Happiest Sad Girl Alive

I used to think I was the happiest sad girl you’d ever meet. Always laughing, always smiling — but inside? I was carrying so much. And for a long time, I didn’t even realize how heavy it all was because I was too busy pretending I was okay. Too busy trying to keep people around who only knew how to show up with words, not actions.

There’s a deep, quiet kind of grief that comes with realizing some people you love will only love you if you stay small — if you stay silent. When you start using your voice and they walk away, it hurts. Especially when it’s people you thought would never leave. But I had to choose me. My peace. My healing. Because I can’t keep abandoning myself just to be accepted.

Healing isn’t some straight line. It’s more like a scribble with coffee stains, half-finished journal entries, and unwashed hair. And when you throw in motherhood, a brain injury, spinal trauma, PTSD, and chronic pain — it’s survival with a side of chaos.

Adulthood? I used to think it would be freedom and vibes. Turns out it’s mostly budgeting, stretching your back, and trying to figure out if your body hurts because of stress, age, or sleeping wrong on a Tuesday.

I’ve slowed all the way down. Not because I had to — but because I needed to. I’ve become a homebody by choice. I stay home with my two kids now, and next year, I’m planning to homeschool. Whether it’s a hybrid program or full-on, I’m still working that part out. But it feels right. I’m learning to trust the timing of my own life, and that includes how I show up for my children.

Somewhere in all this quiet, I picked up a paintbrush again. Just for me. Not to sell, not for content, just to create something from nothing. I started noticing the beauty in things I used to rush past: how the light spills across the living room, the way my kid belly laughs at the same joke, how certain memories show up like little time travelers.

Because the truth is — there’s always more to the story. The things we can’t say out loud yet. The things we’ve tried to forget. But when you start healing, really healing, those memories come back. And they teach you so much. You learn why you are the way you are. You learn that the way you think, love, and feel — even when it doesn’t match what’s “normal” — is not wrong. It’s your superpower. It’s the reason you care so deeply. It’s the reason you notice the small things. It’s the reason you can hold space for others, even when you’re hurting.

And through all of it — the pain, the grief, the rediscovery — cannabis has been there. Plant medicine has helped me manage the physical pain, yes, but also the mental spirals, the fog, the overstimulation, the moments where I feel like I’m unraveling. I used to think just posting smoking videos was enough. But I’ve realized that it’s my story — the real, raw stuff — that helps people the most.

Life is weird. Healing is wild. Motherhood is nonstop. But I’m here. Still painting. Still soft. Still showing up. Not because I’ve figured it all out, but because I’ve finally stopped trying to be who I’m not.

I’m not healed — I’m healing. And that’s okay.

So if you’ve ever felt like the happiest sad girl too — if you’re deep in the mess, trying to make peace with your past while holding space for your future — I see you. You’re not broken. You’re just becoming. And there’s so much beauty in that.