The Origin Story (but less g.o.t. & more or less basic)

---

---

I never noticed myself writing before. But somewhere between ocean of tears cried, a few breakups, drunk nights – it became my healing.
From heartbreaks over lame-ass boys in middle school (shoutout to the one whose last name was a body part 🙄) to essays about human rights violations in present day deep South in my criminal studies classes—I used writing to process the stuff no one could help me fix or be able to truly understand. The stuff I had to fix myself, the stuff I needed to rationalize, to make sense of – on my own.

I created this blog—this website, this whatever-the-hell-it-turns-into—not just for me, but for every mom/person/woman out there who feels like me: underwhelmed, overbooked, exhausted, bored, and still somehow passionate enough to care about herself again while keeping an offspring alive daily.

I’m the type of woman who has a lot to say—but I’ve also spent a long time believing that not everyone deserves to hear it. Not because I’m shy. But because my energy is expensive. And most days, whatever I have left is already spoken for—it belongs to my son.

Still, a woman needs to f*cking vent.
Whether it’s to your best friend, your therapist, or some stranger on the internet—you need a space to let it out. This is mine. And maybe it can be yours, too.

I know I’m not the only one out here:

• Working too much
• Back in school full-time
• Solo parenting a toddler who thinks he’s my boss
• Diabolically laughing at the idea of dating in your mid (late) 30s
• And wanting the world (and then some) for your beautiful, wild, spicy little child and yourself

It’s hard to find people you can truly confide in as you get older.
So this blog? This is where I confide. Loudly. Quietly. Relentlessly. For me, for you, for all of us doing the most with the very least.

---

I think as people, its hard for us to get what we need off our chests – whether we are too nervous to put our true selves out there to be possibly ridiculed, being ones true self never seems easy in a world where you cant even love who you want legally (let’s be real).

But I still need space. To be angry. To be soft. To be messy and magical and not have to explain either.
I need space to talk my sh*t and tell my truth—and this is that space.

If you’re here, you probably get it.
You’re probably some version of me: ambitious as hell, over it half the time, and still showing up for a child who’s watching your every move. You want healing. You want freedom. You want rest. You want a life that feels like yours again.

Same.

This blog isn’t going to give you all the answers. But it will give you a voice, a laugh, maybe a cry, and a reminder that you’re not out here doing this alone—even when it feels like it.

This is The Relentless Motherhood.
It’s not curated. It’s not cute.
It’s raw. It’s loud. It’s sacred.

And it’s just getting started.