Join me as I explore how both solitude and family memories have shaped my creativity and helped me discover my true, authentic self. In moments of quiet, away from distractions, I’ve found clarity, peace, and the freedom to create without judgment. The love for the Arts instilled by my family has sparked my imagination, allowing me to reflect, heal, and embrace individuality. I invite you to walk with me as I share the lessons learned from the power of solitude and creative expression.
As I write this, I’m smiling ear to ear with some amazing news to share! Yesterday was Thanksgiving, and it was a blast—I hope you all enjoyed and are still enjoying the holiday. By the end of the night, I was gifted a basket that left me a bit confused at first, but as I dug through the items, I was blown away to discover it was filled to the brim with books I had bought during my adolescence! And if you don’t know yet, books are my life. I’ve been a bookworm since I was very young.
The best part? I had completely forgotten about this collection, as it had been in storage for years. Going through those books, I stumbled upon my old songbook! A treasure I had totally forgotten about. This wasn’t just any songbook. I remember writing in it with so much detail—timestamps, song titles, names of beats, and the beat makers. I would gather this information from hours spent searching the internet, organizing it meticulously.
In addition to the songbook, I had separate notebooks where I wrote lyrics and organized songs by projects. Looking back, I realize that my love for the Arts has always been deeply connected to family memories, particularly my Father’s love for music. One of my favorite memories is of him having this huge, slightly sinister James Brown action figure. It would play “I Feel Good” as soon as you pressed the little black button. I was just a toddler, but I remember constantly dancing and mimicking the words to the best of my ability.
My mom captured many of these adorable moments on video, including a priceless moment when my dad and I sang “Happy Birthday” to him on his special day. I was struggling with my words (lol), but he helped his baby out. Watching those videos, it’s clear that music was always going to have a strong hold on me.
I also remember being gifted a kid-friendly karaoke machine (they don’t make those the same way now, do they?). It had maybe five songs, but I loved it. At just 10 years old, a family friend gave me a beautiful turquoise guitar. Over the years, my back-to-school shopping wasn’t just about new clothes—it was about finding the perfect pens and notebooks because, aside from choir and dance, all I did was write.
If I wasn't writing, I was performing. I was the child whose parents always had to show up to my recitals, get my gown hemmed, and hear me hooting and hollering lyrics to my favorite songs in my bedroom at 10pm. Even my mom, who was a huge part of why I love music, couldn't resist my antics. We shared an unbreakable bond through music.
One of my favorite childhood memories is when I'd sit in her room for hours, maybe getting my hair done, while she played this movie, Up Close and Personal on repeat. By the time the credits rolled, we'd be belting out Celine Dion's "Because You Loved Me," no matter how off-key we were. We did the same with Hairspray's "Welcome to the '60s" and Dreamgirls' "Listen" – you had to sing along, or you were no fun.
That’s a little bit of my origin story. As I grew older, though, rebellion, trauma, and anger pushed me into phases of isolation—phases I now recognize as my safe space, away from people who are a trigger. I had to learn at a very young age how to express myself creatively while keeping strong boundaries to protect my peace.
When I was 16, I started exploring cosmetology, especially caring for my hair. I went from severely damaged curls to having bouncy, beautiful ones. Sunday afternoons at Winco with my mom became my favorite ritual: she'd shop for Sunday dinner, and I’d get haircare and makeup products. Every night, I’d doll myself up, take selfies for the group chat, and prep my curls for the next morning. It did wonders for my self-confidence.
I experimented with all kinds of colors—blues, purples, pinks—and would prance around the house, fully made up, with nowhere to go. My mom would laugh and ask, "Where are you going?" And I'd respond, "Nowhere, Ma." It was a funny, unspoken inside joke between us.
After high school, I slowed down with both cosmetology and writing, but now, when I engage in these hobbies, I still get a kick out of doing it for myself. I love writing a couple of songs in a day, and I enjoy my solitude, even though I know from my therapist that human connection is important.
Maybe it's all about finding balance. I can honor my need for solitude while also respecting my desire for human connection. That’s why I take pride in sharing these intimate moments with all of you. I encourage you to tap into your inner child. What did you love to do when you were younger? Have you reintroduced those joys into your life as an adult? And if not, what’s been holding you back?
I’ve gone through long periods of writer’s block, and when that happens, I use it as a reminder to step outside, explore the world, and experience something new. Sometimes, a change in perspective is all it takes to reignite that spark.
I'm learning that there is beauty in solitude, the quiet moments where we reconnect with ourselves. In those moments, we find the space to grow and create. Much love, xoxo.