i grew up believing in something holy.

for a long time i thought faith meant certainty. i thought if you prayed hard enough, behaved well enough, believed the right things with your whole heart, the world would make sense. but growing up is a slow unraveling of that kind of certainty. little by little the things you were taught to hold sacred start asking questions back.

this blog is where i try to sit with those questions.

it’s a running record of what it feels like to live inside a body that remembers everything: the prayers, the shame, the longing, the quiet rebellions, the moments of grace that show up when you least expect them. i write about religion, girlhood, desire, doubt, and the strange ache of becoming someone new while still carrying the person you used to be.

a lot of what you’ll find here are poems. some feel like prayers. some feel like confessions. some feel like letters i didn’t know where else to send.

i’m not here because i have answers. i’m here because writing is the only way i know how to listen to the parts of myself that are still trying to speak.

if any of this feels familiar to you, if you’ve ever loved something holy and then had to learn how to live after it changed, you’re welcome here.