” I think God put that on me this month because it was something I wasn’t budging on. But now that I’m seeing what a difference being my biggest fan is - I feel like I can do anything.

[eymurn]

In your 20s, you'll feel like you're losing the race. It's important to understand that there is no race.

[svdaily]

Not even against yourself.

[theambitiouswoman]

At all.

[urdreamgirlangel]

[theambitiouswoman]

If you want to live a life that feels normal to you, you can’t keep building it around what feels normal to everyone else

The life you want will feel unfamiliar at first. Quiet where you’re used to chaos. Spacious where you’re used to pressure. Sometimes even lonely before it feels peaceful. That doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong, it means you’re unlearning what never actually fit

What’s “normal” is just repetition. You get to choose which patterns you repeat

[dearblackwoman]

rest is not quitting

[dearblackwoman]

My ambition is wrapped in self-love, not self-sacrifice.

[dearblackwoman]

You deserve love that feels calm not confusing

[dearblackwoman]

I’m ambitious about my peace, intentional about my joy, and strategic about my rest.