I’ve been thinking a lot about the present lately.
Which, if I’m honest, doesn’t happen often.
I’m the person who lives in the past.
What happened, what hurt, what I could’ve done differently.
Or I’m somewhere far off in the future—wondering what’s next, what if, what will become of me.
But the present?
The present has always felt like an in-between I didn’t know how to hold.
A moment I was too busy analyzing or rushing through to actually experience.
Lately though, I’ve been noticing something shift.
I’m starting to slow down. To look around.
To see the answered prayers I’m living in real time.
The ones I used to beg God for—without even realizing I’m in them now.
I’m starting to see how beautiful I am right now.
Not when I lose the weight.
Not when I fix everything.
Not when I’m less emotional, more healed, or more “together.”
Just now. In this version of me.
With my older eyes. My younger heart. My tired, but present soul.
At 23. A mother to three kids.
Still here, despite everything I’ve walked through.
The truth is:
I’ve spent a lot of my life broken.
Broken-bodied. Broken in spirit. Broken in belief.
I was so lost and so scared to meet myself.
I didn’t see purpose in the pain.
I didn’t trust the good.
I didn’t believe in my own strength.
But now—slowly, gently—I do.
I see the resilience. The beauty in my becoming.
I’m not just surviving anymore.
I’m paying attention.
I’m being present.
Not perfectly. Not always. But enough to know the difference.
Being present means I get to celebrate my growth without needing it to be huge.
I get to feel joy in ordinary things—like the way my child laughs, or how the sunlight hits my bed, or how my voice sounds when I talk to myself with softness.
It means I get to feed the version of me I am right now.
Not just wait for the next version to arrive.
And you know what else?
It makes me want to talk about it.
To let people know that presence is its own kind of healing.
That you don’t have to hate yourself to want to grow.
That your progress doesn’t have to come from pain.
That you can choose to love your life while still wanting more.
I used to think growth had to look like pain and power struggles.
But now I’m seeing that sometimes, it looks like peace.
Sometimes, it looks like stillness.
Sometimes, it’s just choosing to stay.
To stay here.
To stay with yourself.
To stay present.
And I want more of that.
Because this is the last day I’ll ever be this version of me.
And I want to honor her.
Love her.
Be here with her.
So I ask myself—and maybe you need to ask yourself too:
Are you going to feed her or starve her?
Are you showing up—fully, daily, honestly?
Are you everyday?
