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There is something funny about being 23.I'm old enough to have two degrees, a full-time job, bills to pay, a dog of my own, and appointments to schedule. And for me, with nine specialists, let me tell you, managing my health is practically a second full-time job.For a while, I was taking on a little too much. Between teaching, coaching, and working at a sushi restaurant two days a week, I was filling just about every hour I had. But lately, I've started asking myself, why am I in such a rush? Why do I feel the need to do everything, all at once?I'm realizing that giving myself time to simply be, learn, and become might be one of the most important things I can do right now. And let's be real, I already have a pretty good idea of what I want my life to look like. I don't need to have it all figured out tomorrow.But I'm also young enough to be living in my parents' basement, occasionally asking my mom or dad what's for dinner, and still figuring out how people manage to keep their laundry done, their groceries stocked, and their lives somewhat organized all at the same time.It's a funny little place to be.Not quite the college girl I was, but not exactly the adult I always imagined I'd be by now.Right now, I'm somewhere between these huge chapters and stages of life. And lately, I've been realizing that the in-between is actually a pretty good place to be.I think there's this unspoken expectation that once you graduate college, you're supposed to start checking off all the boxes. Get the job. Move into your own place. Find your person. Start saving money. Build a career. Figure out what you want to do with the rest of your life.Preferably all at once, and preferably while looking like you're having the time of your life.But I'm learning that growing up doesn't always look the way you thought it would.For me, right now, it looks like moving back home to Denver and living in my parents' basement. It looks like choosing to save money instead of spending most of my paycheck on rent. It looks like working full-time in a school, learning from incredible teachers, and slowly becoming the educator I hope to be.It's not necessarily the most glamorous version of life after college.But it's a version I'm really starting to love.And maybe that's part of growing up, too. Realizing that the decisions that make the most sense for you don't always have to look like the decisions everyone else is making.The funny thing about this particular chapter of my life is that I spend most of my days teaching little people how to be people, while simultaneously trying to figure out how to be one myself.I spend my days reminding four-year-olds that it's okay to make mistakes. That we have to be patient. That sometimes things don't go the way we planned. That we can be brave and try something new, even when we're not sure how it's going to turn out.I teach them the importance of saying sorry, and how an apology is more than just&nbsp;a word. It's almost a promise to try to do things a little differently next time.I'm teaching these kids how to navigate the world we live in, all while learning more than I ever could have imagined about myself.And then I leave school and realize I could probably use a reminder of every single one of those things.Four-year-olds are pretty incredible teachers, actually.They celebrate the smallest victories. They make friends by simply asking someone to play or, even better, asking if they want to be best friends. They aren't embarrassed to ask questions when they don't understand something. They can have a really hard moment and, five minutes later, be completely consumed by the excitement of finding a cool rock outside.They don't spend much time worrying about whether they're where they're supposed to be in life. They aren't rushing to get to the next chapter. They're simply trusting the place and pace they're at.They're just living it.And somewhere between morning meetings, playground conversations, art projects, and helping little people navigate their very big feelings, I'm realizing how much I still have to learn from them.Maybe growing up isn't about having everything figured out.Maybe it's about becoming a little more comfortable with not knowing.About making decisions that feel right for you, even when they're a little unconventional.About learning that independence doesn't have to mean doing everything on your own, and that progress doesn't always have to be something other people can see.I'm saving money. I'm learning how to be a better teacher. I'm learning how to manage all the responsibilities that come with adulthood, while also figuring out which ones actually deserve my time and energy. I'm building routines, making plans, changing plans, and discovering new things about myself all the time.Some days I feel like I have a pretty good handle on this whole adulthood thing.Other days, I get home from work, walk downstairs to my parents' basement, and wonder how on earth I'm old enough to be responsible for helping raise the next generation.But I think that's what makes this chapter so special.For the first time in a long time, I'm not working toward a graduation date or following a schedule that someone else created for me. There isn't a syllabus telling me what comes next.I'm getting to decide.And while that's a little intimidating, it's also pretty exciting.I don't know exactly where I'll be living a year from now. I don't know what my first classroom of my own will look like, who I'll meet along the way, or how many times my plans will change between now and then.But I do know that I don't want to spend this chapter so focused on what comes next that I forget to enjoy what's happening right now.Because one day, I think I'll look back at being 23, living in my parents' basement, spending my days with four-year-olds, and trying to figure out this whole adulthood thing, and realize just how good I had it.Maybe these aren't the years before real life begins.Maybe this is real life.And the in-between is a pretty good place to be.

The In-Between Is a Pretty Good Place to Be

September felt a little bit like being thrown into the life I had spent years saying I wanted.And then realizing that actually living it is very different from imagining it.A 7:30–4:30 workday is no joke. Neither is packing lunches, remembering appointments, calling doctors, answering emails, doing laundry before you completely run out of clothes, figuring out dinner, making plans, keeping plans, saving money, taking care of yourself, and somehow going to bed early enough to do it all again the next morning.Turns out, becoming an adult is mostly just realizing there is always something else you could probably be doing.September taught me that. But it also taught me something much better: I really, really like the life I am building.There have been tired mornings. There have been days when I’ve gotten home and wanted absolutely no one to speak to me. There have been moments when I’ve wondered how people work full-time jobs and also exercise, cook, see their friends, call their long-distance friends, keep in touch with extended family and grandparents, and somehow still have clean sheets.I am still working that part out.But somewhere between the early alarms and the long days, something has started to click.I am becoming my human at school.Not the version of a teacher I thought I was supposed to be. Not the polished teacher voice or the person who walks into every situation knowing exactly what to do. Just me.And the more comfortable I become being myself there, the more I understand why I was drawn to this kind of school in the first place.I get to play.I get to sit on the floor and listen to a four-year-old tell me something that is, to them, the most important story in the entire world. I get to watch children create games out of nothing. I get to ask questions instead of immediately giving answers. I get to notice who needs a little extra encouragement, who needs movement, who needs quiet, and who just needs an adult to genuinely listen.I get to know kids as people.After spending so many years learning about children, earning a degree in early childhood education, studying language and literacy, writing papers, observing classrooms, and learning the theories, I am finally getting to live inside the kind of learning I have always believed in.Play matters. Relationships matter. Feeling known matters. Joy matters.And maybe one of my biggest September lessons was realizing that those things don't stop mattering when you grow up.Because while I have been watching these kids figure themselves out, I think I have been doing a little bit of that too.I am learning what kind of teacher I want to be. I am learning what I want my days to feel like. I am learning how much energy I have to give and when I need to protect some of it for myself. I am learning that being independent isn't suddenly knowing how to do everything; it is slowly proving to yourself that you can figure things out.And I'm learning, again, that my body can do hard things, even through the constant fatigue, aches, and pains. I know myself well enough to know that I am at my best when I have something to work toward, a goal, a challenge, or the next thing that reminds me just how much I am capable of.So this month, I signed up for a half marathon.The first weekend of February, I will run it alongside a friend I met because of vasculitis. We are doing it to kick off Rare Disease Month by raising money and awareness for the Vasculitis Foundation, a cause that is obviously incredibly personal to both of us.There is something pretty full-circle about that.There have been times in my life when my body has made the decisions for me. Times when plans changed because I was sick. Times when being strong had absolutely nothing to do with running, working out, or crossing a finish line.So this half marathon isn't really about proving that I can run the miles.It's about getting to choose a hard thing.It's about two people whose bodies have put them through things they never signed up for, deciding to sign up for something hard anyway.And maybe that is what I want October to be about.Choosing my hard things.Because working long days can be hard, but I get to spend them doing work that feels meaningful.Growing up can be hard, but I get to build a life that feels like mine.Training will be hard, but I get to move my body toward something that once might have felt impossible.Teaching is hard, but every day I get another chance to become the teacher I used to imagine being.September wasn't a month where I figured everything out.It was a month where things started feeling a little more like mine.My classroom voice. My routines. My relationships. My career. My responsibilities. My body. My life.Maybe becoming isn't some giant transformation you suddenly notice one morning.Maybe it's packing your lunch the night before.It's getting up when the alarm goes off, which happens to be one of my big goals for October. I want early mornings to become part of my routine again, giving me a little bit of time that belongs to me before I spend the day giving my time and energy to everyone else. Lately, I've been choosing every possible extra minute of sleep. This month, I want to find a better balance.It's sitting on the floor with a child and really listening.It's coming home exhausted and going back the next morning because you genuinely want to.It's signing your name up for a half marathon four months from now.It's realizing that the childhood version of you who wanted so badly to become a teacher would probably think your life right now is pretty freaking cool.I don't think I've become her yet.But I think I'm becoming her.And for October, that feels like enough.

Becoming Her

Turns Out, the Teacher Herself Is Still Learning Hi. It’s been a minute.And somehow, since the last time I really sat down to write here, a childhood dream of mine quietly became real: I’m a teacher.Which still feels a little crazy to type.I spent years imagining what it would feel like to finally be on this side of the classroom. I finished my degree in Early Childhood Education. I finished my master’s in Language and Literacy. I spent countless hours in classrooms learning about children, literacy, development, play, language, assessment, and instruction.And then suddenly, the studying ended and the actual learning began.Because here’s something I’m realizing very quickly:Being a teacher means agreeing to never be finished learning.Kids make sure of that.They will completely dismantle the lesson you thought was brilliant. They will ask the question you never considered. They will solve something in a way you wouldn’t have. They will remind you that learning doesn’t always look quiet, organized, or particularly efficient.And sometimes, if you pay close enough attention, they’ll teach you far more than you planned to teach them.That might be my favorite part.Protecting the wonder I’ve always been drawn to early childhood because these are the years when children are beginning to figure out what school means to them.Before reading becomes a grade, it is a story.Before writing becomes an assignment, it is an idea worth putting on paper.Before science becomes a subject, it is Wait... why does that happen?Before school becomes something children believe they’re either “good” or “bad” at, it can simply be a place where they are allowed to wonder.I want to protect that.Of course I want my students to become strong readers, writers, thinkers, communicators, and problem-solvers. My graduate work in Language and Literacy made me even more fascinated by how differently children’s brains arrive at those skills.But more than anything, I want children to leave my classroom believing:I am a learner.My ideas matter.I can do hard things.And learning can actually be really, really fun.If I can help build that foundation, the academics have somewhere meaningful to grow.Apparently, I’m a Seven... Recently, I took the Enneagram with my teaching team and learned that I’m a Seven.Absolutely no one who knows me will be shocked by this information.Sevens tend to chase possibility. We love ideas, experiences, creativity, adventure, and the question of what else could I do?Which explains... a lot.It also made me realize something I needed to hear at exactly this point in my life.Sometimes being excited about every door makes it difficult to appreciate the room you’re already standing in.I caught myself recently thinking about everything ahead.What will I do next year?Will I eventually have my own classroom?Could I become a reading interventionist?What else could I take on?Where could this lead?And then I had to remind myself:Girl. You literally just got here.I am 23 years old. I finished a master’s degree in the field I love. And now I have an entire year to learn from incredible educators, work with the age group I adore, explore literacy more deeply, coach kids after school, try ideas, make mistakes, ask questions, and figure out what kind of educator I want to become.I’m not stuck.I’m learning.And there is a huge difference.Maybe the lesson right now is to let this be the dream for a while. To stop treating every good thing like a stepping stone toward the next good thing and actually notice that I’m standing in a life I once hoped for.Learning my limits without limiting my life September is also Pain Awareness Month, which feels especially fitting to write about while I’m thinking about everything I’m still learning.Because teaching isn’t the only thing teaching me right now.I’m also still learning how to live in a body that doesn’t always keep up with my brain.Chronic pain and fatigue have a funny way of changing your relationship with time, energy, plans, and even ambition. I am someone who wants to say yes to everything. I want to teach all day, coach after school, go for the hike, make something, see my friends, start the new idea, stay up late, wake up early, and somehow squeeze three extra hours into every day.My body sometimes has other plans.For a long time, I think I viewed that as something I needed to beat. If I could just push harder, rest less, ignore it better, or become stronger, maybe I could live exactly like everyone else.I’m slowly learning that thriving with chronic pain isn’t about pretending it isn’t there.It’s about learning how to build a really full life around it.And weirdly, there have been gifts hidden inside that lesson.I’ve learned to pay attention to my body.I’ve learned that rest is not the opposite of living.I’ve learned that asking for help doesn’t make me less independent.I’ve learned to appreciate the days when my body lets me run, hike, ski, coach, teach, travel, or simply stay out a little later than usual.I’ve learned that sometimes changing the plan is what allows me to keep having plans.And maybe most importantly, I’ve learned that having limits does not mean living a limited life.There are still hard days. There are days when fatigue feels heavier than I want to admit. There are moments when it is frustrating to watch my brain be ready for ten things while my body is asking me to please choose three.I don’t think the goal is to become endlessly positive about that.The goal, at least for me, is to get really good at knowing myself.To know when I can push.To know when I need to stop.To know what is worth spending my energy on.And to stop feeling guilty about building my life in a way that lets me actually enjoy it.Maybe that’s another version of learning.Let this be the dream for now Something about my life right now feels wonderfully full-circle.During the school day, I get to be the educator who nerds out about how children learn to read, notices the little things, asks questions, creates, and tries to make school feel like a place children genuinely want to be, while watching, learning, and working with amazingly talented educators.And then I get to walk onto a field and tap into the version of myself who spent summers as a camp counselor, the girl who loves teams, traditions, ridiculous enthusiasm, encouragement, and making kids feel like they’re part of something.And somewhere in between all of that, I’m learning how to take care of the person doing it all.For a long time, I thought growing up meant eventually choosing one version of myself.I’m starting to think good teaching, a good, balanced life might require bringing all of them with me.The student.The literacy nerd.The creative.The coach.The camp counselor.The person who always has another idea.The person learning when to keep going and when to rest.The kid who dreamed about having her own students someday.She’s here now.And instead of immediately asking her what’s next, I think I’m going to let her enjoy it.I have so much to learn this year.I want to learn from experienced teachers. I want to understand early literacy more deeply. I want to notice individual children more, not just what they know, but how they think. I want to create things. I want to follow the ideas that excite me. I want to become better at the things that are hard.I also want to learn how to do all of that without believing I have to run myself into the ground for my life to count as full.Most importantly, I want to stay curious.About my students.About teaching.About myself.About what my body needs.About where all of this might lead me eventually... without needing to know just yet.Because maybe the goal isn’t to become the teacher who knows everything.Maybe it’s to become the teacher who never stops wondering alongside her students.And maybe the same is true outside the classroom.I don’t have to have my career figured out.I don’t have to have chronic pain figured out.I don’t have to know exactly what comes next.I just have to keep learning how to make this life mine.So that’s where I am.Childhood dream: somehow happening.Master’s degree: apparently I really did finish that.Chronic pain: still teaching me things I never signed up to learn.Career plan: beautifully unfinished.Life: very, very full.And tomorrow morning, I get to walk back into a classroom and learn some more.How freaking lucky am I?

September Lessons

For a while, I wasn't sure I'd ever write this post.A lot of people probably thought I disappeared this year.Honestly, I kind of did.Not because I wanted to.Not because I gave up.Life just hit me from every direction at once.After years of remission, my vasculitis came back.At the same time, my best friends graduated and moved away, I was trying to finish my master's degree, and all I wanted was to be home in Colorado.I was homesick.Exhausted.Sick.And trying my best to keep moving forward.So instead of writing, I got quiet.At least on here.Because the truth is, when life gets really hard, writing becomes difficult for me.Writing forces me to make sense of things.It forces me to put feelings into words.And when you're in the middle of something hard, sometimes putting those feelings into words makes everything feel even more real.So I stopped writing.But I didn't completely stop sharing.Instead, I think I started showing my life differently. One thing that kept me afloat this year was romanticizing my life.I know that sounds silly.But when your brain wants to focus on everything that's hurting, you have to intentionally look for the good.So I made my coffee.I watched sunsets.I took long walks.I found joy in small moments.I sat outside and had a picnic instead of sitting on my couch.I documented trips.I celebrated tiny wins.I made TikToks.Looking back, I don't think a lot of those videos were really about the places I was going or what I was doing.They were reminders to myself that there was still so much good around me.That life was still happening.That there were still things worth getting excited about.Even on the hard days, which honestly felt like most days this year.And through it all, I was still doing it.My own little reminder of how strong I am.I think one of the greatest gifts this year gave me was learning how to find the good, the happy, and the joy in each and every day, even when it felt impossible.And then there was Boots.My little sidekick.Literally.He basically went everywhere with me for a year.I had planned on getting him for a while, but honestly, I think he was sent to rescue me.Something bigger than me had planned for him long before I knew what this year would become.Long before I knew I would fall out of remission.Long before I knew how much I would need him.Looking back now, it feels like my guardian angel was putting pieces into place before I even knew they were needed.Because somehow, he arrived at exactly the right time.When I didn't want to get out of bed, he needed to go outside.When I wanted to stay home, he needed a walk.When I felt lonely, he was there.No expectations.No explanations.Just unconditional love.I thought I was bringing home a puppy.Instead, I got exactly what I needed.A daily reminder of the love, joy, and goodness that still exists all around us. The reality of chronic illness is that it comes with you everywhere.To class.To work.To dinner with friends.To the grocery store.To vacations.To every place you're trying so hard to show up.People see the moments.They don't always see what it took to get there.Waking up every morning feeling like you could still sleep another entire night.The stiffness.The fatigue.The headaches.The nausea.The body aches.The constant battles that show up without warning.There were days this year when just getting out of bed felt hard.Going to class felt even harder.Days when finishing my master's degree felt completely out of reach.But somehow, I kept showing up.One class.One assignment.One day at a time.I've never given up on my life, and I wasn't going to start now.And somehow, that degree got finished. Now, I'm finally settled back home in Denver.After two incredible trips with some of my favorite people in the world, I finally feel like I'm coming up for air again.I graduated.I came home.And for the first time in a long time, home actually feels like home.The mountains are outside my window.My family is close by.Boots is running around the house with his uncles, Cowboy and Rodeo.And life feels a little lighter.Not perfect.Just lighter. Today, June 1st, I start my summer job at a Montessori school.After that, I'll begin my first full-time teaching job at a private school here in Denver.The little girl who always wanted to be a teacher honestly wouldn't believe it.And neither would fourteen-year-old Annie, sitting in a hospital bed, wondering what her future would look like.This year humbled me.It slowed me down.It forced me to take care of myself in ways I never had before.But it also reminded me that hard seasons don't last forever.Sometimes your job is simply to keep going until you find your groove again.And I think I'm finally starting to find mine.June feels like a fresh start.For the first time in a long time, I'm starting to feel like myself again.

Finding my Groove Again.

I flew home last night from my friend reunion, one of those weekends where your heart feels full, your suitcase is a disaster, and you swear you’re going to drink a gallon of water and reorganize your entire life when you get back. Spoiler: I did not reorganize anything.I landed, grabbed my bags, and went to pick up dinner for me and my boyfriend, who had been watching Boots all weekend like the best person ever. I walked out of Eatzies feeling like I had my life together for exactly three minutes. I was going to go home, deep clean, eat my healthy dinner, and write this blog post (which I had planned to look verydifferent). But then… I lost my keys.Like actually lost them. Somewhere between checkout and the parking lot, they disappeared into another dimension.Next thing I know, I’m standing next to my locked car holding my Eatzies bag, calling my boyfriend like, “Heyyyy… so… funny story… can you come get me?”He had to pick me up AND our dinner, when I was trying to do a nice thing for him after he watched my dog all weekend. It was humbling in a way I can’t describe. I felt like the biggest disaster ever.This morning I returned to face the situation like the mature adult I pretend to be. I walked into Mazda ready to conquer the day. Instead, I spent hours waiting, arguing with technology, pacing around the lobby, and Googling things like:“Mazda key replacements?” “Why so expensive???” So with the help of my dad, we found a locksmith— half the price of the wild number Mazda gave me for a new key. So we said, “Yes!”Boots, loyal as ever, was in the car with me during the wait today. Just the two of us, stuck in a parked Mazda like we were filming our own reality TV show called Girl vs. Vehicle.I kept thinking, “This is ridiculous.” Then immediately, “This is so on-brand for my life.”&nbsp; But Here’s Where It Gets Real Somewhere between the flight, the lost keys, the boyfriend rescue, and the locksmith visit… I felt this weird sense of clarity. I decided I needed time to sit down and rewrite this blog post completely.This past year, the Year of the Snake, has been full of shedding, discomfort, my own health scares, family stuff, emotional ups and downs, confusion, and growth that felt like stretching a rubber band to its limit.It’s been a year of hard things. quiet struggles. Moments I didn’t talk about. A lot like losing your keys: invisible from the outside, chaotic on the inside.And now we’re stepping into the Year of the Horse, the year of motion, energy, getting unstuck, and finally running in the direction you’ve been preparing yourself for.What happened these last 24 hours somehow felt symbolic:Losing things Finding things Needing help Starting over Laughing at the absurdity Realizing I’m stronger, softer, and wiser than before &nbsp; So Here Is More of The Rowdy Story — The Real One Rowdy didn’t come from everything going right. Rowdy came from this: the chaos, the confusion, the moments that make no sense until later.Rowdy came from:growing up feeling different hospital rooms and quiet fear health struggles no one could see always feeling “off rhythm” trying to fit in a world not built for girls like me wanting desperately to feel understood learning to understand others deeply in the process Rowdy is the brand I needed at 14, 18, and honestly even yesterday — stranded with Boots and my bag of Eatzies.It’s for the girls who:are working through things no one knows about feel like their own type of glitch have big hearts and deep feelings were never meant to be watered-down versions of themselves deserve to take up space deserve to be seen Rowdy is the reminder that authenticity matters more than anything — that messy, real, imperfect people are the ones who shine the brightest.&nbsp; So Here We Are Now: February. My Month, My Shift, My Start Line. February has always been my month. It’s my birthday month, my love month, and this year it’s going to be my reset month. This February feels especially important.I’m stepping into the Year of the Horse with:new momentum a fire to create a heart that’s softer but stronger a brand that feels like purpose and a certainty that everything I’ve lived through is building toward something Even the lost keys. Even the locksmith bill. Even the chaos.If anything, it feels like a reminder:I’m ready to move. I’m ready to grow. I’m ready to build Rowdy into the space I’ve always needed, and the space so many of us are craving.Year of the Horse: INS Year of the Horse energy: movement, momentum, going after what I actually want Rowdy authenticity: creating from the heart, not the algorithm Slow mornings: coffee, light, breathing, grounding Letting people help me (yes, even when I lose my keys) Healthy routines: walking Boots, cooking, taking care of my body Deep conversations: real connections, real feelings Creative work: beads, color palettes, designs, storytelling Being seen: showing up as myself, even on chaotic days Soft strength: staying gentle without shrinking Choosing joy on purpose &amp; OUTS Doing everything alone Trying to be “perfect” instead of honest Feeling guilty for resting Minimizing my own story Ignoring my health or intuition People-pleasing (we’re done with that) Chaos without meaning: if it's chaotic, it better be symbolic Shrinking my feelings Forcing timelines: letting things unfold, not chase me Anything that makes me feel less RowdySo here’s to February. To love, to beginnings, to resilience, to Rowdy. To Boots, who just wanted to go on a car ride with his head flying out the window. And to the Year of the Horse, may it carry me exactly where I’m meant to go.

Year of the Horse

Sorry I am late, honeslty reflecting on 2025, that was a common theme, I am working on that as we speak. Anyways back to the pointt, this year asked more of me than I ever expected.It was a year of deep lessons, quiet heartbreaks, hard conversations, and moments where I had to look at myself honestly. It was a year that required shedding. Letting go. Releasing versions of myself that no longer fit, even when they once felt safe.In the language of the zodiac, it was the Year of the Snake and wow, did that symbolism hit home. Snakes shed their skin not because they want to, but because growth demands it. And that’s exactly what this year did to me. Old patterns, old roles, old doors, old identities—some closed gently, others slammed shut. Either way, they closed.And as painful as that was at times, I can see now that it was necessary.Because now, I’m stepping into the Year of the Horse.The Horse represents movement, freedom, momentum, confidence, and forward motion. It’s about trusting your instincts, running toward what lights you up, and choosing courage over comfort. This year isn’t about shrinking or second-guessing myself. It’s about being myself fully, unapologetically, and with intention.I’m done waiting for the “perfect” moment. I’m done doubting my creativity, my instincts, and my ability to build something meaningful. I’m done knocking on doors that were never meant to open for me.Instead, I’m building my own. Out of all the shedding came clarity and from that clarity, Rowdy by Reynolds was born.Rowdy is more than jewelry. It’s energy. It’s play. It’s individuality. It’s outdoorsy, artsy, nostalgic, a little wild, a little soft, and deeply personal. It’s inspired by nature, movement, friendship, freedom, and the idea that what you wear can carry meaning.This business feels like a leap and also like coming home to myself.I’m proud (and honestly a little emotional) to say that @rowdybyreynolds is officially live on Instagram. The website is coming soon and will live as a space for life with necklaces—stories, stacks, creativity, and connection. This is me choosing to trust my vision and jump, even without seeing every step ahead.This new chapter doesn’t erase the hard year that 2025 was, it honors it. Every closed door taught me something. Every ending redirected me. And every moment of uncertainty pushed me closer to what I’m building now.If you’re reading this and standing in a season of shedding, I hope you know this: growth is happening, even when it hurts. Clarity comes after release. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is bet on yourself.Here’s to movement. Here’s to momentum. Here’s to the Year of the Horse. Here’s to thriving.With love, Annie

Shedding, Stepping Forward, and Choosing to Thrive

Annie Strong

My awesome life thriving through the everyday struggles of chronic autoimmune diseases. It will get better; I found my way. Maybe I can help you find yours?