Why Do I Write?
As I sit here with my Louisiana Starbucks coffee mug, I find myself pondering this question.
My Louisiana mug has become my favorite because it reminds me of a difficult season—one in which I emerged stronger. During that time, I clung to a quote from Rebekah Lyons:
“If you lose your voice, be quiet awhile; it will come back.”
I have been quiet for a good long while. And I write now because I have finally found my voice.
But doubt is a sneaky little fiend. Even as I write these words, I question myself: Why don’t I say what I write? Why does it take me so long to process my thoughts? Why do I think more clearly with pen and paper?
I still get lost in self-doubt, critiquing the way I am designed.
And then I remember my purpose as an introvert.
Through Holly Gerth’s book, The Powerful Purpose of Introverts, I found a compass—a purpose statement that has grown clearer over time, even as I doubted my place as a writer. Who, me? Write? Do people even want to hear my words? I used to think I didn’t have enough to say. And I often appear like I don’t have much to say. Quiet observers are like that…
But now, in 2026, I know I do. Sixteen years of marriage, motherhood, and military life have taught me much. So I lean into my purpose:
I am a sensitive and discerning introvert who writes to inspire and encourage women to honor their God-given design.
I did not always have the space or capacity to write, and I often feared I never would. But just like the ocean’s tides and currents, seasons come and seasons go. I am grateful to finally be in a season where writing is included.
I write to give space to the quietest voices
to the deep thinkers who process before they speak—or never speak at all. Your intuition is true. It is good. You don’t need to be afraid to share your voice. Speak. Write.
I write for the mama drowning in diapers and dirty dishes
Your worth is far above rubies. Creating a home filled with love and purpose is worth every tear, every moment of your time. The way you are drawn back to nurture and make your home a sacred space is right and true. In the small acts of tending, teaching, and nurturing, I see the holy thread of God’s presence woven through ordinary life, and I write to honor it. As Mother Teresa said,
“If you want to change the world, go home and love your family.”
I write for the military spouse
The days are long, the load is unseen, and sometimes it feels like no one cares. Your faithful service may not come with praise or medals, but it matters. You don’t have to carry the weight forever. Here, I write about letting it all go—even your soldier. You cannot fix him. You can only put your own gas mask on first.
I write for the woman who doubts her design
Or who has had to set aside her talents and dreams for a season. Sometimes gifts are tucked away, but anything planted in darkness can sprout with care. Water your seeds. Keep the weeds clear. In due time, the harvest will come.
I write to remind us that life is seasonal
Embrace the slow, the calm, the quiet. There is space for creativity when life moves at a gentler pace. Less truly becomes more. Seasons are not endings—they are invitations to breathe, evaluate, grow, and sink roots deeper.
I write to remind you that God is in the quiet moments
the sunlight on the kitchen counter, the breeze moving through the trees, the hush of early morning, the blossom of a flower—and that His presence is shaping our ordinary days.
