Here’s what I’ve learned, over and over, in 35 years of sitting with couples and individuals at every stage of this: starting over is an inside job.

You don’t need your partner’s permission to improve your relationship today!

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You can be the change you want to see.

It doesn’t mean pretending the past didn’t happen or sweeping anything under the rug.

It means being honest, out loud if you can, that you each did the best you knew how to do at your level of awareness at the time.

You learned different things from your families of origin. You came in with different beliefs, different roles. And neither of you is the same person you were ten years ago.

So the question stops being “what went wrong back then” and becomes “who are we now, and what do we each actually want?”

What is your vision for your future? If you had a Magic Wand, what would you like to see happen?

Do you see gratitude in your future instead of just a running list of grievances?

The way I help clients create more happiness is by connecting to what I call SELF energy where you feel more calm, clear, connected, compassionate, curious, courageous, confident.

When you’re speaking from SELF, the entire shape of the conversation changes, even when your partner isn’t meeting you there yet.

You stop shooting shrapnel, even if some is still coming your direction.

If your partner has no interest in doing this work right now, you can still bring real change to your relationship by doing your own work to heal your heart.

That alone shifts more than most people expect.

If you want my support to improve your relationship now, please learn more about my Compassionate Mediation® Relationship Healing Program.

Learn more here.

We can also find time for a private chat where you can get the guidance you need to feel informed, inspired, and supported.
I’d love to help.

Let's find a time to meet.

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That belief alone is often what keeps them stuck.

I’ve sat across from thousands of individuals and couples over 35 years as an IFS therapist, mediator, and attorney, and I can tell you: the thought that there are only two choices is never the truth.

There’s a rainbow of options between staying and leaving.

You can learn about a postnuptial agreement, a trial separation, a legal separation, a season of working on yourself before you decide anything about the relationship at all. And so many more options to explore.

When you see it as a black-and-white choice, you stay paralyzed. Too hard to stay, too scary to leave.

So instead of naming the real pain, some people numb out. Some disappear into work or screens. Some go have an affair — not because they’re bad people, but because it feels easier than sitting with the fear underneath the decision.

Here’s what I ask clients to do instead of forcing a decision: take an honest inventory.

Not of your partner. Of yourself. How are you showing up? How locked up, judgmental, or resentful have you become? And underneath all of that — how hurt are you? How sad? How scared?

You don’t have to answer “stay or go” today. You have to get honest about what you’re feeling and start there. That’s how the paralysis breaks.

If you’re in that stuck place right now, I put together free resources for you here, which include a Relationship Assessment to help you see how to make changes now.

Free Gifts for You.

If you’d like to book a private session where I can help you explore your options and also answer all your questions, you can learn more here.

Let's Chat and Free Gift too!

P.S. And if you’re a therapist or coach whose clients get stuck here too…

I have a free Roadmap and Video of my Compassionate Mediation® Process
to help you become an expert in conflict resolution.

Get the Roadmap and Video here.

Join me in my upcoming
Compassionate Mediation® Coaching Certification.

Learn more here.

Please SHARE with anyone who could use this information and support.
One new client just told me that she called because her "mother suggested me,"
and we are doing great work together!

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Divorce is one of life’s major stressors, but perhaps “wondering if you should get a divorce” can sometimes be more stressful than actually making a decision and moving forward.

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When you finally decide whether to stay or go, you can confidently move in that one direction.

When you are not sure what you want to do, life becomes a series of vastly different possibilities, each with its own set of fears and concerns.

You might wonder, “What if I stay and it never gets any better?”

You then project a lifetime where you are stuck in a relationship that doesn’t meet your needs and brings out the worst version of your self.

Perhaps you worry, “What if I leave and I’m all alone and broke and without my children?”

You begin to picture all the horrors that are possible, and turn around and vacillate some more.

The stress of indecision and procrastination, feeling stuck and overwhelmed is often worse than making a choice.

Author Anais Nin has said, “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”

You have your own choice to make. You can stay where you are or you can explore the possibilities of change.

The constant uncertainty, vacillation, and ambivalence make it hard for you to be present in a calm and peaceful way.

You are constantly worrying about your future, concentrating on what is wrong with the present, and ruminating about the pain from the past.

All of that behavior increases the feelings of stress that affect your emotional, psychological and physical health.

Divorce is almost as stressful as the death of a loved one. It is a different kind of death—the death of a relationship, the death of a marriage, and often the most difficult, the death of a dream.

Explore All Your Options

Compassionate Mediation is a process that helps you either add passion to your marriage or compassion to your divorce.

You don’t have to spend years “on the fence” in an unhappy or dysfunctional relationship.

You can learn how to speak your truth courageously and set healthy boundaries confidently.

You will discover what you truly want and need, believe that you deserve to be happy and fulfilled, and learn how to ask respectfully, receive graciously, and share your gratitude.

You will begin to experience more love in your life, even if it means you give it to yourself.

You will learn how to become more empathetic and considerate—first for yourself, and then your partner.

You will know how to ask for and get your needs met and forgive yourself and each other.

You will remember how to be grateful again for what you do share, and learn how to reflect the attention, affection, appreciation, and acceptance you both desire—no matter the outcome.

You will learn that it’s not always what you say but how you say it.

You will experience the healing power of “thank you” and “I’m sorry.”

You will safely explore all your options to re-structure your family peacefully and respectfully.

Remember Who You Truly Are

The French philosopher Teilhard de Chardin said, “We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.”

You can always tune in to who you truly are, underneath your thoughts, feelings, and past experiences.

You can connect with what I believe is your divine spiritual nature in the midst of your human experiences.

You become more conscious, aware, mindful—in other words, more “SELF-led.”

You learn how to choose your responses, your behavior, and your future decisions from your highest and best SELF.

Becoming more conscious and SELF-led in your relationship allows you to focus on the higher good for all concerned, and then relate compassionately to heal and transform the dynamics between you and your partner.

In her book of the same title, Katherine Woodard described her process of “Conscious Uncoupling” as a loving way to end a marriage.

When you are in SELF, you can also choose to consciously couple in a way that leads to more intimacy, passion, connection and fun. You will feel more balanced, peaceful, openhearted, open-minded, and present.

If you’d like to learn how to bring your best SELF into all your relationships, join me for a private session to discuss all your options to improve your life now.

Learn more here.

Or become a paid subscriber and get access to free courses to help you make clear and confident decisions for your future.

Here are the Perks of Paid.

I’d love to be of help.

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Whatever brought you here, I would be honored to help.

A new client recently thanked me for all the ways I was helping him and his wife. He was grateful for the different ways I offered information, guidance, and compassion.

Then he said something that was one of my biggest compliments.

He told me I was like a Swiss Army knife, only every tool was shaped like a heart.

Isn’t that lovely?

He and his wife originally called me about mediation. They were hurting, uncertain about their future, and trying to understand what might be possible for their marriage and their family.

But mediation was only one of the tools they needed. I was able to offer my expertise as an Internal Family Systems therapist, coach, spiritual counselor, mediator, and attorney.

During our first session, I guided them through a meditation to help them access their highest and best Selves.

They learned about Self and Parts through Internal Family Systems therapy, and began to recognize the frightened, protective, angry, and wounded parts that had been influencing their reactions to one another.

We explored how their different communication styles had affected each of them.

We looked at what they had learned in their families of origin and how those early experiences were still showing up in their marriage. surrounding their choices.

They did not have to decide immediately whether they would stay married or divorce.

Instead, we could explore all the possibilities: creating a new and healthier relationship together, moving toward a peaceful and respectful separation, or choosing a kind and compassionate divorce in the highest good of everyone concerned.

During our next session, we talked about:

what they might say to their children

how they could set appropriate boundaries

and what each of them was willing to acknowledge about their own contribution to the problems in their relationship.

We also explored what might become possible if they each continued working on themselves and on their relationship.

This is why I created Compassionate Mediation®.

Relationships in conflict rarely involve only one problem.

There are emotions, protective patterns, childhood wounds, communication breakdowns, parenting concerns, financial fears, legal questions, grief, hope, love, anger, and often a great deal of uncertainty.

People need more than someone who can negotiate an agreement.

They need a safe place to slow down, understand what is really happening, and make thoughtful decisions from clarity rather than fear.

My client was so grateful that he and his wife had found me.

And I was deeply honored that they trusted me with their hearts, their family, and this tender chapter of their lives.

But the most important part of my client’s compliment was not the number of tools. It was that every tool was shaped like a heart.

Because knowledge matters. Experience matters. Legal and therapeutic skills matter.

But compassion is what allows people to use those tools without harming one another.

Whatever you are carrying right now, I’d love to help.

Are you and your partner struggling with conflict, painful communication, separation, or uncertainty about whether to stay or go? You do not have to make every decision before asking for help.

Are you challenged by a different relationship that could use some understanding?

Or are there other issues bothering you now?

You can begin with one private session to understand what is happening, what choices are available, and what your next compassionate step might be.

Learn more about our Private Session

P.S And if you are a therapist, coach, mediator, attorney, or other helping professional, you can study with me and learn how to bring the tools of Compassionate Mediation® into your own work with individuals, couples, and families.

Whether you need support for your own relationship, or want to expand the ways you support your clients, I would be honored to help.

My Compassionate Mediation® Coaching Certification will be starting its next cohort soon. And professional continuing education credits are available too.

Learn more about Certification

Please share with anyone who could use more guidance and support.

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Now, I’m focusing on how I can help you - or someone you know - in case there are relationship challenges that aren’t being addressed.

Does this describe you now?

• Perhaps you still love your partner, but part of you is tired of trying.

• Maybe you have had the same conversation so many times that you can predict exactly what will happen.

• You explain what is hurting you. Your partner becomes defensive. You become frustrated. They shut down. Eventually, you both walk away feeling even more hurt and alone.

• Maybe you have tried counseling, read books, made promises, or had long conversations that seemed hopeful for a while.

Yet you are still wondering whether there is hope, whether your partner can really change, or whether it is time to stay or go.

I know what it is like to live inside that uncertainty.

I was married to my college sweetheart for twenty years. We were happy for a long time, but eventually we became disconnected and began living parallel lives.

I did not want a divorce, but I did not want to remain lonely inside my marriage either. For a long time, I believed those were my only two choices: stay unhappy or leave.

They were not.

There is a compassionate space between tolerating what hurts and making a life-changing decision before you are ready.

It is a place where you can slow down, understand what is really happening, and begin communicating from your calm, clear, compassionate Higher Self.

I created the Self-Paced Compassionate Mediation® Relationship Healing Program to help relationships transform.

The program will help you understand the patterns beneath your conflict, separate facts from fears, communicate without attacking or defending, and explore what healing would actually require.

It will not tell you to stay, and it will not push you to leave. It will help you find your own next right step.

You do not have to wait for your partner to agree before you begin.

You cannot control whether your partner changes, but you are not powerless.

• You can change how you respond.

• You can clarify what you need.

• You can stop participating in conversations that lead nowhere.

• You can make decisions with greater confidence, compassion, and self-respect.

Whether your path leads to renewed connection, a thoughtful separation, or a more peaceful divorce, you do not have to navigate it alone.

Learn More Here.

You deserve more than endless conflict, painful silence, and emotional limbo.

You deserve the opportunity to create the relationship you desire and deserve.

Even if you have tried everything, and even if your partner will not change, there is still hope.

With love and compassion,

Linda

If you would rather talk with me personally now, we can find a time to connect.

A Private Session with me now.

Please share if you know anyone who could use the support.

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Welcome to my podcast on how do I celebrate my late daughter’s birthday? Because she really isn’t late. She’s deceased.

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You can listen or read…. thanks for joining me..

My beautiful daughter, Dana, died September 17th, 2021.

July 24th, 2026, she would have been 46 years old.

And she was supposed to outlive me. She was supposed to get married and have children and be incredibly happy. She was supposed to beat the addiction instead of losing her long and valiant battle with it.

I miss her eye rolls. I miss her hugs. I miss her smile and her humor. I miss the way she could call me out on all the things that I would do that would annoy her or amuse her.

And she would do it in a way that reminded me that I might be a little neurotic, but she still loved and accepted me.

I just wonder, how do I celebrate your birthday today?

1:11

I try not to think. I yearn to remember the good times, the laughter, the love.

I choose to bypass the hole in my heart by filling with ways to honor you.

The other day I cried to honor me and to honor the profound sadness that I usually avoid.

I have so many poems, posts, books, thoughts, stories, reflections. How do I choose? What do I do? Something? Nothing? Anything?

Can it be enough that I visited your brick with your sister and your niece at the botanic this morning?

We communed with the white butterflies that you sent to let us know that you are at peace.

Will you sometime in the future help me organize the words, the pictures, the projects that I feel are overwhelming me? But I’d really like to get out there. I don’t know what to do with them yet. We will see.

But in the meantime, I’ll keep remembering, connecting, feeling sad, staying grateful.

I’m missing you and loving you forever, my precious child. All my love, mom.

2:35

I don’t go into the woulda’s, coulda’s shoulda’s as much as I used to.

I used to feel that things should have been different. And I suffered from the agony of supposed to be.

But I realize I can be sad and grateful at the same time. I can make room for the life I have, the life I lost, and the life I still wish had been mine.

I went to a family party last week and I loved every minute. But then a certain sadness came over me because grief doesn’t always arrive because something is wrong in the present.

Sometimes it arrives because something in the present touches us about what was absent from the past.

So seeing my cousins with their children and grandchildren brought up some memories that awaken the ache of the family life I thought I would have.

3:42

I missed what never happened.

I missed the ordinary afternoons by the pool with my daughter and grandchildren.

I missed my brother and his family in Israel.

And I missed Dana. Her birthday’s today.

She struggled with addiction for so long.

We felt together the hope, the fear, the waiting, the praying, trying to save someone you love, and loving them when you know that love is not enough to protect them.

I can heal even as I acknowledge my feelings.

Things could have been different, but instead I can be with what I have instead of grieving what I lost.

I wrote a poem on the what coulda, shoulda’s.

When we don’t get what we thought we’d have and the sadness peaks within, with the guilt that we’re not mindful for the chance, we could begin to create a different future, to be grateful for the past, to miss what still is missing and hold on to what has passed.

To allow the heavy heart to be without the need to fix, to make room for all the sorrow and add it to the mix of joyous times before and still. No matter what life brings. I can be sad and grateful. And it does in other things.

5:19

I was supposed to be a matriarch with family all around.

I was supposed to be a loving spouse with a partner I had found who supported me and uplifted me as I did the same for him. Instead of just my making due with the future that feels dim.

I was supposed to be retired by now with financial wealth in place. I was supposed to live more easily without the constant race to do or be or create or not. Just take each day in stride. This wasn’t quite the dream I dreamt when I last was a bride.

But now as Crone, the facts are clear. My supposed to bes aren’t real, but there are many aspects that I cannot conceal of love and deep connection, of joys that life does bring.

I have so much so I don’t lose touch. No one gets everything.

6:02

Maybe that’s the lesson I take away from today. I can honor what I miss and appreciate all that’s beautiful.

I don’t have to choose between grief and gratitude because my heart is large enough to hold both.

Maybe yours is too.

You may be grateful for your life and still ache for the life you did not have.

You may love your family and still feel wounded by them.

You may appreciate what remains and still grieve what is gone.

You may laugh at lunch and cry upstairs an hour later.

None of that makes you ungrateful. It makes us human.

So I don’t need to fix the sadness. I can be with it hand on heart, breathing and whispering to the part of me that misses Dana so much. I know. I miss her.

7:03

We don’t have to carry this alone.

So whatever you’re carrying today, you don’t need to carry it alone. I’m here to help. I’m here to talk. I’m here to listen.

So please leave a comment, reach out to me and know that at times of celebration, at times of memory, there’s always something that might trigger us.

But we can let one tier, one tsunami, whirlpool or puddle come when it’s ready and allow for whatever needs to move through us.

So on her 46th birthday, I’m still not sure what to share, how much to say or what to keep close.

I don’t want to burden people with my grief because it’s not all I feel.

I feel a great deal of love, a great deal of gratitude. And the missing, the remembering the stories, the love still motivate the wish to help so someone else feels less alone.

8:13
Happy birthday, Dana.

I miss you. I love you. I want to keep your legacy alive because you are and were and will continue to be a light in this world.

So those of you who are listening, my heart goes out to you. Let yourself feel, let yourself grieve, let yourself celebrate.

Let’s find joy in the moments and the connections that remind us that we’re still alive.

And in the life we have, we can honor the life and the legacy and the love and the laughter of the person we lost.

So sending you love and sending love to my dear precious Dana, thank you for listening.

Thank you for the family that I have. My daughter Kimmy and Kevin and my grandchildren, Oliver, Tommy Maisie, my brother and his family, my cousins, all the people, friends, clients who bring me such joy. So thank you.

(09:19)
Thank you. Bless you. God love you.

And we’ll talk again soon. Bye for now.

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and more posts on Dana’s light here.

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For the week of Dana’s birthday, and in September for the week she died, I spent more time remembering and honoring her life.

This is the last post for now, and I thank those of you who have reached out this week with comments and love. Sending much love back to you, too.

My Precious Dana,

You were supposed to outlive me.

You were supposed to get married and have children and be incredibly happy,.

You were supposed to beat your addiction instead of losing your long and valiant battle.

I miss your eye rolls - and your hugs.
I miss your smile - and your humor.
I miss the gentle way you could call me out as you reminded me of how much you loved and accepted me.

So today I just wonder…

How do I celebrate your birthday today?
I try not to think.
I yearn to remember.

The good times
The laughter
The love.

I choose to bypass the hole in my heart
By filling it with ways to honor you.

The other day I cried.
To honor me.
And the profound sadness
I usually avoid.

So many poems, posts, books.
So many thoughts, stories, reflections.

How to choose?
What to do?
Something?
Nothing?
Anything?

Can it be enough that I visit your brick at the Botanic?
And commune with the white butterflies
you send to let me know
you are at peace.

Will you help me organize the words, pictures, projects
That keep me stuck in overwhelm.

I don’t know yet.
We will see.

In the meantime,
I’ll keep remembering,
Connecting,
Being sad
Staying grateful.

Missing you and loving you forever, My Precious Child.

All my love,
Mom

I don’t go into the woulda/coulda/shoulda’s as much.

But I do find myself stuck in “supposed to be’s” lately. I even wrote a post about the Agony of Supposed-to-Be’s.

Read the article here.

I wrote another post yesterday on Birthday- Minus 1.

Read the post here.

I just recorded a ten minute podcast of my thoughts today. You can listen to to it here.

Listen to the Podcast here.

How do you celebrate the life of someone you loved and lost?
Please share anything you’d like - their name, your feelings, whatever you’d like.
I read every word, and I’m here to support you - and send hugs xoxoxo.

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Today is July 24th, 2026. My daughter Dana would have been 46 years old.

🎧 This post accompanies this week’s podcast episode —
you can listen to the full conversation above.
You can read the whole transcript here:

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She was supposed to outlive me. She was supposed to get married, have children, be incredibly happy. She was supposed to beat the addiction instead of losing her long, valiant battle with it.

Twenty years she fought. Twenty years of interventions and treatment centers and sober living and hope that kept getting up off the floor even when it had every reason not to.

So this morning, on her birthday, I asked myself the only question that felt honest: how do I celebrate you today?

I try not to think too hard about it, because thinking leads me straight to the hole in my heart, and some days I can only visit that hole, not live in it.

So instead I choose to fill the day with ways to honor her. I visited her memorial brick at the Botanic Garden with her sister and her niece. We communed with white butterflies — the ones Dana sends to let us know she’s at peace. I don’t need proof. I just need the butterflies, and they came.

I have so many poems, posts, book drafts, reflections. Scores of them.

How do I choose what to share and what to keep close? I don’t always know. Some days “something” is enough. Some days it has to be.

The Agony of Supposed to Be

I used to live inside the would’ve, could’ve, should’ve. I suffered from what I now call the agony of “supposed to be” — the mother-heart insisting, over and over, this is not the life I imagined for my child.

I don’t go there as much anymore.

Not because the loss got smaller, but because I learned something grief doesn’t teach quickly: I can be sad and grateful at the same time.

I can make room for the life I have, the life I lost, and the life I still, somewhere in me, wish had been mine.

I went to a family party last week and loved every minute of it — and then a certain sadness moved through me anyway, because grief doesn’t only show up when something is wrong in the present.

Sometimes it arrives because something in the present touches what was absent from the past. Watching my cousins with their children and grandchildren didn’t hurt because anything was wrong that day. It hurt because I missed what never happened. The ordinary afternoons by the pool with my daughter and her children. My brother’s family, so far away in Israel. And Dana — on her birthday, always Dana.

What I Wrote

I wrote a poem about the supposed-to-be’s, because sometimes a poem holds what a sentence can’t:

To allow the heavy heart to be / without the need to fix, / to make room for all the sorrow / and add it to the mix / of joyous times before and still. / No matter what life brings, / I can be sad and grateful. / And many other things.

Read the poem here.

I was supposed to be a matriarch with family all around. A loving spouse, supported and uplifting in return. Retired by now, easier days, less racing to do or be or create. This wasn’t quite the dream I dreamt when I was last a bride.

But the facts are clear: my supposed-to-bes aren’t real. What’s real is that there are so many aspects of love and deep connection, of joy, that I cannot conceal even if I tried. I have so much. I don’t lose touch. No one gets everything.

Maybe that’s the whole lesson, on a birthday like this one:

I can honor what I miss and appreciate all that’s beautiful. I don’t have to choose between grief and gratitude, because my heart is large enough to hold both.

And maybe yours is too.

An Invitation, Not Just a Story

You may be grateful for your life and still ache for the life you didn’t get.

You may love your family and still feel wounded by them.

You may appreciate what remains and still grieve what’s gone. You may laugh at lunch and cry upstairs an hour later.

None of that makes you ungrateful. It makes you human.

So I don’t try to fix the sadness anymore. I sit with it, hand on heart, breathing, whispering to the part of me that misses Dana so much — I know. I miss her too.

And I don’t carry it alone, and neither do you have to.

Whatever you’re holding today — a birthday, an anniversary, a Friday that ambushed you out of nowhere — I’m here.

Leave a comment. Reach out.

Let one tear, one tsunami, one small puddle come when it’s ready, and let whatever needs to move through you, move.

Even on her 46th birthday, I’m still not entirely sure what to share or how much to say or what to keep close.

I don’t want to burden anyone with my grief, because it isn’t all I feel.

I feel enormous love. Enormous gratitude. And the missing, the remembering, the stories — they still point me toward the same wish: that by sharing this, someone else might feel a little less alone today.

So happy birthday, Dana. I miss you. I love you. I want to keep your legacy alive, because you are, and were, and will continue to be a light in this world.

To everyone reading this —

Let yourself feel

Let yourself grieve.

Let yourself celebrate.

Find the joy in the moments and the connections that remind you you’re still alive.

And in the life you have, may you find a way to honor the life, the legacy, the love, and the laughter of the person you lost.

Sending you love.

And sending love, always, to my precious Dana.

If you’re an addict’s mother or father, or you’ve lost someone you love to addiction, you don’t have to carry it alone. Come find us here or just leave a comment below. I read every one.

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Help is available for you now.

If you or someone you know is struggling with addiction get help from Al Anon or AA. You can find a meeting locally or online here.

Get Help Here.

I have written many posts and poems and articles here on Substack.

Please find any that may help.

Posts on ADDICTION

Posts on DANA'S LIGHT

My heart goes out to you, and I’m here to help in any way I can.
You can get a free chapter of my book here,
along with a video of camaraderie and hope..and
share with anyone who could use the extra hugs and love. xoxo

Get Chapter and Video Here

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I want to write, and I don’t want to write. I want to cry. So far, I can’t.

There is just a vague, dull ache in the pit of my stomach that makes me want to confront my grief and avoid it, share it and hide it, get hugged for it and feel guilty for spilling it onto others who may worry about me, think I feel this way all the time, or be tired of hearing the same refrain.

Deep breath.

On the other hand, there is her legacy, her purpose, and my ability to be of service now, for both of us.

I can share our stories, our heartaches, our triumphs, and our joys.

I can refuse to let addiction, or even death, defeat the will to help make the world a better place.

Perhaps something I write will soothe another person’s heart. Perhaps it will create connection, offer solace, or feel like a hug to someone who needs one.

So I open my computer at 5:30 in the morning and allow the words to flow to me and through me. I do not know where I am going. I only know that something inside me needs to come out.

Or perhaps I need to face what I have been running away from: the sadness that she is not here and the loss of family experiences I thought I would have.

Then there is one small tear poised in my right eye, teetering on the edge of falling, yet somehow ready to be reabsorbed once again.

One lone tear in a tsunami, whirlpool, or puddle. One lone tear, and a heart-full more.

Then the tear begins making its way halfway down my right cheek.

I do not want to wipe it away because it feels like proof of life, proof that I am still here as I honor her life and grieve her death.

Maybe allowing this one tear will save me from hours of Facebook reels, packages of gum, or calories of sugar.

Maybe this is what my body needs instead of distraction, numbing, or something sweet enough to cover the ache for a little while.

And perhaps it will only be this one tear. It is still on my cheek, slowly making its way toward my chin. Or maybe it is stuck there.

So I touch it, wipe it away, and type on.

Tomorrow would have been Dana’s forty-sixth birthday. Today is birthday minus one.

I’m still not sure what to share, how much to say, or what to keep close. I worry about repeating myself, burdening people, or making it seem as though grief is all I feel.

But this is where I am this morning. Missing Dana. Loving her. Letting one tear fall, and allowing the words to come.

Maybe I do not have to separate the grief from the legacy. Maybe they are woven together. The missing, the remembering, the stories, the love, the wish to help someone else feel less alone.

The tear is part of it.

And so is typing on.

A Certain Heaviness

An uncertain cause
No need for certainty
to let myself pause.

Holidays and remembrance -
connections frayed.
Purpose feels murky.
Focus splayed.

TV is opiate. Refuge in bed.
Too tired for walking.
Overactive head.

Still grieving mother
no longer a wife.

So many blessings.
Grateful for life.

Still the tears linger
Locked somewhere inside

When will they surface
and no longer hide?

If you're in the Marvelous Messy Middle of your own grief today —
whatever shape it takes — I see you.
You don't have to be fine.

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As it approaches, I find myself wanting to remember her, honor her, and let her memory become a blessing in the world.

I do not want to write only about my grief. The grief is always there, of course, but so is her legacy.

I keep thinking about the night Dana spoke at a parent meeting at her former high school. The subject was addiction.

Her father, my mother, and I were all there. Unfortunately, my phone battery was dead and my camera was out of space. I would give almost anything to have that video now.

Dana had struggled with addiction since she was fourteen. She was also an A student, popular and beloved. She made friends easily and was funny, magnetic, and often the life of the party. She had a core group of loving friends and was an adorable, spirited sister, daughter, and friend.

She thought she would be speaking to a room of perhaps a dozen parents. Four hundred people showed up.

Dana was around thirty years old. She sat at the front of the room beside the school principal, the guidance counselor, and professionals who worked in the field of addiction.

And there she was, bravely taking her place among them.

When it was her turn, she stood at the podium and spoke with honesty, vulnerability, and humility about what addiction had done to her life and her relationships.

She told the parents that addiction can happen to anyone. She explained that she had come from a loving family and had been given support, opportunities, and everything we knew how to give her. And still, she had secretly been using drugs for years.

She spoke about the intervention after college that brought her to Hazelden. She spoke about living in what was supposed to be a sober environment in Minnesota.

And she spoke about the night, a year later, when she drove drunk into a median and suffered injuries that eventually resulted in the loss of three fingers.

Even as I write this now, I remember the phone call, getting on a plane to find her, and the overwhelming gratitude that she was still alive.

At the time, I worried about how she would one day walk down the aisle or raise children with only one full hand. That worry would become obsolete years later.

The accident happened fifteen years before Dana died.

Sometimes I think those additional fifteen years were her gift to us. They were fifteen more years in which she stayed with us as long as she could, while valiantly trying to fight an illness that was often stronger than any of us understood.

That night at the school, she shared her story so other families might recognize the warning signs sooner. She reminded parents to stay aware of their children’s actions and behaviors.

She told them addiction is a family disease that does not discriminate. And she gave them hope that healing was possible.

Her father, her grandmother, and I were so very proud of her. We were proud of her that night, but not only that night.

We were proud of the many moments throughout her life when her heart, her compassion, and her words offered something meaningful to someone else.

Years after Dana died on September 17, 2021, I found a piece of art she had created during one of her many stays in treatment.

On it, she had written about her purpose.

Dana’s Purpose

Her purpose was to help others. Her purpose was to use what she had lived through to bring hope, understanding, and healing.

Dana did not get to complete that purpose in the way any of us had hoped. But perhaps a purpose does not end when a life ends.

Perhaps it can be carried forward by the people who remain.

So in the days leading up to her birthday, I want to honor Dana by continuing what mattered to her.

I want to speak honestly about addiction without shame.

I want families to know they are not alone.

I want parents to understand that love does not always cure an illness and that addiction is not proof that a family failed.

I want people who struggle to be seen as whole human beings, not simply as their illness, their relapses, or their worst moments.

Dana was so much more than what happened to her.

She was a loving daughter, a funny and adorable sister, and a loyal friend. She was the person people wanted beside them because she brought warmth, laughter, and life wherever she went.

She was also brave enough to stand in front of four hundred people and tell the truth.

She was willing to let her pain become a warning, a lesson, and a source of hope for someone else.

That was part of her purpose, and perhaps it still is.

Every time her story helps a parent notice something sooner, her purpose continues.

Every time someone struggling with addiction feels less judged and more understood, her purpose continues.

Every time a family realizes they are not alone, her purpose continues.

And every time we remember Dana for her courage, humor, generosity, and enormous heart, her light grows brighter.

I cannot bring my daughter back.

But I can continue to carry forward the love she gave and the truth she had the courage to speak.

I can keep reminding the world that addiction can happen to anyone.

I can keep offering compassion to the people who struggle and to the families who love them.

And I can help make sure Dana is remembered not only for the illness that took her life, but for the life she lived, the people she loved, the laughter she created, the courage she showed, and the hope she wanted to give.

She was, and is, an angel.

May Dana’s life continue to touch others, may her courage continue to inspire honesty, and may her story continue to offer hope.

May her purpose live on through all of us who loved her.

And may her memory always be a blessing.

Help is available for you now.

If you or someone you know is struggling with addiction get help from Al Anon or AA. You can find a meeting locally or online here.

Get Help Here.

I have written many posts and poems and articles here on Substack.

Please find any that may help.

Posts on ADDICTION

Posts on DANA'S LIGHT

My heart goes out to you, and I’m here to help in any way I can.
You can get a free chapter of my book here,
along with a video of camaraderie and hope..and
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Al Anon saved me.

It helped keep me sane in the midst of my loved ones’ addictions.

It gave me tools to love them while also setting boundaries.

it offered me a haven where I could process my feelings without guilt, shame, or judgment.

It was the place where everyone understood.
It was also the place where I could sit beside the Kleenex and cry.

Yesterday, I attended an online meeting with beloved friends who are facing their child’s addiction.

I hope they can find comfort in the fellowship and wisdom of Al-Anon, but they do not believe in God and do not relate to the idea of a Higher Power.

That left me wondering:

How do you participate in a program that speaks so often about turning your life over to a Higher Power when those words do not resonate with you?

I have always felt blessed by my belief in God.

I have turned to God countless times when the life I had planned took an unexpected detour, and I felt frightened or lost.

I have also turned to God when life exceeded my dreams, and I felt overwhelmed with gratitude.

But faith is deeply personal.

What comforts one person may alienate another. So perhaps there is another way to understand the words “Higher Power.”

What about your Higher Self?

In Internal Family Systems therapy, we talk about being “in Self.” When we are connected to Self, we experience more calm, clarity, confidence, creativity, courage, curiosity, compassion, and connection.

We become less reactive and relate to others with less fear, anger, blame, and resentment.

We can set boundaries without angrily disconnecting, and we can ask for what we want and need without trying to manage, rescue, or take care of everyone around us.

We begin to experience more peace and serenity, which is also one of the central promises of Al-Anon.

Perhaps Al-Anon can be understood as a way of practicing more Self-energy in our relationships with people affected by addiction.

Perhaps “Higher Power” can mean the compassionate qualities of our Higher Self—the part of us capable of responding to the cunning, baffling, and powerful disease of addiction with wisdom rather than fear.

Or perhaps Higher Power means choosing to live from something deeper than the frightened ego: our from our spirit, our soul, our neshama—the divine breath or sacred essence within us.

We are more than our fear.
We are more than our thoughts.
We are more than our desperate attempts to control what cannot be controlled.

When our egos try to manage another person’s life, we often find ourselves hitting our heads against a wall of resistance. Even when people ask for our help or advice, they may not be willing or able to accept it.

Over the years, I have learned to imagine three tables: my table, their table, and God’s table.

My work belongs on my table. Their choices, consequences, and healing belong on theirs. Everything beyond my control can be placed on God’s table—or, for someone who does not believe in God, on the table of life, reality, the universe, the recovery process, or simply “not mine to control.”

When I concentrate on caring for what is truly mine, allow others to do what they need to do, and release the rest, I create space for my own life and healing.

Sooner or later, most of our egos collide with the painful truth that life does not always unfold as it was “supposed to.”

The person we love does not recover.
The relationship does not become what we hoped it would be.
The apology does not come.
The phone does not ring.
The future we imagined does not arrive.

We can keep hitting our heads against that metaphorical wall, or we can try to view our lives from a wider, more compassionate perspective.

My spiritual practice of GRAFT has often offered a balm for my ego’s wounds:

Gratitude. Radical Acceptance. Forgiveness. Trust.

When I feel powerless, resentful, frightened, sad, or angry, these practices help soothe my heart.

Gratitude

Through Al-Anon, I learned that I could be grateful for the people I loved even while hating the disease that harmed them.

Underneath their addiction was a beloved soul who did not ask for this affliction.

They still brought love, laughter, tenderness, and joy into my life during the times when they were sober, available, and present.

Gratitude does not deny the pain. It allows love to exist beside it.

Radical Acceptance

Radical acceptance is challenging, but it beats walking around in a constant state of suffering.

It does not mean approving of unacceptable behavior, staying in dangerous situations, abandoning boundaries, or pretending that something does not hurt.

It means acknowledging the reality that is already here.

Fighting reality did not change my loved ones’ addictions. It only added another layer of suffering to an already painful situation.

Acceptance gave me a place to stand.

Forgiveness

Forgiveness became a gift I gave myself.

My loved ones did not ask for the disease of addiction. I did not cause it, I could not control it, and I could not cure it. (One of my favorite Al Anon mantras - that one and “let go and let God.”

But I could choose to believe that all of us were doing the best we could with what we knew, what we carried, and the inner resources available to us at the time.

Forgiveness did not erase the harm. It simply brought me more serenity than struggle.

Trust

Trusting in the face of uncertainty, painful behavior, silence, disappointment, and powerlessness is not easy.

But trust kept me going.

Sometimes it was trust in God. Sometimes it was trust in my Higher Self. Sometimes it was trust that, beneath the symptoms of addiction, my loved ones also had a Higher Self—a wise and loving essence that the disease often obscured but could never completely destroy.

Trust felt better than terror. It still does.

Both of the people I loved who struggled with addiction have since died—one from cancer and one from an overdose. And Al-Anon still helps me.

Sitting in that online meeting with people I love reminded me of everything I learned there.

As the birthday of my beloved daughter approaches, I still find myself letting go and letting God help me hold the loss, sadness, anger, longing, and grief.

Someone else might call that letting go and trusting life, leaning into community, or returning to Self.

The name matters less than the relief it offers.

Whether you believe in God or not, there may still be a place for you in Al-Anon.

Whether the words “Higher Power” comfort you or create distance, you can define them in a way that supports your healing.

You can borrow strength from the group when your own strength feels depleted.
You can learn to distinguish what belongs on your table from what does not.
You can practice gratitude, radical acceptance, forgiveness, and trust.

Most of all, the community and camaraderie can remind you that you are not alone.

And that, to me, is truly divine.

If you would like to find an Al Anon in person or online,
please go to https://al-anon.org/

Al Anon Site

then: Go to MEETINGS
Go to GLOBAL ELECTRONIC MEETINGS for Zoom

Pick the DAY

Pick ZOOM

Keep scrolling until you find a time that works for you.

(You may need to enter your name OR the group password to access the Zoom call.)

If you would like a free chapter of my book,
An Addict’s Mother, Loving Your Child and Yourself,
you can get it below.

Get your free chapter here.

If I can help in any way, please let me know.

Contact me anytime.

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Compassionate Communication:
A Heart-Centered Journey Back to Your Self

Compassionate Communication Course
Stop reacting in ways you don’t recognize. Start speaking from who you really are.

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Tired of snapping, shutting down, or people-pleasing with the people you love most? This course teaches a better way. Normally $297, but free the moment you book a private session with me

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I made this course for people who hear themselves speak to someone they love in a tone they’d never accept aimed at themselves — and don’t recognize who just showed up.

I’ve sat with thousands of people right here, watching them do exactly this to the people they love most, and to themselves.

Here’s what I need you to know: this isn’t a character flaw.

It’s an old, wounded part of you trying to protect you the only way it knows how. You’re not broken, and you’re not doomed to keep reacting this way.

If you’re new to me: I’m an Internal Family Systems therapist, mediator, and attorney with more than three decades in this work — and long before any of that training, I learned this the hard way, in my own marriage and my own divorce.

You’ll learn how to:

• Connect to your best Self instead of your reactive parts

• Let go of limiting beliefs and old judgments

• Unburden pain from the past instead of carrying it forward

• Set boundaries with love instead of walls

Normally $297. Free as my gift when you book a private session with me.

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With love, Linda

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Tonight, after a lovely family party, I went upstairs and tried not to cry.

It had been a beautiful afternoon. There was food, laughter, family, stories, and the warmth of being together. And still, the sadness came.

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For a moment, I felt guilty.

How could I be sad after such a lovely day? Shouldn’t I be grateful? Shouldn’t I be mindful? Shouldn’t I appreciate the people who are here instead of aching for what is missing?

But grief does not always arrive because something is wrong in the present.

Sometimes it arrives because something in the present touches what was absent in the past.

Seeing my cousins with their siblings, children, grandchildren, homes, pools, parties, and years of shared memories awakened the ache of the family life I thought I would have.

I missed what never happened.
I missed the invitations that did not come.
I missed the ordinary afternoons by the pool with my daughter and grandchildren.
I missed my brother and his family.
I missed Dana.

Her birthday is in two weeks, and another family’s struggle with addiction and rehab brought back so much of what my own heart remembers.

Hope. Fear. Waiting. Praying. Trying to save someone you love. Loving them when love is not enough to protect them.

Some losses happen in a single terrible moment.

And some losses happen slowly, through years of distance, silence, disappointment, missed opportunities, and time passing.

Both kinds of loss are real.

Tonight, I am trying not to talk myself out of what I feel. I am trying to let the sadness sit beside the gratitude.

Perhaps healing is not always about choosing a better feeling.

Perhaps it is about making room for all the feelings.

The joy of the party. The love I felt for the people there. The sorrow for what is gone. The longing for what never came. The gratitude for what remains. The hope that life may still surprise me.

I wrote the following words while lying upstairs, unsure whether to cry, go downstairs, distract myself, or pull myself together:

When we don’t get what we thought we’d have
And the sadness peaks within
With the guilt that we’re not mindful
For the chance we could begin

To create a different future
To be grateful for the past
To miss what still is missing
And hold on to what has passed.

To allow the heavy heart to be
Without the need to fix
To make room for all the sorrow
And add it to the mix

Of joyous times before and still
No matter what life brings
I can be sad and grateful
And a dozen other things.

*****

I was supposed to be a matriarch
With family all around.
I was supposed to be a loving spouse
With a partner I had found

Who supported me and uplifted me
As I did the same for him.
Instead of just my making do
With a future that feels dim.

I was supposed to be retired by now
With financial wealth in place.
I was supposed to live more easily
Without the constant race

To do or be or create or not
Just take each day in stride.
This wasn’t quite the dream I dreamt
When last I was a bride.

But now, as crone, the facts are clear.
My “supposed-to-be’s” aren’t real.
But there are many aspects
That I cannot conceal

Of love and deep connection
Of joys that life does bring.
I have so much,
please don’t lose touch.
No one gets everything.

That may be the lesson I need tonight.

I do not have to earn the right to be sad by proving that my pain is worse than someone else’s.

I do not have to deny what hurts to honor what was beautiful.

I do not have to choose between grief and gratitude.

The heart is large enough to hold both.

Maybe yours is, too.

You may be grateful for your life and still ache for the life you did not have.

You may love your family and still feel wounded by them.

You may appreciate what remains and still grieve what is gone.

You may laugh at lunch and cry upstairs an hour later.

None of that makes you ungrateful.

It makes you human.

Tonight, I am not trying to fix the sadness.

I am simply sitting with it, hand on heart, breathing, and whispering to the part of me that misses so much:

I know.
I miss it too.

You do not have to carry this alone.

What are you carrying today? You don’t need to carry it alone.
I’m here to help, so please leave a comment
so I can hold you in my heart….

Leave a comment

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HeartCentered Connections

Therapist. Mediator. Attorney. Author. Spiritual Coach. IFS-Informed Guide.

For more than forty years, I have helped individuals, couples, families, and professionals move through conflict, confusion, grief, divorce, relationship challenges, life transitions, and inner turmoil with more compassion, clarity, courage, and love.

My …

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Help is available now…

If you are struggling in your marriage, you may know how exhausting it is to live in the land of “I don’t know.”

One day you think, “Maybe we can still fix this.”

The next day you think, “I cannot keep living this way.”

By Wednesday, you may be Googling “how to save my marriage,” and by Thursday, you may be Googling “apartments near me.”

By Friday, you may be eating chocolate for dinner and wondering why adult life did not turn out exactly as you had planned.

You may love your partner and still feel lonely.

You may want peace and still find yourself arguing, withdrawing, blaming, defending, or walking on eggshells.

You may be trying very hard to make do with the life you have, while some quiet part of you keeps whispering that you want something different.

And then comes the harder question: How do you know whether to stay, separate, or divorce?

That question can feel terrifying when children, money, family, history, guilt, grief, fear, hope, and everybody’s opinions are all sitting at the table with you.

I understand because I was there, too.

Twenty years into my own marriage to my college sweetheart, I found myself in that painful place.

We separated. We tried counseling. We saw attorneys. We tried mediation. Nothing seemed to help. I still remember sitting in a courtroom next to my soon-to-be-ex-husband — my beloved husband — and thinking, “There has to be a better way.”

That moment changed the course of my life.

I was already an attorney. I became a mediator. Then I became an Internal Family Systems therapist. I began blending law, mediation, therapy, IFS, forgiveness, spirituality, compassion, and self-leadership.

In other words, I took the scenic route through heartbreak and came back with a map.

I created the Compassionate Mediation® Program to offer the help I wish had been available to me.

It is for you if you are

• stuck in limbo and unsure whether to stay or go.

• separated and unsure how to have the next conversation without making everything worse.

• going through divorce who want to protect your heart, your children, your finances, and your dignity.

• past your divorce and still sharing holidays, graduations, weddings, grandchildren, illnesses, and family milestones with someone you once loved.

Because divorce may end a marriage, but it does not always end the relationship.

Especially when children, grandchildren, holidays, seating charts, and potato kugel are involved.

Compassionate Mediation® helps you slow down, listen inside, understand your parts, and make decisions from your highest and best Self instead of from fear, guilt, anger, resentment, or grief.

Sometimes the path leads to rebuilding the relationship.

Sometimes it leads to a more respectful separation.

Sometimes it leads to divorce with respect, kindness, and healing.

But always, it begins with returning to yourself.

This work does not ask you to pretend everything is fine.
It helps you tell the truth with more love.

It does not ask you to abandon your needs.
It helps you express them more clearly.

It does not promise that every relationship can or should be saved.
It helps you listen deeply enough to know what healing is actually asking of you.

You do not have to do this alone. There really is a better way. And I’m here to help.

With love,

Linda 💛

Learn more about the Compassionate Mediation® Program
and how it can help you now.

Learn more and save $700!

For a limited time, as my gift to you for taking action on your own self care,
please add “HEALING” into the coupon code for $700 savings.

I look forward to helping you create the relationship you desire and deserve.
You can get immediate access to create a future in the highest good for all concerned.

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Do you ever wonder “What’s Next?”

After I returned from my wonderful trip to Paris with my granddaughter - which I’ll write more about soon - it took me a few weeks to figure out, “What do I want to do next?

Sometimes we are not stuck because we do not care.
Sometimes we are stuck because we care about too many things at once.

• One part of us wants to move forward, while another part is tired

• One part wants clarity, while another part is afraid of making the wrong decision.

• One part wants to heal the relationship, write the letter, make the call, start the next chapter, or finally deal with what has been waiting patiently — or not so patiently — for our attention.

And then, because we are human, we can start to judge ourselves.

Why am I procrastinating?
Why can’t I just do this?
Why am I so overwhelmed?
Why do I keep circling the same questions?

But what if the problem is not that we are lazy, broken, or hopelessly disorganized?

What if the problem is that we are trying to solve too much at once?

When life feels complicated, we often think we need a big plan.

We want the answer, the roadmap, the breakthrough, the strategy, the guarantee, or the perfectly timed lightning bolt from heaven.

But healing often begins much more quietly. It begins with one compassionate question: What is the next loving step?

Not the next impressive step. Not the next perfect step. Not the step that proves we finally have everything figured out. Just the next loving step.

That might mean having one honest conversation, pausing before reacting, asking for help, or listening to the part of you that is frightened, angry, lonely, confused, or exhausted.

It might mean telling the truth with kindness.

It might mean forgiving yourself for not being further along.

It might mean admitting that something in your life is ready to change.

This is the work I love most: helping people slow down enough to hear themselves again.

For more than forty years, I have helped individuals, couples, families, and professionals navigate conflict, crossroads, grief, uncertainty, relationship struggles, separation, divorce, and major life transitions with more compassion and clarity.

My work brings together therapy, mediation, Internal Family Systems, compassionate communication, spiritual practice, and hard-won life experience.

At the heart of it all is a simple belief: We do not heal by shaming ourselves into change.

We heal by bringing compassion to the parts of us that are trying so hard to protect us.

If you are facing a relationship crossroads, a difficult decision, a family conflict, an ending, a beginning, or an inner tug-of-war, I would be honored to support you.

I offer private sessions, short courses, tools, and Compassionate Mediation® programs to help you communicate with more clarity, courage, compassion, and Self-leadership.

You do not have to know exactly what you need before reaching out. You only have to know that some part of you is ready for a more compassionate way forward.

You can leave a comment and tell me what you are facing,
or simply say, “I think I need a next loving step.”

Leave a comment

That is enough.

With love and compassion,

Linda

If you want to learn more about what I already do and how I can help,
please check out my Compassionate Mediation® Website
for free gifts and resources!

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They begin with negotiation.

One part of me wants to rise, shine, accomplish, create, answer emails, organize my life, and become the fully actualized version of myself before breakfast.

Another part would like to remain horizontal and contemplate the meaning of existence from under the covers.

So today, I am not asking myself to conquer the world.

I am asking a kinder question.

What would be a win?

Ennui

Trying yet failing
To start anew

Wallowing, not following
My chosen to-do

To be or not to be
Filled with ennui

Staving off the feeling
Unsuccessfully

Make a choice
Get out of bed
Let the day begin

Or just stay here
And become clear
On what would be a “win”.

Do you ever wake up and not know the best next step?
What do you do? I’d love to know.
Please share any thoughts, challenges, tools, or inspiration!
xoxoxo

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What was the lesson here?

As I sit in my hotel room in London, staring at a suitcase stuffed with enough supplies to survive a small apocalypse, I am beginning to suspect that my fall may have had something to teach me.

I ruminated about the vest, scarf, and gloves I left in Chicago.

I worried about being cold.

I couldn’t stop projecting a problem that needed to be solved.

When in truth, everything was fine.

When I left my hotel to get dinner on my first night in town, I saw a sweatshirt on sale and went into the store to check it out.

And then I fell - hard - over a step I didn’t see in front of me.

It hurt. My hip, my knee, my back.

I didn’t want to post or share because I had such high hopes for this trip, and they all could have ended in that moment.

I got up and walked 30 minutes to find ice, and I prayed I would heal.

For weeks before this trip, I worried. I researched. I planned. I packed and repacked. I made lists and backup lists. I asked ChatGPT enough questions to qualify for an honorary degree in international tourism. What if I forgot something? What if I needed something? What if something went wrong?

Looking back, I realize I was spending an enormous amount of energy trying to solve problems that didn’t actually exist.

Then I fell.

Literally.

And while I don’t recommend learning life lessons that way, it certainly got my attention.

This morning I got up early to meet Maisie at her hotel.

The moment I saw her, so much of the stress and anticipation of the past few weeks melted away. Suddenly, all the planning became real. There she was—my beautiful granddaughter, my travel companion, and the whole reason for this adventure.

We spent the day together, and it was wonderful. Not because everything went perfectly, but because we were together.

We had lunch, came back to rest for a while, and then headed out for Tea on the Thames.

There is something magical about seeing London from the water. The city seems softer somehow. As we floated along the river, watching the landmarks glide by, I found myself relaxing into the moment.

For a little while, I stopped worrying about my knee, my itinerary, and all the things that usually occupy space in my mind.

I was simply present, enjoying London and enjoying Maisie.

After the cruise, we rested for a bit before heading out to see Mamma Mia! I have seen the show several times over the years, but this was the best performance I can remember.

Maybe it was the cast. Maybe it was London. Maybe it was because every song carries memories of different seasons of my life. Or maybe it was simply the joy of watching Maisie experience it beside me. Whatever the reason, I loved every minute.

Later we walked to Sushi Samba and shared shrimp and California rolls.

By then I was tired, but it was the satisfying kind of tired that comes after a day well lived.

As I looked across the table at Maisie, I felt grateful for far more than the trip itself.

I felt grateful that my body had healed enough to get me here.

Grateful that I had the opportunity to make these memories.

Grateful for another day, another adventure, and another chance to spend time with someone I love.

Back in my room tonight, I found myself laughing at the contents of my suitcase. My clothes fit beautifully and take up very little room. The problem is everything else. The underwear. The candy. The snacks. The supplements. The chargers. The creams. The emergency supplies for every imaginable catastrophe.

Apparently, one of my parts believed I was preparing for a six-month expedition instead of a week in Europe.

As I looked at all that stuff, I realized I often do the same thing emotionally.

I carry things I don’t need. I prepare for disasters that never arrive.

I spend precious energy trying to solve problems before they exist.

I rush around holding up bridges that were never in danger of falling down in the first place.

London Bridge is not falling down.

Most of the things I worry about aren’t falling down either.

Yet how often do I live as though they are?

Earlier today, I found myself standing in a restaurant bathroom recording a video and saying a little prayer for my knee.

It felt both silly and sincere. I was asking my body to cooperate and continue healing so I can enjoy Paris, the museums, Montmartre, Versailles, and all the adventures that await us.

The truth is that I am still a little scared. My hip seems fine. My back is sore but manageable. The knee is the thing I’m watching most closely.

But perhaps the lesson isn’t really about the knee.

Perhaps the lesson is about trust.

Trusting that I don’t have to carry everything.

Trusting that I don’t have to solve every problem before it appears.

Trusting that life has a way of meeting me where I am.

Trusting that if a challenge comes, I will deal with it then instead of living through it ten times in my imagination beforehand.

Tomorrow we leave for Paris.

Part of me is excited beyond words, and part of me is wondering whether my knee got the memo.

But tonight I am trying to listen to a quieter voice.

The voice that reminds me this trip is not about checking attractions off a list. It is about being with Maisie. It is about conversations, laughter, shared meals, and moments that neither of us will ever forget.

So tonight my prayer is simple.

Thank You, Dear God, for this day.
Thank You that my hip is okay, my back is manageable, and my knee seems to be hanging in there.
Thank You for Tea on the Thames, for Mamma Mia!, for Sushi Samba, and for all the little moments that made today special.

Most of all, thank You for Maisie and for the gift of being here together.

God willing, the knee will continue to heal.

That’s my plan.

And that’s my prayer.

With love from London,

Linda ❤️

What can you stop worrying about right now?
Please give yourself a break!

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After weeks of planning, researching, packing, repacking, making reservations, checking confirmations, and asking ChatGPT approximately 4,372 travel questions, I finally arrived in London.

Can all my Parts settle down - and settle in?

The funny thing is that after all that preparation, the first thing I noticed wasn’t London. It wasn’t the history, the architecture, or the excitement of finally being here.

It was: I forgot my scarf, vest, and earmuffs. (It’s freezing here!)

Of all the things to focus on, my mind chose that.

(A quick side question: How come the things we take out last from our luggage often become the ones we miss first?)

I had crossed an ocean, made it through customs, found my luggage, and arrived safely at my hotel. Tomorrow I will see my granddaughter, Maisie.

Yet one of my worried parts was convinced that the most important issue in my life was whether I would be cold.

Sometimes our protective parts are adorable. Sometimes they’re exhausting. Usually they’re both.

As I sat waiting for my room, I realized that for weeks my life had revolved around this trip. Packing, researching, checking weather reports, making restaurant reservations, changing restaurant reservations - and then asking ChatGPT if I should change them again - had become a part-time job.

At some point, preparing for the trip became the trip.

Can you relate?

How often do we spend so much time preparing for something that we forget to enjoy it when it finally arrives?

We worry about tomorrow while standing in the middle of what we hoped and prayed for yesterday.

I know I do.

For weeks, I have been excited about this adventure with Maisie. We are both celebrating recent birthdays. The thought of spending time together in London and Paris has filled me with anticipation, gratitude, excitement, and, if I’m honest, a little anxiety too.

Perhaps anticipation is always a mixture of excitement and fear.

A Part is thrilled about what is coming. Another part wants to make sure nothing goes wrong. One part is dreaming about crepes in Paris and seeing the Eiffel Tower sparkle at night. Another part is wondering if we packed enough socks.

As a therapist, I know these parts well.

As a grandmother sitting in a London hotel lobby after an overnight flight, I know them even better.

The truth is that none of my worries needs to be solved today.

I don’t need to know exactly how tomorrow will unfold. I don’t need to know whether I will sleep perfectly tonight or whether I should buy another scarf.

I simply needed to arrive.

To breathe.

To rest.

To trust.

That may be one of the hardest things for many of us.

We are so busy preparing for life that we forget to live it. We are so busy solving tomorrow’s problems that we miss today’s blessings.

And today is a blessing.

I am in London.

Tomorrow I get my granddaughter.

In a few days, we’ll be wandering through Paris together, making memories that I hope will last both of us a lifetime.

So tonight, I am saying a quiet thank you to all my Parts.

Thank you for helping me prepare. Thank you for checking the reservations, reminding me about my passport, and making sure I packed enough medication for a small country.

We made it.

You can rest now.

The planning is over.

The adventure has begun.

Tonight, there is a cup of tea, a warm room, and gratitude in my heart.
Tomorrow there will be Maisie.
And that is more than enough.

That is everything!!

With love from London,

Linda ❤️

P.S. If you’d like to join Maisie and me on our adventure, subscribe to my Substack.
I’ll be sharing stories, photos, reflections, and hopefully
a few LIVE moments from London and Paris.
I’d love to take you along with us.

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And thank you for reading this far. I love having you as a part of this journey.
Please let me know what your Parts are doing for you, too! xoxo

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Anticipation

I’ve been thinking about anticipation lately.

Not just the excitement of looking forward to something wonderful, but the way anticipation colors so much of our lives.

Sometimes it arrives as joy, hope, and eager expectation. We count the days until a vacation, a wedding, a reunion, a new baby, or a long-awaited dream.

Other times, anticipation feels very different.

It shows up as a knot in our stomach, a vague uneasiness, a feeling that something is coming. We may not know exactly what it is, but we sense it. Call it intuition, a hunch, a presentiment, or simply a feeling in our bones. Most of us have experienced moments when we knew something before we knew it.

As I prepare for Paris with my granddaughter, I find myself living in anticipation.

Part of me is excited beyond words.
Part of me is already missing the trip before it has even begun.
Part of me is worrying about things that may never happen,

while
another part is savoring every delicious moment of looking forward.

Perhaps anticipation is one of life’s greatest teachers.

It reminds us that we are always standing between what has been and what is yet to come.

It asks us to trust the journey, embrace the uncertainty, and enjoy the sweetness of expectation without rushing ahead to the ending.

After all, some of life’s greatest joys don’t happen when we arrive.

They happen while we’re looking forward.

The Trip Before the Trip

I woke up at 2:50 this morning.

Not because I was worried about anything in particular. Not because I was sick. Not because of some emergency.

I woke up because my mind has apparently decided that if I’m going to Paris next week, I should begin the journey immediately.

The funny thing is that I’ve spent weeks planning this trip.

The flights are booked. The hotels are booked. The train is booked. The reservations are made. I’ve researched restaurants, museums, transportation, tipping customs, phone plans, weather forecasts, and whether I can bring a folding stool into Versailles.

At this point, ChatGPT knows more about my trip than some of my family members.

Yet somehow, instead of feeling finished, I feel like I should be doing more.

My clothes are spread out all over the house. Toiletries have taken over the bathroom counter.

Every day I think I’ve packed everything I need, and every day I remember five more things. Yesterday it was compression socks. Today it’s adapters and chargers. Tomorrow it will probably be something equally essential that I have somehow survived seventy-nine years without.

Meanwhile, real life refuses to take a vacation just because I’m going to Paris.

Blue Cross still owes me money. The papers need attention. The bills keep arriving. My home is covered with little piles of things that all seem important, and every one of them would like my immediate attention.

The irony is that none of this is bad news.

In fact, the biggest thing on my mind is something wonderful.

Maisie just turned sixteen. I just turned seventy-nine. In a few days, I’ll meet her in London, and then we’ll take the train to Paris together. Even writing those words makes me smile.

As I lay awake this morning, I realized that part of me doesn’t want the anticipation to end.

There is something magical about looking forward to something.

The planning, the imagining, the dreaming, and the wondering are all part of the experience. Right now, Paris still exists mostly in my imagination. I can picture us walking through the streets, sitting in cafés, looking up at the Eiffel Tower, and laughing about things neither of us can predict.

Soon it will all be real.

And then, before I know it, it will be a memory.

Maybe that’s why I keep checking my lists. Maybe that’s why I keep researching one more restaurant and asking one more question. Some part of me is trying to hold on to this sweet season before the trip begins.

At seventy-nine, I am increasingly aware that life is made up of seasons.

There were years when I was raising children, years when I was building a career, years when I was caregiving, years when I was grieving, and years when I was simply trying to get through cancer treatments and difficult times.

This season feels different.

This season feels like a gift.

I think about Pete. I think about Dana. I think about the many people I have loved who didn’t get another birthday, another trip, or another chance to create a memory with someone they love.

And then my racing mind softens a little.

Because beneath all the planning, all the lists, all the expense, and all the logistics is something much simpler.

Gratitude.

Gratitude that I am healthy enough to go.

Gratitude that Maisie wants to spend this time with me.

Gratitude that there are still adventures ahead.

Gratitude that at seventy-nine years old, I can still get so excited about life that I wake up at 2:50 in the morning thinking about Paris.

There is beauty in looking forward.

Not every sleepless night is a problem to solve. Sometimes it is simply gratitude trying to get our attention.

The truth is that not everyone gets another trip, another birthday, or another chance to make a memory with someone they love.

I do, thank God.

And maybe that’s what was keeping me awake.

I’d love to hear from you. What are you anticipating these days?
What trip, celebration, milestone, or dream
is bringing a little excitement into your life right now?

Please tell us in the comments.
Joy shared is joy multiplied.

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