There are seasons in life when everything feels loud.
And then there are seasons like this one—where life slows you down whether you asked it to or not. A season of Healing and Recovery.

Today, I’m in a quieter place. Not because everything is finished or figured out, but because I really didn’t have a choice. I’m in recovery…healing recovery. Healing has a way of stripping away urgency and replacing it with clarity. It forces you to sit with yourself. To analyze. To rationalize. To identify what makes sense in your life and to listen. To notice what’s actually sustainable and what’s best moving forward.

This is where I am now.

But getting here didn’t happen all at once.

For a long time, my life was defined by responsibility. Carrying things. Managing things. Holding things together—for family, for work, for survival. I learned how to function through pressure. I learned how to make decisions quickly. I learned how to push through exhaustion because there were no other options.

And from the outside, that can look like strength.
But strength without rest eventually turns into weight.

Somewhere along the way, I realized that my plate wasn’t just full—it was overflowing. Not with unnecessary things, but with real life. Real obligations. Real emotional labor. And even though I was capable, I was also tired in a way that sleep alone doesn’t fix.

This month marks the 6th year that I have been caregiving for my dad full-time and mostly alone. Yes, I have other siblings, and although I have tried over and over again to have a relationship, it’s always been one-sided, but that’s a conversation for another day. Nevertheless, it’s me and my dad. The first few years were brutal, and I didn’t know what to expect, but I believe that if you commit to something, you do it wholeheartedly, and that’s just what I did.

In May 2019, my son graduated high school, and the very next day I opened my own business, a shaved ice parlor with a food truck. I was still working full-time as a licensed insurance agent, and I had the help of my son and some family members with my business. I’ve always enjoyed serving others, and it was fun, and it appealed to kids and adults, and it was something I could teach to my son and pass on to him. Well, unfortunately in December 2019, my stepmother passed away from a terminal illness, and although my father was in a nursing home in FL, I couldn’t stomach the idea of leaving him there alone. He asked me to become his POA, and on February 28, 2020, my son and I traveled to FL, packed up their house with the help of my stepbrother, and brought my dad to live with me in GA.

In March 2020, Covid-19 happened, and I, along with many others, started to work from home. This became my new normal. Eventually, life became too much, and I had to resign from my job of almost 12 years, and unfortunately, due to the lack of help, I was never able to reopen my business. I lived off my 401(k) for a couple of years while I navigated getting assistance from the VA to care for my father. While today, my dad and I are both in a better position, the road traveled has been plagued with various challenges, including finances and mental and physical health.

This season of healing has been humbling. It’s required me to slow down, to sit with uncertainty, and to be honest about what I can carry—and what I can’t anymore. It has taught me that productivity isn’t always progress and that clarity doesn’t arrive when you’re constantly in motion.

That’s part of why Full Plate Femme exists.

This space isn’t about having it all together. It’s about learning how to move forward without abandoning yourself in the process. It’s about a number of things: caregiving, health, family, personal finance, and balance. It’s about decisions, influence, perspective, boundaries, mindset, and the quiet work of rebuilding from a place of wisdom instead of pressure.

I’ve learned that some thoughts don’t deserve unlimited access to your mind. That fear can sound practical if you let it talk long enough. That rest isn’t laziness, and slowing down doesn’t mean I’m falling behind.

I’m still in process. Still learning. Still rebuilding in ways that are more intentional than before. But I’m no longer trying to outrun where I am.

This blog is where I put things down—gently.
Thoughts about money. About life. About clarity. About healing. About choosing calm over chaos when possible.

If you’re here and your plate feels full too, you’re not alone. And you don’t have to rush your way through this season to prove anything.

Sometimes the most responsible thing you can do is pause long enough to hear yourself think.

This is where I am today.
And this is how I’m choosing to move forward—steadily, honestly, and with intention.

Thanks for listening and be sure to check out my other post What caregiving really looks like

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