If you know me, you know I’m always creating. I’m curious to a fault, and I like seeing where that curiosity takes me. So it probably won’t shock you that I’ve launched my own blog, another place to think out loud and make meaning as I go.

I spent my earliest years in instability, the kind you don’t fully remember, but your nervous system never forgets. I learned to read rooms before I could read words. I paid attention. Closely. Constantly.

When I was adopted, love became something I studied, not because it wasn’t there, but because I wanted to understand it. What made it real. What made it safe.

Growing up in that environment makes you observant in a way that sticks. I’ve always been fascinated by the stories people tell about themselves, and the ones they don’t.

For years, I’ve watched how primarily women are spoken about, shaped, framed, branded, but I’ve also watched how everyone does this. How men learn to armor themselves and use humor as a shield. How strangers try to be understood without ever saying what they really mean. How we’re all, in our own ways, trying to be seen accurately.

I grew up around people who were layered, emotional, smart, intuitive, trying their best and sometimes missing. It taught me that being human isn’t about choosing one self or one narrative. It’s about holding contradictions. Soft and strong. Certain and unsure. Brave and terrified.

Writing is how I make sense of what I see and follow questions instead of conclusions. I believe stories connect us, and through them, we see the world and ourselves more clearly.

So I write not because I have answers, but because I think the questions matter.

Honestly,

Liv