Confidence won’t come before the work.

Build It Anyway: For the Woman Who’s Doing the Brave Work in the In-Between

Some days, I give it thirty quiet minutes.
Other days, I rise in the dark and pour myself into it from 4 AM until the world wakes.
Then I go to work. I come home. And I build again.

This is the rhythm of something sacred.
Not always polished. Not always visible. But deeply real.

I have a full-time job. A husband I love. A growing family. A home I care for.
And still something inside kept whispering:
“Make space for this.”

So I did.
Not with endless time. But with relentless heart.

That’s how Nest & North began in the cracks of ordinary life, in the spaces where most would say “not now.” But time doesn’t wait for perfect. It moves.
And we don’t get to rewind it.
We only get to decide what we’ll do with what we have.

So if you’re a woman building something brave while juggling a life already full
You’re not alone.
You’re not behind.
You’re becoming.

Confidence won’t come before the work.
It will come because of it. Every hour you pour in, every step you take it counts.

People may pull away from you , not because they don’t believe in you,
but because they don’t understand you.They might judge you.
Whisper about your dream. Distance themselves from your growth.

But that judgment?
It’s rarely about you.
It’s often about them …. second-guessing their stage or thier own courage.

Keep building anyway.
Not everyone will get it.
But the ones who are meant to walk with you - will.

You are planting purpose.
You are doing the brave, beautiful, soul-stretching work of becoming who you were meant to be.

Let’s Keep Going - Together

If you're building something in the in-between -
a business, a book, a brand, a better version of yourself -
I’d love to hear about it.

This space is yours too.
Not just a blog, but a place for kindreds. For creators. For the quietly fierce.

So leave a comment. Send a message. Share your story.
Because we rise stronger when we rise together.

The Bag I Didn’t Pack, and the one we don’t need to.

They packed sunscreen and sandals.
I packed silence and self-restraint.

Maybe you know the weight of that.
Maybe you’ve been the one who swallows disappointment, makes excuses for others’ behavior—not because it was fair or even right, but because someone had to. And that someone was usually you.
Maybe you’re already nodding your head.

Recently, some family members chose to do something. I wasn’t invited.
A trip they quietly hid from me.
I don’t care that they went.
I care that they concealed it. . . . . like children trying not to get caught.
That they made a choice that bypassed relationship in favor of comfort.
That they knew it might hurt me and did it anyway just quietly, so they wouldn’t have to see my face when it landed. It felt immature the way it was navigated.

But what hurts just as much, if not more, is that this isn’t the first time it’s happened.
I wasn’t asked. I wasn’t included.
I wasn’t even considered.
And it’s not jealousy. This isn’t about being center stage.

It’s about that aching question that rises up when you’re left out by the people you love most:

Am I even part of this? Do they see me as someone who belongs?

Maybe they thought I was too busy with work. Maybe they assumed I’d say no.
But… I wasn’t even given the chance. Not asked. Not told.
Just left to piece it together after the fact.

It makes me question my role as someone who has tried to hold space for others, only to find the space I thought I held shrinking.

And again, I felt the old pull:
Be the mature one. Don’t make a scene. Don’t let it hurt you.
Choose to think about what is true, and what I know now, and what I talk about in The BRAVE Way Home:

Boundaries are not about controlling others. They are about choosing yourself when others don’t.

I cannot change them.
I cannot make others behave differently.
I cannot force people to consider me.
I cannot parent people into emotional accountability.

But I can choose how I respond.
I can tell the truth about how it feels.
I can stop performing emotional resilience for the sake of preserving relationships that don’t preserve me in return.
I can let this hurt and still hold my head high.

This is what boundaries look like in real time not pretty, not perfect, but real.
They say:
I deserve to be considered, even if you didn’t. I deserve to be included, even if you didn’t think to.

And maybe the bravest thing I can do right now is to put the "maturity bag" down.
Not slam it down in anger (though everything in me wants to).
Not hand it off.
Just… set it down. Gently. Quietly.
And walk myself home.

Because no matter what others choose I choose me.

Breathing through the ache of being excluded, I remind myself:
My worth doesn’t vanish just because someone else failed to see it.
I can answer my own need for acceptance and comfort, instead of waiting for someone else to show up with it.
I don’t want to be the person, or the version of me, who begs for belonging.

Healing is not always confrontational.
Sometimes, it's simply refusing to carry what was never mine to carry.
Leaving breadcrumbs for someone else who’s trying to find their way back to themselves.

That is what this journey is about.
Pouring another cup of coffee.
Putting my hand over my heart and saying:

“I see you. I know this hurts. You are okay. This wasn’t part of what was meant for you. You are home.” TBH- I sat on my porch and rocked myself!

Because home isn’t always a place.
It’s a choice a deeply rooted return to yourself, especially when no one is offering a map.

And that is the brave way.

Author’s Note

I know sharing this comes with risk. I know some people especially those who struggle with their own honesty may feel uncomfortable with mine.
Yes, people sometimes weaponize the truth instead of receiving it.
But I don’t have to hand them ammunition.

I can tell the truth without naming names.
I can share my story without asking for permission.
I can protect my peace and let my healing be seen.

Because this isn’t about revenge.
It’s about release.

And if you’ve ever been hurt, left out, or silenced…….this story is for you.
Not to point fingers, but to open palms.
Not to shame anyone, but to remind you that you matter.
Your experience matters.

You don’t have to carry it anymore.
And you’re not alone.

I Never Thought I would write the book

I’m not an author by training.
I don’t hold a degree in theology, or creative writing.
I’m not a social media personality with a curated brand or a massive platform.

For a long time, I actually thought I’d be a singer.
Not the headliner…maybe not even the spotlight….but a harmony in the background.
I wrote songs. I chased melodies. I poured my heart into lyrics that helped me make sense of the world. For a season, music gave me direction. It gave me breath.

But over time, I realized that wasn’t where my purpose was anchored.

God wasn’t dismissing my voice …He was redirecting it.
Not to stages, but to sacred spaces.
Not to crowds, but to one woman at a time. Including the one I had to become.

And part of becoming her meant doing something I never imagined: I went back to school.
As an adult, I returned to the classroom to finish the degree I had left behind. It wasn’t easy. It took time, sacrifice, and a kind of courage I had to cultivate from scratch. But that journey shaped me. It sharpened my voice. And it reminded me: I’m never too old.
Never too late. Never too far gone to begin again.

So no, I never thought I’d write a book.
But I did live a story. One I didn’t always choose,
but one that chose me to tell it.

It’s still being written in quiet corners of my home, in battles fought in prayer, in the becoming of a wife, a grandmother, and in a woman who keeps showing up. Somewhere in the middle of all of it, I found my way back to myself.

Not the girl I used to be. Not the woman the world tried to shape.
But the one God never lost sight of.

That’s what The BRAVE Way Home is about.

It’s not a how-to.
It’s not ten steps to a better you.
It’s not polished or perfect.

It’s a guided journal with open hands part story, part sacred space, part invitation to slow down and come home to yourself.

Inside, you’ll find reflections from my life woven with prompts for yours.
I’ll share what I’ve learned the hard way, not as an expert, but as a fellow traveler.
How I struggled to find my backbone and be resilient.
How I discovered that being brave doesn’t always feel loud. Sometimes, it feels like a whisper: Keep going. That adventure isn’t a boarding pass it’s everyday movement. And i had no idea what virtuosity was. But the encouragement I was offering others was everything I needed to hear myself.

So if you’ve ever felt behind…
If you’ve ever looked around at the “experts” and thought, I don’t belong here—
This journal is for you.

You don’t need a title or a following to rise.
You don’t need a polished plan to come home to yourself.

You just need truth A little light.
And the courage to take the next step.

Or in my case…
To type the next note instead of sing it.

When the Mountain doesn’t move

If you're tired of trying to hold everything together, this is for you.

Most books tell one story. One character arc. One tidy transformation. But life isn’t like that. It doesn’t move in a straight line. It loops, circles, doubles back. It plot-twists you when you least expect it.

I used to think there would be a moment when everything clicked into place. (Actually, I thought that was when I turned 30.) Then I wanted a divine sign. A clear voice that would rise up and say: “This is the way. Walk in it.” (like the Mandalorian way of doing things- my husband likes Star Wars, and I’ve picked up on a few quotes)

Instead, I found myself worn out, stubborn, and too busy trying to fix everything in front of me. Like I was God’s assistant, taking over His desk while He stepped away.

I would sit on the porch. Over and over, that became my thinking spot my place to exhale. I would stare out and ask myself,

What am I supposed to do?

How do I carry this grief, this disappointment, this tangled mess of questions, responsibilities, and expectations?

How do I keep moving forward when everything in me feels buried beneath the rubble?

Every time, my instinct was to fix it. Solve the problem. Get over the mountain. Push through.

But the more I pushed, every time I pushed the more things fell apart.

The Wilderness Isn’t a Punishment

That’s when I learned what the wilderness really is: not a punishment. It’s an invitation.

The longer I stayed there, the more I could hear it—a whisper I had always been waiting for.

Let go. Lay it down. I never asked you to carry it alone.

It sounds almost cliche, doesn’t it? "Let go and let God." We stitch it on pillows and write it in cursive on coffee mugs. But I had to live it. I had to come to the end of myself before I could find the beginning of peace.

I didn’t want to be like the Israelites, wandering for forty years because they couldn’t release their need to control. Couldn’t trust the God who had already parted the sea. Oh, how I wish I only wandered for 40 nights because it was more like 40 years! In all my wandering, I kept hoping for a roadmap. But Jesus never offered directions—He is the way.

“I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.” — John 14:6

Not a fix. A presence. A path I could follow one surrendered step at a time. So, take notes. We don’t want to keep going around the same mountain. We don’t want to keep circling our pain, our stories, our fears of being undone. There is no becoming without surrender.

Sacred Surrender

When I finally laid it all down not as a grand gesture, but as an exhausted, holy mess moment—something shifted.

The mountain didn’t move.

But I did.

And that was enough to begin.

A Question for You

Where have you been circling the same mountain? What if the way forward starts with surrender? What if that’s the bravest way home? Home to YOURSELF.

I’d love to hear your story. Send me an email or just whisper it out loud on your own porch. I believe it still matters.

And if you're just getting started, welcome. You’re not alone.

-- Want more porch-time reflections like this? Subscribe to my nest notes and follow along as we make sacred space for becoming.