Living in a body that won’t cooperate is like slow-onset torture. For years, my hips haven’t just hurt—they’ve held me back. At first, just a little. Gradually, over the years, more and more. Simple things—bending, walking, standing, even trying to sleep—have been battles I’ve fought quietly (and sometimes not so quietly) every day. I scheduled my hip replacement months ago, ready to finally feel like myself again.

Can you share a positive example of where you've felt loved? Back in 2008, I met a man named Jason. We found each other online during a strange pause in my life—right after I broke my foot. He lived in the same town, knew some of the same people. Our paths had circled each other for years without ever crossing. Until suddenly, they did. We started talking, and it felt easy in that rare, unforced way. Before long, he came over one evening just to spend time together. The conversation flowed as if we’d been continuing something already begun.

I'm having a rough day today, so I'm going to throw a pity party and rant. Don't wanna hear it? Don't read it. Still reading? That's on you. Today was the day I was supposed to have my right hip replacement surgery, at LONG LAST!! I've been waiting years for relief from this incessant and crippling pain. I was extremely nervous but very excited to be on the other side of it and start straightening my life back out. Activity, walking, perhaps even working a real job when Felix gets into an ABA program (he's currently on the waiting list).

This week has been stressful. As I often do, I offered to help a friend, and I’m genuinely glad I did. It allowed them to have a productive few days. At the same time, I was dealing with a severe, persistent cough that kept me from sleeping for several nights. Trying to balance my own well-being with my instinct to show up for others (and of course my usual motherly duties) was the hardest part. Unfortunately due to this respiratory virus I've had, my surgery has been delayed as I feared it would need to be.

It's the 5th day of 2026 and already I haven't been able to fulfil my own set schedule of posts. But no matter... I think more of a freestyle is better anyway. Less pressure, and with my desire to leave Facebook and other big social media, I'll just start writing about everything here, like I would do on social media (in smaller amounts), or in my private journal, only without the majority of the super-personal stuff. On New Year's Eve, I started getting symptoms like a sore throat, body aches, and lethargy.

A long time ago my mom showed me a movie called The Point. It's an animated movie from 1971 about a boy named Oblio. He is born into a society of people with pointed heads, and he is born without a round head. As a child he is banished for being pointless, and the movie follows his journey, with his dog Arrow, through many wonderful places. Cover art from The Point movie, image found on IMDB. The soundtrack is by Harry Nilsson, and a couple of the songs randomly just popped into my head about a week ago and have lived there ever since, even though it had been years since I'd seen this movie.

I know this topic is super controversial these days, but PLEASE hang in there with me and read the whole post. I'll try to keep it as short as possible. Since I started this blog back up in October, I've been playing a lot with AI. Many of my posts with the "Meditations" category have been written by ChatGPT with specific prompts, and then edits have been made by me after it's generated. And to be even more transparent, I had several scheduled posts for January and February all created by AI....

For so long, you searched for peace as if it lived somewhere outside yourself — in the next relationship, the next change, the next version of your life that hurt a little less. You built walls and bridges, burned both down, and still kept walking, hoping somewhere along the way you’d stumble upon a place that finally felt like home. But one day, you stopped. Not because you’d given up, but because you’d grown tired of running from the present moment. And in that stillness, something softened. You realized home isn’t a place you find — it’s something you learn to build within yourself.

I don't like making New Year's resolutions. Losing weight, saving money, yadda yadda, blah. It never works out, and then you start your year feeling like a failure. I do however, have some things I'd like to work on in the next year. And from where I'm sitting right now, I think it's entirely realistic and attainable. But I'm not going to be too hard on myself if I run into setbacks. My goal: BE MORE ACTIVE: In January I'm scheduled for a total hip replacement of my right hip. My chronic and ever-increasing pain over the years has led not only to decreased mobility and struggling mental health from feeling increasingly helpless, but it has also led to pain in other parts of my body like my back and knees, from trying to compensate for what my hips can no longer do.

Christmas morning at Grandma and Grandpa’s house feels like waking up inside a secret wonderland. The house is quiet but full at the same time, like it’s holding its breath. I wake up early anyway. The air smells different here—like coffee, cinnamon, and something already cooking even though it’s still morning. The living room glows softly from the tree lights, and the presents sit underneath, waiting patiently, wrapped in shiny paper and bows that look too pretty to touch. My heart beats fast just looking at them, like they might open themselves if I stare long enough.

What positive events have taken place in your life over the past year? I saw this prompt, and my plan was to highlight all the positive things that happened this year, before year's end. I have a massive backup on Google Photos of everything that happened (I take a LOT of photos), and a I have a private journal I write in frequently to keep track of how I’m processing everything. I just went through my whole year, and it wasn’t a great one at all. So even though I'm citing this prompt, I'm going to list the "highlights" and do my best to find the silver lining in what I can.

I know this is long, but please at least skim it... stick with me here..... I'm really trying to move away from traditional social media, so it would mean a lot to me if at least my closest friends followed along, even part-time. I don't expect everyone to be hanging on my every word, by any means. But browse what I write occasionally. Leave a like or a comment, reach out by email or text if you have my contact info. I'd love to hear from people outside of Facebook (from which I'm wanting to remove myself permanently).

Winter arrives without a sound. The air turns cold and clean, and my breath becomes small white clouds that linger upon the gentle breeze. I pull my coat close and listen to the quiet. The lights come on one by one. They glow softly on houses and trees, not loud, not bright—just enough. When snow gathers on them, the colors blur and shine through the white. Red, gold, green. The snow holds the light gently, like it knows how precious it is. Everything moves carefully now. My steps crunch, but softly.

Euphoria feels like your chest cracked open and light rushed in, like gravity briefly lost interest in you and let you float an inch above your own life. Colors sharpen, your body hums, and for a rare, suspiciously generous moment, everything makes sense and hurts less at the same time. While I've certainly been through enough traumatic experiences in my life to understand the desire to alter my mind to forget it all, I've never fallen victim to drug addition. I spent the last couple weeks watching the 2 available seasons (and 2 bonus episodes) of Euphoria on HBO.

There comes a moment — quiet, almost imperceptible — when the weight of the past loosens its grip. Not because the pain is gone, but because you finally stop trying to make it make sense. The grief, the betrayal, the endless ache of what could’ve been — it doesn’t vanish, it just becomes part of the landscape. You stop fighting the storm and realize you’ve learned how to breathe inside it. That’s what healing really is: not forgetting, not pretending, but finding your rhythm again in a world that kept moving while you were breaking.

"They used you..." No. They received genuine love and care from me, and they played themselves. I saw a similar quote on a reel posted by J-Okayyyy on Instagram. It took me a couple of reads to really sink in, but when it did? It cracked something wide open. Absolute game-changer for the whole “poor me” narrative I sometimes fall into. To all the people who came and went in my life, the ones who took and took and then vanished… and to the ones who basked in my love only to turn around and treat me like garbage—you all played yourselves.

The first snowflake drifts down like a quiet secret, born from a cold cloud high above the world. It begins its fall with a shimmer of pride — a tiny, crystalline geometry no one has ever seen before and never will again. Up there, everything is vast: the endless stretch of sky, the muted sun glowing behind winter haze, the wind currents swirling like invisible rivers. The snowflake rides them all, twirling gently, almost dancing, as if savoring its brief moment of freedom. As it descends, the world sharpens into view.

That's A Great Question, I'd Love To Tell Youby Elyse Myers I absolutely love Elyse online. I've followed her on TikTok and Facebook Reels for quite some time. I adore her videos, the stories of her life, her anecdotes, her songs, etc. I chose to experience this book in audio format rather than reading it in print. It is narrated by her, and I thought that would really add to it. It pains me to say this, but her book was just not my cup of tea. It starts off with a cute story about a childhood Halloween trick-or-treating outing, and flashed a couple weeks forward to another somewhat related story, but then never finishes that story.

There’s a particular sting that comes with realizing I missed the ⚠️ warning signs ⚠️ — the red flags 🚩🚩🚩practically waving like parade banners while I smiled and said, “No, no, they’re probably just having a rough day.” It’s not stupidity, and it’s not willful blindness. It’s my reflex to hope. I want to see the best in people so badly that I mentally photoshop out the glaring flaws right in front of me. I smooth the edges, soften the colors, and convince myself that the weird comments, quiet manipulations, or subtle (and not so subtle) disrespect are just “quirks.” Because, of course, I'm kind, patient and understanding — and hope is louder than common sense on most days.

On Thanksgiving, I like to slow down and take a real look at my life — not through the lens of everything that’s happened, but through the lens of everything I have. Gratitude feels richer when it’s rooted in the present, and right now my life is full of things worth appreciating. I’m grateful for my family — my mom, brother and kids, who keep my world bright and unpredictable in the best ways. They’ve helped shape who I am, not through hardship, but through all the laughter, the lessons, the inside jokes, and the fierce kind of love that only grows in a home like ours.

There’s a kind of magic in surviving an ordinary day, though it rarely feels like magic while you’re doing it. Most days aren’t epic or cinematic — they’re cluttered, repetitive, emotionally uneven. You wake up with last night’s worries still clinging to your ribs, roll your shoulders against the weight of everything you’re carrying, and decide, yet again, to try. Not heroically. Not flawlessly. Just… try. The people love to see grand transformations, but the truth is, most healing happens in the mundane. In brushing your teeth even though you barely slept.

⚠️TRIGGER WARNING: Sexual Assault and Strong Language⚠️ “[insert person name] was on the list too, but you don’t hear democrats say…” ✋🛑 Let me stop you right there. IF THEY’RE GUILTY, PUNISH THEM …

In the quiet aftermath of upheaval, we find ourselves between what was and what might be. Healing isn’t a straight path but an evolving dialogue between grief and hope. Embracing this journey…

In a world that often drowns us in darkness, find strength in your quiet resilience. The world may try to convince you that compassion is a weakness, but it’s not. You don’t have to hea…

Parenting is a journey that never truly ends. My kids are now adults, but their lives continue to intertwine with mine. From guiding them through challenges to celebrating their successes, I’…