Thank You for Coming to My Rock Star Phase

I did not wake up one morning planning to enter my rock star phase. It just sort of happened the way fun things usually do, quietly at first. One laugh turned into another. One night stretched longer than I expected.

And if I’m being honest, I don’t think I’d be standing where I am today without it.

That season didn’t just give me stories. It gave me permission. Permission to stop shrinking my ideas. Permission to stop waiting for someone else to validate what I already knew was in me. It gave me the courage to walk away from a nine-to-five corporate job that never quite fit and step into the movement and brand I built from scratch. Sassy Frass with Class didn’t come from a business plan or a perfectly timed launch. She showed up because I finally trusted myself enough to live loudly, choose joy, and bet on my own voice.

Sassy Frass is confidence with a sense of humor. Faith with a little sparkle. Advocacy wrapped in personality. It’s knowing I can talk about hard things and still love a beach bar, a good outfit, and a fruity drink with an umbrella. It’s serious work delivered with charm, honesty, and just enough sass to make people listen. It’s choosing myself without apology and building something real from lived experience, not permission slips. That courage didn’t arrive quietly.

A warm, sun-drenched beach scene. A woman holding up a tropical drink. In the distance, a guitarist plays on a small stage. Fireworks sparkle in the sky above. Overlaid text reads, “Thank You for Coming to My Rock Star Phase.” At the bottom, smaller text says, “We had a blast. We made some memories. And I’m still glowing.”

He had that energy. The kind that makes you say yes before you think about it too hard. Big personality. Always moving. Always a little ahead of the moment. Being around him felt like life had background music again.

So I went with it.

I knew what kind of phase it was. I’m not new here. I knew it was loud and fast and a little chaotic. But it was also fun. And I wanted fun.

People forget this about me, I know fun very well. I live on an island. I am a sun goddess by nature. My version of a good time involves salt air, live music drifting in from somewhere nearby, and fruity little drinks that taste like summer. I already live where people come to feel alive.

Still, there was something electric about his version of fun. Everything felt bigger. Nights buzzed. Plans happened fast. Laughs came easily. It felt like fireworks, bright and constant, lighting up everything around us.

I let myself enjoy it. I stayed out later than usual. I laughed harder. I let go of needing everything to be slow, sensible, or practical. I lived inside the moment and let it be exactly what it was.

Living with a mysterious chronic condition means I’m always aware of my energy. I plan my days carefully. I listen to my body. But this was a season where I chose joy on purpose. I knew I would need rest later. I knew I would feel it the next day. I still decided it was worth it.

And if I’m honest, I hoped it would last forever. Not because I needed it to, but because I loved being in it. I loved the life it felt like it could become. The easy laughter. The shared moments. The picture my mind painted of a future that felt bright and effortless and full of possibility.

But phases have a way of ending when they’re ready. The music doesn’t stop all at once. It just fades. Nights get quieter. The excitement settles.

And that’s okay.

Because we had a show. A real one. Full of noise and sparkle and laughter. And I loved it.

So thank you for coming to my rock star phase. Thank you for the courage. Thank you for the fun. Thank you for the memories.