On finding myself in the ashes, reclaiming my happiness, and learning to live without fear.

**October 31, 2026 Blackthorn Field Notes**

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

I know Blackthorn Field Notes has been quiet lately, and I’m sorry for disappearing for a while. But life has a way of demanding our attention, sometimes in ways we never anticipated.

As my circumstances changed, I needed to take a step back. Not because I stopped caring. Not because the issues I’ve written about suddenly became less important. And certainly not because the fight was over.

Silence does not mean surrender.

The advocacy never stopped. The compassion never disappeared. I simply needed to direct some of that energy toward rebuilding my own life.

And today, on my 44th birthday, it feels good to be writing again.

Perhaps because something has finally begun to make sense.

The Life That Burned

The last several years have been nothing short of transformative.

My marriage ended. I began my gender transition. My health presented challenges that fundamentally changed how I navigate the world. I lost my ability to work for an extended period, along with much of the stability and independence I had spent years building.

There were moments when I genuinely didn’t know how I was going to make it through.

People love to romanticize transformation. They talk about emerging stronger, discovering yourself, and rising above adversity.

What they rarely talk about is the exhaustion. The grief. The uncertainty. The days when survival is the only accomplishment you can manage.

Sometimes, before you can rebuild your life, the old one has to burn to the ground.

And sometimes, the ashes need time to cool.

Returning to the workforce this year was an enormous milestone. But it didn’t magically erase my disabilities, restore my body to what it was twenty years ago, or resolve every challenge I still face.

I’m learning that resilience doesn’t mean endlessly pushing through pain. That having limitations doesn’t make me less capable of making meaningful contributions. And that I don’t have to keep measuring myself against the person I used to be.

I’m not trying to rebuild that person.

I’m becoming the woman I was always meant to be.

Done Performing. Not Done Caring.

Something else has become increasingly clear.

I’m exhausted from performing.

From making myself smaller. From trying to meet expectations that were never designed with someone like me in mind. From feeling obligated to explain, justify, or prove my worth simply to exist comfortably in the world.

I’m done with that.

That doesn’t mean I’m abandoning kindness, empathy, accountability, or compassion. Quite the opposite.

I want to spend more of my life investing those things where they genuinely matter.

I don’t need big birthday parties or elaborate celebrations. I want good company, genuine connections, laughter, and memories worth keeping.

I want people around me who appreciate authenticity, who understand that relationships aren’t supposed to require abandoning ourselves, and who recognize that sometimes simply being present is enough.

Nothing forced. Nothing performative.

Just good people sharing whatever time we have together.

I Will Fight. And I Will Live.

As a transgender, disabled woman, I am painfully aware of the political and social challenges facing communities like mine.

I see the efforts to undermine rights and protections. I see the fear, anger, and uncertainty these efforts create.

And I will continue to speak out.

I will advocate. I will challenge injustice. I will stand beside people whose voices are being dismissed or whose dignity is being questioned.

But something occurred to me this morning.

I can acknowledge the threats around me without allowing them to consume my entire existence.

I can be angry without living in anger.

I can recognize injustice without surrendering my happiness.

I can fight for a better tomorrow while still finding reasons to celebrate today.

There are people challenging harmful decisions, defending legal protections, and refusing to surrender the progress we’ve made. Their work matters, and so does ours.

The fight is not over.

But neither is my life.

I intend to live with my chest out and my chin up, as much as my musculoskeletal system will tolerate, anyway. Even my inspirational moments come with reasonable accommodations. 😂

Because joy isn’t a betrayal of advocacy.

The point of fighting for a better world is to have one worth living in.

The Phoenix Rises

At 44, I don’t know how much time I have left on this planet. None of us do.

But I know what I want to do with mine.

I want my children and the people I love to know how deeply they matter to me. I want to create memories that bring smiles long after the moments themselves have passed. I want my words, my work, and my actions to leave something positive behind.

I want to love, laugh, learn, advocate, and experience everything this unpredictable life still has to offer.

I’m not pretending the difficult days are behind me. There are still challenges ahead, wounds that need healing, and parts of my life that remain unfinished.

But I am no longer waiting for everything to be perfect before giving myself permission to be happy.

The old life burned.

The ashes cooled.

And from them, a woman is rising who is no longer interested in becoming what everyone else expected her to be.

She’s discovering who she can become when she finally gives herself permission to live.

So, happy 44th birthday to me.

And to those who have missed Blackthorn Field Notes, thank you for being here.

It feels good to be back.

The phoenix is rising.

And this time, she’s going to enjoy the sky.

— Corrine J. Blackthorn
Blackthorn Field Notes