Some people teach you through grand gestures. Others? Through quiet presence, steady hands, and unwavering belief that you will somehow, someday, figure it all out—even when you’re holding your world together with duct tape and denial.
For me, that person was my grandmother.
She didn’t have a social media platform or a five-step plan to inner peace. She had something better—decades of wisdom, a cast iron skillet that could outlive most relationships, and a glance that could both level you and lift you, depending on what you needed.
When my life was in pieces—after caregiving stripped me of sleep, identity, and joy—it was her memory that steadied me. I’d think of her humming while peeling apples for pie, or quietly praying at the kitchen sink while the world around her moved too fast. She didn’t try to fix everything. She just was. And in a world addicted to action, being that grounded felt revolutionary.
Her influence didn’t shout—it whispered. She taught me to show up, to keep going, to find power in softness. That healing doesn’t always look like healing. Sometimes it looks like folding towels with intention or lighting a candle in a room no one else will enter.
Today, Voguegenics exists because of women like her. Women who might never go viral but whose impact echoes for generations. Women who carry others before themselves, not because they’re martyrs—but because their love is just that strong.
So if you’ve ever wondered why I write what I write, or pour my heart into lattes, lace, journals, and moon rituals—it’s because I watched a woman pour herself into everything and never expect applause.
I’m here because she was.
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