Welcome to Life After Lil

Somewhere between desert mornings, long hikes, and quiet evenings outside the trailer, I found myself sitting with a thought I had avoided saying out loud for a long time: I think everything happens for a reason. Even writing those words feels risky in grief spaces. I understand why so many grieving people struggle with that phrase. When spoken carelessly, it can make devastating loss feel reduced to a lesson instead of something sacred and unbearable. I know what it feels like to hear explanations when what you need is presence. And I would never want to do that. The truth is, when I say everything happens for a reason, I don’t mean that every tragedy has a purpose or that every loss can be explained. I don’t know why Lily died. I never will. What I mean is that I believe there is meaning woven through our lives, even when we can’t see it. I believe our experiences shape us in ways we often don’t understand until much later. And sometimes what initially feels senseless reveals somethi...

​ 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...