Hey there, I’m Monie.
I’m a redhead raised on Southern grace –
a writer, mama, and kitchen philosopher
with a mouthful of metaphors and a heart that still believes in more.
I hope this space helps you feel something –
a little more seen, a little more grounded, a little more you.
Pull up a chair – I’ll pour something warm.
Stay as long as you need.
welcome, friend.
This space is a ’90s mixtape of faith, food, feeling, and fire –
where stories simmer slow, sacred messes are welcome,
and soul work lingers like magic in the margins.
I write for the hungry-hearted –
the ones who still believe in slow mornings,
singing in the car, dancing in the kitchen,
and grace that shows up in the mess.
There’s food on the stove, truth in the lyrics,
and beauty that gathers where the broken’s been.
I’ve done the pencil rewind, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
I’ve learned to love with the volume up and the windows down.
And I still believe there’s something holy about showing up –
hungry, honest, maybe even halfway undone.
“I don’t have it all figured out — but I know how to feed a soul.”
The F-Words I Live By
Not just categories — these are breadcrumbs. Follow what you need.
FAITh + Frank
Not loud. Not labeled.
Just lived.
Sacred reflections and soul-deep truth-telling with a splash of sass.
FOOD
Recipes, yes. But also memory, nourishment, and soul.
Comfort food with a backstory — shared like an heirloom.
FEELING
Grief, joy, longing, rage, hope —
all welcome.
Tender truths for those who feel everything and still show up.
FIRE
The kind of fire that refines
and reveals.
The passion, purpose, and truth-telling that keep us lit up.
unapologetically me
Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups = Protein Bar
And yes, I squeeze them. There’s a method. Don’t judge what you don’t understand.
Backstreet’s Back, and So Am I.
I will never apologize for being a grown woman who still squeals
at boy bands.
I was raised on Jesus, Southern sarcasm, and Little Debbie oatmeal cream pies.
Only one of them betrayed me at 40.