The day finally came...

This blog is to introduce you to what my blogs will typically be about. Those things that have happened in my life that I have learned to live with or overcome.

This is it. This is what happened. This is how I feel. This is why I am who I am and why I do what I do. This is what I have struggled with. This is what I have overcome. This is raw and uncensored. This is me from the inside out no longer hiding my feelings or worried about what others might think or even say. This is as real as it gets and I am putting it in black-and-white.

I have been still and quiet but I have also been extremely loud. I have been overbearing but I have also been a gift. I have been lied to, cheated on and emotionally abused. I have been hurt, thrown away and physically abused. I have been physically and mentally ill with scars that will never fade. I also admit that I have caused and created some of the very same things that I suffered from.

This blog is not intended to hurt anyone’s feelings, although it might. This blog is not intended to make anyone angry, although it might. This blog is not intended for gossipers and hypocrites to have something else to talk about, although it might. What it is intended for is to validate my healing; the way I heal; the way I overcome and the way I forgive so I can love with all of my being and stay happy.

.... The day finally came when I was able to see myself as God sees me… I am worthy, I am beautiful, I am loved, I am forgiven, but most of all I am His!!

”For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future”. Jeremiah 29:11

Comments

Mirrored; the Healing in the Hair

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...

✨ The Rooms That Remember✨

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...

Running on Empty (and my husband’s last nerve)

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...

Boldly Unbroken

Search This Blog