Somehow, this little corner of the internet I started on a whim has officially made it a year. A whole year of writing, editing, deleting, re-editing, googling “why is my website broken,” and trying not to throw my laptop into Biscayne Bay.
When I hit publish on that very first post, I had no idea what I was doing. None. I was just this Miami mom with too many stories swirling around in my head and nowhere to put them. I didn’t know what a cPanel was, thought “WordPress” sounded like a gym class, and had zero clue what a plug-in did. Spoiler: I still don’t fully know, but at least now I can fake it confidently.
Somewhere between chasing kids and scrubbing sunscreen off the car seats, this blog became my quiet space. Well, “quiet” might be the wrong word, since I usually write surrounded by chaos—Nico asking for snacks every five minutes, Anthony trying to “help” by pressing every button on my keyboard. But it became my thing. My tiny digital escape hatch where I could tell stories, laugh at myself, and maybe connect with another mom who’s also running on caffeine and sarcasm.
What I didn’t expect was how much work it would take to keep it alive. I have learned more about web hosting, SEO, and comment spam than I ever wanted to know. Like, why are bots so obsessed with telling me how to get “high-quality backlinks”? I don’t even want to know what that means anymore. And don’t even get me started on the panic that sets in when the site goes down. One time it crashed, and I genuinely thought I’d deleted the entire internet.
But through all of that, it’s been kind of magical. Every post that somehow found its way to a reader’s screen, every comment that made me snort-laugh or tear up a little—it reminded me why I started. To write. To share. To find those little pieces of connection in the middle of mom life madness.
There were moments I thought about quitting, usually around 11 p.m. when I was fighting with the formatting for the fifth time. Then someone would send a message saying, “I thought I was the only one who felt that way,” and suddenly it all felt worth it.
Somewhere between the first typo-filled post and now, I’ve learned that blogging isn’t really about perfect pictures or polished words—it’s about showing up. It’s hitting “publish” even when your post feels too messy or too honest. It’s finding your rhythm between soccer practice and snack prep. It’s realizing that your little stories might make someone else feel seen.
If you told me last August that I’d still be doing this a year later, I probably would’ve laughed. But here we are. One year, dozens of posts, hundreds of photos, and thousands of coffee cups later. And somehow, it still feels like I’m just getting started.
So, happy blogiversary to this messy, funny, honest little space. It’s taught me patience, persistence, and that sometimes the best things grow in the middle of chaos.
And if anyone out there is thinking about starting a blog—do it. You’ll break things, you’ll google too much, you’ll talk to your screen like it’s a person—but you’ll learn so much about yourself in the process.
Now, excuse me while I go back up this post six times just in case I somehow delete the entire website again.