My neighbor has wind chimes, and on an especially windy day, there is a symphony of music in my yard that plays through closed windows. I hear the music amongst the passing traffic and rustling of leaves, bringing its songs of hope. The wind is becoming much more crisp these days, the warmth of the summer sun fading into the distance and shining a brilliant white light as the days of winter draw near.
Even though I have lived in Iowa most of my life, winter has always come as a shock and is my least favorite of the seasons. Gone are the days of no coats, long walks or park dates with my kids. Gone are the days of the changing leaves filling my neighborhood with hues of magenta, butterscotch and fire; they are replaced by bare trees waiting for new life to sprout in the spring.
For the past few years, I have felt much like the tree waiting for spring. Bit by bit I have been pruned, my leaves showing signs of beauty and wisdom and so much life, yet in the beauty sometimes comes the ashes and the fall. Because just as we cannot have spring without winter, we must shed layers of ourselves to make way for new life. And even though the winter has been the season of life I have been in for quite some time, I didn’t give up on knowing that spring would still come.
Because even in the darkest days of winter, when there are fewer hours of sunlight streaming into our days, the wind chimes still blow on a windy day, reminding of us of hope and singing its song back to us, even when we forget how. Even when we feel the bitterness and the cold, there are still signs of warmth and love around us when we open our eyes and our hearts.
Winter. Yes, it’s hard. Yes, it’s coming. Yes, sometimes it feels like a short season that can last a year. But when we light a fire and find warmth and comfort around us, we don’t have to let it bury us. We can let it shape us and bring us new life. Because spring is coming and it is up to us if we will bloom and prosper.
When you lean into the discomfort and let yourself find warmth and joy and peace in the midst of us, it’s amazing how God will meet you. Even in the face of uncertainty.
Breathe. You’ve got this. Spring will be here before you know it. Listen for the steady wind chimes and you’ll hear songs of hope along the way.
When I think of the concept of fear, it feels a bit of a misnomer in my life. As someone who has dealt with anxiety the better part of adulthood, fear has felt like a familiar voice, lingering in the recesses of my brain in the form of overthinking and worry about the unknown. As a person who tends to be more driven by emotion, that means I have given far too much merit to my thoughts and feelings, ergo my fears.
A few years ago when Dave passed, my anxiety hit its peak and I knew I needed to take care of my mental health as much as my physical self. As I have taken the time to peel back the layers the past few years, digging through the murky sense of self that I couldn’t quite define, I have come to realize that a lot of who I am has been built by my thoughts and feelings and not on what I’ve known to be there the whole time. My sense of self has been built more on feelings and not always on what I know to be true, what feels right and what feels best for me.
Until recently, I hadn’t realized just how much my decisions – or lack thereof – I have struggled with not because of lack of belief in myself, but because of the constant thought loop in my brain that gets stuck in the familiar, the voice of what I had assumed was reason telling me to stay where it feels safe. It turns out, the voice I had rationalized as reason was a fear that if I were to listen to what I truly want, that it wouldn’t go the way I’d hoped it would. Or it would be harder than I had anticipated. While both thoughts may be true, because of the constant thought loop in my brain, those thoughts turned into irrational fears that have kept me from moving forward.
This summer I picked up doing regular yoga again. What I love about yoga is that it takes you back to yourself; you learn the art of mindfulness, of letting go of your thoughts, of returning to the breath. You learn how to listen, to be still and present in the moment, and how to trust in what you know rather than in the thought loop in your brain.
As I have continued to practice this art (because yoga and mindfulness truly are an art), I have become more fully aware of what I know to be true, what feels right and what feels best for me. My practice and my prayers have kept me grounded on days where I feel like my thoughts have wandered into places of overthinking. As I sit on the cusp of making some life changes, it’s easy to question what lies ahead. It’s easy to ask myself if this is what I really want because I know it’s going to be challenging.
Here’s the thing. Life is hard and I’ve endured a lot. I could choose to stay in survival mode and in this place where my life feels somewhat safe and relatively easy. That isn’t inherently wrong. But I know deep down that in doing so I would be denying a part of myself that I have uncovered, a part of myself that knows I am made for more. I know that some things in life are worth the risk because the reward will be even greater.
Listening to yourself is an ongoing process. It’s a conversation between yourself, your heart and God. For too long, I have invited too many people into the conversation rather than trusting in what I know to be true. Because somehow I have convinced myself that I need permission to go and do the things I want rather than just doing them. Now don’t get me wrong, getting feedback from others is invaluable, but when you trust that or feel the need to answer to that over what you know what is best, then it becomes a loss of self, a letting go of your boundaries for the sake of pleasing those around you.
So here I am, several layers into this onion of my new sense of self. I’ve shed some tears along the way because of the potency of losing ideas I thought mattered, but really were not what I wanted for myself. In yoga, they call this letting go of what is no longer serving you.
As I look ahead to the next few weeks, months and years, I know that I have some challenges, but they are filled with excitement and anticipation. I’m not ready to share the details yet, but soon my recent posts on change will begin to make sense. God makes beauty from ashes and soon enough he will take what I’ve been through, and I will be able to give back to and make a difference for others. My journey is far from complete, and God and his grace are with me every step of the way.
I laced up my shoes with trepidation and determination, wanting to know what I was capable of. I’ve endured chronic pain for five years since breaking my foot that is slowly, finally, becoming something that I barely notice in the background of my life. I could write for days about everything I went through to get to where I am today.
Stronger. Wiser. In tune with my body.
It turns out, I’m not as rusty as I thought. I ran over a mile without stopping and I couldn’t have been more proud of myself. My kids were pretty proud of me, too.
Just as my body went through so much chronic pain and I tried to pray over and find my way into healing, my life went through a lot, too. The hardships I have endured have had me crying out for mercy in the midst of the challenges, knowing they were temporary yet choosing to have faith in each day of the journey, trusting that in each step of the process I would find hope and healing.
And just as my body will never be perfectly healed, just as I know I will have to adapt and continually stretch and strengthen my muscles, I will have to keep seeking my own personal growth and healing, too. This healing isn’t linear but rather is a constant learning of oneself. It is accepting life as it is and embracing the gifts in the everyday.
It’s easy to blame everything and everyone outside ourselves when things don’t go according to plan. But really, we may have a plan but oftentimes life throws a wrench in things, reminding us there is very little we actually have control over. We have control over our hearts, our attitudes, our hope and our faith. We have the choice to push ourselves through adversity and know that everything is temporary; we have so much to give and receive in this life if we open our eyes and our hearts to it.
At the end of the day the choice is ours. I can choose to see the pain and heartache and dwell in it, or I can choose to see my potential and possibilities for the future. I can see that God is with me every step of the way. I can trust that he is with me in the pain and bringing me to a place where I can run freely and breathe again.
And that’s what I choose to believe again and again. So I will run and embrace these gifts and let gratitude pour from me for how far I have come and where I am going.
The sun is shining as I write this, a rare warm day in the middle of an Iowa winter. I am grateful for the warmth, for the light and life and joy that it brings.
Grief, for me, has been focusing on the light. Letting the darkness exist but choosing to live in the light. Even on the cloudiest and dreariest of days, when everything feels heavy, I know that the sun still shines, and if I look hard enough, I will see the light peeking through.
In just over a week, on Feb. 20, it will be three years since losing Dave, and as hard as this journey has been, I have come a long way. I have slowly peeled back the layers and uncovered within myself a person who I didn’t know was there before. Someone who is stronger than she thought and who is finally living a life that is in alignment with who she is and wants to be, growing into the best version of herself despite the circumstances. It’s bittersweet, really, to see these changes in myself and wish that David was here to see them.
It’s easy to want to replay the journey of grief, to relive the moments leading up to and following Dave’s passing. For a long time I did that, wishing I could have controlled how things happened and somehow thinking that I could have changed the outcome. Replaying the painful memories of Dave’s decline is hard to say the least, and this time of year it’s hard to not go there, but instead I choose to remember the good.
I remember how much he loved making a difference and helping others, often quietly serving behind the scenes, never asking for any recognition or anything in return.
I remember his unwavering faith; no matter what life threw at us, he always trusted that God was with us and would carry us through. Even when he was sick, he never was angry at God, never complained, but he trusted in God’s faithfulness, knowing God would take care of him and take care of me and the girls, too.
I remember how much Dave loved his job, pouring his creative outlets and artistic talent for the people he worked with. I remember how much he loved using his gifts and talents to help others.
I remember how close he was with his family. The love Dave had for his siblings and parents and their relationships with one another was truly special. I am truly blessed to still have amazing relationships with my in laws.
I remember how great of a father he was. David was a natural from day one, constantly showering our girls with love, affection and lots of laughter. Hearing our girls squeal with glee when they played together was truly the best.
I remember what a servant heart he had in our household. He did whatever it took to keep things running smoothly and was always willing to tackle any project and take care of me and the girls. Dave’s love language was acts of service and it showed. I knew he would do anything for us, whether making last minute runs to the store for me when I was cooking or for the girls if they needed medicine when they were sick. He loved us so deeply and took good care of his girls.
I remember how much he loved the summertime, just spending time outdoors in the yard, grilling, playing with the girls. I have a lot of memories just being together, whether making smores, playing with the girls in the sprinkler, washing the car in the driveway in their swimsuits or splashing around in the inflatable pool.
I have so many wonderful memories that I continue to share with the girls. The older they get the more I want to share with them, so they can hold their daddy close to their hearts always. Even in the milestone moments where we wish he was here with us, letting the girls know he is with them and watching over them always.
Three years. The longest shortest years. So much has changed and yet so much has remained the same. I am grateful to God for walking alongside me and carrying me through this journey and the friends and family who have remained faithful and been my tribe. I couldn’t have walked this road without any of them.
It is by the grace of God that I can truly say that I am thankful for where I am at and what lies ahead for me. And I pray for more of that grace and peace each and every day. I trust and believe. One day at a time. God has great and beautiful things in store.
This time of year is one of reflection, of looking back from where we’ve come and looking ahead to the future. For just about anyone, looking ahead can fill us with a number of feelings from overwhelm to uncertainty to fear to excitement to anticipation.
Most of you know my story, my grief journey and from where I’ve come. While it hasn’t been easy, the past three years have caused me to look more internally than I ever have in my life. I already am a live-in-my-head kind of person, so this self-reflection at first filled me with much anxiety, over thinking every decision and letting my self be filled with fear over the future.
The first year (2020) was mostly numb, drowning out the noise and doing what I could to survive (grief, Covid, solo parenting, the whole bit) and find joy and meaning, trusting in God’s purposes and promises despite my circumstances. The second year was actually harder than the first, making some life changes and moving and trying to settle into new routines. The anxiety with all of the changes reached its peak, and I knew I needed to find help outside of myself. I started my counseling journey, and it led me back to my center.
This year I have experienced more healing and growth than I ever dreamed was possible. Somewhere along the line I learned to shed back the layers of self-doubt and trust that inner voice. I learned to let go of what I felt I “should” do and do what I knew was right and best for me. My people pleasing nature is slowly slipping away, and I am learning how to align my decisions and actions with my heart and my values without feeling the need to please everyone else. It truly is the most freeing feeling to live your life in alignment with who you are. It only took me 40 years to get here, ha.
I’ve never been a resolutions person, but I do go into each year hoping to learn and grow and become the best version of myself. Going into 2023, my word of the year is align. I want my heart to align with my mind and my actions to align with my values. I want my life to align with God’s purposes for me. I want who I am to align with who I am made to be.
Going into this year I pray that I would continue to grow into myself. That my girls would see the confidence within me and that they would learn and grow alongside me. I pray that I would continue to adapt and trust my inner knowing of each step of this journey. I am grateful for my deep-feeling heart and sensitive soul that God has given me, as it allows me to embrace with joy the beautiful relationships He’s given me and to find joy in this process, even when it’s hard. I am grateful for my creative outlet, that God gives me the words not just for myself to heal but to also share with others. I pray that I would continue to have the courage to do so. I am grateful for the depth within me, that I can experience the richness and beauty of this life and see it for what it is in spite of the hard stuff. I wouldn’t be me without my willingness to be open, to be vulnerable, to be brave. It is when we come into ourselves and embrace it that we truly live in alignment with who we are.
Step by step, one day at a time. I’m aligning my heart and my values and putting them into action. I am growing into the best version of myself and who I am made to be.
My kids are at the ages when people start asking what they want to be when they grow up. Whether hearing it from teachers, friends or family, my children are starting to be curious about who they are and what they want to be. They are learning to identify themselves by their likes and dislikes, wants and needs. Boiling this down to an answer of how they identify themselves as a career choice can feel both exciting and overwhelming at the same time.
My oldest says she wants to be an art teacher. She loves and has a gift of art, and she has natural leadership and nurturing qualities that would make for a great teacher. She knows her strengths and her talents, and I encourage her in what she is good at, whether it is her creativity or gymnastics or the qualities I see in her. She has a strong sense of self, who she is and what she wants and isn’t afraid to express her desires or go after it. I love this about her, and it can also be challenging as a parent with her strong-willed nature.
My youngest isn’t as certain as to what she wants to be, and I honestly don’t ask her either. I like to call out her talents and gifts. She loves and has a gift of art, just like her sister, and she has a natural musical talent as well. She has a heart of gold and loves to help people, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she were in human services or some kind of healthcare field someday. The world is her oyster. She too has a strong sense of self, even though she doesn’t know what she wants to be. She knows her likes and dislikes, gifts and strengths. She knows who she is.
I think this is the question we need to start asking. This is what we need to start encouraging as parents, as teachers, as people who see gifts and talents in each other. I think instead of focusing on what we want to be, we need to start looking within at who we are and who we want to be. Because as much as it can be difficult to admit, we aren’t identified by our career choice, our wealth, our successes or failures, but rather by the quality of our character.
I sit here at a crossroads in my life, not knowing what I want to be when I grow up. For the past few months, I have toyed with the idea of going back to school, considering different options as to what I want to do. The choices feel exciting at best, but also overwhelming. I know who I am, and I know what my strengths are, and yet I am uncertain as to what to do. I also know what I don’t want to do. This summer I felt the pull so strongly I felt it was calling me to go back to school now, but now I am feeling that the answer is to wait.
So instead of jumping into something, instead of aimlessly wandering and trying to identify who I am by my career, I am remembering to take a step back and pursue this one day at a time. To focus on my strengths, to keep writing, to trust in the process and the path that is in front of me. Who I am isn’t found in my job; it is found within me.
I know sometimes the answer isn’t always clear cut, that wisdom can come from small voices within or even from people I love and trust. As a good friend recently reminded me, sometimes the answer could be not right now, but someday. My prayer today is that I would hear more of that voice, that God would whisper his wisdom and guide my feet along the path that is before me. I approach it with excitement, trust and anticipation, knowing that chasing my talents, desires and dreams—who I am and what I want—will lead me to where I want to go.
I know who I am: I am brave, yet I am vulnerable, I am strong, yet also weak. I am filled with passion and compassion. I want to love and be loved. To give and receive God’s love. I want to embrace the gifts that have been given to me. I am a seeker of justice and truth. I am a writer, a mom, a daughter, a sister, a friend. I am so much more than I ever knew that I could be. I am looking to the future with both uncertainty and confidence, knowing that God is with me every step of the way. I trust and believe. One day at a time.
This summer, one of the things I enjoyed when the weather was nice was sitting on my back patio on a clear night, staring up at the vastness of the sky, at the glimmering lights illuminating in the darkness, daring to dream about the possibilities.
The North Star is almost always visible, and it draws me in with its certainty and assurance of its guiding presence. Because even when all the darkness surrounds, it never fades. It leads me and guides me home even when I have lost my way.
One of the things the girls and I enjoyed over the summer was wandering the furniture store (and let’s be honest, testing mattresses and eating free cookies). On a recent visit, I came across this artwork, displaying the promise of hope: “Only in the darkness can you see the stars.”
On many of those nights I spent staring up at the stars, I have found myself praying, looking toward the future, dreaming for something bigger than myself. I longed to use my gifts and talents and didn’t want to stay in a place where I felt the clouds were keeping my light in the shadows. I felt such a yearning, such a pull toward an answer that honestly felt right yet terrifying at the same time. In the darkness, I saw the stars pointing the way, the North Star in all its certainty giving me the courage to take the first step.
I knew it took reaching this place of darkness, of solitude, of uncertainty, to see what has been sitting in front of me the whole time. My true north. It’s easy to deny what we know to be true when it feels like a sacrifice, when we know it will be a challenge, when we know it will require a leap of faith far greater than we could have imagined. The fear that sits within me is real, but I know that if I ignore this light that is illuminating in the darkness, if I turn away and head the opposite direction or let my anxiety win, my heart will know I have ignored what is true. What is right. What is good.
So here I am, daring to dream. Speaking my light and words and sharing my vision with some dear friends and loved ones. Speaking your dreams out loud is terrifying and yet gives you the courage and confidence to pursue them. I’m not ready to share my long-term dreams with the world yet, but I know what the next step is for me. Now, I must trust. I must trust in the interim and trust in the Lord to determine my steps and provide the right timing.
Now, I must keep my focus. It’s easy to let my eyes wander to what the light illuminates around me rather than what is right in front of me. It’s easy to want to chase after everything I want all at once rather than trusting the process, knowing that I can’t control every step of the way. I can’t will things to happen or try to make things go on my terms, I must trust and believe. The North Star promises to guide me. Encourages me to take that first step. I can’t be in my own way anymore, I must let go. I must trust in God’s promises and know that He is with me every step of the way.
So today, I am choosing to take the first step of many. To know I am made for great things and that God is going to give me the strength even when it feels hard. I’m taking the leap, knowing that I am not alone in this process. One day at a time. I trust and believe. I dare to dream.
I do not have a green thumb whatsoever. For as long as I can remember, I have been terrible at keeping plants alive. I tend to forget to water them, then over-water them when I get around to it. This doesn’t always stop me from attempting, and this year I accepted the challenge when I purchased a beautiful flowering plant for my back patio.
The scorching summer sun has been beating into it, and each morning I try to pour just a little water to dampen the plant, crossing my fingers I won’t drown it or find it wilting the next day. As I stared at my plant with its small pink flowers this morning, I was reminded of something Hannah shared with me earlier this spring. She filled out something at the end of the school year sharing what she learned, and one of the things she wrote was, “It takes time and effort to achieve your goals.” Such wise words for an eight-year-old.
Hannah has been working hard at mastering several gymnastics skills and has grown leaps and bounds since she started the sport a year ago. While it’s a little terrifying to see her tackling such moves with no fear, I am very proud of Hannah. I love seeing her set her heart and mind to working hard and growing, pouring herself into something she loves. She is seeing the reward for the time and effort she puts in, and it encourages her to push harder.
As I look at Hannah tackling gymnastics or Hailey at dance, and as I see the growth of my blooming plant, I am reminded of the potential within myself. The past couple years I have given myself permission to push the easy button in several areas (OK let’s be honest, just about every area) of my life. It’s been a whirlwind, and I have allowed myself to get caught up in it, giving myself grace to simply survive and get through it. And while some days I still feel like I am struggling to catch my breath, needing to hold onto a floatation device to keep my head above the water, I am finally feeling like I can swim on my own.
For too long, I have felt stuck, as I try to navigate my way and look ahead to what’s next rather than focusing on the present. David was so good at simply letting things be as they are, finding joy in the simple moments of the everyday, and it’s something I continue to strive for. Honestly, it’s probably something I will always seek more of, being mindfully present and joyful in the gifts God has given me. In yoga, you are constantly reminded to focus on the breath and practice mindfulness. To acknowledge your thoughts without judgment and release them, coming back to the breath. It is what grounds you and reminds you of what matters. In my breath, I feel focused. I come back to the present; I come back to joy and the gifts God has given me; I come back to who I am.
Who I am is so much more than what I give myself credit for, and I know that. It’s easy to get caught up in the everyday, the to-dos, the what-ifs and the “where is this all going” questions. Who I am is a blooming plant with potential for beauty and growth. Who I am needs nurturing, just like my daughter, just like the plant I am trying to keep alive, both with patience and love. The scorching of the sun and life’s challenges will beat down on me, but I don’t have to let myself hide in the shade or drown in the water. Slowly, I can take care of and believe in myself. I can see the gifts in my life for what they are. I can choose to nurture them and spend the time and effort working on them so I can reach my goals. Daring to dream and believe again feels scary and yet inspiring and joy-filled at the same time.
I started a book earlier this year, and I know my brain is going to tell me to avoid it, to press the easy button or give up, but I know that I don’t want to. Like all good things, it requires time, effort and a lot of self-love, patience and nurturing to achieve my goals.
I see the potential within myself. Not just as a writer but as who I am. I am wired for creativity, for passion, for love, for speaking truth, for encouragement, for reckless abandon. Deep down is the girl within me who sees just how beautiful this life can be when you embrace it, when you let your hair down, when you invite in the beauty of connection and friendships, when you seize adventures and live with less fear and more trust.
That’s the potential for this life I see and long for. And I can’t wait for the ride.
Two years ago we said goodbye to our daddy and best friend. Our rock and our confidante. Our source of strength and so much laughter. You knew how to be silly and serious and everything in between. It’s true when they say that the first year is hard, but if I’m being honest, year two was even harder. I went through a lot of ups and downs and life changes that at times left me breathless.
I have been grieving not just the loss of you, but also the loss of normalcy as the pandemic hit and continued on longer than I ever imagined it would. I have gone through different stages of grief for in-person relationships, missing them immensely at the beginning of the pandemic and now realizing just how much work it is as a single parent to maintain them. I have grieved the home I left behind, the house full of memories with our children as I moved into a townhome. I have grieved the loss of community with our neighbors. I have grieved the many things our girls won’t get to experience with you. I have grieved so much that truthfully, some days it has felt too much to bear.
Grief, I have come to realize, is multidimensional. It’s not just about the loss of who you lose, it is the loss of everything else you could have shared together. It’s the loss of everything you imagined you thought your life would be. However, it is also about choosing joy in the midst of grief. It is holding onto hope, knowing that there are good and beautiful things in this life that I can enjoy both now and in the future. For me, grief isn’t just heaviness, it is choosing to find beauty, adapting and holding onto truths that guide me one day at a time.
I think one of the hardest parts of grief is that not many people understand it unless they’ve been through it themselves. One of the reasons I share my story and write about you is so that people will learn about those who are grieving and ways they can walk alongside them. I want others to know that they don’t have to fear talking about you, that I need it more than anything. Holding onto memories fills my heart with so much joy and is important for both me and the girls.
Another reason I share about you: for our girls. As I talk with them about you, it is my hope that the girls will hold onto their memories, but I know that in time these memories will fade. I am writing down stories about you—about us—so that someday the girls will know so much more about you. I am hoping that maybe eventually this will all come together in a book.
I also share about you for my own healing. I have been broken, yes, but I also feel myself being made new. I have recognized within myself a strength I never knew I had before. A strength that doesn’t just come from me, but that is a gift from God.
You taught me that strength from your example, holding on and trusting in the face of adversity. You showed me what true courage looks like: You trusted in whatever God brought your way, and you had the faith that He would see you through it. You believed in God’s promises and knew that you weren’t alone in your suffering.
In the same way, despite just how hard it has been grieving in the midst of a pandemic, I know that I am not alone. I felt like I lost my safety net when I lost you, but in reality my safety net has been there all along, I just haven’t seen it. I haven’t trusted in it fully. I have walked the tightrope, wobbling and fearing that I am going to fall into the vastness, into the unknown where I am asked to trust and surrender even when it’s hard.
In reality, yes, life is hard. But the truth is, this space I am in, where I am being asked to trust, is my safe place. I have left my old home, and my new home is a place to build. A place to grow. A place to believe, hope and dream.
Today I remember you, honor you and am so incredibly grateful for everything we shared together. I am thankful for everything you taught me and carry you forever in my heart.
Like just about everyone this time of year, I find myself reflecting on the past 12 months—everything I have been through, have learned and see myself hoping to work on in the new year.
I’ve never been big on New Year’s resolutions; I find them to be glorified versions of personal goals (or maybe that’s just me). The trend in more recent years has been finding a “word of the year” that sets an intention. This could be a word that helps you stay focused on the person you want to be, or a quality, truth or hope you wish to hold onto.
I’ve tried both resolutions and words of the year and while in theory they have been helpful, I find myself quickly getting back into the routines and busyness of everyday life and quickly forgetting any sort of intentions (or resolutions) I’ve set for myself.
If I’m honest, I know that goals are helpful for me to stay focused and give me a sense of purpose when I otherwise sometimes feel a lack of control. While I am not setting out to name resolutions for myself this coming year, there are a handful of things that I want to do more of, and some things that I am realizing I want to do less of. In shedding the things that do not serve me, I am hoping to make fewer excuses for not doing the things that give me a greater sense of joy and purpose. Let’s call them goals of what I want to do and not do.
2022 Goals
1. Less scrolling. I find myself doing way too much mindless scrolling on my phone, namely on social media, sinking into the rabbit hole that is the internet. When I am really up for wasting my energy, I click into the comments section of a news article. Most of this mindless scrolling leaves me feeling like I have wasted my time and energy on things that really serve me little purpose. I am considering removing social media apps from my phone temporarily to help me stay more focused on the present and less on things that don’t matter.
Don’t get me wrong, I love seeing updates on what my friends are up to, especially those I don’t see very often, but I know I need to be better at picking up the phone or texting when I’m thinking about someone, even if it requires more emotional energy than scrolling. (Side note: If I haven’t called or texted you…sometimes it requires more emotional bandwidth than I am up for…forgive me if it takes me a while to pick up the phone for a long conversation. I love talking, but at the end of the day I have little energy for more than reading a good book or writing a blog post. 😊)
2. Less justifying. Sometimes I feel the need to justify my reasons for saying no to something or overexplain myself for decisions I make. I am realizing that I am allowed to set boundaries and name what I need without feeling like I have to overshare. I am allowed to give myself grace and space.
3. Less guilt. Oof this is hard. Author Nedra Tawwab says you can’t set boundaries without feeling some sense of guilt, but ultimately you need to focus on not disappointing yourself and your needs. As selfish as I know this sounds, I know that I need to take care of myself. It’s like the whole oxygen mask on the airplane thing. To be the best mom, friend, employee, family member, etc. that I can be, I need to make sure that my needs are met and my tank is full without feeling guilty. I need to make the best decisions for me and my girls without feeling guilty. I need to create space for the things I love and enjoy without feeling guilty.
Somehow I make too many excuses or don’t make enough time for things I enjoy, which I hope to change in 2022. There are several things I want to do more of.
1. More yoga. I fell in love with yoga a few years ago, pre-pandemic before everyone became obsessed with at-home yoga sensationYoga with Adriene. I have fallen out of the habit this past year, but yoga has been something that has kept me grounded, and it has allowed me to take care of my body when it carries so much stress. I’ve signed up for the next 30 day yoga journey, and while I don’t typically finish these in 30 days straight, I tend to stick with them. Yoga has helped me mind, body and soul.
2. More reading. I love to read, both fiction and nonfiction. During the 2020 year of Covid that felt like the longest year of my life, I probably read close to 50 books after a long hiatus of reading for fun. Since downloading the Libby app on my phone and having library books at my fingertips I have been reading so much more. I look to continue my reading habit next year but want to do more reading of physical books too, and not just on my phone.
3. More sleep. Ugh, this is probably my worst habit. Worse than biting my fingernails. I stay up way too late most nights. As a single parent of young kids, I definitely am lacking on time for myself. I try to make up for it by staying up far too late after the girls are in bed, crossing things off my to-do list and then trying to squeeze in plenty of wind down time prior to lights out. I know that I function at my best and am much more pleasant to be around when I have more sleep. I’m happier, less likely to say something stupid, and amazingly more patient with my children. Win, win, win. I know I need to make sleep a priority, it’s just a matter of following through and making it happen.
4. More writing. The lizard in my brain tells me that no one really wants to read what I have to say, that my writing doesn’t serve much purpose other than to get the thoughts out of my head and onto paper (or computer). I know deep down that this isn’t totally true, but I make excuses for not writing more. Confession time: A few months ago I started a book. I abandoned ship after one writing. I’ve gotten approximately two paragraphs written. I’m hoping to come back to it next year and dedicate a whole lot more of my time to writing it.
5. More time with friends IRL. For those who don’t know the lingo the kids are saying these days, IRL = In Real Life. The combination of being thrust into single parenthood in the midst of a global pandemic has put a huge damper on my personal life. I need to get over feeling guilty asking people to watch my kids so I can have one. There is no substitute for in person conversations, hugs, prayers and quality time.
I’ve set some what I feel to be attainable goals for myself next year that allow me to focus more on who I want to be. It’s been a year (ok let’s be honest, two years) and I’m hopeful that the next year will be one of challenges, growth and joy. I am grateful for my girls, my tribe, and a community that has supported me through this journey called life. God has given me more than I could ask for or imagine, even with all of the challenges and curveballs. It is by grace that I continue to find joy and hope in what’s to come.
She Speaks True Words 
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