Boldly Unbroken

  The Pivot: Stepping Into the Role of Caregiver There is a distinct moment in life when the quiet currents of routine shift entirely, and you realize you are no longer just the daughter—you are the anchor. For my mother, that shift began with a heavy fall in December 2025. What followed was a grueling, grueling stretch of months in a rehab facility through the cold winter and into early spring, recovering from multiple broken bones. Rehab is a place of clinical routine, sterile hallways, and waiting. But as March 2026 approached, the atmosphere changed. The discharge papers loomed, and the stark reality of her limitations set in. She knew what was coming. In her mind she was still capable of doing and caring for herself; the reality was she couldn’t and the terror of a permanent nursing home facility hung over her room like a shadow. One afternoon, with fear in her eyes, she looked at me and begged. She asked me not to let them take her independence away entirely, to keep her out ...

There’s something about the way time softens edges. When she was younger, she was a loud storm. Strong opinions, sharp words, decisions that didn’t always make sense to the child standing beneath her. I learned to defend myself, to brace myself, to bend, to push back and create my own way of being far from the places I didn’t want her to fit. And somewhere in all of that… distance grew. Not always loud. Not always obvious. But there. Then time did what it always does. It kept moving. The hands that should’ve supported me —now reach for support. The voice that carried authority carries anxiety and grief instead. And the roles begin to blur in a quiet, almost sacred way. Because here’s the truth no one prepares you for: You don’t take care of your parents because they got everything right. You take care of them because they were part of your beginning. Because love isn’t always neat. It doesn’t require agreement or a perfect past. Our past is now history. Sometimes love is simply showing...

  Mirrored; the Healing in the Hair.   Behind the Chair, Through the Fire: Why We Never Walk Away Most people see a hair appointment as a luxury—a routine hour of pampering. But for those of us behind the chair, that chair is a sacred space, and the appointment book is a lifeline. I’ve spent my career navigating a whirlwind of personal trauma that would have leveled most. I’ve survived a fire and a flood. I’ve endured the terror of domestic violence and the fight of my life against cancer. I’ve navigated the complex grief of losing my children’s father and the transitions of three marriages. Through every surgery, every tear, and every disaster, there was one constant: I showed up for my clients. The Silent Toll : A Body in Service. What my clients don't always see is the physical price of that commitment. In this industry, we are our own health hazards. I have stood behind that chair while battling the widespread, invisible fires of fibromyalgia and arthritis.  I’ve work...

I have stood through many winters, but Christmas has always been my favorite season—because that’s when I came alive. I remember the 1970s first, when the walls were young and so were you. Three sisters, one brother, Mom, Dad, and Grandmother—all of you packed inside me like laughter in a gift box waiting to burst open. You didn’t have much, not in the way the world measures things, but my floors never felt poor. They felt rich with excitement. On Christmas Eve you children would run circles around me, whispering plans to catch Santa Claus in the act. I watched you wiggle in your blankets, wide-eyed, too excited to sleep. I could almost feel your heartbeat in the quiet hours before dawn. And then—morning. Daylight barely breaking through the curtains before little footsteps raced across my boards. Stockings filled with candy and fruit, gifts being ripped open, squeals of joy bouncing off my walls. Wrapping paper flying, giggles echoing, the smell of breakfast drifting in from the kitch...

One factual thing about me … I never look at the gas gauge. The only time I think of putting gas in my vehicle is when the gas light and alert goes off. That’s exactly what it’s there for … Just like the alarm clock or timer; a reminder that it’s time to do whatever it is that it needs to be done.    When we go somewhere together, my husband is always asking if there’s gas in my car. (He should rightfully ask, knowing that there’s probably not). He’s warned me numerous times that one day it’s gonna happen; one day I’m gonna ride those fumes home and I’m not gonna have enough time to stop and get gas on the way to my next destination. One day.  So there I was, on a Saturday afternoon, cruising along, singing at top of lungs, arm out the window, bobbing my head back and forth to some questionable 80s pop, completely oblivious to the fact that my car was running on fumes and good intentions. My destination? The nail parlor, about 12 miles away.  Suddenly, I felt a sputt...

  You know that sinking feeling? The one where you emerge from a store, laden with bags (or, in my case, five sugar-fueled grandchildren), and you stare out at a sea of identical metal boxes, none of them yours? Yeah, that was my personal hell for years. My superpower, (one of them, at least), was forgetting where I parked the nanosecond I step away from my car. The true turning point, was quite a few years ago when my grandchildren forever cemented my reputation as "Nana Who Loses the Car," happened at Walmart. Imagine: five small humans, each with their own unique brand of post-shopping fatigue and a desperate need to pee, nap or eat, wandering aimlessly with me through acres of asphalt. We looked like a lost expedition, complete with complaints echoing off the distant fluorescent lights. "Nana, is it that one? No, that's not our white one!" "Are we ever going to find it?" The shame, people, the sheer, unadulterated shame. We eventually located my hu...

Thursday, February 16, 2023, will be a night forever stuck in my head. It had been cold that day; the aches and pains of fibromyalgia and arthritis had been tormenting me all day. I couldn’t wait to get home and curl up in front of a fire and do nothing for the rest of the evening. Kevin, my boyfriend, had come by the shop to get his haircut that afternoon. He told me he bought me a new pistol because he didn’t like the one I had. It was an old Charter Arms .38. The trigger was a little stubborn, for sure and the site was certainly off. I consider myself to be a little “sideways“ most of the time anyways, so if the pistol was a little off, no big deal but good thing I never had to use it! I was just super impressed that he was concerned enough about me and my safety to even purchase something that significant for me. After all, we had only been dating just over 10 months. I arrived to his house about 6:30 PM. He greeted me and led me to the kitchen where my surprise awaited me. He was ...

  April 20, 2023 I received a Facebook friend request from someone I haven’t seen in over 20 years.  April 21, 2023 I received a message from him via Facebook messenger. It literally took my breath away. I sat down to read it over and over again. Just the kind words he wrote touched my heart.  I responded with my number and he called almost immediately. We briefly chatted but reconnected that evening for a conversation that lasted until 3 AM.  April 22, 2023 was our first dinner date. As he said, very casual, nothing fancy.  In the weeks to come as we were learning one another, I realized that our circumstances may have been different but our pain was the same. I saw so much of myself in him.  Our connection was strong although we were very different… almost complete opposites. Ones weaknesses were the others strengths.  Our life together is not and will never be perfect, but we are perfect for each other. We Understand our past mistakes and failures, ...