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In This Galaxy, I Found You. You Are My Everything

by with No Comment Personal Reflections

Two years ago, on May the 4th, we created something together for the first time.

You were Leia. I was Ahsoka.
It was just supposed to be a collab… but it became so much more.
Somewhere between the images, the messages, and the moments we kept sharing,

I found you. Not just the character… (you).
What started as creativity turned into connection,
and that connection turned into something I never expected to feel so deeply.
We’ve built our own little galaxy together—
one made of late nights, laughter, support, and love that exists in a space all our own.

No matter the distance, no matter the world around us…
you’ve been there. And I’ve felt it.
I still look at that first post sometimes.

The two of us as Leia and Ahsoka standing together…
and I smile, because I know now—that was the beginning of us.
Happy anniversary, my love.
May the 4th will always be ours 🤍✨
(I love you… (you)) 💞

Please be sure to follow my babe, Marcie Beau on Instagram. 

You might also like to read – A Galaxy of Memories: One Year With Marcie 

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Rissa Sunset

Presence Over Performance

by with One Comment Personal Reflections

If we were at a party and someone stood up and said,
“Hey everyone—look at me. I just added $10k to my salary!”

…we’d probably pause.
Smile politely.
Maybe even say “that’s awesome.”

But it would feel a little off.

Not because success is a bad thing—
but because announcing it like that feels less like confidence…
and more like needing to be seen.

So why does it feel normal online?

Somewhere along the way, numbers became a personality.
Followers. Likes. Views. Milestones.

And now it’s almost expected—
to post them, celebrate them, build an identity around them.

But I’ve never believed that’s why people are here.

People don’t stay because of your numbers.
They stay because of how you make them feel.
Because of your energy.
Your consistency.
Your presence.

There’s a difference between sharing a moment…
and needing validation for it.

And you can feel that difference instantly.

We see it in sports all the time:

Some athletes let their performance speak.
They show up, deliver, and move on.

Others need to remind you they’re winning.

Both get attention.
Only one earns lasting respect.

There’s something powerful about quiet confidence—
about not needing to announce every step forward
because you know exactly who you are without it.

That kind of presence doesn’t chase validation.
It doesn’t compete for attention.
It doesn’t need to prove anything.

It just is.

And people feel that.

That’s the kind of energy I’ll choose—
every time.

 

Just something I’ve been thinking about lately…

Love, Rissa 💜

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The Quiet Power of a Simple Like (and What Means Even More)

by with No Comment Personal Reflections

There was a time when a like meant something simple.

A small signal.
A quiet acknowledgment.
A way of saying, “I saw this.”

And honestly… I still feel that.

If you’ve ever liked something I’ve shared, I want you to know:

👉 I notice it.

👉 I appreciate it.

👉 It isn’t invisible to me.

Even if it’s just a tap, it’s still a moment where our paths crossed.

And that matters more than I probably say out loud.

✨ The beauty of small moments

Social media moves fast.

We scroll quickly.
We take things in.
We react in small ways.

A like is part of that rhythm.

It’s easy, yes… but that doesn’t make it meaningless.

Sometimes it’s:

  • a quick smile
  • a quiet “this is nice”
  • a moment of connection in the middle of a busy day

And I don’t take that for granted.

💭 Where things start to feel different

But as I’ve spent more time creating and sharing…

I’ve started to notice something.

Not about you—but about the platform itself.

Instagram doesn’t really measure connection the way we feel it.

It looks for:

  • shares
  • saves
  • comments
  • time spent

Things that show deeper interaction.

And because of that…

Sometimes the things we create don’t reach as many people as they could—
even if a lot of people quietly enjoy them.

🪞 What actually helps creators grow

This is something I didn’t fully understand at first.

A like is appreciated.

But what really helps something live and reach others is when someone:

  • saves it for later
  • shares it with a friend
  • leaves a thought
  • or comes back to it again

Those actions tell the platform:

 👉 “This mattered enough to stay with me.”

And that changes everything. These actions let the platform know that it should show this to more people.

💜 A small ask (from me to you)

If something I share ever resonates with you…

If it makes you pause, or feel something, or stay a little longer…

Please like it (I love your likes) but also consider:

  • saving it
  • sharing it
  • or telling me what you felt

Not because I need numbers…

But because it helps what I create reach the people it’s meant for

🌙 If you happen to be here…

Thank you.

For every like.
For every moment you’ve spent here.
For every quiet interaction I may never fully see.

Love, Rissa 💜

If you enjoyed this post you might want to check out The High After the Post and the Crash That Follows and The Hollow Pause

There’s more waiting for you.

✨ Explore more of my world here → About Lairissa Lee & RockyMtnBabe

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The Nature Dresses Collection by Lairissa Lee

by with One Comment Personal Reflections

There’s something magical about the way nature expresses itself.

Soft. Powerful. Ever-changing.

I wanted to capture that feeling—not just in a place, but in a mood. In movement. In fabric.

Each dress in this collection was inspired by a different side of nature. Not just how it looks… but how it feels to stand in it.

From the quiet romance of orchids to the golden warmth of sunflowers, each piece tells its own story.

This is a collection of moments.
Of textures.
Of light.

And maybe… a reflection of the many sides of me.

🌊 Ocean – The Siren

Fluid. Emotional. Alive.

The ocean never holds still—and neither does this piece.

Soft movement, flowing layers, and a feeling of constant motion. It’s light, but never fragile.

There’s a rhythm to it… something you feel more than you see.

🌻 Sunflower – The Light Bearer

Warm. Radiant. Unapologetic.

Sunflowers don’t hide—they turn toward the light.

This piece carries that same energy. Bright, confident, and full of life.

It’s not about being seen… it’s about shining anyway.

🌲 Forest – The Enchantress

Grounded. Quiet. Powerful.

The forest doesn’t need to prove anything—it simply exists.

This piece reflects that kind of strength. Deep tones, clean lines, and a sense of calm control.

There’s something mysterious here… something just beneath the surface.

🍂 Autumn – The Queen of Embers

Warmth. Movement. Change.

Autumn is never static—it shifts, falls, glows, and disappears all at once.

This dress carries that energy. Layers that move, colors that deepen, and a feeling that something is always about to change.

It’s bold… but never loud.

🌸 Orchid – The Moonlit Oracle

Soft. Delicate. Intentional.

The orchid doesn’t demand attention—it draws you in quietly.

This piece is about stillness and presence. About the kind of beauty that reveals itself slowly.

There’s a calm confidence here… something almost untouchable.

Each of these pieces started as an image… but became something more.

A mood.
A moment.
A version of myself.

I’ve always loved creating images, but this felt different. Slower. More intentional.

Like sketching a feeling instead of capturing a scene.

And I think that’s what I love most about this collection…

It doesn’t just show you something.

It lets you feel it.

If you enjoyed this post you might want to check out Inside the RMB Studio and From Sketchbook to Reality

There’s more waiting for you.

✨ Explore more of my world here → About Lairissa Lee & RockyMtnBabe

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Cherry Red Summer — My First Release

by with One Comment Personal Reflections

There’s a moment right before something begins where everything feels quiet.

Not empty… just still.

Like the world is holding its breath.

That’s where Cherry Red Summer started.

I didn’t sit down thinking, I’m going to release a song.

I was thinking about something much smaller.

A feeling.

A memory that doesn’t really belong to one specific moment, but somehow feels like it belongs to all of them at once.

Warm nights.
The hum of a radio.
Headlights stretching out in front of you.
That sense that life is just beginning — even if you don’t know where it’s going.

There’s something about summer that makes everything feel more alive.

Like emotions sit closer to the surface.

Like time slows down just enough for you to notice it.

And at the same time… you know it won’t last.

That’s what Cherry Red Summer became.

Not just a song — but a snapshot of that feeling.

The image that kept coming back to me was simple:

A cherry red Camaro.
Parked outside a Tastee-Freez.
Music playing softly through the speakers.

Nothing extraordinary.

But everything meaningful.

It’s funny how the smallest moments are the ones that stay with you.

Not the big milestones.

Not the things you plan.

But the quiet, in-between moments where something shifts… and you don’t even realize it until later.

Releasing this song has been something I’ve thought about for a long time.

And if I’m being honest… I was scared.

Not because of the music itself.

But because putting something like this into the world means letting people see a piece of you that isn’t filtered or controlled.

It’s just… there.

But at some point, you realize:

You can’t keep waiting for the perfect moment.

You just have to begin.

So, Cherry Red Summer became my first release.

Not because it was perfect.

But because it felt real.

And maybe that’s what this is really about.

Not chasing something flawless.

But capturing something honest.

If you listen to it, I hope it reminds you of something.

A night.
A person.
A feeling you can’t quite explain.

That sense that for a moment…

everything was exactly the way it was supposed to be.

This is just the beginning.

💜
— Lairissa

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Why I Keep Showing Up

by with No Comment Personal Reflections

“I don’t show up because it’s easy. I show up because it’s mine.

There are days when it would be easier not to.

Easier not to create.
Easier not to post.
Easier not to care.

Because creating — truly creating — isn’t just pressing upload. It’s vulnerability. It’s effort. It’s exposing a piece of yourself and waiting to see what the world does with it.

Some days the response is loud.
Some days it’s quiet.
Some days it feels like shouting into the wind.

And still… I show up.

There was a time when the numbers felt personal.

When reach felt like approval.
When silence felt like rejection.
When metrics quietly shaped how I saw myself.

It’s so easy to let self-worth drift toward performance. To believe that visibility equals value. To mistake engagement for affirmation.

But numbers don’t measure meaning.
And algorithms don’t define identity.

Learning that has been part of the work.

Because behind every image — behind the light, the lace, the polished composition — there is discipline.

There are early mornings.
Cold shoots.
Editing sessions that stretch late into the night.
Creative doubt that doesn’t make it into captions.

Glamour is the surface.

 

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Discipline is the foundation.

And discipline is rarely applauded.

I show up not because every post performs, but because the process itself matters. Because showing up consistently, even when it’s quiet, builds something deeper than momentum.

It builds integrity.

There’s also a difference between audience and purpose.

An audience watches.
Purpose anchors.

An audience can grow, shrink, fluctuate.
Purpose stays.

If I created only for reaction, I would have stopped a long time ago.

But I create because something inside me needs expression. Because storytelling, styling, standing in morning light or winter snow — it aligns me with who I am becoming.

Showing up has become less about validation and more about alignment. Less about proving something and more about honoring something.

Honoring the discipline.
Honoring the vision.
Honoring the part of me that refuses to disappear just because it would be easier.

There are seasons of doubt. There are seasons of growth. There are moments when I question whether any of it makes sense.

But every time I consider stepping back, I remember something simple:

This isn’t just content.

It’s expression.
It’s resilience.
It’s art.

And art doesn’t require permission to exist.

So I keep showing up.

Not because it’s always easy.

But because it’s mine.

All my love,
Lairissa 💜

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When Support Turns Silent: Finding Peace in Letting Go

by with No Comment Personal Reflections

Sometimes the hardest endings aren’t the ones marked by words — they’re the quiet ones, the moments when someone’s presence just fades. This is a reflection on what it means to lose connection with someone who once felt close, and how to release it with grace instead of bitterness.

There’s a kind of silence that hurts more than words ever could.
It’s the silence from someone who used to always show up — the person who cheered for your wins, reacted to your posts, and asked how you were really doing. Over time, their messages turned into short replies… then emojis… then nothing at all.

At first, I tried to tell myself they were just busy. Life gets like that. But the truth is, silence has a way of saying everything. And eventually, you start to feel that absence in the small things — when you share your excitement about a trip and the warm “be safe” is replaced with a single thumb up emoji. When something beautiful happens in your world, and you realize they don’t even look your way anymore.

Online creative spaces can be magical — full of friendship, encouragement, and connection. But they can also be fragile. They’re full of invisible currents of comparison and belonging. Sometimes, someone you care about begins to see you not as a friend, but as part of a crowd they feel shut out from. And you can’t fix that. You can’t convince someone to see your heart when they’ve already decided you’re on the other side of a divide.

When I finally stepped back, it wasn’t from anger. It was from exhaustion — from waiting for signs of care that used to come so easily. I realized I couldn’t keep trying to resuscitate a connection that had quietly stopped breathing.

And when the last thread was cut — the shared space where we kept our creative memories suddenly gone — it became clear: the friendship had already ended long before I accepted it.

I’m not angry anymore. Just sad. Sad that something so meaningful could fade without a fight. But I’m also grateful — grateful for what it taught me about love, friendship, boundaries, and the quiet courage it takes to walk away from what no longer feels mutual.

Sometimes letting go isn’t about giving up. It’s about choosing peace over confusion.
And maybe, in the end, that’s what healing really looks like.

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The Hollow Pause

by with No Comment Personal Reflections

Every once in a while, this strange hollowness creeps in. It’s quiet. Low. Like I’m still creating but the spark just… isn’t there. And I know I’m not alone in this—so many creators feel it, even if we don’t talk about it out loud. That subtle emptiness, the emotional drain—it’s more common (and more human) than most people realize. So if you’ve been feeling it too, maybe this will help make sense of why.

🌫️ 1. You’re pouring out but not filling up.

Being a creator—especially someone like you who lives in imagination, beauty, and emotion—is an act of constant output. You give and give (ideas, energy, aesthetic, emotion), and if you’re not intentionally replenishing, it can leave you feeling empty.

Think of it like a well. If you keep drawing water and never let it refill, eventually you hit dry stone.

🔄 2. You’re stuck in a create-post-react loop.

The content treadmill is real. You generate, you post, you wait for feedback. The rhythm becomes robotic. When the joy of creating gets tangled in the obligation of performance, it can make even your most beautiful art feel hollow.

You’re producing—but not connecting

💭 3. You’re not feeling seen.

You can have likes, views, followers—and still feel unseen. When people engage with the image but not the emotion behind it, when they don’t really get you… it’s disorienting. And lonely.

“Why am I doing this?” starts to echo inside when no one reflects back your truth.

🎭 4. Your creative self and your emotional self aren’t syncing.

You might be posting things that look amazing (and are amazing), but they might not be matching where your heart or mind really is right now. That disconnect can make everything feel… off. Like you’re performing a version of yourself, rather than expressing who you are right now.

You’re showing up—but not as who you truly are.

🔋 5. You’re simply tired.

Mental fatigue can disguise itself as emotional numbness. It’s not that you don’t care—it’s that you’re running on low battery. Sometimes “blah” is your nervous system saying, please rest.

You’re not unmotivated—you’re exhausted.

So what helps?

  • Reconnect to why you started. Maybe open your first ever post. Or something you made for joy—not validation.

  • Make something today that’s just for you. Don’t plan to post it. Just make it and feel it.

  • Let yourself take a beat. Create silence. Let inspiration sneak in again.

  • Talk to someone (like now)—and name the hollowness. That alone begins to lift it.

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The High After the Post… and the Crash That Follows

by with No Comment Personal Reflections

It happens almost every time.

I post something beautiful—maybe something sensual, maybe something vulnerable, maybe something that just feels like me—and in the moments that follow, I feel amazing. Euphoric, even. Like I’m floating.

My heart races, I check the comments, I feel the warmth of connection. People see me, respond to me, reflect something back. That feedback loop of likes, DMs, and kind words is a rush—a hit of validation that lands straight in the soul.

But then…

The crash.

It doesn’t happen right away. It sneaks in, soft at first. Maybe it starts with a lull in notifications. Maybe I realize someone I hoped would say something… hasn’t. Or maybe it’s just the quiet. And suddenly, I feel it: that drop.

The dopamine is gone. The adrenaline fades. And what’s left is this strange hollowness.

I start to overthink. Was that caption too much? Did I share too openly? Was the image too sexy? Not sexy enough? I start scrolling again—not to connect, but to cope.

This is the part no one really talks about. That confusing space between the beauty of self-expression and the vulnerability that comes with being truly seen.

But I’ve learned to name it now: It’s the crash.

It’s not a sign that I shouldn’t have shared. It’s not a sign that what I posted wasn’t worth it. It’s just chemistry. The rise and fall of my nervous system trying to make sense of showing up so fully.

So now, when the crash comes, I try to be gentler with myself. I step away. I breathe. I remind myself that I didn’t post for the algorithm—I posted for me. And that is still sacred.

If you’ve ever felt this way too—if you’ve ever posted something you loved and then felt a little lost afterward—you are not broken.

You’re human.

Sensitive. Brave. And deeply, beautifully alive.

Love, Rissa

💜

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If You Unfollow Me, Let Me Go

by with No Comment Personal Reflections

A message for fellow creators...

There’s an unspoken etiquette on Instagram, among creators. We live in a space of follows, likes, DMs, comments, and collaboration. It’s a dance of visibility and support, of shared energy. But occasionally, someone quietly steps out of rhythm.

They unfollow you.

That part is fine. Honestly, it’s completely okay. People evolve. Tastes change. Not every creative journey continues on the same path. But here’s where it gets murky: they unfollow you, but leave you following them.

That’s not just an oversight. That’s a choice.

And it’s one that speaks volumes.

It says: “I don’t want to see you anymore, but I’m okay with you still seeing me. Still supporting me. Still giving me your attention, your likes, your energy.”

And that’s where I draw the line.

If you unfollow me, the fair and respectful thing to do is remove me as a follower, too.

Not out of malice. Not out of spite. But out of integrity.

Because choosing to disengage while still allowing (and benefiting from) someone else’s engagement is not just unbalanced — it’s disingenuous. It turns the follow into a one-way mirror: you don’t want to connect, but you’ll accept the attention.

That isn’t respectful. That isn’t fair. That isn’t mutual.

I don’t want to follow people who don’t see me. And I don’t want to be someone’s invisible audience.

So here’s my boundary, and it comes from a place of clarity, not resentment:

If you unfollow me, let me go completely.

Click that button and remove me as a follower. Don’t leave the door half open and expect me to still wave from the hallway.

Digital spaces are messy. There’s a lot of nuances. But basic fairness shouldn’t be.

If you no longer want me in your space, then don’t keep me tethered to yours.

Let it be mutual. Let it be honest. Let it be clean.

That’s the kindest way to go.