You Can Do Hard Things

Remind Yourself Who The F*ck You Are

Hey strangers!

It’s been a while. C’mon on in, have a seat. Get comfy. Here’s some water. How much water have you had today? Oh, c’mon now! You need more water! We all need to drink more water. It’s good for the skin.

Anyway, I haven’t written anything in months. Why?

LIFE.

I got a new job in late March and I’ll be honest, it was a FUCK ton of information in the beginning. I thought back in 2017 I was out of my element going from the medical services/medical insurance industry to the agricultural service industry (which I had zero clue about) because I’m a true city girl. But going from unemployed (which I totally embraced the much needed three month break for myself) to re-introducing myself back in a business casual office setting, with more set hours and structure, learning new things like local programs (4-H, Family & Consumer Sciences, Water Quality & Control, Snap -Ed, and Agricultural & Natural Resources) in our community provided by my new employer.

Included in my new role, are fiscal responsibilities. I am basically in charge of the “moo-lah”, the “cash-money”, the “bread”.

Okay, I’ll stop.

The fiscal role is a BIG deal. Now I’ve taken accounting classes and I have experience in accounts receivable and payable, payroll, balancing a checkbook and using Excel spreadsheets but nothing like this. There are times I will be looking at four spreadsheets at a time. It’s enough to make your head spin.

So my point is, moving into a new role, a new environment, getting to know new people and being the new kid and trying to gain everyone’s trust, it’s a lot of mental work.

That kind of mental load took a toll on my body instantly. Heavy tension headaches, constant upper back muscle aches, and sore hips all day.

I was miserable physically. I was still continuing my normal monthly appointments for massage therapy and chiropractic care, but some months had more frequent visits due to the pain I was in.

It was so much mentally for me. A lot so fast.

At home, it was a new challenge to find a new routine for us. Since I had been home everyday for a few months, I was able to keep up with the house responsibilities; laundry, cleaning, dishes, etc. Run errands during the day, going to doctor’s appointments and other appointments, going to in person therapy, making lunch plans with friends. I even got an afternoon nap in a few times a week. Not going to lie, I was the happiest I had ever been in a very long time.

But early in this new role, I just felt I couldn’t keep up with anything. My weeknights were consumed with afterschool pickup, trying to settle down an excited Emma from a busy day at school, handling her emotions and mine, being constantly over-stimulated every afternoon, losing my temper almost daily. Making dinner, bath time, bed time, catching up on dishes, cleaning, emails, coaching sessions/homework. My weekends were consumed of family events and laundry, or hanging out with friends and laundry, or catching up on chores and laundry. I felt like I didn’t have time to do anything for myself to relax and regulate my FUCKING NERVOUS SYSTEM.

If “Fight or flight mode” and “auto-pilot” had a love child, it was me.

Then I did the unthinkable. The one thing old me would have never done on her own.

I adopted a dog.

I had been looking at dogs for a while on my local humane society’s Facebook page but I just had this feeling in my gut that I had to wait for the perfect one. And along came Nalani.

Want to know the easiest way to regulate your nervous system?

Adopt a dog.

When I tell you that she instantly regulated my nervous system the day I brought her home, I am not lying. She is the sweetest pup I could ever ask for. But Kelsey, isn’t this just adding one more responsibility to your plate? Yes but it’s also giving me the opportunity to slow down and be home more and give Emma a happier momma. Nalani (I call her Loni) has truly filled a spot in my heart that has been pretty empty for a while.

I’ve given time and patience towards my job, taken initiative to learn the role and responsibilities, ask every question I can think of, write down goals and daily/weekly tasks and try to prioritize my workload (even though we all know that’s not always a guarantee).

I really like my new job, it’s a great opportunity and I definitely have the experience needed for the role. I respect my team, I enjoy learning from each one of them. They all bring something strong to the table and they have a passion for what they do.

Cue “I think I’m gonna like it here!” -Annie, from the Broadway Musical, ‘Annie’ and then add jazz hands….

During the last few weeks, the words that have come back into my life are proud and empowered.

First, I’m just gonna put this out there: I’m not looking to date any guy right now. Dating is a game and I’ve never been too great at strategy. I am me and have zero interest in being fake. Don’t confuse my guard being up as not interested or my kindness as weakness or stupidity. It’s strength, nerves, intuition and bravery all wrapped into one. Not one person knows what I’ve been through, but a lot of people know that Brandon set the bar very high as a life partner, so for me to find a partner of the same caliber will be a diamond in the rough and I really hope he’s worth the wait.

If I’m lucky enough to have it happen organically once again where it’s easy and I feel like myself, I’m all in. I deserve that. I have had to close some chapters this year, but no heartbreak was involved. I truly wish them the best.

I’m proud of myself for recognizing that dating isn’t the end all be all at the moment, and that maybe I’m just not ready for anything right now. And that’s okay. It can change at any time. That’s empowering.

Just before my birthday last week (I turned 29 again!), I found out that one of my closest friends, a former colleague of mine, that her husband, whom I adored just as equally, had passed from battling prostate cancer. He was 57. They were just a few months shy of celebrating 34 years of marriage. Tom was diagnosed in May 2024 and fought like hell for 13 months, just like Brandon did.

I found out about Tom’s passing on what would have been my 13th wedding anniversary. So needless to say, it had been a day.

I reached out to my friend, and surprisingly, I’m not the best with words when it comes to death and sympathy. In this moment, I knew exactly what to say to my friend because I am simply living it.

“Just take it one day at a time. You can do hard things.”

“I have done my share I thought…”

“You’ve hit the epicenter. Now its all about finding your way through it. Everyday. Every minute is going to be a battle. It’s going to test your mental and physical strength. This is where you need to rely heavily on your village, both near and far. asking for help is not weakness, it’s absolute strength. Tell people what you want even if its to be left the hell alone. Give yourself grace.”

WHOA. I just said that? Who am I? Socrates? T-Swift? I was impressed with myself but it was honest. It’s how I get through the day, how I get through the minutes, the hard minutes.

Instantly, I felt empowered. I was proud of myself that I could put those wise words together and bring some sense of comfort to my friend. The evening of Tom’s funeral i sent her the following:

“I’m so proud of you today. Today is one of many heart heavy things you have to do. Close your eyes and tell yourself, ‘I did the thing. I DID the thing.’ Love you.”

There was a sense of purpose that just hit me. The empowerment that hit me, the fact that how proud I am in myself on how far I’ve come in my own journey. I can use that and help Jenny navigate her journey (when she wants on her timeline) and be there for her however I can. I get it. Consistently checking in on her. Reminding her that there is life after death.

There IS life after death. And if you’re reading this, you’re lucky to be here and I’m so very happy that you are. I am proud of you. You are seen. You are alive. You get one chance at this thing called life, so live the ever fucking life out of it.

And don’t forget,…

Remind yourself who the fuck you are.

Oh, and here’s a picture of my dog.

Could you be ANY cuter?

The answer to that question is either an embarrassing “MOM!” (with an appropriate eyeroll) or a simple, “Yep!”

My daughter turns six today (technically at 2:47pm for all you birth charters out there) and I look forward to making this time all about her.

But on every birthday, I always look forward to a moment I have to myself where I sit and ponder,…”What is she going to be like this next year?”

Is she going to learn to be more independent?

Is she going to read a whole book on her own?

Will she be brave enough to try to something new?

Now, it’s also about how I myself, am going to be this next year as well.

Am I going to learn to let go more? Let her learn about making mistakes and NOT jump in and help? Will I be brave enough to let her explore and experience more?

Am I going to better about my short temper and do my best to teach with grace and a sense of calm? I’m really working on that. She pushes my buttons. HARD (thanks, Brandon for passing down your argumentative traits).

But here’s the thing: she’s really just like me. JUST. LIKE. ME. All of me from 1992/1993.

She loves to dance, in her own interpretive style, which I love watching. Her facial expressions are the best. The pure dramatic flare she puts into each performance is outstanding. She loves to sing, she can actually out-diva me,…ME! We’ve actually argued on who gets to sing the Elsa parts in “Let It Go”. I’ve slowly been winning those fights lately. She loves art, she sees it different, just like me. She really focuses on what she’s doing. I love watching her process.

The last six years have been the best adventure I’ve ever purposely signed up for. The waitlist for it took almost five years, but it was worth every second, every challenge, every fucking disappointment.

13 months ago, I endured the most tragic, traumatic, painful heartbreak of my life when my husband died. But when I tell you that this little girl showed not only me, but the entire world, her strength, her kindness, her light, her inner sparkle,…it floored me.

The moment I had to tell her that her daddy died, she beat me when getting the words out.

“Did my daddy die?”

I just held her and she held me tighter. It’s been that way since. She has only cried about him on a few occasions. Very few occasions.

She’s brave. SO MUCH BRAVER THAN I HAVE EVER BEEN OR COULD BE.

The first day of kindergarten was hard. But we did it. We did the thing. She did it.

We were in her classroom, getting her settled in. I’d love to say that she looked nervous, but she honestly was just soaking it all in. I crouched down to her desk and asked if she wanted me to stay for a while. She nodded. She looked around. Then back at me. I’ll never forget the next words she said…

“You can go now, Mom. ” I was taken back but I was so damn proud. I could hear her father’s laugh in my head. He would have enjoyed that moment.

Later that day, her teacher, Mrs. Brown, called me and told me the words I was not expecting. “She’s a true leader. ” That day just got more emotional. I was not leadership material as a little girl nor when I was growing up. Always wanted to be, because I had this image in my head of what a strong leader was: Bold, Confident, Assertive. It’s not true. A leader has kindness and empathy. Steps up when a problem arises, takes care of their people. She does that. Every day with her friends, family and classmates.

She was such a happy baby and every year after that, she’s grown into her own little world and created her own happiness, without boundaries.

I may be utterly biased, but my kid is the best. She’s polite, kind, funny, curious, stubborn, dramatic, charming, …and my absolute favorite personality trait, she’s a whole lot of sass. I’m proud to say that gets that from her mother.

Emma keeps me on my toes. She always wants to be around me. She’s never afraid to come to me. Her excitement makes the room light up. Her love radiates. She makes a complete stranger become her friend, just by being kind. And that’s all from her. I don’t make her do any of it. She chooses to be kind. I will take half the credit on teaching her that the best superpower to have is the ability to spread kindness. Her daddy gets the other half. His legacy will live on with her.

Emma adores her all her aunts and uncles and cousins. She does not favor one grandparent over any of the others. She is OBSESSED with her teacher (I’m kind of obsessed too-she’s quite an amazing human and I’m always in awe of her).

She cherishes her friendships, like you should. She is brilliant. She is beautiful. She is going to do amazing BIG things in this world and I will make sure those big dreams of hers will happen, no matter what.

I’m so proud of her and I’m so proud to be her mom and I get to call her my kid. She’s special. I love her so much. She is my world.

I gave her life, part of my name, my heart, my soul, her voice, and all of my love. I will continue to give her anything I can until I can no longer. She is my rock. She is what saved me. She is all I ever wanted.

She was destined to be mine.

Happy 6th birthday to my love, Emma Leigh Lyons.

Letting A Good Thing Go

We were strangers, starting out on a journey, never dreaming, what we’d have to go through…here we stand unafraid of the future, at the beginning with you….

Lyrics from our wedding song.

I played it for him from my phone, just the two of us, him in an unconscious state as he laid in his hospital bed. Right after I was lucky enough to have a few uninterrupted minutes with him to tell him everything I wanted to. I got to say good bye.

He didn’t get to say goodbye. Not in the way you think.

I do think, he DID say goodbye in ways I look back at and go, “Oh, … yeah. That was it.”

It brings my mind peace. When he felt really good, like, back to ‘practically normal’ good in August through October 2023. I miss that high that I had, of optimism and the short break of having to juggle it all. He was alive again, I could breathe again. That was a way.

He had survived his six month driving restriction (due to his seizure after his first surgery) and he was able to take Emma on small adventures. He couldn’t wait for those days. That was his way of saying goodbye to her.

Another way were the times I’d come home from work and he’d be making dinner. His mouthwatering meatloaf, which if you knew, he made it different every fucking time and it was still so delicious. I haven’t been brave enough to try to make it myself. He made so many dishes for us that I just loved so deeply: unwrapped eggroll, his homemade mac and cheese (the aftermath of the stove… I could have killed him myself), and then anything on the grill.

The Grill. I haven’t even touched the grill. I have never needed to when Brandon was alive. But now, I’m embarrassed by that. And it makes me really sad that he won’t be the one to teach me.

He said goodbye to me in so many other ways too. Ways that only Brandon could. He loved me deeply, and only wanted me to be happy.

Looking back, I believe that the first way he said goodbye was the night he was diagnosed. It keeps haunting me recently. He was laying on our couch in the living room and I walked in to check on him. I knelt down on the floor next to him and looked right into his big brown eyes.

He said to me, “If and when this takes me, I want you to promise me, … that you WILL move on, because I want you to be happy.”

He took a slight pause as I held back my tears really hard. I was so happy with HIM.

He continued, “And don’t date any of my friends because you are WAY too good for them!”

I let out a huge laugh with those now released tears falling down my cheeks. He was right. But he set the bar pretty high too.

He bought me teas from around the world for Christmas that year, and I loved it. He was so proud that he did good. He did good.

He bought me poppy pins for Valentine’s Day 2024. Poppies aren’t my favorite flower, but I knew exactly why he got them without having to say a word. I made sure to wear one at his funeral. It was my honor to do so. I have one perched on top of his urn box.

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Days before he died, I thought about how I would react when it happened. Weird to think about but I guess I wanted to be prepared. I didn’t know if he’d go in his sleep, or if I’d be in the shower or at home or ….. if I’d be there at the hospital for 13 hours, sitting right next to him, holding his hand the entire time, refusing to leave his side, running on only adrenaline.

Would I cry and weep silently? Would I be dramatic enough for an Academy Award? Would I scream because I knew I had finally failed at not loving him enough to keep him alive?

It was a mixture of all three. I was standing, yet my legs gave out. My brother in law Jacob had to physically hold me up. I was staring at Brandon, crying and screaming, yet no sound came out because I was hyper-ventilating so much. First time I ever did that. Jacob tried making eye contact with me but I couldn’t focus. When I finally caught his eyes, he firmly said, “Kelsey! Breathe!”

I feel so much guilt for robbing him of that moment. Whatever he could have experienced with his best friend and instead, he caught me as gravity took me out and held me tight and upright to keep me going. I can’t appreciate him enough.

The moment he died, I will never forget watching him lose all the fucking color in his face, it literally drained down his body, and he turned yellow and his body stopped moving. It’s totally not what your see in the movies and TV. My sister in law Sarah, in her majestic calmness, purposely felt his last few heartbeats. She was incredible. She was strategic. He meant so much to her.

I finally regained some sense of stability, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. I still refused to let go of his hand, I wanted, no, NEEDED, to keep it warm. He couldn’t be gone. He had to stay warm, he was always warm. I didn’t want to let go. It was hard to breathe but I had to. I just kept staring at his face. My mind frozen. Holy fuck. My husband was dead. It was weird. Is there an undo button? Could he just pop back awake for a minute? Would he? Could he? Please…. I had these thoughts in my head. I needed him. This was surreal, but this was it.

As we stood next to his limp body, I felt something physically new in my chest.

It wasn’t pain.

It wasn’t pressure.

It was a broken release. My heart had actually,…physically, shattered inside of me.

It’s been empty ever since. Like a hollow stone in my chest. He fucking filled it. I knew EVERYTHING about that man. I knew what was best for him. I knew what he enjoyed and what he hated. I knew what clothes fit him and how many sunglasses he had. What his favorites food were and which cigars were his favorite.

I wished someone else would have had this and not him. And I know that’s horrible to say. He was too pure, too genuine. Everyone adored him. And now, he was gone. I felt responsible.

It’s been hard. The past year has had it’s ups and downs, but it’s also shown me that there’s life after death. Yeah, I’m sad that I had to go through milestones without him. It sucked. But I did it. And I was never alone.

I would have loved to have thrown him a huge, over the top, whatever he wanted, 40th birthday party this year. But I can’t. And he won’t be here for mine.

Everything will be okay.

I’ve made it one year. “You did the thing.” My widow coach told me the other night. I sure did. I keep doing the thing too. I’m showing the world that there is life after death. I’m living for him. I’m showing our daughter that happiness can be found in the darkest of times. Kindness can still be spread, even when you’re sad and feel broken inside.

It was hard walking out of the hospital room. Knowing he was right there but at the same time wasn’t.

It was hard walking into the funeral home. Knowing he was in there but at the same time wasn’t.

Saying goodbye and letting go isn’t easy, but because of the person he was, he’s made it just a bit easier for me. I’ve learned acceptance, my reality, self love and most importantly, what true happiness is and how to choose it everyday.

I loved him during his lifetime, and I’ll miss him for the rest of mine.

Great grief is only born of great love.

“Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.”

– The Princess Bride

Down to the Core

What do value most in your life? What do you strongly believe in? What do you hope to leave behind for future generations? It’s all about your core values.

A few days ago, I had my bi-weekly meeting with my widow coach Sarah, and we talked about Core Values: what were my values throughout the stages of my life: as a young kid, a teenager, an adult (as a wife, as a mom and as a widow). Have they changed over the past year? Yeah, I’d say so.

She started by asking me what the core values were that my parents taught me that are still holding truth today and which ones don’t. That was a bit of a challenge. Service was probably the number one thing I still value to this day. I recently saw a video of actor Rainn Wilson state that the entire purpose of life is “service to others”. He went on to explain that we are put on this earth to take care of others and the astrological Cancer sign in me (the sensitive, natural nurturer) was like, HELL YEAH!

As we went on, she showed me a list of 30 core values. WHOA. She said pick the ones that jump out at you instantly that you feel are your core values.

(Panic starts to set in) Oh, …Okay.

As I would love to admit that I agreed with all 30 values, I did not. And I’m okay with that.

Here’s the list.

Core Values List

Authenticity – Living in alignment with your true self.
Compassion – Treating yourself and others with kindness.
Courage – Facing challenges and fears with strength.
Family – Prioritizing connection, support, and legacy.
Freedom – Having autonomy over your choices and life.
Growth – Continuously learning, evolving, and expanding.
Honesty – Speaking and living your truth.
Integrity – Acting in alignment with your morals and beliefs.
Joy – Finding and embracing moments of happiness.
Legacy – Leaving a meaningful impact for your children and others.
Love – Giving and receiving deep, meaningful connection.
Resilience – Bouncing back from hardship with strength.
Security – Seeking stability, safety, and peace in life.
Self-Respect – Honoring your worth, boundaries, and needs.
Independence – Valuing self-reliance and personal empowerment.
Connection – Prioritizing meaningful relationships and support systems.
Purpose – Living a life that feels meaningful and aligned.
Healing – Prioritizing emotional and mental well-being.
Trust – Believing in yourself and others.
Spirituality – Connecting with something greater than yourself.
Creativity – Expressing yourself in unique and fulfilling ways.
Empathy – Understanding and sharing in others’ emotions.
Patience – Giving yourself and others grace through the journey.
Adventure – Embracing new experiences and stepping outside your comfort zone.
Wisdom – Seeking truth, knowledge, and insight.
Hope – Believing in a future filled with possibility and light.
Community – Surrounding yourself with supportive and like-minded people.
Self-Expression – Showing up as your full, unapologetic self.
Gratitude – Finding appreciation for life’s big and small moments.
Service – Helping others and making a difference in the world.

Like I said, WHOA. I chose 18 on this list that spoke to me instantly. Two of them were brand new to my mindset: Courage and Adventure.

Courage has been a new word, a new feeling, a new sense to me since 2023, but has been more prominent since last year.

Adventure is new for me for 2025. I’m not one for spontaneity, at least not all the time. I like a plan. As 2025 drew near, I promised myself that I was going to do more outside of my comfort zone. I took a last minute solo plane trip across the country to see one of my best friends. I polar plunged in her pool. ON PURPOSE. AND FILMED IT. I came back to work after that trip just to find out that my job had been eliminated. Looking back, it was honestly one of the best things to ever to happen to me. I decided to take a long overdue break for myself. It’s been an adventure. I’m discovering what makes me happy. What doesn’t work for my life anymore, what I want to accomplish this year.

Then, Sarah says to me, “Now for your homework, out of those 18 you chose, which one would you remove?”

I’M SORRY, WHAT? I can’t do that! (I did finally choose one, but it wasn’t easy). I won’t reveal it but I have a good reason why I was able to decide on removing it from my list.

Then she asked what was one value that is a non-negotiable: Self-Respect. You have to have it. May not be number one for me, but it’s something I’m learning and getting better at.

Then she asked for my top five: Service, Joy, Empathy, Gratitude, Resilience. These core values are definitely the ones I want to pass on to my daughter. Hands down.

So look over the list, what resonates with you? What value(s) do you feel deep in your soul?

Which ones would you like to have more of? Have less of? Be more aware of? Challenge yourself. Try the list with a partner or friend. See how you compare and differ. Talk about it. Gain some perspective. Learn about each other, keep and open mind.

The Notebook I Didn’t Know I Needed

Hey guys! It’s been a minute.

Man, the holidays were rough like always. Am I right? But we got through it.

Busy was an understatement over here for me.

Emma and I had four, (YES, I SAID FOUR) Christmases in one week. I was exhausted and mentally drained. She was excited with Christmas magic and filled with glee. Looking back, I have no right to complain because I’d do it all over again for her. She’s my world, my joy, my reason and my purpose. She was destined to be mine and I was destined to be hers.

So,…. how are y’all surviving 2025 so far? I mean, prior to Inauguration Day (I’m not even going to start on that topic, let’s keep things as positive as we can, shall we?). Do you believe in resolutions? If you do, did you make any? For the last several years, I’ve tried to keep the resolution of “Send out more birthday cards.” People love that. We don’t do it enough. Handmade ones are the best.

This year, I didn’t really make any resolutions, I just decided on a few things for myself:

Be Brave

Choose to be Happy Everyday

Live Your Life

See, I consider myself as “not your average widow”. Even though I lost my person, my best friend, the father of our child, the man I considered to be the love of my life, I have decided to live each day with joy, appreciation for the people in my life, overflowing love for my daughter, and the commitment to myself to know my self worth. I am choosing to laugh, to smile, to make plans with friends, to dance in my kitchen at 10:30pm on a Thursday night, and to fall in love again some day.

I am choosing to live. To be happy for me.

There’s a stigma around widows/widowers. There’s a huge range of feelings with grief and many, many unanswered questions about every topic you can think of surrounding death and how do we navigate life afterwards, but we are not “damaged goods”. Fuck that. Broken crayons still color. We are not all constantly in mourning. Are we surviving the best we can? Hell yeah.

I’ve had ONE really bad day of grieving. I have had a lot of moments of grieving, always alone, always in private. There was one last night. I still have Brandon’s phone active and keep it on for the use of shared online accounts, etc. Went to check it last night and the back panel (where it held his driver’s license, CCW license and debit card) opened up on accident and his cards fell out. I looked at his driver’s license. And I cried but I didn’t sob. I just miss him so much. The tears lasted a few minutes. Then I was okay.

Then there are times when I take on a task or challenge myself to do something I’ve never done before and I have this great amount of pride and joy. Yesterday, again, is a prime example. I CHANGED THE WINDSHIELD WIPERS ON MY CAR. Never did it before, he always did it for me. He maintained the car stuff for us. But it wasn’t too hard, it wasn’t the easiest, but I did it (with the help of YouTube at one point).

I thought, “He’d be so damn proud of me. I did this. On my own.” So with a big smile on my face I called the next best person: Jacob. He was super proud of me too. No, for real, he was. He’s the best at celebrating my wins.

My point of this is: Challenge yourself. Be proud of your attempt. Be brave enough to even start.

Even this exact blog entry is a challenge. It’s my homework from my coach.

Back in September, I reached out to a woman in Toronto named Sarah, who is a widow & grief coach, helping widowed, solo parents discover their new identity. She is a widow herself and she is the founder of the group, “Rise Like A Phoenix”, a group for widowed solo moms who are ready to move beyond all the venting and just want the constructive and relatable advice to help move them forward.

When I first read the tagline, “Rise Like A Phoenix” I shouted, “THAT’S ME! I want to rise up, I don’t want to sit and wallow. If the world isn’t going to stop for my grief, then I need to just keep living!” We connected via video chat and when I tell you that there was this significant vibe, it was momentous. Sarah has helped me look at life after death in so many beautiful ways, I can’t thank her enough. She is a friend for life. I always look forward to our video calls every two weeks.

During our last session, we talked about past challenges and how I can start putting myself as a priority, because frankly, I have never done that. My astrological sign of Cancer would never do something like that. We are nurturers. We take care of others and put them first.

But after my job was eliminated a few weeks back, I had to take care of myself. I had to give myself “me ” moments. Had to remember that small wins are still wins and help make me feel in control (and celebrate those wins!). That asking for help is actually really brave and I’m so strong when I do. Learn to explore what my boundaries are and what flexibility might look like for me.

But most of all, be kind to myself.

I’m choosing to be kind to both my head and my heart. Therapy has helped me with that. It’s still very new to me, but I enjoy it. I’m learning how to cope with the past, how to cope with anxiety, how to move forward. I’m embracing it.

Whenever I get ready to go to therapy, I make sure to bring the essentials: water, tissues and my notebook. The notebook that Emma chose for me while shopping at my favorite home decor store, that says “Choose Happy” on the cover. The happiest kid in the world knew exactly what I needed.

That’s what I’m doing in 2025, and I challenge you to do the same. Choose Happy.

Whatever makes you happy, big or small. Do epic shit. Do mediocre shit. If it makes you happy, do it. We only have one life, make it a good one.

I used to think when I was younger, that people who were super optimistic and super happy and told you that you could be exactly the same if you just chose to be happy every morning when you wake up, were just full of shit (and possibly on some sort of drug or just very wealthy to not have any care in the world and had the privilege of being happy automatically). I mean, that could still be the case for someone, but for me, I wake up and actually choose to be happy.

Do I get mad? YEP.

Do I get sad? Also, YEP.

But I get that feeling out however I need to, take a few deep breaths, and go do something that makes me happy. I come back mentally refreshed, in a sense. I try to find joy along the way.

If not, there’s always chocolate.

*ONE LAST THOUGHT*

Even though I lost my job and it was NOT how I (nor my Horoscope) planned my 2025 to start, it has been only one bad day out of 34 so far. I can definitely be happy about that.

A Love Song to My Mother

This Thanksgiving would have been six years since I’ve seen my mother. I was five months pregnant at the time.

My life has been so much better since that Thanksgiving night.

I went no contact in the summer of 2021. She has tried to reach out via text every now and then. Sometimes letting me know about the passing of people from my past, which whom I haven’t spoken to or seen in 20 or more years. Sometimes it’s begging me to talk to her, or berating me because of her half ass apologies like, “I’m sorry you feel I was a bad mother.”

Which I have never said, for the record if anyone is keeping one.

Sometimes it’s wishing me a happy anniversary,….on the wrong day.

Or sending me a link for a Starbucks gift card. Because Starbies fixes everything a narcissist does. Oh rapture!

A lot of my friends don’t know that I no longer have a relationship with her and the topic comes up and when it’s revealed, I make sure to tell them to not feel sorry for me or apologize for bringing it up, etc. It happens. It’s a lot to talk about. It’s utterly exhausting.

I decided to write her a letter this year about her toxic behavior, in a general sense but made sure to put in the biggest blows she’s given out. It was inspired by two things: her total lack of boundaries as Brandon was fighting for his life in the hospital this year and she wanted to come to the hospital just so she could see me and I “had to accept her help” (Fuck that) and for a comment she made (it was sent to two of her ‘former’ closest people via text and it was forwarded to me) in May 2023 about Brandon’s terminal cancer.

I wrote it before Brandon passed. He died. I made some solid edits. Mailed it out on April Fool’s Day. Even gave Emma the honor of putting it in the mailbox. She didn’t know what it was for, she just loves putting mail in the mailbox. I also mailed copies to my siblings and shared it with close friends and family who know what I’ve been through.

And before I share it with you, let me share this song first.

I discovered this song over the summer and I instantly connected with it. Not sure if the song is supposed to be about a toxic person, but that’s what I got from it.

I sat down on the floor, stared at the ceiling
Told myself through white lies, someday I’ll believe it
There’ll be a happy ending (there’ll be a happy ending)

I’ve spent too much time in the mirror
That little girl would stare back, now I don’t see her
She couldn’t keep pretending (she couldn’t keep pretending)

You’ve done the damage
But she’s not abandoned

You brought the fire (fire)
Baby, you burned her
She wasn’t a fighter, so I had to show her
Some people grow up (grow up)
You just grew older
You thought it was done but this isn’t over
Oh
This isn’t over

I’ll never forgive you and I won’t forget
You think she’ll come back, I wouldn’t hold your breath
You would’ve died long ago (oh, oh)

I should’ve seen the signs
Oh, I should’ve run
You held on too tight when I was too young
I wish you’d left her alone (I wish you’d left her alone)

You’ve done the damage
But honey, she’s still standing

You brought the fire (fire)
Baby, you burned her
She wasn’t a fighter, so I had to show her
Some people grow up (grow up)
You just grew older
You thought it was done but this isn’t over
This isn’t over
Oh
This isn’t over

Another song that really resonates with this chapter of my life is Cam’s “The Otherside” (look it up, it’s a real banger)

I also found this article for anyone dealing with a similar situation and looking for help:

https://www.parents.com/toxic-parents-should-you-cut-yours-off-8706853?hid=73791fde56cb9ab62fd7e33ae45dbfcf06c89995&did=15659506-20241205&utm_source=parents&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=parents-daily_newsletter&utm_content=120524&lctg=73791fde56cb9ab62fd7e33ae45dbfcf06c89995&lr_input=8ff1a3d9cb910cc26faf2d0c40cb00559c80624c4ba65c33ec7f00e9b7dfadb7

Below is the PDF of my letter.

Letter T Download

My last thought for tonight,… Mental health is very important. I just started therapy this week. I always thought I could handle my thoughts and emotions on my own. I finally told myself that I am not above therapy. My pride can take a backseat for once. I am owning my shit, sitting in my discomfort and putting in the hard work for myself and my daughter. She deserves a happy, healthy, loving mother who knows patience, who listens, understands, and that sincere apologies mean a lot. I have to work hard at this every day.

I can’t blame my mother for everything, but I sure as hell can’t let her get away with her actions. Emotional abuse IS trauma.

It’s taken six years to find strength, grace, and a sense of mental freedom.

I may have cut her out of my life, but it’s only because she handed me the scissors.

Buckle up folks, it’s going to be a bumpy ride

Looking back over the last two years, I can say that each day, with it’s multitude of emotions, can easily be compared to all the components of riding a roller coaster.

When we received Brandon’s diagnosis, it was like we had stepped through the initial entryway to wait in line. Each time we would stop and wait or make a turn, it was an MRI, and another MRI, or a doctor’s appointment, or an emergency room visit, OR ANOTHER MRI.

Then once you make it to the platform, the adrenaline and nerves kick in, which would have been February 19th for me. The 1am phone call I had to make to 911 because he couldn’t keep any food or meds down and he was in so much constant pain. He had just been discharged from the hospital two days prior. I was awake for 32 hours that day.

Later that day, after getting a four hour nap, I was told that it was the beginning….of the end.

The beginning where the coaster starts to make it’s initial climb, ya know, the BIG one,…it usually takes FOREVER. The anxiety increases with every click of the mechanisms underneath you, things you cannot control, wishing you could make it stop just for a minute to regulate your breathing. But you have no control. It keeps going.

The top is in view. You’re terrified because you have no idea what the other side is like.

How are you going to handle it?

What will you feel?

Will you close your eyes or keep them open?

What felt like forever going up that hill, was 13 hours straight sitting next to him holding his hand the entire time, making the hardest, unselfish decisions of my life. I hated it.

You start to roll over the peak of this structure slowly.

Make it stop. STOP! I’m not ready! OH MY GOD!

He’s gone.

You gasp. You plummet.

And so begins the biggest, greatest, craziest, emotions of your entire life, ALL AT ONCE.

There’s such a rush but you can’t think at this moment. You’re just trying to figure out where to focus because your body isn’t cooperating with you. Then the anxiety subsides for a moment and you feel nothing. Just nothing. You start to concentrate on the next direction you’re heading towards.

Because you don’t have a choice.

Once you get closer to making it to the bottom of the hill, even though it’s ready to tackle the next twist or turn, which could be the next success you have, the next bad day, the next challenge you face, there is a sense of closure and pause where you can breathe again.

I wasn’t feeling very inspired this week for the blog, I was managing some intense anxiety on some issues happening in my life.

And then, it came to me (quite literally). Anxiety.

We all have it. Some more than others, and that’s okay. You’re not broken. You are human.

What is anxiety? The feeling of fear, dread or uneasiness that can be a reaction to stress. They can be thoughts or beliefs that are hard to control. For me, my anxiety usually comes and goes, stays pretty low key and I can manage it on my own. I strive to handle any stressful situation with grace.

I honestly haven’t felt a huge rush of anxiety in a long time, even through Brandon’s death and funeral. If you ask anyone at the funeral, I was smiling and laughing pretty much all day. I call it, going into ‘host mode’ where I’m cheerful, polite and my natural caregiving comes out. Might have been a coping mechanism or trauma response, I don’t know. All I know is that I got through those two fucking days with grace, in heels, and I’m so proud of myself.

So I started listening to a podcast this week that was new to me, “The Sabrina Zohar Show”. She is an entrepreneur and coach I found on Instagram who specializes in anxiety, dating and doing the work to heal. It really opened my eyes and made me realize that I have childhood trauma that still resides in me. This trauma changes my personality, my thought process and my response to others. Even after so many years later, it affects me so quickly, I honestly don’t even know it’s happening until it’s too late and I feel like a failure or I’m just not the true me. I need to step back, take a second and respond as an adult. Not react as the inner child that is trying to look for attention and constant validation from their narcissistic parent.

MIND WAS BLOWN.

I also discovered but not surprised, that I have an anxious attachment style. Greeeeeaaaatttt,…unenthusiastically. This epiphany put such a guilty weight on my shoulders where I almost had an anxiety attack at work. I was very emotional internally. Guilt and failure was evident in my face. I started some deep breaths and closed my eyes until my thoughts and nerves settled for the most part to get through the rest of the day.

Here is what I have learned in four days and will continue to work on:

Not everything needs an immediate response. Not everyone owes you an answer.

Sit in your discomfort. Stop blaming other people-Sense and own your shit.

Give space. Respect boundaries. Get comfy with being alone.

Thoughts are NOT facts (this is a hard one for me, as a writer and hopeless romantic).

No one is going to do the work for you.

You need to realize that you will be okay.

I will be okay.

As I’ve written before in my last post, I am currently working with a Grief/Widow Coach, who is great, I really enjoy talking to her. She gets it.

BUT

I now need more. I reached out to one of my closest friends, a clinical psychologist, and she went into her “project mode” and sent me a list of in-network therapists that specialize in what I am looking for and needing. She is the best human being. I am hoping to find someone that can guide me in the right direction and give me the tools needed to move forward.

Since March, I’ve had many uphill successes, and some downhill challenges, but I’ve never given up. Each situation I’ve encountered, the hills and valleys, provide me momentum to keep going where I can make improvements and have a better understanding of my anxiety.

My anxiety recently got the best of me and it altered a relationship with someone I care about. There was a obvious boundary set, I did not recognize it and I pushed my limits. As someone who has put boundaries in place with my own narcissistic mother and other toxic individuals in my life, I should have known better and for that, I truly apologize for what I did.

After this week, my mental health has been better, but it needs improvement. Two of my long distance best friends have called me and our conversations have been beautiful and fulfilling, even between the tears and laughter.

The notes I have taken (what I have learned listed above) will be read each day and will be some of the tools needed to flourish and move forward.

I can’t pour from an empty cup, so I need to fill mine first. So I will ride this bumpy coaster as long as I need to, until I make it back to my healthy, happy, well managed, mental health station.

The Box in the Back of the Closet

I heard a quote today that hit me:

“Never forget you are the seamstress of your life. So pick up the damn needle, hands shaking and all, and sew the fabric back together because one day you’ll realize that what you made from the torn and tattered pieces tell a story far greater than anything you could have told if you hadn’t been ripped to shreds.”

We never expect to be ripped to shreds. But when it does happen, it can either happen very quickly or happen slowly over time. It’s happened both ways for me.

I was slowly pulled apart as a child a lot as a teenager, and even worse as an adult by a emotionally immature, narcissistic parent. We’re not diving into that today. Again, sorry folks.

And then there are some that come very quickly…

I think it might have been a day or two after Brandon passed that I started joining Facebook Groups to help guide me as a young widow to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do next.

“I Miss My Husband” -I left that one SUPER quick, too depressing.

“Young Widows & Widowers Support Group”

“Young and Widowed with Children” – This one definitely helps me with Social Security FAQ’s.

“Widow(er) Humor”- When you need a good laugh.

“Extremely Young & Widowed” -There are too many 50+ year olds in this group for some reason.

“Non-Religious Widow/Widowers Club” – This one I still follow but it can still be a bit too depressing for me.

Now don’t get me wrong, everyone who experiences grief, it happens in their own way. There’s no rule book, no timeline, you feel what YOU need to feel.

BUT…..

I am someone who is a go-getter, a busy body, I got shit to do and it needs to get done. You may call that disassociation, I call it, life goes on and he ain’t coming back.

*clenches raised fists* It fucking sucks.

But I can’t sit around and wallow all day. Now, I definitely did within the first two months or so, and of course on the big days: Mother’s Day, (what would have been) our 12th anniversary in June, Father’s Day, and my birthday in July. By the end of all of these major pulls and hits to my already broken heart, I felt that it was time for my pieces of tattered fabric to slowly come back together, on my own terms. I needed to make my own happiness.

As Emma and I finished the rest of our summer, I had figured out everything she needed as she was heading into kindergarten. The kid was ready and I was (and still am) so freaking proud of her. She’s smart and kind and is a friend to everyone.

(We did a fantastic job, babe. I refuse to take all the credit.)

It took a few weeks to figure out our routine, but we got it down quick. As we got the schedule set for the both of us, I started to make more plans with friends and have ‘mom date nights’ with some of the most wonderful, beautiful friends I could have ever asked for to help me get through this year. These nights were the best. I could be me. Relaxed, happy, laughing, not having a sad thought in the world.

My friends saved my mental health. They checked in on me, let me come over and hang out and vice versa, met me for dinner or drinks, answered the phone when I called,… they have been there. I owe them everything.

I’d say once I hit the six month mark, I was in a really great mental state. I felt really happy with life and my friends could tell. I heard, “You’re doing so great!” all the time. I really was. Now, the exact six month date of Brandon’s passing was a bit tough, but the next day was a new day, a day to start again. That’s how I look at a rough day now. Tomorrow, we’ll start new.

I started to put myself out there more, go on adventures, went outside of my comfort zone, stopped being afraid to be myself. I even went out on a date. I asked him out and it was a lot of fun. He’s a wonderful guy.

I am proud of myself, I am confident, I know my worth.

With that being said, I do have my bad days, not as often, but I’m allowed to have them. There are very few though. I have more grief ‘moments’ than actual days. Again, I can’t lay in bed all day and cry and wallow. I got shit to do. I have a beautiful, little girl who depends on me every second of every day.

When I have these moments of grief, it’s usually at home and always in private. Crying makes people feel awkward. I’m okay with crying in private.

To circle back on the whole Facebook Groups, learning to sew back together the tattered pieces of my story is HARD. I have to figure out where to start and what pieces are the most important. So I went looking for help.

To help me with navigating this journey of solo parenting and “widowhood” I came upon a grief coach named Sarah, out of Toronto. She is a widow herself and has been coaching widows and helping with their grief for over six years. She created “The Days Are Full” Grief Coaching and the Facebook Group “Widows: Rise Like A Phoenix”.

Just the words, “Rise Like A Phoenix” spoke to me, it’s what I felt in my soul. What I needed to be. What I wanted to be.

I reached out to her to get more information, we had a few video calls and we just clicked. I love her vibe and she’s get it. She asks me the right questions and she reads me so well. She understands that I don’t want to be sad all the time and I want to keep living life to my absolute fullest. I get so excited for every video call we have. We talked about triggers last week and she encourages me to keep going. This is working for me.

Recently, I came upon a trigger I was not expecting to find. I had finished going through the rest of my bedroom closet. There were some of Brandon’s hats on the top shelf: fedoras, baseball hats, newsboy caps. He loved fedoras, especially when we would travel, but it was always tough to find a good one because his head was a bit larger than most. The hats are going to my nephew. He always lights up when I give him his uncles things.

And then I found a box in the back of the closet on MY side. I knew it had my belongings in it that I hadn’t seen in years but I didn’t know exactly what was in it.

Pulled it out, blew off the dust, which was not smart, and started pulling out items wrapped in discolored newspaper. I unwrapped a curved metal piece which was revealed to be a photo frame.

The picture inside the frame is one I hadn’t seen in probably a decade. It was a blow right to my chest and I started to breathe heavy and cry. It was and is one of my favorite pictures of Brandon and I. I am so glad I was alone at the moment.

Taken December 22, 2007. We had been dating for about a month and a half. I just met his mother’s side of the family for their Christmas gathering that day (no pressure right?). Just the youth in our faces and the laughter you can hear in the picture is heart warming and heart breaking at the same time. I looked a little closer and I could see his left hand around my waist. I miss that.

So instead of putting that dusty box back in the corner of the closet to hide away the sadness and grief I have for losing Brandon, I removed the picture from the frame, went through the rest of the box, which was really a bunch of junk that ended up being tossed anyway and I placed that picture on my dresser next to my bed.

Now it makes me smile because I know how fucking proud he’d be of how far I’ve come. And even though that box in the back of the closet ripped open a bunch of seams in my tattered fabric, tomorrow is a new day and I’m ready to pick up the needle, hands shaking and all.

My Grandma is a Ghost

My grandma died last week. Halloween morning. I was in morning drop off with Em when I was notified.

I didn’t feel anything.

I hadn’t seen my grandmother since January 2020. Emma was nine months old. She was living in her own apartment at the time in Walbridge, Ohio. Her dementia was getting really bad at that time. She had asked every few minutes how old Emma was and when her birthday was.

Emma was born the day before her birthday. When I called her after having Emma and told her what day she was born on, her voice sparked with glee because it was so close to hers.

Dementia is a difficult condition for me to be around. It’s not easy for anyone. I do not know how to handle it properly. My Nana (my father’s mother) developed Alzheimer’s around 2003/2004 and in February 2005, just before I graduated high school, she passed away. She was my best friend. The sweetest person in the world. The smartest person I knew. Gone. I was broken and hurt. I miss her so much to this day. She was a light to the world.

So I can’t be around it.

I’ve seen my grandma’s oldest sister confined to a hospital bed in her home in her last days and I’ve witnessed her other sister laying in a hospice bed with a tube in her mouth suctioning out saliva because she couldn’t swallow any longer. A definite sign of near death.

When my late (still so hard to say sometimes) husband passed in March, I was done with death. I don’t want to be a part of it anymore. I want to celebrate my life, my daughter’s life, all of the people in my life that support us and love us back unconditionally. We are still here. Let’s focus on making the best of it.

I went to three funerals this year after Brandon’s. It was not easy walking back into a funeral home again, but I do hard things with grace. And I fucking did it again and again and again.

But this time, I’m not sure if I’ll be in attendance. It’s not because of my grandma, it’s not because of work or a scheduling conflict.

Personal reasons. Another blog for another day. Sorry folks.

But let me tell you some really awesome things about my grandma that weren’t mentioned in her obituary, from the perpsective of one of her grandchildren.

Grandma was a machine. From the moment she got up at 8am, she would make her bed with all the throw pillows and dolls and stuffed animals you could ever think of. Every. Single. Morning. Nothing was ever out of place on that bed. Not a single wrinkle ever seen.

After making the bed, she’d throw on her zip up robe and glide into her slippers and head downstairs to start making the BIGGEST, MOST DELICIOUS HOMEMADE breakfast you could imagine. All the meats, biscuits, eggs, sausage gravy, toast….oh, and potatoes. She’d let us pick out the potatoes in the bin in the stairwell to the basement.

After cooking for an army, even though there may have only been 3 of us total eating, she’d clean up and do dishes. You’d never see a dirty dish in the sink.

Dinner was the same routine. Fresh ingredients, more than enough food for us and the neighbor (that she took a plate over to almost nightly) and the kitchen was spotless afterwards whether you wanted to help or not.

If you’re a millenial, raise your hand if you polish your solid wood furniture routinely. Don’t be shy.

(Looks around)

No one? Okay, then. Well, we did that with grandma. She should of have worn Pledge furniture spray as perfume because if I smell it, I smell her. It’s not a bad thing. Just olfactory memories creeping in.

Her home, covered in wood paneling and a drop ceiling, was highly decorated with numerous items from religious pieces to floral arrangements, to candles, to deer heads on the wall. Everything had a place. Everything was immaculate. Doilies as far as the eye can see. It wasn’t the biggest house on the street, but there was a seat for everyone who stopped by.

She was constantly in the kitchen, or in her garden, doing laundry or re-arranging her furniture. Never settled down until it was after dinner. And now I finally understand where I get it from.

Thinking back on my childhood and the summers and weekends I’d spend at my grandma’s house either by myself or with my siblings and/or cousins, I can think of five things I LOVED about my grandma.

5. She always encouraged us to do the hard work before getting to play and have fun. She’d hang laundry in the back yard along the sidewalk from the house to the garage and she’d let us help her hang bedsheets and then let us run through them like it was a race. It’s exactly how you’d imagine it.

4. In the summer, she’d turn her garage into the ultimate ‘hang out’ spot. The cars would go outside and her rugs, patio furniture, lamps, you name it would occupy the garage and it turned into a relaxing living space. No internet. I think there was a TV in there but later on in the years. We had a radio where we blasted country music and played house and school and bartender (there was a bar and a full size kegerator). We’d spend all day out there and it was our safe space.

3. Like I said, my grandma was a machine, so she was on her feet ALL DAMN DAY. Some nights after she’d take a shower and relax in her recliner, she’d turn on Wheel of Fortune and she’d let me polish her toenails or massage her achy feet. It filled my heart to treat her to some pampering for everything she did for us.

2. Grandma let us be kids. We got dirty in the garden, we had adventures on our evening walks, we went for ice cream at the Dairy Depot. She taught us how to spend time in nature, how to be a good neighbor, and how to spoil a dog.

She was the grandparent that always showed up for you. Every softball game, Friday night football game and Sunday morning wrestling match. Every sport & award banquet and musical. Field trips, grandparents day, and when you needed a ride somewhere. She was there. She never let me down. I’ll always appreciate and love her for that.

If my siblings or cousins read this, I hope the next few words make you smile or giggle a bit.

Freedent. Werthers. Sterlings.

(Remember the ONE AND ONLY time she had all five of us at once? Good times.)

Two things I will take away from the teachings of my grandmother: Always tell the truth first and foremost; you’ll be in less trouble than if you were to lie. And fried chicken is always best cooked in cast iron. Gosh, I miss her fried chicken.

I leave you with this.

My dark humor helps me get through the days more often than not. So I look at my grandma’s death like this: Since she died on Halloween, maybe she just really wanted to be a ghost for Halloween and she made it happen. So you go Jetta!

https://www.newcomertoledo.com/obituaries/jetta-grant