Sessi. Dancing Corners

Tag: emotionalwellness

  • My Body Needed the Pause: Yoga at Bryant Park

    My Body Needed the Pause: Yoga at Bryant Park

    I’ve been working nonstop lately with extra Saturdays because work is very short-staffed. Helping people get the right things done is important, but if you don’t give yourself the same care, burnout will come faster than you expect.

    No one wants to feel burnt out and do the same thing over and over again.

    I’m all for breaking the daily routine because I rarely use my PTO, and I almost never call out of work unless I’m really sick. So on June 3rd, 2026, I took a free yoga class at Bryant Park in New York City.

    The class started at 6 p.m., but I left right after work and headed straight to the bus. First stop: Juice Generation for the Blue Beauty Smoothie . It was delicious, and I’ll always support them.

    After that, I headed to MoMA to see the Frida and Diego exhibition. But, you know me your girl got lost before finding the location. Classic side quest behavior.

    I was on a time crunch, so I told myself I would go next time because I wanted a good spot for yoga. This year, Halara sponsored the event, and they had KeVita drinkable yogurt and Solely organic mango and guava fruit gummies. I got both and found a good spot for class.

    It was hot in New York, but I was able to relax during the class, and honestly, I needed it. I still think it’s interesting that they had influencers at a free event. New York has so many influencers now that it sometimes feels like they randomly pop up everywhere, telling you about the next viral restaurant or place to go.

    Anyway, it was a beautiful summer day to do yoga in the park, and it was exactly what I needed. I love a city reset.

    The next day, I was so tired at work and honestly, that told me everything. The reset worked. My body needed the pause, my mind needed the city, and I needed one small reminder that I’m allowed to step outside my routine and come back to myself.

  • Why I’m Done Explaining My Softness


    I still believe in grace. I just finally believe I deserve some too

    I used to think being soft meant I had to constantly prove I wasn’t weak. That if I cared too much, forgave too easily, or tried to understand people before judging them, I somehow had to explain myself. I had to make sure people knew I wasn’t naive, wasn’t blind, and wasn’t letting things slide because I didn’t see them.

    But the truth is, I saw everything. I felt everything. I just chose grace more times than people deserved it.

    And lately, I’ve realized my softness was never the problem. The problem was thinking I had to defend it to people who only understood kindness when they could benefit from it.

    My experience with softness has always been complicated. I’ve always been someone who feels deeply, listens closely, and tries to understand where people are coming from. I give people room. I give second chances. I try to see the good before I assume the worst.

    But over time, I started realizing that not everyone knows how to respect softness. Some people mistake it for permission. They think because you’re kind, you won’t get tired. Because you’re forgiving, you won’t notice patterns. Because you understand them, they don’t have to understand you back.

    I’ve made excuses for people who stopped showing up the way I needed them to. I’ve overlooked being dismissed, being treated like an afterthought, and being asked for more than I should have had to give. Whether it was someone not making time, constantly needing something from me, asking for money, or not caring about my position in it all, I kept trying to understand.

    I told myself maybe they were overwhelmed, maybe they didn’t mean it, maybe this was just temporary.

    But when something becomes a pattern, it stops being a one-time thing.

    That’s the part that changed me.

    I started realizing that some people get too comfortable with your grace. They assume you’ll always be there. They assume you’ll always understand. They assume you’ll keep bailing them out emotionally, mentally, or even financially, while barely considering what it costs you.

    And that hurts.

    It hurts when you value the friendship or connection more than they do. It hurts when you keep extending understanding while quietly feeling unseen. It hurts when you’re giving grace to people who can’t seem to give you basic consideration in return.

    That’s when I started learning that softness needs boundaries.

    Being soft does not mean shrinking your hurt so someone else can stay comfortable. It does not mean translating disrespect into “they didn’t mean it.” It does not mean overextending yourself just because you have a good heart.

    Sometimes, the softest thing you can do for yourself is stop explaining, stop overgiving, and let people meet the version of you who still has a heart but finally has a line.

    I still believe in grace. I just finally believe I deserve some too.

    I’m not less soft now. I’m just less available to people who confuse softness with weakness.

  • Being Too Understanding

    Being Too Understanding


    Learning that grace should not cost me myself.

    I’ve always been the kind of person who tries to understand everyone.

    Their silence. Their distance. Their bad timing. Their moods. Their excuses. Their “I didn’t mean it like that.” I can see ten different sides of a situation before I even let myself feel my own.

    And for a long time, I thought that made me kind.

    Maybe it did. But lately, I’ve been realizing something uncomfortable: sometimes when you’re too understanding, people start forgetting that you have feelings too.

    They get used to your grace. They assume you’ll always make room for them, even when they stop making room for you. They expect you to understand why they couldn’t show up, why they didn’t call, why they were too busy, too tired, too overwhelmed, too whatever.

    And because you’ve always been soft about it, they forget that softness still gets bruised.

    That weight gets exhausting.

    People really do forget about you altogether when they get used to you being the one who always understands. I’m talking from experience, and I still don’t change easily. I know life is lifing. I know everyone has things going on. I know people are tired, overwhelmed, distracted, and doing the best they can.

    But I also realize I’ve been too soft about myself for too long.

    I’ve let people pick other people over me and stayed quiet. I’ve watered myself down so I wouldn’t seem like too much. I’ve done the work in friendships, love, and even some family matters where I kept giving people the benefit of the doubt while ignoring how much it was hurting me.

    And here’s the thing: I don’t think those people are always bad people.

    I think sometimes people get comfortable taking from the person who never makes it hard for them. They get comfortable with the person who always says, “It’s okay,” even when it’s not. They get used to the person who forgives quickly, understands deeply, and rarely asks for much back.

    But being understanding should not mean being forgotten.

    Being kind should not mean being available for emotional leftovers.

    Being patient should not mean waiting forever for people to realize you matter.

    I can be understanding and still have boundaries.

    I can love people and still expect effort.

    I can know life gets hard and still admit when someone has hurt me.

    I can give grace without abandoning myself in the process.

    That’s the part I’m learning now. I don’t have to become cold. I don’t have to stop caring. I don’t have to turn into someone I’m not just because people didn’t know how to appreciate the softer version of me.

    But I do have to stop making excuses for people who keep making me feel small.

    I have to stop confusing empathy with self-abandonment.

    I have to stop carrying the weight of relationships where I’m the only one trying to understand.

    Because the truth is, I deserve the effort too. I deserve to be considered. I deserve people who don’t just assume I’ll be fine because I’ve always found a way to be.

    I’m still going to be understanding. That’s part of who I am.

    But I’m learning that understanding other people should never come at the cost of losing myself.

    And maybe that’s the real lesson: I can have a soft heart without being easy to overlook.

  • 3 Life Lessons My Mother Taught Me Without Even Trying

    3 Life Lessons My Mother Taught Me Without Even Trying

    My mother is one of the most selfless people I know.

    She loves with an open heart and giving hands, and in return, she has taught me what it means to love other people. Not just when it’s easy. Not just when life is perfect. But through the hard parts, the sacrifices, and the moments where you have to keep going even when you’re tired.

    Even though my mom did not have the easiest childhood, she never let that stop her from raising my brother, my sister, and me differently. She gave us what she never had, but in her own way. My mom made sure we went on vacations. She made sure my brother and sister stopped being bullied. She made sure we went to good schools. She fought for our education so we could learn better and not feel stuck.

    She did all of this while going to school to become a nurse and working. That alone taught me resilience. Watching her work hard, push through, and still show up for us taught me that I can have a lot on my plate and still reach my goals.

    I admire that about her. I admire her strength. I admire her heart. I admire the way she kept going.

    My mom also taught me gratitude and positivity. She taught me to appreciate what I have because tomorrow is never guaranteed. She taught us manners and all the little things that come with being kind, respectful, and thoughtful.

    She also taught us the importance of family.

    Growing up, we went to two different churches. On Sundays, my titi would come over, or we would go to her house. Both sides of the family showed me what it means to stay connected, to show up, and to value the people who love you.

    The last lesson my mom taught me is kindness and empathy.

    She taught me to choose kindness when I can. To forgive others. To help when someone needs it. To understand that life is too short to carry every heavy thing forever. You never know what life will take from you, give to you, or teach you along the way.

    I thank my mom, and I adore her.

    I hope she never feels underappreciated. I hope she gets to live her life fully and know how much she has given to us, not just by what she did, but by who she is.

    Because the truth is, my mother didn’t just teach me lessons.

    She became them.

  • Lost & Found on the Concrete Playground

    Lost & Found on the Concrete Playground

    The Version of Me in NYC 🗽

    2017-2019: Chaos in Heels

    Steam curled up from subway grates as I power-walked Broadway in rain-soaked stilettos crying, under eating, sleepless, yet still nailing every lecture, two internships, and endless dance classes. Friends saw a grin; Mom and my brother saw the cracks. It was heartbreak + feeling “behind” + “not good enough” the full quarter-life cocktail.

    Dorm-Room Floor Confessions

    Alone in my tiny single, I’d face-plant on cold tile, sob, then yank myself up for heel workshops with Ksyn, The Dollhouse, Aisha Francis all queens who slowly reignited my spark and reminded me my body could still live inside the music.

    Walk, Breathe, Repeat

    I skipped the subway, clocking miles instead earbuds pumping therapy playlists. When panic spiked, I’d duck into a bathroom, plunge my hands under icy water, inhale four counts, exhale four counts, and keep it moving. That trick saved more nights than I can count.

    The Night Tank DMed

    One evening, fresh off work, I caught Tank’s Sex, Love & Pain II tour at BB King’s. He joked about me filming (“Sis, you making a bootleg?”), then slid into my Instagram DMs after the show “ All love, just playing.” Serotonin unlocked.

    Dating While Unhinged

    Funny truth: rock-bottom energy is apparently magnetic. My DMs overflowed, dates lined up like taxis at Penn Station. Healed me gets crickets; chaotic me got invites. Therapy sessions became weekly deep dives into self-worth, love, and why attention ≠ affection. Wednesdays blurred into late-night hangs with Uncle Carlos Tommy’s crew life advice served with greasy diner fries.

    The Quiet Turning Point

    Between 6 AM lifts, heel bruises, and those frost-breath city walks, I stacked accomplishments I was too anxious to celebrate. Only later did I realize NYC had held both my breakdown and my breakthrough.

    2026: Same City, New Nervous System

    Anxiety? Basically ghosted thank you, weekly therapy, journaling, lifting, dance, and miles of fresh air. My blog the dusty side project from eight years ago is now a thriving home for intentional stories on healing from anxiety and creative purpose. Mind, spirit, body: healthier than ever, and the goals keep stacking.

    I’m living proof you can chase a dream, shatter, glue yourself back together, and still hit publish glitter everywhere, stilettos on.

    Call to Heart

    💌 Share this with your favorite mess in progress

    Because if you’re knee-deep in your own concrete jungle spiral, remember: the cold water resets, the midnight walks, and the sweat-drenched studio lights are carving the stronger version of you right now. Keep breathing. You’re not lost you’re under construction.

  • What Cherry Blossoms Taught Me About Life

    What Cherry Blossoms Taught Me About Life

    I’ve loved cherry blossoms for as long as I can remember but I didn’t realize why until life got hard.

    Since I was 18, and even into my mid 20s, I’ve always had a thing for cherry blossoms.

    To me, they represent beauty, new beginnings, and the importance of living in the present moment. Their bloom is short and sweet, and maybe that’s what makes them so special. They remind me that life is fleeting, and that there’s something sacred about appreciating what’s in front of you while it’s here.

    Even though I don’t always get to see them in person as much as I’d like, when I do whether I’m on a run, out for a walk, or just passing by I really take them in.

    Because before you know it, they’re gone.

    And honestly? I think that’s part of why I love them so much.

    There’s something about seeing cherry blossoms when life feels heavy that just does something to you. When you’re spiraling, doubting yourself, or feeling like you’re not enough… and then you look up and see those soft pink blooms, it feels like a little glimpse of hope staring back at you.

    Like life is quietly saying:

    You’re going to be okay.

    There was a point in my life where I really needed that reminder.

    I was spiraling.

    I wasn’t feeling good enough.

    I felt like no one was willing to take a chance on me.

    And on top of that, life just kept piling on.

    I was grinding through so much and carrying it quietly because I didn’t want to burden my family or friends. So instead, I found little ways to pour back into myself. I went to New York. I took dance classes. I walked through parks. I found small moments that made me feel grounded again.

    And oh boy… did it work.

    It gave me confidence.

    A new perspective.

    A little spark in me that I thought I had lost.

    Just like cherry blossoms symbolize, I had to shed a little of myself to come back to life. Not lose who I was just let go of what was weighing me down so I could find my way back to me.

    Now, whenever I see cherry blossoms, I don’t just see something beautiful.

    I see hope.

    I see growth.

    I see perspective.

    I see a reminder that life can still surprise you in soft ways.

    And every single year, they bring me back to something I always say to myself and to anyone I end up talking to about life:

    Every year is an upgrade.

    Because you are not the same person you were last year.

    You are who you are in this moment.

    And that version of you matters too.

    So appreciate the moment.

    Take it in.

    Let yourself bloom while you’re here.

    Just like the cherry blossoms

  • Your Bills Are Paid Go Live Your Life

    Your Bills Are Paid Go Live Your Life

    When I opened TikTok first thing in the morning, a video stopped me.

    This guy was talking about how people start shaming others for going out, for what they wear, for what they buy… once they hit a certain age. Then he said something so simple but so real:

    Who cares?

    Your bills are paid.

    You have a job, a home, a car.

    Go do what you want. Life is already stressful enough why wouldn’t you enjoy what it has to offer?

    That hit me.

    I used to think growing up meant becoming quieter.

    Now I know it just means becoming more myself.

    Because people do judge you as you get older. They expect you to shrink, to quiet down, to become… predictable. But at the same time, a lot of people aren’t even doing the emotional work on themselves. And you can tell. You can always tell the difference between the people who are healing, growing, and learning themselves and the ones who aren’t.

    And me? I’m choosing to live.

    On March 14, I went into New York City to see Lithe in concert with my forever friend. Before anything, I did my homework I listened to his music, got familiar with his vibe. Because if my friends, my family, or even my future man loves something… I’m going to meet them there. If they like it, I love it too.

    Before heading to her apartment in Brooklyn, I stopped at TacoBee’s Mexican Grill to grab us food. I got a steak burrito and chicken birria tacos because priorities. Then it was just me, a bag full of food, and the city around me.

    When I got there, we split everything, started chatting, laughing, and getting ready for the night. And let me just say the food? So good.

    We got dressed with music playing in the background, putting together outfits inspired by Lithe’s album Euphoria greens and blacks, matching the energy.

    The venue was Elsewhere in Brooklyn intimate, packed, and alive. Disco balls hung from the ceiling, lights flashing everywhere blue, red, strobes, smoke it felt like stepping into a whole different world. My forever friend knew every word. She was dancing, singing, living in it. And me? Right there with her.

    After the show, we went out for a bit longer, just soaking in the night. No rush. No pressure. Just living.

    The next day, we slowed it down and explored. We went to find the giant chrome evil eye sculpture at Flatiron Plaza by Charlotte Colbert. It was 10 feet tall, reflecting everything around it. Blue and brown eyes, layered behind each other. Honestly? Beautiful. I love art in all forms whether it’s in a museum or just out in the street.

    Then we walked into the largest Barnes & Noble I’ve ever seen literal heaven. After that, we grabbed sandwiches (the best ones, obviously), and just enjoyed the day before I headed back home to New Jersey.

    Another weekend. Another memory. Probably another page in my junk journal.

    And the funny thing is… that TikTok was right.

    Go out.

    Wear what you want.

    Do what makes you happy.

    Your bills are paid.

    So go enjoy your life.

  • Love Is Where You Pour It.

    Some people say Valentine’s Day is just a Hallmark holiday. Others go all out for their significant other. And single people? We usually fall somewhere between pouring back into ourselves or spending time with friends. Or honestly treating it like any other day. And all of that is valid.

    In my mid 20s, I started pouring into myself. I’d write love letters to myself, pour some champagne, run a bubble bath, and even do a little DIY photoshoot to end my self love day. It sounds simple, but it made me feel really good about myself not just that day, but for weeks after.

    In my early 30s, Valentine’s Day started to look different. I leaned into Galentine’s Day with my friends and coworkers drinks flowing, games playing, matching PJs, lots of laughing, and of course pictures at the end. And really good food. I can’t forget the food.

    That phase taught me the importance of community watering friendships, loving your people, and appreciating them while you have them. Life is too short not to.

    I’ve never actually done Valentine’s Day with a man yet. And honestly? That’s because I know myself. When I love, I love fully. I would make sure he felt appreciated, seen, and deeply loved. In the past, I’ve invested in men physically, emotionally, and spiritually that’s just how I show up in this thing called life. I’m extremely picky about who I let into my world and I should be. We get one life. One chance to do it right, to grow, to experience the good, the bad, and the ugly with someone who’s worth it.

    What I’m really saying is this:

    You can pour into yourself.

    You can spend the day with friends.

    You can pretend the holiday doesn’t exist.

    It’s your life.

    You get to decide how you love yourself, your people, and one day, maybe a partner too. Spread love where it feels real. Pour into what pours back into you.

    Happy Love Day. 💘

  • Breakdown to a Breakthrough

    Breakdown to a Breakthrough

    On February 17, 2017, I had a bad anxiety episode you know, the kind where you can’t eat, can’t sleep, and feel completely trapped in your own head. I needed to get out of the apartment.

    At the time, my uncle Carlos was my escape. We used to make time to see each other sometimes Wednesday into Thursday and head into the city. He was my go to. Funny, grounded, a great listener. Our time together always centered me.

    That night, after work, I headed to New York City to see him. We talked in his apartment before walking over to Playa Betty’s to meet up with his best friend Dom. The three of us sat over chips, dip, and pitchers of sangria, just talking about everything life, love, work, the usual chaos. The energy was good. The laughter was loud. And in the middle of it all, I got some advice that stuck.

    Eventually, my uncle had to head home, and I was left alone in his apartment. That’s when it started the spiral. The overthinking crept in. The apartment was dark, and I couldn’t stop tossing and turning. My mind wouldn’t shut off.

    Panic mode hit. I tried calming myself by running water in the bathroom and holding my hands under it that usually helps. Not this time. I started texting friends and family, but only the ones I felt safe reaching out to. Then, full panic took over and I did what panic does I called Mount Sinai Hospital thinking maybe they could talk me through it. (Spoiler: they couldn’t. It doesn’t work like that.)

    Eventually, I passed out from exhaustion.

    When morning came, I left his apartment and made my way to Central Park. I didn’t care that it was freezing. I had Wildheart by Miguel playing from start to finish in my headphones. There’s this hidden spot in the park where you can see two tall buildings across the water. I found it. I took it in. Of course, I took a picture if you know me, you know I never let a view like that go undocumented. It felt rare. Sacred. Especially in the dead of winter.

    Then I started walking from Central Park to 42nd Street with music still in one ear (because obviously, one headphone stays out. Gotta be aware). Songs like What’s Normal Anyway, Leaves, Face the Sun ft. Lenny Kravitz, Destinado a Morir, and Damned carried me forward.

    And somewhere along that walk, I had an epiphany. I was coming home to myself.

    Not all at once, but slowly. Gently. In my own time.

    Years later, I can say this: I don’t just feel like I’m surviving anymore. I feel alive. I take in the little moments. I stay present. I’m forever grateful for the people in my life who held space for me and for the version of me who kept going even when she didn’t know how.

    As a fellow overthinker, and someone who used to try to control everything… guess what? You can’t.

    But the best feeling is when you finally stop trying to escape yourself… and you come home.

    Your breakdown will lead to your breakthrough.

    And that, my love, is where the beauty begins