Author: Kaleathia Murphy

I choose what I want to hear. I’m learning to focus on what brings me life and if it doesn’t, I dispose of it. No hesitation. I’m in the middle of cleaning up something that once tried to pull me under, and that something is stinking thinking. It’s sneaky like that. It slips in quietly, hoping I won’t notice.

But I’m noticing now. And when I recognize it, I throw it out of my mind before it can settle in. I don’t want it building anything inside of me. I’m realizing more and more that I actually have power here. I get to decide what stays and what goes.

What lives in my mind eventually shows up in my life. It shapes my words, my reactions, my energy my output. So I’ve become watchful. Protective. Intentional. I pay attention to what I watch and what I listen to, because all of it leaves a mark.

Somewhere along the way, I became the gatekeeper of my own mind. And honestly? That feels empowering. Not everything deserves access. Not every thought gets a seat at the table.

I want to grow. I want to be healthy inside and out. That means shutting the door on nonsense and choosing thoughts that help me breathe easier, stand taller, and live lighter. This is how I care for myself now. And it matters ✨

I’m currently reading Grit by Angela Duckworth. I’m only on Chapter 4, but it already has me thinking differently. One of the biggest takeaways so far is this: people aren’t just born geniuses. They work at things. They decide what matters to them, and then they do it again and again and again.

What we usually see, though, is the finished product. The polished version. The success story. People don’t want to look at the long hours, the repetition, the frustration, or the quiet discipline it took to get there. The book even mentions something Will Smith once said that there may be people who are smarter or more talented than him, but no one will outwork him. That stopped me for a second.

Because he does make it look easy. But that’s just the result we see. We don’t see the pain, the sweat, or the grit it took to become who he is. We’re looking at the highlight reel, not the behind-the-scenes.

I find myself in a similar place right now. I’m embarking on posting videos on social media, and I’m realizing it takes time. And consistency. And showing up even when it feels awkward or unseen. I won’t lie I didn’t know I had this in me. But something is pulling me toward it. Something keeps nudging me to keep going.

It will take work. And thankfully, work isn’t new to me. I’ve always had follow-through. I’ve always been consistent. Now, I just have to focus that strength in one direction. I believe I can do this. And more than that I’m willing to put in the grit it takes to become who I’m still becoming ✨

I’m capable of doing hard things. Truly. I don’t usually shy away from them. But for some reason, cooking has always been my hard thing. The one thing I quietly avoided. Lately though… something has shifted. I’ve found myself interested. Curious, even.

Mostly because I’ve been craving things my hubby hasn’t cooked. And once he’s taken the time to meal prep for us, I feel bad asking for something different. So instead of asking, I’ve been wandering into the kitchen myself like, well… here we go.

And honestly? It’s been kind of fun. Some dishes have been total winners. Others… have gone straight to the trash with no hesitation. No shame here. Sometimes the food was technically edible but not emotionally supportive. And that’s okay. That’s part of the process when you try something new.

Doing hard things doesn’t mean doing them perfectly. It means showing up, messing up, laughing a little, and trying again. You learn while doing. And ohhh am I learning.

Turns out, even my hard things can surprise me. Especially when I stop demanding excellence and start allowing curiosity. Who knew the kitchen might become a place of growth, grace, and a few questionable meals along the way? 🍽️✨

Have you ever felt comfortable being invisible? I have. For a long time, I believed I was safest that way existing without being seen. Or if I was seen, only briefly. A glimpse. You see me, and then you don’t.

There was a season when being invisible made sense. I didn’t want to take up space. I was mirroring the environment I was in the energy of it. And that energy was thick. Heavy. Hard to breathe in. Hard to be in. So I shrank. I became quiet. I turned into a shell of myself just to survive it.

That choice didn’t come easily. It came after countless conversations where I over-explained myself, only to still be misunderstood. It felt like I was speaking a completely different language. Eventually, I stopped trying to translate. I retreated silently. I didn’t like it but it was necessary. It was the only way I knew how to protect my peace and keep my sanity intact.

You’d think that kind of invisibility would harden a person. That it would make me bitter or closed off. But it didn’t. It made me better. It turned my attention inward. I began to evaluate who I wanted to be and who I didn’t. I wondered if some of the things I disliked in others were reflections of parts of myself. Or warnings of who I could become if I wasn’t paying attention.

That invisible time wasn’t wasted. Not one moment of it. It was a training ground. A quiet classroom. A growing place. Even unseen, I was becoming. And somehow, that makes all the difference ✨

I’ve always been a little… delusional. Growing up, I remember being called a “poor little rich girl,” and somehow that never bothered me. I didn’t let people or circumstances tell me what was possible for my life. In my mind, everything was accessible. Everything was feasible. Flying to the moon? Not a problem. A vacation on my own private island? Obviously. That was me.

The funny thing is, I never thought of it as delusion. I genuinely saw myself as someone good things followed and chased down. Opportunity always felt available to me. Failure? No. Experience? Absolutely. I didn’t deny challenges existed I just believed they’d eventually work out in my favor. And somehow… they usually did.

Even the hard stuff felt useful. Good or bad, it was all good for me. That belief took the fear out of the equation. When you trust that things are working for you, not against you, the worst-case scenario suddenly doesn’t feel so scary. It just feels like another path, another plot twist, another lesson.

Because of that, I don’t stay stagnant out of fear. I move. I try. I leap. And I love that about myself. No matter how things look, I’m curious enough to see where they lead. And if I have to pivot? That’s fine too. Pivots are good. Sometimes they’re where the magic is hiding 💛

Somehow… I’ve become a mall person. It started innocently enough an exchange at Macy’s for my birthday perfume. No big deal. Or so I thought. Because the moment I walked into the mall, I was instantly transported back to 1990s teenage me. The vibes hit immediately.

I was darting in and out of stores like I had places to be. Asking for makeup samples like it was my full-time job. Just wandering, observing, existing. And suddenly, the mall wasn’t just a mall it was a feeling. Nostalgia. Comfort. A little sparkle of joy I didn’t know I missed.

Now I’m toying with the idea of making the mall a weekly thing. Which honestly makes me laugh because… who am I? A mall person? I never saw that coming. But here we are and I like it. It’s not even about buying things. It’s about the aesthetics. The people-watching. The energy. The soft chaos of it all.

The funniest part? I was completely against moving so close to the mall. I thought it would be annoying. Distracting. Too much. Turns out I was wrong. Very wrong. I’m loving everything about these mall vibes, and this random little joy that found me unexpectedly.

This newness is unplanned, unnecessary, and totally delightful. And honestly? I’m all in 💛

People change and that’s not only okay, it’s necessary. No one is meant to stay the same forever. We change every single day, sometimes quietly, sometimes loudly. Change is inevitable, so we might as well stop fighting it and learn how to hold it with grace.

I’ve been married for 28 years now, and let me tell you we are not the same people we were when we started. Not even close. And that’s a good thing. Life has shaped us, softened us, stretched us, and taught us things we could’ve never learned any other way.

Love evolves when you’ve been married a long time. The unrealistic expectations fade, and something deeper takes their place. You begin to admire and respect who your spouse is and who they’re still becoming. We’ve walked through sickness, lean financial seasons, and moments that revealed character in real time. Those seasons will tell you everything you need to know about the person you married. And I can honestly say I chose well.

So don’t compare your early years of marriage to where you are now. That’s a rookie mistake. The relationship in front of you today deserves your attention, your curiosity, and your gratitude. Embrace the newness. There’s something beautiful unfolding right where you are if you’re willing to see it 💛

How many times can someone start over? Honestly as many times as they want. I have to remind myself of that, because here I am… starting over again. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve done this, but this one feels different. This time, I chose intention over urgency.

I decided to only bring things into my space that I truly wanted. No filler items. No “this will do for now.” And now when I look around, I feel grateful. Everything I own has a place, a purpose, and a little joy attached to it. There’s nothing I’m planning to replace later because it already feels right.

That mindset spilled over into my wardrobe, which let me be honest was never something I cared much about. But wow. Having clothes I actually love and feel good in? Game changer. I’ve taken the time to put together no-fail outfits, and I’m finding pride in my appearance in a way I never expected. I didn’t know I’d ever care about this and now I kind of love it.

I get excited about getting dressed, even if I’m just staying home or walking to check the mail. There’s something sweet about that like I’m showing up for myself, even in the smallest moments.

Starting over has benefits. I’m learning to embrace the process instead of rushing to fill empty spaces. I don’t want things just to be there. I want them because I truly want them. And for the first time in a long time, that feels like enough ✨

I’ve been afraid of starting new things for a long time. Not because I don’t want them but because I want to be good at them immediately. Like, mastery-level good… on day one. Which is wild when I think about it. I was expecting perfection from something that hadn’t even had a chance to breathe yet.

Recently, I started recording short videos for social media again, and whew talk about feeling exposed. It felt like standing in the middle of a room with no walls, inviting people into my world. I love people, truly. I just don’t always love being that vulnerable with them. But something in me knew it was time to stop hiding behind polish and start showing up a little messy.

And the funny part? I’m not even a prim-and-proper person. I’m messy. I don’t know everything. I figure things out as I go and I’ve always been proud of that. Somewhere along the way, though, I tried to retreat into a version of myself that looked more put together, more acceptable, more “right.” But that version was never really me.

Now, I’m getting comfortable again. Comfortable with this newer version of myself who honestly feels more like the real me. It feels like a rebirth, like learning how to walk again but laughing when I stumble. I’m learning so much about myself in the process, and instead of rushing ahead, I’m letting the becoming be part of the joy. And honestly? That feels kind of magical ✨