Flare & Flourish

Are You Ready For It? Some years don’t just pass by — they change you. 2025 was one of those years for me. It came with unexpected turns, both good and painful, and somehow managed to hold lessons I didn’t know I needed. Through it all, I became more educated about mental health — not just from books or conversations, but from living it. From surviving it. I learned that not everyone who walks beside you is meant to stay. Some people only see what they can take, not who you are. Realizing that was heartbreaking. It took time, distance, and a lot of quiet reflection to finally see the truth. Losing people you once trusted hurts deeply, especially when the lesson comes wrapped in sadness. But even pain can be a teacher. There were days when I prayed simply to understand my purpose. Days when my world felt small — staying at home, managing daily pain, pushing through simple tasks that felt overwhelming. I didn’t know how my life would turn out, and honestly, there were moments when the fu...

The Pain  Fibro pain is special. It’s not the same pain every day—oh no, that would be far too organised. One morning it’s: “Why do my knees feel like they’ve been personally offended?” By afternoon: “Who punched my shoulder and why do I feel emotionally betrayed?” By evening: “Did I run a marathon?” (No. I stood up. Once.) Trying to explain fibromyalgia pain to someone without it is like explaining Wi-Fi to a pigeon. You can try, but they’ll still just stare at you. https://x.com/FlareflourishF  

  Weather Forecast People check the weather to decide what jacket to wear. People with fibromyalgia check the weather to decide: Which joints will complain Whether their spine is feeling dramatic If the universe is personally attacking them via barometric pressure Rain? Pain. Cold? Pain. Heat? Pain. Perfect weather? Suspicious pain https://x.com/FlareflourishF  

  The Flare and Flourish Journey As this year comes to a close, I’ve found myself looking back at the words I’ve shared through Flare and Flourish. Each post was written in a moment — some filled with confidence, others shaped by uncertainty — but together they tell a larger story. A story of growth, courage, creativity, and learning how to show up as myself. Flare and Flourish began as a space for expression, but it quickly became a space for becoming. Through writing, I explored what it means to embrace individuality, to let creativity take up space, and to grow even when things feel uncomfortable. I wrote about finding confidence, about learning from challenges, and about choosing progress over perfection. Each post was a small act of bravery — a decision to be honest, reflective, and real. One of the strongest themes throughout this journey has been growth. Growth isn’t loud or dramatic most of the time; it’s quiet, gradual, and sometimes hard to notice. But looking back now, I...

Because Somebody Prayed My 20s were a storm. They were full of nights that felt too long, days that felt too heavy, and moments where I wondered if I’d ever find my footing. I chased dreams that slipped through my fingers, faced heartbreak that left scars deeper than I expected, and wrestled with doubts that echoed in the quietest corners of my mind. I often felt small, lost, invisible, and exhausted. But somewhere along the way, through the chaos, the prayers started to rise—not just mine, but others’—quiet whispers sent out into the universe on my behalf. “God, please watch over them. Guide them. Protect them.” At the time, I didn’t always feel the answers. I didn’t always feel seen. Yet, slowly, little by little, things began to shift. Doors opened where there had been walls. Light broke through the shadows I thought would never end. Now, in my 30s, I look back with a mixture of awe and gratitude. I see the pieces of myself that I thought were broken and realize they were being refi...

Finding Quiet Strength in evermore. Some days, I feel invisible. Like I’m walking through life, but no one really sees me—not my smile, not my pain, not the heavy weight I carry inside. Depression doesn’t always shout; sometimes it’s the quiet, invisible kind, pressing down in silence. Taylor Swift’s “evermore” hits differently on those days. There’s something about the way she sings with honesty, with gentle sadness, that makes you feel like someone finally understands. The line “this pain wouldn’t be for evermore” whispers hope—not the fake, “everything’s fine” kind, but the soft, quiet promise that this heaviness won’t last forever. Listening to it, I realise: even if I feel unseen, I’m still surviving. I’m still here. And maybe that’s enough. Maybe surviving, even invisibly, is a kind of strength in itself. So if you feel invisible today, know this: your presence matters. Even in silence, even in the shadows, you are seen—by the music, by your own heart, by the quiet hope that keep...

There are songs that don’t just remind you — they return you. “Dirt Cheap” by Cody Johnson does that to me. Every time I hear it, I’m back where it all started, standing in a place that shaped me long before I understood how big the world could be. I see her first — a little girl with a bow in her hair, legs pumping on the swing out back. That was me, when the world was still too big for a five-year-old heart. I didn’t know much then, but I knew that yard was safe. I knew that house behind me would always be there when I jumped off and ran inside. That house raised me in quiet, steady ways. It held scraped knees and bedtime prayers, muddy shoes by the door and voices calling me home before the porch light came on. It wasn’t perfect, but it was full — full of love, full of lessons, full of the kind of comfort you don’t realize is rare until you grow up and leave it behind. As the years passed, I learned how quickly life moves. How places change hands. How memories can be packed into box...

  We All Need Somebody To Lean On. There are friendships that sparkle in the sunshine, and then there are the ones that hold you together when the sky caves in. The older I get, the more I realize the second kind is the rarest — and the most sacred. I think about friendship the way I think about the song “Lean on Me.” Not as background music, but as a promise. A quiet, steady vow that says: you don’t have to carry this alone. This friendship didn’t arrive with fireworks. It grew slowly, in ordinary moments — shared coffee, long walks, late-night texts that started with “Are you awake?” and ended with truths we hadn’t said out loud before. Somewhere between laughter and vulnerability, we became each other’s safe place. Life hasn’t been gentle. There were seasons when one of us was strong and the other was barely standing. Days when words failed, when advice felt useless, when all that could be offered was presence. And yet, that was enough. Sometimes the most powerful thing a friend...

  Death By a Thousand Cuts Tiny heartbreaks. Quiet stitches. Soft glimmers in the cracks. Healing, one gentle moment at a time. Heartbreak isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s quiet, tiny, like a thousand invisible cuts. A song that hurts to hear. A chair that feels emptier than it used to. A memory that slips under your ribs. Healing works the same way. Softly. Slowly. One gentle stitch at a time. A warm cup of tea. A laugh you didn’t expect. A lyric that feels like a hug. Each small piece is proof you’re still here. Still trying. Still shimmering in the cracks. And somehow, that’s enough. https://x.com/FlareflourishF    

The Prophecy (And Apparently I’m the Plot Twist) feat. chronic illness, questionable coding, and my ongoing feud with destiny “The Prophecy” feels like Taylor Swift took my internal monologue, shook it like a snow globe, added violins and trauma sparkles, and called it a song. You know that feeling when life seems convinced you were destined for greatness, but your body’s like, “Lol no — here’s another plot glitch”? Yeah. That’s… basically my whole character arc. Welcome to my prophecy: The universe says I’m chosen. My joints say I’m expired.  The Chosen One (But With Lag) Taylor sings about waiting for something magical to finally happen. Me? I’m waiting for my body to load. Like: “Your destiny awaits!” Okay cool, but my legs say the WiFi is weak and my spine needs to buffer for 23–48 business hours. There’s this myth that some of us were made for big things. Meanwhile, my chronic illness is like, “Actually, your big thing today is standing up without seeing stars.” Honestly, if I...

Living Life Like “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart” Some days, being alive feels like performing with a spotlight on you and a bruise under your ribs. You smile. You sparkle. You keep the show moving— even when your heart is beating unevenly, like it’s trying to remember the choreography and failing. “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart” is loud, glittery, manic, and painfully honest in the way only Taylor can be. It’s sequins over sadness. It’s mascara running under disco lights. It’s joy and heartbreak holding hands and pretending they’re not fighting. And, don’t we all know that feeling? The performance of “I’m fine.” The confetti cannon of “I swear I’ve got this.” The panic glitter mixed with grit. People think resilience looks quiet and wise. But sometimes? It looks like showgirl energy taped together with caffeine, eyeliner, and sheer spite. The truth is: You can do it with a broken heart. You just shouldn’t have to. But the world doesn’t pause for your pain. Chronic illness doesn’t p...

What “Vigilante Shit” Feels Like When Your Body Isn’t Always On Your Side Some emotions don’t explode. Some don’t scream or shatter or demand to be seen. Some sit quietly in the dark, cross-legged on the floor, holding a little lantern made of anger and resilience, waiting for you to notice the glow. That’s what “Vigilante Shit” feels like to me. Not vengeance as fire, but vengeance as clarity—the kind that comes after you’ve spent years trying to explain a pain no one can see. The kind that whispers, I’m still here. I still matter. I still get to take up space. Taylor sings the song like she’s walking down a hallway lined with old versions of herself. Some broken. Some bruised. Some tired. But all of them finally learning that power can be quiet… and still devastating. And honestly? I think anyone living with a chronic illness knows that feeling more than we admit. Because sometimes the villain is your own body. The ache that drags you down on a good day. The fatigue that sneaks in wi...

 Now Featuring Surprise Bruises & The Fabulous Inflatable Leg I would love to say I wake up each morning feeling refreshed, energized, and ready to conquer the world… but that would make me a liar and honestly I’m too tired for that level of fiction. Instead, I wake up and discover that my body has launched yet another episode of “Guess What’s Swollen Today?” — a game no one asked for, no one enjoys, and yet fibromyalgia hands out free subscriptions to all of us. The Bruise That Appears Out of Thin Air Fibromyalgia has this fun party trick where I go to bed completely fine (and by fine I mean “not currently crying”) only to wake up with a bruise the size, shape, and emotional energy of a small country. No injury. No explanation. No memory of fighting a raccoon in my sleep. Just… blue. And not even a normal bruise-blue. No, no. My body doesn’t do “normal.” It’s more like: mythical creature white, crime-scene yellow, dramatic blue, and then the bonus round: FIERY RED RASHES circl...