watering the wild

𝚓𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝟸𝟾, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟻

I rose later than I’d planned, or than I desired, if I’m being honest. You know those days when you set intentions, sketch a rhythm, even imagine the energy you want to feel by bedtime, and then it slips? That was today. I slept in because I’ve been tired. Not just physically exhausted, but mentally, emotionally, and cosmically tired. Tired from decision fatigue, from holding timelines in my body like breath I forgot to exhale. Balancing part-time graduate classes (that feel like anything but part-time), building something meaningful, imagining new futures, closing old ones… It’s a quiet overwhelm that lingers in the background of every to-do list, of every new day. I had a plan. A full one. But as I sit here, writing these words, I feel this moment is softer and more sacred than anything I had planned. And maybe that’s the real lesson.

I began the day by folding the clothes I swore I wasn’t procrastinating on (but let’s be real, I was). I wanted a new way to greet the day, so I microdosed 200mg of Flowdose. Then I pressed play on my favorite Spotify playlist and let it guide me. I didn’t “work out” — I moved. I stretched and swayed with the melodies. I softened the parts of me that were tight. Physically and mentally. The nooks and crannies of my psyche where perfectionism tried to live rent-free were now liberated. Movement and music came and evicted it. And in that space, I let presence take the lead.

Afterward, I showered. Not to rinse the day clean, but to adorn the one that was becoming. I lathered my body in womb + wild: sweet bloom—my homemade body butter. The ritual felt like prayer. The jasmine, mango, and rosehip oils kissed my skin and reminded me: you are here, in this body, in this moment. That is enough.

Then I dressed how I wanted to feel. Black flowy pants, a black tube bodysuit, gold rings, and intention. I booked an Uber and took myself out.

Tap 42 was the destination. Just me, a glass of red wine, and a paperback copy of The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid. I ordered rice and steak (medium well). And as the wine settled into my bloodstream, so did a new awareness. I read a passage so simple—just Monique, the narrator, describing her morning. But it stopped me. Because I realized: that’s storytelling. Letting someone live a life through your eyes. And in that moment, I remembered what I’d been searching for in my writing, my brand, even my day: the desire to document my life the way authors document their characters. Not for performance. Not for praise. But for presence. To be known — not by the world, but by myself.

For so long, I was afraid to be known. Not in the “seen on social media” kind of way, but in the mirror. By the woman who lives in my chest. The one I tried to keep small. Different. Soft in ways that weren’t always affirmed. So I learned to shrink, to hide in the shadows. But here’s the thing: The longer you hide in the shadows, the more your life begins to reflect them. And it costs to stay there. But it also costs to step into the light. And I had to ask myself: Which price am I willing to pay?

And today, that looked like folding clothes with music playing. Stretching with Flowdose in my veins. Reading a novel over wine. Wearing gold. Writing these words. I’m watering my wild. Not through performance, but through presence. Through solo dates and books that spark forgotten memories and desires. Through mornings that start late but still lead me home.

This is the rhythm I’m choosing. This is what it means to become known. Not loud. Not rushed. But honest and true.