I write to give voice to parts of myself that otherwise have no outlet. Some are buried beneath the daily grind; others, I’ve set aside intentionally. Writing helps me unpack this mental clutter and lighten the weight of my thoughts. While sharing my words has been transformative, there’s also something grounding about writing for myself alone. It’s where I can channel the unfiltered emotions that could otherwise spill over. In times when emotions surge beyond what writing can contain, I turn to my therapist, mentors, and friends who keep me grounded. Together, these practices help align my inner life with the world around me.

Writing and technology have been two constants in my life, and recently, I’ve found a way to blend them meaningfully. Initially, I turned to AI as a work tool, but over time, it’s become integral to my writing practice. From capturing rough ideas to adding a final polish, AI helps me refine my words while keeping my voice at the heart. This blend of tech and creativity connects me back to mentors like Mrs. Sytsma, who first sparked my love for self-expression. It’s a journey, one that grows richer with each post and each shared reflection.

In my life, I’ve built many bridges—connections that have shaped my journey profoundly. Yet some of those bridges, despite my best efforts, have been torn down by others, leaving an ache that lingers. It’s hard not to feel bitterness when I’m called to rebuild what was destroyed by someone else. But as I reflect on Christ’s example—entering into messes He didn’t create, healing wounds He didn’t inflict—I feel a pull to let go of the hurt and respond differently. Perhaps I can be part of the rebuilding, even when the breaking wasn’t mine to bear.

My mind can be a battleground. Maybe you relate to that—the endless loops, the broken records that won’t stop playing. Lately, the battle centers around this question: why am I writing and sharing on Facebook every day? Is it a search for attention, or maybe a craving for connection? The doubts and self-judgments pile on. But I write anyway, not because I think my words are groundbreaking, but because honesty, in a world full of polished facades, feels like an invitation. It’s a small act of defiance against perfection. Maybe, in my messy words, you’ll see a bit of yourself, too.

In a bold move to attract the adventurous palates of a new generation, Russ’ signboard is now proudly advertising its “spicy” menu.

The clouds, dark and swollen, clung close to the earth as the seniors at Jefferson High shuffled into the gymnasium. Jackson tugged at the collar of his green gown, his gaze already wandering beyond the ceremony to a youth rally he was organizing—a gathering meant to offer something meaningful. But what followed was a journey of self-doubt, public missteps, and quiet resilience, as the words of a mentor left scars that would take decades to unravel. Through setbacks and moments of shame, Jackson found himself wrestling with failure, self-worth, and the courage to confront painful memories. Over time, he’d learn that the strength he sought was in the scars themselves, reshaping his understanding of faith, resilience, and the courage it takes to truly heal.

When life corners you with diagnosis and challenge, when a health crisis interrupts your plans, you’re left confronting not only the weight of your body but the weight of your own expectations. And sometimes, buried within, there’s a tenacity waiting to awaken, a quiet strength urging you to go deeper, beyond comfort, into change.