Thoughts 💭

I’ve been told a few times recently that people think that I am confident. Which is fucking hilarious to me because I feel like I’m going through a period of serious lack thereof.

I struggle accepting compliments (always have)—I blush, look down, and do what I can to change the subject. It’s uncomfortable—which is another reason I don’t see myself as a confident person. In my view, if someone is confident, they don’t mind the compliments, they may even like them. Which is perfectly acceptable. But it’s just not me.

Upon receiving this information a few times and being confused and somewhat alarmed, what did I do? I listened to a podcast. ‘Cause that seems to be my go to solution these days. 😅

And what I realized is I’m not confident. I’m self-assured. Which, I KNOW, literally has confidence in the definition—but I’m working on redefining confidence for myself and self-assured feels more authentic.

When I say I’m self-assured, I don’t mean that I know everything about myself. I also don’t mean that I love myself all the time or am proud of everything I do. What I do mean is that I’ve figured out who I am…to an extent. There’s always more to discover, but here’s where I’m at.

⁃ I know what I’m passionate about.

⁃ I know my strengths.

⁃ I also know my weaknesses—and who to go to for those things I’m not able to do on my own.

⁃ I know what my triggers are and how to work with my body, mind, and soul when they arise.

⁃ I know what makes me unique—and I’m learning to love each and every trait.

⁃ I’m learning that I’m HUMAN and I will fuck shit up sometimes.

⁃ And I know that at the end of the day, everything—including this physical body—is impermanent. So worrying about the past or dreading the future only destroys my present. Which is all I really have.

So, am I able to say I’m confident, absolutely not. But I am able to say I know myself and I work really fucking hard to love her each and every single day. ✌🏼



Sooooo, it’s been over a year. How the hell is that possible? I feel like I was writing just the other day.

I’ve felt pulled to write for a while now. And I’ve gotten feedback that I should write again—so here i am. But it took me a while to get here. I had so much to “say”, but also, nothing to say all at the same time.

So fucking much has happened. This is NOT like that best friend you have where no matter how long it’s been, you pick right back up where you left off. It’s just not like that. There’s no correlation. No connection. No semblance of where I was the last time I wrote.

Well, that’s not true. There is. I’m still me. I still have depression. I still have anxiety. And I still suffer DAILY. Even on the good days, there’s signs and symptoms that I don’t ever anticipate not feeling.

The other day, someone asked me if I was still working my MLM business. I said, no, because I’m not. I’m using the products (because I believe in them whole heartedly), but I’m not actively promoting. So then, they asked me if I’m focusing on my yoga business. I said no, I don’t have a yoga business, because I don’t. (Side note—would love to start one, it’s on the mental dream board.) My response to the person was, “No, I’m just working on me.”

I’ve said those words before but never fully believed it. I meant it—they were earnestly written words, but they were more of an aspiration than cold hard truth. But this time? I fucking meant it. I have been working SO HARD on me. My physical body, my mental body, spiritual body, emotional body, literally every level—I’ve been working on. Not because anything within me was really broken, but after multiple losses, I was broken. And I was so tired of living in that mindset. Seeing no way out of that destructive darkness. Hating myself. Hating my body. Hating much of life.

The quote “If nothing changes, nothing changes” comes to mind. I was trying to find a semblance of balance and stability, but to do that, I needed to do something scary. Something that I wasn’t ready for. I needed to get fully off kilter: reset and realign.

And that’s what I did. I got my shit together medically (working with my doctors). I started deep diving into my belief systems. Into my practices (both physically and spiritually). Into finding my limits and pushing past them. Into my community and relying on them instead of myself to process through everything. On that same token, I did a deep dive into me and getting back to center—working through the shadows.

Do I have it all figured out? Hell no. Will I ever have it all figured out? Absolutely not. Am I working to mend the parts of me that we’re broken—not to make them disappear, quite the opposite—filling them with gold as a reminder of how unique my scars have made me? You bet your ass I am.

I truly think we’re all broken in one way or another. I don’t wish it on anyone, but none of us lives the highlight reel life all the time. I just hope that despite all the scars gained, that you know that you are JUST as valuable, if not more. And please don’t forget—even when you feel the opposite, you are so damn loved.

Always here for you. Sending peace, love, and light.



Naïveté Was Bliss

This has been on my heart lately. Maybe it’s a message for me, or maybe it’s a message for you…

When it feels like you’re most alone, I promise you I am right here with you.

Getting older is freaking tough. Reminiscing high school and college times, I remember being so sad over a break up, or a fight with a friend, or a bad lacrosse practice. And all of those things did feel HUGE in that moment.

As a 28 year old, I chuckle to myself because the ignorance and naïveté was truly bliss.

The world today—whether it’s the fact that I am 28, or maybe it’s just the times of 2021—is a heavy, heavy place to be.

I found that with each year that passes, my circle seems to get smaller and smaller. Which, don’t get me wrong, I know God, Spirit, The Universe, or whatever you may call it, hears conversations we don’t and removes the toxicity before it succumbs us.

But regardless, it doesn’t make it easier. It’s hard not to turn in your yourself and be like, “WTF is wrong with me? Am I getting more and more unloveable?”

I have these feelings, well, daily.

But friend, the answer is NO. You are not unloveable. You are not unworthy. And you are not alone. I’m right there with you.

I think sometimes losing friends is just a part of getting older and 2020-2021 and the difficulties that have come with this last year and a half haven’t helped.

We lose touch with people and unfortunately, it is an part of life. If you are ever feeling alone, reach out. The real ones will jump right back to where you all left off.

If you feel you have no one personally to reach out to, please reach out to the Suicide Hotline—(800) 273-8255. You always have a friend in them, and in me.



You’re not a bad friend…

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but your depression doesn’t make you a bad friend. Your anxiety doesn’t make you a bad friend. Your bipolar doesn’t make you a bad friend. Your OCD doesn’t make you a bad friend. Bottom line—your mental illness does NOT make you a bad friend.

It’s easy to look back and reflect on all the birthday brunches you skipped. All the bonfires you didn’t attend. All the nights at the bar you declined. All the things you skipped out on and feel shitty about yourself.

But you’re not a shitty person and you’re not a shitty friend. You carry a heavy load and sometimes staying sane means saying NO.

I’ve lost plenty of friends over the years because of my depression. Those friends didn’t understand that it’s not that I don’t want to celebrate them—it’s that I put an insane amount of energy into putting on a face during the whole work week to appear “normal”, that faking one more smile on the weekend seems literally impossible.

I’m exhausted, feeling beaten down, and by the way, each day I go ten rounds with the negative voices to keep them at bay.

So, saying “no” to protect your peace doesn’t make you a bad friend. It makes you human.

Don’t guilt yourself into thinking it’s your fault those friendships/relationships ended. The real ones won’t ever leave.


Me ♥️

1 in 4

Lately I’ve been a bad wife. A bad friend. A bad daughter. And truthfully, a bad person.

And I’m rarely one to make excuses because, as a previous mentor once told me, excuses are only good for those who are using them.

But shit has been tough.

I am 1 in 4.

I never ever thought I would be a part of this statistic. It’s naive, I know.

But truthfully, I never thought it would be me. Because what woman thinks, “Welp, I’ll probably be that one in four. Count me in for having a miscarriage.”

I wouldn’t wish this pain on my worst enemy. I wouldn’t wish this on the one person I hate in this world. I wouldn’t wish this on ANYONE.

It is so so rough. I try so hard to be a positive person. To encourage others. Offer others kindness and compassion.

But that hasn’t been me lately. Because I was so damn bitter.

I was angry. I was sad. I was hurting. And I needed space.

Even as time passes. It still hurts. It’s still hard. And I’m not sure if I’ll ever fully heal. Part of me left that Thursday. A part of me I’ll never get back.

People don’t talk about this shit. And if they do, it’s behind closed doors. Which is fine. I wasn’t ready to share publicly for a little while after I miscarried.

Privately I shared. Privately I cried. Privately I screamed. Privately I cursed. For weeks upon weeks.

But I am not alone. I am one in four. And truthfully, I feel like it’s even more common than that. We just don’t share.

People only share their happy announcements. They only share the positive tests. They only share the gender reveals, the nurseries, the name reveals, the birth stories.

They don’t talk about how the doctors/nurses at the ER treat you like you’re crazy. They don’t talk about the emptiness you feel. They don’t tell you how fucking much it hurts, regardless of whether or not you heard the heartbeat. They don’t tell you how lax the GYN is when he tells you, you indeed are no longer pregnant. They don’t tell you about the random fits of tears that come pouring down your face. Nothing.

But, the more space I get from the loss, the more time I have to heal, the more I realize I am so fucking lucky. I have a husband that couldn’t have been more kind, loving, and supportive. I have parents that were beyond supportive and loving. I have friends who were incredibly kind and thoughtful. And their compassion and support has helped IMMENSELY.

Again, I would never EVER wish this even on my worst enemy, but God forbid someone does go through this, there are a few things I want you to remember…

1. Your loss is real.

2. You are not crazy.

3. You are allowed to cry—as much as you want, whenever you want, for as long as you want.

4. Your body is still worthy of love.

5. Your body is still capable of amazing things.

6. You are loved.

7. It is NOT your fault.

8. You are NEVER alone.

So, to everyone who I have not been as present for, I am sorry. I meant no harm. I meant no disrespect. I just needed time to get back to being “me”. And I still have my days where I’m working towards getting back to myself.

To all of you, thank you for understanding.

And lastly, with Mother’s Day quickly approaching, to all the mama’s with empty arms, happy Mother’s Day. You are so damn worthy.





One of the multiple things people never talk about is how on edge depression and anxiety make you feel. All day for days on end.

Those days, you’re on the edge of tears. On the edge of screaming. On the edge of totally losing your sh*t. Literally all day long.

And I work really hard to control my emotions and not lose my sh*t but it’s really freaking hard.

Legit. I’m watching an episode of NCIS, and I just start crying. It’s an episode I’ve watched dozens of times. And there I am, crying. I’m writing out my gratitude for the day…and I’m crying. I’m petting my pups…and I’m crying.

It’s like all my emotions are a boiling pot of water constantly boiling over. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to simmer the boiling.

Then one day, I’m okay. I’m able to get through an whole episode of NCIS without crying. I get through my gratitude without crying. I’m actually smiling. I finally feel relief. I’m no longer boiling over. But there’s no rhyme or reason why.

I didn’t do anything differently. I didn’t get more sleep. I didn’t eat anything different. Nothing changed, yet everything’s different.

There is NO reason why I’m feeling “better”. I just am.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m so grateful for these days and I’ve tried everything under the sun to make these times last forever, but to date they haven’t. It’s just exhausting battling your emotions all day everyday for so long and then one day you’re feeling totally “normal”. It’s like total whiplash. You don’t know what to do or how to react.

For me, my best course of action is to patch up the wounds, let them begin to heal, and practice gratitude. Gratitude for the good days. Gratitude for the strength to get through the bad days. Gratitude for each day I am given. Gratitude for it all.

Some days I think that’s all we can do. Just say thank you and keep going. Keep putting one foot in front of the other. Keep fighting. Just keep living.

Trust me, I know how hard it is, but I promise. It’s worth it. Don’t give up. Please. You are so damn worthy. And so damn loved. Even when it feels like it the least.

Sending you love, hugs, strength, and alllllllll the positive vibes.

Keep fighting, love. You are never alone.



New Year, Same Struggles


I have a love/hate relationship with celebrating a new year.

I love that it means new beginnings, new opportunities, more reasons to be grateful.

But I also don’t love that it means new beginnings, new opportunities, and more reasons to be grateful.

Anxiety makes all this “newness” really, really not fun. New beginnings mean things have to come to an end. Change is scary. New opportunities mean new chances to fail. Failure is scary. More reasons to be grateful means I’m just overthinking all of this and I don’t deserve all the good things coming to me because people have it so much worse than me. Thinking about what I’m taking for granted is scary.

What people don’t get is this is what us anxiety warriors fight every single day. And it sucks. Slap on some depression and it becomes a real party. It’s like throwing together the energizer bunny and a sloth and trying to make them walk the same speed. You’ll go crazy before that happens.

I’ve been struggling these last few weeks. It’s tough being the positive one all the time. People often say “show more than just your highlight reel”, but those are the same people saying “how to rant on social media—don’t”.

There’s such a difference between ranting and unpacking your sh*t how best works for you. When you’re in that place (you know what place I’m talking about), you don’t feel like you can reach out to anyone. You feel so alone. But at the same time, you’re falling apart and just need to share something with someone, or your going to implode. This is what brings about the “rants” people are so concerned about.

Why do you think I write in this blog? It’s a rant. It’s unpacking. It’s not burdening any of my friends or family, but provides me the release I need.

So, if you’re feeling like you’re so overwhelmed find what works for you. Make a post, message a friend, start a blog, start a podcast, go for a walk, pet your cat or dog, go for a drive. Unpack how you want to unpack. Life is TOUGH. New Years are TOUGH. Anxiety is TOUGH. Depression is TOUGH. But guess what…so are YOU.

This entry had no true purpose. I had no idea what I was going to write. And I don’t think any of it flowed. But I’ve been thinking about writing for days now, but have been so overwhelmed with self-deprecating thoughts, I had nothing to share. I’m still not sure I had anything productive to share. But here is my nothing to share.

So, if you’ve made it this far, thank you for taking the time. You rock.


Me 🖤

Judge Someone Else


So, trigger warning—I’m going to say (write) some shit that a lot of people won’t like.

Unpopular opinion—I unfollow/unfriend anyone who posts about any politics on social media. I even unfollowed my own husband. (I still love him, I just unfollowed him on Facebook.)

And I keep seeing posts saying “If you unfollow/unfriend someone for their political beliefs you’re small minded/racist/ignorant/privileged/a terrible human being. And people are entitled to think that. They totally are. It’s a free country.

But you know what else? I’m free to disagree.

You know why I unfollow/unfriend all those people? Because that shit is negative, and I don’t need it. And I get it, just because I unfollow/unfriend doesn’t mean it’s not happening. But you know what? I don’t need it at the front of my brain. I really, really don’t.

What people don’t get is that I have that negative shit on my mind AS IT IS. EVERY DAMN DAY.

My depressions and anxiety manifests itself as the following: suicidal ideations, feelings of worthlessness, feelings of inadequacy, feelings of lack of control, feelings of being scared to be out in public, feelings of holding back tears, feelings of hatred towards self, feelings of despair, feelings of total loss of self, feelings of lack of confidence in the future, and so much more. I think of that shit nearly every f*cking minute of every f*cking day. Why on EARTH would I want to fill my feed with MORE of the battles I’ve been battling all damn day?

Imagine your worst fears. Now, imagine them filling your brain 24/7/365. Now, imagine adding to them by being connected/following people that plaster images/descriptions of your worst fear all of your timeline. Does that sound appealing to you? I didn’t think so.

So, next time you call someone small minded/ignorant/racist/privileged/a terrible person for avoiding watching the news, or unfollowing/unfriending you, take a second to think about why they’re doing it. Maybe it’s to SAVE THEMSELVES. Instead of continuing the hatred towards them that they already feel towards themselves, give them some grace. And treat them with kindness. I can almost guarantee, they’ll show you some kindness should they ever find you kicked down and beaten.



Peace out, 2020. I think…


So, part is me is beyond ready for 2020 to be over.

The other part of me is scared for 2021 to start.

I’ll be real. 2020 wasn’t great. Don’t get me wrong, I am VERY blessed for all the good in my life. I will never not be grateful for all the good that happened in 2020. My best friend got married. My other best friend announced that she is having a beautiful baby girl next summer. I got to spend a lot of time at home with my pups. I’ve gotten to spend more time with my husband. I have a roof over my head, food in my fridge, a job that pays me, and a family that loves me.

But alongside all the good, there’s been a lot of hurt. My position at work was eliminated. I’ve lost contact with many of my friends. My social anxiety is through the freaking roof from not being able to leave my house. My everyday anxiety is through the roof from all the unrest in the country. I’ve cried myself to sleep more times than I can count this year. So, yes. I’m happy 2020 is coming to an end.

But on that same token, I am scared for what hand 2021 might deal us. I didn’t really accomplish much this year and I have no goals set for 2021. I’m scared to set goals because who knows what the hell we’ll be able to do this coming year. Who knows what kind of insanity we’re going to be dealing with this year. And I don’t want to let myself down again.

Part of me wants to just crawl in bed and stay there forever. Ignorant to everything and everyone. Not because I don’t care, but because I don’t know how much more I can take. I don’t know how much more I’ll be able to withstand.

Unfortunately, there’s no way to know what’s ahead. There’s no fortune teller. No crystal ball. So, the way I see it, our only option is to walk into 2021 with our positive pants on. So, that’s what I’m going to try to do.

I am trusting that the universe knows what it’s doing. It knows my path and it will guide me in the right direction. I trust that I’ll find my place and I’ll know I’m fulfilling my purpose because of the signs the universe will be sending me.

All this to say, if you’re scared, it’s OKAY. Layered underneath my positive pants are my scardy pants. I’m just trying to let the positive prevail. That’s all we can really do when it’s all said and done.

So, remember, you are not alone. You were not alone in 2020. You will not be alone in 2021. You have never, are never, and will never be alone. I’m here. Right beside you.

We made it, love. Let’s keep going. 🖤



Don’t let idiots ruin your day.

I don’t even know 𝒘𝒉𝒚 I’m writing this.

I’ve been going back and forth with posting this for almost a week now.

I knew I would get flack for writing this, people would talk sh*t, they’d say I was just doing it for attention, whatever. But I had to post this for the one who’s struggling. The one who hates this time of year because of all the food. The one who hates this time of year because of the family confrontations. The one who just doesn’t think they’ll make it through another holiday season.

I’m writing this for 𝒚𝒐𝒖.

Last week I went to the doctor for an annual check up, and the doctor said, “𝑾𝒆𝒍𝒍, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒉𝒚𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒆𝒙𝒂𝒎 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒗𝒆 𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒅 10𝒍𝒃𝒔 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒕.”

Talk about a punch to the gut (literally, gut). This year has been so hard for so many reasons. And yes, I’ve gained quite a bit of weight (way more than 10lbs) since March. But let’s call a spade a spade. 2020 has been SHIT for so many reasons.

Maybe you’re not in the same boat as me, but I have struggled with body image and weight since as long as I can remember. Legit, I remember being in elementary school and HATING hitting 50lbs… Now, much heavier than that I’m still struggling with body image and my “ideal” weight.

I was starting to feel better—I’m working out 6-7 days a week, eating healthier and although I wasn’t losing any weight, I was feeling better. And THAT made me happy.

Until, my doctor reminded me of that number on the scale. And frankly, it knocked me down. I cried that night before bed. And I got up and worked out harder the next morning.

And then I reached out to some friends and they brought me back to center. 𝑺𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔, 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔.

They helped remind me that there are SO MANY worse things that could have happened than gaining 10lbs. This year has been hard on most people. We’re living a new way of life. We’re learning a new normal. And if 10lbs is a part of surviving 2020, 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔.

So, in case you’re in the same spot I was last week, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓. Regardless of the number on the scale, the size of your leggings, the love handles over those jeans. 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑭𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹. And you always will.

Don’t let idiots ruin your day, especially your Turkey Day. Love you. Exactly as you are.