Mindfulness Practice

There’s a quiet heaviness today. Like my heart is trying to breathe through a memory. I cried this morning. Not loudly — just the kind of tears that slip out when love and loss live too close together. I thought of her — my mom. How we sat beside her when she took her last breath. How beautiful she looked, even in goodbye. How the world felt both completely still and impossibly broken all at once. She used to play “I Hope You Dance” for us — her favourite song, the one she dedicated to her children. “ I hope you never lose your sense of wonder… ” Even now, those words feel like a whisper from her. A reminder to keep going. To keep feeling. To keep dancing, even when the music hurts. And I thought of my own children. Of all the ways I wish I could be the kind of mother they deserve. Of how much I miss them — in the ordinary, everyday ways. Their voices. Their hugs. The way they still see me with hope in their eyes, even when I struggle to see myself the same way. It’s the...

I’ve been sitting with this ache in my chest, trying to find the right words, but I don’t think there’s a perfect way to say this. So here it is: I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the way my insecurities sometimes take over and make me crave more attention than I should. For needing constant reassurance, even when I know it’s not fair to ask. It’s not because I don’t believe in my worth—it’s because, deep down, I’m still learning how to. I hate that my neediness can feel overwhelming, that it might make me seem selfish or too much. It’s something I’m painfully aware of, and it’s exhausting to carry. The fear of being forgotten or not being enough is something I’ve battled for as long as I can remember. I know these feelings don’t come from others but from inside me—old wounds and scars that I thought I’d moved past but still find myself carrying. They whisper lies, telling me that I have to do more, be more, demand more, or else I’ll be left behind. And sometimes, I let those whispers control m...