As I sit here in Washington, DC, surrounded by the vibrancy of Cherry Blossom season, I'm reminded of the countless encounters I've had with these enchanting trees over the years.

Let's talk about those moments when life hits you like a freight train, when grief, overwhelm, and nostalgia collide, leaving you feeling like you're drowning in a sea of emotions. I get it. I’ve been there recently.

One of the first tools I used in early sobriety and recovery was making a playlist for my commute.

Listening to music got me out of my head and brought some peace to my ruminating mind.

Winter still holds us close and invites us to savor the simple joys of slowing down. Although there are tempting calls of spring, there's something magical about the quiet moments, wrapped in a cozy blanket, gazing out the window with nothing but the soft rustle of pages turning.

The hardest thing I have ever done is get sober.

The second hardest thing I have ever done was enter the convent.

There was a time in my life when I considered being a nun. I began the formal process of discernment with a congregation of Sisters.

Over the past few months, I’ve been working with an embodiment coach and doing the work of dropping into my physical body with a question and then waiting for an answer. I’ve had to be so patient in this process. I want to rush to an answer, but I know that when I do, it comes from the cognitive and not the physical.

“It makes me sad that we live in a world where gaining weight can’t be part of the story of saving our lives.”

I spoke these words on a Wonder Recovery Call several months ago. The conversation steered towards sugar and the trickiness of replacing booze with sweets. This topic frequently comes up because it is a real part of recovery.

Two of my greatest teachers in life are 10 and 7 years old. Before becoming a recovery coach, I was a nanny for two amazing kiddos. Our days were full of laughter, sibling squabbles, and the Hamilton soundtrack on repeat. Watching them move through the world has taught me about authenticity and unconditional love. And each of them, in their unique way, has taught me how to listen for a bigger story.

"Create a life you don't want to escape from."

When I started my sobriety journey in early recovery, this quote made me sit up and take notice. It evoked a strong emotional response that stirred hope and desire. "What would that life look like? I want that! How do I get that life because I want to escape all the damn time?!"

If you told me at 21 (or even 16), 30, or 45 that there would be a St. Patrick’s day that I didn’t drink, I would have laughed in your face.

Holidays run deep in my family's bones. I grew up on Easter egg hunts, Turkey Trot 5k’s, and a greased watermelon contest in the pool's deep end on the 4th of July. We did Midnight Mass followed by epic buffets, neighborhood Halloween parties, block parties, and house blessings.

During Catholic school, whenever the season of Lent rolled around, my friends and I would have the same discussion about what we were giving up or sacrificing for 40 days. While my friends laid down chocolate or TV or listened to the Top 10 at 10 pm on Friday nights

The summers of my teenage years were spent in the backyard of my grandmother's house in Northeast Washington, D.C.

Every spring, we would work together in the soil, tilling and digging, planting and sowing, tending and toiling.

Divine Love, Creator, Spirit of blood and breath,

Anoint my eyes with a sacred seeing today. That my eyes seek and see the tiny, unnoticed places where You dwell.

In high school, my friends and I would walk over to the Hecht Co. (a local department store) after the bell rang and take up space in the electronics section in the most obnoxious way.

The hum of the air conditioner brings me back to the center

From the swirl of thoughts and the in-between

Thinking about the last time we were in each other's company

Spring's arrival pushing its way into the night air

In my early 20's I went through my first devastating break up with a partner. This was the first person I loved. This was the first person I learned about vulnerability with. This was a person I was planning a future with.

It always seems to happen in an instant

Going about the ways and the waves of summer

And in the unfolding of just a day, there is change

The sun still beats and the hydrangeas wither and beg for mercy

On Friday afternoons, my first-grade teacher, Sr. Joseph Martin, would gather all 36 of us on the carpet while she lurched back and forth in her rocking chair and would tell us about the lives of the Saints.

Holy basil

incensing the kitchen

anointed hands tearing the leaves

sun and stars and moon and earth pulsing through the veins of each leaf

Bring the rocky cliffs of Skibereen and the long glances across the water and pondering of what it might be like to start anew