petals-of-self

[petals-of-self]

a little reminder to start your week <3

[petals-of-self]

[petals-of-self]

Strength, Stability, Protection: A Self-Portrait in Three Parts

I’ve been sitting with this question lately: What holds me together? What keeps me upright in a world designed to crush? The answer feels like a messy mosaic—sharp edges, warm light, and everything in between.

Strength

My kids. My wild, loud, endlessly curious kids. They are my greatest source of strength—and my greatest challenge. There’s something raw about seeing yourself reflected in them: the good, the bad, the parts you’re proud of, and the parts you’re still working on. They demand strength from me on the days I feel like I have none, and somehow, I keep finding more.

But let’s be real—part of my strength is spite. Spite for the rich. For the systems that thrive on suffering. For the people who thought I’d stay small. It’s petty, maybe, but it’s mine. Every time I push back, every time I thrive out of pure stubbornness, I feel alive.

And then there’s the quiet strength:

It’s in the meals I pour myself into—love served on a plate.

It’s in the slow exhale that cannabis gives me when my brain won’t stop spinning.

It’s in the small, everyday acts of resilience that remind me I’m still here, still standing, still trying.

Stability

When life feels like it’s spinning out of control, I hold onto what grounds me.

First and foremost, my husband. He’s steady in a way I’m not, patient in a way I aspire to be. He knows when I need space and when I need to be held, loving me through my messiest moments.

Homeschooling anchors me, too. It’s more than teaching my kids; it’s creating a world where learning feels safe, where curiosity is nurtured rather than punished. It gives me purpose, a reason to get up every morning—even when the weight feels unbearable.

And then there are my projects—writing, researching, creating. They’re not just distractions; they’re mirrors reflecting who I am: someone who dreams, builds, and keeps reaching for more. Even on the days I feel small, my goals remind me I’m moving forward, step by step.

Protection

Protection is my husband. Plain and simple. When he wraps me in his arms, nothing can touch me. Add a blanket (or five), and I’m practically invincible.

It’s also the home we’ve built. It’s cozy, imperfect, chaotic—but it’s ours. It’s the safe place I always dreamed of having.

My friends, my chosen family, and my network protect me, too. They remind me I’m not alone, even when my mind tries to convince me otherwise. And my mom, despite everything, is part of that protection, too. Proof that love can show up in complicated, imperfect ways.

Gratitude in the Darkness

Here’s the truth: some days, I can’t feel any of this. The darkness creeps in, whispering that my life is a mess, that I’m not enough, that I’ll never be enough. On those days, I want to give up.

But when I pause—when I breathe and look around—I see what tethers me to this life:

My kids’ laughter.

My husband’s arms.

The meals I cook.

The goals I chase.

The friends who check in.

The home we’ve made.

These things don’t just keep me alive. They remind me that I’m living. Even when it feels like the world is against me, I have so much to hold onto. And that’s worth everything.

So, this is my reminder for the days I forget: My life isn’t perfect, but it’s mine. It’s messy and full, brimming with love and potential. And even on the hard days, it’s enough.

Maybe this is a reminder for you, too: Find your strength. Hold onto your stability. Let yourself be protected. You’re worth it.

[petals-of-self]

Petal #13 - The need for control

Control. It’s my shield. My armor. My way of making sure nothing bad happens, because if I’m in control, I don’t have to feel the discomfort of things slipping through my fingers. It’s been this way since I was a kid—feeling like my parents were always pulling the strings. So, I learned to pull back, to hold on tight, and never let go.

I’m bossy. That’s how it shows up. I take the reins, and I expect others to follow. Especially in my relationships. It’s not about being mean—it’s about certainty. I need to be sure that things go according to my plan, that I won’t be caught off guard by something painful or chaotic. My partner has to accept that, but also... not let me steamroll them. It’s this weird dance, where I want control, but I also need them to push back. And honestly, even though I hate it, I know it’s probably for the best.

When it doesn’t go my way, though? When I can’t control something? The frustration comes like a tidal wave. Anxiety, anger, sometimes it’s a full-on meltdown. It’s like the world is spinning off its axis, and I’m just so angry because I can’t fix it. It’s probably not the most proportionate reaction, but in that moment, it feels like the only way to deal with it.

My partner gets it. They know I need control, but they also refuse to be a passive participant. They’ll push back when I try to dominate things. It’s frustrating as hell, but also... I get it. I know it’s what I need, even if it doesn’t feel good in the moment. But still, I feel ashamed when my need for control messes with our connection. When it makes things harder than they need to be.

Here’s the thing, though. I know control is both a comfort and a prison. It keeps me safe from feelings I don’t want to face, but it also keeps me from fully being in the moment, from trusting others. And I want to trust.

Funny enough, when I’m a guest at someone else’s house, I let go. I don’t need to be in charge. I can relax, let things unfold without feeling like I have to manage every single detail. In those moments, it feels like breathing. It feels freeing.

It’s a constant struggle, balancing the need for control with the reality of relationships. It’s like a tug-of-war, where I’m always learning that control isn’t the solution—it’s just a reaction. A way to avoid the discomfort, the messiness of being vulnerable.

lola xx

[petals-of-self]

If I ever need validation that my traumas are real; i check ✔ them all

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[petals-of-self]

Petal #12 - Overthinking: My Constant Companion 🌪️

I’ve always been in my head. 🌌 As a kid, my thoughts weren’t chaotic; they were carefully arranged, like a gallery where every fear, idea, and possibility had its own frame. It was how I made sense of the world. But as I grew older, I started noticing how others didn’t think the same way. People would laugh at my detailed plans or my wild scenarios, telling me I was “too much in my head” or “overthinking things.” That’s when it hit me: what felt normal to me might be overwhelming to others.

Overthinking, for me, is like running every possibility through a mental maze. 🌀 I play the what if game constantly, letting my imagination push to the edges of every outcome. It feels safe—like if I can anticipate the worst, nothing will catch me off guard. But carrying that mental armor is exhausting. It’s not just about being prepared; it’s about holding on to every thought until I can’t let go.

The strain is most obvious in relationships. I’ve always nitpicked interactions, dissecting words and silences like a detective solving a case. 🔍 Did I say the right thing? Were they upset? Did that look mean something? This constant questioning has made people around me feel like they have to walk on eggshells 🥚, afraid to say the “wrong” thing. And honestly? I’ve felt the strain too.

But it’s not just the negatives. Overthinking spills into positive moments too. A kind gesture or an affectionate word? Suddenly, my brain is sprinting ahead, imagining a future that might not exist. 💌 I’ve idealized people because of it—turning small actions into signs of deep connection. I’ve also demonized people, misinterpreting neutral moments as betrayal. Overthinking turns reality into something unrecognizable.

Still, I can’t bring myself to hate this part of me. Overthinking makes me observant. 🌟 I notice patterns, nuances, and subtle changes in ways that others might miss. I connect dots quickly and see the bigger picture. It’s a gift, even if it comes wrapped in a tangle of stress.

When the spiral starts, I’ve learned to pause. ✋ Deep breaths, grounding techniques, and sometimes just talking to someone I trust. It’s not easy—my brain doesn’t like to slow down—but reaching out to my support network helps me step out of the storm.

The thought of turning off my overthinking feels... unnatural. 🕳️ How would I navigate without imagining every possibility? How would I prepare for life’s ambushes? It’s like staring into a void—a blank space where I can’t predict or control anything.

But maybe the goal isn’t to silence my thoughts completely. Maybe it’s about giving them boundaries. Letting them exist without letting them dominate. Overthinking isn’t my enemy—it’s a part of me. And like any part of ourselves, it deserves compassion.

Because at the end of the day, I’m not defined by my spirals. Overthinking isn’t all that I am. It’s just one thread in the tapestry of my life—and it’s still being woven. 🖤

lola xx

[petals-of-self]

RECLAIMING DISCIPLINE CAN LOOK LIKE:

• keeping small + manageable promises to yourself daily

• healing your attention span (ex: reading books, watching movies without scrolling, letting yourself be bored)

• moving from "I'll try" to "I will"

• reframing pain + difficulty as often where the growth happens

• showing up as the person you want to be

• making mindful & nourishing choices VS choices that result in instant gratification

[petals-of-self]

Petal #11 - Reflections on the fear of failure

Failure. It’s a word that echoes differently for everyone, but for me, it feels like not reaching the bare minimum. And yet, what is that “minimum”? Sometimes, I think mine isn’t the same as everyone else’s.

The fear of failure is like a shadow in my life—not always glaring, but always present. It’s not in the small day-to-day decisions; it’s in the big picture. I want to succeed at life. I want to be normal, to have the things society tells us are essential: friends, money, family, happiness. But the truth is, I’m not sure what happiness even looks like. Maybe that’s why I’ve distanced myself from old friends—because if they saw me now, they’d see the cracks where I’ve stumbled.

And maybe I fear they’d see me as a failure.

This fear feels universal in some ways. Who doesn’t have expectations about their life? As a teenager, I was full of them, always making lists, mapping out dreams, imagining a future that felt almost inevitable. But life doesn’t follow lists, and my parents used to remind me of that—nagging, doubting, warning that my dreams wouldn’t happen. Maybe they were right. Or maybe I’ve let their doubts creep into my own thoughts, taking root as this fear.

When failure looms, it brings disappointment. Sometimes, disappointment becomes a spiral, a sharp descent into negative thoughts and depression. I don’t have clear memories of overcoming failure, of moments where I defied my fears. Maybe it’s because I don’t let myself try if I think I’ll fail. It’s a vicious cycle: fear prevents action, inaction becomes its own kind of failure, and the fear deepens.

But here’s what I know: failure isn’t final. It’s part of growth, part of the messy, uneven terrain of being human. It’s a bad step, but it’s not the end unless you stop walking. I know this truth in my bones, even when fear screams otherwise.

I want to change my relationship with failure. To stop fearing it so much. To embrace the idea that it’s just another step. Maybe not one I like, but one I can learn from.

And maybe that’s the real minimum—to keep going, even when the shadow looms. 🌒

lola xx

[petals-of-self]

[petals-of-self]

Petal #10 - Perfectionism’s Veil

I never thought of myself as a perfectionist, but I’ve always held impossibly high standards—for myself, mostly. I need to be pretty, ideally skinny. My goals are always bigger, better, higher, and still unattainable. My marriage has to be perfect, or else what’s the point? These standards aren’t just expectations—they’re demands.

Looking back, I know where it comes from. My dad’s family had towering expectations, and that pressure trickled down to him. As an artist, he struggled to prove himself to them. He poured those same hopes into me, his only child, as if I were his chance to redeem it all. And when I fall short, I feel like I’m failing both of us.

When I don’t meet my standards, I beat myself up. The voice in my head isn’t just critical—it’s brutal. I’ll spiral into frustration, sadness, even jealousy of others who seem to embody the ideal I can’t reach. And when I do manage to hit a goal? Sure, I feel proud for a fleeting moment, but it costs me so much energy. I’m tense, stressed, and still bitter because there’s always something else to pick apart. It’s never enough.

This mindset seeps into my relationships, too. I expect perfection there as well—no discord, no mess. The second something upsets me, I withdraw. To me, conflict means failure, a sign that we aren’t meant to be. It’s tough for my husband, who has to weather my constant waves of doubt, and it’s strained my relationship with my dad. I feel like I’ve given him nothing to be proud of.

The thing is, perfectionism holds me back as much as it pushes me forward. My marriage, for instance—perfectionism doesn’t strengthen it. It makes me retreat, doubt, and isolate myself out of fear that people will see me for the mess I think I am.

Yet, the idea of letting go terrifies me. Without perfectionism, I feel like I’d lose my drive. I’d rot. But when I’ve allowed myself to release those impossible standards—even briefly—I’ve glimpsed something else: confidence. Happiness. Pride in who I am, not in how I compare to others.

What would life look like if I stopped wearing this mask of perfectionism? I don’t have the answer yet. But maybe it’s worth finding out.

- lola xx

[petals-of-self]

Petal #9 - The Inner Critic 🌪️

There’s a voice in my head. It’s harsh, nagging, relentless—like a twisted version of someone I once knew. When things go wrong, whether by accident or my own hand, it’s always there, waiting to tear me apart. It doesn’t just whisper doubts; it shouts them, over and over again, until they feel like the only truth.

For years, it fixated on my body and my so-called laziness. It shows up when I catch a bad reflection in the mirror, when I feel unproductive, or when I don’t meet impossible expectations. It beats me down with the same cruel mantra:

You’re not good enough. You’re lazy. No one will love someone like you. Too intense, too flawed, too much.

And the hardest part? I agree. Completely. With all my soul, I believe every word it says.

When this voice speaks, it drags me into a void. I don’t cry—I blocked those feelings long ago. Instead, I bleed from my heart silently, slipping into a fog where I can barely feel anything at all. Dissociation becomes my shield, my only way to cope. But even in that numbness, the weight of the words presses down on me.

I’ve tried to silence it, to drown it out with distractions—cannabis, hours of sleep, anything to escape. But it’s relentless, always finding a way to seep back in, draining me and darkening my mood.

If I could speak to this voice, I’d plead:

Please, be gentle with me. I’m sick in the head. I’m struggling to regulate myself. I know I’m not perfect, but I’m trying.

The truth is, I don’t need more cruelty. What I need is an inner cheerleader. Someone to counteract the negativity with kindness:

✨ You’ve got this!

💪 You’re doing amazing!

🌟 Look at how far you’ve come!

That voice doesn’t exist for me yet. But I’m beginning to wonder—what if I could create it? What if I could rewrite the narrative? What if I could learn to treat myself the way I wish that voice would—like a friend, not an enemy?

Here’s to building a new voice, one that says:

💖 You are enough, just as you are.

🌼 Take it one step at a time.

🔥 You’re stronger than you think.

I don’t believe it yet. Not really. But maybe someday, I will.

- lola xx

[petals-of-self]

this blog hates donald trump

[petals-of-self]

Petal #8 - The Weight of Imposter Syndrome 💭

It all started back in middle school, when I joined a dance group. I was surrounded by girls who were older, skinnier, and so much better at dancing. I was the “chubby” one, the one who didn’t fit in. It’s hard to describe how alienating it was. Every performance, they would find me a special outfit, and I felt like everyone was staring at how different I was. I was embarrassed, but I kept going because my family was so proud of me. 🌸

But inside? I was crumbling. I was the only one who didn’t fit, and I felt like I was faking it the whole time. This feeling of not measuring up didn’t go away—it came back in nursing school too. I stuck with it for two years, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was just pretending to belong. So I quit. 💔

I guess, even now, when people compliment me, I don’t know how to take it. I brush it off, laugh, act like it doesn’t matter. But deep down, I’m waiting for the moment when someone figures out I’m just pretending to have it all together. And that’s what imposter syndrome is—feeling like you're always on the verge of being “found out.” 🙄

It’s not just about accomplishments or success, though. It’s about my body, too. Growing up, I was told that if I lost weight, I’d finally be accepted. Even now, I can’t shake that belief. I struggle to see myself as someone who’s lovable or worthy, even if I’ve made peace with parts of my body. It’s like there’s still this voice in my head telling me, "You’re still not enough." 😔

And social media? Don’t even get me started. Every time I scroll, I see people my age achieving things I haven't even started yet. It’s easy to feel like I’m falling behind, or worse, like I’m invisible. It’s easy to get lost in comparison, to feel like I don’t deserve the same success or recognition. 🤯

But here’s the thing: I don’t have to measure up to anyone’s expectations but my own. I’m learning to stop waiting for the moment someone tells me I’m not enough. I am enough—just as I am. 💖

- lola xx

[petals-of-self]

Petal #7 - The Weight of Expectations 🌿

There’s this pressure that constantly hangs over me, like a shadow. Society’s voice is loud, especially for women—be it all. Be cute, be perfect, be everything. But lately, the weight that drags me down isn’t from strangers; it’s from my own family, especially my dad. The expectation I’ve carried for so long to make him proud, even when he’s not here. It’s a heavy thing to bear.

I’ve spent years overextending myself—pushing hard for approval, thinking I need to be something I’m not. Even when I cut contact with my dad, that pressure didn’t go away. I feel like I’ve been running this race for someone else’s finish line. And for what?

I tell myself I should just focus on what I want, but it’s easier said than done. The weight of others’ expectations, even the ones I create in my head, doesn’t just fade. Every time I try to reach for something that feels true to me, I feel this nagging doubt: Is it enough? Am I enough? And somehow, no matter how far I go, it feels like nothing will ever meet that invisible mark.

If I could take the weight of those expectations off my shoulders, would I be free? Would I finally be able to breathe? I imagine a life where I’m not measuring myself against anyone but myself. ✨

Maybe, someday, that’s how I’ll learn to live—on my own terms.

- lola xx

[petals-of-self]

Petal #6 - The Comparison Trap: Why Am I Never Enough? 🤔🌱

I try to be careful with my social media feed. I know that it’s easy to fall into the comparison trap, and I definitely feel it. 😔 Seeing people my age hitting milestones—financial success, relationships, careers—it triggers a sense of jealousy and frustration that I can’t quite shake off. I used to compare my looks all the time, but I’ve come a long way in learning to love my body 💪. Now, it’s all about achievements. Why can’t I be as successful as them? 💸

It’s more than just the achievements. It’s how effortless it all seems for others. It’s that “perfect” social life and the way they appear so happy. 😕 I can’t help but wonder what’s wrong with me when I see it. What are they doing that I’m not?

And the worst part? It makes me feel so much worse. Like, I spiral. The jealousy takes over, and then it turns into anger and depression. It’s a mess, and I know I’m not alone in feeling this way. But still, every time I compare myself, I get this wave of defeat. 😞

I try to avoid it when I can. I stick to forums, blogs—places where I can just be me without constantly comparing my life to others. But it still sneaks in. And every time, it reminds me that I’m not there yet, wherever “there” is.

Honestly, I know it’s not a fair fight. I know that social media isn’t real. I know people are showing their best moments, and I’m only seeing part of the story. But that doesn’t change how it makes me feel in the moment. It’s like I can’t help but measure my life against theirs. 🧩

I’ve put so many expectations on myself, thinking I should be doing better by now, but all it does is weigh me down. It makes me forget the things that make me happy, and instead, all I can think about is what I don’t have. 😕💭

So, what would it take to stop comparing myself? Maybe I need to be okay with where I am, but how? I feel like no matter what I do, I never feel good enough. 🤯

I don’t have the answers yet, but I’m trying. I’m learning that my life is my own, and that’s okay. 💫 But damn, the comparison trap is hard to escape from.

- lola xx