mental health awareness

Wanting To Be Forgotten

For a long time, I didn’t want to stand out.

I wanted to blend into the background. To disappear into the scenery. I believed that if I stayed unnoticed, no one would see what I was so certain was true about me—that I wasn’t worthy, wasn’t good enough, didn’t belong.

So I learned how to hide in plain sight.

That might sound strange given the profession I chose, but acting became the perfect disguise. I could hide behind characters. Behind scripts. Behind versions of myself that felt safer than the truth. And in that way, I wasn’t so different from anyone else. We all learn to play roles. To adapt. To become what we think is acceptable so questions aren’t asked and attention doesn’t linger too long.

When the risk of being singled out feels dangerous, we camouflage ourselves and hope we’re forgotten.

The Masks We Wear to Avoid Being Seen

Some of us don’t just blend in—we carefully construct a persona.

A version of ourselves that feels more likable. More acceptable. Less risky. We hope that if the persona is convincing enough, the real us will disappear completely.

For me, this created a quiet kind of torment.

I didn’t want to stand out, yet I desperately wanted to be liked. I wanted the version of myself I had created to be noticed and validated, while the real me stayed hidden.

It was an impossible contradiction.
A game I could never win.

The more masks I wore, the more disconnected I became. I had been playing different roles for so long that I no longer knew who I was underneath them all.

When Hiding Becomes Survival

As my mental illness took hold, the desire to disappear grew stronger.

I felt like life was moving forward without me. Like everyone else was advancing while I stayed stuck, running from a darkness that never stopped chasing me. When it caught up, it dragged me backward again.

I didn’t want anyone to see that.

So I hid.

I hid the fear.
I hid the despair.
I hid the exhaustion of pretending I was okay.

My illness told me I was forgettable. That I didn’t matter. That if I were gone, no one would even notice.

And the most dangerous part?
I believed it.

Letting the Light In Changed Everything

Everything shifted the moment I told a trusted friend the truth.

For the first time, I stopped hiding. I let the masks fall away. I let the light in.

What was revealed wasn’t polished or put together. It was broken. Lost. Empty. Afraid.

And instead of being judged or rejected, I was met with compassion.

No one hurt me.
No one shamed me.
No one turned away.

I was met with encouragement, hope, and love.

Standing there in my vulnerability was terrifying—but for the first time in my life, I was fully myself. No roles. No performance. No pretending.

And it felt like relief.

Pretending Is Exhausting and It Keeps Us Sick

Pretending takes work.

It requires constant vigilance. Constant fear of being “found out.” Constant self-monitoring to make sure the mask doesn’t slip.

And the truth is, pretending doesn’t protect us—it slowly erodes us.

It keeps us disconnected.
It keeps us anxious.
It keeps us stuck in survival mode.

For me, pretending kept me sick. And I was getting sicker.

Healing didn’t come from becoming someone else. It came from finally allowing myself to be who I was—without apology.

Learning You Are Enough As You Are

It took time to build self-love. To learn self-respect. To reach a place where I no longer felt the need to hide.

But I made it there.

Today, I know this: whatever my best self looks like in any given moment is enough. If I fall or make a mistake, I can repair, learn, and try again—as long as I stay true to myself.

I no longer want to be forgotten.

I want to be of service.
I want to help.
I want to share my story.

Not for approval. Not for validation. But because it’s my truth—and there is nothing to be ashamed of in that.

I own my story.
I own my truth.
And when I walk in that honesty, I know I am exactly where I’m meant to be.

That is what I want to be remembered for.

You Were Never Meant to Disappear

If you’ve spent your life trying to stay hidden, hear this:

You don’t deserve to be forgotten.
You don’t need to erase yourself to be accepted.
You don’t need a mask to be worthy.

The world doesn’t need a more palatable version of you.
It needs you.

Your real voice.
Your real heart.
Your real presence.

That is who we remember.

SLAY Reflection

Let’s reflect, SLAYER:

S: In what ways do you hide or minimize yourself in your daily life?
L: What part of you feels “unacceptable,” and where did that belief come from?
A: What would it look like to remove one mask and show up more honestly?
Y: If you stopped trying to be forgotten, who could you allow yourself to become?

Call to Action: Join the Conversation

I’d love to hear from you.
Have you ever tried to disappear to protect yourself—and what helped you start showing up again?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.

And if you know someone who’s hiding because they don’t feel worthy of being seen, send this to them.
Sometimes, all we need is a nudge.

Sometimes All Someone Wants To Hear Is, I’m Sorry

There are moments when nothing can be done—when there’s no way to fix a situation or make it better. And in those moments, sometimes all someone wants to hear is, “I’m sorry.” Even if we’re not responsible for what happened, acknowledging someone’s experience can mean the world.

A Simple Yet Powerful Gesture

I think back to my life before walking this path, and how much it would have meant to hear those words. The power of a heartfelt “I’m sorry” is incredible. It connects us, makes us feel seen and valued, and reminds us that our feelings matter.

I remember sharing my story with someone I trusted, and when she gently put her hand on mine and said, “I’m sorry,” it felt like a wave of warmth washed over me. She had nothing to do with the events that led me to that moment, but her simple words were the first real validation of my pain and struggle. It helped me exhale. It helped me start to let go.

Owning Our Part

When we do have something to apologize for, those words carry even more weight. Saying “I’m sorry” for something we did—whether intentionally or not—shows strength. It honors the other person and ourselves. It’s not about weakness or surrender, but about standing in our truth and striving to be better.

As SLAYERS, we’re constantly working on ourselves. Yes, we’ll slip. Yes, we’ll make mistakes. But admitting our wrongs and saying, “I’m sorry,” can mend broken relationships and open the door to healing.

A Path to Healing

There’s magic in those words. “I’m sorry” can be the start of a new chapter, whether it’s in a relationship scarred by past pain or for someone still carrying the weight of old wounds. Sometimes, the apology won’t come from the person who caused the hurt. But when it comes from someone who cares—someone willing to listen and extend compassion—it still holds power. It’s a first step toward healing.

SLAY on.

SLAY OF THE DAY: Reflect & Rise

  • Do you struggle to say “I’m sorry”? Why?

  • What do you think it says about you if you apologize?

  • Have you ever seen “I’m sorry” as a sign of weakness? Can you shift that perspective?

  • Do you appreciate hearing someone say they’re sorry, even if they weren’t directly involved? How does it make you feel?

  • Do you offer that same compassion to others when they’re hurting? Why or why not?

Call to Action: Join the Conversation
I’d love to hear from you.
When was the last time you heard—or said—“I’m sorry”? How did it change the moment?
Share your thoughts in the comments. Let’s build each other up with honesty and compassion.

And if you know someone who’s been holding on to pain, send this to them.
Sometimes, just hearing those words is a step toward healing.

When Someone Tries To Shame Us, It Only Shames Them

Most of us have experienced it at some point.

Someone calls us out for not knowing something.
Mocks a decision we made.
Ridicules us for a mistake.
Speaks with just enough condescension to make us feel small.

Shame has a way of landing fast and hard — especially when we’re already feeling vulnerable. And in that moment, it can trigger an old, familiar ache: the part of us that once believed we were “less than,” “different,” or “not good enough.”

But here’s the truth we often forget when shame is directed at us:
When someone tries to shame you, it says far more about them than it ever does about you.

Shame is not strength.
It’s insecurity in disguise.

Shame Is a Projection Not a Truth

People who are grounded in themselves don’t need to humiliate others. They don’t gain confidence by tearing someone down. They don’t feel threatened by curiosity, learning, or different experiences.

When someone tries to shame you for not knowing something or for making a choice they believe was “obvious,” what they’re really doing is projecting their own discomfort.

It’s the need to feel superior.
The need to be right.
The need to appear knowledgeable or important.

And more often than not, that behavior is rooted in low self-esteem — not high confidence.

Shame is rarely about education or growth.
It’s about power.

Why Shame Hurts Even When We Know Better

Even when we intellectually understand that shame isn’t about us, it can still sting.

Why?

Because shame targets our most tender places — the parts of us shaped by past experiences, criticism, rejection, or moments when we were made to feel wrong for simply being human.

On the wrong day, at the wrong moment, someone’s words can slip past our logic and land directly in our nervous system.

That doesn’t mean you’re weak.
It means you’re human.

And it’s exactly why compassion — for yourself first — matters so much in these moments.

We All Come From Different Places And That Matters

No two people arrive at life with the same background, education, experiences, or opportunities. We learn different things at different times, through different paths.

That’s what makes conversations interesting.
That’s what creates diversity of thought.
That’s what keeps us growing.

It is impossible — and unreasonable — to expect anyone to know everything.

There is no shame in learning.
There is no shame in asking questions.
There is no shame in saying, “I don’t know.”

In fact, there is far more strength in curiosity than in pretending you already have all the answers.

When I Realized I Had Been on the Other Side

I can say this honestly: I haven’t always handled this perfectly.

Before I was living the life I live now, before I found self-love, self-worth, and self-respect, I had moments where I tried to elevate myself by putting someone else down.

And if I’m being truthful, I know exactly why.

I felt insecure.
I felt less than.
I felt like I needed to prove something.

Belittling someone else gave me a temporary sense of control — a fleeting boost that never lasted. And afterward, it always felt worse. Heavier. More disconnected.

Once I started living in alignment with who I truly am, that behavior didn’t just stop feeling good — it felt wrong.

Because when you build real confidence, you no longer need to steal it from someone else.

Compassion Without Tolerance

Understanding why someone shames doesn’t mean excusing it.

You can have compassion and boundaries.
You can recognize someone’s pain without accepting their behavior.
You can see the truth without internalizing it.

I don’t tolerate shaming behavior anymore — but I also don’t take it personally.

Because I know what it looks like when someone isn’t in a good place.
And I know it has nothing to do with me.

You Are Not Required to Know Everything

Let this be your reminder:

You are not required to know everything.
You are not required to be perfect.
You are not required to justify your learning curve.

There is power in humility.
There is power in growth.
There is power in owning where you are without apology.

When someone tries to shame you, remember this:
If it wasn’t you, it would be someone else.

That tells you everything you need to know.

You Control What You Carry Forward

You can’t control how others behave.
But you can control what you absorb.

You get to decide whether someone else’s insecurity becomes your burden — or whether you set it down and walk away lighter.

And here’s the truth that matters most:
Knowing who you are is far more powerful than knowing whatever someone thinks you should know.

You don’t need to shrink.
You don’t need to defend.
You don’t need to explain your worth.

Just be you.
That is enough.

SLAY Reflection

Let’s reflect, SLAYER:

S: Have you ever been shamed for something you didn’t know or a decision you made? How did it make you feel?
L: Looking back, can you see how that moment reflected the other person’s insecurity rather than your worth?
A: Have you ever been on the other side and shamed someone else? What was going on inside you at the time?
Y: How can you choose self-respect and compassion the next time shame shows up — whether from someone else or within yourself?

Call to Action: Join the Conversation

I’d love to hear from you.
Have you experienced someone trying to shame you — and how did you handle it?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.

And if you know someone who’s carrying shame that isn’t theirs, send this to them.
Sometimes, all we need is a nudge.

We’re Only As Sick As Our Secrets

For a long time, my entire life was a secret.

I hid what I was thinking.
I hid what I was doing.
I hid how I was really feeling.

I carried shame, confusion, and anger quietly, convincing myself that keeping everything inside was somehow safer than letting anyone see the truth. I believed secrecy gave me control.

Instead, it made me sick.

Very sick.

And the hardest truth to accept was this:
I was the one holding myself there.

The Illusion of Control That Secrets Create

When we keep secrets, it often feels like protection.

We tell ourselves we’re avoiding judgment.
We think we’re sparing others.
We believe silence keeps us in control.

But secrets don’t protect us — they isolate us.

They keep us from asking for help.
They keep us from being known.
They keep us trapped in our own minds.

I believed that if no one knew, I could manage it on my own. But what I was really doing was cutting myself off from the very things that could have helped me heal.

The Moment the Truth Lost Its Power

Everything changed the first time I asked for help.

The first time I said out loud what I had been hiding.

That’s when I heard a phrase that landed like a weight in my chest:

“You’re only as sick as your secrets.”

It was devastating — and freeing — all at once.

Because suddenly, I could see how much suffering I had endured not because of what I’d done, but because I refused to speak it. The moment I shared my truth, it lost its grip on me.

There was nothing left to hide.

And in that openness, I found freedom.

Shame Thrives in Silence

Secrets feed shame.

They whisper that we are bad people.
That we’re unlovable.
That no one would understand.

But shame lies.

There is nothing you’ve done that someone else hasn’t already done, felt, or survived. We like to believe our pain makes us uniquely broken — but the truth is, our experiences connect us far more than they separate us.

When we share our truth, what we usually meet is not punishment — but understanding. Compassion. Connection.

And sometimes, in telling our story, we give someone else permission to tell theirs.

Why I’m Not Afraid to Share My Story

People often ask me if I’m afraid to share my truth publicly.

Do I worry about judgment?
Do I fear what people might think?

And the answer is no.

Because the people who matter most in my life already know my story — the broad strokes, the truth of where I’ve been and who I am now. I told them years ago, and in doing so, I was released from the bondage of my past.

I own my story.
I own my choices.
And I also know I am no longer that person.

There is power in that clarity — far more power than silence ever gave me.

Secrecy Makes Us Vulnerable Honesty Makes Us Safe

The kind of “power” secrets give us is false.

It feels like control, but it actually leaves us exposed — to ourselves, to our darkness, and sometimes to people who would exploit what we hide.

Honesty removes that leverage.

When you are open, there is nothing to hold over you. No threat. No fear of being found out. You get to stand in truth instead of hiding behind it.

And that truth doesn’t just heal you — it protects you.

Sharing Your Truth Builds Real Connection

Being honest about where we’ve come from allows people to understand us more fully.

It deepens relationships.
It opens communication.
It builds trust.

Sometimes it also keeps us physically or emotionally safe — especially when others need to understand our boundaries, our triggers, or the reasons we must protect ourselves from certain people or situations.

Your truth gives context to your needs.

And context invites compassion.

Freedom Lives on the Other Side of Secrecy

At the end of the day, you hold the key to your freedom.

Keeping secrets you believe are “unshareable” doesn’t protect you — it imprisons you. It keeps you from intimacy, from support, and from fully living your life.

You don’t have to tell everyone everything.
But you do need to tell someone.

Because secrecy keeps pain alive — and truth allows it to heal.

You are only as sick as your secrets.

Don’t let them own you.

SLAY Reflection

Let’s reflect, SLAYER:

S: Are there parts of your life or past you’ve never shared with anyone?
L: What fears keep you holding those secrets?
A: What do you believe would happen if you spoke your truth out loud?
Y: How might your life change if you chose honesty over hiding?

Call to Action: Join the Conversation

I’d love to hear from you.
Have you ever experienced freedom after sharing something you thought you had to hide?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.

And if you know someone who’s carrying secrets that are weighing them down, send this to them.
Sometimes, all we need is a nudge.

Sometimes You Just Need A Good Cry

We’re often taught to hold it together, to keep a straight face, to brush it off. For years, I believed that crying meant I was weak—that I wasn’t strong enough, brave enough, or resilient enough. So I did what many of us do: I stuffed it down. I distracted myself. I numbed out. I pretended I was fine.

Until I couldn’t anymore.

Eventually, the pain started leaking through the cracks. It came out in moments I couldn’t control—late at night, alone on the floor, sobbing into the silence. I was breaking down in private because I didn’t feel safe enough to break open in front of anyone else.

Permission to Feel

In my June SLAY TALK LIVE livestream, I shared how someone once gave me a gift I didn’t know I needed: permission to feel sad.

It was such a simple moment. I was fighting back tears in front of a friend, terrified they’d think less of me. I had built this perfectly polished image, and I wasn’t about to let a few tears ruin it.

But then, they looked at me and said gently, “It’s okay to cry.” And just like that, the dam broke.

What followed wasn’t pretty. It was messy. Emotional. Overwhelming. Years of grief, heartbreak, disappointment, and pain all rose to the surface. But instead of pushing it back down, I let it out—in front of someone else. I stopped hiding.

And the most surprising thing? It didn’t push them away. It brought us closer.

Crying Isn’t Weakness—It’s Release

No, I wasn’t crying on cue or sobbing through every meeting. But when I felt the tears come, I didn’t edit myself. I let them roll. And each time, I reminded myself: this is healthy, this is human.

It turns out, crying didn’t make me less lovable. It made me real. And it connected me to others who had felt the same pain—or were still working through it.

Unexpressed pain doesn’t just disappear. It stores itself in your body, in your mind, and in your relationships.

When we don’t let ourselves feel, we carry that weight in unhealthy ways. It shows up as anxiety, illness, irritability, or disconnection. There is no strength in pretending it’s not there. But there is deep, quiet power in releasing it.

Of course, timing matters. There are appropriate spaces to let it all out—and when the tears come unexpectedly, you can still honor them. I’ve excused myself from meetings, slipped into a restroom, cried it out, washed my face, and come back lighter. There’s nothing wrong with needing a moment.

Let Your Truth Show

The people who deserve a place in your life won’t shame you for being emotional. They’ll hold space. They’ll nod in understanding. They might even cry with you.

You don’t have to go through life with your emotions locked behind a wall. Vulnerability invites connection. And connection brings healing.

There’s always a reason we feel what we feel. Sometimes it’s grief. Sometimes it’s anger. Sometimes, it’s the echo of something unhealed. If we ignore it, we stay stuck. But if we honor it, we grow.

Tears can be a sign. That a person or situation isn’t right for you. Or that something buried deep inside is asking to be seen. Sometimes, it’s just that you’re finally safe enough to feel.

So let yourself feel. Get sloppy. Get snotty. Get real. Sometimes, a good cry is the most powerful thing you can do.

Let the healing begin.

SLAY Reflection

  1. Do you let people see your emotions? Why or why not?
  2. What’s your relationship with crying—do you see it as strength or weakness?
  3. When was the last time you gave yourself permission to cry?
  4. Is there something you’ve been holding in that needs to be released?
  5. Who in your life can hold space for your tears without judgment?

S – Sit with what’s rising instead of stuffing it down
L – Let the tears come, even if they feel uncomfortable
A – Accept that feeling doesn’t make you fragile—it makes you whole
Y – Yield to healing by letting yourself release what hurts

Call to Action: Join the Conversation

I’d love to hear from you.
What emotions have you been holding in that might be ready to be released?
Share your story in the comments. Let’s cheer each other on.

And if you know someone who’s afraid to cry, send this to them.
Sometimes, all we need is a nudge.

I’m Not Perfect, I’m Flawsome!

The photo that accompanies this post is one I never thought I’d share.

I’ve had it since 2003, and aside from the person who took it, I showed it to only one other person for years. Before I stepped onto this journey, there was no way I would have let anyone see it. In truth, it’s taken me more than a decade of healing to feel ready to share it at all.

That photo isn’t a picture of someone who had it together.
It isn’t the version of me I worked so hard to present to the world.

It’s a picture of a woman in pain.
In fear.
Holding on by a thread.

I look at her now and I recognize her immediately. She’s still inside me. But today, I feel compassion for her instead of shame. I understand what she was carrying. I understand why she was afraid. And I appreciate her—because she didn’t stay there.

She kept going.

And that’s what made her flawsome.

What Flawsome Really Means to Me

Flawsome isn’t pretending we don’t have flaws.
It’s not polishing them up or hiding them better.

Flawsome is learning to celebrate them.

It’s letting go of the impossible standard of perfection and choosing something real instead. Because perfection doesn’t exist—and chasing it only keeps us stuck in self-judgment.

Flawsome is turning the parts of yourself you once hated into sources of strength. It’s living authentically, loving yourself fully, and recognizing that who you are—right now—is already worthy.

Perfection isn’t attainable.
But flawsomeness is.

How I Learned to Become Flawsome

This didn’t happen overnight.

It came from learning who I actually am, not who I thought I needed to be. From loving myself unconditionally—even the parts I wanted to reject. From letting my freak flag fly instead of trying to tuck it away.

And yes, it came from forgiveness. Again.

Forgiving myself for the choices I made when I didn’t know better.
Forgiving myself for the years I spent believing I was unlovable.
Forgiving myself for thinking my flaws made me less-than.

Letting go of that judgment freed me in ways I never expected.

Loving Yourself Is the Work

I had to learn to look at myself with love—the same love I so easily offered to others.

To stop living in the past, replaying mistakes that couldn’t be undone.
To stop living in the future, chasing a version of myself I thought I had to become.

The only place healing actually happens is now.

I learned to focus on what I’m good at. To celebrate my strengths instead of obsessing over what I thought was broken. To build on my talents and share them with others.

One of the most powerful parts of being flawsome is letting other people see it. When we own who we are, we give others permission to do the same.

The Woman in That Photo Didn’t Stay There

There’s nothing flawsome about the woman in that photo—except this:

She didn’t give up.

With every bit of strength she had, she fought for herself. She started a journey toward healing and self-love. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t fast. And yes, she put herself through hell for years after that picture was taken.

But she got there.

And now, that woman is me—writing these words.

That’s flawsome.

If You’re Struggling Right Now

If you’re feeling lost, empty, beaten down, or hopeless—please hear this:

Today can be the first day of the rest of your life.

You don’t need to have it all figured out. You just need to decide that you’re worth fighting for. The journey won’t be easy, but I promise you—it’s worth every step.

And you don’t walk it alone.

You have all of us SLAYERS walking beside you.

So go out there today and be flawsome.

SLAY Reflection

Let’s reflect, SLAYER:

S: What parts of yourself have you labeled as flaws?
L: How have those “flaws” actually shaped your strength or resilience?
A: What would change if you looked at yourself with compassion instead of judgment?
Y: How can you begin turning what you’ve judged into something flawsome?

Make a commitment today to stop judging yourself. When something comes up that you usually criticize, pause. Smile. Ask yourself how you can respond with love instead.

You’re learning.
Be kind to yourself on the way to SLAYDOM.
And never forget—you are flawsome.