Coffee and Anxiety

Yesterday I did something that made my armpits sweat.

Not because it was physically demanding (although, let’s be honest, sometimes just existing in this world is cardio for the soul), but because it was emotionally uncomfortable. I did something that scared me—not in a running-from-a-bear way, but in the “I’m about to be vulnerable and might get ignored, misunderstood, or told I’m ‘too much’ again” kind of way.

I showed up in a moment where I wasn’t sure if I’d be welcomed. I offered support that wasn’t asked for but felt right.

And ohhh, I tried to talk myself out of it. Several times. I even gave myself the whole dramatic internal monologue:

“Cecilia, it’s not your place. It won’t matter anyway. What if it makes things worse? What if it’s taken the wrong way? What if you look—gasp—needy?”

But you know what felt worse than all that mental gymnastics? The idea of not showing up… and knowing I didn’t act in alignment with my heart. So I did the thing. Heart racing, brain spiraling, but soul steady.

And here’s what I’ve learned—overthinking is the fastest way to talk yourself out of being the person you actually are.

I used to freeze at the slightest hint of tension. Conflict made me sweat, spiral, then silently bow out. I’d go quiet, give in, and convince myself that shrinking was the same thing as keeping the peace.

Spoiler: it’s not.

Peace is not silence. Peace is knowing you showed up authentically, even if your voice trembled or your support landed in weird, uncertain ways. And sometimes peace is followed by a nap, because being brave is exhausting.

I’ve been trying to listen more—to that weird little whisper inside that says, “This feels right, even if it’s scary.” That voice is soft, but it’s got teeth. It doesn’t shout. It nudges. And when you ignore it for too long, it’ll start showing up as anxiety or insomnia or you pacing your kitchen at midnight wondering if you said too much in a group text.

Anyway. I’m leaning in now. Not gracefully, not always confidently, but intentionally. With a lot of deep breaths and the occasional “f*ck it, I’m doing it anyway.”

I want people to win. Even people I’m not sure would root for me. Even the ones who don’t see me clearly. Because I don’t want to live in a world where support is only given when it’s guaranteed to be reciprocated.

Gratitude has been grounding me lately. For everything—

The people who lifted me up and the ones who pushed me off emotional cliffs.

The detours that hurt like hell but somehow brought me right back to myself.

The privilege of being home with my kids. The plant medicine that saved my mind. The fact that I get to create for a living—whether that’s building a clothing line, throwing an event, or just writing messy words like this into meaning.

This version of me is… complicated.

Soft but boundary-filled.

Warm, but watchful.

A little tired, but still wildly hopeful.

And let’s be real—occasionally petty, always evolving, and perpetually ten minutes early to whatever I’m doing next.

If you’ve been trying to figure out how to speak up without burning every bridge, how to show support even when you feel unsure, or how to stop shrinking in the name of “keeping the peace”—this is your permission slip.

Your voice matters. Your gut knows. And your weird, awkward, beautifully intuitive self deserves to take up space.

Even if your armpits sweat a little along the way.

Because what’s coming next?

Oh honey—it’s meaningful. It’s magic. It’s mission-driven.

First up, I’m launching a clothing line that’s more than just cute fits (though yes, they will absolutely slap). It’s wearable affirmation. It’s expression. It’s for the ones who’ve had to become soft and savage to survive. For the feelers, the fire starters, the “I’ve been through it and still show up with love” types. You know—the vibe.

And then—circle it, highlight it, set a reminder—we’ve got November 1st.

A charity event like no other.

Tits, Tats, and Terps. (Yes, you read that right. And yes, it’s exactly as iconic as it sounds.)

We’re raising funds to help survivors who’ve undergone radical mastectomies receive anatomically correct, beautifully crafted nipple tattoos. Because healing doesn’t stop at survival—it continues in how we reclaim our bodies, our beauty, our power.

The event will be a joyful rebellion—a celebration of resilience. There’ll be cannabis (of course), flash tattoos, vendors, a photo booth, a raffle, good food, and even better people. It’s about community, awareness, art, and supporting those who’ve walked through fire and still deserve to feel whole in their skin.

This event isn’t just close to my heart—it is my heart. And I can’t wait to watch it come to life surrounded by folks who get it.

Beyond that? I’m following my spark.

More coaching. More plant medicine. More writing that makes people feel like they’re not alone in the mess.

I’m not trying to be perfect. I’m just trying to be real—and help others remember that they’re still allowed to shine, even if they’re still healing. Especially if they’re still healing.

So yeah…

Here’s to what’s next:

Big dreams, soft landings, and outfits that match your frequency.

Helping people heal without needing to fix them.

Speaking up, showing up, and dancing through the unknown like it’s the best part of the playlist.

And if you’re still in your overthinking era, that’s cool too. Just don’t let it keep you from taking the leap.

I’ll be over here, building something beautiful—probably showing up ten minutes early, doing my makeup in the car with a homemade iced Americano in hand, love in my chest, and a spark in my eye.

Let’s go.