A Returning
There are seasons when life forces us to step back from telling the story and simply live it. For a long time, I did just that.
My creative life moved elsewhere, into different containers, and for a long while this space went quiet. It wasn’t that I had nothing to say here, but more that I was so busy surviving and learning how to live the words first before I could share them. My days and years were filled with the kind of work that doesn’t translate neatly into posts or updates: mothering through darkness, tending to a home that was always in motion, learning how to navigate through the kinds of change you’d hoped you’d never see again.
The quiet here was necessary. It was formative. And in many ways, it gave me back the life I was trying to write about in the first place.
What I’ve learned during these last six years is that a meaningful life is built slowly, through attention. Through returning to what is already here. Through letting seasons — both literal and internal — unfold as they will.
Through all of this, somewhere along the way, walking became a kind of anchor for me, again.
Not walking for fitness or productivity or output. Just walking as a way to mark time. To notice light. To let thoughts loosen and fall. To come back into my body after years of living mostly in my head. It became one of the few places where nothing was required of me except presence.
That practice, small as it is, changed the shape of my days. It softened my relationship to motherhood. It shifted how I thought about home, work, and growth. It reminded me that sometimes forward movement simply looks like returning.
This space, Live, Love, Simple, has always been about that kind of return for me. Simplicity as a way of relating to life. A willingness to slow down enough to feel what’s actually happening. A commitment to living with intention rather than excess. A belief that meaning is cultivated through the smallest daily practices.
As I come back to writing here, I’m not interested in catching up or filling the gaps. I’m not here to perform a version of life that looks polished or complete. I’m here to document what it looks like to live slowly and deliberately inside a full, imperfect, human life — especially in the midst of motherhood and constant change.
I’ll be writing again, gently. About seasons. About walking. About home and care and rhythm. About the quiet practices that help a life feel rooted instead of rushed.
If you’re here, whether you’ve been reading for years or you’ve just found your way in, you’re welcome. There’s no expectation to keep up. Just an open invitation to read, reflect, and return when it feels right.
This is me, coming back slowly.
