Three weeks ago I went on a trip.

To most, it would have been just another exciting adventure, or the opportunity to knock another place off their bucketlist.

Maybe even someone’s first big trip ever.

For me, it was much deeper than that.

I knew the trip was going to leave an impression, alter my brain chemistry a bit, allow me to visit a place I’ve only dreamed of.

I knew it was going to be amazing and beautiful. I even told my friend to not be surprised if I break down into tears at any random moment. “I promise, they are tears of joy and/or astonishment.”

I knew I wanted to take this time and be intentional. Overcome some fears, get to know myself a little more, maybe meet someone there that would help catapult my photography dream.

I needed to try to figure out what the hell has been going on with me the past 8/9 months. What it all meant. Where it might be leading me.

What I didn’t know, and wouldn’t know until I had been home for over 72 hours, is that this whole time, this past year of ups and downs, the feelings of elation and dedication, the feelings of failure and frustrations, the moments I thought I had finally figured it out, and the moments I was forced to sit down and shut up for a minute…

I was expanding.

While romanticizing a typical playground visit with my kids a few days after arriving home, it hit me. Like a ton of fucking bricks, might I add. I had spent the day prior deep cleaning my house after being gone for two weeks, and woke up that morning to a sink full of dishes. And damn do these dishes play a really big character in my story.

I decided in that moment to just go sit in nature somewhere. To not let that one thing weigh me down. I put on a red, flowy, rose covered dress that I had picked up on one of my mini Goodwill trips, emptied all of my notebooks, pens, tarot cards and other things into a brown picnic basket, added a cute checkered sheet and headed to the park.

I was feeling good. I was focusing on gratitude.

Then the camels back broke. The moldy cherry got tossed on top.

I was met with another trigger (that in the long scheme of things was actually just a part of a bazillion triggers I had been shoving down since I got home while trying to practice gratitude), and something inside of me cracked.

Something isn’t right.

I felt off.

I don’t have the energy for this anymore.

I decided to walk away.

Not from the whole situation. But just enough to change my perspective before I said something I wasn’t ready to say. Expressed a feeling that I hadn’t quite deciphered yet.

So I picked up our kids and headed to the playground so they could play while I tried to process what the hell was happening.

My body is speaking to me, but I can’t understand what it is saying. My feet ached but in a way that I’ve never felt before. Like something was trying to escape. My heart feels too big for my chest. The shape of my face has change shape and I am starting to recognize someone from my past. My skin literally feels too tight.

Who is this person? What the fuck is happening?

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Rewilding Her was created in 2024 when I stepped away from portrait photography to reconnect with nature. To where I started. It was during this time that I was determined to find what actually brought me the truest and purset form of joy. And in the summer of 2025, I thought I had figured it all out.

So I left RH to collect dust. Ignored what I had actually learned during that year and got sucked into the opposite. Compromising my joy, just so I could truly find joy? It doesn’t make any sense, believe me, I know. I was fighting so hard to make things happen, that I lost sight of the whole reason I was trying to make it happen.

This past year has been the craziest roller coaster I’ve been on yet, but I am thankful for every moment of it. I have shared some of my journey, but I feel this pull to share more. To finally just do what I love instead of trying to “make it perfect” or turn it into some way of paying for that dream. (Hence why you will notice this website is plain at the moment and isn’t even close to being “finished”. I refuse to let that keep me from being fully visible again.)

So welcome to my diary. Where I always promise to speak my truth. To share parts of myself that have been buried behind shame, or fear, or anxiety. To share my personal journal in hopes that someone feels less crazy, less alone, less…unhuman?

This chapter is called: “Evidence of Her.”