Footsteps in Fugue

For most of my life, I never had a strong desire to have children. It wasn’t something I dreamed of or planned for. But then I had two miscarriages. The pain was deep and confusing, and somewhere in that grief, I found myself falling in love with the feeling of being pregnant. I started questioning whether I truly wanted to be a mother or if I was simply longing to rewrite that experience with a different ending. Over time, I healed from those losses, and life brought me into a relationship that is, in every way that matters, exactly what I’ve always wanted—except for one thing. My partner does not want children. Ever. He is so certain that he’s had a vasectomy. That certainty quickly forced me to sit with my own desires and ask: Do I actually want to be a mother?  Or was I just grieving the idea of what could have been? Could it be both? Through deep reflection and honest conversations, I came to a realization: I prioritize connection —a rare, deeply inspiring, and creativel...

Love has a way of challenging our expectations. We grow up with ideas of what it should look like—how fast it should move, when certain words should be said, and what labels should define it. But what happens when love doesn’t fit neatly into those expectations? I recently found myself wrestling with this. I was in a relationship that moved quickly—words like I love you were spoken before either of us fully processed what they meant. While our feelings were real, something felt off. There was a disconnect between the depth of our emotions and the pace at which things were unfolding. Through reflection, I realized I was mourning more than just the idea of a label. I was mourning the comfort of certainty—the feeling of knowing where this was headed. And yet, when my partner and I decided to take a step back and allow our connection to unfold more naturally, I felt relief. I also felt grief. It was a mix of emotions, all valid, all necessary to acknowledge. What I learned from this exp...

Some dreams feel like echoes of daily life, but others arrive like messages from the depths, filled with meaning we can almost grasp but not quite. I recently had a dream that carried a profound sense of mystery, guidance, and reassurance—one that left me reflecting on ancestral wisdom, protection, and the invisible forces that hold us through life’s turbulence. Walk with me as I attempt to interpret the dream's messages through psychological and mystical lenses. The Dream: Views from Tsunami Tops I am in the ocean with my oldest brother, Victor, and our mother. Suddenly, a wave pulls Victor and me backward, sweeping us through a circular tunnel until we find ourselves high atop a tsunami. Suspended in that moment, I frantically search for my mother, but she is beneath the water, lost to my sight. Then, as if by some unseen grace, the tsunami lowers us back gently, returning us to safety. I find my father waiting for me on the shore. He speaks, but his words are not entirely his ow...

When was the last time you truly thanked your body? Have you ever stopped to appreciate all it does for you, even when it feels like it’s betraying you with aches or signs of aging? The other day, as I played a song on the piano I wrote seven years ago, a thought flashed through my mind: “Your ovaries are getting older.” Surprisingly, I was overwhelmed with gratitude. Moved to tears, I had to lay down on my living room floor and thank my body. In the same reverent manner of praying to an all-powerful Heavenly Father, I prayed. Starting with my toes, I cried “thank you” to each part of my body. When I reached my reproductive area, I paused. I grieved for all the eggs I’d lost over the years—those potential lives, gone. As I played the song, I realized how much my body had carried me through since I first composed it—moments of love, loss, healing, and growth. My fingers weren’t just playing notes but tracing years of stories written into my being. The melody itself hadn't changed, b...