There was never a single moment where I decided to create a journal series. It came together slowly — through conversations in my office, stories from women I’ve worked with, things I’ve lived myself, and the deep knowing that so many of us are walking around looking “fine” while quietly falling apart.

She’s the one who remembers birthdays. Keeps the household running. Checks in on her friends. Shows up at work, on time, getting sh*t done. Handles her kids. Her partner. Her aging parents. Smiles at the cashier. Texts “How can I help?” when someone else is struggling.

You don’t need another voice telling you to drink more water or manifest your peace. You need someone who sees through the “I’m fine.” Someone who understands what it means to carry too much for too long. Someone who believes in healing out loud — not just holding it in.

You know her.

Hell — you might be her.

She’s the one who:
• Always shows up, even when she’s running on empty.
• Smiles through the stress, keeps the peace, never lets her guard down.
• Puts everyone else’s needs ahead of her own.
• Says “I’m fine” before you can even finish asking how she’s doing.

I started STG Wellness because I know what it feels like to carry a thousand thoughts in your head and a hundred emotions in your body — and not know where the hell to put them.

I started it because writing has always been my way through. Not just a hobby. Not a coping skill. A lifeline.

Since I was seven years old — right in the middle of my parents’ divorce — journaling became the one place where I could finally tell the truth. No filters. No fear. No one telling me I was too much. Just a blank page and all the things I couldn’t say out loud yet.

There comes a day — usually after you’ve held your breath for way too long — when something inside you just snaps. You don’t faint. You don’t scream. You don’t run away. You decide.

You decide you’re done performing. Done being the strong one. The peacemaker. The overachiever. The woman who holds it all together while quietly falling apart. And if you’re anything like me, that moment doesn’t come with clarity.

It comes with rage. And grief. And a voice inside whispering: “I don’t want to live like this anymore.”

We don’t always hear the first warning. Or the second. Or the hundredth.

Because women — especially the high-functioning, get-sh*t-done, never-ask-for-help kind — are experts at pushing through.

We keep working when we’re exhausted. We keep smiling when we’re unraveling. We keep saying “I’m fine” when our body is screaming, You’re not.

There was a time in my life when I’d open my eyes and my very first thought was: When can I get back in bed? I wasn’t sick. I wasn’t physically injured. I just didn’t want to be awake. I didn’t want to “do the day.” I wasn’t living — I was enduring.

There’s a moment that hits — sometimes like a whisper, sometimes like a punch in the gut — when you realize:

You’ve been going through the motions.

You’ve been checking the boxes.

You’ve been living on autopilot.

There’s a story many of us were raised with — one that says life has to be hard, that healing only counts if it hurts, and that ease is a luxury reserved for people with fewer responsibilities. But what if that story is a lie?

There’s a moment in nearly every journal I’ve created where the real shit hits the page. It’s the moment you stop editing your truth. The moment you write the thing you swore you’d never say out loud. And I know—because I’ve lived it.

There comes a moment when the discomfort of staying quiet outweighs the fear of speaking your truth.

I’ve lived it — both personally and professionally. As a clinician, I’ve sat across from women unraveling decades of conditioning, women terrified of disrupting the peace, of being labeled “too much,” “too emotional,” or “too complicated.” And as a woman myself, I’ve made the decision to walk away from relationships, patterns, and expectations that were crushing my spirit.

Let’s get one thing straight — self-care isn’t bubble baths and candles. Real self-care is hard. It’s fierce. It’s unapologetic. It’s turning your phone off when the world gets too loud. It’s saying no to things that don’t feel right — even when people don’t like it. It’s choosing rest without guilt. Choosing nourishment over punishment. Choosing truth over people-pleasing.

I’ve worked with hundreds of women who have told me the same thing in different ways: “I’m scared that if I tell the truth about how I really feel, everything will fall apart.”

Here’s the thing: sometimes it does. But sometimes — everything finally falls into place.

As a therapist, I’ve worked with women who seem to have it all together. They’re smart, successful, organized. On paper, everything looks shiny.

But here’s what I’ve learned:

Looking good on paper doesn’t mean shit if your soul is exhausted.

Let’s be honest — most of us already know the answers. We just don’t want to say them out loud.

Not yet.

Not until we’re ready to deal with what those answers might unravel.

As a therapist, I’ve worked with women who look like they have it all together on paper — the job, the kids, the partner, the house. But shiny on paper doesn’t mean shit when your soul feels empty. Behind the scenes, they’re unraveling. Anxious. Overwhelmed. Disconnected from who they really are. Trying so hard to keep everything running that they forget to check in with themselves. And the scariest part? They know something has to change — but don’t know where to begin.

Let’s clear this up: Burnout isn’t a buzzword. It’s a full-body, full-life shutdown. And no — you’re not lazy, unmotivated, or broken. You’re exhausted. You’re carrying too much. And you’ve probably been doing it for way too long.

I’ve sat across from hundreds of women who tell me they feel like they’re failing — at work, at home, in their relationships. But what I see is someone who has been functioning at an unsustainable pace, meeting everyone else’s needs but her own.

Burnout doesn’t just happen overnight. It builds — in the silence, in the pressure, in the pretending. And here’s what I know: Burnout doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’ve been strong for too long without enough support.

I work with people every single day who are in the middle of a battle they never expected. A divorce. A relapse. A wake-up call. A breakdown that doesn’t look anything like it does in the movies — it’s quieter. It shows up as complete exhaustion, avoidance, numbing, snapping at the people you love, hating your job, forgetting what joy feels like, and asking questions like: How the hell did I get here?

It’s Daily Rituals — Not a Pedicure Every Month

Let’s set the record straight. Self-care isn’t what most people say it is.
It’s not a monthly massage. It’s not a cucumber eye mask. And it’s definitely not a pedicure you squeeze in every few weeks while answering work emails.

There’s a moment — sometimes quiet, sometimes loud — when you realize you’ve been living someone else’s version of your life. That moment is sacred. It’s terrifying. And it’s where everything begins to shift.

There were moments I felt like I was unraveling. Like I was drifting so far from who I used to be, I wasn’t sure how to find my way back. And when I didn’t have the answers, I wrote.