TL;DR

A lot shifted this month. I hit a relapse, made hard choices, and I’m slowly finding space to breathe again. I’m grateful for the people holding me up. I started shaping a new album, took a healing trip to Illinois and Michigan, and I’m recommitting to simple routines that keep me steady.

What changed

This August tested me. I experienced a relapse and had to confront some patterns that were keeping me stuck. Owning that wasn’t easy. I felt conflicted and embarrassed, then oddly relieved once I said it out loud. The truth is lighter than the secret. I’m choosing clarity, boundaries, and honest next steps. Slower mornings. More water. Real sleep. Fewer “yes” answers when my body is saying “no.”

Gratitude roll call

I wouldn’t be moving through these chapters without my circle. Mateo, thank you for your patience, loving embrace, and warm heart and the steady “we’ll figure it out.” Ethan, thanks for the calls that start with a joke and end with a plan. To my work people who checked in, covered when I needed time, and encouraged me to take care of myself, I see you. Your support matters.

Music: new album sketches

I’ve started shaping the next record. Right now it’s a folder of messy demos, voice notes, and riffs that won’t let go. Lyrically I’m exploring recovery, belonging, and the quiet bravery of showing up again after you fall. Sonically I’m blending clean guitar textures with heavier layers, leaving more air between parts so the words can land. I’m not rushing this. The songs will tell me when they’re ready.

Travel: Illinois and Michigan

I took a beautiful trip to the Midwest and it was exactly the reset I needed. In Illinois, I caught up with friends, unhurried. Long talks, simple meals, walks that ended with sore feet and clearer thoughts. In Michigan, I spent time with family, soaked up familiar sounds, and let the quiet do its work. It wasn’t about doing everything, it was about being present. That felt like progress.

Anxiety, honesty, and purpose

I wish anxiety didn’t exist sometimes. It’s such a fuckin damper. And, admittingly, it reminds me I’m alive. It says I care, I’m here, and my life has a purpose. I’m learning to meet it with small practices: five deep breaths before I pick up my phone, a short walk when my mind spins, writing three honest sentences instead of drafting the “perfect” paragraph. These tiny actions add up. They don’t fix everything, but they keep the lights on inside.

What’s next

• Keep the recovery tools simple and daily.
• Write a little every day, even if it’s just a lyric idea.
• Share more process, not just polished outcomes.
• Protect rest like it’s part of the job, because it is.

If you’re walking through something similar, you’re not alone. You can start again at any hour. I’m starting again today. Thanks for reading, for caring, and for sticking around while I build something honest from where I am.