It’s taken me many years to fully express myself—not just in how I dress or wear my hair, but in how I move through the world.
Most of my tattoos—certainly the ones I cherish most—came after 30. I started wearing my hair in dreadlocks at 35. And I didn’t truly embrace clothing as self-expression until my 40s. Looking back, the seeds were always there. But it took time, and motherhood, and a lot of quiet courage to let them bloom.
I’ve always dressed a little differently—drawn to textures, flow, pieces with soul. But only recently did I stop apologizing for it. I used to tone it down, edit myself to feel safe or acceptable. Now, I know better. Now, I wear what makes me feel beautiful.
Not to be seen. Not to be trendy.
But because putting on something that feels like me is a quiet, everyday act of joy.
It’s funny how long it can take to give yourself permission to be who you’ve been all along.
✨ On Motherhood, Time, and That Ache We Don’t Talk About
Being a mom has been my greatest joy. My deepest becoming. And now I find myself in a tender place—the in-between. Where the house is quieter than it once was, but my heart never is.
If only we could know the things we come to know later in life when it’s all beginning.
I can’t even count the number of times wiser mamas tried to tell me how quickly childhood would pass. And of course, I believed them. But 18 years still felt like forever when I was in the thick of it—school drop-offs, fevers, backpacks, dinner-table negotiations.
I assure you—it was not.
Now, with a deep ache in my soul, I try to pass on the same advice to younger mothers: Don’t blink.
Cliché? Yes. But when you’re sitting at your laptop helping your recent graduate take their next step into the world, it hits different.
Still—I cling to what I know now: they do still need their mama.
Differently. Softer. But wholly.
And I’ve come to see that life—its joy and ache and beauty—is really what we make of it. It’s all woven together. Never perfect, but ours.
🖋 Why I’m Here
And maybe that’s what this blog really is.
- A quiet space to be brave.
- To write when the words feel like honey—or like thorns.
- To speak, even when it feels too tender, too much.
- To be unapologetically passionate about language, memory, and the small sacred things.
I’ve always loved to write. Sometimes I want to share it. Sometimes that sharing terrifies me. But I’ve learned that expression is its own kind of freedom—and when you wrap it in beauty, it becomes a gift.
I also love to shop—not just casually, but curiously. I love the thrill of finding the perfect something: the kantha jacket that feels like armor, the artisan mug that fits just right, the book that wrecks you and rebuilds you.
Even now, with more than enough, I still love the search. And now, I want to share what I find—only the things that feel worthy. Because beauty, when passed on, becomes nourishment.
This is the space for all of that.
- For becoming. For belonging. For wildness and warmth.
- For books, for breath, for quiet joy.
- For treasures that mean something.
- For stories that leave a mark.
- For the sacred, slow journey of coming home to yourself.
Welcome to Rissa’s Wildwoven Finds.
I’m so glad you’re here.
Rissa's Wildwoven Finds 
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