KYM Lifestyle

08/22/2026

Strength & Resilience

I have been sitting quietly today, reflecting on my mother.

There are so many things I could say about her, but two words keep rising to the surface:

Strength.
Resilience.

Our relationship wasn’t perfect.

There were complicated seasons. There were things we understood differently, things we carried differently, and moments that weren’t easy.

But none of that erases what I admired about her.

My mother was strong.

She knew how to keep going.

She knew how to endure.

She faced things that could have broken her, and somehow she continued to find a way forward.

And perhaps as I sit here now, I realize that some of the strength I have spent years recognizing in myself may have been something I first witnessed in her.

Resilience has a way of being passed down.

Not always through words.

Sometimes we learn it simply by watching someone live.

Watching them get up.

Watching them keep going.

Watching them carry what they never thought they would have to carry.

My mother taught me things I may not have understood while she was here.

And today, I am choosing to remember more than the difficult parts.

I am remembering the woman.

My mother.

Her strength.

Her resilience.

The life she lived.

The things she survived.

The things she gave.

And the parts of her that will continue to live in me.

This morning, my mother transitioned from this life.

And while my heart is still trying to understand that sentence, I am grateful that I had the privilege of calling her Mom.

Rest now, Mama.

You don’t have to be strong anymore.

You don’t have to keep going.

You can finally rest.

I love you.

And I will carry you with me. 🤍

08/08/2026

There are some kinds of pain you don’t know how to explain.

Not because you don’t remember what happened.

But because there were so many things.

The loss.
The caregiving.
The illness.
The grief.
The years of putting everyone else first.
The dreams you quietly placed on the shelf.
The woman you were before life asked so much of you.

And somehow, you survived it all.

People see you standing.

They don’t always see what it cost you to get here.

But here’s what I’m learning:

Survival is not the end of the story.

There comes a moment when you have to stop asking, “How do I get back to who I was?”

And begin asking:

“Who am I now?”

Maybe you’re not broken.

Maybe you’re not behind.

Maybe you’re standing at the threshold of the life that becomes possible when you finally stop abandoning yourself.

This is the work I’m doing now.

Not becoming someone new.

Coming home to the woman who was always there.

And becoming her.

If you’re in The After, I want you to know something:

You are not alone. 🤎

🦋

08/03/2026

My morning ritual, currently on hyper-fixation rotation! ✨

I am intentional about starting the day vibrantly as I work towards hitting my collagen goals.

07/30/2026

A Self-Reminder 🦋

Never forget the toughness that runs through your blood. 🙏🏽

Sometimes we need to remind ourselves just how much we’ve already survived.

07/30/2026

Well, look at God! 🙌🏽

This morning I opened my banking app and noticed an ACH deposit with no name attached to it. I shrugged my shoulders, made a mental note to go back and figure it out later, and kept moving.

A little while ago, I received an email that said:

“It’s Payday From Barnes & Noble Press.” 😂

BOOK ROYALTIES! 📚🎉

I just sat there for a moment and smiled because sometimes God has a way of reminding us that the seeds we planted are still producing fruit, even when we’re not thinking about them.

I am so grateful. Not just for the royalty, but for every single person who purchased Becoming Her, read it, shared it, gifted it, or recommended it to someone else.

You supported something that came from a very personal place in my life, and I don’t take that lightly.

So today, I’m praying a special blessing over every person who has purchased Becoming Her.

May God bless you for blessing me. May He return it to you in ways you never expected. 🙏🏽

And Lord, thank You for reminding me that what You ask us to plant in faith can continue to bear fruit long after we’ve released it.

Praise God! 🙌🏽

My heart is full.🦋

07/23/2026

My heart is so full. ❤️

As I close out my 58th birthday, I simply want to say…thank you.

Thank you to every person who took a moment out of your day to celebrate me. Whether you called, sent a text, posted a message, sang Happy Birthday, prayed for me, or blessed me with a thoughtful gift, please know that every expression of love touched my heart more than words can express.

I truly felt seen.
I felt loved.
I felt celebrated.

I spent the day with my son and daughter-in-law, and it was everything I could have hoped for and more. My expectations were exceeded in every way.

Most of all, I am grateful to God.

When I look back over my life, I see His hand in every season. Through the valleys and the mountaintops, through loss and healing, through endings and beautiful new beginnings, He has remained faithful.

Today wasn’t just about turning 58.

It was a reminder of His goodness.
His grace.
His mercy.
His perfect timing.

Thank you for being part of my journey. Your love, encouragement, and friendship are gifts I never take for granted.

Here’s to another year of becoming…walking by faith, embracing purpose, and trusting God with every step ahead.

Tonight, I go to bed with a full heart.

Thank you for making my 58th birthday one I will never forget.

To God be all the glory. 🦋🙏🏽

07/22/2026

🎉Happy Birthday to Me 🎉

58 years ago today Yahweh decided the world needed me in it.

And today I celebrate His decision with my whole heart.❤️

This has not been an easy journey. There have been losses that almost undid me, seasons that asked everything I had, and moments where I did not know if I would make it to the other side.

But here I am. Standing. Becoming. Grateful.

At 58 I know things I could not have learned any other way.

I know that rest is not weakness. That boundaries are not walls. That starting over at 56 in a new city with my fur baby Sebastian and a dream bigger than your circumstances is not crazy — it is courageous.

I know that the woman Yahweh purposed me to be was always in there, waiting patiently for me to finally have enough margin to come looking for her.

I found her. And she is something.

To everyone who has prayed for me, loved me, walked with me, and believed in what Yahweh was doing even when I could not see it — thank you. From the depths of me, thank you.

58 is not the finish line. It is the beginning of the best chapters yet.

Watch me become her. 🦋

07/19/2026

07/06/2026

The world will always have opinions.

Some will applaud you.
Some will misunderstand you.
Some will question the very thing God called you to do.

None of that changes your assignment.

You were never called to collect approval. You were called to steward purpose.

Stay faithful.
Stay obedient.
Keep showing up.

The impact God has ordained for your life will always matter more than the applause of people. 🦋

SecondAct PersonalGrowth ChristianWomen Leadership KingdomBusiness SovereignSoftLife KarenYMoore

06/21/2026

I love Las Vegas. I love my community specifically. The diversity, the walkability, my property manager who does an incredible job, being close to UNLV, the strip, the airport. There is a beautiful library three blocks away.

This area is alive. It is robust. It is everything I hoped for when I chose this city to begin again at 56.

But living somewhere alive also means living somewhere visible. And what is becoming increasingly visible to me is how badly this city is failing its unhoused population.

Yesterday when I took Sebastian for his afternoon walk, I found items I had thrown away on Friday sitting in my breezeway. Someone had been going through the trash. I picked everything up and put it back where it belonged, and I did not think much more about it until last night.

Around 8:00pm, I retrieved an Amazon delivery from my door. While I was out, I saw a woman walking away and just shrugged it off.

At 8:15, I took Sebastian out again. I saw her a second time, this time walking across the parking lot. Sebastian was so fixated on watching her that he stopped paying attention to what he was supposed to be doing, so I brought him inside and took him out to the back courtyard instead.

When we came back in, I heard movement in the breezeway. I looked through the peephole.
In that short window of time, this woman had moved her entire life in front of my door. A cushion to sleep on. A bag of belongings. A bin. Folded camp chairs. A toothbrush, lotion, mirrors, a b**g and a small bowl of toiletries laid out like a nightstand. She had set up a home outside my front door.

I took pictures. I called Metro. While officers were on scene, she apologized to me over and over, in a way that broke something in me to witness. I did not fall asleep until after midnight.

I have not been able to unsee it since.

I share this not for sympathy, and not to make a spectacle of a woman who is clearly struggling with far more than housing. I share it because this is what Las Vegas works very hard not to show you.

This city spends enormous energy curating an image, the lights, the shows, the sense that everything here is abundant and easy. And just outside the frame of that image are women like her, set up in breezeways, going through other people’s trash, apologizing to strangers for needing somewhere, anywhere, to exist.

This country has the resources to end homelessness. Las Vegas specifically is not short on wealth.

What is short is the will to actually solve this instead of relocating it, hiding it, or waiting for residents to handle it themselves one uncomfortable encounter at a time.

When my husband James was alive, we fed unhoused neighbors and connected people to whatever resources we could find. That work always felt like ministry. It still does.

But there is a real difference between choosing to serve from a place of stability and finding someone’s entire life staged outside your front door, unsure of what is happening or what comes next.

I do not have a tidy ending for this. I am still sitting with what I saw, what I felt, and what I now know is happening in the shadows of a neighborhood I genuinely love.

What I know is this. She is not a statistic, and she is not invisible, even though this city would prefer she remain both. She is somebody’s daughter. She was someone before whatever brought her to that breezeway.

Compassion and safety are not supposed to compete with each other. Last night, in my own hallway, they did. I am still working out what to do with that.