Grace Found Me in the Chaos

I used to think grace was something you gave to other people. Something polite. Gentle. Reserved for forgiveness or church pews. But now I know—grace is radical. It’s gritty. It shows up in the mess, not just the aftermath.

I’ve had to learn how to extend grace to the loudest parts of myself:

• The mother who’s exhausted and overwhelmed, but still shows up.

• The woman building a brand out of her lived experience, not just her wins.

• The girl in me who still needs nurturing—who sometimes cries mid-meditation or forgets to drink water but still dreams like her life depends on it.

• The artist who drops projects, restarts them, changes her mind, gets scared, and still creates anyway.

• The partner who’s still learning what love looks like outside of survival.

• The entrepreneur trying to balance spreadsheets, soul work, and self-trust.

Grace has become my survival tool.
Not perfection.
Not hustle.
Not control.
Grace.

Grace when the house is loud. Grace when I lose my patience. Grace when I have no words but still want to write.
Grace when the vision isn't clear but the calling still burns.
Grace when I feel like too much and not enough—all in the same breath.

This journey didn’t start with some grand realization. It started in the quiet moments—nursing a baby while overthinking everything. Cleaning up after puppies. Reading poems about healing. Praying with my feet moving. Crying in the car. Talking to my younger self in poems and journal entries. Relearning what it means to be kind to my mind.

It’s been in the softness and the unraveling.
It’s been in the days where I forget all of this, and the moments I remember.

Grace doesn’t mean I’ve figured it out. It means I don’t have to.
It means I get to grow without shame.
It means I get to rest without guilt.
It means I get to be exactly who I am, right now—and that’s enough.

And if grace found me in this chaos, maybe it can find you too.