Today I had to submit a letter to my principal requesting an extension of my provisional teaching license. And I don’t know why, but it bummed me out. I feel like a failure sometimes. But in the same breath, I’m out here kicking butt and taking names. I’m an amazing mom. I’m an amazing teacher, friend, cousin, sister, daughter. And yet—I can’t seem to conquer this one thing.

I feel so defeated at times. Like, the world is my oyster, so why do some things still feel so hard? Is it God trying to tell me this isn’t my path? Or is it the devil working overtime? I don’t make a lot of money teaching, and the kids are… whew. They’ve been a lot this year. We’re testing them constantly, and it feels like they’re being treated like numbers instead of kids who need love and time to grow. The district’s new initiatives are exhausting, and I feel stifled. I need a space to be my full, creative self.

Maybe that’s God nudging me toward something greater—or maybe He’s just telling me to chill. I know my extension will probably get approved, but then what? Do I keep studying for a test that’s drained the joy out of me? I’m at the point where I feel like just pressing ‘C’ on every answer. I hate feeling this way. I never thought I’d be here.

Turning 30 really flipped a switch. I’ve realized that family will always be family, but that doesn’t mean they get unlimited access to me. I’m a single mom now. I’ve got my son and my cat, Mocha, and that’s my little family. I don’t NEED my mom or dad anymore. I’m grown. I’m providing the life for Zai that I wish I had. My mom wasn’t terrible, but she did the bare minimum, and now that she’s older and sick, I look at her as an example of what not to be. I don’t want to become complacent.

I’m pushing myself to level up, but what does that even look like? All I know is: I want more. I started this year with a dry January, stayed off social media, and kept my mind clear. And you know what? I haven’t had alcohol in months. Not because I’m an alcoholic or anything, but because it just doesn’t serve me anymore. When my mom got her latest prognosis, I spiraled behind closed doors. But I couldn’t let them see me sweat. I had to hold it together—for my siblings, for Zai.

I don’t even like the smell or taste of alcohol anymore. It’s not for me. I’ve been drinking since I was a teenager, and now at 30, it’s time to let that habit die. I used to try and justify it—just wine, just special occasions—but even wine would knock me out for five days. I want more for myself. I want peace. I want purpose. I want love.

Speaking of love, I’m single as a Pringle. Not a man in sight. The last situationship was a disaster. Thank God I didn’t exchange energy with that man—who knows what I would’ve caught. A teacher with a drug dealer? Girl, what was I thinking? No harm, no foul, but never again.

Now I want to travel. By myself. I’m tired of the girls’ trips and forced vibes. I love my friends, but sometimes I feel like their energy blocks my blessings. I need solo space. I want to be on my own time, in my own world. I want to please me for once. That’s why I’m planning a solo trip—to Chicago. I want to see the Bean. I want to explore, reflect, and roam freely. Just me, my thoughts, and God.

I’m also on a spiritual journey—getting closer to God in my own way, not the way my parents taught me. I’m healing, growing, and discovering what real peace feels like. I’m choosing to become the woman I needed when I was younger. I’m choosing me.