This is Mira’s story—part fiction, part reflection, wholly honest.(Each chapter will end with a note from her writing, signed as your trusted friend.) Mira's Story: The CrossingWhen ease feels unfamiliar—but your body knows it’s safe. The dinner was simple. Just a thank-you, Rowan had said, for the contributors who lent their voices to the What… Continue reading Chapter Six: The Crossing
This is Mira’s story—part fiction, part reflection, wholly honest.(Each chapter will end with a note from her writing, signed as your trusted friend.) Mira’s story: The One You Don't See ComingSometimes people arrive quietly, without a grand entrance—just a feeling of calm. She wasn’t looking. Not really. There was no spell cast, no prayer whispered.… Continue reading Chapter Two: The One You Don’t See Coming
This is Mira’s story — part fiction, part reflection, wholly honest.(Each chapter will end with a note from her writing, signed as your trusted friend.) Mira's Story: The Kind of Wrong that Almost WorkedWhen longing wears the mask of love—and you finally walk yourself home. Some stories don't end in heartbreak. They end in a… Continue reading Chapter Zero: The Kind of Wrong that Almost Worked
She thought she was blooming late.She even called herself a late bloomer. But perhaps the most important realization is the one that lives deep in her bones now: She isn’t blooming late.She’s blooming exactly when she’s meant to. And right now, she’s waiting. Sitting in the pause. Holding space. Not rushing to grasp, clarify, define,… Continue reading A Love Letter to the Woman Who Waited
Confessions of a Late Bloomer Part 16 I used to think desire meant surrender.That if you felt the heat, you had to follow it.That wanting someone meant saying yes with your body,even when your heart hadn't caught up. I’ve learned better. These days, I’m no longer rushing toward the spark without checking where it leads.I’m… Continue reading Wanting Without Losing Myself
Confessions of a Late Bloomer Part 14 I used to imagine my future with a kind of cinematic precision. I’d be settled by now.A partner. A house. A shared Sunday morning routine.Some combination of arms to fall into, and someone who always remembers to pick up milk. But instead, I’m 46. Almost 47. A solo… Continue reading Exactly Where I Should Be
Confessions of a Late Bloomer Part 13 I used to think joy was something reserved for special occasions.A vacation. A celebration. A permission slip. Or maybe something I had to earn, once the work was done, the bills paid, the responsibilities checked off. I thought love had to be proven.That joy had to be justified.That… Continue reading Joy, After All
Confessions of a Late Bloomer Part 12 In high school, a friend once told me,“Miranda, you’re not sexy. You’re cute.” And I carried that line for years.It nestled somewhere between my collarbone and my confidence,tucked itself into the soft spaces of my growing body,and whispered a story I didn’t know I had permission to question.… Continue reading Sexy, Apparently: A Field Guide
Confessions of a Late Bloomer Part 11 For a long time, I thought love was supposed to feel like butterflies, that quickening, that rush, that tingle in your gut that made it hard to breathe. I thought adrenaline meant attraction.I thought chaos was chemistry.I thought if it wasn’t all-consuming, messy, magnetic, heart-racing… it wasn’t real.… Continue reading Calm Isn’t Boring, It’s Safe
Confessions of a Late Bloomer Part 10 I used to think life would unfold the way I planned it. If I showed up, worked hard, loved deeply, and kept trying, things would fall into place on my timeline. But life doesn’t care much for timetables. Or five-year plans. Or tidy endings tied up with a… Continue reading Learning to Let Go
