As I lifted one foot in front of the other, I was deep in thought about how much of my identity has become wrapped up in waiting for perfect circumstances. Next thing I knew, a bike went whizzing by and scared me. My thinking was so loud that I didn’t hear him when he yelled, “on the left.”

Honestly, that happened quite a few times last night. I normally hear bikers from quite a distance away and move over to the right before they even have a chance to declare their presence. Not last night - I fell deeper and deeper into thought as I added steps to the pedometer on my phone.

I reflected on the habit of putting life on hold until something happens in the future. I’ll do it when the book gets written. I’ll make time once work calms down. Once the check comes, things will be easier. When I finally feel better, I’ll have a social life. When Grandma passes, I’ll meet new people.

Since turning fifty-five exactly one month ago, I decided that waiting for my life is no longer an option. Grandma passed three months ago. She was an excellent companion. We spent so much time talking about the amazing life she had lived. Without her, I realized that my life had been on pause for a variety of reasons. Like so often in my life, I had a choice to make. How long was I going to waste this life waiting for the ideal conditions?

So, I stopped.

I stopped telling myself that life would begin after the next milestone, the next paycheck, the next season of better health, or the next goodbye.

Instead, I started saying yes – to new friendships, to spending time with family, to opportunities that scared me, to caring for my health in a new and dynamic way, and to work that feels truly meaningful too.

Over the past month I’ve shifted how I show up in the world. Rather than being defined by what I do, I am showing more of who I am. There is so much more to me than what I do professionally. I have spent so much time listening to the lives of others that I have denied myself the opportunity to experience my own. Letting a little more of my personality show feels less like performing and more like allowing myself to be honestly seen.

None of these choices were extraordinary by themselves. Together, they simply marked the moment I stopped postponing my own life. They remind me that life isn’t something waiting for me in the future. It’s asking for my attention today.

As I walked last night, I realized my thinking had been so loud that I almost missed what was happening around me.

Maybe that’s what waiting does.

It convinces us that life will begin someday while quietly passing us by today.

This time, I heard something louder than the bells or warnings. I heard the quiet certainty that my life isn’t waiting for permission anymore.

Neither am I.

What part of your life have you been postponing until the “right time?”

What story have you been telling yourself about why it has to wait?

What small “yes” could you take this week instead of waiting for someday?

There was a sentence in the eulogy for my uncle that made me smile and wonder simultaneously. “There is no crying in baseball.” Now, for those of you that think it is just a line from A League of Their Own, this line goes back further than that. That movie was made in 1992, and my dad was already dead eleven years when it came out. This is a line that both my uncle and my dad – thick-as-thieves-brothers -- were known for.

The sentence caught my attention because I’ve been facilitating conversations recently about emotional strength and the messages many of us received growing up about expressing emotion. Earlier that week we’d been discussing the pressure society places on people, especially around crying, and suddenly I was hearing the exact phrase I’d heard as a child.

When I was seven years old, I was a hard-core book worm. All I wanted to do was read. My dad, wanting me to be more well-rounded than that, insisted that I play a sport. I could choose softball or soccer. I precociously replied, “I choose neither.” After reminding me that wasn’t one of my choices, he chose softball for me because he and my uncle played in a softball league and knew much less about soccer.

I was no bigger than the bat and screamed and sobbed when he dropped me off in the middle of the field for the first practice. He left me there and I eventually figured it out. I learned to like it, but being up at bat was tough. My strike zone was miniscule, and I won an award that year for most base-on-balls. During the last game of the season though, I really wanted to hit the ball at least once. I went up to bat … swung … and hit the ball!

It dribbled to the pitcher, and she easily threw me out. From home plate to first base, tears streamed down my face. My dad yanked me over to the sideline and yelled at me about not crying and being a poor sport. When he took a breath, I looked up at him with my big, blue, tear-stained eyes and said, “But Dad I am just so happy that I hit the ball.”

He reminded me that it didn’t matter why I was crying, there were no tears in baseball.

A few years later, my dad passed away. On the morning of his funeral my mom, a thirty-four-year-old widow and mother of three kids under age ten, said something that further solidified that crying in public was not acceptable. I had been tearing up before we were leaving for his funeral and she looked at me and reiterated that there was a time and place for tears but today was not one of them. So, in the span of a few years, before the age of eleven, I had been conditioned that regardless of whether they were happy tears or sad tears, they had no place being displayed publicly.

I’ve spent a lot of time lately wondering which beliefs I accepted as truth simply because they were repeated often enough.

“There is no crying in baseball” may have been about sportsmanship. But somewhere along the way, I translated it into something much bigger:

Don’t let people see your emotions.

It makes me wonder...

What phrases did you grow up hearing that quietly shaped how you see yourself or express your emotions today?

I’d love to hear your story.

This week, pay attention to one phrase from your childhood that still influences how you think, feel, or respond today.

Ask yourself:
Is this a truth I still want to carry—or simply a story I’ve never questioned?

I have known her for almost twenty years but didn’t spend much time with her except at family parties over the years. We lived in completely different states until I moved to Cleveland in November 2020. In 2021, I went to lunch with her at the Bistro in the Independent Living Facility that she had moved into at 101 years old. She is the oldest and the most fascinating person I have ever met. When she needed a ride to the Wound Care Clinic every week, I happily volunteered. What started out as filling a need she had, became a deep and loving friendship that felt much more like family.

For the next couple of years, I would go once or twice a week to visit. We would spend time sharing stories, going to doctor’s appointments, gossiping about the other residents, and going to lunch with her fitness center friends once a month. Her age didn’t stop her from having a full social calendar as she had visitors each week. She was sharp as a tack and a force to be reckoned with. She was a light for everyone that knew her.

About two years ago, she began to need more help. I would go much more frequently. Three or four times a week was steady for the next year. About a year ago though, I began to go daily, only missing when I had work events at the same time that I would typically visit. I spent more time with her than anyone else in Cleveland. I cared for her. I became a caregiver without realizing that is what I had become. She was in pain most of the time. Her 105-year-old body parts ached and caused immense discomfort. It broke my heart to see her in pain.

She was my biggest cheerleader. She was such a champion of The Zebra Ink magazine. When I ended up getting another part-time job at Hunter Wellness Center, she was so supportive. When events for the Center prevented me for visiting on some days, she understood with grace. There were so many moments when I didn’t know in the last year how I was going to fit in two part-time jobs, running a business, writing two books, and taking care of her. There were only so many hours in the week after all.

Grandma Tess understood but she also needed care. I wasn’t about to let her down. The last three or four months were tough. Her health declined and my schedule got crazier than I could manage some days. I also was carefully navigating my own chronic illness. To say I was in survival mode was understatement. Every day was a new challenge.

Knowing she would not live much longer, I used to think that when she passed, I would feel relief. She would be out of pain, and I would selfishly gain back fifteen hours a week that I desperately needed. I prayed for her relief and to be free of pain. Watching her decline was agonizing. When she was finally put in hospice care, there was a little relief because helping her manage her pain had become too much. I was beside myself.

The last three days of her life, I sat bedside for most of it. I honestly can’t bring myself to put the experience into words because it cuts too close. It was one of the hardest things I have ever done, and I am no stranger to sitting vigil with dying people in hospice care. Sixty-four days ago, I lost the person I spent the most time with since moving to Cleveland. My world has turned upside down. All the relief that I thought I would feel has yet to be felt.

All I truly feel is lost. It wasn’t until she passed that I realized how much of my life was consumed with her. I worried about her when I didn’t hear from her each morning. I planned my work schedule and my day around when I was going to see her and if I needed to stop at the store for her. Every time I shopped, I would look for things that might bring her comfort or joy. I didn’t go on vacations for the last two years. Transparently, there were days that I resented doing some of those things because I was so damn tired all the time. Near the end I was working sixty-hour weeks before adding visits to Grandma into my schedule. Is it any wonder I have been so sick?

I recognize that a lot of my identity was wrapped up in her. I am not judging it, but my relationship with her is how I defined this portion of my life since moving to Cleveland. She died six hours after her 106th birthday ended. Logically, I knew she couldn’t live forever, but my heart just wasn’t ready for her to go. I feel the most unanchored I have ever felt. She was the stabilizing force that held me in place. Without her I feel like I am blowing in the wind.

It will come as no surprise that I got violently ill the day she passed. Once I got back to my condo after watching her be taken away by the funeral home, I vomited and felt dizzy and disoriented the entire day. I gradually felt better until about two weeks later. I was violently ill again and could not hold down water for four days. I ended up in the ER twice for fluids and electrolytes, and the day after woke up with iritis. Within five days I was diagnosed with gastritis, esophagitis and iritis. I was miserable. I lost seven pounds in less than a week and have yet to put it back on.

I am still recovering. It is about seven weeks later, and I’m trying to take in more food. Eating several small meals a day of a few ounces each is about all I can do, but it’s more than I did. My eye has calmed down, and I can finally read and drive without getting sick. The dilation drops that I had to put in my eye three times a day for three weeks really did a number on my ability to focus. That’s part of the reason I haven’t written in so long and haven’t held any of the Self-Publishing Roadmap calls. I physically could not rise to the occasion.

The forced sabbatical from The Zebra Ink gave me some time to think and helped me focus on what I am physically capable of doing moving forward. I will share more about that soon, but it resulted in another upheaval of identity that I have wrestled with for quite a while. I feel more grounded in that decision than I have for the last three years that it has been on my heart. Losing Tess has opened the time to choose how to move forward instead of not having the time, space or energy to think about changing anything. For that I am so incredibly grateful.

That was the last sixty-four days of my life in a nutshell. It has been a wild ride for sure. I feel like grief has become a constant companion that I never wanted. I miss Grandma Tess. I miss my health. I even miss food. Some of it I will regain with time, but some of my grief will be a permanent fixture in my life. I wouldn’t trade my time with her for anything. I wish I had more time with her. I will be eternally grateful for having her in my life as long as I did.

It is St. Patrick’s Day, typically my favorite day of the year. I love to celebrate this day and usually have family over for corned beef and cabbage but this year everything is different and I am not hosting dinner today or any other day this week. There is so much happening, and I am treading water as it is.

Tonight we should be h…

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While the point of this post is not debating the benefits or drawbacks of working from home, it gives some insight as to my reference point with external interaction. I can dim the lights on a zoom call while wearing pajama bottoms, a decent shirt and a little lipstick. I talk myself into believing that they can’t see my wrinkles and gray hair on camera and believe that what they think of my aging process is none of my concern.

Working out in the public and in an office where the next oldest person is fifteen years my junior, I feel every bit of my age and obviously look it. When the staff mentions caring about older people, they look down when they realize I am in the room. Not that they aren’t saying anything disrespectful, but what my concerns are at 54 are very different than theirs at 20-something. I can’t tell you how many times I get asked if I am one of our newer doctor’s mother. The first time it happened, I was so offended until I realized I could actually be their mother. Let’s just say that every time I am at work, I am reminded of my age. Not because I feel it necessarily, but because I look it. In my mind I am still 25 and have the energy to do anything I want. The reality that I am in the older generation cannot be ignored.

The other day, I went from work at the Chiropractor’s office straight to the Retirement Home where Grandma Tess lives. Keep in mind that I visit there 3-5 times a week and have gotten to know many of the residents by name. One lady in particular calls me, “Cute little girl,” every time she sees me. It makes me giggle each time she says it. Yes, when the median age of the people you spend time with is mid-eighties, I absolutely am a cute little girl to them. Maybe that is one of the reasons why I like spending so much time there - I feel young. Ha! Even Grandma Tess says all of the time that I do things so much faster and have so much more energy than she does at 105 years old. I can’t help but laugh because I don’t feel that way at all. To the residents there, they wish they could move like I do, even when I feel like I am dragging. On the other hand, the staff at the doctor’s office is very aware that I am not nearly as energetic or have as much stamina as they do. It is a funny headspace to live in at the moment and the way I feel about it changes depending on the environment I am in.

I have moved a million times in my life, and living in the same condo in Cleveland for the last five years has been the longest I have ever lived in the same dwelling in my adult life. I have lived in certain areas for longer, but not in the same house. Of course, I have had the itch to move for about two years now, but I remain in the same home. One of the reasons I want to move so badly these days is because I am really over the noise of the highway under my windows. It is loud and the pollution from the road makes sitting out on the balcony annoying and triggers health problems. I was talking to a gentleman the other day who lives in a different part of the building overlooking the pool as opposed to the interstate. He was sharing that he loves how quiet it is here and that he can open his windows to hear the crickets from the valley at night and enjoys the stillness. I wish! It seems hard for me to believe that both could be true of the same building. Two different perspectives because of two different locations.

I’m noticing that whenever I change my environment, my perspective shifts. Do you ever feel like cleaning, purging or decluttering when you feel stuck? Changing your environment can make a difference in how you feel physically and emotionally. I notice that I do that in my work life too - really it applies to any area of your life. Would love to read in the comments an example of how changing your environment to change your perspective applies in your life.

Despite that, there is a view outside each time I climb or descend the stairs. With every turn, I see the same view. But do I? As I was climbing yesterday, I thought about something that a therapist from the past told me when I felt like I shouldn’t be trying to heal the same thing again. She told me to imagine a spiral staircase. Whenever you make a turn to see the same view, you see something different because you are at a different level. You notice something that wasn’t noticeable on the level prior. You appreciate something different with each turn that adds to the collective view.

She likened healing the same way. You may be healing from what feels like the same wounds, but at each level you get a new appreciation and knowledge about the whole situation. Just like climbing a spiral staircase isn’t in vain, neither is revisiting an old wound to promote healing. That truth allowed me to not second guess myself or stand in the way of the healing journey.

That was the thought I had as I was climbing the stairs yesterday. I see something different with each floor, but it seems like the same thing if I don’t pay attention. I immediately jumped to what that equates to in my own life. What am I having an opportunity to heal in my life that I get to see from a different angle, especially given that is the beginning of a new year?

One thing that stands out is my nervous system. I recognize that I rarely feel safe. It used to be a badge of honor - how many risky decisions can I make? How can I break the status quo and comfort zones today? That sounds all well and good and perfect for an entrepreneur with big plans and dreams. It isn’t good for my nervous system though. It keeps me in a perpetual state of fight or flight and my body is worn out. When not feeling safe becomes the norm, I find yourself in a world of hurt.

Just like the staircase, I notice for a little while and it gets better until I somehow fall back into the pattern of not seeing the details. This year as I turn the corner, that must change. I cannot repeat the previous year. My health and well-being depend on it. My ability to interact with others depends on it. My plans and dreams won’t be achieved without it. So, as I climb the next flight, my safety is paramount. Anything that doesn’t feel safe to me, I will decline engagement whatever the area of my life - business, health, relationships, and more.

Does that mean that I am going to sit in my house and not engage with anyone? Quite the opposite. It feels so far like everything I do will have a litmus test attached to measure how safe it makes me feel. If the risk pushes me too far, it is okay to say no. For example, I spent four and a half years isolating myself from the outside world socially when I moved to Cleveland. During the last half of 2025, I found a job that puts me in the thick of community. I attend events, speak in front of people, make cold calls, make warm calls, and has introduced me to the amazing people of Cleveland. All of that felt super uncomfortable and I nearly quit more times than I could count because I resisted doing all of those things. Once I embraced it, I remembered how much I love being in the energy of people. I love that job and that spills over into my social life too. Being in the room with others feels much safer than being alone where I can spin hurtful, untrue stories that have damaged me to my core.

Engagement at one time felt so unsafe, but now it feels as natural as breathing. So, I will lean into in-person activities for all three of the businesses I work for, including my own. I have had a virtual business for fourteen years next month. It has been wonderful, but focusing on a local community again feels really good. That doesn’t mean I am giving up my virtual business, but it does mean that it will change. I have been asked for years to have in-person retreats. This may finally be the year to make that happen. That was something that once felt incredibly risky, but not this year. Now it feels like I can do it. With another turn around the staircase, I see it differently and have healed (for now) the parts that made that impossible before.

Funny how something so mundane as a staircase can create such profound thoughts. Have you ever had that kind of experience? Have new realizations popped up about the same topic? I would love it if you would share in the comments. The collective growth spurt is important to foster which happens quicker when we share.

After wiping the sleep from my eyes, I picked up my phone and saw an email from Viki. Congratulations! You have made the #1 International Best Sellers List! Welcome to the Best-seller Family!

How could that be? How many copies could I have sold in such a short amount of time? Thousands to be considered a best-seller, right? How could it be less than that? Of course I was excited about thousands of people purchasing the book, but the truly exciting part for me, is that meant thousands would be reading it. That was where my heart was - getting these ideas into the hands of as many women who might be struggling with confidence as possible.

Giddy with joy, I woke up everyone in the house to share my good news. I was not met with the same enthusiasm as I was giving and that wasn’t surprising honestly. Disappointing, sure, but no one else could really understand how much it meant to me to have other people have access to my coaching in the form of a book. That dampened my spirit for a moment, but I didn’t let it undermine the accomplishment of the day.

When I pressed Viki for numbers, she said that we would have a meeting where they would turn over my Amazon account and show me the backend stats at the end of the week. The only thing that she hinted about in the email was that she was pleasantly shocked at the amount of people that purchased the book on Cyber Monday. We had gone back and forth about when to release the book. I was set on Cyber Monday because people would be online already and would be more apt to buy it. She insisted that no one launched a book on a Monday successfully. In the end, I released her from responsibility if it flopped because it was on a Monday, and I truly felt like it was the right move. Turns out I was right.

It was a magical week waiting for my highly anticipated meeting with Viki. I walked around everywhere with the statement in my head on repeat, “You are a #1 International Best-selling Author.” Bringing an instant smile with each iteration, I looked at everyone differently, wondering if they were one of the ones who purchased my book. Honestly, I wanted to tell everyone I knew, and exercised an immense amount of restraint by not blurting out the accomplishment I had achieved.

Every moment of that week became ridiculous as soon as we opened the backend of my account to see the statistics. Of course, I am expecting that thousands of people purchased the book. Imagine my surprise when on the night of launch, I saw that three people purchased the book. I think two in the UK and one in Canada. Wait. What? How can that be? How does three books make an #1 International best-seller. I saw the screen shots that Viki had sent over, but it wasn’t adding up in my brain.

I finally asked how this could happen, she explained that all it takes for someone to claim that status is for more people to buy than anyone else buys in a certain moment and to capture it with a screen shot. They had a group of people located around the world that they have purchase and review books in the middle of the night when far fewer people are buying online. So, I could absolutely get that title with only three books sold.

My cheeks burned red with embarrassment and anger. Feeling like the biggest fraud for internally bragging all week long because of three books sold? Are you kidding me? It didn’t matter that there were about 1000 sales over the whole week. I felt like such a fool. The humiliation was humbling to say the least and changed my brain chemistry for sure.

The longer it went on, the more of a fraud I felt. I took down all of the accolades from any social media and my website. Sharing the book became an exercise in overcoming shame for believing that thousands of people could want the book. It took everything in me to promote and share it. There were moments when it felt right but it took a long time before I wanted anyone to see it or even know that I wrote it. If I am being completely honest, my cheeks still twinge pink twelve years later as I am typing this story.

The saddest part of all of it is that I love the material in it. I think it is helpful in so many ways. Would I write it differently now? Of course I would. I’m wiser and a much better writer. Twelve years can help grow deep knowledge and relatability with an audience. I often wonder if I should put out a new edition; one that reflects the person I am today. The jury is still out on that, and I will keep you posted.

Even though it continues to be a shameful experience for me, I am so grateful I encountered it. It led to me opening my own small label hoping to prevent other indie authors from having a negative experience like I did. Even though the label is closed to new books, and I transitioned into a membership for indie authors, sharing what I have learned, I will forever be grateful for the path that started with a simple phone call asking if someone would be interested in publishing a book for Christmas. It was September 17, 2013, when I made that call and I hadn’t written a word yet. I wanted to launch on December 2, 2013, and we made it happen. Books written in sixty days are rarely impactful, but I needed to learn that the hard way. That is really the only thing that qualified me as a publisher. I learned the mistakes firsthand so the people who trusted me didn’t have to.

As I sit and marvel at the past twelve years, my gratitude is stronger than my embarrassment. I have learned so much and have had the opportunity to meet so many beautiful people as a result of that little book. Cheers to having the courage to try and the perseverance to learn and grow!

Back on the road ten minutes later, annoyed and lamenting over my memory lapse, I was gifted with the most beautiful colors as the sun peeked over the horizon. Had I not forgotten the easel, I would have missed it. That moment, instead of cursing words of shame and guilt, gratitude tumbled from my lips.

A few hours later, I encountered a man who might have changed me forever. During this event, we were serving the men of Cleveland in all ways of their health and wellness. One of the local hospitals was hosting and nearly 1000 men came to get information and screenings for their physical, mental, emotional and spiritual health. They also included financial counseling, social work, food insecurity, and more.

We had been providing spinal screenings all day. About six hours into the event, a man walked up to me, and I thought he was interested in having a spinal screening. I went into my typical “speech” and he stopped me. He said, “Ma’am, that is not why I am here. Are you the lady I need to see who will help me find someplace to live? I don’t have anywhere to sleep.”

It felt like I was hit by lightning. In those few seconds before I could summon the words to answer him, I looked at him. I mean really looked at him. I could see the brokenness in his eyes. Knowing how hard it must have been to come and ask for help, I gently replied, “No. I am not but let’s go find who is.”

In that moment, my heart broke wide open. Not only with empathy for this gentleman, but also gratitude. I complain about my circumstances - too much to do, and too little time or money. Are you kidding me right now? Talk about a privilege check! I have never had to worry about where I am going to sleep. I have never had to make the decision to sleep on the street because I had nowhere else to go.

Being so completely humbled by his ask, I took him by the arm and led this man to find the assistance he needed. I could feel the silent, full body sigh as we approached the table. The relief in his eyes was haunting. This encounter changed me in the mere five minutes it lasted.

Not only was it an excellent opportunity to check my gratitude, but it highlighted all of the blessings that I have encountered. Have I been broke? Absolutely, but I am employable and worth hiring, so it rarely lasts for long. I also have family that has been more than generous with housing, financial assistance and support whenever I ask. These are just a few examples of the reason gratitude is coursing through my veins even weeks after the encounter took place.

When I was driving home that day I was again struck by the gratitude of perfect timing. Whether the earlier events were orchestrated by God, Source, the universe, the law of physics, or whatever you believe, they happened in perfect timing. It kind of reminds me of an article I used to have my students read every year on 9/11 about how many people were saved from being in the tower as it collapsed because they had a cold or a flat tire. Regrettable circumstances on most days, but on that day, it saved their life. The day of that men’s event truly woke me up to seeing the possibility in each encounter - even the negative ones at face value. If I choose to stop and take it all in, I can wrap each and every outcome in gratitude.

It is Thanksgiving time and there are millions of people sharing all of the things they are grateful for. These moments I shared above changed me beyond it being a holiday for appreciation. I have had a gratitude practice for a long time, but it hits differently now. If you would consider sharing in the comments, a moment that stirred your gratitude too, I would even more grateful. Collective gratitude is powerful, and I am thinking that maybe this is the year to resurrect the gratitude tree.

Years ago, I had a Gratitude Tree. Instead of putting ornaments on my Christmas tree, I asked my friends, family, clients and social media to share one thing they were grateful for; then, I wrote put each one on a paper dove ornament, placing nearly 100 doves on the tree. I prayed over them each day and the gratitude flowed freely. That month or so that the tree was up, was so powerful. Recognizing all of that abundance certainly altered my brain chemistry a bit - just like those moments at the men’s conference. Yes, let’s do it again!

May you be especially blessed today and always. I am so very grateful for your presence in my life. You matter and make my world a better place.

Thank you for being a blessing to me -

Sheila

I thought about just throwing the mask away. Who wears masks anymore? Surely, I wouldn’t need it, but something told me to wash it and keep it. I could tuck it away with the bag of mittens, hats and gloves that I rarely wear. You never know right?

About a week later, I was strolling through the grocery store and a box of kleenex, Vitamin C drops and a bag of oranges ended up in my cart. I also threw in chicken broth and an extra bottle of Tylenol. I was not sick in the slightest, but something compelled me to purchase all of these items. I found it to be rather bizarre honestly.

I had a full couple of weeks. Very long work hours out in the public and at home in front of the computer. I started to feel worn out and continued to crave those oranges. That is until I couldn’t eat anymore without bringing it back up.

That nausea and vomiting lasted a few days. I felt progressively more and more like I was hit by a truck. I could tell I was getting dehydrated. It began to feel like someone was sitting on my chest. This happened on a Sunday, and I knew that I had a follow up appointment with my PCP the following day. I rested and tried to feel better.

When I was at the doc, he went into cardiac monitoring. The EKG was relatively normal for me, but there was a cough that came up when I felt palpitations. I wasn’t really short of breath, but I had a hard time taking a deep breath. Fatigued and not having kept anything down by mouth in a couple of days, he told me that I wasn’t having an active heart attack, but the symptoms were pointing towards that and if I felt worse, to go to the ER.

Throughout the night and the next day, I felt worse. I had some virtual appointments to keep and then decided to go to the ER. Thinking that I only needed some fluids and maybe some potassium, I would get what I needed and be on my way.

To make a long story short, they did a CT scan in the ER to make sure I didn’t have a blood clot in my lung. They were concerned about why I felt like my chest had so much pressure although they confirmed it wasn’t cardiac. To all of our shock, I did not have a blood clot either. I had pneumonia.

I kept asking if they were sure. My white blood count was normal. I had a low-grade fever for about two weeks, but I attributed that to an overactive immune system activated by all of the autonomic testing I had been having. I had a very dry cough that was intermittent at best and never when I was laying down. Even my pulse ox was 100%. How could I have pneumonia with 100% oxygen saturation rate?

They said I was just lucky and started me on two rounds of IV antibiotics. At the beginning of my stay there, no one wore a mask. Once they started the antibiotics, everyone came in with a mask on. I don’t know if it was brain fog or just ignorance, but I asked why they had masks on. They said I was contagious and would be for a few more days. It never once crossed my mind that I wouldn’t be able to go to a public work event the next day. They laughed at me when I voiced that. “You aren’t going to feel like going first of all, but second of all you should not be around other people for at three days.” WTH?

That was eight days ago, and man were they right. I was down for the count, and I had a mild case. It definitely got worse before it got better. I went back to work yesterday and basically collapsed on the couch as soon as I got home. I was so worn out. Went back to the PCP for a follow up today and she said I shouldn’t expect to feel better for another few weeks. Recovery is long for even mild cases of pneumonia. I still have a low-grade fever, and diminished breath sounds where the pneumonia was located. She did assure me that I am no longer contagious after finishing the full round of antibiotics.

Even though I had no idea what was to come, my body clearly did. I had a clean mask to wear when I went out to pick up my prescription. When I finally began to eat again, I had chicken broth and plenty of Vitamin C. The tissues came in handy too and I quickly needed the second bottle of Tylenol. So grateful that I didn’t fight my intuition even when it made no sense. I have a friend, Ray Justice, who says that is when you know it is your intuition — when the pull to do something is great even though it doesn’t make sense.

Glad I listened and grateful to be healing and recovering. Did my body need a reset? Absolutely, and so did my internal attitude. Hate that I was “forced” into rest, but it definitely did my body, mind and spirit some good.

I honestly don’t know how to answer that question. I have been where I always am - living life day by day. It turns out I have a bunch of things pulling me in multiple directions. No different than anyone else, I’m sure, but when I get up each day, I do the things that need my immediate attention first. Social media, which includes Substack, falls to the bottom of the list most days. I hate that reality but until I can check some of these boxes off of my to-do list, it might be this way for a little bit.

I will say, I have about six drafts of articles that I started of topics I really want to share with you. They are all pretty emotionally charged and impactful events happening in my life, but finding the energy to finish them, regardless of how much I think sharing them would be beneficial, seems like more than I can handle most days. On the days that I do sit down to work on the articles, I have a limited amount of screen time before my vision starts fading and my head begins to ache. I am hoping this article is completed before that happens today.

Between my two part time jobs and what should be a full-time business, there is plenty to do each week. That right there is at least forty-fifty hours. I am sure you have heard me talk about my dear Grandma Tess who is 105 years old. Although we are not blood related, we are family in every sense of the word. I adore her and she is fading fast. So much so that she needs extra help these days and I am visiting her just about every day. Time well spent and I would not trade it, but caregiving takes a physical and an emotional toll. It is at least an extra two to three hours a day that I spend for her care and that adds up to about fifteen or so hours per week. I know anyone who is caught in the caregiving cycle can understand the toll it takes.

None of this would be as difficult if my health were in top condition, which is simply not the case. Rarely a week goes by without multiple appointments. That alone is time consuming but so are the symptoms that cause me to go in the first place. I am having problems with my vision, neuropathy and now possibly dysautonomia. I spent multiple hours in the neurology department last week and tomorrow I spend a couple of hours in the neuro-ophthalmology clinic. Thursday, I have an EMG scheduled and in two weeks I have a tilt table test, Q-SART, and skin biopsies scheduled. We are getting closer to figuring out how to help me feel better. I am incredibly grateful, and I am also tired of all of it. I just want to feel better, so I can participate in all of the things I find so much joy in doing.

My intention is not to complain and that is what I feel like I’m doing. I recognize that I asked for this whole beautiful life that I am living. I love all of my jobs and clients and the stories I get to hear and share. I wouldn’t change any of it and don’t want to give any of it up. I do wish I could feel better or longer before the health problems like brain fog and visual disturbances set in. It is hard to work on writing a book (I am writing two at the moment.) when the lines on the computer run together after about thirty minutes and you continue to lose your train of thought. I would love to not have to go to the doctor like it is a part-time job. I tell myself that no one wants to hear me lamenting on any of that, so I choose not to post or write articles for social media.

Most days I am in survival mode and that is never me at my best. Each day it feels like swimming upstream, and I do what I can to get to end of the day with letting down as few people as I can … knowing that for as many people that I get to bless in a day, I am probably letting down a list just as long. That weighs heavily on me. I reframe this is in a positive light as often as I can, but there are days when it just is what it is. I only have so much time in the day, and most days feel like every second is accounted for. This is a big shift from where I was a few months ago. I haven’t lived that way in a few years. Not sure I can sustain this, but eventually some of the projects will get completed and I will have a minute to breathe.

Self-care is not non-existent, so don’t come for me with slow down, breathe, and take care of yourself. I include self-care in my daily routine. Exercising for at least thirty minutes a day is non-negotiable. Most mornings (unless I have a work event at 6am) I stay faithful to meditation, prayer, journaling and nourishing my body. I have been waking up pretty early again and have been able to watch the sunrise most mornings. What a beautiful way to start the day. So, I am also trying to take care of myself too.

I will work on the articles that are in my Substack drafts and send them out in a newsletter as soon as I can. I have experienced some pretty amazing things lately and truly want to share them with you. Thank you for your patience and concern. Hoping to get back to regularly scheduled programing soon. Actually, I am hoping it will be better than regular.

Grateful to be on this journey with you. Sending you love and beautiful energy. Whatever season you are in, may you be more blessed than taxed. Whichever you feel is usually a matter of mindset and I’m trying hard to maintain a positive one. In my head is often the quote about, “choosing your hard.” Some days it is all hard but choosing what makes the most positive impact has been the most fruitful and I enjoy picking the fruit of my labor. Be blessed my friend!

That was not a thought on my radar though. I immediately started to brainstorm ways to buy the house, get as much of the work done myself, and bring in the income needed to pay for all of the renovations. Getting a part time job at a Home Improvement Store seemed like the best bet. There was a Home Depot within walking distance from my new house, so that seemed like the best bet. I applied that night and got an interview a few days later where I was hoping I could learn who good contractors were that I might need to hire, discover the best products to use, have access to the products, and learn how to make the repairs that I could. Of course, bringing in a little more income would help pay for the renovations would be great.

And it was great. I loved my Home Depot job. It did all that I wanted it to and more. I loved the people that I met and worked with and learned so much. When my body started breaking down, I was moved from the flooring department to admin and did the scheduling for the store. I look back now at how difficult a task it would be to schedule over 200 part time and full-time employees each week with significant brain fog, but that is what I did. Once Covid hit, I also came in a few days a week from 5am to 8am to stock shelves without customers being in the store for the majority of that time. What was supposed to be a six-month gig to learn and make renovations, turned into two and a half years and the house still wasn’t done. In November 2020, I left because I was moving to another state because my body had broken down and I could no longer do any of the work in my house, at Home Depot or in my business.

Since being in Cleveland, I rarely leave the house, much less look for employment. I did do a year or two as a hospice volunteer and that was rewarding and taught me so much that I continue to use today. I also have my business, but it has changed direction because of my health. I haven’t been able to do much for a variety of health reasons, but continue to plug along and try and build.

My health has been debilitating this year especially. I had enough energy to get out of bed and go to a variety of doctor’s appointments like they were a full-time job. The medical debt and the thought that if I just pushed myself more, I would make it through kept whispering in my subconscious. I started looking at jobs outside of my house because maybe if I got out into the community, I would not have as much time to dwell on my health troubles and wouldn’t have time to lay on my sofa in between mandatory naps. I didn’t entertain the idea that I wouldn’t be able to do it. I felt like it was a moment I needed to seize.

I took to scouring job postings on Indeed and Linked In. I have plenty of skills and am pretty employable on a good day, but I feared what would happen on my worst days. What if I couldn’t push myself? What would happen if I got fired because my body couldn’t keep up with the pace? Realizing I would never find out until I tried, I started putting in applications.

When I stumbled on the application for a Community Outreach Assistant for Hunter Wellness Center, I had no idea that it would be a job that had the potential to change my life. They are a group of chiropractors, and I am no stranger to the benefits of chiropractic care. Having been a patient of five different chiropractors throughout my five decades of life, I thought I understood chiropractic. I was wrong. I didn’t really understand it at all.

They are spinal specialists for sure, but when I started listening about how they also work to protect the nervous system that is encased by the spine, I knew that I had continued the rigorous hiring process for a reason. My Western docs were leaning more and more towards anxiety as a diagnosis because my nervous system was on high alert. There was no denying it. The pain and the diminished quality of life with absolutely no answers was impacting my mental health in a negative way. I warned the docs that I might not be that reliable and would probably not be able to work as many hours as they wanted, because I didn’t want them to be surprised if that happened. Transparent to a fault, I figured that it would finally work against me, and they wouldn’t hire me. That is not what they did though. When we had the conversation, it ended in me hearing, “You are here for a reason. Chiropractic care might be able to help you. We are a wellness center for a reason.”

Let’s just say that being in this job has been a godsend. It has certainly gotten me out of my comfort zone and reminded me that I do know how to interact with people. I am not afraid to do hard things, and I do receive so much energy from being around and helping people feel better about their health. I love HWC’s mission and believe everyone needs chiropractic care because of the benefits to the body’s nervous system. A few adjustments and lifelong problems have been erased. Enabling the body to heal itself naturally, without the use of medications or invasive procedures, is such a gift.

Becoming a patient has been an interesting experiment too. So many of my unexplained symptoms, that doctors just throw their hands up about, might actually have a cause. My cranial junction, neck, spine, pelvis and knee are all sorts of out-of-alignment. If the adjustments, lumbar decompression, knee decompression, shock wave therapy and cervical traction work, then I will have eliminated 60 percent of the symptoms that plague me. What I love most is that we are addressing all of the symptoms without meds or more surgeries.

Being able to regulate my nervous system at the core of its dysregulation is a big deal for me. When I was under the impression that it was “anxiety and emotions,” then the techniques like CBT, mediation, therapy, somatic exercises, vagal nerve toning, lymphatic massage and social interaction should have helped. I should have gotten better and seen results. There is no amount of hypnosis or deep breathing that will help if the disc degeneration in my spine is pressing on nerves that are causing dysfunction in my body. And that is exactly what is happening in multiple places in my spine.

Once again, I found employment to help me in the next phase of life. I am learning new things and reminding myself of old skills, just like when I worked at Home Depot. Back then, I watched my home staging and redesign work resurface and now I am reminded of how much I love to talk to and educate people. Having opportunities to speak to groups of people again has lit a spark in me that I couldn’t be more grateful for. For the last few years, I had convinced myself that I wouldn’t be able to speak on stage again because I didn’t have the energy or brain fog or because I often lose my voice. But I haven’t had trouble making cold calls, doing drop ins, or speaking in front of groups and I couldn’t be more grateful. I’ve proven to myself that I can do it even though the pace is slower than I, and honestly the docs, probably want. I pray that as I feel better, I can increase my output each week. Retraining my body requires patience on all of our parts and patience hasn’t always been my strong suit.

If you need to reignite a spark that you thought was lost, I highly recommend finding a job. Learn new skills, remind yourself of old ones, meet new people and build a new network - even if it is part-time like I have. I haven’t lost or given up the business that I have built, and my clients and audience get to benefit from the renewed energy and skills that I get to strengthen and use. Seek out a win for everyone and you can’t lose.

I thought I would be truly elated when this day arrived. That isn’t really the case though. By eliminating many other things, one thing that comes up strong is Sjogren’s Disease. It does not have a cure, and they only can treat the symptoms. It involves my immune system attacking the moisture producing glands in the mouth and eyes. Sometimes there is nerve involvement, trouble swallowing, organ involvement, joint pain and chronic fatigue. When I had my esophagus dilated during the endoscopy a couple of weeks ago, I was told to expect an easier time swallowing. When that didn’t happen, I started researching what else could be causing it. That led me to Sjogren’s.

I have been tested for it before, and my blood does not test positive for it. Roughly 30% of patients do not test positive for it in their blood. Of course, I can’t be one of the ones that does. The gold standard for diagnosis is a lip biopsy to remove a few salivary glands from your mouth and test them for inflammation. When the Rheumatologist mentioned it, I was all for it. Cool - we are finally going to get some answers.

She is wonderful and when I went through my list of symptoms of why I think I have it, she agreed that it could be Sjogren’s. I check off so many of the boxes. She told me that having the diagnosis doesn’t do much in terms of treatment. The only treatment is for symptoms, not to eliminate the disease. The next thing is to go to an ENT and get the lip biopsy. In the meantime, she would prescribe me Pilocarpine which would help with dry mouth. She warned me that some of the side effects would be excessive sweating and diarrhea. I laughed when she said that - as someone who rarely sweats and hasn’t been able to have a non-laxative assisted bowel movement since March, I figured it would be fine.

When I left her office, I was pretty excited, even though I needed a second set of blood tests before I left Main Campus Cleveland Clinic. My poor vein has gotten quite the work out recently and I wasn’t sure they would be able to take blood from that arm again so soon. That wasn’t important though because someone believed me and we were going to take the next steps in reaching an actual diagnosis. To say that this is eight years in the making is accurate.

Saturday morning arrived and I was going to try the Pilocarpine. I honestly didn’t think anything of it until about fifteen minutes after I took it. It was like having a hot flash and for those of you going through perimenopause or menopause, you know exactly what I am talking about. The hot flash was intense, like within minutes, there was sweat dripping off my forehead, and I had stripped down to my underwear. My mouth started to water and it felt so odd. I didn’t realize how dry my mouth was until it wasn’t. I apparently have had an issue with dry mouth for a very long time because I can’t remember the last time I felt my mouth full of saliva.

That was compounded by dizziness, nausea, a severe headache and you’ll never believe it … diarrhea. I laid in bed bewildered by all that was going on. If I moved, I felt like I would vomit. The cool marble tile on bathroom floor was looking appealing as a resting space, but I managed to stay in bed. The “hot flash” lasted about an hour, but the rest of the symptoms continued for about six hours. I couldn’t get over what it felt like to not have a dry mouth. For as good as that felt, the side effects of the medicine are not worth it to me. The medicine has a really short life and loses efficacy in 3 - 5 hours. You can take it up to three times a day. I am not sure I will ever take it again because of the intensity of the side effects. They lasted all day, and I really can’t afford to lose days of my life. I wasn’t able to work until about 8pm that evening and that is a lot of time to be unproductive. Not having a dry mouth was nice while it lasted, but I will find other ways to relieve the dry mouth and constipation.

Last night I looked up videos on TikTok about the lip biopsy. I assumed it was a needle aspiration and would be no different than getting a shot of Novocain. Boy, was I wrong. It is totally invasive complete with about four or five stitches. The people that have gotten it done had swelling, bruising and pain about thirty minutes after the procedure that lasts for days. Some patients are three months out and still don’t have feeling back in their lip because nerves were cut. Everyone can show you the scar on their lip and some have developed ridges that they feel every day. Not painful, but annoying to say the least. Many of them said it wasn’t worth it, and they wouldn’t do it again.

That changes things significantly for me. First of all, this is a disease that can’t be cured. We are already treating my symptoms. Nothing is going to be different after I have it done as far as treatment goes. We are already in a wait-and-see pattern with organ involvement anyway, so truly nothing will change. Secondly, I am still healing from the dental work I had done in November. Healing takes me forever regardless of what procedure I am having. When I had a biopsy of a mole on my foot a couple of years ago, it took a month when they said it would take a week or two tops. When I had a cyst removed on my back, I nearly passed out in the waiting room from the lidocaine. I don’t do well on that at all and knowing that is the only thing they are giving you to numb your lip doesn’t exactly make me excited. Besides if it is anything like the anesthetic the dentist uses, it took five shots of it last time to get me numb enough to do the simple procedure.

Signing up to endure days of pain to confirm something that will not alter the course of my treatment at all seems ridiculous to me. I thought I wanted the diagnosis and would do anything to get one. The Rheumatologist said that whether it is or not, does not change the fact that there are other things going on in my body. Sjogren’s does not explain all of the symptoms. So, I decided I do not want the lip biopsy done. It doesn’t make sense to me to do it. My body won’t tolerate it well and I will have a permanent reminder on the inside of my mouth that I did it. There is just not enough pay off. I am miserable enough without adding lip biopsy recovery to the mix.

I can always change my mind. If there are new treatments available for definitive positive results, then I can have it done. That is the other thing … I could go through all of that and still test negative. It happens sometimes. It could be too early or too late in the disease progression and then I would be really upset. To go through all of that and still come up without a confirmation would not be handled well.

For now, I will pursue as many holistic remedies for the dry eyes and mouth as I can. Unbeknownst to me, I have been making accommodations for both for quite a while. I don’t tolerate the meds very well. The Pilocarpine is a no go and the next drug, if I tested positive, would be hydroxychloroquine. We tried a trial of that without any diagnosis in January. I took it for eight weeks and when I finally stopped it, my debilitating migraines went away. Neither of us is inclined to do another trial of that. I have no desire to try methotrexate which is what I think they can also give to treat the immunity issues. I am trying to come off medicine, not go on anything else.

Funny how I met my limit. Honestly, I never thought there would be a day that I didn’t keep trying. Now that I am knocking on the door, I am ready to turn away and go back down the steps. It is a really big deal to have the validation from the medical community that there is a reason physiologically for the symptoms I experience. That validation is not important enough to me to put my body through an invasive procedure that guarantees no different of an outcome.

Thank God for people who have gone through the procedure before and shared their experience. If I had gone through with the procedure and not without knowing how awful the recovery was until after, I would be pissed. Having agency over this decision means the world to me. Can anyone else relate?

I had a splitting headache and could feel my blood pressure rising. Or maybe it was my heart that was racing, but something in that region just didn’t feel good. My youngest brother and his wife and son were coming to stay with me for the weekend. We were celebrating my niece’s baby shower, and I had so much to do before they arrived. Before I slipped into bed to get a little more sleep, I downed two Tylenol and my blood pressure meds hoping they would do the trick.

That journey to a restful hour or so of sleep never happened. The vomiting happened every ten minutes or so. My body was trying to purge something foreign in my body and when I wasn’t vomiting, I was retching in a constant spasm. The pain in my head reminded me of when I was in the hospital in 2017 for hypertensive urgency. I remember saying out loud then that people didn’t have that kind of pain and live. I had been vomiting violently then too.

I finally decided that I wasn’t going to feel better any time soon and told my brother to wait to come until the next day because I had what I thought was an awful migraine and couldn’t imagine trying to host anyone. I kept trying to relax and breathe, only to continue to feel worse. Around 7ish, I decided I needed to go to the ER. I normally drive myself, but I knew I couldn’t this time. A frantic call to my brother to come take me and my sister-in-law was on her way.

On the way to the hospital, we had to pull over so I could vomit. I thought I was going to die for real. The pain in my chest is so difficult to describe. I just knew I didn’t feel good and hoped they could do something to relieve the pain.

Of course, they took me immediately to triage, did an EKG, and sent me straight back to a room. They hooked me up to all of the machines. Doc came in to evaluate and the nurse never left my side for a good hour or so. They gave me meds to try and bring my heart rate down. It was hovering at 170bpm. My blood pressure was up, and I was in Afib. The best part was they gave me Zofran which finally stopped the vomiting but didn’t really stop the retching. It did make me a little sleepy so that was good.

The doc came in a while later and wasn’t super happy that my AFib hadn’t resolved with my heart rate all over the place. He said he wanted to do a cardioversion. They would put me under sedation, so it wouldn’t hurt, but they wanted to shock my heart to bring it back to normal rhythm. It had been several hours, and it wasn’t resolving with the medication. I wanted no part of it. I didn’t want them to shock my heart; I asked them to give it a little more time.

He gave me a little more time, and he still wanted to do it. I still wanted nothing to do with it. He told me that something similar had happened to him two years ago and he was rushed to that very ER and needed to be cardioverted. He hadn’t had any trouble since. He told me it didn’t hurt, and it worked, and I may never have another problem. Hearing his story made me feel better I guess, because I consented. A few minutes later, a team came in to prep me.

This was a classic example of why sharing stories is so important. If that doc hadn’t shared his own experience with me, I don’t think I would have agreed to have the cardioversion. That is probably why I am so open about all of my medical adventures. It is scary when you are told to have things done that you have no knowledge about or know anyone who has lived to tell the tale. Sharing matters.

The last thing I remember before they began was, “We’re going to put you to sleep now. When you wake up your heart should be back to normal rhythm.” And that is exactly what happened. It felt like I slept for days but it was like five minutes. My heart was back to normal, and they were going to discharge me with instructions to go to the cardiologist in the morning.

This week, I heard those same words. My health has been pretty wonky since that day in 2023. Whatever caused the retching two years ago hasn’t really gone away. You may recall in previous posts that I told you all about the gut and bowel issues this year. I had an endoscopy and colonoscopy scheduled on Thursday and the last thing I remember hearing before they started the procedures was, “We are going to put you to sleep now. When you wake up it will be all over.”

Do I have any more answers about what is going on than I did after the first procedure? Sort of. It is all helps complete the puzzle, but we don’t have anything definitive yet. The process of elimination is painstakingly slow at times. While frustrated, I am hopeful because they did dilate my lower esophagus this week which should help some of the problems I have been having with swallowing. Fingers crossed that is the case. Pathology on the biopsies came back and there is nothing concerning and that is the best news! Minimal chronic inflammation in my stomach and some diverticula in my transverse colon is good information to have moving forward.

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I am super grateful to all of the people who share their medical adventures. It sometimes seems like too much information but the level of comfort when I am going through something new or difficult is extremely helpful. Medicine isn’t the only place that it is helpful either. Parenting, relationships, career, and so much more can be influenced positively by sharing your stories. This is part of the reason I love Substack so much. It is a fabulous forum to share your stories and provides easy access to others’ stories that are interesting and helpful.

Thanks for being here and being part of my community!

Trying to be mindful and present to the joy in my life, I didn’t document as much as I usually do. I accepted a position as a Community Outreach Assistant for a Chiropractic Practice in Cleveland. The Wellness Center has awesome doctors, and I truly love the energy and atmosphere there. I get to be out in the community which has been challenging at times. My energy levels after outreach events have been non-existent. Managing my headaches, gut issues and fatigue has been an adventure that I am confident will get better with time. Getting back into the game of networking in person and being around people has not been as smooth as a transition as I thought it would be, but I anticipate smoother sailing ahead.

What has been a bonus for my new position, is getting to learn more about the nervous system and how the body can naturally heal itself. I am hoping that by incorporating all of the things I am earning and partaking in the different healing modalities that don’t require any invasive treatments or medications, that I will continue to heal my body. As Dr. Lamar said the other day, “I am there for a reason.” I will keep you posted on the healing journey. I am looking forward to it.

My birthday was a week ago. I worked at an event in the afternoon at a stunning park. which made for a beautiful day and location. The people were awesome too. Then I went to my daughter’s home for dinner, and she cooked for me. I loved that! Having an adult daughter who wants to spend time together and who is so thoughtful is the best. It was a great day full of joyful moments. So many friends and family reached out with texts, calls, messages and of course the hundreds of Facebook wishes. I felt so loved - I still do!

It was a busy week. Justice (Ret) Joseph Valentino and I signed paperwork to work on another book together. It was so much fun the first time and I am really looking forward to getting into this project. If you don’t remember who Justice Valentino is, we wrote The Trial of My Life together, which is a memoir of his 30+ years as a sitting judge on the bench. For this book we are diving into fiction and writing some True Crime with a female heroine that we are both excited about. This is going to be so much fun, and it also is expanding my repertoire. I haven’t written any fiction to date, and this will be both of our first time. It will be an adventure I am looking forward to.

The holiday on the 4th and the whole weekend was spent with family. My brother and his wife and son came into Cleveland where my other brother and his family live full time. It was wonderful to be together again, and I feel so lucky to have such a great family. The picture below is missing one of my sisters-in-law, but four out of five of us are in this photo. My brothers and I all got a lot grey-er than the last time we were together. Not sure when or how that happened. LOL! I keep reminding myself that it is good to age - it is a blessing and a privilege not afforded to everyone.

So, that is what is happening around here. Life went from quiet to loud and full in a matter of a few weeks. I chose all of this, so please don’t take that as a complaint. When I started the month of June, none of this was on the table, except having another birthday. It is crazy to me how much life can change in a month. I sat down this morning with my calendar and scheduled time to write and do the part time jobs and my business. I haven’t had to do that in a long time, but it feels good to have activities and interactions again. That is actually a whole other post for another day. I am super grateful for you and all of the opportunities in my life.

Who knew just how JOY-full June was going to turn out to be!

I am, however, craving some creativity in my life. Yes, I am in the midst of writing books, editing and finding creative ways to market books and businesses. That is absolutely considered creativity in several forms for sure. But the creativity I crave is getting my hands dirty with paint. I don’t usually care what I paint - walls, furniture, a canvas or something else that tickles my fancy. I hadn’t engaged before because quite honestly, I didn’t have the energy, and now I don’t have the time. I feel like indulging a hobby when I have so much work to do feels irresponsible at best.

In 2018, I bought a fixer-upper and wanted to do most of the work myself. There was so much to do, and I didn’t even come close to finishing all that I wanted to before I sold it 2.5 years later to move to Cleveland. Between the home renovations, my love for painting things and working part time at Home Depot, much of my wardrobe was paint stained jeans, t-shirts and sweatshirts. I was also slimmer then. I did plenty of physical work and exercised a bunch. For the majority of that time, I had decent muscle tone and weighed closer to ninety pounds than one hundred. The sledgehammer was my favorite tool and so was a pallet jack. If anyone would have told me I could move pallets of flooring from one end of the store to another by myself, I would have never believed you.

By the time I landed in Cleveland I had started taking Prednisone to help with what were thought to be symptoms of Lupus. It was like a miracle drug, and it did help me feel better. It also caused weight gain. Thankfully, my new home in Cleveland was move-in ready and I had no need to wear my paint-stained work clothes. They have been sitting on the shelf in my closet collecting dust. Two years ago, I painted the living room and hallway and couldn’t get the pants on because I had gained so much weight. At that point it was about twenty-five extra pounds that definitely was not lean muscle.

This round of gut problems has certainly helped me shed some weight. I don’t love how it came off, but I am happy to be rid of it. Twenty pounds down and I have been strength training a couple of times a week while making sure I get at least 6000 steps in per day and at least a mile of it on the treadmill at an incline. Most of my “heavy” clothes don’t fit anymore. I am soon going to have to go buy new pants after caving last year and buying larger pants because none of my pants fit me. I assumed that menopause was going to keep my “skinny” clothes from ever being able to fit again, so I donated most of them. I couldn’t fathom ever being small enough to wear them again.

I did keep the paint clothes. Not because I thought they would ever fit, but I didn’t even see them on the shelf. They had become background noise and nothing that garnered my attention because my gaze glossed over them for so long. This morning, I felt the desire to paint so strongly. I rationalized that thinking about why I couldn’t do it was taking up more time than actually painting. I grabbed the stack of paint pants to see if there was anything that might come close to fitting. If there wasn’t, I was going to need to break in a new pair of larger ones.

To my absolute shock and awe, I managed to get all of the pairs of paint pants on and zipped; I don’t feel like they are too tight while sitting or bending either. It has taken five years to get back to a size that I never thought I would wear again. I am taking this as a sign that spending an hour or so painting today is not only going to help my living environment look better and improve my mental health, but it will also ignite my creativity when I get busy working later today.

My spirit soared not only because I can fit into my paint jeans again, but because I will get dirty with paint today even if I have put a time limit on it. Of course, I took time out to write this too, but it was a win I wanted to share. June was all about finding joy and today I will find it in more than one place. The month of June has been good to me and for that I feel joy and gratitude.

Cheers!

I enjoyed striking up conversations with those intrigued enough to step into the tent. Since moving to Cleveland in 2020, I have been pretty isolated. Please understand that has been by choice. I moved during the pandemic when masks were mandated, and everyone gave everyone the side-eye. I also have been battling an undiagnosed autoimmune condition, so it just made sense not to avoid large social interactions. Once that became the norm, I didn’t have a desire to do anything about it when life got back to normal and social distancing stopped being a thing.

One woman came in and as she was waiting her turn, we struck up a conversation. She made a comment about work, and I asked what she did. She said, “I am a writer.” Without taking a breath, I blurted out, “Really? I am too.” Without any forethought, those words tumbled from my lips, and I imagine that if I could see my face, it was filled with shock and awe. I will be 54 years old in ten days, and I can’t recall ever calling myself a writer. That is not the way I define myself.

We continued to exchange pleasantries about our respective “jobs” as writers and the whole time I am questioning why I said that. I don’t write for a living. That isn’t my career … or is it? What qualifies one as a “writer” anyway?

Upon reflection, I have authored books. People have paid to read the words I have written. I have been paid to ghostwrite books too. As a freelancer, I have been hired to write grants, award applications, speeches, marketing copy, press releases and bios. At one point, I even had my own newspaper column, and I published a digital magazine for two years. As I ponder it, I have been blessed to have paid subscribers here on Substack too. This week I entered an agreement to co-author a novel - something I have never written before. Nervously, I read the manuscript when it came in and wasn’t sure if I would even know how to improve a work of fiction? Turns out I did know, and it was fine. I was suddenly using words like protagonist and story arc. Who am I? Isn’t that how writers talk?

Do all of those accomplishments mean that I am a writer? It must be because I looked that woman square in the eye and declared it to be true. Why am I having such a difficult time defining myself that way? I write five to ten pages in my journal every single day. Wouldn’t that alone make me a writer? Why haven’t I identified as a writer before this chance encounter with a writing colleague on a steamy evening in the middle of June?

Maybe it’s just me, but does anyone else feel like they couldn’t be called a writer because they aren’t good enough at it yet? That’s how I feel all of the time. Taking writing classes online could be classified as my hobby because of the frequency in which I attend. I read musings other people write and am humbled by their talent. When thinking about how many writers I admire, for the way they craft sentences and draw me in until I am forever changed by the words they have strung together, I recognize that I am not that kind of writer. At least not yet. I aspire to be on that level someday. Is the title of writer relegated only to those who are talented enough to move and inspire their readers?

Never imagined that such a simple response could inspire such a deep questioning of how to accurately define myself. I’m truly bewildered as to what inspired me to reply the way I did. Maybe it was a bonding moment that I didn’t know I needed and nothing more than that. Am I reading too much into it? Most likely, yes. It has been almost a week, and the rosy hue on my cheeks caused by my discomfort continues to radiate heat each time I think about the interaction. I didn’t lie. I am a writer who writes something daily. Why does the title feel so foreign to me?

Maybe because the majority of the writing I do is for my eyes only. Not sharing most of what I write, makes me feel like it’s less of a career and more of a personal hobby. Does it matter? I’m not sure that it does. Maybe I should own it. It is part of what I do each day. Wonder what other identifiers I’m missing when it comes to the obvious activities I participate in?

Tooth-brusher, bed-maker and dishwasher just don’t have the same appeal though.

I get my mammograms done at the one of the many cancer clinics. My first experience getting a mammogram was awful and it wasn’t conclusive, so they sent me to the cancer clinic which of course made me feel a little uneasy. I have now had two mammograms done there and I can tell you the level of comfort and pleasantry that takes place is second to none. It never occurred to me that the MRI would have the same level of attentiveness to detail as the mammogram.

I am not sure how to explain it, but from the moment I walked in, they were sensitive to the fact that I was there. That probably doesn’t make a whole lot of sense unless you are someone who gets scans and such on the regular. There is a disconnectedness when you walk into a radiology clinic. Get in, get it done and get out. There is nothing wrong with that, but I think because most of the patients who are being seen at the cancer clinic are pretty sick, there is a different level of care. It is an upgrade for sure.

Things like giving me two gowns to wear instead of one to make sure I was covered and comfortable are just one example of the attention to detail that was paid. As you can see, there wasn’t any way to feel exposed in two gowns. That felt like they were offering empowerment in a way. While most often feeling powerless to the process, getting to make decisions about how exposed I feel means something.

They went into detail explaining everything that would happen as it was happening. Almost as if they were asking permission to proceed, but not quite. The information is so good for my brain. I am a seeker, and I really feel more comfortable if I understand the process. When they fit the “cage” over my face, I wasn’t expecting that. I don’t remember that from the last time I had a brain scan done. They put bumpers on the sides to keep my head in place and make it comfortable. I can’t tell you how much I appreciated the level of care I received.

The noise is annoying at best. Of course, I had the earphones on but declined getting the music turned on. My auditory stimulation couldn’t handle both. It was louder than I remember, but I focused on the one sound that was like a rhythmic heartbeat. I sought out that sound above all of the other clanging and banging. I appreciate so much that there is no radiation, but do I wish there was a way to make it quieter.

I was pleasantly surprised that when they administered the contrast; it wasn’t anything like when you get a CT scan. I was truly dreading having contrast again because I hate the way that feels. If you have never had a CT scan with contrast done before, it is not a horrible experience, but very strange. You feel warm from your groin up and it makes you feel like you wet your pants. You feel like you should be wearing a diaper, but nothing comes out or happens. The MRI contrast is nothing like that. It was a simple injection, and I didn’t feel any different. It was wonderful in comparison.

The results came back the next day. Fortunately, the big things that they were ruling out, came back negative. That is awesome - no multiple sclerosis or evidence of aneurysm. There were a few things that need to be addressed, but my follow up with neurology isn’t until July. Grateful doesn’t cover how I feel about the results. Did it give me a diagnosis? No! But it is all good information.

I may never know what causes all of the symptoms but ruling out the awful stuff is helpful. Learning to live with ambiguity has not been easy. I’m making progress though. I am learning to manage my symptoms and hopefully not exacerbate anything. Not sure what happened this month, but the anger and frustration is going away. The feeling is resolve to the not knowing and handling what I do know. What a gift that is - just like using a testing facility that treats you like a human being. The little things really do mean a lot.

I had a great conversation with a client I am doing some writing for, and he was pleased with what we are producing together. We have been working on this project for quite a while, and we are falling into a rhythm that feels good. We are going to be complete in no time. That is so exciting to think that his wisdom will be shared with you soon.

Next, I spent some time with Grandma Tess and cherished the moments with this light of a human being. She is so special to me and is 105 years old. I refer to her as grandma even though we aren’t blood related. Grandma Tess thinks I take care of her, but it is pretty reciprocal. I love to spend time with her.

More joy was getting to talk to my folks via phone on my way to my walk by the River. Good to hear their voices. Miss them so much. They have been so supportive this year - well really all of my life - but in 2025 especially. My mom is always checking in to see how I am feeling and to see if I need her to send me anything. It feels good to be loved.

Took a walk by the river and it was glorious. It was the first nice day that we have had in such a long time. The sun was shining, and the temperature was around 65 degrees. I’ve been a mission to increase my movement in an effort to help me feel better. Today I hit over 6600 steps, so I continued my streak of walking over 5000 steps a day. That feels like a miracle because a couple of weeks ago, I didn’t have the energy to move more than 3000 steps. Maybe the goal setting is working.

It has been a struggle to eat because I have had no appetite for months. After losing twenty pounds, I knew I needed to try something different. Last week I downloaded the Zoe app, and it tracks what you eat in a day but also makes it a bit like a game. The goal is to try and eat 30 plants per week. For someone who doesn’t really want to eat much, that seemed like a big task I wasn’t sure I could accomplish. I did it! I hit my goal of eating 30 plants last week and already have 5 in for this week’s goal.

This evening, I got to do more writing and working on client work. My heart grew a size or two. The joy from work has been mechanical at best this year. I have finally been able to settle into the joy of helping people share their stories again. It truly is one of my favorite things to do. The gratitude I feel that the spark has returned is indescribable.

Tomorrow starts a new edition of Writing to Connect. Getting to facilitate stronger, more emotive writing in others is one of the best ways I can spend my time. There are still a couple of slots open if you are reading this and want to join us. Send me a message and we will get you hooked up.

If this is only the first day of June, I can’t wait to see what the whole month has in store. It’s been such a joyful day, and I am hoping to make finding joy and gratitude a habit. Trying to shake off the negativity that had seeped into my life. I find myself stuck in the bad mood that can come from chronically not feeling well. Instead of dreading the tests and appointments that are coming up this week, I am going to wrap them in gratitude. I get to have the tests done. The tests exist and there are doctors to interpret them. They are all information that will be useful whatever the outcome. I want to stop assigning good or bad and leave it neutral because that is what it is. The tests are helpful information and that is all.

We have all month long to celebrate joy and gratitude! Beware of the many posts ahead because my birthday isn’t until the very end of the month. It is going to be fun to create this new habit, and I invite you to take the next 28 days to join me on my quest. It can be part of our glow up! Today has already made my world a better place; can’t wait to see what will happen by the 29th!