Reflection Entry

Good evening, Wildflowers.

Today’s journal is a reflection. I write these entries to hold myself accountable, and I understand that others may read them. Some project feelings onto my words that I never intended, I accept that. I write with symbolism and metaphor to express honest feelings. Feelings that, at the very least, may help other women in my family. Especially those finding their way after walking dangerous paths. Not every entry will speak to you. I hope soon I will have others who will offer their voice too.

I never went down a "bad" path. I liked to work. I worked hard until I got sick. I took on jobs big and small, always trying to learn everything I could. I've been teased for not staying in one place long, but that’s just how I grow. When there's nothing new to build, I start to feel trapped. I’m not driven by money; I do things to improve myself now, to be present in my life.

When I say I got sick, I mean it in a way I haven’t fully healed from yet. I'm afraid of doctors now. I know good ones exist, but I need partnership in my care, not dismissal. I will do my research before going back this time. I’ve experienced trauma. I don’t hide it. I’ve learned how it affects me, and I’m working through it. There were no resources offered to me, no answers. I didn’t stop being afraid because I healed. I stopped being afraid because I gave up. I got scared. I felt like I had nothing to show for my life. I wanted to build something, I wanted to help while I’m here.

I won’t carry a child to term. That’s a decision my body made for me. I knew that wasn’t my path in this life, I call myself Aunt. That’s my path; one I do not waver on. “When in doubt, I’ll just be an amazing aunt.” I said, while picking up some baby clothes last night.

Something happened this week that made me almost go to the doctor. I didn’t know who to call. I’m okay now and I would’ve gone if it got worse. Instead, I gardened. I let sunlight and wind do what medicine once could not. I felt something shift. This isn’t just about five years of struggle, it’s about a lifetime of choosing to keep going. I will live alongside nature as long as I can… because it helps me heal. And I’m still healing.
I care for my body through herbs and food science. I can’t eat most store-bought food. I’m not vegan, but I eat thick, plant-based meals that nourish me. My body isn’t just a temple; it’s my tether. Yoga helped me move again. I’ll always recommend it. Now, it’s just my baseline. I’ve started combining dance and yoga, exploring different styles. I train my body 3+ hours a day because it helps me stay present in work and in spirit.

People worry about burnout or my mental health, but I don’t have complaints. I do this so I don’t disappear. My body rejected the old me: my habits, my thoughts, even relationships that hurt me. This is what survival has looked like lately.

This week, if you saw me, I would’ve smiled and laughed. We’d have shared a beautiful moment. You might not have known that I wasn’t okay. That’s who I am, I’m already fighting for me. I rather enjoy our time together instead of being in my head.

I’m also surrounded by people who know how fragile this body really is. They’ve taught me what it means to be cherished, even when you don’t feel like you’ve earned it. I’m grateful for them.

I got mad a few weeks ago. I said it here, and I said it to them. It wasn’t simple, it never is. They reminded me, “C’Anna, you don’t remember six months of last year.” That’s where the disconnect came from. The medication. I never had to ask for help like that before. I didn’t know how. They didn’t know how to help. Now? Now we’re good. We’re growing together. They’re wildflowers, too; rising beyond their roots.

I’ve been through a lot. Not everyone has. That’s a blessing in most ways. But when someone hasn’t experienced deep trauma, they may not understand how it reshapes a person. That’s okay. We’re all on our own timelines. A little compassion goes a long way, practice understanding before yelling.

I used my words. I learned I don’t have to walk away after being mad. I’ve learned that I’m no longer a child. I’m a woman. I am strong.

I don’t like to brag; that’s why everything I write comes veiled. I want to be a role model. Not everyone will need someone like me. I needed someone like me. Unshakable. Powerful. Built from rubble.

I’m sorry this post isn’t all about Essence Grove. In some ways, it is. It’s about the evolution of the shy child who never would’ve had the courage to offer to lead through a crowd. The girl who wouldn’t ask to pet someone’s dog. (Now, I awkwardly try to ask the same woman with headphones in every morning—she never hears me.) The same girl who never got invited to parties… now gets invited to speak, share, and build communities rooted in change.

People call me things-hippy, tree-hugger, and my least favorite: crazy. Those are just shadows of who I am. They’re not wrong… they’re just incomplete.

Because I am more than a single story. I’m more than a shelf.

I am a library.

And I’m still writing.

Thank you for reading my story.

-Aunt C’Anna