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chaaaanti

@chaaaanti

2 months ago
Photo by @chaaaanti on August 09, 2026. May be a selfie of one or more people, blonde hair, eyeliner, makeup, jewelry and text.
Photo by @chaaaanti on August 09, 2026. May be a selfie of one or more people, blonde hair, makeup, eyeliner, jewelry, wrist watch, bangle and text.
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Posted On: August 9th 2026, 04:36 pm
i push you out and you come right back
Comments (8)
romynegronii 2 months ago

romynegronii

❤️❤️ Wowi maussiiii😍

aliiina.hlznr 2 months ago

aliiina.hlznr

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its_by.juliaa 2 months ago

its_by.juliaa

🔥🔥

pearlzoe 2 months ago

pearlzoe

My Heart

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I thought it was time for a little updated introduction! 🥰 It’s been a while since I last introduced myself, and there’s always more to share as my journey continues 🥹 From my love of fashion and trying different styles to little adventures and exploring my genderfluidity, here’s a little glimpse into me and what I enjoy sharing here ✨ A huge thank you to everyone who’s been following along so far, and a warm welcome to anyone who’s new here! 🩷 #myjourney #lgbtq #genderfluid #outfitinspiration #selfdiscovery
The sweetest shelf of the season has officially arrived! 🍒🎀🍦 Someone put Sundae in charge of holiday dessert. So naturally, we made bodycare! We’ve raided Nan’s recipe book, sprinkled a little holiday magic and whipped up a deliciously indulgent collection for your whole bod. FRESH ON THE SHELF ♡ Spiced Eggnog Whipped Shower Foam ♡ Plum Pudding Whipped Shower Foam ♡ Holiday Sugar Cookie Whipped Shower Foam ♡ Mini Merry Cherry Body Whip ♡ Mini Gingerbread Body Whip BACK FOR SECONDS ♡ Gingerbread Whipped Shower Foam ♡ Candy Cane Whipped Shower Foam Old favourites. New indulgences. A whole lot of holiday magic. Shop the collection now at sundaebody.com
This week is Baby Loss Awareness Week and whilst I often feel I have little more to add to the conversation, lately I’ve realised just how much losing a baby continues to take from me, even 20 years later. In those first weeks and months after losing Joseph, my grief was as you’d expect. Overwhelming sadness, anger that none of it made sense, and desperation to understand how life could go on without him. What I didn’t know back then was that the more complex layers of grief would only surface much later, in moments I could never have anticipated, when PTSD would rear its ugly head and make already difficult situations a thousand times harder. When my brother died, that PTSD hit me in full force. Telling my parents they’d lost their child, saying goodbye in the chapel of rest, sitting on the front row at his funeral feeling wave after wave of grief, not just for him, but for Joseph too. When my lovely Nan died, of course I grieved for someone we loved beyond measure, but also for the loss of another little piece of this earth who had known and loved my boy. And when my dad became ill this summer, facing a scary diagnosis and a terrifying surgery still to come, I realised that losing Joseph had also taken my ability to truly believe good things can happen, to hope for the best, to trust that everything will be okay. Because once, the very worst thing imaginable happened, and no amount of hoping, wishing or believing could change the outcome. And that’s the part of baby loss we don’t talk about enough. How it changes you for life. How grief becomes intertwined with every other loss, fear and moment of uncertainty until sometimes it’s impossible to separate one from another. Perhaps that’s why I feel conflicted that something so devastating, complex and lifelong can be reduced to a pastel coloured ribbon and a flickering candle. Because whilst those gestures have their place, they barely touch the reality of living with the trauma of losing a child. So this week, I’ll think of my son as I always do. I’ll carry him through every celebration and every heartbreak, just as I have for the last 20 years, and I’ll be thinking of those missing theirs too. 💙
I recently lost everything in a house fire. I haven’t really talked about it much, but I’m still struggling to believe the home I poured my heart into and nearly everything I owned is gone. An electrical fire broke out while I was inside. I tried everything to stop it, but it spread too quickly. I escaped, then stood outside watching my entire life’s work, savings, and irreplaceable memories disappear in a matter of minutes. Asking for help is incredibly hard for me, but if you can donate or share my GoFundMe, it would mean more than I can say. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your kindness and support.
Astoria celebrated a beautiful day of community programming with a street fair on Broadway, Open Streets, a parade on Steinway, and an impromptu parking lot on 33rd Street stretching south from Astoria Boulevard for several avenues. With so many festivities and nowhere to park, resourceful motorists discovered you can simply park behind someone who is also behind someone who is also behind someone. Several drivers even stepped out of their vehicles to admire the cars ahead of them, exchange enthusiastic remarks, and personally inquire about everyone’s plans to move forward—just like Christopher Columbus did on the Mayflower or whatever. Some contributed live music using the instrument conveniently located in the center of their steering wheel. Honestly, beautiful to see people getting out of their cars and enjoying our streets. This is exactly what the urbanists wanted. 🪿
Here's an update on what happened and why I haven't posted anything for the past month. We were in Flatanger when my wife Sara noticed something unusual in her throat. The doctors told her to fly home and get it checked immediately, so we flew back to Italy for a biopsy. The results took longer than expected, so we decided to return to Norway and wait there, so we could bring the van back to Italy if necessary. We were still hoping it was nothing serious and that we could stay longer and keep climbing. Unfortunately, the medical report confirmed that it was lymphoma, so we immediately drove back home with our van. After just a few more days of medical tests, Sara had her first chemotherapy session last week and began her journey to recovery. It's going to be a difficult journey, both physically and mentally, and it's already been tough so far. We were scared at first, but we're now confident that she'll get through this. Sara is strong and resilient. She's already been through a lot in the past, and I know she'll get through this too. We're incredibly grateful to our friends, family, and doctors for taking care of Sara and supporting us through all of this. • As for Silence, we'll be back stronger next year. The route will still be there.
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