I never really cared about the way my blinds look from the street. I never really thought about it much. Like the people of the world are going to judge me if my blinds aren’t all drawn to the same latitude they were designed to hang at. Like my life depends on whether or not I draw my blinds up or down or at the same height? Who made me this way? I found myself awake in a house full of sleeping people, folding clothes from our long weekend away.  From the broken in couch cushion that’s been my favorite for well over a decade, I noticed the blinds were crooked. Next came the personal OCD test of – can I leave them like that and go upstairs to sleep, or do I have to fix them right here in this moment SO I can sleep soundly tonight?

WHO? CARES? What my blinds look like from the street? I sure as hell don’t. So here I lay, writing, about these little fleeting thoughts, almost intrusive to a woman who’s come this far to worry about what kind of raucous my blinds may be causing to a dark Sunday night!

So yeah. You could say I still feel like I’ve arrived at 40. I’m at the stage of the game that I don’t give a rats ass what my life looks like, I care about how my life feels. Because I know that tomorrow, I still have a hallway full of laundry that smells like campfires and tequila and probably chocolate. I have food from the weekend to put away. I have lessons to teach. I have 3 kids that need to find their routine again, and I have lots of coffee to drink in order to do any and all of those things.

I have finally found myself in a place that feels so cozy, so broken in. It feels familiar and so peaceful. But it’s new to me too. Some days, I think I may get an award for all the tasks I accomplish. I work in this house raising babies, while trying REALLY hard not to raise my voice. I keep the calendar and my finger on the pulse of this household. I think of the meals, put the grocery order together, and sing while I’m cooking for my four favorite people. I clean up the kitchen, beg borrow and steal for a successful bath time, and if I have it in me after books, bedtime routines, google searches and podcasts on how to do it all, I go sit down and fold a load of laundry so I don’t feel as behind as I normally do on a Monday morning. 

Why am I like this? But also, what’s so bad about it? Nothing. And everything. As a woman I feel like I’m constantly racing against time. My kids are growing too fast, my forehead isn’t as smooth as it once was. I’ve been eating too many carbs, not enough water, and oh shit my husband will be home soon.  And what have I done?! Oh what have I done all day?

It all. I truly can say, as a woman raised by a strong one, I can do it all. Even when I think it’s too hard or too late or too soon, or too whatever; us women do it all. So, if you want to judge  the way my blinds look from the outside looking in, I can assure you, you won’t like sitting on my broken couch, either. With a bag of chips never too far. Three homeschooled children who wring the life out of this house, sun up til sun down. A sure fire bet there’s a room renovation going on, day old mail sitting on the counter right next to my bra, and always extra food in the fridge. Because it’s not the way my life looks that matters. It’s how this life feels, and it’s how I get to share my life with the world. And lately, it feels abundantly good. Blessed. Humble. Warm. And so broken in. As women in 2024, we need to be kind to ourselves. We need to grab life by its face, right between our hands, and kiss it. Don’t fix the blinds. Sit in your favorite spot, wrapped in your robe, and have another cup of coffee. Call your best friend this morning, look at the sky. Whatever you do, go ahead and get the love inside your chest out into the world. We need so much more of that 🤍

You really don’t know what living inside a moment you prayed for feels like, until your middle child who turned 7 two weeks ago, is running full speed toward you, around a pond, with the trout he just caught. You can literally see his heels clicking as he runs through tall grass and muddy hills, more excited than you’ve ever seen him on Christmas morning. Because he’s so excited to show you. Because you’re his mom. Because you’ve made everything good he’s ever done such a big deal. Because it ✨is✨such a big deal. Or after you’ve had a long, much needed cry, and your oldest son comes in from outside and hugs you without ceasing. Holding on longer, and breathing and squeezing that hug with you. And you hug until you both realize how much you needed that hug from eachother. How proud you feel that he knows empathy, and embodies it. Or when you can’t help but scoop your youngest up into your arms every chance you get, and kiss her sweet face, and study her finger nails on her tan little hands that have lost the baby chub forever. She’s officially 5. It’s close to midnight on the eve of her birthday, and I can’t help but stay awake and watch her sleep. How did we get to five? How have the years that have felt like quick sand and a sand timer get to this point this fast?

I’ve been experiencing a creativity block of sorts, and this has never happened to me. I love to write and create and get things out of my body in the way that they don’t belong to me. So I can share them with people who can relate to a shred of what I’m rambling on about. I’ve been praying every morning before I get out of bed, and meditating and manifesting before I reach for my phone. At night, I love talking to God before I fall asleep, asking him to keep the people I love safe and with peace and happiness in their souls and love inside their hearts. I just want everyone I love to feel free from anxiety; and be filled with peace so they can have a life that’s long and rich with experiences and joy and so much love.

People love complicating things. Humans are so lucky yet we are all so stupid. Recently I shared a gem with someone and I’m gonna share it here with you, too. I read somewhere once, that we are the universe experiencing itself.

How beautiful.

What a simple, amazing gift.

To be able to experience heaven and hell all in one lifetime is a privilege. It means we are alive. It means we can choose more heaven than hell. We just have to figure out how.

We stopped celebrating birthdays last year because we were sick of the stress and drama birthday parties bring. We stuck to our guns, and we just completed our third trip for our baby girl, and when I say we squeezed the last drop out of every moment and accepted every adventure, and tried to say yes more than we said no; we squeezed hard.

We created those core memories everyone talks about. Where a beautiful memory seeps into a regular moment, and it’s a little fuzzy, but you know it was real. And you may have been a little too small to recall, or a little too young to remember, but it lives inside your bones and runs through your blood and erupts out of your eyes in the drop of a tear that tastes like salt and you, for a moment remember how simple life is supposed to be.

And now we get to create those little slide shows inside our own children’s heads and hope to God they remember all the good and that any of the bad was used in a way where they learned. The conversations by the fire at night, the long walks to lively ponds, diving and swimming and jumping into a crystal clear neon pool; under the tallest and greatest most perfectly placed trees that frame a gorgeous night sky speckled with stars that seem a little more sparkly up here in the Adirondacks. And when you look up together, you all agree in the silence of a Sunday night campground that we can all be better. Yes even 5 year olds. And 65 year olds, too. We can all be better.

The key to teaching our kids how to treat their futures is by treating their now. Encouraging conversations, learning communication skills, the importance of a genuine apology. The beauty of forgiveness, and the peace it can bring. Also to know when they don’t get an apology, to forgive anyway, but not too many times. To run toward adventure and away from anything that feels stagnant. To keep fresh eyes turned toward the future, and a heart that’s open to all the love the world has to offer. To know their soul is worth showing and sharing with someone who understands its sacredness. Encouraging them to love, to live, and to know who they are.

With all that to say, I am far from the person I hope to be when I’m only a memory. I hope to always remember how small I am, but never take that for granted either. I pray that my kids always know to put themselves first, but that they know when to be selfless too. I pray they know love in many forms. I pray they can know how to live in a moment, and be happy for what it’s worth. I pray they know when to let go and let God. I pray that they feel peace and that their innocence lasts forever. I hope they never need to know a cold world, and to always know their worth. I hope they know how much I love them, even when I get it wrong. And God knows I get it wrong.

Here’s my point – do it. Stand alone, stand up for yourself, stand in your beliefs. Stand in love. Stand in your faith. And then go forward. Scared, sad, unsure, just keep going. I promise you’ll figure it out. And your kids are watching, so remember to be kind 🤍

It’s June. And I’m in my feelings.

When people compliment me on the fact that I homeschool I kinda don’t ever know what to say so I respond with “I cry a lot😂” and if you’ve ever given me that kind and amazing compliment- you can attest to the fact that it’s true. However, I really don’t cry a lot. In fact I’ve found I say that to deflect the absolute truth that I really enjoy being with my kids all day long. And all night. And in the middle of the night. And early mornings. Obvi there’s a hint of sarcasm in there but mainly, I thoroughly enjoy being with them. I had my kids to have my kids. And tonight, one of the overwhelming tasks of organizing hit me in my anxiety and I took on Ace’s room. That little frat boy of mine is just like me in the fact that he – in the words of my mother – can fit 10lbs of shit in a 5lb bag (Maverick and Veni also carry this trait of mine. Matter of fact, Dan is like this too so. Birds of a feather I guess 😂)

So my work was cut out for me tonight. I always think of my mom when I clean, and to get myself focused, I thought back to when I had to clean out my own childhood closet and I always hated it. And I thought I’d do this dreaded deed for my kids from time to time because I’d hate for them to have those memories of having to clean on a hot summer night.

And tonight, the upstairs of my house, smelled like my house used to smell on a hot summer night. Veni was singing in the bathtub with her bathing suit on. Mav was laying upside down on his bed, waiting for the tub. And Ace was snuggled up with Stella in the big bed. I was loosening the little buttons on the fasteners inside the waist of every pair of his size 6 pants and shorts only to realize they definitely don’t fit anymore, and I cried. I cried because he’s gonna be 7. And the last time I thought about it, he was 5. So where did the last year fly off to? How did I do another year of life without my mom? How has Ace never met her? How have I mothered 3 kids without her? Why do I have to? How do I have a 10 year old who texts me really cool stories when he’s in the woods? How do I have an almost 7 year old who makes me belly laugh and also pluck gray hairs out of my head? How do I have a little girl who knows that being funny is so much more cool than being beautiful?

All the thoughts came rushing in, and with all the goodness my babies bring into my life, and all the time we spend together, it just doesn’t seem like it will ever be enough. So I cried. And I packed two garbage bags full of Maverick’s hand me downs, and all of Ace’s clothes that no longer fit his healthy growing body, nor Maverick’s, and nobody else to pass down to except a spider man onesie of Ace’s that Veni will love ❤️

But all of that, it just broke my heart a little.

Life is so much. It’s fun, it’s hard, it’s peaceful, it’s chaos, it’s happy and sad and every other thing. I read once that we are the universe experiencing itself. And if you really stop and think about that – it’s a pretty amazing thought. I try so hard every day to put out goodness, to practice gratitude, to love hard, to speak my truth, to build my children up, to be real with them, but protect their innocence too. I try to be a good wife, friend and sister. And I guess I’m just here to remind you to take it all in. Experience the entirety of a day. The duality that exists. The pain and the joy. The pride. The beauty of it all. Sit in every emotion as often as you can and feel it.

And if loosening a button breaks your heart a little, know that I understand you. You and me? We are each made up of all these little moments we collect over the course of the life we get to experience. The love we get to feel. And the love we get to give away. I love the fact that I myself am a collection of all my favorite people, and all their favorite sayings, their favorite things to do, their favorite songs, their favorite flowers, and all the experience that came with each reason why.

I’m trying so hard to practice gratitude this summer, and always. Putting the positive out and praying on anything that isn’t.

This month I’ll celebrate my eleventh year of marriage. I’ll reflect on the way we grow together, and set goals for what we can work on. We will celebrate completing our fifth year of successfully homeschooling our kids. We’ll spend Father’s Day and our baby boy’s birthday, camping on Lake George with the help of old friends and new friends. I’ll remember my mother on the eighth anniversary of her passing. And I’ll love the people who love me, my kids, and my family the way they do. I’m celebrating it all this month, because life is hard, but moms are harder 🫶🏼

I’m so grateful for this life. Thank you Jesus ✨

My oldest woke me up with breakfast in bed. Made me pancakes with fruit and whipped cream on top with zero adult supervision. He also still takes time to stop and smell the blooming trees in front of healthy living where he left me in the store to go buy me a gift for Mother’s Day, all by himself. My middle guy snuggled with me last night and this morning, he knows my heart and the way to make it happy. He arranged flower pots with Dan and they surprised me with them this weekend. He also cleaned up dinner with his dad and helped me get to 10,000 steps today. And my little lover girl asked for a pedicure and smooth hair for Mother’s Day – which she got 🫶🏼 she also learned how to flare her nostrils today and it made me laugh so hard each time she did it. (Picture to follow) My husband, God bless him because even at my most difficult- he pours my coffee, got my favorite snacks, and rode the roller coaster of emotions I took him on today 👹I received texts from my friends who remembered my mom with me, and I cried. I needed that little biy of extra love. I know my life is busting at the seams with blessings. I have great kids who are thoughtful and compassionate, and a doting husband who loves me. We ended our day with dinner on the deck, sharing what we love about eachother and then enjoyed two different desserts just before bed. Mothers Day isn’t what it used to be, in any way, but I’m thankful for the memories I get to keep forever that came from this rainy Sunday in May 💜

Perspective is a gift. While mindlessly scrolling tonight, a chat in a DM stopped me dead. And as perspective does – it awarded me a plethora of thoughts to make me realize I needed to write. As always, I write to organize my thoughts and hope for some semblance of profound understanding by the end. So here goes nothing.

There were a few years I was really lonely. In parenthood, mothering without a mother, hitting rough spots in marriage, questioning things I never thought I’d have to. Trying to clear that hurdle of carrying friendships from a carefree young adult version to full blown adult relationships. Not everyone made it. I was ghosted by (not so) forever friends. With no explanation. I also outgrew some relationships, places and things. Now I can see, I was going through the lowlight reel in many aspects of my life, but I was also growing, outgrowing, and really, rebranding who I wanted to be.

After losing my mom, and becoming estranged from my father, I was lonely. I didn’t know it then, but it became crystal clear I was shedding the need to people please. I could no longer accept other family members, their toxicity, and their inability to admit wrong doing. I outgrew versions of myself I had invented to be something I no longer was. I lost interest in hobbies and tweaked my own traits to align myself with who I was becoming. It’s kind of wild to look back at this now.

It’s hard when people expect you to invite them into your world, to be there for them, to show up, to answer the phone, make the first move, and do the right thing. Yet on the flip side, that effort isn’t matched. And shockingly enough – you become the bad guy. Belittled, disrespected and dismissed. What a gift. To be the bad guy in a story you never have to listen to. A story that wouldn’t matter to anyone in your world, because they know it’s simply not true.

While I’ve been giving all the credit to my milestone of turning 40, I snubbed the fact that I was growing internally. I was evolving spiritually, standing solid in my faith, and thriving in my ability to not only be ok with being alone, but to feel happy there. Once I named my feeling, and took the power away from lonely and harnessed it into alone, the real rebirth happened.

I know alone for me is complex as I have a family of 5 that I’m a very central part of, but to have all those blessings and to still have felt so lonely, was even more confusing. And felt like maybe I was even ungrateful. To have this constant expectation of me to act, look, parent, eat, pray, and love a certain way was sucking the ever loving life out of the very soul I was trying so hard to nourish.

Being lonely changes a person. It’s a road nobody willfully picks or expects to go down. Grief and sadness funnel down a thin necked bottle and then they sit and marinate there. The heavy parts sift to the bottom, eventually breaking down a bit. The contents dull in color, and over time some even evaporates, leaving a murky line where the bottle was once full.

But some day, that bottle is found again; it’s picked up and dusted off, it’s opened and cherished and needed and is even more precious now somehow. Because some day being lonely doesn’t feel so much like a bad thing anymore; but being alone feels like a gift. A gift of perspective, and pride, and peace.

If I didn’t have the time to myself, when God was closing doors, then windows would have never opened. I wouldn’t be able to share my vulnerability with a soul, let alone whoever stumbles across my blog. If I didn’t have that sacred time without fair weathered friends and the noise and the chokehold of expectation, I would never be where I am now.

So if you ever feel lonely, know this – it is temporary. The happiest people have seen the ugliest things. A positive attitude can only come from negative experiences. The most magnetic people have rejected company. The hard and holy work is just that – hard and holy. A wise man once shared this with my husband “how do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.” Dan shared that with me during one of the darkest times of my life. He’s admitted to me many times he didn’t know how to be there for me during the horrible weeks and months after my mother died, but he never let me be alone. Even when I asked him to. The only way out of your solitude is through. And if you find yourself there for longer than you can handle, reach out your hand, and ask for help. Happiness is on the other side. Friends are there too, ones you never expected to make. Complete joy lives here. So does peace. On the other side of despair is hope; on the other side of loneliness is together, and there’s room for everyone here 👑

When my mom died, I went back to work immediately to keep my mind busy. I had two clients in between eachother, both of which had lost their mothers. I remember the first one’s disposition so well – miserable, nasty, condescending, jaded. And the next client was the exact opposite, sunshine personified, contagious happiness, optimistic, exuding life giving energy. A mirror was held up to me, and a choice was to be made. I took that day as a lesson in who I wanted to be, and I didn’t know it then, but my journey in healing began.

Confidence is sharing your insecurities with the world, in hopes to help someone feel a little more normal, a little less alone, and a little more seen. If you don’t understand that, I’d gently recommend for you to take a deep dive inside yourself. Therapy is cool 😎

Recently I’ve found myself on the receiving end of being told “you’ll never move” or “will you move already” and “everyone’s happier on vacation, relax” I’ve even been told “you don’t dress age appropriately” and “don’t your kids need socialization” – women asking me why I still work – and as recently as yesterday, I had someone walk away from me when I shared my passion for medical freedom. 🤯

When you have big opinions, and say them out loud – that shit bothers unevolved people 🎯 If I didn’t have big shoulders, and the lessons grief has taught me, these comments would destroy me. Instead, I allow these things to ignite all the sparks inside my soul, and I find myself on fire in the best possible way. Something about 40 that’s helping me give less fucks than usual, you should try it 👑

I know I’m not anywhere near old, however I feel like I’ve been through enough to become wise. I still plan on learning and educating myself, reading books I think seem fascinating. Listen to new music. You know, things that I enjoy while expanding my brain.

Learning to be like this comes with that age old double edge sword. It comes with a painful set of not so rosy colored glasses where you truly start to see through the bullshit. And I mean all of it.

I think if you know me; you know what I think about our government, the rights I don’t have as a New Yorker, and that we’ve made some unbelievably difficult choices that came directly from those things. But bigger, or smaller, than that (perspective is a bitch) you start to call bullshit on the behaviors modeled from people (read full blown adults) in your life. You start to notice people who talk shit about people, are definitely talking shit about you too. You know the type. They air everyone’s dirty laundry to you, and then they chatter that same bullshit out of the other side of their mouth to the exact people they were gossiping about. Thankfully, I don’t have anyone in my circle like this, and it feels great.

I’ve recently learned through a series of inner child meditations, that I don’t want to be a part of the small talk. I don’t want people to feel comfortable talking about other people to me. I don’t want to be the topic of anyone’s conversation, so I’m giving that same energy out. It seems so simple, but often people masked as friends or family aren’t really interested, they’re just fuckin nosey. And I’m over it. And you guessed it – this started with me. I’d be lying if I said I never talked about someone before, but also as I’ve grown up, I realized I didn’t like that. And talking about someone who’s hurt you, and you sharing that experience with a trusted friend, is different than just talking about the latest small town drama you want to weigh your feelings in on. Just, don’t.

I’ve had people sit in my kitchen one day, sing my praises, knowing full well they would never mention me at a table of opportunity. Or even a table of simple joy. I’ve started to realize that the comfort I have in myself makes other people uncomfortable and that’s just not my problem to fix. (News flash – you fix your world. I’ll fix mine) It’s really and truly that simple.

As a recovering people pleaser and funny girl, I dove deeply inside my own heart. The heart I had as a little girl and the heart I had as a first time mother; the heart I survived with as a mother without a mother and the fucking bad ass heart that beats inside my chest today. And truly, all the milestones in betweeen. I started this amazing meditation where you revisit your childhood home. You notice whose inside, what their demeanor is like, what you notice about the front porch, the hallway inside, and then the little girl in your clothes you remember from a picture you have in a box under your bed. What started all this is my own skin crawling revelation that I hated that I always felt like I had to say something funny, first, before anyone else could. Like I was trying too hard. And I hated the cringe that took over my body when people were laughing at a, usually, self deprecating joke. Because I knew this humor-as-a-defense mechanism was born from my own brokenness. From a little girl who was bullied by her own family and friends. I didn’t know how to change this on my own, and one night during the mindless scroll of Instagram, I came across a free inner child meditation. Reluctantly, I immersed myself and listened. I remember the walk up to the house was long, it didn’t look like I remember it, but my mom and sister were right there with little me. However, shortly thereafter I texted my sister and told her I don’t think I gained anything from it. Until, over the next few days, I felt a noticeable change in my mind. I texted my sister and told her about it: No more intrusive thoughts. (IYKYK) A lighter feeling in my overall mood. A better attitude. Better sleep. So naturally, I wanted more and I did the same meditation again. This time the house was happier, flowers shouldered up along the walkway, little Breezy was smiling more, and my mother was at the front and center every time, along with my sister.

I’m noticing now, as I said before, this anchoring feeling approaching as I’m about to hit 40. There is no anxiety, doom or gloom accompanying this age everyone tells you would suck. If I live until I’m 80, I’m technically at the middle of my life. The last 10 years have been the biggest mountain I’ve climbed. I’ve encountered birth, loss, renewal, genuine people, real connections, growth, happiness and so much fucking love. I’m looking at turning 40 as an arrival. A destination, that will propel me even higher and more forward. Where I want to talk about the people I come from, and how the best parts of me are born from their favorite movies and songs and quotes and stories, how their traditions and values are in my DNA. I want to share the people I love with other people I love and I want to talk about your favorite flower, who you were with when you got your first tattoo, and I want to know about the people who broke you and your testimony as to why you make the choices you make. I wanna hear about the hardest choices you’ve ever made and about your babies’ birth stories. If you want to get close to yourself, get close to me. And just be nice. And honestly, I want to have a coffee with you in the morning, and then have a beer with you at a fancy bar that night, and expect the same person. If that’s not you, then respectfully- see yourself out ✌🏼I’ve worked too hard on myself, mind body and soul, health and wellness in every facet – to get to the top of this one single mountain. I refuse to slip back. I still have so much more to see and do with this life. I’m so thankful to God for allowing me to experience a life so rich with connection. Where the soil is as beautiful as the fruit that hangs from the ends of a flowering branch. Where the strength is in the roots, and the balance is in the petals that bloom in a soft sun. I really like the woman I’ve become, and can’t wait to see who I’ll continue to become; and I’m not ashamed to share that with the world 👑

Happy March! 🌞

I learned in therapy, if you can’t recall a memory, it’s because it doesn’t exist.

I learned from a wise old woman, that it’s ok to shudder when you think of someone, it’s a trauma response and it actually helps move that negativity out of the crevices inside the darkest parts of you.

I learned through inner child meditations, that sometimes parents fuck up, and they make decisions that echo into their children’s adult life.

I learned from bravo’s real housewives that hurt people hurt people.

I learned from my father how to expect and allow a man to treat me. But it wasn’t at all what you’d expect.

I was probably in 6th or 7th grade. Honestly it might have been 5th and I’m gauging solely based off my memory of the swimsuit I was wearing. I got it with my mom at the H&M under the escalator in crossgates mall. It was the cute little board short bottoms with a pretty modest tube top with straps. It was turquoise with brown daisies sewn in with shimmering thread. I know you can picture it – it’s screaming 90’s with the color combo alone. And as I’m recalling this memory I’m interrupted in my own head by the deafening sound of my father and what he said. And I almost have to say this to brace myself; because it’s truly such a terrible memory. A memory I’d bring up to him until I live in the house I’m typing this blog from today. A memory no girl should ever have of her father. A memory I’ve never written about or typed out, but one I’ve shared with the people who I trust the most. So though I know there are women and girls out there with far worse stories about their childhoods, this has haunted me for decades.

Maybe it’s the fact that I feel this slow, pulling descent into age 40. Where I’m releasing all the things and people that no longer serve me, my well being, and my highest self. Where I shed the weight of people who knew me once, and things they’ve said and assumed about me. Maybe it’s because it’s a story I feel like I need to tell. Because one simple comment from my father while I was in a two piece, landed me on a road I never wanted to be on. A road that led me to unworthy men my father gave his blessing to. A road that had me questioning what the actual fuck I was doing in certain situations. A road that allowed me to cloud my own judgement based off the love I didn’t receive from a man I never remember calling daddy.

“Look whose covering the Super Bowl this year, it’s Breezy the blimp”

Breezy the blimp. I didn’t even understand the insult, but I remember my mother’s face looking horrified and I remember that meant I should have felt embarrassed too. Then I remember jumping into the hotel pool on Christmas Eve in New Jersey. A favorite tradition of mine until that night.

As the years flew by I was made fun of a lot. For being fat. People in school making up awful nicknames for me. I remember giving my yearbook out at lunch, and later that night opening it up to my 9th grade picture and seeing the word FAT written across my own face. I had highschool boys making fun of my weight, and I couldn’t even cry to my dad, because he thought the same thing.

I can already feel myself struggling again to share more, before I preface it by saying how amazing all the men currently in my life are. Just like, really good men. And obviously and especially, my husband. Also to add that healthy relationships are attainable even when you’ve been bruised into believing they aren’t.

I had no way of knowing this then, but that memory would go on to place me in several unhealthy relationships and even one abusive one. This is a spot of my life I’m still not comfortable sharing out loud with the internet, but it was a collection of extremely traumatic experiences over the course of two years and I’m still not sure I’m over it. Or if you ever get over something like that. Mental and physical abuse is absolutely nothing to speak lightly on, or something I have the energy to spend on in this blog post. But trust me when I say that type of pain changes people. Some for the worse and some for the better. I have God to thank for letting me be shining on the silver lining of that black cloud of a relationship I clawed myself away from. That experience shaped the way I looked at men, the way I picked my future, and the way I parent my sons and daughter.

Once I met Dan I knew he was different than any guy I’d ever dated. Though we were young and both on the rebound, we knew it was real and we knew it would be forever. Not to say we didn’t have some stuff to iron out along the way, because God knows; we still do.

Upon first glance he was one hundred percent my type, but his heart and his mind, they were different. And so the greatest love story of my life began. My father never really liked my husband. It caused a lot of stress, and for me I was still bruised by so many different experiences with my own father and guys I’d dated that I wasn’t always sure Dan was it, but in the same breath, I knew I’d never find anyone as good as Dan. But that was part of the mental aspect. I was always questioning my own judgement.

And so, the way things go, people die and families fight. People point the finger at anyone but themselves and refuse therapy and growth and even reality slapping them upside the head doesn’t phase them. And then, families fall apart. And before you realize it’s been years since you spoke to your own father. And in the face of that sadness, I can say it’s really beautiful being able to watch my husband with my boys and especially our girl, be the opposite of who my dad was. It heals my inner child on a regular basis. A genuine gift I never expected.

Out of all the things I learned, I remember my mother always knowing when “my spark was dull.” She had said it to me a few times in my life, and every time she was right. I like to think, even though my mother was married to my father; her, a loyal and devoted, doting wife, she knew he wasn’t all good. And maybe that’s fucked up that she stayed with him, or maybe it’s beautiful. What I do know, is my mother always stood up for me. And she gave me the courage to stand up to the people who wronged me. And eventually that meant I stood up to my father. I stood up to my abusive boyfriend. And to this day, I will stand up to anyone who disrespects me. Some people hate that about me, some people love it.

Body positivity, self love – it’s all so vague. And everyone has their own version tethered to their own experiences. My self love journey started with learning how to communicate. Then confidence came from looking my father in his face and telling him “you were wrong, and you are the reason I chose horrible men” he would never accept ownership. My confidence came from looking at a piss poor excuse for a man and telling him “you will never put your hands on me again” and meaning it. He also never accepted ownership. After those two convictions were mine, I harnessed a power within me I still can’t quite articulate with words.

It’s the power that says, I am exactly who I say I am, and if you don’t like it you can leave. It says I know who I am. I mean what I say. And with this I can rest my head every night on my pillow in peace knowing that my actions will always match my words. That I am worthy of love that is vast and safe. That my value is greater than anyone’s opinion of the small fraction of my life they assume to know. And that my choices come directly from a life filled with more pain than I’d ever admit to or dwell in. Because instead, I choose to dance in peace. I choose to look for the silver lining. I try to be the light I wish to see. Because I choose people who are warm and lovely.

So if you ever see me post a picture of my body, or a good hair day, or a proud mom moment, or brag on my husband, smile for me. Because it took me my entire lifetime to get exactly where I am today. It took me speaking through tears, nights of crying myself to sleep, feeling afraid in my most vulnerable state, realizing I was begging for relationships that were damaging, apologizing when I did not want to, forgiving when I didn’t want to, and shaking with anxiety, making myself crazy thinking – what is wrong with me?

And then one day, I decided I was worth more than all of that. I began to thank God for all the unanswered prayers and started practicing gratitude; for the experiences, for the joy, for the pain, and all the grit and heart that came in between. I choose to dwell in peace, and that’s what gives me the confidence I have today.

Happy girls are the prettiest. Yes. But also, girls who are happy know how to dig deep, ask for help, seek therapy, grow, forgive, apologize, pray, give, and love without any conditions. Those girls G L O W. And the awesome part is – there’s room here for all of us 👑

Thank you for reading. And if you ever need to talk, I’m here 💕

XO b.