Call Me M.o.M. - Maker of Magic celebrates the unmatched power of motherhood, where the quiet, relentless labor of care and creation often goes unrecognized. The poem contrasts the corporate world of suits and paychecks with the invisible, yet powerful, role mothers play in shaping the world around them. It acknowledges the daily grind, the doubts, and the sacrifices, while also highlighting the pride in creating something new every day—whether it’s healing, problem-solving, or simply holding everything together. Ultimately, it’s a declaration of strength: the real crown of success isn't given—it’s earned in the magical, messy work of being a mother.

What if we all carried our lives in a backpack,
The way weary travelers do,
Waiting in queues for hours
To reunite with loved ones,
Only to leave with a lingering sadness,
After a brief gathering that only partly fills the emptiness
Of a mother grown old,
Aged by her children becoming adults,
Meeting at gate 1F,
Where time is both a journey and a reminder.

Am I a writer who mothers, or a mother who writes? Am I a sailor who mothers, or a mother who sails? These questions often swirl in my mind, like a boat unsure of which direction to go. We all try to define ourselves by the roles we play, but maybe the real answer isn’t in choosing one role over another—it’s in accepting that we can be many things at once. Life, like a backpack we carry, holds both light and heavy moments. As we grow and our children grow, we realize that we are constantly evolving. There’s beauty in the journey of motherhood and self-discovery, in all its messiness and wonder. The most beautiful part? We’re never truly finished. There’s always more to uncover, more to learn, and more to embrace. And in that constant unfolding, we find our true strength—not in being one thing, but in being all of who we are.

What does she see in me? What does she bring to my awareness that I am unready or unwilling to confront? Perhaps it’s the energy she radiates, which mirrors a part of myself I’ve long suppressed. Perhaps it’s her confidence in her gifts, a confidence I’ve struggled to find in my own. Or perhaps it’s simply the fact that she sees me at all—truly sees me—in a way that feels both exhilarating and terrifying.

As a child, I learned to suppress my abilities to survive. Growing up in a deeply religious family, my sensitivity to energy and emotion was seen as dangerous, even evil. I became the black sheep, the outsider, the one who didn’t fit. The trauma of those years taught me to hide, to blend in, to avoid drawing attention to my otherworldly gifts. And while I’ve spent much of my adult life reclaiming those parts of myself, the scars of that suppression remain.

This woman, this lightworker, challenges all of that. Her presence feels like an invitation—and an insistence—to step fully into who I am. But stepping into that space requires courage. It requires confronting the fears and insecurities I’ve carried for so long. And so, I avoid.

She had been running for so long, chasing fleeting moments that promised escape but delivered emptiness. Each thrill pulled her further from herself, spinning her into a chaos she couldn’t control. But one night, at the edge of it all, a quiet voice rose within her, urging her to stop and find her center. Like a dancer mid-pirouette, she fixed her focus on something steady—a glimmer of hope buried deep inside. In that stillness, she chose to face the pain she had been fleeing, stepping onto the path of healing and toward a life built on intention, not escape.

Through shattered glass and broken dreams, she found her sanctuary. Each step, each spin, became a silent vow to rebuild what life had unraveled. In the rhythm of movement, she learned balance—not just on the dance floor, but in her heart.

*********************
Beneath the weight of sorrow’s veil,
A tender soul began to pale.
Through shattered glass and broken dreams,
Life unraveled at its seams.

The child, once bright, with laughter's glow,
Learned early what it means to know
That love can wane, that bonds can break,
That silence deepens every ache.

The garage was her stage, a haven carved from cement and clutter where she danced beneath the shifting light of a setting sun. With a headset snug over her ears—a Christmas gift from Grandmother—she spun through her own world, escaping the cries of a newborn brother and the ache of feeling out of place in her mother’s new family. Each plié was a whispered plea, each leap a shout into the void: Notice me. I’m still here. In this space, surrounded by tools and flickering reflections, she found solace and strength, one step at a time.

Fear connects us all, a silent companion in our darkest moments. It whispers doubts into the quiet of the night and grips our hearts when we face the unknown. But within this shared struggle lies our shared humanity. By embracing our fears, we uncover the courage to grow, to heal, and to find beauty even in vulnerability.

Failure isn’t the opposite of success—it’s part of it. Each misstep, each setback, is a step forward, even when it doesn’t feel like it. The tiny, invisible improvements you make with every attempt are building something extraordinary. So if you’re afraid to start because you might fail, do it anyway. Fail. Get back up. And trust the process, knowing that every stumble is bringing you closer to where you want to be.

Motivational quotes can uplift, but their impact depends on our mindset. In this post, I reflect on my journey through personal struggles, exploring the duality of inspirational messages and the power of intentional listening. What would change if we listened as intently to our loved ones as we do to the words on our walls? What would we write, if given the space to craft our own inspirational message?

Through lonely halls of youthful pain,
She danced her steps in hope’s refrain.
Each plié, a whispered plea,
'Let this be my sanctuary.'

Movement is more than just the physical act of getting from one place to another; it’s an expression of who we are and how we engage with the world. When we move through life with compassion, kindness, and grace, we offer a gift not only to others but also to our own spirit. It’s about consciously choosing how we respond to life’s challenges, showing up with patience and empathy, and navigating each moment with intention. But even when we falter, remembering our human nature allows us to find balance and harmony again. How do you move through the world today—are you navigating with intention, or simply being carried along by life?