The Girassol Journal 🌻

A tree doesn't keep every leaf forever. Not because the leaves were bad. But because at some point, what once helped it grow becomes too heavy to carry into the next season. A gentle reflection on the versions of ourselves we outgrow and why letting them go is one of the most honest things we can do.

Home isn't always a place. Sometimes it's a time of day, a smell, a sound, a feeling in your feet on the floor. A love letter to the small things that bring you back to yourself.

Two years ago, an unexpected injury forced me to slow down in a way I never had before. What felt like a pause at the time became a deep transformation - one that shifted my perspective, my priorities, and the path I’m now walking. This is a reflection on growth, grief, and the quiet clarity that comes when life asks you to stop and listen.

Life has a way of shifting when we least expect it. What feels like a storm: loud, overwhelming, and disorienting - can sometimes be the very thing that clears our path. In this reflection, I explore how unexpected changes, even the hardest ones, can guide us toward something more aligned, more meaningful, and more true to who we are becoming.

“The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.” The first time I heard this quote, it stopped me. I remember feeling an almost urgent need to write it down, like I was afraid the meaning might slip away if I didn’t capture it immediately. Weeks later, I heard it again. I couldn’t help but wonder if the Universe was trying to whisper something to me. Was I getting closer to understanding my purpose? The day you find out why. Th

While sitting quietly in the grass with my dogs, I noticed something simple: my two knees telling the story of the past two years. What began as a reflection on injury and recovery became a deeper realization about how healing truly happens, both in the body and in life. Just like our bodies rebuild themselves step by step after an injury, our personal growth also unfolds in phases, often quietly and unseen.

A wall clock that had lived in the same place for nine years moved across the room and yet months later my eyes still look for it on the old wall. A quiet lesson about how our minds adjust to change.

What if some of the things you longed for have already arrived… just in a different shape than you expected?

There’s a moment in migration when a bird belongs nowhere. Sometimes our lives enter that same sky - the quiet crossing between who we were and who we’re becoming.

My dogs don’t understand why we can’t go on our usual winter walks. But their hopeful eyes reminded me of something deeper: sometimes the doors that stay closed are quietly protecting us.

I reread a book I first read as a teenager. The story was the same. But I wasn't. A quiet reflection on how experience changes the lens through which we see life.