03/05/2026
February 19, 2026. The babies and I started over.
We walked into our new home with brand new couches, brand new beds, brand new everything. For the first time in 6 years, we weren’t living out of suitcases. We weren’t sleeping in half-built houses. We weren’t making do.
Since 2020, it’s been survival mode. Medical school. A 10 year marriage I had to leave. Homelessness. A friend’s halfway-built house on the south coast of Jamaica that became our refuge. Then another dysfunctional relationship that gave me two more beautiful babies but left my body screaming….knees, ankles, back, hips. A headache that lasted an entire year after my youngest was born in August 2024. It didn’t stop until November 2025.
My body was keeping score.
We came back to the States from Jamaica in October 2025, and stayed with my sister from November until February. Five of us…me and my four babies…sleeping on couches in her living room. The frustration built. They wanted me to pay their rent and utilities. On February 9th, we left for an Airbnb. Ten days later, we got approved for our home.
And on February 19th, three days after my second daughter’s birthday and seven days before mine, we moved into a space that is OURS. New refrigerator. Washer and dryer. Kitchen supplies. Desks and chairs. A dining table where we can actually sit together.
And more than that….FREEDOM. 🙌🏾
Freedom to rest. To go to the spa. To take care of myself without guilt or interruption. Freedom to give my children the activities, the food, the experiences they’ve been asking for. Freedom to stay in private. To protect our peace. To say no to anyone who doesn’t belong in our space.
For 6 years, I’ve poured and poured and poured. Now I’m learning what it feels like to be full.
We’re starting over. Brand new. And this time, we’re doing it on our terms.
Drop a 🩷 if you’re keeping your head up through hard times.
