mental-health – JustLj.com

JustLj in May Part III

The Blog About My Name

May feels like a strange month to write about a name. Not because names are small things, but because they’re so easy to overlook. They’re among the first gifts we’re given and one of the first things we offer to the world. We introduce ourselves with them. We sign them on forms. We answer to them.

We carry them for years, sometimes our entire lives. And yet, I’ve been thinking about names a lot lately. More specifically, I’ve been thinking about my name. Lj.

Not as a username. Not as a brand. Not as a website title. Just Lj. If you’ve followed this blog for any length of time, you’ve probably seen that phrase everywhere.

JustLj. It sits at the top of the page. It’s part of the website. It’s become shorthand for who I am.

But lately I’ve found myself reflecting on why those two letters matter so much to me. And the answer isn’t really about the letters. It’s about identity.

The last two blogs have been about depression, anxiety, awareness, acceptance, and the slow process of moving forward. They were difficult blogs to write because they required honesty. They required me to look directly at things I would rather avoid. This month feels like a continuation of that honesty. Because identity deserves honesty, too. Names carry significance far beyond simple identification. Across cultures and throughout history, names have carried meaning, stories, hopes, responsibilities, family connections, and expectations. They help shape how we are perceived and how we connect to the world around us. A name is often the first story someone learns about us. And sometimes it becomes a story we eventually need to rewrite.

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, identity is “the fact of being who or what a person is.” Simple enough. But living inside an identity is rarely simple. Especially when you’re trying to understand yourself. Especially when you’re changing. Especially when you’re discovering pieces of yourself that took years to recognize.

For me, “Lj” represents something intentional. It represents a choice. A choice to be closer to myself than I used to be. Growing up, I often struggled to speak up for myself.

Sometimes literally. Sometimes emotionally. Sometimes socially. I spent a lot of years being whoever seemed easiest to be.

Whoever caused the least friction. Whoever required the least explanation. But identity has a way of eventually demanding acknowledgment. And once you become aware of yourself, it becomes harder to ignore.

As a genderqueer and nonbinary person, my relationship with identity has not always been straightforward. There wasn’t a single dramatic moment where everything suddenly made sense. It was slower than that.

More reflective. More gradual.Like most meaningful journeys are. Some people think changing how you introduce yourself is a small thing. Sometimes it is. Sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes choosing a name is an act of self-authorship. Sometimes it’s a fresh start. Sometimes it’s healing. Sometimes it’s the quiet declaration that the person you are becoming deserves to be acknowledged. I once read a quote by Erica Jong that has stayed with me:

“To name oneself is the first act of both poetry and revolution.”

The older I get, the more I understand what she meant. Naming yourself is not only about language. It’s about recognition. It’s about claiming ownership of your own story. And maybe that’s why it hurts when that recognition isn’t given. Because if I’m being honest, part of what inspired this blog wasn’t just reflection. It was frustration. Being called by a name that is not your preferred name can be deeply exhausting. Not always because of malice.

Often, because of habit. Most people are simply operating from familiarity. I know that. But understanding something intellectually does not always remove its emotional impact. There is a difference between knowing someone means well and feeling unseen.

There is a difference between habit and acknowledgment. And when it happens repeatedly, it can begin to feel like a kind of erasure. A small one. A passive one.But an erasure all the same.

It creates a strange kind of exhaustion because each moment asks the same question:

Do I correct it again?

Do I explain it again?

Do I let it go this time?

Most people only experience that decision occasionally. Some of us make it constantly. And that weight accumulates.

Not because a name is everything. But because identity matters. Recognition matters.

Respect matters. The Vietnamese monk and writer Thich Nhat Hanh once wrote:

“Call me by my true name, so that I may wake up.”

I’ve been thinking about that quote a lot lately. Because I don’t think he’s only talking about names. I think he’s talking about acknowledgment. The human need to be seen as we actually are. Not as we once were.Not as others expect us to be. Not as a convenient version of ourselves.

But as ourselves. Fully. Honestly. And maybe that’s what JustLj has always been about. Not branding. Not marketing.

Not creating a persona. The opposite, actually. The goal has always been authenticity. To be Just Lj.

Nothing added. Nothing hidden. Nothing performed. Just the person behind the words. I’m still figuring that person out. I suspect I always will be.

But May has reminded me that identity is not a destination you arrive at once and forever. It’s an ongoing conversation. An ongoing act of awareness. An ongoing act of acceptance.

An ongoing act of becoming. And maybe that’s why names matter so much. So this month, I’m thinking about names. About identity. About respect.

About being seen. About becoming. And most of all, about the quiet power contained in introducing yourself and saying:

This is who I am.

This is my name.

I’m Lj.

And that feels worth saying.

Here is a poem of mine I am going to reshare here because it relates to this blog and the significance of my preferred name to me:

JustLj in April Part III

The Blog About Moving Again

Last month, I wrote The Blog I Didn’t Want To Write. And I meant that literally. It wasn’t a clever title or a dramatic framing device. I genuinely did not want to write it. I was tired. Mentally tired in the kind of way where even opening a blank document feels exhausting.

The kind of tired where your thoughts feel heavy before the day even starts. But I wrote it anyway. And strangely, it ended up being one of the most viewed posts I’ve had in a while. More likes too.

I noticed it in the analytics afterward and sat with that for a bit. I think people can tell when something is honest. Even messy honesty. Because March wasn’t really about solutions. It was just me admitting where I was at.

And I think April is the conversation that comes after that. Not a recovery arc. Not a motivational speech. Just…the next step.

Moving again. Slowly. I’ve spent enough years living with Major Anxiety and Depression Disorder to know that awareness changes everything.

Not fixes everything. Just changes it. There’s a difference between feeling awful and understanding why you feel awful. There’s a difference between spiraling blindly and recognizing the spiral as it happens. It doesn’t make it disappear. But it gives you something to hold onto. And acceptance is part of that too, even though I used to hate that word. Acceptance sounded too much like surrender to me. Like giving up. Like saying, “This is just how I am.” But I don’t think that’s what acceptance actually is anymore.

I think it’s being honest enough to stop fighting reality long enough to actually address it. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, acceptance is defined as “the action of consenting to receive or undertake something offered.” But emotionally, I think acceptance is less about agreeing with your circumstances and more about acknowledging them honestly enough to stop pretending they aren’t there. To accept yourself is not to stop growing. It’s to stop abandoning yourself while you grow. For a long time, I thought awareness would automatically fix things.

That once once I understood my anxiety and depression well enough, I would somehow outthink them. But awareness without acceptance can become its own form of exhaustion. You become hyperaware of every flaw, every spiral, every bad habit, while still treating yourself like a problem instead of a person. Carl Rogers once wrote, “The curious paradox is that when I accept myself just as I am, then I can change.”

I think I’m finally starting to understand what that means. Not perfectly. Not all at once. But enough to begin moving again. To say:

Yeah, I’m struggling right now. Yeah, I’m anxious. Yeah, I’m depressed. Yeah, I’m overwhelmed.

Okay. Now what? That “now what” feels important to me lately.

Because I don’t want to stay frozen forever. And I think that’s where this month finds me. Not magically better. Not cured. Not suddenly transformed into someone disciplined, healed, and thriving. Just aware enough now to start trying again without lying to myself about where I’m starting from. There’s still stuff weighing on me. Still uncertainty about the future.Still days where I wake up already mentally exhausted. Still moments where everything feels like too much at once. But I’m noticing something different too.

I’m starting to want things again. Not huge things. Just small human things. Stability. Structure.Enjoyment. Rest without guilt. Excitement without anxiety attached to it. I want to take care of myself better. I want to stop treating myself like a problem I have to solve before I’m allowed to live my life.

I think part of getting older is realizing you cannot hate yourself into becoming healthier. You cannot shame yourself into peace. Eventually, you have to decide you are worth helping. “And now that you don’t have to be perfect, you can be good.” John Steinbeck

John Steinbeck: “And now that you don't have to be perfect,...”

Even on the bad days. Especially on the bad days. And honestly, sometimes “moving again” just means really basic things. Getting out of bed. Cleaning your room.

Answering emails you’ve been avoiding. Applying for jobs. Drinking water. Taking your medication consistently.

Letting yourself rest when your body is clearly asking for it. None of it feels dramatic while it’s happening. Most healing doesn’t.

Its repetive. Uneven. Quiet. But it matters. I think last month was about acknowledging the weight. This month is about acknowledging that I’m still carrying it and moving anyway. Not perfectly.Not quickly. But intentionally.

And maybe that’s enough right now. Maybe movement doesn’t have to look impressive to count. Maybe survival itself deserves more credit than we give it. Maybe being aware of yourself, accepting yourself, and still choosing to keep going is already a kind of progress. I still feel uncertain a lot of the time. Still tired.

Still worried. Still trying to figure things out. But Im here. And that feels worth saying.

JustLj in March Part III

The Blog I Didn’t Want To Write

March arrived, and for the first time in a while, I didn’t have a word ready. No theme waiting in the wings. No clean entry point that made everything make sense. Just a quiet resistance. A heaviness. A feeling I couldn’t quite name in a single word.

So this is not Te Blog of ___. This is The Blog I Didn’t Want To Write. Because if I’m honest, this month didn’t feel like something I wanted to examine. It felt like something I wanted to get through.

There’s a particular kind of tired that doesn’t come from doing too much, but from feeling like you can’t do enough. A kind of stillness that isn’t restful, but stuck. Where even small things feel heavier than they should. Where motivation doesn’t disappear entirely, but becomes distant. Faint.

Harder to reach. And the strange part is, it doesn’t always look like anything is wrong. Life can still be moving. You can still be functioning.

Still showing up, still talking, still laughing in the right places. From the outside, everything might seem…fine. Maybe even good.

But internally, something is off. It’s quieter than a crisis. Less visible than a breakdown.But heavier than it should be. That’s the space March lived in for me. And it’s a hard thing to write about, because there isn’t a clean narrative to follow. No clear beginning, middle, and end. Just moments. Days that blur together. Effort that feels inconsistent. Progress that feels invisible.

Treating Depression Through Cognitive-Behavioural Therapy (CBT) - Sullivan + Associates

According to the American Psychological Association, depression is described as “a common and serious medical illness that negatively affects how you feel, the way you think, and how you act.” But definitions only go so far. They explain the structure, not the experience. The experience is quieter. It’s the alarm going off and feeling like getting up is a negotiation. It’s knowing what you should do, but feeling a gap between knowing and doing.

It’s starting something and stopping. Or not starting at all. It’s the weight of existing when nothing is technically wrong. And maybe the hardest part is the confusion of it.

Because I’ve had months where things were objectively harder, busier, more chaotic, more uncertain, and I moved through them with clarity. With energy. With purpose. And then there are months like this one, where things are…stable. And still, I feel lost.

There’s no obvious reason. No single moment to point to say, “That’s why.”Just a general sense of disconnection. Like I’m slightly out of sync with my own life.

Like I’m present, but not fully here. That’s what I didn’t want to write about. Because it feels easier to write when there’s resolution.

When there’s growth neatly packaged. When I can point to something and say, “This is what I learned.” But this month isn’t about resolution. It’s about continuation. Because even in this space, this stuck, tired, uncertain space, life doesn’t pause. You still wake up. Still move through the day. Still exist inside it. And somewhere in that, there is a quieter kind of effort happening. Getting up anyway.Doing something small anyway.

Responding, showing up, trying even if it feels incomplete. There’s a quote often attributed to Winston Churchill: “If you’re going through hell, keep going.” It’s simple, almost blunt. But there’s something grounding in it.

Not inspiring in the grand sense, but steady. Practical. Keep going. Not perfectly.Not quickly. Not even confidently.

Just…going. March reminded me that movement doesn’t always look like progress. Sometimes it looks like survival. Like persistence in its smallest form.

Like choosing not to stop, even when stopping feels easier. And maybe that counts for more than we give it credit for. Because life isn’t only lived in the high moments. The clear ones. The productive ones.

It’s also lived here in the in-between. In the fog. In the days that don’t feel like they belong to anything meaningful. And still, they are part of it.

Still, they matter. So this is the blog I didn’t want to write. The one without a clean word.

The one without a polished lesson. Just honesty. Just the acknowledgment that sometimes you can feel lost even when you’re okay. That you can feel stuck even while moving. That you can be tired in a way that rest doesn’t fully fix. And still, you are here. Still, you are living. Still, you are moving, even if it’s slow, even if it’s quiet, even if it doesn’t feel like enough. And maybe, for now, that is enough.

JustLj in February Part III

FLEETING pronunciation • How to pronounce FLEETING

The Blog of Fleeting

February has always felt different from the other months. Shorter, yes. But not smaller. If anything, it feels condensed. Concentrated. As if the calendar itself decided to speak more quickly and mean more.

There is something about a month that knows it will not last long. So, for this month, the theme felt obvious: Fleeting. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, fleeting means “lasting for a very short time.” But beyond the formal definition, fleeting is not simply about brevity.

It is about intensity. It is about something arriving fully formed, burning brightly, and leaving before you have time to prepare for its absence. February embodies that. It is the month most associated with love. With Valentine’s Day.

With pink and red and heart-shaped reminders to pause and feel something. And yet, it is also the month that disappears first. Twenty-eight days. Occasionally twenty-nine.

A built-in reminder that time does not distribute itself evenly. There is something almost poetic about love being housed inside the shortest month. Love rarely asks permission to arrive.

It does not check calendars. It does not wait for readiness. It comes the way winter sunlight does. Sudden, slanted, and startlingly warm against the cold. And just as quickly, it shifts. Not always in loss. Not always in heartbreak. Sometimes simply in transformation. In evolution. In the quiet way feelings deepen or soften or change shape. Fleeting does not always mean gone forever.

Sometimes it means passing through. February carries that tension beautifully. It begins in the heart of winter. Stark, bare, cold. And yet it is often where we first sense the coming shift toward spring. It is the hinge.

The breath between. And then there is the leap. Every four years, February quietly adds a day. A single extra offering.

A small defiance of its own limitation. A reminder that even what is brief can expand. That what seems fixed can surprise us. That feels like love too. Brief, bold, beautifully timed.

Borrowing hours. Borrowing heartbeats. Leaving its imprint even when it cannot stay. What strikes me most about fleeting things is how deeply they mark us.

A short conversation that changes direction. A moment of clarity that rearranges perspective. A relationship that lasted months but altered years.

Length has never been the sole measure of impact. Sometimes the shortest months hold the most concentrated meaning. Sometimes what lasts only briefly strengthens us in ways the longer seasons never could. February does not apologize for being short. It does not try to stretch itself thin to match the others. It arrives. It gives what it gives. And it leaves. And then, eventually, it returns. There is comfort in that rhythm. In knowing that even what disappears can reappear in new form.

That love, like the month, has a way of stepping back from behind its winter curtain. Brief. Bold. And beautifully fleeting.

Poem of the Month

by me

A Leap like A Month

Fleeting the way that love comes in unbidden,

arriving with frost still caught in its hair,

the shortest of gifts, half-given half-hidden,

gone before you could say it was there.

It does not ask permission to enter,

it counts out its days on uncertain hands,

it burns at its brightest in the coldest of winter,

then melts before anyone quite understands.

Fleeting, the way it first touched without warning,

a breath between two longer and emptier years,

fleeting like light on a pale winter morning,

fleeting like laughter that surfaces through tears.

Love leaps the way a short month leaps

not asking the calendar’s blessing or leave,

it borrows the hours it borrows the sleeps,

it gives you just enough to make you believe.

Fleeting, yet fuller than anything longer,

the way that a flicker outshines a dull flame,

what lasts only briefly can still make you

stronger,

can still make the world feel entirely changed.

Twenty-eight heartbeats and then it is over,

or maybe this once it is given one more,

a leap of pure grace, like a hand on your

shoulder,

a single day extra, unlocked like a door.

Fleeting but true. Fleeting but certain.

Fleeting like everything worth keeping near.

Love steps from behind its own cold winter

curtain,

and just like the month disappears, then

appears.

Love as the month brief, bold, and beautifully fleeting.

What I’m Currently Working on

To stay updated on my journey and what I’ll be working on next, feel free to visit the Works in Progress Page or follow the Facebook Page, where I share daily updates and fun tidbits.

JustLj in January Part III

The Blog of Speed

January has a way of arriving already in motion. There’s no easing into it, no soft landing after December. It opens with momentum, expectation, and the quiet assumption that you should already know what comes next. This January felt especially fast. Not busy, exactly. Just quick.

Like events happened before I had time to give them proper weight. So for this month, the theme felt obvious: Speed. According to Webster, speed is defined as “the rate at which something moves or operates.” But beyond the definition, speed is a feeling.

It’s that sensation of time slipping ahead while you’re still orienting yourself. It’s the realization that moments don’t ask permission before becoming memory. Two things marked this month for me. I turned 31. And I was let go from a job.

Neither moment arrived dramatically. There was no buildup, no soundtrack. Just a quiet shift in circumstance. And yet both carried the same underlying truth: time is moving, whether or not we feel ready for it to.

Birthdays compress years into a single day. They invite reflection, whether you ask for it or not. Thirty-one didn’t feel heavy, but it felt clear.

Clear in the way numbers sometimes are. A reminder that days stack quickly. That two months become two years without ceremony. That life doesn’t slow itself, so we can keep up. Losing a job does something similar. It forces an ending you didn’t schedule. One moment you’re spending time on something, investing energy, imagining continuation. The next, that time is gone. Not reassigned. Just complete. That tension between “too fast” and “too late” is where this month’s poem came from.

Poem of the Month

by me

Speed

Too fast. Too soon. Too late.

Too gone. To move on.

To spend time on.

Too much. Too vast.

Too complex.

Two days.

Two months.

Two years.

One life.

What I’m Currently Working on

To stay updated on my journey and what I’ll be working on next, feel free to visit the Works in Progress Page or follow the Facebook Page, where I share daily updates and fun tidbits.

JustLj in September PART II

The Blog Post of Alignment

September arrived like a test of patience and clarity. It felt like the month wanted to ask me, Do you know what you’re really after? Opportunities came and went, some lifting me, others cutting a little deep. In the swirl of it all, I kept circling back to one word: Alignment.

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, alignment is

“an arrangement in a straight line, or in correct relative positions; a position of agreement or alliance.”

It’s about things fitting together, whether in geometry, in groups, or in life. But alignment is not always about perfection. It’s about honesty. It asks us to notice when something resonates and when something doesn’t, even if rejection or loss is part of the process.

This month, I felt both ends of that spectrum. A job in New Jersey that I had quietly hoped for slipped away. I didn’t have the experience they were looking for. Rejection has a way of echoing louder than acceptance, and I’ll admit it stung. It raised doubts, making me wonder if I had misjudged my skills or if I would ever be seen as enough. However, almost as if it were a balancing act, another offer soon appeared. A position closer to home. On paper, it looked promising, and the fact that they wanted me felt like an ego boost. Proof that someone out there saw my potential. Yet when I sat with it, I realized it didn’t align with the life I’m building right now. Saying no was difficult, but it also reminded me that belonging somewhere doesn’t mean I should belong everywhere. Alignment requires discernment, not just acceptance.

Now I find myself waiting, hopeful, for another opportunity, one that actually feels aligned. The position aligns with my career path, academic studies, and personal values. It’s a waiting game, and waiting is never easy. But this month has taught me that being in alignment doesn’t mean rushing to fill the gaps; it means trusting that the right pieces will meet you halfway. Here are some famous voices that echo this truth:

Key Realizing Dream Focus Success Significance Small Steps Victories Path Greater Meaning Oprah Winfrey Walk Show Host

Im learning that alignment doesn’t guarantee smooth sailing. It doesn’t mean rejection won’t sting or decisions won’t feel heavy. Instead, it gives me a compass. A way to measure if I am moving in step with the person I am becoming. And as September closes, that compass points to patience, self-trust, and the reminder that alignment is not about saying yes to every door that opens, but about knowing which ones are truly mine to walk through.

Poem of the Month

by me

In Line With Myself

I used to chase every spark,

hands raw from holding flames

never meant to keep me warm.

Now I pause at the threshold,

listening

does the floor echo my name?

Does the air carry my breath back whole/

rejection cuts, yes,

but it also carves a path,

a sharper edge of knowing.

Alignment is not applause,

not every nod of approval

it is the quiet click

of self and circumstances meeting

without force.

And if the right door waits,

I will know it not by chance,

but by the steadiness in my chest,

the soft alignment of who I am

with where I’m called to be.

What I’m Currently Working on

To stay updated on my journey and what I’ll be working on next, feel free to visit the Works in Progress Page or follow the Facebook Page, where I share daily updates and fun tidbits.

JustLj in August PART II

The Blog Post of Belonging

August slipped away before I could catch it. Perhaps that’s how months pass when your life is in a state of transition. You look up and realize whole weeks have vanished into something new. This month, the rhythm of my summer gave way to syllabi, assignments, and log-in screens. I officially began graduate school at the University of North Texas, pursuing a degree in Library Science with a focus on Children’s and Young Adult Librarianship. It’s still strange to write that out. Me, a grad student. Because if I’m being honest, I never really saw myself as “academic.” My path hasn’t always followed the neat, linear lines of a textbook.

And yet here I am, with discussion boards and readings stacked up next to piles of ready notebooks, stepping into a space that demands more of me than I expected. It’s exhilarating, yes, but it’s also a bit terrifying. Some days, imposter syndrome finds its way into the room before I do, whispering that maybe I don’t belong here. Which is why this month’s word feels so important. Belonging. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, belonging is:

“an affinity for a place or situation; the feeling of being comfortable and accepted.”

It sounds simple, almost effortless, as if belonging just happens the moment you arrive somewhere. But what I’ve learned is that belonging is rarely instant. More often, it’s something you grow into. Or something you create for yourself when the soil feels foreign. That tension is where I’ve been living for the past month.

One thing is certain: to say an unconditional yes to the mutual belonging of all beings will make this a more joyful world". - David Steindl-Rast Let's bring in February! 🥰🙌🌞

On one hand, there’s the thrill of grad school: new knowledge, new goals, the possibility of building a life rooted in the things I love most. On the other hand, there’s the ache of dislocation. I miss New Jersey: the friendships, the little routines that grounded me, the confidence I found in navigating a place that once felt strange and then became familiar. I carry those streets and people like a second skin. And yet, I had longed to return to Texas. I wanted the closeness of family, the comfort of being near the people who know me from the ground up.

Coming home felt like it should be the cure to longing. But Texas has greeted me with complexity. Beyond family, the culture doesn’t quite click for me; the energy feels different, sometimes even unwelcoming. So I am caught between two landscapes: one that holds my history and one that holds my heart. Neither feels like a perfect fit, and maybe that’s what belonging really is. The constant negotiation between where you are and who you are becoming.

Maya Angelou once wrote, “You are only free when you realize you belong no place. You belong every. No place at all. The price is high. The reward is great.” I think about that often as I walk through my new routines. Perhaps belonging is less about perfect alignment and more about realizing that no place will ever feel complete without the courage to show up authentically. Brene Brown echoes this: “True belonging doesn’t require you to change who you are; it requires you to be who you are.” That’s hard for me as someone who is still learning to stand fully in myself.

It’s easier to shrink or to question if I’ve earned the right to sit in the spaces I’ve found myself in. But Brown reminds me that belonging doesn’t come from fitting into the mold. It comes from refusing to mold myself into something Im not. And Rainer Maria Rilke offers a softer wisdom: “The only journey is the one within.” Which makes me wonder if belonging is less about the external. City, state, campus, or community. And more about the internal. If I cultivate belonging within myself, perhaps every place I live and every role I take on becomes another layer of that belonging, not the definition of it. So here’s what I know as August closes:

I may not fully belong to Texas, and I may not be as deeply rooted in grad school as I hope to be one day. But I belong to myself, to my values, and to the journey I’ve chosen to take. And maybe, for now, that is enough.

Poem of the Month

by me

I Belong to Me

I am the house I return to,

the key always waiting in my palm.

No city can lock me out,

no classroom can shrink my frame.

I carry my own doorway,

step through, and I am home.

The streets I’ve loved will fade into dream,

their voices stored in my marrow,

but they do not define me.

Even here, where the air feels strange,

my breath makes the map.

I mark the ground with presence,

not permission.

Belonging is not borrowed,

not granted, not earned.

It is grown like a flame in the ribcage,

a quiet fire that refuses to dim.

And when doubt comes knocking,

I light every window,

answer the door with my whole name.

I belong to me,

and in that,

I belong everywhere.

What I’m Currently Working on

To stay updated on my journey and what I’ll be working on next, feel free to visit the Works in Progress Page or follow the Facebook Page, where I share daily updates and fun tidbits.

JustLj in June PART II

The Shifting Blog Post

June didn’t crash or crescendo — it shifted. Quietly, slowly, almost imperceptibly at times. But I felt it. In conversations I didn’t force. In moments, I chose to sit with rather than fix. In the way I showed up for others, and maybe more importantly, for myself. This was the kind you notice when you’re brushing your teeth, staring at the ceiling, or standing still in a room that used to feel heavier. June moved me. Not dramatically. But definitely. And in a way that matters.

According to the Oxford Dictionary, to shift means “to change the place, position, or direction of something”— but it also means “to change gears,” “to assume responsibility,” or ” to move subtly in tone or meaning.” It’s a word built for motion, but not always motion you can see. As Maya Angelou once said, ” We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.” And bell hooks reminds us, ” Healing is an act of communion.” To shift, then, isn’t just about you. It’s about adjusting in ways that let others breathe. Shifting can be an act of grace. A quiet apology. A new boundary. A softer tone. A deeper truth. A held silence.

Famous Quotes By Maya Angelou. QuotesGram

This June, the shifts were personal and real. My year of service came to an end— closing a chapter that stretched and shaped me in quiet, relentless ways. I moved back to Texas, returning with more clarity, more softness, and a deeper sense of who I am and who I’m still becoming. And maybe most meaningfully, I embraced my genderqueerness more boldly than ever before. During Pride Month, I didn’t just show up — I showed. I claimed space with both softness and strength, and I wrote it all down. Here’s a poem I shared this June, that still echoes in me:

May be an image of text that says 'I wore the shape they gave me. Stood where I was told to stand Flexed in all the wrong directions and wondered why it hurt to hold what never quite held me. then- You were there even quiet, soft-shouldered, waiting in the margins of the mirror with a knowing I didn't yet know. (But oh, I felt you. Felt me.)'

May be a graphic of text that says 'Il. NEUTRAL (Yellow & Smoke & Stillness) Now, I stand in-between with dirt under my fingernails and light in my lungs. No need to choose a box when I can be the space between them. Not undecided -just unbottered. Not hiding- -just humming. I build my breath here, in rooms with no ceiling, learning to be both door and key.'

May be an image of text that says 'III. FLUID (Lavender & Wild Water) Some days I shift mid-sentence. Some days I am sentence and song. Some days I am the question. Some days the poem. I move like weather. Like wonder. And you- You move with me. You always did. There's nothing broken about changing. There's nothing fake about becoming. There's only freedom in it. And it fits you like breath.'

May be an image of text that says 'IV. (Soft & Bright & Clarity) When she shows up in you, in the swing of a word, the curve of a wrist, the joy in being clocked right- don't flinch. She is not a mask. She is a mirror. She is your voice in another octave. Let her dance. Let her shimmer. Let her rest On you like sunlight and stay as long as she likes.'

May be an image of text that says 'V. QUEER (Color Compass) This is not a phase. This is not confusion. This is not for them. This is for you. This is you. The you who is too real to define, too full to simplify, too alive to settle. You are the space between binaries. You are a story truth in every silence. So turn it up. And let yourself sing'

Shifts are constant. That’s why, over the past two years of writing this monthly blog, a recurring theme has surfaced again and again–under different names like change, growth, and now shift. Each word marks a moment, a feeling, a phase of moving forward, even when the steps aren’t clear or easy. Change and growth have been anchors before, but this shift feels different — more fluid, less about arriving and more about navigating the in-between. It reminds me that to live authentically, we can’t settle. We have to keep moving, even when it’s uncomfortable or uncertain, because that movement is what shapes who we are becoming.

As the poet Rainer Maria Rilke wrote, “Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.” This echoes the necessity of embracing shifts — not resisting the tides of life, but flowing with them. Similarly, Virginia Woolf observed, “Life is not a series of gig lamps symmetrically arranged; life is a luminous halo, a semi-transparent envelope surrounding us from the beginning of consciousness to the end.” The halo is never static; it moves and changes shape, just as we must. Even the philosopher Heraclitus famously said, ” You cannot step into the same river twice,” reminding us that change and shift are the very nature of existence. To live authentically, then, is to accept that we are always in motion, always becoming something new.

At the heart of all these shifts, growth, and changes is one undeniable truth: we are all human — imperfect, evolving, and beautifully complex. No one’s journey should be judged or rushed. As the Apostle Paul reminds us in 2 Corinthians 12:9, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Our vulnerabilities, our shifts, and our slow growth are not signs of failure, but of life’s grace working within us. Jesus himself said in John 13:34, “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.” That love includes compassion for ourselves and others as we move through seasons of change. So whether you’re shifting quietly, growing boldly, or changing completely, remember: this is your sacred path. Your pace is your own, and every step is worthy of respect and kindness— because being human means never standing still.

What I’m Currently Working on

These days, my schedule feels like a careful balancing act as I shift from teaching to focusing on writing and refining my craft. I returned to Texas around June 20th after completing my year of service in New Jersey. I’m no longer tutoring, as that was part of my program there. With middle school testing behind me, I find myself eagerly awaiting the start of my graduate school classes at UNT on August 18th. This past year has been quite transformative, and I’m excited to share my plans and the progress I’ve made during this time. To stay updated on my journey and what I’ll be working on next, feel free to visit the Works in Progress Page or follow the Facebook Page, where I share daily updates and fun tidbits.

Poem of the Month

by me

Unworthily Worthy

— all about being human and still deserving to be seen.

Worthy Pictures | Download Free Images ...

They said I stood too close to the

wrong people.

But I only ever stood beside

humans.

And that’s what we all are—

not right or wrong,

good or bad,

just…human.

Messy,

misunderstood,

changing shape in each other’s

eyes.

We lie sometimes.

We love sometimes.

We lash out and we let go.

We grow and we grieve and we

get it wrong.

That’s being human.

Not better. Not worse.

Just—

born into brokenness,

carrying light in some rooms

and shadows in others.

And if being close to someone

flawed

makes me questionable,

then we’re all guilty

of being human together.

You can’t know someone’s worth

by who they sit beside.

You can’t measure a heart

by another”s history.

We are not math.

We are not clean.

We are not pure or impure.

We just are.

And that is.

We all walk with contradictions—

mine just showed up in who I

chose to see.

But still,

I believe we’re worth the seeing.

JustLj in May PART II

The Remembering Blog Post

Hi friends, We’re at the end of May, and if you know me, you know I always land on one word to hold the month’s meaning. This time, the word is remember.

According to the Oxford Dictionary, remember means “to have in or be able to bring to one’s mind an awareness of (someone or something from the past).” And today, on Memorial Day — a day we set aside to remember and honor those who’ve gone before, particularly those who gave their lives in service — that word feels even heavier, even more alive. I’ve been sitting with that weight all month. Maya Angelou reminds us: “We may encounter many defeats, but we must not be defeated. I can be changed by what happens to me. But I refuse to be reduced by it.”

This May has been a month of looking back and looking forward. Exactly one year ago today, I was standing in cap and gown, graduating from SNHU — heart full, future wide open. Now, I stand at the edge of another goodbye — wrapping up my time with the GOLegacy Foundation fellowship, preparing to part ways with students and staff who have shaped my days, my work, and honestly, pieces of who I’ve become this past year.

There’s something sacred in this moment — the in-between space where you hold the past close while stepping into what’s next. To remember is not just to look back. It’s to choose which parts of yourself you carry forward. It’s to let memory shape you, but not chain you.

It’s to honor who you’ve been — and then dare to become someone even braver, even fuller, even more yourself. So here’s to remembering — and to being memorable, not because we chased it, but because we showed up fully.

Thanks for walking this month with me. See you in June.

What I’m Currently Working on

These days, my schedule feels like a careful balancing act as teaching, writing, and refining my craft take center stage. With testing for middle schoolers beginning, work has slowed down a bit, but it remains high maintenance as I navigate these critical weeks. As I look ahead to the end of my one-year contract on June 13th, I have only 3 weeks left. I’m eager to share my plans and the progress I’m making during this time, such as my acceptance into UNT for graduate school this fall. To stay updated on my journey and what I’ll be working on next, feel free to visit the Works in Progress Page or follow the Facebook Page, where I share daily updates and fun tidbits.

Poem of the Month

by me

Remembering to be Memorable

remember:

you were here.

you mattered.

you left fingerprints on the hours,

on the rooms you walked through,

on the hearts you met and mended.

remember:

you won’t get it all right,

but you did get some things right.

you stayed.

you tried.

you softened when you could have hardened.

you listened when you could have turned away.

remember:

being memorable isn’t about being loud.

it’s about leaving something behind

that’s gentle,

lasting,

felt in the quiet moments

when no one is watching.

remember:

as you go —

the best parts of you are not over.

they are unfolding,

becoming,

waiting

in the next place,

the next face,

the next you.

JustLj in April PART II

The Blog Post of Momentum

This season of renewal is a poignant reminder of how momentum manifests in our lives, both literally and metaphorically. Just as the world around us springs back to life, I find myself in a space of transition, bidding farewell to my fellowship program while also stirring with anticipation for the new journey of graduate school ahead.

Spring is that beautiful time of year when everything seems to awaken from its slumber—flowers bloom, trees bud, and the days grow longer, symbolizing hope and resilience. In the same way, I am moving through my own cycle of endings and beginnings. Ending my fellowship program feels bittersweet; I’ve cherished the connections and experiences that have shaped my path. Yet, as I say goodbye, I also feel the undercurrents of momentum pulling me toward the exciting prospect of further education—an essential step in my personal and professional growth.

Momentum is often defined in physics as the quantity of motion of a moving body, but it also represents the drive and energy that propel us forward in life. It’s that powerful force that keeps us moving, especially through times of uncertainty. As Arthur Ashe famously said, “Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.” This embodies the essence of momentum. It’s not always about being at full speed; sometimes, it’s about taking that first small step, even when it feels daunting.

I’ve sensed this struggle vividly—the challenge of starting something new often feels heavier than the act of keeping it going. The inertia of beginnings can be overwhelming, as we contemplate the vast terrain of possibilities that lie ahead. Yet, once we begin, once we harness the energy of our intent, the sheer act of engaging pushes us forward. Like Newton’s first law of motion states, “An object in motion stays in motion,” this principle resonates deeply; once we find that initial push, momentum carries us with grace.

As I move through this transitional period, I am learning that the power of momentum is especially vital when motivation wanes. There are days when I might not feel inspired, or the weight of uncertainty clouds my perspective. It’s during these moments that I rely on the momentum I’ve built through focus and dedication, reminding myself that even small strides add up. The slow build to action is just as significant as leaps forward; every step nurtures the growth I seek.

The intersection of goodbyes and new beginnings can be emotional, but it’s also rich with potential. Each farewell carries with it the lessons learned, while each new endeavor is filled with hope. As I reflect on my journey, I’m grateful for the support of friends and mentors who have fueled my momentum, encouraging me to embrace change with open arms.

I encourage you all to consider the role of momentum in your lives. Whether you’re ending a chapter or beginning a new one, recognize the energy that springs forth in these transitions. Allow yourself to feel the rhythm of motion that invites growth, and remember that while the start may feel slow, the journey often gathers speed over time.

What I’m Currently Working on

These days, my schedule feels like a careful balancing act as teaching, writing, and refining my craft take center stage. With testing for middle schoolers beginning, work has slowed down a bit, but it remains high maintenance as I navigate these critical weeks. As I look ahead to the end of my one-year contract on June 13th, I have only 6 working weeks left. I’m eager to share my plans and the progress I’m making during this time, such as my acceptance into UNT for graduate school this fall. To stay updated on my journey and what I’ll be working on next, feel free to visit the Works in Progress Page or follow the Facebook Page, where I share daily updates and fun tidbits.

Poem of the Month

by me

First Push

Person Pushing Vector SVG Icon - SVG Repo

It’s not the motion.

It’s the moment before it.

That stillness that

sticks to your skin.

That breath you hold

because starting feels

like breathing something.

You don’t want to fail.

You don’t want to fly either.

Too much wind

It’s just as scary as the wall.

But then–

A toe shifts.

A breath, let’s go.

A truth unclenches.

And the body remembers

what the spirit forgot:

How to move.

Not fast.

Not clean.

But real.

You don’t need speed.

You need the push.

You need the nudge.

You need the small voice

That says,

Go.

That’s momentum.

Not magic.

Not easy.

But alive.

And already in you.