g.r.I.e.f. is an unflinching exploration of loss, memory, and reckoning. Written in the quiet hours of remembrance, it captures the raw, conflicting emotions of loving someone who caused deep pain. Through fragmented thought and midnight reflection, the poem unfolds as both an act of mourning and a declaration of self-healing - a daughter’s struggle to find meaning, forgiveness, and peace in the shadow of her father’s death.

“It takes as long as it takes. Be gentle on yourself.”

These are the words I’ve lived by over the past decade — a quiet mantra that carried me through illness, healing, and the slow return to the work I love. What follows is the story of how I found my way back — to my body, my calling, and the rhythm that became WAVE.

I wanted this trip to be about new places, about adventure, about the lightness of movement and discovery. A travel journal, filled with café stops and charming streets, salty sea air and sunsets over unfamiliar horizons. But the truth is, we don’t always get to decide what takes up space in our hearts.

Because here I am, standing at an airport gate, unable to shake the image of a young woman leaning into the man beside her, fragile but determined, taking step after step toward something unknown. And here I am, once again, feeling the weight of a battle I fought nearly a decade ago, a battle I have spent years healing from, releasing, making peace with. Yet, no matter how much time passes, some moments pull me right back.

This journey has been a series of reminders—not of where I’m going, but of where I’ve been. And no matter how much I try to keep this journal lighthearted, the truth insists on being written. Because sometimes, travel isn’t just about places. Sometimes, it’s about what we carry with us, even when we think we’ve left it behind.

In the quiet moments of healing, we often rediscover the joy we thought was lost. It’s not about erasing pain but finding peace amidst it. Through compassion, self-love, and intentional living, we can gently guide ourselves from the depths of grief towards the light of joy. By allowing ourselves to feel, to grieve, and to heal, we create the space for joy to return—reminding us that even after the darkest times, beauty and happiness can flourish once again.

Writing has been my lifeline, a way to heal, explore, and connect, from a teenager navigating trauma to a mother chronicling fleeting family moments. It is my anchor in grief, my celebration of joy, and my bridge to future generations. Writing is not just what I do; it is who I am.