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This week’s episode is a little different — a small check-in on a Monday morning instead of my usual Friday drop. I had planned to release the next Love Chapter on the 14th, but life got busy and I didn’t have the space to record the episode with the care it deserves.

In this mini update, I talk about what I’ve learned from creating the first eight episodes of Just Breathe Confessionals: how speaking out has changed me, how much I’m willing to share, and how comforting it’s been to hear from listeners who relate to my anxieties, childhood moments, and all the messy parts of growing up.

I also acknowledge that there is deeper, heavier trauma in my story — chapters I haven’t shared yet — and those pieces will be explored more fully in Season Two.

The next full Love Chapter, The One Who Helped Me Heal, will drop on Friday, December 6th.

Thank you for listening, for holding these stories with me, and for giving honesty a place to breathe.

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Kind Note:
This episode includes reflections on emotional, mental, and sexual manipulation in a past relationship.
Please listen gently and only when you feel safe, grounded, and supported.
Your heart deserves care.

Episode Description:
In this episode, I return to a version of myself I haven’t spoken to in years — the girl who fell in love in high school before she understood what love was supposed to feel like. What began as attention and affection slowly turned into control, isolation, and the quiet erosion of my confidence and identity. I didn’t realize how deeply emotional and mental manipulation can take root until I was already inside of it, trying to hold onto something that was breaking me.

This is a story of staying too long and leaving slowly — of believing I could fix what was hurting me, of grieving the version of myself who didn’t know better yet, and of learning to recognize love that doesn’t require me to disappear to keep it.

It’s about the confusion of being seventeen, the fear of being alone, the guilt that keeps us quiet, and the soft relief that comes when we finally choose ourselves.

If you have ever stayed in a relationship you didn’t know how to leave, if you’ve ever lost yourself trying to be loved, if you’ve ever questioned your worth or your voice — you are not alone.

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Some friendships feel like air in your lungs; others knock the wind out of you. This story-driven episode dives into the friends who carried us through family fractures, the sudden goodbyes that rewired our trust, and the bold voices that pushed us toward better, braver selves. We open with childhood in a split home, where neighbors and friends’ parents became a quiet safety net—block parties, open kitchens, and the simple miracle of being welcomed without explanation. That foundation leads to a formative bond: a friend who noticed the weight we shouldn’t have been carrying and offered a way to breathe again.

The middle turns toward a sanctuary found in the church tech booth after a knee injury ended soccer dreams. There, under the glow of monitors and the hum of a soundboard, belonging took on a new shape—until a message ended a three-year friendship without warning. We unpack how friendship grief differs from breakups, why abrupt endings can rewrite how we let people in, and what it means to hold on to spaces that helped us heal while releasing the person who introduced them.

Finally, we meet the friend who brings loving friction—a fuchsia-bandana memory, relentless honesty about a toxic relationship, and accountability that stings before it saves. Together we explore how transformative friends reveal blind spots, set a higher bar for how we show up, and model what chosen family looks like over time. Along the way, we pose questions worth sitting with: Who carried you? Who taught the hard lesson? Who’s stayed?

We close with a peek at what’s next: a three-part Love Series—love that broke me, love that found me, and self-love—raw, real, and deeply personal. If you’ve ever leaned on chosen family, rebuilt after a sudden goodbye, or needed a friend who tells the truth, this is for you. Subscribe, share with someone who needs it today, and leave a review to tell us which friendship shaped you most.

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Remember that moment when your body suddenly felt like it belonged to someone else? When scissors seemed like a reasonable solution to a widow's peak that bothered you way too much? When you realized adults had been lying about puberty all along?

Daria dives deep into the messy, uncomfortable reality of growing up without proper guidance. From getting a period at age ten and facing a soccer tournament the very next day, to navigating the complex world of body hair removal based on unrealistic media portrayals, this episode unpacks the universal yet deeply personal experience of puberty. Without a mother figure present, these challenges became even more isolating – piecing together information from friends and their parents, trying to make sense of changes without a roadmap.

The journey through adolescence brings unexpected physical transformations that can feel like betrayals when they arrive too soon. Developing breasts overnight while still deep in a tomboy phase creates a jarring disconnect between self-perception and how others suddenly view you. Those freshman year experiments with teal tank tops, white button-downs, and bottom eyeliner represent more than just fashion choices – they're attempts to reconcile the person you've always been with the person your changing body is pushing you to become.

What makes this story universal is the awkward, sometimes painful process of becoming ourselves. Whether you cut your bangs in desperation, panicked over your first zit before picture day, or felt exposed in your first bikini, these moments shape us. Through all the confusion, we're not becoming someone else – we're just becoming who we were meant to be all along. What was your awkward puberty story? Share it with us and remember: just breathe.

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Remember when your stomach would flip over one smile from your crush? When sitting next to them at lunch felt like winning the lottery? Before heartbreak had a name, those seemingly tiny feelings were actually enormous – they felt like the whole world.

In this deeply nostalgic journey through childhood crushes, I'm rewinding to those pure, awkward, beautiful first feelings that shaped how we learned to connect. From my childhood best friend with cochlear implants who became my first crush at age six, to the complicated dance of being a tomboy who secretly wanted the boys I played soccer with to see me as more than "one of them." Those early connections taught us something profound about vulnerability – that even asking "want to borrow my crayon?" requires putting your heart on the line.

Celebrity crushes offered a different kind of emotional outlet. Remember plastering your walls with Dream Street posters? Or feeling betrayed when your Disney Channel crush (Ryan Merriman from Smart House, anyone?) suddenly appeared as a villain in a teen drama years later? These parasocial relationships weren't just childish obsessions – they were safe spaces to explore feelings before risking them in real life. And those yearbooks with tiny hearts drawn around certain photos? They weren't just about romance – they were about possibility, about learning we're capable of hope even when nothing's happening yet.

Whether you were a Jesse's girl too or had your own unique path through childhood infatuation, this episode celebrates the soft hearts and big dreams that came before complicated adult relationships. These formative experiences taught us how to hope, imagine, and connect – lessons that stay with us long after the yearbooks close and the posters come down. Take a moment to remember someone you once adored, even if it was only in your head, and honor how those feelings helped shape who you are today.

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Have you ever loved something so deeply it became part of your identity? That moment when passion transforms into purpose, creating a space where you truly belong? For me, it was soccer. From age three, standing as a goalkeeper became more than a position—it was who I was. The last line of defense. The protector. Every save ignited something in me nothing else could touch.

But what happens when that defining passion disappears? After a devastating knee injury ended my soccer career, I faced the emptiness that follows losing your anchor. The smell of dirt, the sound of cleats digging into grass, the weight of the goalkeeper gloves—all suddenly memories rather than daily realities. This episode explores that disorienting space between who we were and who we're becoming when our first love is taken away.

The journey through loss reveals something profound: the things we love don't leave us empty—they leave us marked. Soccer taught me to be brave under pressure, to protect what matters, to stand tall when everything feels overwhelming. These lessons didn't disappear with my ability to play. They became integrated into who I am beyond the field. Perhaps your passion was music, art, dance, or something entirely different. Whatever shaped you has left fingerprints that remain, even when the activity itself becomes part of your past.

If you're struggling with losing something that once defined you, or wondering who you are outside your passion, this episode is for you. Share your story of identity and loss in the comments, or let me know what first love shaped you. Subscribe to Just Breathe Confessionals for more conversations about finding ourselves in both joy and heartbreak.

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Memory plays tricks on us all, but for those who've experienced trauma, it can feel like flipping through a photo album with half the pictures torn out. That's how I'd describe my childhood memories of Santa Rosa, California – fragmented snapshots rather than a coherent narrative.

When I first tried recording this episode, I described places: houses, parks, streets. But as my boyfriend pointed out, I wasn't actually explaining my childhood – just its geography. This simple observation cracked something open for me. The truth is, I don't remember much about growing up, and it took trauma therapy to help me understand why. My brain protected me by tucking away experiences deemed too difficult, leaving me with random fragments: making orange juice popsicles with my best friend, the ticking sound of the Perfection game, flying down the street on my bike with wind in my hair.

For years, I felt frustrated by these gaps. How could I tell my story without all the chapters? But I've come to realize these fragments aren't deficiencies – they're evidence of my brain doing exactly what it needed to do to get me through. Despite the missing pieces, certain memories of Santa Rosa bring unexpected warmth: playing soccer in the park, Friday nights at Bradley Video Store, skating at the Snoopy ice rink. These aren't just places but moments where I felt truly alive.

If your childhood memories feel scattered and incomplete like mine, you're not broken. Your brain was doing its job. You're allowed to hold onto the safe moments and let the rest stay tucked away until you're ready – or maybe forever. We don't need complete memories to honor our past or understand our present. Sometimes, the fragments are enough. Listen now, and remember to just breathe.

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We all have those strange, quirky habits we developed as children—the comfort objects we couldn't sleep without, the songs we played on repeat, the rituals that made no sense to others but meant everything to us. What if those weren't just childhood peculiarities, but your body's sophisticated attempt to manage anxiety before you had words to name it?

In this deeply personal episode, I unpack the many ways anxiety lived in my body long before I recognized what it was. From frequent escapes to bathroom stalls at school just to breathe, to my beloved comfort blanket "Nana," to falling asleep exclusively to Elton John's "Your Song" for six straight years—these weren't random behaviors but carefully constructed survival mechanisms. The panic of sleepovers, the constant cheek-chewing that my dentist always noticed, the need for noise to drown out silence, the rehearsed conversations playing on loop in my head—all pieces of the same puzzle I couldn't see clearly until others helped name it.

Medication at eight years old was supposed to fix everything, but anxiety doesn't disappear; it shifts and adapts. The most profound healing came not from eliminating these behaviors but from developing compassion for the child who needed them. That younger version of me wasn't dramatic or too sensitive—she was overwhelmed and doing her absolute best with limited resources. Now when those familiar patterns emerge, I've learned to approach them with curiosity rather than judgment, asking "What do you need?" instead of "Why are you like this?" This journey is about learning to listen to our bodies rather than silence them, recognizing that sometimes anxiety isn't the enemy but a signal worth our attention.

If you've ever felt strange or different without understanding why, if you had your own version of Nana or your own equivalent to Elton John's soothing melody, this episode is for you. Share your own childhood coping mechanisms in the comments—I'd love to hear how your body protected you before you had the language to protect yourself.