Welcome to Life After Lil

​ April found me still reminding myself to pause before I speak. My patience feels thinner these days. But something else has shifted too. My relationship with my mother is ongoing and complicated. Boundaries have helped. It’s getting easier to hold them—which, strangely, makes saying yes feel cleaner too. I even set up a friendship blind date for her and a client, meeting them there to help it along. They both said they were lonely. They both said they wanted connection. Neither followed up. Instead, my mom booked a bus trip with the neighbor she insists she can’t stand. I laughed when she told me—really laughed. Not because it was surprising, but because it wasn’t. She moves toward what’s familiar, even when it doesn’t suit her. I know that pattern. I’ve lived inside a version of it. She either copies my hairstyle and clothes or criticizes them. There’s rarely a middle ground. I’m less affected than I used to be—not because she’s changed, but because I’m starting to see her m...

I didn’t realize how often I was saying yes before I ever checked in with myself. This feels like the beginning of something new for me. After a year of writing through grief, I can feel a shift—quiet, but real. I’m calling this a Year of Becoming. Lately, I’ve been paying attention in a different way. Not to what people say. Not to what I think I should feel. But to what happens in my body. A tightening in my chest when something feels off. A heaviness when I say yes but mean no. A quiet sense of ease when something is actually right. For a long time, I didn’t notice these things. Or maybe I did—and learned to move past them. To be agreeable. To be kind. To keep things smooth. I got very good at overriding myself. Grief has a way of interrupting that. When everything is stripped down to what matters, your tolerance for pretending gets smaller. Or maybe your capacity for truth just gets louder. Just recently, I felt it happen in real time. My mom needed help with something. And instead...