I’m a Writer

I’ve worn a lot of titles in my life:

Professional ones like analyst, negotiator, supervisor. Personal ones like daughter, sister, cousin, and my favorite of all: Mom.

Until recently, I never really considered myself a “writer”, at least not in the career or professional sense of the word… 

Even though writing is what I do. 

It’s what I’ve always done. 

It’s what I’ve always loved doing.

And now, it’s what pays the bills.

I’ve kept a journal for as long as I can remember.

Made lists of lists.

Took detailed classroom / meeting notes.

And don’t get me started on school supplies — oh lawd!  I just thought I was a nerd (and proud of it). 

It wasn’t until I turned 40 that I started to really claim the title of “writer.”

As long as I can remember, I have kept a journal and journaling helps me slow my mind down enough to process what I’m feeling. Then in my late 20s I started writing poetry, which gave me permission to actually feel those emotions.

Even back in high school, I loved writing essays and term papers…mine and a few for my sister and friends. Research + writing? A dream combo.

Over the years, writing has become like breathing.

Anyone who knows me knows I’m perfectly fine with a pen and a blank page. I’ll always find something worth writing down.

In 2022, I read an article about copywriting and I was instantly drawn in.  I had heard the word before but never actually knew what it was but once I found out I started learning all I could.  Very few people (outside the copywriting world)  really understand what it is and it’s everywhere. While in “learning mode,” I trained on Canva, explored several AI tools, and started helping clients with their branding, flyers, emails, and blogs.

Eventually, I leaned back into my creative side, writing poetry, storytelling, and I even started a teen fantasy fiction book about a boy fairy named Gilly who watches over a girl named Darlyn. 

Right now, I’m building this blog to bring it all together.

To give all my writing a home.

To give my creative work a place to grow.

I’m building something real from what used to be just scribbles in my Notes app and Post-its in my purse.

It’s not always graceful.

It’s not always profitable…yet.

But it’s mine.

I’ll keep growing it one line, one pitch, one pivot at a time.

Thanks for stopping by and reading a little piece of my journey.

I’ll be adding new things all the time: free resources, creative posts, behind-the-scenes on what’s working (and what’s not).

Head over to the Contact Me page and drop your email, I’d love to keep you in the loop.

The Dreams I Put on Pause: Dusting Off the Shelves of My Soul

 Y'all, we're diving into the "Dream Series" today, and this first one hits real close to home. It's about those dreams we shelve, those aspirations we tuck away in the attic of our hearts while we're busy building a life for someone else.

For me, that someone else was my son. And for about eighteen, maybe nineteen years, my answer to "Who are you?" was simple: "I'm his mom." That was my identity, my purpose, my everything. And bless his heart, he still is my everything, just in a different way now.

It’s funny, isn't it? When he left home, someone asked me that question again, "Who are you?" Well, hmmmm, that was a mighty fine question! I didn't have an answer ready anymore. It wasn't because I hadn't dreamed before him. Lawd no. Back when I was a junior in high school, I had a very specific dream: I wanted to be an 11th-grade Trigonometry teacher. Now, don't misunderstand, it wasn't the numbers or the angles that captivated me so much. It was the desk and all the paperwork (yeah, I was and still am a huge dork and I love it).. I used to practice signing my name before I even knew cursive, making those squiggly lines and ending with a loud "dot dot dot!" just so everyone knew I was signing something very important. It was the idea of order, of having a place, of making a mark.

Life took a different turn, as it often does. College wasn't the path I chose then; instead, I got pregnant with my son. And let me tell you, I absolutely LOVED being an active mother. Every talk, every cry, every shared moment is a memory I cling to. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be here, in more ways than one. I swear, even before I met him, just knowing I'd be a mother changed my life for the better.

But here’s the thing about putting yourself on pause: sometimes, when the reason for the pause is no longer there, you’re left with all that empty space.

When my son started driving, a different kind of freedom emerged for him, and for me, it was a slippery slope. That's when I started back drinking, and things got ugly real fast. I've always said I'd rather die than have him look at me without respect, and there were times, when my own dumb choices devastated me because I thought I was losing his respect. It was a hard road, one of many I seem to prefer to travel, but we're in a good place now. A really good place.

Now, if you know me at all, you know I put way too much stock into what people think about me. My anxiety can skyrocket if someone close to me is angry. I'm a people-pleaser, what can I say? And after my son moved out, I made some other major changes. Lord knows, if they’d gone perfectly, I wouldn't have learned half the things I know today, but, like I always say, YOLO—you only live once, for those of y'all who might need a reminder! And keeping things interesting? That's definitely my MO.

This latest hard road, though, has been particularly tough to navigate because, for the very first time in my life, I only had myself to rely on. No family or long time friend and no little one to shield behind, just me. And that's where my deepest dream truly lies now: to learn to love myself unconditionally, as much as I love my son. To find peace and joy in my soul, even when everyone around me might disagree with my path, or when their opinions used to crush me.

So, here I am. My dream now is to figure those things out, and I'm doing it. I'm coming out of my shell and stepping into the world, imperfectly and honestly, right here with this blog. These are the dreams I put on pause, now dusted off and ready to be lived.

What dreams have you put on pause? Are you dusting any off now? I'd truly love to hear about it.

Dandelion Creed

Be like a dandelion,

Stand tall, stay bright.

You’ll bend in the storm but reach for the light.

They’ll call you a weed, try to pluck you away,

But you were built for the cracks so dance in the rain. 

Most won’t see your roots run deep,

They’ll judge your bloom when you’re fighting to keep,

A piece of the sky, a patch of the sun,

But you’ve always been many things wrapped in one.

You’re softness and steel, wild and wise,

A stubborn bloom they still criticize.

But beauty was never about fitting in.

You were born to rise again… and again.

Why I Feel Like a Dandelion

Some people see a weed.

I see a warrior.

When I chose the dandelion as the profile picture for this blog, it wasn’t just because it was pretty (though I do love the look of a wild bloom standing alone in a sea of green). It was because I see myself in that flower.

Dandelions are misunderstood.

Most folks try to kill them off...pluck them from gardens, poison them out of lawns. They’re considered invasive, uninvited, and not worth keeping around. But the truth? Dandelions are one of the most resilient, resourceful plants out there.

They were brought over on the Mayflower, not as a nuisance, but as a gift. Every single part of a dandelion is edible and offer lots of health benefits. Roots, stems, leaves, flowers...all of it can be used to nourish, to heal, to survive. Colonists knew that. They depended on it.

There are even plants out there that pretend to be dandelions. They look similar but aren’t the same. Tall, coarse, and hollow...they’re called Cat’s Ears, but people call them dandelions anyway. The real Dandelions have been buried under the wrong name.

That’s been part of my journey: untangling what I’ve been called from who I actually am.

I’m not just a mom.

I’m not perfect.

I’m not a “weed.”

I’m a Dandelion.

I’m here. I’m still growing. Still useful. Still standing strong where most things wouldn’t.

So if you’re here reading this, maybe you’re a little like me. Maybe you’ve been overlooked, mislabeled, or misunderstood. Maybe you’re just now beginning to bloom again, quietly, bravely...on your own terms.

And if that’s the case, welcome. You’re in good company.

A creed is coming.

A whisper turned roar.

The kind you carry in your roots when the world calls you weak.

The Echo of "Back When I Was Your Mom"

Welcome to DarlynDreams.

My name is Chrissy, and I’m a Southern girl, woman rather, in my mid-forties. For years, my whole identity was wrapped up in one word: Mom. It wasn’t just a role; it became the very definition of who I was.

Like many, I dreamed of one day owning my own business and living a life that felt full (not necessarily millionaire-level, although that would be nice), but deeply fulfilling. I wanted to wake up excited about MY life, to keep learning, and to help others along the way. What I didn’t realize back then was that I had completely lost sight of the one person I most needed to help: me.

It’s easy, isn’t it? When there’s a child in the house, you sacrifice. You push through. You become a quiet superhero who does whatever it takes to provide, protect, and pour into that little life. Your needs move to the background, then to the basement, then eventually vanish altogether. You show up in every storm, every milestone, every mess, because there’s no way you’ll let your baby face it alone.

I was a force. A shield. A constant.

But what happens when they leave?

What happens when the nest is empty and the echo of your own steps is the loudest sound in the house?

I didn’t expect the disorientation. I found myself drifting. There were days I could barely feed myself because cooking for one felt strange, almost wrong. The joy of making meals was gone, replaced by a hollow silence. I cried. I felt lost. I kept whispering to myself, “Back when I was your mom, I could handle anything. Back when I was your mom, I knew what to do…”

But now? I could barely stand up for myself. Even the simplest things felt heavy.

Then one day, in the middle of one of those tearful spirals, my son (who’d been out on his own for a while) heard me venting. He gave this soft chuckle, the kind that says, “That’s sad, but also…true.”

And then he said something that changed everything:

“Ma,” he said gently, “you’re still my ma. But now, you’ve got to learn to love YOU the way you’ve always loved me.”

Whew.

That stopped me cold. He was right. I had given him every drop of my love, and somewhere in all that giving, I’d forgotten how to care for myself. I had forgotten who Chrissy was… beyond “Mom.”

So now, before I can fully learn to love myself, I have to start by rediscovering who I even am.

That’s what this blog, DarlynDreams, is for. It’s my space to document the journey—the beautiful, the messy, the healing, the stumbling. And maybe, just maybe, someone out there who feels just as lost will stumble upon it and feel a little less alone.

Have you ever felt like you lost yourself while caring for others?

I’d love to hear your story in the comments.