Every day is a struggle.
My relationship with food.
The way I talk to myself.
The narratives I fight—ones that tell me I’m not enough, that try to convince me my worth is conditional, fragile, or earned only through perfection.
Every day is a struggle.
Some mornings I wake up already tired. Tired of negotiating with my own mind. Tired of carrying old wounds that still speak in my voice. Tired of the constant effort it takes to choose care over criticism, patience over punishment.
But here’s the truth I keep coming back to:
I am rewriting my story.
Not in sweeping transformations or overnight victories—but in the smallest, bravest choices. In noticing the thought before I believe it. In feeding my body instead of fighting it. In offering myself the same compassion I so easily extend to others.
The crow has always symbolized survival for me—adaptability, intelligence, the ability to endure harsh seasons and still rise each morning. The flame is the spark that refuses to go out, even when it flickers. Together, they remind me that resilience doesn’t have to be loud. Sometimes it’s quiet. Sometimes it looks like getting through the day without giving up on yourself.
Rewriting your story doesn’t mean erasing the past. It means refusing to let it hold the pen.
Some days the old chapters try to repeat themselves. Some days the struggle feels heavier than the hope. But each time I choose awareness over shame, curiosity over judgment, I write a new line. A truer one. A kinder one.
Every day is a struggle.
And every day, I choose to keep going.
That choice—that steady, imperfect commitment to myself—is the fire.
Crow and Flame 