A Decade in the Waiting

Ten years. An entire decade of silence on this page. Ten years of life happening at a pace I could barely tolerate, of experiences tucked away in my mind, in notebooks, in my iPhone notes, in memory. I haven’t written here (or anywhere, for that matter) in so long that I almost forgot the way it feels. But life has brought me to a precipice of self-discovery yet again, and yet again I am driven to write. After ten years, I guess I missed the quiet intimacy of depositing disorganized, fractured thoughts onto a page, letting them breathe, letting them linger.

I suppose a cursory "life update" is due. What have I been up to in my decade of blog silence? Well...I went to college. Started grad school. Got married, got pregnant a few times, lost my babies and marriage. Last November, I received a life-altering diagnosis in which I learned I will never be able to carry my own biological children. Apparently I was born with a rare birth defect, which caused my uterus, kidneys, bladder and ovaries to not develop fully. Thus, in life's cruel irony, I am able to conceive (and did five times) but unable to carry past 14 weeks. 10 years ago, I thought God's will for my life was to be a wife and mother. I prepared myself extensively for these roles. In November 2024, I found myself a wife and stepmother...but God closed both of those doors violently. In February 2025, my husband and I separated. It has been the most difficult thing I've ever gone through, along with my diagnosis. It became very evident to me that God's plan for me is not to be a wife and mother...at least not right now. I spent most of this year deeply depressed and fearful of what life would bring next. But then I realized that I can either drown in the weight of my life trajectory changing, or I can embrace it. Make the best of it. Find a new path, a way to be fulfilled and content. 

Over the last decade, life demanded attention, and I gave it fully. My days blurred into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. But I collected tiny memorable moments in snapshots. so I wouldn't forget. My plan is to resurrect this blog to verbally capture those snapshots, remembering that there is breathtaking beauty in the everyday monotony of being alive: the romance of a favorite coffee mug, the way laughter lingers long after friends have left, the quiet evenings where I sat with my thoughts until they finally whispered truths I hadn’t realized before. I plan to spend the next few months documenting my journey forward on this blog, and writing about the last ten years.

There were moments in the last decade where I briefly considered blogging again. But it wasn't until I met with true, deep, unshakeable tragedy that my creative juices started flowing. Maybe it was the solitude, thinking about what I had lost in silence. Maybe it was the small thrill of reading something beautiful, a line in a book, a message from a friend, a fleeting observation in everyday life, that made me remember the joy of making words my own. The urge to write never fully left me. It always whispered in the most quiet corners of my mind, in the pause between tasks, in the hum of everyday life. And now I’m finally listening.

Why come back to my blog after ten years? Because I’ve remembered that words are not just art...they are the preservation of ourselves, expressions of our growth and legacy. Words are an excavation. Words are a map of the soul as it grows, changes, falters, and flourishes. They hold the fleeting, the fragile, the moments we almost forget. Ten years ago, I wrote for pleasure. I wrote because I truly loved the art of the written word. So I studied marketing and communication in school in hopes of mastering my greatest love. But somewhere along the way, in the midst of research papers, marketing lectures, deadlines and sleepless nights, I lost the joy in writing. I forgot the power of the written word. It's taken me ten years and a lot of failures, experiences and lessons to recover my joy of writing. Writing used to be my deposit box, a way to capture and preserve emotions before they were lost. Now it feels like returning home, rediscovering corners of myself that I left behind, dusting off old thoughts and letting them speak again.

And even in today's age of social media saturation where we all want to make our voices heard...there is so much of value to speak about. Love. Loss. Failure. Pain. Joy. Lessons. Wisdom. Peace. The important things in life.The world may have shifted. I have shifted. Faces have come and gone, cities have been lived in, hearts have been broken and mended. Yet the written words remains a constant, waiting patiently for me to return. I want to record the ordinary and the extraordinary alike: the quiet mornings with coffee and a notebook, the endless streets I wandered, the people whose lives touched mine in ways both small and monumental.

So here I am. Over the next several months, I hope to document my life experiences, history, lessons learned, and gratitude for being alive. I don’t know how often I’ll write, or where this will lead, but I do know this: the act of writing itself is homecoming. It is reclaiming a part of myself I thought I had lost, a reminder that some parts of ourselves are worth returning to. It is me saying to myself: "Here you are...you're still you. You haven't forgotten."

To anyone reading this: thank you for reading, or stumbling here, or simply letting me speak into the void once again. It feels good. It feels like I’m home.