The Honest Mess

 Some days, I feel like a light switch. The moment I walk into the salon, I flip “on.” Smiling, upbeat, fully present. I listen closely. I care deeply. I lift spirits. I make people feel beautiful, heard, and whole—even when I don’t feel that way myself. Being a hairstylist is more than just hair. It’s therapy with a blowout. It’s pep talks while trimming dead ends. It’s carrying pieces of other people’s lives in my hands while holding scissors in the other. And while I love what I do and the way I get to connect with people, I won’t lie—some days, it’s emotionally exhausting. Because while I’m pouring into others, I don’t always have the chance to refill myself. It’s a strange kind of loneliness—being surrounded by people all day, yet feeling like no one really asks me how I’m doing. I’m expected to be the one who makes everyone else okay. And I do. But sometimes, I go home completely drained, like I gave away all my energy and forgot to keep a little for myself. But I’m learning ...

 It’s amazing how much better I feel when I journal. It’s like I’m finally giving my heart a voice—like I’m actually hearing myself for the first time. I’ve spent so long holding things in, trying to make everything look okay on the outside, but now… I’m slowly starting to feel okay on the inside too. I’ve been craving love, to be needed, to be seen. But I’m also realizing that if I want something different—something real, something healing—I can’t keep walking the same path hoping it’ll magically lead somewhere new. I have to do the work. I have to face the hard truths. I have demons I haven’t dealt with. Some still whisper in the background, especially when I look at old pictures or get hit with unexpected memories. Like today—a memory popped up from seven years ago. My sister’s high school graduation party. It should’ve been a joyful day, but I remember standing there feeling completely hollow. I had to go alone with my two small kids. My parents wouldn’t let my husband come bec...

  Today is my baby's preschool graduation, and I swear I blinked and suddenly he’s not my baby anymore. He walked across that little stage like he was ten feet tall, and I could feel my heart swelling and cracking at the same time. Pride and sadness somehow living in the same breath. I don’t know where the time went. It feels like just yesterday we were doing diaper changes and midnight bottles—and now he’s headed to kindergarten. I’m so proud of him, and so grateful I’ve had the front-row seat to watch him grow… but wow, this mama heart is feeling it today. And with the school year ending for the older two on Thursday, everything’s about to shift again. I’m someone who finds comfort in routines, in knowing what to expect. Summer break always feels like jumping into the deep end without knowing how cold the water will be. It’s exciting, but it’s also unsettling. The noise, the mess, the change—it all triggers my anxiety a little, even though I know we’ll find our rhythm again event...

 You are more than enough. Not just today—but every day. Even on the days when the house is a mess, when the kids are wild, when you’re running on coffee and chaos—you are doing it. You are showing up with love, strength, and humor, even when you feel like you’re running on empty. You don’t have to do it perfectly to be an amazing mom. Your presence, your hugs, your silly voices, your tired laughs, even your “I’m hiding in the bathroom for 90 seconds of silence” moments—they all matter. They are enough. You are exactly what your kids need. And the love you give? That’s more powerful than anything on a to-do list. So take a deep breath. You are doing great. And you are enough—always. 💛

 Tonight, the house is quiet. The kids are sound asleep, their soft breathing a gentle reminder that, somehow, we made it through another day. Things didn’t go perfectly today — far from it. The mower broke again, and I definitely lost my cool. I got frustrated, irritated, and overwhelmed. It felt like one more thing on a never-ending list of things that go wrong. For a moment, I let it get the best of me. But now that the day has settled and the noise has faded… I can finally breathe. The grass is mowed. The kids are safe and sleeping. And me? I’m okay. Maybe even a little proud — not because everything went smoothly, but because I kept going, even when it didn’t. I’m learning that peace doesn’t always look like perfection. Sometimes it looks like a mess that got cleaned up just enough. A task that eventually got finished. A heart that calmed down, even if it beat too fast earlier in the day. Right now, I’m not thinking about tomorrow. I’m not stressing over the dishes or the laun...

 Everything feels like too much right now — and I’m finally giving myself permission to say that without guilt. Yes, the mower broke again. Yes, the grass is still too long. Yes, the house is a mess, the laundry never stops, the kids need me, and I’m pulled in every direction. But right now, I’m pausing. I can’t fix everything all at once. I can’t be everywhere and everything for everyone. But I can be here. I can take one deep breath. I can remind myself: this moment, this breath — it’s mine. I’m allowed to feel frustrated. I’m allowed to be angry and tired and even resentful. That doesn’t make me a bad person — it makes me human. And being overwhelmed doesn’t mean I’m failing. It means I’m carrying more than one person should have to. Today, I’m going to shift the focus. Not to everything that’s wrong, but to what’s in my power. I can choose one thing — just one — that I will get done today. Not because I have to prove anything, but because I want to feel one small win. Even if i...

 Today, I just want to scream. It’s been a week of trying to mow the damn grass — one simple thing — and even that doesn’t work out. The mower broke last week mid-mow, and today, it quit again. I swear, nothing ever seems to go right. Every time I try to cross something off the list, life throws another wrench in. It’s like I can’t even do something as basic as mowing the lawn without everything falling apart. And the truth is… it’s not just about the grass. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I’m overwhelmed. Drowning, really. The house is a mess. The laundry’s never-ending. The grass looks like a jungle. The kids need me constantly. The business pulls me in a hundred directions. I’m tired. I’m frustrated. And what makes it worse is — I don’t feel appreciated. I give and give and hold everything together, and it’s like no one even sees how much I’m doing just to keep the wheels from falling off. Sometimes I just want to break something. I want to shatter a plate or slam a door jus...

 Today, I’m remembering the good years—back when everything began, and love found me in the most unexpected way. It was supposed to be just a simple day, tagging along on a golf outing with a friend, no plans, no expectations. But fate had other ideas. My now husband was never supposed to be there. He had concert tickets and a night planned out, but when my friend called and told him she had someone she wanted him to meet—me—he gave up his evening and changed course. That tiny choice altered the course of both our lives. I remember pulling up to my friend’s house, confused when she told me I’d be riding with “My now husband.” I didn’t even know this guy! And when he walked in, this big dude I thought was someone’s dad, I was even more unsure—until I decided to break the awkward silence with a cheeky joke: “Can I wash your balls?” I swear that cracked the ice wide open—and maybe even cracked his heart open too. That Monday was my birthday, and when he texted me, it felt like a littl...

 My relationship with my dad has always felt like trying to hold water in my hands—just when I think I have something solid, it slips through. Growing up, he was hot and cold. His mood often depended on how work went that day. Sometimes he’d be playful and warm, and other times distant, irritated, or completely checked out. I remember him going for drives—long ones—and rarely inviting me to come. I just remember feeling like I wanted to be close to him and not knowing how to reach him. As I got older, I really tried. I asked him to spend time with me, and it felt like pulling teeth. But when he finally said yes, we always had a good time. Dinner and a Fast & Furious movie—it became our thing. I didn’t even care for the movies, but I loved that he was sitting next to me, laughing with me, present. For a moment, I felt like I had a dad I could connect with. But then, like clockwork, things would shift. He’d contradict the connection we’d just built. One week he’d say he understoo...

 Sometimes I catch myself aching for someone—anyone—to just look at me and say, “You’re enough.” I’ve spent so much of my life chasing that feeling. That moment of being truly seen, truly heard, and valued for who I am—not what I do, not how I perform, not how quiet I stay. Just me. Growing up with narcissistic parents, love always felt like a transaction. Conditional. Performative. If I was perfect, obedient, impressive—maybe I’d get a scrap of approval. But even then, it was short-lived or twisted into something hurtful. There was never space for my emotions, my needs, or my truth. I was taught to doubt myself, to silence myself, to shape-shift for their comfort. So it’s no surprise that I still long for validation. I seek it in relationships, in friendships, in strangers. I’ve learned to read people’s faces like a survival skill—always scanning for signs of acceptance or rejection. And when I don’t get that reassurance, it can feel like I’m invisible. Or worse, unworthy. It’s ha...

 It still shakes me when I think about the letters. I got them for years—anonymous, venomous words meant to shame, control, and cut me down. When I was dating my ex and went to visit him in college, I got letters calling me a horrible person. When I got married and hit rough patches—letters again, telling me I must have no self-esteem, that my husband didn’t love me, that I was pathetic for staying. And the worst—the most chilling—was the one comparing me to Gabby Petito. Saying he wished I’d end up like her. Who says that? Who even thinks that? They never signed the letters, but they didn’t need to. Only a few people knew the details mentioned. Only a few people would even care enough to try and crush me like that. I knew it was them. I won't say who it is online but I know! I tried everything to get them to stop—pleading, distancing, explaining. But it wasn’t until I said I had a private investigator on the case that the letters suddenly stopped. No apology. No ownership. Just si...

 I miss the way I used to feel in my marriage. Before I knew about the affair, I felt safe. I felt chosen. I believed in us—really believed. There was a comfort in thinking I knew who we were, in trusting the story we were writing together. Even in the hard times, there was this quiet certainty that we were a team, that we were building something solid and lasting. Since finding out, that sense of safety has unraveled. It’s like the floor dropped out from under me, and even though I’ve tried to patch it up, nothing feels as steady as it used to. I miss not having to question everything. I miss being able to rest emotionally, without my mind spinning through doubts and what-ifs. There are moments now when I catch myself longing for the before—not because it was perfect, but because I felt secure in it. I miss who I was then too—someone who trusted easily, who didn’t flinch when love reached for her. I know I can’t go back, and maybe that safety wasn’t as real as I believed. But the ...

 Lately, I keep coming back to one question: Can I truly heal in the same environment that hurt me? Seven years ago, my husband cheated. As if that weren’t painful enough, he followed it with words that still echo in my mind—cutting remarks about my appearance, my worth in bed, and even a cruel comment about our daughter. Those words didn’t just break my heart—they shattered something deep inside me. I want to believe people can change. I want to believe healing is possible. But I’m exhausted from trying to rebuild on unstable ground. Am I clinging to potential that may never come to life? Or am I just afraid of what it means to finally walk away? I don’t know the answer yet, but I do know this: I deserve peace. I deserve honesty. I deserve love that doesn’t come with fear or pain.

Lately, I’ve been learning about boundaries—not as walls to push people away, but as fences that protect the garden I’m growing inside myself. For too long, I let people trample through my heart because I thought love meant self-sacrifice. That being “good” meant being agreeable. That keeping the peace meant keeping my pain quiet. But I’m done with that. Setting boundaries doesn’t mean I’m unkind. It means I finally see myself as worthy of care, too. It means I understand that my energy, my time, my body, my healing—they are sacred. And not everyone deserves access to them. I can say no and still be loving. I can ask for space and still be kind. I can walk away from people who can’t respect my limits and still wish them well. That’s not cruelty. That’s clarity. The little girl inside me—the one who thought she had to earn love—is learning that her worth isn’t up for negotiation. She deserves to feel safe. She deserves to feel heard. And it’s my job now to protect her, even when it’s un...

 I know it’s hard for people to understand why I stay. Sometimes, even I question it. But what others don’t always see—what I still hold onto—are the little moments that carry so much meaning. Yes, there has been pain. There’s been disappointment, hurt, and trust that’s been cracked so deeply I don’t know if it’ll ever fully heal. But there’s also love… in the quietest, smallest ways. It’s in him surprising me with my favorite candy bar, just because. It’s in the way he brings me coffee at work on Saturdays when he’s off, like he’s thinking of me even in his downtime. It’s the way he tries to help around the house, doing laundry or dishes, so I don’t have to shoulder everything alone. It’s the fact that he shared his location—not because I asked, but because he wanted to give me something steady, something safe. He’s a great dad too—he steps up, takes the kids with him when we don’t have a sitter, coaches their teams, even offered to coach cheer for our daughter when I was sick. Th...

 Today I woke up with a heaviness but also some clarity. I realized that for most of my life I've been waiting for someone else to tell me I'm enough. My parents didn't and my husband surely didn't through his affair. And for so long I thought there silence and betrayal said something about me. But it DOESN'T I have to remember there inability to love me says more about them than it ever did about me. Ive spent too much time and energy trying to prove I'm lovable. Trying to be the right kind of daughter the right kind of partner and the right kind of woman. Its made me tired. So today I'm choosing myself! Not because I'm perfect or because I have it all figured out but because I do believe I deserve love!Even with my brokenness I deserve love. I also deserve Peace and Joy! Im not going to be defined by who hurt me or what mistakes I've made. Im going to allow myself to grow, to forgive myself, to heal and to bloom! Healing definitely won't be a s...

 Ive been through a lot. More than I ever wanted or even deserved. From being made to feel like I wasn't enough to being betrayed by the person I trusted most as an adult. Its like the message I keep getting sent is "You're not worthy or enough"  But I am starting to question that message. Yes my husband cheated, yes it shattered something deep inside me! Thats what I'm holding onto right now. Not the shame of what happened or the pain of the past but the reminder that I do matter. That I can heal. That I don't need to be perfect or earn love through suffering! Im realizing what I needed all along is ME! my own validation, my own forgiveness. My own hand reaching back when it feels like I'm falling! Im telling myself this is going to be a turning point in my story. I have a lot of healing left to do as I'm still learning to love myself but with that there is a glimmer of something beautiful...HOPE!

 So Ive been told that journaling (blogging) will help me put into words my feelings and hopefully help me start healing. Where do I begin? Theres a pain I carry that began before I ever even understood what pain was. As a chid I learned whether through words, silence or criticism that I had to earn love. That who I was just never quite measured up. I grew up knowing I was only conditionally worthy and that feeling was easily fleeting if I made a mistake. Then when I got older and thought I had found someone who truly saw me, loved me and for the first time in my life made me feel safe with, I was betrayed. My husbands choice to cheat didn't just break trust, it reopened a wound that says "Im not enough" Not lovable enough and once again not good enough. It feels like the world keeps confirming the lie I learned during childhood. BUT ITS A LIE! I know deep down I didn't cause the pain others inflicted on me but that doesn't stop the hurt or the thoughts from risin...