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What if the hardest part of healing isn’t leaving the past, but unlearning the voice it left behind? We open the most tender chapter of the Love series to explore how self-doubt takes root, why shrinking feels safe, and how to rebuild a self that no longer asks permission to exist. This is an honest look at body image after criticism, the quiet discipline of self-respect, and the relief of love that doesn’t require you to be less.

I share the moment I stopped being on my own side and the small habits that kept me there: apologizing for everything, editing my laugh, and choosing “easy” over honest. From there, we dig into the lingering effects of one comment about weight that rewired my relationship with my body. Instead of forcing confidence, I talk through learning to see my body as a record of survival—scars from surgery, a tiny mark in my eyebrow, stretch marks that arrived when life got heavy—and how those signs are proof of endurance, not flaws. We also unpack a healthier model of love: kindness that isn’t confusing, being seen without fear, and a partner who doesn’t fix you but stands beside you while you define yourself.

If you’ve ever tried to perform self-love and felt like a fraud, this conversation offers another path: self-love as discipline, a daily choice you make when no one’s cheering. You’ll hear practical reframes for catching old reflexes, turning down inherited voices, and choosing gentler language on hard days. We close the Love chapters not with perfection, but with a release—no more carrying old stories into new seasons. Subscribe, share with someone who needs softer self-talk today, and leave a review to tell me: what voice are you turning down next?

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This isn’t a love story… it’s a healing story.
In this chapter of The Love Chapters, I talk about the relationship that came after the one that broke me — the one that showed me what gentleness could look like, what safety could feel like, and what it meant to take up space after years of shrinking myself.

This episode isn’t about going back.
It isn’t about longing or reliving old moments.
It’s about looking at the past through the eyes of the woman I’ve grown into.

Because the girl I was then needed those lessons — and the woman I am now loves the way I love because of them.

In this episode, I share:

• how a random Facebook friend request became an unexpected turning point
• what it felt like to be seen without fear
• the small moments that taught me my voice mattered
• how healing doesn’t always look pretty… but it always teaches you something
• and how a beagle-chihuahua named Dottie became the gentlest reminder that love can take many shapes

This chapter wasn’t meant to last forever — but it helped me find myself again.
And the version of me who learned those lessons?
She’s the one who knows how to love deeply now.

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This week’s episode is a little different — a small check-in on a Monday morning instead of my usual Friday drop. I had planned to release the next Love Chapter on the 14th, but life got busy and I didn’t have the space to record the episode with the care it deserves.

In this mini update, I talk about what I’ve learned from creating the first eight episodes of Just Breathe Confessionals: how speaking out has changed me, how much I’m willing to share, and how comforting it’s been to hear from listeners who relate to my anxieties, childhood moments, and all the messy parts of growing up.

I also acknowledge that there is deeper, heavier trauma in my story — chapters I haven’t shared yet — and those pieces will be explored more fully in Season Two.

The next full Love Chapter, The One Who Helped Me Heal, will drop on Friday, December 6th.

Thank you for listening, for holding these stories with me, and for giving honesty a place to breathe.

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Kind Note:
This episode includes reflections on emotional, mental, and sexual manipulation in a past relationship.
Please listen gently and only when you feel safe, grounded, and supported.
Your heart deserves care.

Episode Description:
In this episode, I return to a version of myself I haven’t spoken to in years — the girl who fell in love in high school before she understood what love was supposed to feel like. What began as attention and affection slowly turned into control, isolation, and the quiet erosion of my confidence and identity. I didn’t realize how deeply emotional and mental manipulation can take root until I was already inside of it, trying to hold onto something that was breaking me.

This is a story of staying too long and leaving slowly — of believing I could fix what was hurting me, of grieving the version of myself who didn’t know better yet, and of learning to recognize love that doesn’t require me to disappear to keep it.

It’s about the confusion of being seventeen, the fear of being alone, the guilt that keeps us quiet, and the soft relief that comes when we finally choose ourselves.

If you have ever stayed in a relationship you didn’t know how to leave, if you’ve ever lost yourself trying to be loved, if you’ve ever questioned your worth or your voice — you are not alone.

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Some friendships feel like air in your lungs; others knock the wind out of you. This story-driven episode dives into the friends who carried us through family fractures, the sudden goodbyes that rewired our trust, and the bold voices that pushed us toward better, braver selves. We open with childhood in a split home, where neighbors and friends’ parents became a quiet safety net—block parties, open kitchens, and the simple miracle of being welcomed without explanation. That foundation leads to a formative bond: a friend who noticed the weight we shouldn’t have been carrying and offered a way to breathe again.

The middle turns toward a sanctuary found in the church tech booth after a knee injury ended soccer dreams. There, under the glow of monitors and the hum of a soundboard, belonging took on a new shape—until a message ended a three-year friendship without warning. We unpack how friendship grief differs from breakups, why abrupt endings can rewrite how we let people in, and what it means to hold on to spaces that helped us heal while releasing the person who introduced them.

Finally, we meet the friend who brings loving friction—a fuchsia-bandana memory, relentless honesty about a toxic relationship, and accountability that stings before it saves. Together we explore how transformative friends reveal blind spots, set a higher bar for how we show up, and model what chosen family looks like over time. Along the way, we pose questions worth sitting with: Who carried you? Who taught the hard lesson? Who’s stayed?

We close with a peek at what’s next: a three-part Love Series—love that broke me, love that found me, and self-love—raw, real, and deeply personal. If you’ve ever leaned on chosen family, rebuilt after a sudden goodbye, or needed a friend who tells the truth, this is for you. Subscribe, share with someone who needs it today, and leave a review to tell us which friendship shaped you most.

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Remember that moment when your body suddenly felt like it belonged to someone else? When scissors seemed like a reasonable solution to a widow's peak that bothered you way too much? When you realized adults had been lying about puberty all along?

Daria dives deep into the messy, uncomfortable reality of growing up without proper guidance. From getting a period at age ten and facing a soccer tournament the very next day, to navigating the complex world of body hair removal based on unrealistic media portrayals, this episode unpacks the universal yet deeply personal experience of puberty. Without a mother figure present, these challenges became even more isolating – piecing together information from friends and their parents, trying to make sense of changes without a roadmap.

The journey through adolescence brings unexpected physical transformations that can feel like betrayals when they arrive too soon. Developing breasts overnight while still deep in a tomboy phase creates a jarring disconnect between self-perception and how others suddenly view you. Those freshman year experiments with teal tank tops, white button-downs, and bottom eyeliner represent more than just fashion choices – they're attempts to reconcile the person you've always been with the person your changing body is pushing you to become.

What makes this story universal is the awkward, sometimes painful process of becoming ourselves. Whether you cut your bangs in desperation, panicked over your first zit before picture day, or felt exposed in your first bikini, these moments shape us. Through all the confusion, we're not becoming someone else – we're just becoming who we were meant to be all along. What was your awkward puberty story? Share it with us and remember: just breathe.

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Remember when your stomach would flip over one smile from your crush? When sitting next to them at lunch felt like winning the lottery? Before heartbreak had a name, those seemingly tiny feelings were actually enormous – they felt like the whole world.

In this deeply nostalgic journey through childhood crushes, I'm rewinding to those pure, awkward, beautiful first feelings that shaped how we learned to connect. From my childhood best friend with cochlear implants who became my first crush at age six, to the complicated dance of being a tomboy who secretly wanted the boys I played soccer with to see me as more than "one of them." Those early connections taught us something profound about vulnerability – that even asking "want to borrow my crayon?" requires putting your heart on the line.

Celebrity crushes offered a different kind of emotional outlet. Remember plastering your walls with Dream Street posters? Or feeling betrayed when your Disney Channel crush (Ryan Merriman from Smart House, anyone?) suddenly appeared as a villain in a teen drama years later? These parasocial relationships weren't just childish obsessions – they were safe spaces to explore feelings before risking them in real life. And those yearbooks with tiny hearts drawn around certain photos? They weren't just about romance – they were about possibility, about learning we're capable of hope even when nothing's happening yet.

Whether you were a Jesse's girl too or had your own unique path through childhood infatuation, this episode celebrates the soft hearts and big dreams that came before complicated adult relationships. These formative experiences taught us how to hope, imagine, and connect – lessons that stay with us long after the yearbooks close and the posters come down. Take a moment to remember someone you once adored, even if it was only in your head, and honor how those feelings helped shape who you are today.

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Have you ever loved something so deeply it became part of your identity? That moment when passion transforms into purpose, creating a space where you truly belong? For me, it was soccer. From age three, standing as a goalkeeper became more than a position—it was who I was. The last line of defense. The protector. Every save ignited something in me nothing else could touch.

But what happens when that defining passion disappears? After a devastating knee injury ended my soccer career, I faced the emptiness that follows losing your anchor. The smell of dirt, the sound of cleats digging into grass, the weight of the goalkeeper gloves—all suddenly memories rather than daily realities. This episode explores that disorienting space between who we were and who we're becoming when our first love is taken away.

The journey through loss reveals something profound: the things we love don't leave us empty—they leave us marked. Soccer taught me to be brave under pressure, to protect what matters, to stand tall when everything feels overwhelming. These lessons didn't disappear with my ability to play. They became integrated into who I am beyond the field. Perhaps your passion was music, art, dance, or something entirely different. Whatever shaped you has left fingerprints that remain, even when the activity itself becomes part of your past.

If you're struggling with losing something that once defined you, or wondering who you are outside your passion, this episode is for you. Share your story of identity and loss in the comments, or let me know what first love shaped you. Subscribe to Just Breathe Confessionals for more conversations about finding ourselves in both joy and heartbreak.