Welcome Reader,

Can I share something a little more personal with you today?

There was a time in my life when I was afraid to ask questions.

Not because I didn't have them...

But because I thought having questions meant there was something wrong with my faith.

I grew up Catholic.

And if you know anything about being Catholic, you know there are a lot of beautiful traditions.

We went to Mass.

We celebrated the sacraments.

We prayed.

We followed rituals that had been passed down for generations.

Looking back, I realize I accepted many of those traditions simply because that's what I had always known.

I never really stopped to ask...

Why?

Why did we do certain things?

Where did these traditions come from?

Why did I feel like I could only talk to God in certain places?

Why did it seem like I was always hearing Scripture through a male perspective?

These weren't angry questions.

They were curious ones.

For a long time, I kept those questions tucked away because I worried that asking them somehow meant I wasn't faithful enough.

Then someone recommended a book called Mary Magdalene Revealed by Meggan Watterson.

I didn't pick it up because I was trying to leave my faith.

I picked it up because I genuinely wanted to understand it more deeply.

And what happened surprised me.

The more I questioned...the closer I felt to God.

That probably sounds backwards.

I thought asking questions would pull me away from my faith.

Instead, it brought me closer to it.

Not because I suddenly found all the answers.

But because my relationship with God stopped feeling like something I had inherited...

and started feeling like something I was actively choosing.

Today, I pray more than I ever did when I was actively involved in church.

Not because someone tells me I should.

Because I want to.

Because it feels like a conversation instead of an obligation.

My language has changed over the years.

Sometimes I say God.

Sometimes Christ.

Sometimes Divine.

Sometimes Source.

But for me, they all point toward the same thing:

Love.

Compassion.

Grace.

Connection.

Looking back, I can see that season became one of the biggest turning points of my life.

It taught me that curiosity isn't the opposite of faith.

Sometimes...

it's the doorway to a faith that finally becomes your own.

That lesson didn't just change my spiritual life.

It changed everything.

It gave me permission to question the stories I had been carrying about myself.

-The belief that I always had to make everyone else happy.

-The belief that my worth depended on my productivity.

-The belief that I had to have everything figured out before I could trust myself.

Curiosity became one of the greatest gifts I've ever given myself.

Because every time I asked,

"Is this actually true?"

I made a little more room for healing.

And I think that's what this newsletter has always been about.

Not telling you what to believe.

Not giving you all the answers.

Simply creating a space where we can be curious together.

Where it's okay to ask questions.

Where it's okay to grow.

Where it's okay for your understanding of yourself—and maybe even your understanding of God—to evolve over time.

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A Gentle Reflection for This Week

Is there something in your life you've been afraid to question?

Not because you want to reject it...

But because you genuinely want to understand it more deeply?

Maybe it's a belief.

A habit.

A relationship.

A story you've been telling yourself for years.

Whatever it is...

I hope you give yourself permission to be curious.

Because in my experience, curiosity doesn't pull us away from truth.

It has a funny way of leading us right back to it

With curiosity,

Emily 🌿

If today's email resonated with you... and you're realizing that people-pleasing, overthinking, or constantly keeping the peace has left you feeling disconnected from yourself, I'd love to invite you into Rooted in Your Truth.

It's a gentle 5-week journey where we explore gratitude, boundaries, self-trust, and the patterns that quietly pull us away from ourselves. My hope isn't to "fix" you—it's to walk alongside you as you remember the person you've been underneath it all.

You can learn more here if it feels like the right next step for you.