Too Much To Do, So Little Time

May have dragged butt this morning getting out of bed.  May have hit the snooze button too. I didn’t give into the temptation of staying into bed, we’ve done so much good stuff here in the morning and I don’t want to slip backwards, so here I am.

I need to get moving pretty quick here though. No time for powerful introspection of my soul this morning. I’m so busy at work and I must get in before everyone else so that I can prepare a website landing page for an eBlast that I’m sending out. I did the back end technical work last night like setting up the domain so that it links to the address correctly and is pointing to the correct server (mind you I don’t do that actual technical work, I request that our IT team does the actual work).

It’s an early release day today, offices close at 2:00. It will be hard for me to get out though. I just have so much to do. Then tomorrow we are off for Good Friday.

Rob is coming down tonight to stay with us and then tomorrow I take him into the hospital for a procedure to remove his parathyroid glands. He’ll be in the hospital for three days afterward, which means Easter, so I’m not sure how much effort I’m going to put into the holiday. I’ll do a basket of course and we’ll color eggs, but as far as a big dinner, I don’t think it will happen.

My mom called me on the way to work yesterday. It was wonderful to hear her voice. I miss her so much. Of course she pisses me off too. Invited me and Erin up to her house next week. She just lives in another world. I didn’t fight with her though, I just told her no thank you and I might of said, that would never work, but I’m not sure I even acknowledged the stupidity of her statement. What is fighting with her going to do? She has clearly made up a fantasy world to live in so that she can cope with the awful life she is living with my dad. I was just so happy that she called me. I guess I took the high road.

While Rob is having surgery tomorrow I hope that I can find a place to plug my laptop into. It would be great to get some work done while I’m sitting there and maybe get closer to getting out of this hole I’m in at work. I hate being out of control because that is when shit falls through the cracks. If I don’t feel motivated to work, then I’m thinking a little redesign of my blog is in order. My About page is very, very old and is due for an update. It says my daughter is 12 and if you can believe it she’s three months away from being 16 years old!!!! I don’t know how that can be!

This exercise I’m doing here is really going well. The last few days have offered me a lot of clarity that I haven’t seen in a long time. I think I’m ready to make some diet changes. I promised myself I wouldn’t go on a diet until I was ready to truly do it, for real this time, like never looking back dieting. I’m only interested in changes that are long lasting. We’ll see how it goes and how much I’m able to plan this weekend with all that is going on. If all stays constant, I’m going to start a Whole30 on Monday.

Well, it’s time. I’ve got to get my butt moving and out the door. I’m sending peace and love to everyone that is reading this. Have a fabulous Thursday!!!!


My Morning Routine – Bulletproof Coffee

I need to lightening things up a bit today. Yesterday, wow, so heavy. Good stuff though.

As part of my waking up early process I have also committed to a regimen that goes back to my CrossFit days. Not sure if you ever heard about Bulletproof Coffee, but follow the link and you can read all about it and the recipe.

What is it?  It is one cup of french pressed coffee, blended for 20-30 seconds with a tablespoon of pure butter and a 1tsp of MTC oil (which is a highly concentrated coconut oil).

Here is what my counter looks like before I start writing in the morning:


Some claim that the benefits of this coffee are massive. From appetite suppression, to giving the brain fuel to achieve mental clarity. The fat in the drink slows down the absorption of  the caffeine and that is what helps make you feel full longer. It also give long lasting energy without the highs and lows you would normally get with your typically morning cup of coffee.


I make mine with Kerrygold butter, which I think most people use. In the upper left of the picture is the MTC oil, however, since I’ve last used it they have rebranded it to be called Brain Octane Oil.  Whatever works I guess.


Here it is in my bullet, mixing into a rich, creamy, smooth latte.


And the finished product.

This is what I’m sipping on each morning when I come in to write.

Today was the first morning that I really dragged ass a bit getting up. I was tossing and turning all night. Only got about 5 hours on the CPAP before I ripped the mask off my face. I honestly haven’t slept sound since I’ve started this waking up early exercise.

If you remember, I started getting up when I did because I was waking up before my alarm was going off and then falling back asleep, into the deepest sleep ever, just as my alarm was going off. That was creating nightmare mornings that were rushed before I kept hitting the snooze button until it was almost too late to get out the door.

I’m confident that things will work themselves out as I continue to stick with the plan.

Tangent Alert:  Now I have Big Sean going through my head. I loved his last album, specifically the song Voices in My Head / Stick to the Plan.

Here are the lyrics. 

I don’t know why, but I wasn’t able to find an official video for the song, but here is a search link for youtube that will take you to some live stuff.

Well, I guess it’s time to get moving. Another day is waiting for me to kick some ass. Enjoy your Wednesday, we’ve made it halfway through. And if you have Friday off, like I do, it’s even further into the week than that!


Getting Deep. So Much Heavy Stuff Here.

I sacrificed some of my writing time this morning to pick up the kitchen a bit. Erin was at a birthday party yesterday when I came home from work and I opted to sit down with my book and put my feet up, vs clean. She’s on spring break right now and she’s like a tornado through the house. As soon as I am finished writing I will be making her a to-do list, which should keep her pretty busy throughout the day.


I’m coming back in here to say that I talk about some pretty heavy stuff today. Abuse I experienced as a child. Sometimes when I read these things, and if I’m especially fragile, they trigger enormous emotions in me. I’m giving everyone warning now and I give you permission to walk away from today’s writing. Love to all! 


When I was a little girl I was filled with this ball of sadness. I could never do right. I didn’t feel like anyone loved me. I had responsibilities beyond my years. I think about myself, this tiny girl raising a baby only four years younger. It’s unreal. Maybe that is why I am content with raising just one child. Throughout my life I have mothered several children and they have filled my heart with the same love that I have for my daughter.

I don’t know when it started, but around 5th grade, so I would have been 10 years or older, my mother had my grandfather put a mirror on the back of my bedroom door. My mother had a tremendous self esteem issue and she wanted me to see myself, and love myself, and this mirror was so important to her.

Our family was broken though. My father was abusive. My mother consumed her life with keeping the peace, and I walked on eggshells.

Man, I remember the nights after report cards came out like it just happened yesterday. The yelling was so bad. I remember one year I came home with a bad grade in math, my worst subject ever, and this ticked my father off so bad he yelled at me the entire night. When I say entire night, I mean, The. Entire. Night. Until he had to go to work and we had to go to school the next morning.

At some point during the night he thought it would be a good idea to pull out a tape recorder and have me record myself talking about why I was so stupid and failing this math class and then he would replay throughout the night.

I would get bathroom breaks when needed and I remember my sweet little brother meeting me in the hallway, his eyes swollen from crying. He loved me so much and it was torture for him to sit in his room and listen to this abuse. I remember we hugged and cried together, I cleaned myself up a bit, we embraced again, and then I went back out in the kitchen to resume my beat down.

This next point has nothing to do with my story, but I have finally realized why there is one fucking subject that has continued to hold up college education. Math. Fuck this is so liberating to realize this. There is so much here in this connection. When I had my nervous breakdown at college when I was 19, the final straw came the morning I drove to class, my math class. I remember sitting in the parking lot, watching everyone park their cars, gather their belongings like good students and walk into class. I was paralyzed. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t bring myself to leave the car. I sat there all day in my car, watching students come and go. At some point I started my car, shifted into reverse, and pulled off campus. I never went back to school after that.

How crazy is it that it was a math class I was going to?  I mean that has to have some meaning. Right?

Math had always been a huge point of contention between me and my dad. It was my worst subject. It started when I was having a hard time with my times tables. He used to drill me over and over and over and over. It was abusive the way he did it, because that was the only way he knew to be. There would be night long sessions of me having to spit out 8×6, 9×2, 5×5, over and over until my little head swirled. Anyway, to this day, I don’t know my times tables. It’s like a mental fucking block.

So that was a tangent and a total bypass of where I was going with my story, but it is good stuff. I guess this writing first thing in the morning is really good, just like the experts say.

Back to this mirror, so my mom has this mirror installed in this weird attempt to help boost my self esteem, but I’m broken and I use it in the opposite way. Every time I get in trouble, mess up, get yelled at, or do anything outside of perfection, I retreat to this mirror. I look myself dead in the eye and I tell this fragile young beautiful girl, “you are worthless” “you are ugly” “you are fat” “you are stupid” and any other horrible thing you can imagine. I create this mantra of ugliness to reiterate what I’m being told by the people all around me.

It’s so fucking devastating to thing about. Can you even image how damaging this was to who I am as a person right now? I think of all the neural pathways that were created and reinforced in my brain. It’s amazing really that I’m as whole as I am.

I bring this up because I’m reading my book on self care right now and at the end of the first chapter we have an exercise. It’s to do mirror work. There are exercises for me to do looking in the mirror, telling myself how beautiful I am, how smart I am, and whatever other positive reinforcement I can give myself.

It’s been a couple weeks since I set out to do this and I’m stumped. I can’t do it. Ugh. I’m writing about it today because I want to release these feelings out into the universe in hopes of releasing the anxiety out of my body. I’m going to wrap up this post and I’m going to do my first session.

I’ll be sure to report tomorrow on how it went.

The War is Over

I’m asking myself today a couple questions. What is it all about?  Why am I making such an effort to change my habits? I think it’s pretty simple, because I want more. I almost typed that I deserve more, but I hate that word and I hate that mindset. No one deserves anything. If life was based on what someone deserved or didn’t, we would all be in a much different place.  Right!?!

When I say that I want more, it’s not a tangible more, it’s not about possessions. It’s about answering the call that is burning inside my soul. I am so much more than this life I am currently living. I was put here on earth to help people, to make a difference, to answer questions. The horrific abuses I endured throughout my life were actually a gift that will allow me to change the direction of the universe. It might be a very small change, but if each of us continually made small changes, these changes would meet, and a powerful force would be created that could change the direction of humanity.

When I think of the person who continually hurt me in my life and I look at him as a person, I have no real answers for what he did to me. I really don’t give a fuck any more really. He was weak. Broken. Abused himself. Most importantly to note, he’s miserable. His choices led him down a path of misery. He filled his life with possessions and ranked those things higher than his own children and now he sits on top of his hill, alone. (that is except for the hostage he is holding, my mother.)

I refuse to give him my life. I refuse to give him my fire. I will not allow the broken thoughts he put inside my head to guide me down bad roads. Somewhere in all this I will find love for myself.

My weight is a shield. It is a barrier I put up to hide from the world. To keep me in a subservient place in the workforce. To stay safe. I declare at this moment that I do not need my shield any longer. I want to feel what it is like to be raw. For people to see me for who I am. To carry a shield is to be in a constant state of protection, a war. I declare the war is over.


I am done fighting.

I will think before I speak. I will honor the truth inside me. I will not allow myself to come last any longer. I want to unleash myself and my goodness into the world.

I’m not sure where all this came from, but I accept it. I sat down this morning with zero agenda on what to write, yet here this all came flooding out. I own my words even if I don’t understand their meaning yet. This writing thing is fascinating.

I will trust the process.

March For Our Lives – Detroit Edition

I’ve spent way too much time in bed today. I was planning on going into the office and getting prepared for the week ahead, but I didn’t. I’m going to do as much as I can from my kitchen table and call it a day.

My daughter and her friend asked me to take them Downtown Detroit yesterday so they could participate in the #MarchForOurLives rally. After school on Thursday and Friday they started working on their signs.


We woke up about 6:00 Saturday morning and started our journey downtown. We actually live a good hour from the city now and I wasn’t sure just how many people would be coming down so I felt most comfortable getting their early.  Once we got there though we were one of the first to gather, we actually got a parking spot right where the march was starting.

Erin and her friend found their spot pretty quickly and I have to be honest, I was taken off guard a bit when they planted themselves in their spot and raised their signs over their heads. I thought we were there to march, to participate, but not necessarily to stand up and be actively protesting.  When I realized that was their intention, I moved to the side and just started documenting the day. This was clearly not about me, this was about them, and I was there to support.


As they stood there with their signs over their heads, people started to approach them. Baby boomers apologized for the mess their generation had left for them to clean up. Others told them how proud they were. Everyone asked to take pictures of them.



Eventually it was time to march and that was when I realized just how many people were there. The organizers prepared for 2-5,000 people, but final counts are looking like just under 10,000 people showed up to walk.



I believe the march was just two miles long, but the standing and the cold really kicked my butt. My knee is killing me today, it was a little too much for me. That’s part of the reason why I’ve been taking it easy and sleeping a bit more than I would normally do.

I’m so damn proud of these kids for standing up and letting our government know that they will not be walked all over. Our politicians should be terrified about what is going to happen in November for the mid-term elections. And then, in my daughters words, “I will be voting in the next Presidential election!”  Holy shit, how can my daughter be old enough to vote?  I couldn’t be happier about her values and that she knows she has a voice.