A letter to the girls.

I was thirteen when I first realized I had depression. I didn’t know why, and I didn’t understand it. It simply became a part of who I was.

I, so badly, wanted to be like the other girls. They were thin and blonde, and they didn’t have a care in the world. They were fun, and beautiful, and they laughed at all the boys jokes. Boys liked that. Boys liked it when the girls laughed at their jokes.

Why couldn’t I be like all the other girls?

I was known for being sad, and for having hairy arms. I was known for being odd, a little different I guess.

I was the girl with hair cut to her ears. The girl who was shoved up against the wall, grabbed by the neck, and twisted at the arm, for naively, and ever so innocently, uttering the words, “I have a crush on you.”

I was the girl, flipping through pages of magazines, ripping them out and pasting them to my walls. Maybe if I just stared and hoped and wished and stared some more, I would begin to look like the other girls. Maybe, someday, I would be liked and loved, like the other girls.

I didn’t understand why. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t be like the other girls.

Why wasn’t I happy and fun, like all the other girls? Why was I the girl who sat in her closet with the lights shut off? The girl whose eyes sank heavy in her face. Why was I the girl who ate her lunch in the bathroom stalls? The girl who felt hollow and alone, even in a crowd.

So, I became the girl who didn’t feel like this world had a place for her; the girl who wished her edges and curves, would be molded and shaped, just enough to fit.

I became the girl who believed she had to change to be loved like the others. The girl who believed she had to morph, poke, prod, cut, tear, walk, talk, act, and dress like the others.

I became the girl who drank away her pain, and laughed with all the boys. The girl who lived in a haze of belief that this, this drunken, foolish kind of love was real, and enough.

I said goodbye to that girl, about two years ago.

She still likes to visit every once in a while. She likes to tap on my shoulder, and whisper in my ear. So I let her sit, and I let her speak. But she doesn’t have a place here, anymore. She isn’t welcome to stay.

There’s a new girl that stands in her place; a woman in fact. A woman who has found her way out of the darkness, out of the weight. A woman who has come to her own.

This is my letter to the girls.

This is my letter to the girls who feel misplaced; the girls who can’t put words to their pain.

This is my letter to the girls who were told it’s their fault; the girls who were told their love deserves fear and abuse, in return.

This is my letter to the girls who live in a haze, who eat lunch in the bathroom stalls, who sit in their closets, and wish they looked more like the others.

This is my letter to the girls who believe they need to change, who believe they have to be molded and shaped into someone other than who they were created to be.

This is my letter to the girls who need to know, this isn’t the end of their day. The closet you sit in, will soon feel distant; the feelings of insufficiency and worthlessness, will all go away.

The woman you’ll become, will protect you, love you, and serve you. The woman you’ll become, will hold you close, and keep you sacred. The woman you’ll become will overwhelm you with her fearlessness, and strike you with her will to live. The woman you’ll become will challenge you with her strength, and speak with boldness and grace.

The woman you’ll become, will be you.

Summer letters

To Eric

I found love

In your soft brown eyes

But I let it all go

That summer, in July

I can still hear you whisper

Gripping my hand

I’m nervous

It’s ok, I’m not going anywhere

Wrestles and giggles

Playful after school days

Curious but sweet

You drove me a little insane

Now I see you

In the pinkest of skies

In the light streaks from heaven

In the joys of life

Yes, you’re still perfect

Fifteen, forever perfect

And I’m twenty four

As you would’ve been too

I still wonder what you’d look like

The curves of your face

Who would you be today?

Would you maybe be, just a little bit the same?

How deep would your voice go?

Would you still shriek when you laugh?

Would your eyes glisten like they used to?

Would you still love to dance?

Do you see me every now and then?

Do you know I’m ok now?

Do you know I never forgot you?

Do you remember it the way I do?

I have so many questions

But I’ll simply say this

You are still loved

And forever missed

I remember you like it was yesterday

I remember you every day

I remember your quirks and your smirk

And the way you told me we’d be friends forever that day

Sweet brown eyed boy

You may not know

You spoke words of color

and loved deeply through your core

You dripped in joy

and did this thing

when your feet kissed the floor

Sweet brown eyed boy

I hope you know

You brought magic to this world

With your heart so pure

and your bird like soul

xx

Lost in Transition

Lately I've been feeling a little lost in transition - a bittersweet season of complexity and growth.

It’s often I get caught up in the ideas of what I want my life to be, especially in the midst of change. I am surrounded by the voices of role models, mentors, and elders who inflict expectations upon me; influenced by the written word - books, quotes, and media telling me how to live better, more creatively, and freely; shaped through filtered vision -- fabricated images creating unrealistic expectations and standards of living — all which were curated by someone other than myself.

These ideas get in my head - they transform themselves into what I believe to be true and attainable -- a battle I believe every human being goes through. Artists, writers, and entrepreneurs; go-getters, doers, and daydreamers; all fighting these feelings of invasion. I know I’m not alone in this feeling of not quite being where I want to be, but it gnaws at me every day. It steals bits and pieces of my joy, moments of rest and stillness, causing my mind to feel crowded and loud.

The conversations I have with myself buzz in my head. Imagery and writing, constantly flashing before my eyes, wreaking havoc on my thoughts. Overwhelmed by the constant chaos, my mind becomes a mess, a place I can no longer grasp, a place I no longer feel safe in. I've lost my sense of connection and control.

I seek solace when my mind gets loud like this. When it shouts at me and corrupts my flow of thought. Nothing feels still, and I look for ways out.

I begin to lose myself in this process. I love myself less and less. I begin to believe there is no room for grace and forgiveness, as they increasingly become far and foreign to me.

"You can do better than this," it says, "You will be better than this."

But can we ever just be? Can we just be without constantly having to be better?

Can we exist in this space, accept the phase of change, and be good enough right where we are?

Can we allow space for grace and forgiveness, and continue to love ourselves in the process?

To the girl who believes she isn't enough

A couple weeks ago, I was honored to be featured on the official Urban Outfitters Instagram. Excited by the love and fierce encouragement I was receiving from friends, family, and followers, I couldn’t help but sift through the comments that were making their way across the image. As expected, any image receives some backlash, especially one that 7.4 million people can see.

As I scrolled through, I came across comments like, “Bitch ain’t got no ass,” and “I’d be fucking mad if I had that ass.” I scrolled and re-read, scrolled and re-read — something no one should ever do after finding a negative comment. This domino affect created a downward spiral of emotion that burned a fire inside of me. Although I expected it, it still stung knowing that an image meant to share a love of pop culture and music on vinyl, turned out to be a platform for people to shame the female body, not to mention, cyber bully. I felt disappointed, and to be honest with you, a little degraded.

Society has opened the door to the idea that women are sexualized beings with a standard of idealized beauty to uphold. The ideal body of a woman is completely unattainable, a false perception, and frankly a lie. A human construct based off of one woman, one image, and one body, that has created a preconceived physical identity for every woman. And to tell you the truth, this fantasized body that came from someone’s imagination, has probably never physically existed in reality.

I am angered and saddened by this societal norm, not for myself, but for other women. I am angry for every other woman and every other girl fighting this perception of beauty — For the seventeen year olds who are suffering from eating disorders because they are told their bodies aren’t good enough. For the curvy, voluptuous women who are labeled and placed in the mold of “plus size” because someone decided their curves aren’t “normal.” For the women who battle depression and anxiety disorders because they feel worthless and ashamed of what they look like.

We’ve all had enough of this.

Body shaming is never ok, no matter how curvy, slender, tall, short, or tan we are. We rarely know someone’s story, and what role their body plays in it. Many women have no control over what their bodies look like due to genetics, health conditions, traumas, pregnancies, eating and neurological disorders — but that’s beside the point. The point is, it really doesn’t matter. Kindness, compassion, and spirit ALWAYS take precedence over physical appearance.

Women are warriors, and we deserve to celebrate each other.

We are not objects of criticism and conformity, we will not change simply because we are told to. We are not objects of sex and desire, undressed at the will of someone else’s needs and cravings. We are not dolls that live without voice, poked and prodded, and rearranged at the entertainment of someone else. We are not too thin, too curvy, too tall, too short, too dark, too light, too this, or too that.

Our bodies bare living creatures and our stretch marks are our tiger stripes, proof of our strength. Our mouths speak words of love and nurture, proof of our kindness and generous nature. Our minds create projects of passion, proof of our intelligence, creativity, and wit. This, deserves celebration.

For the girl who doesn’t believe she is good enough, I am writing this to you.

I am writing this to the girl in high school who was told her hair was too curly and she should straighten it more often; her butt was too flat and she should work out more often to make it stand out; her arms were too hairy and that group of guys over there would like her better if she shaved them.

I am writing this to the girl who straightened her hair, shaved her arms, obsessively worked out, cut her portions in half, and actually considered the pros and cons of bulimia.

I am writing this to the girl who didn’t know she had a choice to ignore these criticisms; the girl who didn’t know she would find a tribe of human beings who would lift her up and remind her she’s beautiful because of WHO she is, not what she looks like. I am writing this to the girl who didn’t know she would find a love that wouldn’t put her in a box of labels and expectations of any kind. I am writing this to the girl who didn’t know she would find her own freedom and drive to evolve as a woman and pursue her life boldly.

I am writing this to one woman and every woman. There are thousands of beauties, and we are all of them.

Finding My Freedom

For years I apologized for who I was. I let people label me, put me in a box, and tell me what I did or didn’t deserve. But now, I no longer stand in silence. I no longer give permission to those who try to speak for me, and I no longer live in shame of who I am. I do not apologize for my strengths, my weaknesses, my story, and I definitely do not apologize for the woman that I am.

Believing in our shame and living through the lens of it, is one of the most debilitating ways to live. We change who we are and become a false version of ourselves; a picture perfect version, that asks for our identities to be defined by others. We lose our childlike wonder and fearlessness. That little girl who once danced in glittery pink leggings and a poofy tulle skirt now afraid of what she once loved.

I used to be that girl. I grew up as a dancer, and for eleven years, I dedicated my heart and soul to my craft. I came to realize the moment I stepped on stage, a rush of pure confidence and joy came over me. It was an art to me, a way of creatively expressing myself. But looking back on that now, I know I loved the art because I loved the stage. Performing on stage was the one place I gave myself the permission to be me. Countless hours in the studio, technical training, practicing in the living room of my house, and rehearsing the pieces over and over again in my head while I sat in class; all for just those few minutes of pure confidence on stage. If I wasn’t on stage, I wasn’t myself. I was shy, afraid to speak up, swallowed by the words of others. Although it seems beautiful and fulfilling to have an outlet that makes you feel this way, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to feel confident and true to myself every once in a while, for just a few minutes. And it felt even worse after I stopped dancing. I had to find other outlets, and that’s what put me behind the lens of a camera and in front of a blank canvas.

It wasn’t until very recently, after years of reflection and self development where I began to find my truth. It wasn’t until I delved into my mistakes, my pain, my demons, and my desires where I found the woman I knew I was, the woman with confidence, a voice, and a purpose. Writing, working with others, meeting new people, sharing my passions, putting myself out there, and dipping my toes into every creative avenue has allowed me to see my raw and real self.

As cheesy as it sounds, the world has become my stage, and I’m excited to finally feel that way. I’ve realized it wasn’t just the act of dancing that made me feel this way, it was the feeling of freedom. It was the feeling of having a voice, of putting myself out there, and making people feel something.

I believe every woman is capable of feeling this. Every woman is capable of feeling confident through their authenticity, without having to apologize for it. It just takes a leap out of our comfort zones where we find our voice.

Be you without apology. Be the little girl with the glittery leggings and the tulle skirt that danced around boldly and without a care.

What gives you the feeling of freedom?

The In-Between

I’ve come to realize that life has a lot of in between moments. Messy moments where you question where you are or how you’ll get to the place you’re yearning to be. Moments that tend to send us in a spiral of negative thoughts and emotions. Moments that make us think we’ll finally be happy with our lives once we reach that specific level of success, land that job, move to that city, or find love with that person. But those are just landing points. Beginnings and ends to chapters, that in reality, have a whole lot of stuff in between.

So what about those in betweens? What about that section of that chapter that holds the mess, the tears, the laughter, the mistakes, the process, the doubts, the revelations, the discoveries?

Let's sit in those in between moments a little longer. Let's surrender to the process, and practice cherishing what's present, even if it's hard. Accepting my path and living in peace with where I am, has lifted a weight off my shoulders, allowing me to enjoy the struggle. I no longer cherish just the final product or place. I cherish everything in between. The conversations that can’t be replicated, the memories undocumented, waking up in the morning knowing the phase I'm in now has potential for opportunity, excitement, and self discovery, the laughter that comes from letting go and making mistakes, the tears that come from uncertainty and hustle. Getting lost along the way can lead to beautiful moments, and being present in the between means we're living our truth. Take the in betweens and hold them a little closer.

Perfectly Imperfect

I’ve never been a summer girl, which could come as a surprise to many of you considering I was born and raised in San Diego and am now living in LA.

Most of my memories of summer involve a recurrence of insecurities and a pile of feelings, wondering if anyone else could see them, or sense this with my presence. In a city where the sun always shines, the stereotypical fantasy that women are objects of beauty, desire, and perfection, has been turned into an expectation. I don’t know what it is about growing up in a place where women are sexualized and expected to be “beach babes,” but it caused me to feel out of place and uncomfortable, like I didn't belong. Body image was constantly a topic of conversation, and most girls suffered from that.

So to the young girls out there who I hope are reading this, know that perfection is stale, inauthentic, and a completely unattainable idea that someone else created. There is nothing true or real about perfection.

With time, I’ve found beauty in the imperfect, a new way of looking at what I once thought was a flaw. There is art in the imperfect, individuality and thoughtful creation, making that imperfect thing, one of a kind.

The gap in her smile, freckles sprinkled across her nose, dimples in her cheeks, a scar in her eyebrow or maybe her lip, the curves of her hips, or the roundness of her face. Imperfections often seen as flaws, are in reality, giving us character and a beautifully unique existence.

Imperfections are pure, colorful, and simple if we let them be. As women, we should embrace our individuality, and know that beauty isn’t labeled by numbers on scales, bikini sizes, perfectly sculpted legs, glowing bronze skin, or whatever else might be considered “perfect.” Confidently carrying our individuality and seeking imperfections makes for a much more exciting and liberating life.

London

Of course I remember being here, and I remember loving it. But details have faded, and when my mom brings up a snippet of a memory, I find myself saying, "I just don't remember." Six years was a while ago, but not too long to blatantly forget. I believe presence is a virtue, one I tend to lack. So, this time around, during my second trip to Europe, I wasn't going to let my lack of presence affect my experience.

London is by far the most beautiful city I've ever spent time in. The architecture, the bustling city where people dressed in this season's best cross the streets coffee cups in hand, the delicate desserts placed on plates and platters fit for royalty, the old fashioned taxis that come in classic colors like black, white, and yellow, the window displays that glitter along the sidewalks, each elegant and playful in it's own way.

The city has it's own beauty, one that even it's locals don't always recognize or admit to. There's something lovely about the gloom, the quiet, the still; yet there seems to always be a touch of excitement, elements of discovery. It prides itself on attention to detail, culture, art, preservation of tradition and history, an overall undeniable elegance and poise, a breath of fresh air.

It's true when they say travel is freeing. And this trip did just that. I felt alive and full of inspiration by the end. A sense of creativity came over me like it never had before. Every moment felt vibrant, and I held this close to me, in hope that I could make my life more colorful back in California.

Tea & stay at the Egerton House Hotel

Confidence

I’m not talking about the confidence you get when you wear your favorite outfit and you feel amazing in your own skin. And I’m not talking about the confidence you get when someone tells you you’re pretty, or that you look like you’re having an amazing time in all your Instagram photos. I’m talking about the confidence that lies in the deepest places within you. The confidence to be who you were designed to be.

I have found that pursuing what I love has given me the most confidence so far, a confidence that I find difficult to describe. Granted, I am only 23, and have far more to learn about myself and what my true calling is, but figuring that out and riding the waves in the process has given me the opportunities to grow and discover who I am and what I have to offer.

Taking an hour to myself every single day to explore what I’m passionate about has allowed my low self esteem to slowly vanish. Speaking my truth, putting my truest self forward has given me more than when I was living behind someone else’s perception of who I was or I should be.

Part of our lives are wasted away in the shadow of something or someone that masks us, whether it’s their opinions or ideals. We clutch to what is comfortable and known, even if it isn’t true to who we are.

Confidence barriers aren’t just a physical thing. They don’t simply lie within the clothes you wear or the parties you go to, they lie within your pursuit of life and the relationships you have; allowing for the opportunities of self discovery, ambition, pursuit of passion, love, real conversation. Allowing truth to be a part of your life.

This is the confidence that radiates through us. This is the confidence that frees us.

Comfort Zones

Sometimes you have to be a little bolder and step out of your comfort zone. Go somewhere you’ve never been, meet people you never thought you’d meet, do something you've been too afraid to do, without thinking twice.

Being as shy as I am, sometimes it’s hard for me to get out of my shell in social situations. And for those of you thinking, “there’s no way she’s shy!” well you’re wrong. Most social gatherings give me anxiety to the point of feeling sick. More often than not, I would go through strange sick episodes before high school dances, college parties, social events and gatherings of any kind. It wasn't until I hit my early twenties when the episodes slowed down a bit.

When I first moved to LA, I was going to go to a fashion networking event but I got so nervous, I ended up spending the night in instead. I remember sitting on my bed, listing out all the reasons why I should not go to the event, justifying myself and my negative thoughts. Why would I go to the event anyways? I don’t know anybody, and I'm not anybody worth talking to. Especially in LA, you have to "be somebody" to be somebody. And I'm basically nobody.

Wrong. So wrong. Not worth talking to? Talk about believing in low self worth.

That right there, is exactly why I should’ve gone.

I recently came across the quote, feel the fear, and do it anyways, which resonated with me perfectly.

So this time around when I was invited to attend an LA fashion event, I remembered that quote. I put my big girl overalls on, slipped into my heels and drove out to LA. I spent the night sipping champagne, talking life and passion with other bloggers, creatives, and designers. I remember feeling like I was in the right place at the right time, and I knew it was because I took a leap of faith and took a chance in trying something new. After that night, I decided I would no longer live a life of fear or hold myself back. I am capable of much more than that. We, as women, are capable of much more than that.

Being bold, stepping out of our comfort zones, and challenging ourselves is so important for our self development. We should be doing more of what scares us, and less of what comforts us. That's how we grow. That's how we learn about ourselves, realize our worth, and understand that we have so much more to offer than we originally thought. We see ourselves differently, and we're more open to experiences and relationships. We feed our fire and develop our confidence. Sure, there's a lot of ugly in feeling uncomfortable, but there's a lot of beauty in it too. If we seek that beauty, we can accomplish more and truly live to our fullest potential. So, let's be a little bolder today. Do something that scares us, even if all it gives is the slightest feeling of nervousness. We'll conquer it, live through it, grow from it, and probably kick ass while doing it.

Pink Skies

I thought I wouldn’t feel anything today.

I thought maybe, just this once, it wouldn’t hurt, or make me cry, or give me that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was right, until I opened Facebook to a video of you laughing, making jokes, being the class clown you once were, with a caption written by your mother wishing you a happy 23rd birthday.

I was wrong. Wrong to think I could’ve felt “fine” or “normal” or “nothing.” What is feeling nothing anyway?

This was the first time I had seen your face in a while. I’ve kept your picture hidden, safely tucked away but still hidden, since I moved to LA, for fear of feeling too much if I stared at it for too long, like I used to. I didn’t have to listen to the video, I can still picture the sound of your voice. I can still hear it as if you were sitting in the room right next to me. I still remember our last phone conversation, eight years ago on this exact day. I remember you so clearly, but sometimes I'm caught off guard when I see or hear something that reminds me of you and the painful truth of your existence. Tears welled up in the back of my eyes while watching that video, and even through that slight pinch of emotion, I still smiled at the thought of who you were, and who I like to imagine you would be today. Today, on your 23rd birthday.

So, happy birthday you sweet, brown eyed boy. I still miss you and I still feel the pain of losing you. I still laugh at memories of you, and I still love you very dearly, the way I knew I always would. I still feel joy when I think of your smile, and when I think of the way you squeezed my hand that day because you were nervous. I still thank you for leaving me with these beautiful memories and the lessons that came with grief. I still think of you when I don’t know where to go, and I look to what you might’ve said to me in time of struggle or self doubt. I still think of you when I choose fearlessness, and I still think of you when I remind myself to try just a little harder to be more lighthearted. I think of you when I breathe moments in and choose to live fully and with presence. I still think of you through it all. And though there may be a part of me that still feels like it’s missing, that piece of me that will forever miss you and grieve for you, I will choose today to honor you, live through you, fearlessly, fully, and lightheartedly the way you once did. I will buy flowers for you, eat a little piece of cake for you, drink a glass of champagne for you, and dance in my living room for you.

I will look for the glimpse of light, flaring through the clouds, because I know it's you winking at me, with that smirk of yours, reminding me that you never really left. I will look for the pink strokes of color, painted in the sky, because I know it’s you, dancing freely and laughing simply out of joy, all the while making a beautiful mess of heaven.

Slowing Down

It wasn’t until this morning when I felt the breeze through the window in my tiny home, I realized the importance of slowing down. All the headaches, the traffic, the cramming of meetings, shoving food into my body just because I know I have to eat to function, guzzling my second coffee of the day because it can’t be possible to feel this hazy and tired at 1pm, ending my day with a job that sucks the life out of me, a reminder that I haven’t spent any real time with the person I love, and then suddenly surrendering to the mess of it all, tears streaming down my face because it’s the only way to release what I'm feeling.

This is the point of breakage that I tend to hit after spreading myself so thin. I guess that's what happens when we dream, push, and wish for something that doesn't come easy; when all we want is to live a simply, beautifully, creative life.

But even through the hustle, the push, the nonstop grind, it all needs to slow down.

We, human beings, need to slow down.

We need more moments of quiet reflection, meditation, and stillness.

An early morning spent brewing coffee at home; bare feet on the kitchen floor, the warm smell of coffee filling the air.

Sipping that cup on the couch, toes curled beneath a blanket, or maybe in the corner by the window where the light peeks in.

Taking a second to put our thoughts on paper, and feeling a breath of relief just from that.

Wrapped in a light sweater, reading a few pages of Darling Magazine, and feeling comfort in the struggles and humility of other women.

The Lumineers softly on repeat while cooking breakfast.

Or maybe the voice of someone like Lena Dunham speaking beautiful words of wisdom, and intellect, life experiences, and creativity. A likeminded women telling you, in the end it'll all be ok.

This is where I find relief, a moment of peace where my mind has slowed.

Let's sit in these moments a little while longer. These moments where solitude is beautiful, and there's no such thing as loneliness. There is peace and the voices have quieted, not even a whisper in mind.

Let's understand when we're at our breaking point, and what we need to escape it. Let's put our health first, instead of pushing ourselves until we crack. Let's accept this vulnerability and talk each other back into the calm.