Adventures of the Traveling Grief Case

November 2025 marked ten years since I started this blog.

It began as Embracing My Inner Ginger — not as a brand, not as a plan, but as a place.

Long before that, though, there was a little girl who cried over socks when the seams felt too uncomfortable,
and sandwiches cut into squares when they should have been triangles.

A highly sensitive kid trying to live in a world that always felt too loud,
too busy,
too overwhelming.

I grew up in a full, noisy house — people everywhere, voices everywhere.
So I built small escapes: a blanket fort, a tent on my bed, sometimes the big empty wardrobe where I could hide with a flashlight, my books, and my diary.
Think Narnia — but all I needed was a book, a flashlight, and my imagination.
That was my quiet corner — my first version of this blog.

Before I even knew what I was feeling, before I had words for it, I wrote.
When I couldn’t say what I felt, I wrote.
When the noise of the world got too big, I disappeared into words.
Writing became the one place I could translate myself when no one had time or space to listen — not because they didn’t care, but because life was just… well, life.

As I grew older, writing became my home.
It was a place I could go when I was overwhelmed or overstimulated —a place to hide away, think, breathe, and just be.

Here, I could say what I wanted.
I could express myself fully, share parts of my inner world that not everybody saw.
Here, I could just be.

My inner world — my thoughts, my feelings — could be expressed through pages and notebooks instead of staying locked inside.

And lately — maybe it’s perimenopause,
or maybe it’s just the cold New England winter —
I find myself wanting to retreat into that wardrobe a little more.
Back to quiet.
Back to stillness.
Back to myself.

As I continued writing and sporadically blogging, the writing itself began to grow and transform.
And somewhere along the way, so did I.
I thought I was becoming Ginger —
only to realize I wasn’t becoming her at all.
I was remembering the part of me who had always been Ginger,
long before I gave myself permission to be.

This space became like my wardrobe —
only now, I can invite people in.
I can show up as my messy, layered, human self,
and maybe help someone else feel a little more seen, too.

If you’ve found yourself somewhere in these lines,
if something in these words feels familiar,
if you’ve ever searched for the words and not quite understood the feelings —
whether they’ve felt like too much or not enough —

Step into my wardrobe.

You’re welcome here.

If you’re new here, you can read more about the origins of Ginger Funk in Who Is Ginger Funk.