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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

Becoming the Girl I’m Aiming to Be December always feels like a turning point for me, like the quiet pause before a new chapter. And I’ve felt this nudge lately… a whisper that says: “Slow down. Prioritize yourself. Come home to the things that make you you.”Living with chronic illnesses means I am constantly balancing healing with dreaming, rest with ambition, and the version of me today with the version I’m growing into. And honestly? I’m proud of her. I’m proud of how far she’s come—even the days when her energy is low or her body feels heavy.This month, I’m choosing to pour into the things that bring me joy, clarity, and confidence. The things that make me feel like me again.I’m choosing:Slow mornings with coffee instead of chaos. Walks when my body allows, not to “be productive,” but to breathe. Art, color palettes, Procreate doodles, and building Rowdy (a brand of my own I dream of having one day) even if it’s messy at first. Journaling instead of spiraling. Resting without guilt. Creating space for the girl I’m becoming, not the girl who’s rushing her way there. Chronic illness has taught me to take my life moment by moment, but it’s also taught me resilience. Creativity. Patience. Courage. And December is my month to let those parts shine.So if you’re reading this, especially my chronic illness girls, my GPA warriors, my “trying to find the joy again” friends:You’re welcome here. I’m building a community of people who are healing and growing at the same time, and I’d love for you to be part of it.Let’s spend December showing up for ourselves. Not perfectly. Not aesthetically. Just honestly, bravely, and with intention.Here’s to becoming the girl we are aiming to be. Even if we take the long way there.💛 Annie

Becoming the Girl I’m Aiming to Be

Being 20 is weird. You’re full of dreams and ideas, for me, maybe too many, and it’s hard when your heart is ready to start, but your head doesn’t quite know how. I’ve learned that wanting something deeply doesn’t always mean it’s time for it to bloom. Sometimes it’s still growing roots.For me, that “something” is Rowdy by Reynolds. It’s this mix of all my favorite things: color, creativity, Colorado energy, and the kind of grit that comes from starting small. I can see it so clearly in my head: the tees, the jewelry, the vibe. But seeing something in your mind and seeing it in real life are two totally different stages, and that space in between? That’s where the growth really happens.Lately, I’ve been reminding myself that it’s okay to move slowly. Things that are built with heart take time. I used to think that starting meant having it all figured out: a business plan, products, and a launch date. But now I know starting can look like sketching out an idea at midnight. It can look like talking about it out loud for the first time. It can look like trusting that small steps still count.Maybe “starting” isn’t about the launch at all, &nbsp;maybe it’s just about believing you’re capable even when it’s still messy because you are.I don’t have all the answers yet. But I have drive. I have a vision. And I have time, which I’m learning is not my enemy, but my secret advantage.So here’s to the in-between. Here’s to being young and unsure but brave enough to dream anyway. And here’s to letting things take the time they need to become something beautiful.Annie

Starting from Scratch

September came in hot. A hospital stay, procedures, endless tests, and rounds of doctors later, and yep, it was confirmed: my first known flare since remission. Truth is, I hadn’t been feeling great since early February: fatigue, joint pain, worsening cough, night sweats… all the “fun” things.Back in 2017, GPA went after my kidneys and sinuses, and by some miracle, my lungs stayed clear. This time around? My lungs decided to join the party. My sinuses and kidneys are holding steady for now, but the meds, infusions, and full treatment plan are back on the table. Déjà vu, anyone? Because for me, it feels a little too familiar, the timeline is almost identical to Round 1, with September once again being the big month of diagnosis and change.So here I am, sitting down on October 1st, choosing to claim this month as mine. October is the month I focus on me. October is the month I fight again, not because I want to, but because I can. And trust me, I will.It’s been a minute since I’ve written here. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I could. It’s one thing to talk about resilience when life feels smooth, but when you’re thrown back into the storm? That’s a whole different level. It’s hard to stay positive. It’s hard to balance all the day-to-day things when you don’t feel well. Some days, it feels like a fight just to get through the basics.Here’s the truth: starting over sucks. I know the road, I know the meds, I know the fight, but that doesn’t make it any less heavy. What does make it lighter is sharing it. Writing. Connecting. Letting this story be more than just my own. Because if you’ve ever had to restart, at anything, you know it’s not weakness, it’s actually strength.So yeah, sorry I’ve been MIA, but I’m fine. Just know Prednisone Annie is officially back… so buckle up, because she’s got mood swings, midnight snack runs, and way too much energy at 2 a.m. to keep quiet for long. Let’s keep moving forward and continue this story together.

I'm Back

Merida A story for my girls, by Annie ReynoldsAs graduation approaches, I have been doing a ton of reflecting.So... Merida. Where do I even start with this house?<figure id="figure-9dcd4o0q1ma5vk2qb"><img id="9dcd4o0q1ma5vk2qb" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/eSMmAHumgTVaXrZzJfpJ8hKISnv0tM9sAanvBh6dXknch504MdRNWUnhd0xuKhjU.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 50% 95%;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="50%" data-positiony="95%" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/eSMmAHumgTVaXrZzJfpJ8hKISnv0tM9sAanvBh6dXknch504MdRNWUnhd0xuKhjU.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 50% 95%;"></figure>It wasn’t just where five of us lived. It was where ten, eleven, twelve of us lived. Like really, fully lived. We made that place home for way more people than were ever technically on the lease.The door was always open. Like, literally. Never locked. (I know that’s bad — sorry, Mom.) But that’s just how it was. It was the kind of house people walked into unannounced. And honestly? We loved that. We thrived on that.<figure id="figure-litg9ivfmma5vc3cg"><img id="litg9ivfmma5vc3cg" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/36DxfUK0gnHutBthZYBZUUu0kaLcGAJB8JM6DOZ4c49N8W9qOWOZZVzZbjjbAImk.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 50% 100%;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="50%" data-positiony="100%" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/36DxfUK0gnHutBthZYBZUUu0kaLcGAJB8JM6DOZ4c49N8W9qOWOZZVzZbjjbAImk.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 50% 100%;"></figure>Always coming home to a couch full of friends, or a wave followed by a big hi from our perfect porch. We’d get the same questions over and over: “Wait… who actually lives here?” “You don’t live here?” “But you’re always here??” Yup. That was Merida. Even if your name wasn’t on the lease, your heart lived in that house.Somehow, we all just… belonged.<figure id="figure-23x8t0zt3ma5vj8vs"><img id="23x8t0zt3ma5vj8vs" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/2dFnEJnVrANR34JsGU8jtXIy5HuXytX4DHSlLRDuxl0hgr7Ag17RGslDS0A5BhHW.png" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 50% 85%;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="50%" data-positiony="85%" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/2dFnEJnVrANR34JsGU8jtXIy5HuXytX4DHSlLRDuxl0hgr7Ag17RGslDS0A5BhHW.png" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 50% 85%;"></figure>Porch time. Couch time. Music always playing. Someone yelling something from the kitchen. Someone else halfway into your closet asking, “Wait, can I borrow this?”Feti nights. Overstuffed Uber XLs. Screaming songs out the windows like we were starring in a movie. Grace narrating the scenes like she was filming a full-blown documentary.<figure id="figure-t7tfp19mma5vctai"><img id="t7tfp19mma5vctai" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/35Br1Z1LBF1rFrGfGL3EN2bDUdAAjK0gHVhX9629ix37JZHMJmBpyHM0CUhqKmqZ.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="undefined" data-positiony="undefined" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/35Br1Z1LBF1rFrGfGL3EN2bDUdAAjK0gHVhX9629ix37JZHMJmBpyHM0CUhqKmqZ.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;"></figure>The dance parties? Man, were they legendary. They’d start off innocent — a song, a bit, screaming our hearts out, ya know, the usual. And suddenly… the costume bin is out, someone’s raiding your drawers, and someone else is sprinting downstairs yelling, “Wait! Lock the front door! It’s turning into one of those nights!”The only time we ever locked that house was for the late-night naked dance parties. One piece of clothing flying through the air sent the rest of us down the line. And honestly, it just made sense.And the pranks? We were always cooking something up. Fake storms, bathroom disasters, random alarms. Text threads. Outfit swaps. The classic “let’s all dress like her for dinner” chaos. It kept the energy alive. It kept us alive.<figure id="figure-9l4pq95p08ma5vdesa"><img id="9l4pq95p08ma5vdesa" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/35EH2dTWDK4HDWMHY3u3IoIBhouiRFrhCY6jup4VxWx7uq5d99mfvuii1XHtW9G6.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 50% 60%;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="50%" data-positiony="60%" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/35EH2dTWDK4HDWMHY3u3IoIBhouiRFrhCY6jup4VxWx7uq5d99mfvuii1XHtW9G6.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 50% 60%;"></figure>I genuinely envy the girls moving in now. Really. They’re about to fall in love with every imperfect part&nbsp; the chipped paint, the weirdly warped floors, the moldy shower (sorry, but it’s true), the toilet that made its own rules (don’t ask, we don’t know), and the random holes in the wall that no one could fully explain,&nbsp; but no one questioned.They’ll get ready with the doors wide open, TV blasting music, clothes flying through the hallway, someone yelling, “Does this look cute or like... too much?”And I hope they fill that porch. Morning coffee, late-night talks, post-formal gossip. Drinks in solo cups or coffee mugs — didn’t matter. That porch meant everything.<figure id="figure-hh23q5ujyma5veeox"><img id="hh23q5ujyma5veeox" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/2eaSyG5aeEtZEVbG4R5G0SsyjIXldlZUlJo5HvSTE1cQDh58t5LekG76NaW0CION.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="undefined" data-positiony="undefined" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/2eaSyG5aeEtZEVbG4R5G0SsyjIXldlZUlJo5HvSTE1cQDh58t5LekG76NaW0CION.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;"></figure>It was where we cried, laughed, layed out in the sun abd feel asleep, We read, danced, kissed people we maybe shouldn’t have, and had some of the most healing conversations of our lives. Someone was always out there. And if not, someone was on the couch. You were never alone, even if you wanted to be. And weirdly, that’s what I needed.The giggles were constant. Like, actual nonstop. You’d walk in and someone would already be mid-laugh, and you’d just join in. No idea what was funny. Didn’t matter. You were in it now.And the footsteps, we always knew who was walking in by the sound. Door creaks... “Ope, here comes Tina.” And we’d be right.<figure id="figure-wrf1pilc4ma5veo6r"><img id="wrf1pilc4ma5veo6r" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/32oj7yR10UixLxtgRKeZZIIpqpt3jvgMdoz6OI96w1sln3QeqrDrip4Vuix5NDu3.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 1/1; object-position: 50% 60%;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="1:1" data-caption="" data-positionx="50%" data-positiony="60%" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/32oj7yR10UixLxtgRKeZZIIpqpt3jvgMdoz6OI96w1sln3QeqrDrip4Vuix5NDu3.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 1/1; object-position: 50% 60%;"></figure>The Chapin running list of nicknames? Still growing. Now it’s becoming our official pregame game: List all the Chapin nicknames we've ever heard. Each one has a story. Each one lives in the walls of that house.We had stories that didn’t even seem real. Cass getting dropped off at a warehouse,&nbsp; a single digit wrong on the address, and suddenly, it’s not 2700 Merida, it’s 3700 Media, and next thing we know… bloody face, burnt-off eyelashes, and our best friend looking like she just crawled out of a horror movie. Obviously, we loaded into the Churb the next day to check out the scene. We turned the scariest, weirdest nights into laughter. Because that’s what we do.<figure id="figure-7iflohrctma5vf9ye"><img id="7iflohrctma5vf9ye" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/21tTf7i8INmTBoNFPAXUPznCRmhH9Y0bDNq1uRT6YGq26zFYZsszYE1JdFbPtl5p.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 50% 75%;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="50%" data-positiony="75%" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/21tTf7i8INmTBoNFPAXUPznCRmhH9Y0bDNq1uRT6YGq26zFYZsszYE1JdFbPtl5p.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 50% 75%;"></figure>Me locking my roommates out, them thinking I was dead inside. Yup. A locksmith broke in that night. Real friends right there, they had to make sure I was okay.I miss the scary movie nights I never made it through (because I’m a fidgety baby and also a complete scaredy cat). I miss waking up after a night out, loading into the Churb…<figure id="figure-jhg14d0wd2ma5vndy3"><img id="jhg14d0wd2ma5vndy3" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/16kBdptq9VUIJfdJSHFjPZemTFtLSfgHf2cD5WWosEjHzVKpPUTewm5RSlCEsJ52.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 1/1; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="1:1" data-caption="" data-positionx="undefined" data-positiony="undefined" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/16kBdptq9VUIJfdJSHFjPZemTFtLSfgHf2cD5WWosEjHzVKpPUTewm5RSlCEsJ52.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 1/1; object-position: center center;"></figure>&nbsp;the Chapin Suburban, windows down, last night’s makeup, coffee in hand, headed to… somewhere. Where? Who knows. Didn’t matter. We were together.We rotted on that couch like royalty. Blankets everywhere, legs tangled, someone half-off the armrest. Mid-movie snoozes. Someone always with their head in someone else’s lap. That’s what I’ll miss.<figure id="figure-90pr77kkhma5vfxwc"><img id="90pr77kkhma5vfxwc" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/34xP5MAo1qoD29KQDuJJjrTbGVjXD4h0FnTZ61o3gowbunk5KTo7LvRmhGN98PJ4.png" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="undefined" data-positiony="undefined" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/34xP5MAo1qoD29KQDuJJjrTbGVjXD4h0FnTZ61o3gowbunk5KTo7LvRmhGN98PJ4.png" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;"></figure>I found my people in that house. The kind who show up without being asked. Who protect each other. Who know when to throw the door open — and when to quietly close it.We learned how to let go of the people who didn’t deserve us, and how to hold tight to the ones who did.We fought. We forgave. We got better at the hard stuff. We trusted. We loved.We cried over boys. (So many dumb ones.) The ones we already laugh about. The ones we will laugh about. And no matter what… we always ended those nights with a drive, a milkshake, or a windows-down scream-sing into the night.<figure id="figure-mfkpy6zo4jma5vgbqy"><img id="mfkpy6zo4jma5vgbqy" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/1r3rD3g5L9kLmDrrDAk5pJqIqhFQG1EgSnJAXSH1moCnPTMgTMSraOXlROBpoxYh.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 1/1; object-position: 10% 85%;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="1:1" data-caption="" data-positionx="10%" data-positiony="85%" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/1r3rD3g5L9kLmDrrDAk5pJqIqhFQG1EgSnJAXSH1moCnPTMgTMSraOXlROBpoxYh.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 1/1; object-position: 10% 85%;"></figure>Because we had each other. And that was always enough.So, to the girls moving in next. You’re stepping into something special. Something messy. Loud. Beautiful. Chaotic. And so, so full of love.I hope you dance. I hope you prank each other. I hope you laugh so hard you can’t breathe, and cry so hard you feel safe. I hope you lock the door when it gets weird. I hope you really live in that house. Because she’s magic.<figure id="figure-6mj0lbmm8sma5vhagg"><img id="6mj0lbmm8sma5vhagg" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/11E5s8zF2cTFaZLDaF6MxHM0T5aREqqP09fhupi3WDnj37MGSxaCb75WZtAGg0Rd.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 50% 15%;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="50%" data-positiony="15%" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/11E5s8zF2cTFaZLDaF6MxHM0T5aREqqP09fhupi3WDnj37MGSxaCb75WZtAGg0Rd.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 50% 15%;"></figure>Merida changed my life. And looking back now… I just feel so dang lucky.To the girls who made it what it was, I love you.Thanks for giving me something that makes saying goodbye so hard. This is not goodbye, it is just a see you soon. There is so much more to come. You’ll always be my little pieces of Merida, wherever we go next.<figure id="figure-qncmcmgvjma5vi1lv"><img id="qncmcmgvjma5vi1lv" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/2bA4W1iDH24ctftaS7GogSkrRygDHdmD7rJPEyjHuiZxR82N3hmRj95rTz6ns1aD.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="undefined" data-positiony="undefined" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/2bA4W1iDH24ctftaS7GogSkrRygDHdmD7rJPEyjHuiZxR82N3hmRj95rTz6ns1aD.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;"></figure>

My Girls

March was a month of intentional slowing down, but also of pushing myself forward, gently. I gave myself permission to explore what I need and what makes me feel like myself. I called it my “March Sprint,” not because I was racing through anything, but because I was actively, mindfully challenging myself in ways that matter. And I documented it all, through messy doodles, iPad journaling, and little notes that held big meaning.One of my favorite parts of this month was watching certain themes keep showing up, again and again. These became my March Favorites. Not products, not trends, but truths. Anchors. Things that helped me heal, reflect, and grow.1. Movement as Medicine The first and maybe biggest favorite of mine this month: physical movement. Not in a rigid, check-the-box kind of way, but as an act of care. Walking, stretching, running—even just getting outside and breathing in the air. It wasn’t about hitting some perfect streak of 10K steps a day. (Spoiler: that didn’t happen every day.) I had a goal of hitting 100 miles this month, and I did that, not a fourth of them running but hey, one day I'll get there. But every time I did move, I could feel it helping me heal. I could feel the shift in my energy, the lightness that came from doing something for my body.Movement reminded me that healing isn’t just about rest—sometimes it’s about action, too. About knowing when your body wants to move, and choosing to listen to it. There were moments where I knew I needed to move, and I’m proud of myself for leaning into that.2. Knowing What I Need &amp; Honoring It This month I spent a lot of time identifying what I need as a person—without guilt, without comparison. What do I need to feel steady? To feel grounded? I started writing these things down in my journaling space. Not lofty goals or expectations, just honest truths. Things like quiet mornings, creative outlets, walks in the sun, and time to think without rushing.Putting them down in writing helped me own them. These aren't things I'm going to apologize for. They are part of who I am, and they deserve space in my life.3. Sticking to My Gut The third theme I couldn’t stop coming back to: trusting myself. I’m the only one who truly knows what I need. People might say, “Let them…” And while that can be freeing, it also reminded me—let me. Let me listen to my gut. Let memake the call. Let me stand firm in what feels right, even when it doesn’t make sense to others.There were moments this month where I felt really strongly about something, and I’m proud of the way I trusted that instinct. It’s a reminder that we’re not meant to outsource our knowing. We carry it. We live it. Sometimes all it takes is giving yourself permission to believe that.&nbsp; Through it all, my doodles and notes became this creative journal of sorts. A collage of March—my movement, my moods, my reflections. Some of it’s messy, some of it’s beautiful, and all of it is mine.If you’re looking for a new way to stay accountable, process your goals, or just tap into what’s been living in your mind and heart, I can’t recommend visual journaling enough. Don’t worry about making it perfect. Just start. Scribble. Reflect. Revisit.Because when we give ourselves the freedom to create, to move, to know—we make space for growth in the truest sense.Here’s to the next sprint. Let’s keep going.<figure id="figure-5gyw1qcsumm8xsyjv5" class=""><img id="5gyw1qcsumm8xsyjv5" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/149cT6YrkRs9oAxyExsz375VqaacCTIjdR3WXdHjcnzfzYUsxDLhSsLbySpNeTu6.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-sm md:rounded-md lg:rounded-lg" style="aspect-ratio: 1/1; object-position: 35% 0%;" data-corners="small" data-aspect="1:1" data-caption="" data-positionx="35%" data-positiony="0%" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/149cT6YrkRs9oAxyExsz375VqaacCTIjdR3WXdHjcnzfzYUsxDLhSsLbySpNeTu6.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 1/1; object-position: 35% 0%;"></figure><figure id="figure-0pdtrl0qrum8xt0o8a" class=""><img id="0pdtrl0qrum8xt0o8a" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/138Gavat0Mv4StCK71lk2cCjOhpu4uWcCy14hynk5MNLhmm5gVQlFguZBf8f0Ox4.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 100% 100%;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="100%" data-positiony="100%" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/138Gavat0Mv4StCK71lk2cCjOhpu4uWcCy14hynk5MNLhmm5gVQlFguZBf8f0Ox4.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: 100% 100%;"></figure><figure id="figure-o37movbahim8xt1n92"><img id="o37movbahim8xt1n92" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/4GcYcTxSdQP5WLKKoiWuT4lPMktGtODJcIZnR7KLPDyS4gbjwY8hO6Rdbjtwoebl.jpg" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 1/1; object-position: 25% 0%;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="1:1" data-caption="" data-positionx="25%" data-positiony="0%" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/4GcYcTxSdQP5WLKKoiWuT4lPMktGtODJcIZnR7KLPDyS4gbjwY8hO6Rdbjtwoebl.jpg" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 1/1; object-position: 25% 0%;"></figure>

March Sprint: Moving, Doodling, and Trusting My Gut

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?