Tag: wisdom
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If You’re Afraid of Making a Big Life Change
“The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.” ~Alan Watts
I used to think that stability was the key to happiness. Stay in one place, build a career, nurture long-term relationships—these were the pillars of a successful life, or so I believed.
My life was a carefully constructed fortress of routine and familiarity. Wake up at 6 a.m., commute to the same office I’d worked at for a decade, come home to the same apartment I’d lived in since college, rinse and repeat. It was safe. It was predictable. It was slowly suffocating me.
As I approached my fortieth birthday, I found myself increasingly restless. The walls of my comfortable life felt more like a prison than a sanctuary. I’d scroll through social media, seeing friends and acquaintances embarking on new adventures, changing careers, and moving to new cities, and I’d feel a pang of envy mixed with fear.
“I wish I could do that,” I’d think, quickly followed by, “But what if it all goes wrong?”
It was during one of these late-night scrolling sessions that I came across a quote from Alan Watts that would change everything: “The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.”
I stared at those words, feeling as if they were speaking directly to my soul. What if, instead of fearing change, I embraced it?
The next morning, I woke up with a sense of purpose I hadn’t felt in years. I decided to make a change—not a small one, but a seismic shift that would challenge everything I thought I knew about myself and my life. I was going to quit my job, sell most of my possessions, and travel the world for a year.
The moment I made this decision, I felt a mix of exhilaration and sheer terror. What about my career? My apartment? My relationships? The questions swirled in my mind, threatening to overwhelm me. But beneath the fear, there was a spark of excitement that I couldn’t ignore.
I gave myself six months to prepare. Those months were a whirlwind of planning, saving, and facing the reactions of friends and family. Some were supportive; others thought I was having a midlife crisis.
My parents were particularly worried. “But what about your future?” they asked, echoing the same concerns they’d had when I switched majors in college.
As the departure date drew closer, my anxiety grew. There were moments when I seriously considered calling the whole thing off. What if I was making a horrible mistake? What if I couldn’t handle the uncertainty?
It was during one of these moments of doubt that I realized something important: The fear I was feeling wasn’t just about this trip. It was the same fear that had kept me trapped in a life that no longer fulfilled me. If I gave in to it now, I might never break free.
So, I pushed forward. I boarded that plane with a backpack, a one-way ticket, and a heart full of both terror and hope. The first few weeks were challenging. I felt lost, not just geographically but existentially. Who was I without my job title, my routine, my familiar surroundings?
But slowly, something magical began to happen. As I navigated new cities, tried new foods, and met people from all walks of life, I felt layers of my old self peeling away. I discovered a resilience I never knew I had. Problems that would have sent me into a tailspin back home became adventures and challenges to solve. I learned to trust my instincts, to find joy in the unexpected, and to embrace the unknown.
One particularly transformative moment came three months into my journey. I was hiking in the mountains of Peru, struggling with altitude sickness and questioning my decision to attempt this trek.
As I sat on a rock, catching my breath and fighting back tears, an elderly local woman passed by. She smiled at me and said something in Quechua that I didn’t understand. But her smile and the gentle pat she gave my shoulder spoke volumes.
In that moment, I realized that kindness and human connection transcend language and culture. I also realized that I was stronger than I ever gave myself credit for.
As the months passed, I found myself changing in ways I never expected. I became more open, more curious, more willing to try new things. I learned to live with less and appreciate more. The constant movement and change became not just tolerable but exhilarating. I was, as Alan Watts had said, joining the dance of change.
But it wasn’t all smooth sailing. There were days of loneliness, moments of doubt, and times when I missed the comfort of my old life. I learned that embracing change doesn’t mean you never feel fear or uncertainty. It means you feel those things and move forward anyway.
As my year of travel neared its end, I faced a new challenge: what next? The thought of returning to my old life felt impossible. I was no longer the person who had left a year ago. But the idea of continuing to travel indefinitely didn’t feel right either. I realized I was craving a new kind of stability—one built on the foundation of flexibility and growth I’d cultivated during my travels.
I decided to move to a new city, one I’d fallen in love with during my travels. I found a job that allowed me to use my old skills in new ways, with the flexibility to continue exploring the world. I made new friends who shared my love of adventure and personal growth. I created a life that embraced change rather than feared it.
Looking back on this journey, I’m amazed at how far I’ve come. The person who was once paralyzed by the idea of change now seeks it out as a source of growth and excitement. Here are some of the most important lessons I’ve learned.
1. Fear is not a stop sign.
Fear is a natural part of change, but it doesn’t have to control you. Acknowledge it, understand it, but don’t let it make your decisions for you.
2. Discomfort is where growth happen.
The moments that challenged me the most were also the ones that taught me the most about myself and the world.
3. Flexibility is strength.
Being able to adapt to new situations is far more valuable than trying to control everything around you because often, the only thing you can control is how well you adapt.
4. Less is often more.
Living out of a backpack for a year taught me how little I actually need to be happy.
5. Change is constant.
Instead of resisting change, learning to flow with it brings a sense of peace and excitement to life.
6. It’s never too late.
At forty, I thought I was too old to radically change my life. I was wrong. It’s never too late to start a new chapter.
If you find yourself feeling stuck, yearning for something more but afraid to make a change, I encourage you to take that first step.
It doesn’t have to be as dramatic as selling everything and traveling the world (though I highly recommend it if you can!). Start small. Take a different route to work. Try a new hobby. Have a conversation with someone you wouldn’t normally talk to. Each small change builds your resilience and opens you up to new possibilities.
Embracing change doesn’t mean your life will always be easy or that you’ll never face challenges. But it does mean that you’ll be living fully, growing constantly, and experiencing the rich tapestry of what life has to offer.
Your life is not a fixed path but a journey of constant evolution. Embrace the changes, learn from the challenges, and celebrate the growth. The world is vast, life is short, and the greatest adventures often begin with a single step into the unknown. So take that step. Join the dance of change. You might be amazed at where it leads you.
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5 Hidden Ways Codependency Is Sabotaging Your Relationships
“We rescue people from their responsibilities. We take care of people’s responsibilities for them. Later we get mad at them for what we’ve done. Then we feel used and sorry for ourselves. That is the pattern, the triangle.” ~ Melody Beattie
I first uncovered codependency and how it was ruining my relationships back in 2019 after ending my relationship of four years.
At the time, I didn’t know the first thing about myself—except that I didn’t know myself at all. I had no idea what I needed or desired. All I knew was that I hated being alone and longed for someone to come in and save me from myself. Little did I know, I was deep in the grip of my codependency patterns.
Without anyone to validate or console me, I was forced to confront the uncomfortable truth about my role in the relationship’s dysfunction.
For so long, I had blamed my partner for everything that was “wrong”—the lack of connection, the emotional exhaustion, and the resentment that weighed me down. I felt drained, unappreciated, and frustrated, but in my mind, they were the problem. I believed that if they just changed, everything would be better.
It wasn’t until I started looking inward that the truth began to unfold. I saw how my codependent behaviors were fueling the very issues I was complaining about. I had been pouring so much of myself into trying to fix them and the relationship that I had neglected my own needs, boundaries, and well-being.
Once I became aware of these patterns, everything started to shift. I began showing up differently—not just for them, but for myself. That awareness was the key to turning the relationship around.
When we got back together, everything was like night and day. The dynamics had completely shifted. Instead of feeling drained and frustrated, we were both able to show up more fully and authentically in the relationship. I created a unique framework that bridges shadow work and inner child healing, and I now use it in my relationship whenever I’m triggered or blaming my partner.
After recently celebrating ten-plus years together, our relationship is now based on mutual respect, healthy boundaries, and emotional safety—creating something stronger and more fulfilling than we ever had before.
But here’s the thing—before I could create that shift, I first had to become aware of the hidden ways codependency was sabotaging my relationship. These behaviors are sneaky and often disguised as care or concern, but they can have a destructive impact on how we show up in our relationships.
If you’re wondering how codependency might be negatively impacting your relationship, here are some of the ways it can show up.
1. You need to be needed.
I learned that my sense of worthiness was dependent on how much other people needed me.
When we’re codependent, our purpose, self-worth, and good feelings about ourselves become dependent on how much another person needs us. This makes sense, since many of us watched mothers who were self-sacrificing, as though the sacrifice equated to love.
This pattern satisfies the person with codependency because it can soothe their fear of abandonment and rejection. If the other person in the relationship becomes dependent on me to take care of their needs, they think, then they won’t leave me. (Spoiler alert: This often leads to resentment in the long run.)
2. You struggle with identifying your own needs and feelings.
I realized that I had a difficult time recognizing and identifying my own needs and feelings because I was constantly perceiving the needs and feelings of others and making choices based on my desire to be liked.
This behavior can show up as people-pleasing and doing what you think other people want you to do. It stems from a lack of safety, likely originating in childhood, that tells you that perceiving the needs and feelings of others will protect you from pain. Unfortunately, this can leave you with a lost sense of self, leading to an inability to name your own needs and feelings, which contributes to them feeling unmet in your adult relationships.
3. You have constant anxiety.
For months, I was waking up in the middle of the night with extreme pain in my chest. My anxiety had gotten so bad that I was waking with painful panic attacks that felt like heart attacks, so much so that I ended up in the ER.
I had constant anxiety because I was always trying to make other people happy, but I didn’t realize that it was at the expense of my own well-being.
The fear of betrayal or abandonment can be so debilitating, and the anxiety from that can leave you self-sacrificing in hopes of making others happy so that they don’t leave. Consequently, those of us who experience codependency will stay in relationships even if we are aware that our partners are doing harmful things because we have attached our safety and security to this person rather than sourcing that safety for ourselves.
4. You feel disrespected or not valued.
After years of being everything to my partner, I reached a point of deep resentment. I realized that I overextended myself because I had this unconscious agenda, or desire, that they would do the same for me. And every time they didn’t, I felt unappreciated, invisible, and not cared for.
For people in codependent relationships, resentment often bubbles up later on, when the patterns of constantly over-giving and self-sacrificing build up. This tendency to over-give and become resentful can stem from low self-worth and self-esteem and our fears of abandonment.
I learned that I was really just afraid to set healthy boundaries and ask for what I needed because I believed that they would think I was too much or selfish and then leave me. So, instead of speaking up, I continually hoped they would guess my needs and continued to be disappointed and let down.
5. You feel selfish when you take time to be with yourself (or you avoid self-care).
Many people, especially mothers, feel guilty and selfish when taking time for themselves. But why should other people be more important than you? I know I struggled with this deep fear of being negatively perceived until I realized that I have no control over what people think about me, and quite frankly, what other people think about me is none of my business!
Those of us who struggle with codependency may feel like we are asking for too much, or that we are too much, so we make ourselves small and avoid taking up space due to fear of how we will be perceived.
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Healing from codependency starts with awareness. Once you recognize the subtle patterns and behaviors that are sabotaging your relationships, you can begin to shift the dynamic.
It’s not about fixing the other person; it’s about healing yourself—understanding your needs, setting healthy boundaries, and showing up authentically. By taking responsibility for your role in the relationship and committing to your own healing, you create space for deep, meaningful connection and more joy.
Remember, healing is not about never experiencing these patterns or triggers again; it’s about how you hold yourself when they come up.
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Live a Life You Love: The Magic of Following Joy
“Some people are empowered by travel and some are inspired by the warmth of home. Some thrive in the spotlight and some feel called to support those who are on stage. Some people are comfortable half-dressed and cussing like sailors and others prefer modesty and gentleness. The thing is: we are all empowered and inspired in different ways, and it’s not our job to decide what that looks like for anyone else.” ~Brooke Hampton
In 1992, the Olympic Games were on, and my dad was glued to the screen. He called me over to watch with him, and though I didn’t know it at the time, that moment would change my life.
I remember seeing a woman in the pool, dancing in sync with music, her movements flowing effortlessly in and out of the water. It was called synchronized swimming, and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I couldn’t look away. Something about her presence, the grace and joy in her movements, stirred something deep inside of me. At that moment, I knew I had to try it for myself.
Swimming became my world. It brought me a joy I hadn’t known before—a feeling of connection to something outside of myself that felt complete inside. I found a piece of myself in that water, and for years, it became a constant source of fulfillment.
Yet, as I reached a certain level of skill, I found myself at a crossroads. I was eighteen, faced with a choice: Should I keep swimming at an elite level, or follow a “normal” path, going to college and pursuing a “real” career like everyone else? Society made it clear which path was practical and expected, and I felt an unspoken pressure to comply.
Ultimately, I chose the “safe” option. I quit swimming and studied to become a registered nurse. For a while, I felt proud of my decision. Nursing is fulfilling work, and I was recognized by others as someone with purpose, even as a “hero.” I had stability, respect, and everything I thought I was supposed to want.
But there was something else there, too—a quiet emptiness that I couldn’t ignore. It was a gnawing feeling, like I’d left a piece of myself behind, a piece I couldn’t get back. Despite the appreciation I received as a nurse, I felt a deep, lingering question: Is this all there is?
In the hopes of filling that gap, I decided to try something completely different. I began training in aerial arts, just for fun. But soon enough, “just for fun” grew into something more. Aerial arts opened up a part of me I had shut away—the part of me that felt fully alive. And the more I trained, the more I realized that I wanted this for real. My passion was strong enough that, in my thirties, I received a contract as a professional circus performer.
For the first time since my swimming days, I felt whole. But with this new identity came new judgments and doubts. I was no longer seen as a nurse with a “real” career but as a dreamer. People couldn’t understand why I’d left a stable job with a retirement plan to fly high on silks. I began to question my purpose… again!
Then, one day, I noticed something powerful. I’d grown used to seeing the delight on children’s faces in the audience, but as I looked closer, I saw the same spark of joy in the eyes of adults. I realized that I was offering something important, something they didn’t get to experience often. I was giving them a moment to feel wonder, to escape the weight of their daily routines.
In that moment, I saw my purpose clearly—I was there to bring joy, not just to children, but to everyone watching.
Years later, I married and had two beautiful children, a joy unlike any other. But as I adjusted to my new life, I found myself struggling again with that same emptiness, though now it was tinged with guilt. I had so much to be grateful for—a loving family, two amazing kids. How could I feel this way? I was thousands of miles away from my family and community, exhausted and trying to survive the challenges of motherhood. I knew I was losing myself again. I could feel it.
My husband noticed the heaviness in me, and one day, he brought me a gift: a set of paintbrushes and a blank canvas. He encouraged me to try something new, to see if it might help me reconnect with myself. I hadn’t painted since childhood, and I had no idea if it would help, but I picked up the brush. That one small act rekindled something in me that I thought was gone. For the first time in years, I felt excited, inspired, and awake.
Painting became my new way of following joy, and as I created art, I felt my purpose deepening. I was bringing beauty into the world, creating pieces that I could share that might spark joy in someone else. Art allowed me to process my own emotions and express my inner world, which made me feel whole again.
Reflecting on this journey, I realize that joy has been my compass all along. Life can take us on unexpected paths, and sometimes, society’s expectations steer us away from our true calling. But when we listen to that inner voice, when we follow what brings us joy, we find a direction that feels right—even if it doesn’t make sense to everyone else.
Here are a few insights I’ve gathered along the way:
Joy can be a powerful guide.
If we let it, joy can show us where we need to go, even when the path isn’t clear. It’s worth listening to that pull and letting it be our compass.
Embracing change can lead to fulfillment.
Choosing joy often means stepping into the unknown. It can mean letting go of what’s “practical” and taking a risk on something uncertain. But each change brought me closer to who I am meant to be.
Life’s journey sometimes brings us full circle.
I started with swimming, returned to performance in a new way, and finally found a place in art. Sometimes, joy leads us back to things we once loved but left behind. When we accept that, we open ourselves up to growth and fulfillment.
Looking back, I’m grateful for the courage it took to keep listening to my intuition. It led me through nursing, aerial performance, and eventually, to the canvas, each step revealing more of who I am. I’ve learned that when we allow ourselves to pursue joy—whatever that looks like—we move closer to the life we’re meant to live.
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4 Lessons I Learned from Leaving a Toxic Relationship
“It takes strength and self-love to say goodbye to what no longer serves you.” ~Rumi
I promised myself at a young age that when I got married, I was not going to get divorced, no matter what! My parents had divorced when I was five, and I knew that I didn’t want to put my kids through what I’d experienced as a child who grew up in a “broken” family. I wanted my kids to know what it was like to live in a house with both their parents present and involved in their lives.
So, when I found myself seven years into my marriage, sitting in a therapist’s office wondering if my husband and I were going to make it, I had no idea what I would be facing if I had to navigate life, let alone parenthood, without my husband. How does one break free from emotional and verbal abuse without it permanently affecting who they are as a person?!
All I could think about at the time was my three beautiful girls, who deserved to have happy parents in a happy home living a happy life!
From the outside, our lives looked that way, but our reality was nothing of the sort. The yelling, the name-calling, the threatening, the withholding, and the verbal and emotional abuse were taking their toll on all of us until one day, after five years of trying to make it work, I had had enough.
The night I will never forget, almost twelve years into my marriage, we were all sitting at the dinner table, and like every time before, with no warning, a switch flipped, and the yelling began. But this time, I packed up my things and I left. And this would be the last time I would leave; after the three attempts prior, I was lured back with promises that everything would be okay and we would make it work, but this time was different. I didn’t go back.
Okay, I was out; now what?! Little did I know that leaving would be the easy part. Some of the most trying and challenging times of my life happened after I was able to finally break free. But I didn’t know that learning how to love myself again and believe that I was worthy of good things was going to be the real challenge, especially after what I’d faced.
The storms that happened once my marriage was over would shake me to my core. One particular time was when my middle daughter, only thirteen at the time, was able to find her way down to Tennessee from central Wisconsin without anyone knowing where she was or if we’d be able to find her.
My daughter despised me for breaking up her family and wanted to get as far away from me as she possibly could, even if it meant entrusting strangers to drive her in a car for fifteen hours while they made their way to Tennessee. Waking up the next morning after she vanished and reading the “goodbye” note she’d left on her bed, I honestly did not know if I would ever see her again.
To say I was in panic mode would be an understatement for how I felt during the next twenty-four-plus hours while we—my parents, my friends, my siblings, the police, and even strangers—attempted to find my daughter. I can think of no worse feeling in the world than that of a mother who is on the verge of or has just lost her son or daughter. I wondered, “How can this be happening? Haven’t we already been through enough?”
Exactly twenty-six hours after my daughter had found her way into that stranger’s vehicle, I received a phone call from a deputy in a county in Tennessee saying they had found her. Thank you, Lord, was all I could think—someone is watching over us!
I realized then it was time to figure out how to love myself again and heal from my divorce so I could be more present for my daughters.
Are there things I would have done differently? Absolutely! But you can’t go back and change the past; the only thing you can do is learn from it and do your best not to make the same mistakes going forward.
The best thing I did for myself was sign up for a subscription that gave me access to hundreds of workout programs I could do from home (since I was the sole provider of my daughters at the time). As I completed the programs, I saw improvements in not only my body but also my frame of mind, which pushed me to want to be better and do better with each one after that—not just for me but for my girls also!
Being able to push through tough workouts and seeing that I could do hard things that produced positive results helped build my confidence at a time when I needed it most! This newfound confidence boost encouraged me to keep pushing forward, even in the eye of the multitude of storms I was facing, which allowed me to start to heal.
The workouts were just the beginning for me. Ultimately, they led me on a path that would help me discover how to love myself again.
When I left my now ex-husband, I had no idea what I would be faced with until I was finally able to break free for good. But now that I have been out and have been able to transform my mind and love my life again, I realize just how incredibly powerful some of these lessons that I’ve learned truly are.
1. Forgiving is the first step to healing.
A lot of people believe that forgiveness means you are condoning someone’s behavior, but that is not at all what you are doing when you forgive. Forgiveness is intentionally letting go of negative feelings, like resentment or anger, toward someone who has done you wrong.
Choosing to forgive when you’re ready means that you are making a conscious and deliberate choice to release the feeling of resentment and/or vengeance toward the person who has harmed you, regardless of whether or not you believe that person deserves your forgiveness.
You forgive to allow yourself to move on from the event, which also allows you to fully heal from it.
2. Mindset matters.
Your thoughts shape your reality, so if you think you don’t deserve good things, you won’t be able to attract them into your life.
When in a toxic environment, negativity has a way of clouding your judgment, which makes breaking free more difficult. But once you leave and start focusing on a growth mindset and optimism, everything changes. When you focus on the good, the good gets better. This is the foundation of how I rebuilt my life after breaking free from the toxicity of my marriage.
3. It’s crucial to listen to your gut.
Ignoring your intuition leads to situations you regret more times than not. Learning to trust my inner voice, the one that whispers to me when something isn’t right, has been my greatest guide to making better choices.
4. Positive change starts with self-love.
Self-love is not just a buzzword. It’s the armor you wear against people who try to break you down. It’s telling yourself that you deserve better, even if you don’t fully believe it yet, and taking action to create better, even if it’s just one tiny step.
For me, self-love started when I left my abusive ex-husband and then grew when I started taking care of my body. Sometimes even the smallest act of self-care can help us feel more confident in our worth.
If you’ve been in an abusive relationship too, remember—you can rebuild and thrive in a life you love!
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How I’ve Become My Own Source of Love and Reassurance
“Create a safe space within yourself that no one will ever find, somewhere the madness of this world can never touch.” ~Christy Ann Martine
Losing my grandmother was like losing the one person who had always been my anchor. She was my steady rock, my quiet cheerleader, and the only person who truly made me feel that I was perfectly fine, just as I was. I never had to pretend around her or hide my mistakes or messiness.
She had this way of being present and calm, even when life around us wasn’t, and that gave me a sense of security that, looking back, I had leaned on more than I ever realized.
Her gentle spirit taught me what unconditional love looked and felt like, and without fully realizing it, I relied on her presence to keep me grounded and to make sense of things when everything else felt uncertain.
In my eulogy to her at her funeral, I called her “The Mary Poppins of Grandmas, practically perfect in every way.” And she was perfect in my eyes; she always will be.
When she passed, I felt an incredible emptiness; upon receiving the news, I fell to the floor. I was alone, I couldn’t muster up the strength to lift myself from the floor, and I was crying so hard I started choking. I crawled to the bathroom, thinking I was going to throw up. I was leaning up against the bathtub, sobbing, when a strange sense of peace came over me.
I started to calm down, and the song “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” popped into my head, creating an earworm repeatedly playing the song. I got up from the bathroom floor, grabbed my phone, and posted a video of the song on my social media profile. I found out later that day that that song was my grandma’s favorite.
It felt like I’d lost not just her but a part of myself—something I had unknowingly depended on for so long. Her love was a mirror that allowed me to see my worth; I wasn’t sure how to recognize it without her. The grief of her loss was profound, but underneath that grief, I knew something else was stirring. I needed to find the consistency she had provided, but this time, it had to come from within.
My journey toward healing began with the understanding that if I wanted to feel whole, I had to become that steady, loving presence for myself.
For so long, I had looked to others for validation, believing that if I gave enough, worked hard, and stayed flexible, I’d finally receive the desperately desired acceptance. But when she was gone, something clicked—I realized no one else could fill that space in my life. It was up to me to find that security within.
In the beginning, it felt like too much to take on. I faced layers of emotions and beliefs that had been there for as long as I could remember, and the thought of working through all of it was intimidating.
I saw how often I had tied my sense of worth to what I could offer others, how I felt I needed to prove myself through giving, and how I had relied on external reassurance instead of my inner validation. I had learned to take on the role of the fixer, the supporter, and the giver, often without realizing that I had neglected to support and care for myself.
With time, I began to understand that, like my grandmother, I needed to cultivate a constant, gentle presence within me that I could turn to, no matter what. I needed to become my safe place, someone I could rely on for kindness and encouragement.
One of the first steps was creating rituals that mirrored the warmth and steadiness she had always provided me. I would sit quietly each morning, meditating on gratitude and journaling about my worth before I began my day. These small, intentional acts became a way to ground myself, check in, and create a sense of stability in my life.
I wasn’t naturally good at setting boundaries—I would get an anxious feeling in my stomach when it came to saying no. I was always worried that if I said no, the other person would stop coming around, or I would hurt their feelings, and I would guilt myself.
Eventually, I reached a point where I knew I had to change things. I was allowing myself to be taken advantage of repeatedly. It went into a pattern of me giving too much, then resenting the other person or people involved and not realizing that the problem was me.
If I didn’t start respecting my limits, I’d have nothing left to give. Little by little, I practiced saying no without offering a reason or apologizing. It wasn’t easy. It felt foreign at first, like I was somehow selfish for doing it. But with each boundary, I began to feel a new sense of inner strength that I hadn’t felt before. It was like I was finally treating myself with the same kindness I tried to give everyone else.
Learning to sit with my emotions instead of running from them was the most challenging part. I understood that grief wasn’t something you just “get over.” It’s something you learn to live with. I stopped pushing away the sadness and let myself fully feel it, allowing it to come and go without judgment.
There were times when it felt overwhelming, but it was also healing. In those moments, I felt almost as if she was still with me, her presence comforting me as if saying, “It’s okay to feel this. It’s okay to let yourself grieve.”
Through this, I began rediscovering parts of myself I had set aside. I allowed myself to get creative again, expressing things I’d bottled up without worrying about how it would come across. I started journaling daily, writing about my dreams, fears, and memories. These weren’t just words on a page—they were my way of healing, piece by piece, as I found my way back to feeling whole again.
As time went on, I began to notice a shift. I felt a growing sense of worth that wasn’t based on anyone’s approval. I didn’t feel the same need to prove myself. I slowly accepted my flaws, realizing self-love doesn’t mean perfection. It means patience and the willingness to keep showing up for myself, especially on the tough days.
My grandmother’s passing taught me one of the biggest lessons of my life: I could be my safe place. I could build a life where I feel valued and loved from within without relying on anyone else to create that for me.
Of course, there are still days when I slip back into old habits, looking for validation outside myself, but now I know I have everything I need inside. Her memory stays with me as a reminder of strength and love—two things she taught me through how she lived.
For anyone struggling to find that sense of inner peace, I hope sharing my story shows you it’s within reach. It’s a journey; it takes time, patience, consistency, and commitment, but it’s worth it. Otherwise, you will never gain the sense of peace you deserve. In doing this, I’ve found a calm and self-assurance I never imagined. And I believe that’s something my grandmother would be proud of.
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To the Parent Who’s Stressing About Being Imperfect
“Your greatest contribution to the universe may not be something you do, but someone you raise.” ~Unknown
Have you ever heard the saying, “Mama knows best” or “If mama ain’t happy, nobody’s happy”? Honestly, who decided that moms should know everything and that the entire emotional balance of the home rests solely on their shoulders? Isn’t Mom a human too? A beautiful soul navigating this life, trying to figure things out just like everyone else? How is it fair that we pile all the pressure onto this one person—the keeper of the schedules, the task doer, the tender space for everyone to fall?
It’s no wonder the pressure on moms today is sky-high. We carry expectations that are impossible to meet—being nurturing yet productive, selfless yet balanced. And let’s not forget about dads, who often get a bad rap for not doing things “as well as mom.”
We need to take a step back. Both parents are human. They come into parenting with their own limiting beliefs, inner critics, and childhood wounds. Being a parent doesn’t mean you automatically know what you’re doing.
I’ll never forget the drive home from the hospital with my first son. I was in the backseat, staring at this tiny human, thinking, “They’re really letting us take him home?”
It hit me, sitting in that glider in his nursery a few weeks later, that I had no idea what I was doing. I tried reading all the books, hoping the answers were tucked in there somewhere. But even after reading the same chapter of Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child at least thirty times, I still felt lost.
So, I did what felt natural—I called my mom. Surely, she had the answers. But all she said was, “This too shall pass.” At the time, her words made me angry. I didn’t have time for things to pass; I needed solutions. Yet, over the years, I’ve come to realize that she didn’t have all the answers either. None of us do.
This journey of figuring it out—of reading books, blogs, and consulting my mom—lasted for many years. I wanted so badly to be a good mom. I was a good mom. I loved my kids deeply, left little notes in their lunch boxes, tucked them in at night, and kept them safe with helmets and seatbelts. But as he grew, so did the struggles, and often, so did my fear.
When my son was in elementary school, he began struggling terribly. At first, I thought maybe he just needed a little extra encouragement. But when he would cry at homework or tear up on our way to school, I knew it was deeper. He would rush through his work just so he could turn in his tests at the same time as the other “smarter” kids. School was overwhelming for him, and it was crushing me to watch.
Eventually, he was diagnosed with ADHD and dyslexia, and a wave of conflicting emotions washed over me. I was relieved to know he had support now, but the meetings, the individualized education programs, the tutoring—all of it weighed on me.
Sitting in those meetings with teachers and specialists, I’d feel a tightness in my chest and tears spilling over. I wanted him to have an easier path, but I was realizing that I couldn’t just “fix” it. I was the mother, the one who was supposed to protect him, but I was helpless in the face of these challenges he would have to navigate on his own. My heart ached for him, and I often felt ashamed of my own emotional unraveling.
Reflecting back, I see how much of those tears were for him—and for me. I was spread too thin. Work was overwhelming, my marriage was strained, and I had little left to give. My life felt like a juggling act, and each new challenge threatened to tip the balance. The layers of fear, responsibility, and love were always there, piling up, and I felt the weight of every single one.
And then came the teenage years. Those years where the stakes felt higher, where choices carried more weight, and where my fear around his decisions—who he spent time with, the roads he might choose—grew even stronger.
I remember one day, standing in the garage in an argument with him. The tension was thick, and we were both yelling—my fear bursting out as anger. I don’t even remember what we were arguing about; it’s a blur. But the shame and guilt afterward were so clear.
The truth is, every stage of my son’s life brought forward a new version of myself—a woman, a mother, learning as she went, trying her best to balance it all. My own fear of failure, of not being enough, would surface in unexpected ways. But somewhere along the journey, I realized that my fears and my need for control were driving a wedge between us. And the more I tried to grip tightly, the more I lost sight of the tender love and wonder I wanted to bring into our relationship.
So, I started working on myself. I went to therapy and hired a coach—not because I was broken, but because I knew I wasn’t showing up as the parent, or the person, I wanted to be.
Through my healing journey, I learned that my desire to control was rooted in fear—a fear that if I didn’t do everything perfectly, he would somehow slip through the cracks. I feared for his future, that he’d face pain or hardship. But as I began to peel back those layers, I started to see that my fear wasn’t protecting him; it was keeping me from fully loving and trusting him.
As I did this inner work, something shifted. My approach softened. I wasn’t as reactive or rigid. I found that I could set boundaries from a place of love instead of fear, listen without rushing to fix, and let him make his own choices.
I became less focused on making sure everything was perfect and more focused on simply being there. I was less afraid, more open—and, truth be told, I began to enjoy life more. I found joy in the little things again, the mundane moments I used to take for granted. And he noticed.
My children began to see me differently. They told me I was more patient, kinder, and even more fun. This loop of healing—me working on myself, allowing my own growth to ripple into how I showed up for them—created a connection that only grew stronger. The more I invested in myself, the more balanced I felt, and the deeper my love for them became.
So, what about that old saying, “If mama ain’t happy, nobody’s happy”? Perhaps instead we should say, “No one is happy all the time, but if mom is struggling, she needs time and space to address her own issues, and everyone in the house will benefit.” The same goes for Dad. If he’s checked out, he needs to come back to this one life we’re given. Both parents need to heal, grow, and show up for themselves so they can be there fully for their kids.
Just like the thermostat in your home, if things are too hot or too cold, you adjust it to find comfort. The same goes for parenting. When we take the time to work on ourselves, we create the right environment—not perfect, but balanced and loving—for our children to thrive.
It’s never too late to start. Let’s embark on this healing journey together so we can show up as the best parents we can be—not because we have all the answers, but because we’re willing to do the work, grow, and love along the way.
