32 Things I’ve Learned in 32 Years

Another trip around the sun.

I’ve always had a deep connection to my birthday, but this year feels especially significant. Not because of the number — though 32 does carry a certain grounded strength — but because of how much life I’ve lived and become since this journey began. There were points I wasn’t sure I’d make it here. There were seasons filled with so much loss and uncertainty that it felt like all I could do was hold on.

But I did. And with each year, my capacity to hold joy, peace, grief, love, and purpose has expanded beyond anything I ever imagined. So today, in honor of turning 32, I’m sharing 32 lessons that have shaped me, softened me, strengthened me, and continue to lead me home to myself.

These aren’t just things I’ve learned — they’re things I live by.

1. Strength isn’t always loud or forceful.
There is power in softness. Nurturing, empathy, and intuition are just as strong — and often more transformational — than hustle or control.

For most of my life, I associated strength with pushing through, staying busy, or being in control. I thought if I wasn’t always “on,” always giving, always doing, I was being weak. But over time, I’ve come to understand that true strength isn’t about force or volume — it’s about presence.

There is a quiet strength in holding space. In choosing empathy instead of reaction. In listening deeply — to others and to myself — even when it’s uncomfortable.

Softness doesn’t mean passivity. It means being attuned. It means showing up with compassion and truth, especially when it’s hard. And that kind of strength… that’s the kind that heals, both myself and the people around me.
I’ve learned that nurturing energy, feminine energy, intuitive knowing — these are not only valid forms of strength, they’re necessary. They’re the foundation of the work I do now and how I move through the world.

2. The body is sacred.
I used to resent mine because of the pain I carried in it. Now I know it’s my greatest teacher. Every cycle, every emotion, every fluctuation — it’s all wisdom.

For so long, I felt at war with my body. It carried so much of my past — unprocessed emotions, stored trauma, stress I didn’t know how to release — and instead of seeing it as a messenger, I saw it as a problem to fix. I blamed it for slowing me down, for not looking a certain way, for feeling too much. I disconnected from it when it was trying to speak to me the loudest.

Now, I see how deeply intuitive and intelligent the body truly is. The tension, the fatigue, the gut feelings, the aches — they all have something to say. I’ve learned to stop ignoring the whispers and start listening. Whether I’m in the middle of a hormonal cycle, processing grief, or simply needing rest, I don’t see those moments as setbacks anymore. I see them as guidance.

I’ve come to honor the ebb and flow. I don’t push through like I used to. I make space to feel. I soften. I nourish.

3. You don’t need external validation.
Other people’s opinions will change. You are not defined by them. You are here to live your truth, not someone else’s expectations.

I’ve spent too much of my life looking outward for approval — trying to be liked, accepted, understood. But the truth is, other people’s opinions are fluid. What one person celebrates, another might criticize. Chasing validation is like chasing a moving target — exhausting and never truly fulfilling.

What I’ve learned is that I feel the most peace when I live in alignment with my own values. When I say what I mean, do what feels right to me, and honor what I believe in — that’s when I feel whole. I don’t need to explain myself to everyone or seek permission to be who I am.

People will always have thoughts about what I’m doing. That’s human nature. But I’m not here to be understood by everyone. I’m here to be true to myself. And I’ve found that when I show up that way, the right people — the ones who resonate with my energy — always find me.

4. Self-care isn’t selfish.
It’s foundational. You cannot pour from an empty cup. Fill yours first, unapologetically.

I used to feel guilty for taking time for myself. Like I had to earn rest or justify why I needed space. But over the years, I’ve learned that when I neglect my own needs, everything else starts to unravel — my work, my relationships, my energy. Burnout taught me what balance couldn’t.

Now, I know that caring for myself isn’t a luxury. It’s a requirement. It’s not bubble baths and candles (though sometimes it is). It’s boundaries. It’s nourishing food. It’s taking breaks, asking for help, and saying no without explaining. When I’m full, I show up more present, more grounded, more me — and that’s a gift to everyone I serve.

Self-care is the soil that everything else grows from. When I make it a priority, everything else becomes more sustainable and aligned. And the best part? I don’t need to apologize for it anymore.

5. Boundaries are an act of self-respect.
Not everyone deserves access to your energy. It’s okay to say no without explanation.

I’ve learned that boundaries aren’t walls — they’re bridges back to myself. For a long time, I said yes out of obligation, fear, or guilt. I let people in who didn’t honor my energy because I didn’t yet know how to honor it myself. But I’ve come to understand that protecting my peace is not just allowed, it’s necessary.

Saying no doesn’t make me cold or unkind — it makes me clear. It’s a signal that I’m choosing myself. That I’m not here to be drained, overextended, or undervalued. I don’t need to over-explain or justify my limits to be valid. Some people may not understand, and that’s okay. What matters is that I stay true to my capacity and my truth.

The right people won’t be offended by my boundaries — they’ll respect them. And the more I uphold them, the more I teach myself (and others) that my energy is sacred.

6. Success is alignment, not approval.
It’s waking up excited. It’s the freedom to live life on your terms. That’s abundance.

For a long time, I thought success was something I had to chase — a title, a salary, a gold star from the outside world. I measured my worth through productivity, praise, and how much I could check off in a day. But eventually, I realized that all the recognition in the world means nothing if you’re not waking up excited for the life you’re living.

True success, to me, is alignment. It’s feeling connected to my purpose and values — not just doing something because it “makes sense” on paper or looks good from the outside. It’s the quiet moments when I feel fulfilled and peaceful without needing to prove anything to anyone. It's the freedom to structure my day around what nourishes me, the flexibility to rest when needed, and the joy of knowing that my work reflects who I truly am.

Abundance isn’t just about money — though that’s part of it. It’s about feeling rich in meaning, in connection, in spaciousness. It’s doing work that feeds my spirit, spending time with people who feel like home, and living a life I don’t need a vacation from.

That, to me, is success. And I didn’t find it by following the rules — I found it by creating my own.

7. Let go of the past.
Forgiveness isn’t saying what happened was okay. It’s saying you’re okay now. You’re choosing peace.

I’ve come to realize that holding onto past pain doesn’t protect me—it only weighs me down. There was a time when I believed forgiveness meant excusing the behavior that hurt me, or pretending it didn’t matter. But now I know that forgiveness is something I do for me. It's a declaration that I’m no longer available for suffering at the hands of something I can't change.

Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting or invalidating your experience—it means you're no longer willing to let it shape your identity or your future. It’s a quiet decision, made again and again, to choose inner peace over resentment. When I let go of the version of me who stayed stuck in those stories, I made room for the version of me who is grounded, powerful, and free.

Peace isn’t always loud or obvious—it can be as simple as no longer feeling triggered by something that used to ruin your day. That’s healing. That’s progress. And that’s what makes forgiveness such a powerful act of self-love.

8. Self-love is the anchor.
People come and go. Life changes. But your love for yourself is the one thing that will always be with you. Cultivate it.

For a long time, I searched for stability in external things—relationships, routines, achievements. But I’ve learned that the only constant I can truly count on is my relationship with myself. People will come into your life and leave. Jobs will shift. Chapters will end. But the way I speak to myself, care for myself, and show up for myself… that’s what grounds me when the world feels unsteady.

Self-love isn’t about perfection or always feeling amazing. It’s about showing up with compassion even when I’m struggling. It’s remembering that I’m worthy of gentleness. It’s taking time to ask what I need, and then honoring that answer. It’s understanding that I’m not just surviving—I’m growing, healing, becoming. And I get to be on my own team through it all.

No matter what changes, I’m here. And that’s powerful.

9. Don’t give up. Ever.
Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. Your future self will thank you.

There were moments when I felt like giving up was the only option—when everything felt heavy, unclear, and painfully uncertain. But I’ve learned that those moments are often where the most powerful transformation is waiting on the other side. When things get hard, it's not a sign you're on the wrong path—it’s often a sign you’re shedding the layers that no longer serve you.

The discomfort, the setbacks, the slow seasons—they’re part of the process. They teach resilience, deepen your trust, and help you build the emotional strength needed to hold the life you’re dreaming of.

Every time I kept going—just one more step, one more try—I moved closer to a life that now feels deeply aligned and expansive. It didn’t happen overnight, and it wasn’t always graceful, but it happened because I didn’t quit.

So if you’re in it right now, if it feels like it’s all too much: rest, recalibrate, ask for support—but don’t give up. Your future self is already cheering you on.

10. Your nervous system matters.
Rest, breathe, move, nourish. Your body knows what it needs. Stop overriding it.

I used to push through everything — stress, burnout, exhaustion — thinking rest was something I had to earn. But I’ve learned that our nervous systems are the foundation of our health, our presence, and our ability to show up in the world. When I’m dysregulated, everything feels harder — decision-making, communication, creativity, even self-worth.

Now, I prioritize nervous system regulation as part of my daily life. That means moving my body when I feel stagnant, pausing to take deep, intentional breaths when my thoughts start racing, and giving myself permission to slow down without guilt. It means noticing when I need to nourish myself — physically, emotionally, spiritually — and actually doing it.

We’re not machines. We’re living, feeling, energetic beings. And when we ignore our nervous system, our body will eventually get our attention — through fatigue, anxiety, tension, or illness. Learning to listen and respond with compassion has been one of the most healing things I’ve ever done.

11. You are here for a reason.
Whether it’s to teach, heal, create, or just be — your presence is a gift.

There were times I questioned my place in the world—times when everything felt too heavy, too chaotic, too uncertain. But I’ve learned that simply existing is purposeful. Whether I’m holding space for someone, creating something meaningful, or just quietly showing up as myself, it matters. My presence carries energy, wisdom, and love. I don’t need to do something massive to be valuable. Sometimes, the most powerful thing is simply being who I am—fully, authentically, unapologetically. That’s more than enough.

12. Positivity isn’t delusion — it’s power.
Choosing joy and hope in a dark world is radical. Do it anyway.

For a long time, I associated positivity with avoidance — like pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t. But I’ve come to understand that choosing joy, optimism, and hope isn’t bypassing reality — it’s responding to it with intention. In a world where it’s easy to spiral into fear or dwell in what's wrong, staying rooted in what’s possible is a form of resilience. It doesn’t mean ignoring pain; it means trusting that the pain isn’t the whole story. And when I choose to see the good, I create more of it. That’s not delusion — that’s alchemy.

13. Your mindset is everything.
Problems will come. That’s life. It’s your response that shapes your reality.

I’ve learned that challenges are inevitable, but struggle is optional. The way I interpret what’s happening matters more than the event itself. When I spiral into thoughts like “why is this happening to me?” I feel stuck, overwhelmed, and powerless. But when I shift into “what is this teaching me?” or “how can I move through this with grace?” everything changes.

It’s not about pretending things are perfect — it’s about choosing to meet imperfection with curiosity and resilience. This mindset has helped me build a life rooted in trust and strength, even when circumstances are chaotic. I don’t always get to choose what happens, but I do get to choose how I move through it. That choice has made all the difference.

14. Don’t carry old wounds into new experiences.
Each chapter is a chance to write something new. Let it be new.

It’s easy to approach new people, places, or opportunities with the armor we built from past pain. But when I do that, I end up seeing through a lens that’s no longer accurate — I project old stories onto fresh pages. Healing has taught me to notice when I’m bracing for disappointment before it even arrives, when I’m expecting history to repeat itself even though nothing is the same.

Not everything or everyone is here to hurt me, and not every door leads to the same room. The past shaped me, but it doesn’t need to lead me. When I consciously release my grip on what happened before, I make space for newness — for surprise, softness, and joy I didn’t think was possible.

Letting something be new doesn’t mean forgetting the past. It means honoring my growth enough to believe that I don’t have to live in a loop. I get to begin again. And again. And again.

15. Rest is sacred.
It’s where inspiration finds you. You are allowed to slow down.

I used to wear exhaustion like a badge of honor. The busier I was, the more accomplished I felt. But underneath the productivity was burnout—creativity stifled, energy drained, joy slipping away. Over time, I’ve come to understand that rest isn’t something to earn after doing enough. It’s something I deserve simply because I exist.

Rest isn’t laziness—it’s medicine. It’s where the body repairs, the mind softens, and the soul speaks. When I allow myself to truly pause, I find that inspiration comes not through force, but through stillness. Rest is where clarity lands, ideas bloom, and energy returns. It’s the fertile ground for all that I want to create.

Now, I prioritize slow mornings, unstructured time, and quiet spaces. I listen to when my body says “not today,” and I honor it without guilt. Because in this rhythm of rest and renewal, I don’t fall behind—I expand.

16. Live your truth.
Speak it. Create from it. Stand in it. There is no freedom without authenticity.

I spent too much of my life trying to fit into what I thought other people wanted — shaping myself into something more palatable, more "professional," more likable. But the more I tried to be what others expected, the more disconnected I felt from myself.

Now, I know there is nothing more liberating than living in full alignment with who I really am — messy, magical, multidimensional. Living my truth means being honest about what I want, what I need, and what I stand for. It means trusting that I don’t have to shrink or filter myself to be accepted. And even if I’m not accepted by everyone — I’m at peace, because I’m no longer betraying myself.

Authenticity isn’t a trend — it’s a practice. And when you live from that place, everything else starts to fall into alignment. Your relationships deepen, your work becomes more meaningful, and life just feels lighter.

17. Love, compassion, gratitude, growth.
These are the pillars. Return to them often.

These four values are the compass I return to when I feel lost. Love reminds me to soften, to open my heart even when it’s been bruised. Compassion helps me stay gentle — with others, and especially with myself. Gratitude pulls me out of lack and anchors me in what’s already beautiful. And growth? Growth keeps me moving forward. Even in discomfort, even in grief, I trust it’s leading me somewhere meaningful. These aren’t just abstract concepts — they’re practices. Ways of being. When life gets chaotic or heavy, I don’t need to have all the answers. I just ask: Am I rooted in love? Am I showing compassion? Can I find even a single thing to be grateful for? And am I willing to grow through this? That’s always enough.

18. Say no.
To what drains you. To what doesn’t feel aligned. To anything that dims your light.

I've learned that “no” is not a rejection—it's a redirection back to myself. There have been times I said yes out of guilt, obligation, or fear of disappointing others, only to end up depleted and disconnected from my own needs. The truth is, not everything deserves my energy. When I say no to what isn’t in alignment, I’m saying yes to something far more important—my peace, my purpose, and my power. It’s not always easy, but it’s necessary. Boundaries aren't walls; they’re filters that protect your light and allow it to shine where it’s truly meant to.

19. You can’t control everything.
And you don’t have to. Focus on your energy, not the outcome.

There was a time when I thought if I just worked hard enough, prepared enough, planned enough, I could avoid the chaos of life. But the truth is, control is often a trauma response — a way to protect ourselves from unpredictability. What I’ve learned is that no matter how tightly I try to hold on, things will unfold in their own way.

Releasing the need to control outcomes doesn’t mean I don’t care. It means I trust. I trust myself to navigate whatever comes. I trust that my energy — how I show up, how I respond, how I care for myself — has more power than forcing a specific result. It’s not about passivity, it’s about presence.

Now, I focus on cultivating grounded, clear energy. I take aligned action, and then I let go. Because control is exhausting, but presence is empowering.

20. Everyone is on their own journey.
You can’t force someone to heal. Lead by example. Stay in your lane.

This lesson has been one of the most liberating and difficult truths to accept. When you start to experience growth, transformation, or healing, it’s natural to want the same for the people you love. You might find yourself wanting to fix things, to show them the way, or to pull them out of their pain — especially when you've seen what's possible on the other side.

But healing is a personal choice. Everyone moves at their own pace, and not everyone is ready, willing, or even meant to walk the same path as you. Some people are more comfortable in their current patterns, even if it looks like suffering from the outside. And that’s okay.

Trying to force change often creates resistance. It drains your energy and can even damage relationships. The most powerful thing you can do is live your truth fully. Show what’s possible by embodying it. Let your peace, your boundaries, your freedom, and your joy be your message — not your words or advice.

Lead by example. Focus on your growth. And trust that those who are meant to align with your path will rise to meet you when they’re ready.

21. Abundance is more than money.
It’s time, energy, freedom, peace, love, purpose. Expand your definition.

For a long time, I associated abundance with financial security — and while that’s part of it, it’s only one piece of a much bigger picture. True abundance is waking up without dread. It’s having the time and energy to do what you love. It’s meaningful relationships, peaceful mornings, deep belly laughs, nourishing food, a body that carries you, and work that lights you up. It’s feeling aligned with your purpose. It’s being able to rest without guilt. It’s knowing you’re supported — by yourself, by the universe, by the energy you cultivate daily. When I expanded my definition of abundance, I realized I already had so much of it. And from that place of gratitude and wholeness, even more flowed in.

22. Grief is part of growth.
Let yourself mourn the versions of you that no longer fit. That’s how you create space for who you’re becoming.

I’ve learned that letting go of old versions of myself is one of the most sacred parts of transformation. Growth doesn’t always feel expansive at first—it can feel like loss. The person I thought I was. The dreams I used to chase. The people I no longer align with. Grief isn’t just about death—it’s about change. And when you’re committed to evolving, there will be many versions of you that you outgrow.

Grieving those old layers is not a sign of failure. It’s proof of progress. I’ve learned to honor the tears that come with shedding, to be gentle with myself in those moments of in-between. Because every time I release an old identity, belief, or attachment, I create more room for who I’m becoming.

Allowing that grief has been an act of love. It means I care deeply about my life, my healing, and the journey I’m on. Growth isn’t always about adding more—it’s often about releasing what no longer serves and trusting that something even better is coming.

23. You can rebuild.
Even after betrayal. Even after loss. Even when it feels like everything is burning down.

There were moments when I truly thought everything I had worked for was gone. Moments that shattered the trust I had in others—and in myself. When you experience betrayal or loss, it can feel like the ground beneath you is disappearing. But that’s not the end. That’s the clearing.

Rebuilding isn’t about returning to who you were—it’s about becoming someone stronger, wiser, and more rooted in truth. Every time I thought I couldn’t start over, I did. And each time, what I created felt more aligned with who I actually am.

Rebuilding doesn’t always look graceful. Sometimes it’s messy. Sometimes it’s slow. But it is always possible. You can lose everything and still rise. Maybe not with the same pieces—but with new ones that fit better now.

24. Community matters.
Find people who get it. Who see you. Who hold space for all of you.

Healing isn’t meant to be done in isolation. While solitude has its place, it’s in safe, supportive community that we truly begin to thrive. There’s something powerful about being seen—fully and without judgment. When I found people who “got it,” who understood the highs and lows of this path, everything shifted. I felt less alone. I could breathe deeper. We’re not here to carry it all ourselves. The right community reflects your light back to you when you forget. They remind you who you are. And they hold you in the moments when you need it most. Seek those people. Nurture those relationships. Let yourself be held.

25. There’s always more to learn.
Be a student of life. Stay curious. Stay open.

Every experience, every person, every moment has something to teach me — if I’m willing to receive it. I’ve learned that the more I let go of needing to “know it all,” the more life surprises me with wisdom I didn’t even know I needed. Growth isn’t linear, and I never want to get so comfortable that I stop evolving. I’ve realized that being a good teacher or healer or guide means also being a devoted student — of life, of others, and of myself. Curiosity keeps me humble. Openness keeps me grounded. There is no finish line to growth, and I’m okay with that.

26. Healing isn’t linear.
It comes in waves. Some days will feel like regress. They’re not.

Healing doesn’t follow a neat, upward trajectory. It moves in spirals, circles, and sometimes what feels like steps backwards are actually deeper layers being revealed. Some days you’ll feel grounded and empowered. Other days, the same wounds resurface and you’ll wonder if you’ve made any progress at all. But the truth is—every revisit is an invitation to meet yourself with more compassion, more clarity, more wisdom than before. Growth lives in the returning. The fact that you’re still showing up, still choosing yourself, still holding space for your process—that’s the healing.

27. Forgiveness is freedom.
Not for them — for you.

I used to think forgiveness meant letting someone off the hook. That it was something I had to give to others to make peace with them. But what I’ve learned is that forgiveness is really about reclaiming peace for myself. Holding on to resentment, betrayal, or anger only weighed me down. It became a burden I carried long after the moment had passed.

When I started to forgive—not excuse, not forget, but release—I found space to breathe again. I stopped rehearsing the same hurt over and over. I stopped needing closure from people who couldn’t give it. I realized that forgiveness didn’t mean what happened was okay. It meant I was okay. And I was ready to move forward.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean inviting someone back into your life. It doesn’t mean pretending nothing happened. It means choosing not to let the pain have power over you anymore. It’s a quiet act of radical self-love. It’s how we cut the cord to the past and make space for peace. Not for them. For us. For you.

28. Perspective is power.
Shift it, and you shift your whole experience.

The way I see something changes how I feel about it — and how I move through it. I’ve learned that most of the time, the situation isn’t what’s keeping me stuck… it’s my perspective of it.

When I shift out of “Why is this happening to me?” and into “What is this teaching me?” — the whole experience softens. I feel more grounded, more empowered, more connected to the bigger picture.

Perspective doesn’t always change what’s happening, but it changes how I carry it. It’s the difference between resistance and acceptance. Between spiraling and steadying. Between being reactive and being intentional.

This doesn’t mean bypassing the hard stuff. It means honoring it, and then choosing to look through a different lens — one that invites growth, peace, and forward motion.

🌀 When I shift my perspective, I reclaim my power.

29. You don’t have to prove anything.
You already are enough.

For a long time, I chased accomplishments—titles, achievements, validation—thinking they would finally make me feel worthy. But the truth is, the worthiness I was seeking couldn’t come from the outside. It had to be remembered within.

I’ve come to understand that I don’t have to constantly do more, be more, or achieve more to deserve love, rest, or success. My value isn’t tied to productivity. I am enough—simply because I exist.

This is one of the most freeing lessons: you don’t have to earn your worth. You are not behind. You are not broken. You are not required to prove your value to anyone—not even yourself. Just showing up, as you are, is enough. Always has been. Always will be.

30. Choose peace over drama.
Walk away. Protect your peace at all costs.

The older I get, the more I realize how valuable my energy is. I used to get pulled into chaos — trying to fix, explain, or defend myself in situations that only drained me. Now, I understand that peace is a choice I get to make every day. I don’t need to engage with every trigger or respond to every projection. I don’t need to be understood by everyone. I’d rather walk away and protect my peace than win an argument that was never mine to begin with. Peace isn’t passive — it’s powerful. It's the soft strength of knowing what you’re worth and refusing to let the noise of the world shake your inner calm.

31. Your sensitivity is your superpower.
Don’t numb it. Channel it.

Sensitivity is often misunderstood. In a world that praises hustle, detachment, and productivity, being deeply attuned to emotions—yours and others’—can feel like a burden. But I’ve learned that my sensitivity is actually my superpower. It’s what allows me to connect with others on a profound level, to notice the subtle shifts in energy, to hold space with empathy, and to sense what’s unspoken.

Instead of trying to numb it or toughen up, I’ve leaned into it. I’ve learned to set boundaries that protect my energy, so I can stay open without burning out. I’ve learned to channel that sensitivity into my work, into creativity, into presence. Being sensitive doesn’t mean being weak—it means you feel deeply, care deeply, and move through the world with heart. That’s powerful. That’s needed.

32. You are allowed to evolve.
You are not who you once were. And you don’t need to be.

It’s easy to hold a fixed version of someone in your mind — maybe how they hurt you, how they acted, what they didn’t yet know. But think about who you were 10 years ago. Would you want to be judged for that version forever? I wouldn’t. I’ve made mistakes, outgrown behaviors, softened in places I used to be hard. I’ve learned, unlearned, and shed so many layers I used to think defined me.

That’s the gift of growth: we get to change. And the moment we allow ourselves that grace, we create space to see others through a more compassionate lens. Not everyone will rise to meet it — and it’s not our job to fix or wait for them. But it is our job to keep expanding. To leave behind what no longer fits. To trust that who we’re becoming deserves more room than who we used to be.

Evolution is not betrayal. It’s returning home to who you were meant to be all along.

Final Thoughts:

Each year, I grow more grateful for the path I’ve walked—the painful detours, the unexpected blessings, and the sacred lessons tucked inside all of it. As I step into this new chapter, I carry these truths with me not as rules to live by, but as reminders of who I’ve become and who I’m still becoming. I share them in hopes that something here resonates with your own journey, wherever you are on it.

This birthday, I’m honoring every version of me that got me here — the girl who cried in her car on the way to work every day, the woman who lost everything and still found a way to rebuild, and the soul who believes deeply that healing is possible for everyone. I’ve worked hard to build a life that feels like mine, from the inside out. This next chapter is rooted in joy, expansion, deeper truth, and trusting that the more I pour into my purpose, the more life pours back into me.

If you're in a season where everything feels unclear — hold on. Your clarity is coming. Your next chapter will make sense of all the pain. Just keep going.

Thank you for being here. Here’s to another year of expansion, softness, love, and soul-led success.

Peace & power to you
💜 Liz