Hi! I’m Tasha Monroe—a writer, a small business owner, and a lifelong bibliophile who probably owns more books than she has shelf space for. I’m drawn to things that feel honest, well-made, and a little lived-in. I created Simply Edyn & Co. as a place to hold that—objects and ideas that don’t try too hard, but still mean something.

I think a lot about how we move through the world—what we carry, what we let go of, and what we choose to pay attention to. I’ve never been interested in things that feel loud for the sake of being heard. I care more about what lasts, what lingers, what quietly holds its shape over time.

Living with chronic illness has changed that for me in very real ways. It’s slowed me down, clarified things I might have otherwise missed, and taught me how to keep going without always knowing what the next step looks like. It’s also given me a deep respect for the small, ordinary moments that don’t feel small when they’re not guaranteed.

For a long time, my progress through the healthcare system has moved at its pace, not mine. Specialist shortages. Appointments that last minutes when the reality of what you’re living with takes years to explain. Cycles of trial and error that don’t always lead anywhere clear. In the process of trying to get answers, I’ve also learned how easily things can go undiagnosed, mistreated, or left untreated entirely.

What that looks like, day to day, is harder to summarize. Deep muscle and joint pain that settles in and doesn’t quite let go. A body that feels like it’s working against itself some days. Changes in my spine and joints that I’m still actively trying to understand and manage. Fatigue that doesn’t lift with rest. Brain fog that makes simple things feel distant. Migraines that arrive without warning. It’s a constant negotiation between pushing forward and knowing when to stop.

And because so much of it isn’t visible, there’s a quiet loneliness to it. You can look fine and still be carrying something that’s reshaping your entire sense of what your body can do. There are days where the hardest part isn’t even the pain itself, but the absence of a shared language for it—the feeling of trying to explain something that doesn’t quite translate.

This space, and this work, come from that place. Thoughtful, imperfect, still in progress—and, I hope, something that meets you where you are, too.

Lately, that “in progress” has become more literal. I’m currently raising funds for a medical treatment I need—something I’ve put off for as long as I could, but can’t any longer.

If you’re able to support, I’ve created a space on my site where contributions go directly toward treatment. If not, being here, reading this, or sharing it still matters more than you know. Truly.

With Care.

- Tasha