The end of the year often feels rushed and overwhelming. The calendar fills quickly. The days feel shorter. Energy is lower, yet expectations remain high. There is a particular kind of exhaustion that shows up in December, one that is not solved by a good night’s sleep. I’ve felt it myself this week. The tension between wanting to slow down and knowing there are still commitments that need attention. Projects to complete. Papers to submit. Numbers to review. Responsibilities,

I’ve felt off this past week or so—and by “off,” I mean wandering around my house like I’m starring in a low-budget documentary titled Where Did I Put My Sanity?   I didn’t even manage to publish last week’s blog. Ever since wrapping up Thanksgiving, bouncing between time zones, taking on a new client, and preparing for Christmas, I’ve been in a strange fog: always moving, yet somehow never getting anywhere. And tired. Oh, so tired. The kind of tired where you can’t  sleep—re

Grateful for the books that helped me return to myself this year. This year has asked a lot of all of us. Between the noise, the pace, and the heaviness of the world, I’ve found myself reaching more intentionally for the things that bring me back to myself. And for me, that almost always begins with a book. If you know me, you know I am all over the place — going a million miles an hour, easily distracted, full of energy, and endlessly curious. No wonder my clients range from

When I watch my nephew read with pure joy—face lit up, body at ease—I’m reminded that the love of reading never really leaves us. It just gets buried beneath the noise. When I was a child, my greatest escape was found in a book. My world was loud, chaotic, and oftentimes felt dangerous, but within the pages of a story, I found quiet, peace, and safety. I grew up in the South, where pine trees abound. Just outside my front door lay an oasis of soft needles and azalea bushes ci