Kate Didd

(Day 45) It started with a playlist. Not just any playlist, the kind you build under a full moon when your fingers feel a little possessed and your heart is finally honest enough to stop lying to itself. The kind where every song feels like a spell, every lyric a thread, every beat a pulse…

(Day 44) There’s something suspiciously cinematic about waking up on the wrong side of the bed. Not metaphorically. Literally. Wrong side. Different angle of sunlight. Different gravity, apparently. My partner and I switched places the night before, and I woke up disoriented in that soft, romcom kind of way, like the universe hit “shuffle” and…

(Day 41) Let me paint you a picture. Not a soft watercolor.No, no, this is oils. Thick. Textured. A little aggressive if you stand too close. This is a love story where the nervous systems arrive before the romance does.Where trauma sits at the table like an uninvited aunt who refuses to leave… but somehow…

(Day 39) Reflecting on this healing story in life. Someone once asked me why I chose weightlifting as my outlet. They expected something poetic. Something healing. Maybe a soft, candle-lit journey back to self. I said, “Oh, it was petty.” And not the sloppy kind either. No, no. I’m talking tailored, form-fitting, walk-it-down-a-runway petty. The…

(Day 34) There are some mornings that don’t arrive gently.They don’t bloom open with golden light and birdsong and poetic ease.They arrive like a reckoning. This morning was one of those. I woke up later than usual, already off rhythm, like my body had decided without consulting me that something inside needed to finish breaking…

(Day 32) There’s something strange happening to me again. Not the chaotic, spiral-down-the-stairs-in-fuzzy-socks kind of strange. Not the “text him, don’t text him, text him anyway and then throw your phone into the ocean” kind of strange. No, this one is quieter.More dangerous.The kind that slips in while you’re folding laundry and suddenly realizes…you don’t…

(Day 31) I’ve been pondering life lately what it is, what it means, how we measure it. It’s funny how I’ve spent so much time looking at years like they’re containers, like they hold meaning simply because they exist. But they don’t. Not really. Meaning only seems to arrive when something interrupts the timeline when…

(Day 28) Happy Monday morning, y’all, the day most people side-eye like a bad ex, but me? I’ve been flirting with it for years now. Turns out, loving what others resist is kind of my thing. Maybe it’s not a flaw, maybe it’s a skill set. Maybe it’s how I survived long enough to learn…

(Day 27) I woke up later than usual this morning, like the night had carried me off in a storm and only just set me back down. My body had finally called it enough. Ten days of running on fumes caught up all at once. It wasn’t graceful. It was a collapse. The kind that…

(Day 26) There is a particular kind of grief that doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t arrive like a storm. It seeps in quietly, through the cracks of choices you thought you had already outgrown. It lives in the moment you recognize a familiar pattern, not as memory, but as something breathing again in your present…