podcast host

I started Honestly, I’m Fine because I needed someone to talk to who didn’t respond with things like, “God only gives you what you can handle.” I quickly realized I didn’t have anyone that really knew what I was going through.

This is where I talk about all of the messy things no one else wants to talk about: grief, child loss, motherhood, relationships, money problems, and the very real effort of trying to function like a normal person when your life is anything but.

I started it for me. I keep doing it because I don’t have another place for all of this to go. And because I need to believe Kingston didn’t die for nothing. I don’t know what that means yet, but I’m not pretending it didn’t happen.

I can’t go back to who I was before. That version of me is gone. Some days it sounds like clarity. Some days it’s me trying to get through a sentence without falling apart.

Writer and creator

After losing Kingston, I had to sit across from my daughter and find a way to explain something I didn’t understand myself. Grief, love, absence, all of it, in words that wouldn’t break her while I was still breaking.

Writing became the only place I could hold it together long enough to make sense of it. It’s how I kept moving, even when nothing in my life felt like it was.

Along the way, I started noticing the signs Kingston sends us, the kind that make it feel like he isn’t really gone. Things would happen that I couldn’t explain, moments that didn’t feel random no matter how hard I tried to write them off.

It changed something in me. What I thought death was, what it isn’t, and what might still exist in between. I don’t have a clean explanation for it, I just know I’ve felt it.

I write because sometimes the only way through something like this is to turn it into something you can hold.

who I’m Meant to be

There aren’t words that make what happened less brutal. Losing Kingston didn’t come with meaning or closure. It didn’t teach me a neat lesson or turn me into some better version of myself overnight. It just broke everything open. And I know I’ll never fully heal from it. That’s not how this works. You don’t lose your child and circle back to who you were before. That version of me is gone.

But I also know I didn’t survive this by accident. There’s a version of me that only exists because I went through it. I can feel her, even on the days I don’t want to. She’s more honest, less willing to pretend, more aware of what actually matters and what doesn’t. I hate what it took to meet her. I would trade it in a second. But she’s here.

Kingston didn’t just change my life, he changed me. And somehow, even now, he’s still shaping who I’m becoming.