Category: This Life

I is for Intuition, Instruction, and Insight

by Mothersense, posted in Mental Health Recovery, Reclamation, This Life



Now that we’ve taken our weekend exhale and given ourselves permission to just exist, it’s time to step back into our alphabet journey. Today, we hit the letter I, and we are looking at three distinct words that dictate how we navigate our worlds: Intuition, Instruction, and Insight.
They aren’t the same thing, but when they connect, they create a beautiful filter for a chaotic life.
Instruction: We are buried under this every day. It’s the expert advice, the medical protocols, the organization books, and the endless “how-tos” on how to manage our homes, our health, and our midlife transitions. Instruction is external noise. It’s helpful, but if we follow it blindly, we end up living someone else’s version of order.
Intuition: This is your internal compass. It’s that quiet, deep-down gut check that doesn’t care about spreadsheets or expert consensus. It’s the voice that whispers, “This system doesn’t work for my home,” or “My body needs me to stop right now, no matter what my full-steam-ahead brain says.” When life forces us to pause, our intuition is usually what pulled the emergency brake.
Insight: This is where the magic happens. Insight is the wisdom born when you take the external instruction you’ve been given, bring it inside, and run it through the filter of your intuition. It’s looking at a chaotic situation and finally seeing the truth of it—discerning what to keep, what to throw away, and how to uniquely apply it to your own life.
True “mother-sense” isn’t about collecting the most instructions. It’s about being quiet enough to let your intuition speak, so you can gain the insight needed to heal and manage your world on your own terms.
This week, let’s practice turning down the outside volume. Stop looking for the next instruction manual for your life. Sit with your own intuition, and give yourself the space to find the insight you’ve been looking for.

F is for Friction, Forfeiture, and the New Forecast: How to Level Up and Move with Purpose

by Mothersense, posted in Mental Health Recovery, Reclamation, This Life



Happy Monday.
We talk a lot about what it takes to reclaim our lives—slashing the impossible schedules, editing down commitments, and rewriting the heavy contracts we’ve signed with the world. But let’s face the truth as we kick off a brand-new week: true freedom isn’t just handed to us. It has to be forged.
If you want to step into a higher version of yourself, clear out the clutter, and actually smash your goals, you have to be willing to walk through three distinct, powerful phases: Friction, Forfeiture, and the Forecast.
This week, instead of just surviving the chaos, we are going to use these three tools to level up.

1. Brave the Friction
Friction is the psychological heat that happens when the purposeful life you are trying to build rubs aggressively against your old, comfortable habits. It’s that uncomfortable, anxious tightness you feel when you choose to say “no” to an unessential task, or when you leave a cluttered space uncleaned so you can focus on your actual priorities—like your creative writing, your business, or your kids.
It feels like a battle because it is. You are fighting years of conditioning that told you your worth is tied to constant motion. Don’t run from the friction this week. It isn’t a sign that you’re failing; it’s the exact proof that you are finally pushing back.

2. Authorize the Forfeiture
To get to the other side of the friction, you have to embrace the radical act of forfeiture. In business or legal terms, forfeiture means surrendering a right or an asset. In our daily lives, intentional forfeiture is a superpower. It means looking at the mindsets, the cluttered environments, and the calendar blocks that no longer serve you, and actively choosing to drop them on the floor.
It is the intentional forfeiture of the “Perfect Mom” myth. It is dropping the heavy bags you were never meant to carry so your hands are finally empty. Forfeiture sounds like losing, but in the mental health space, it is the only way to win your freedom.

3. Claim Your New Forecast
Because here is the beautiful thing that happens the exact moment your hands are empty: the horizon completely changes.
When you brave the friction and authorize the forfeiture, you clear the toxic weather inside your own head. You look forward into the rest of the week, the upcoming month, and the rest of the year, and you see a completely different forecast. It is a sky cleared of frantic panic and old guilt.
Suddenly, you have the open space to actually level up. You aren’t just reacting to emergencies anymore; you are moving with a brand-new, iron-clad purpose. You can set big, beautiful goals born out of clarity instead of desperation. You can focus on the creative work that feeds your soul, the family that needs your presence, and a life built entirely on your own terms.
As you step into this Monday, remember that you hold the pen. You control the weather in your world. Face the friction, drop what’s heavy, and step out into your new forecast.

Love and light my friends!!!

Friday Exhale: The Harmony of the Slow DownCategory: Exhale, Recipes, Creative Space

by Mothersense, posted in Food Stuffs - Recipes, This Life


We did some heavy lifting this week. We talked about taking out the red pen, editing the narrative, and filing an endorsement to rewrite the policy on our lives. We forced ourselves to look at the impossible trap of hyper-efficiency and say, “Not today.”


But if you are anything like me, executing those boundaries leaves behind a weird, buzzy kind of adrenaline. Your hands are empty, but your brain is still trying to figure out what it’s supposed to be fixing.


So tonight, we aren’t fixing anything. We are just finding the harmony.


To me, summer harmony is a very specific sensory experience. It’s the late-afternoon sun stretching across the kitchen counter. It’s a gritty, soulful country-alternative groove playing softly in the background. And it’s the tactile, grounded comfort of getting your hands into some dough.


When the world gets too loud, I head to the kitchen. Baking isn’t an efficiency goal; it’s therapy. It forces you to slow down, measure by measure, and just watch something rise in its own time. You can’t rush it, and you can’t optimize it.


Here is a simple, rustic summer treat to help you find your own pocket of quiet this weekend. No fancy tools required—just a physical bowl, a wooden spoon, and a little bit of time.


🍑 Summer Kitchen Therapy: Rustic Blackberry & Peach Galette🍑
A galette is the ultimate “imperfect” dessert. There is no crimping, no perfect pie dishes, and no stress. The rougher the edges look, the more beautiful it turns out. It is a visual reminder that things don’t have to be perfect to be incredibly good.
The Crust:
1 ½ cups all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon sugar
½ teaspoon salt
1 stick (½ cup) unsalted butter, cold and cubed
4 to 5 tablespoons ice water
The Filling:
2 cups fresh peaches, sliced
1 cup fresh blackberries
2 tablespoons honey or sugar
1 tablespoon cornstarch (to catch the summer juices)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
How to Slow Down and Make It:
Mix the dough: Whisk the flour, sugar, and salt together. Toss in the cold butter cubes. Use your fingers to smash the butter into the flour until it looks like coarse crumbs. Drizzle in the ice water one tablespoon at a time, mixing until the dough just holds together. Shape it into a disk, wrap it up, and let it chill in the fridge for an hour while you step away from the kitchen entirely.
Prep the fruit: Toss your summer peaches and blackberries with the honey, cornstarch, and vanilla. Let them sit and get glossy.
Roll and fold: Roll the dough out into a rough circle on a piece of parchment paper. Pile the fruit right into the center, leaving a 2-inch border all around the edge. Now, just fold those empty edges up and over the fruit, letting the dough pleat naturally.
Bake: Brush the crust with a little milk or egg wash, sprinkle a bit of extra sugar on top, and bake at 400°F (approx. 200°C) for 35 to 40 minutes until the crust is deep golden brown and the fruit is bubbling.


Tonight, let the laptop stay closed. Put on a playlist with a gritty, alternative groove that matches the summer heat. Pour a cold glass of sweet tea or wine, slice into something warm, and let your spirit finally catch up with your body.


The policy has been rewritten. You’ve done enough. Now, just exhale.


🎵 Weekend Soundtrack:
What’s on your kitchen stereo tonight? Pop your favorite summer evening track or playlist recommendation in the comments below—let’s build a shared weekend soundtrack.

E is for Endorsements: Rewriting the Policy on Your Life

by Mothersense, posted in financial-planning, Mental Health Recovery, Reclamation, This Life




We are living our lives under an outdated policy.


When you first started building your world—whether you were launching a business, stepping into a creative project, mapping out a homeschool curriculum, or just figuring out how to manage a household—you wrote a mental contract. You set the terms and conditions for what you owed the world, what you were capable of producing, and how much of yourself you were willing to give away.
You signed it on the dotted line.
But life changes. The assets grow. The liabilities increase. The chaos of everyday life gets heavier, and yet, we find ourselves trying to fulfill a contract written for an entirely different season.


This is where the trap of efficiency kicks in. When we realize we can’t keep up with the terms of our own life policy, we don’t change the contract. Instead, we try to optimize the production line. We buy the color-coded binders. We look for the ultimate life hacks. We schedule our days down to the micro-second, trying to force a tired human soul to run with the efficiency of a corporate spreadsheet.
We treat ourselves like a machine that just needs better tuning. But you cannot efficiency-model your way out of a life that is simply carrying too much weight.


When efficiency fails, we have to turn to the writer’s desk and learn the brutal art of the creative edit. In songwriting and prose, editing is where the magic actually happens. It’s the willingness to take out the red pen, look at a line you love, and cut it because it’s crowding the melody. In life, editing means looking at a crowded calendar of good ideas—the projects, the to-do lists, the expectations—and realizing you have to cross things out so the main story can breathe.


But how do we actually authorize those cuts legally and emotionally within ourselves?
We use an endorsement.


In the insurance world, an endorsement is a specific amendment attached to an existing policy. It changes the terms. It updates the coverage. It acknowledges that the original agreement no longer fits the current risk or reality. It allows the policy to shift without tearing down the entire house.


As mothers, creators, and business owners, we forget that we are the sole underwriters of our own lives. We have the authority to file an endorsement at any given moment.
You are allowed to look at your current season and say, “The old policy required me to be everything to everyone at all times. This new amendment states that my peace is now a non-negotiable excluded risk. I am no longer insuring other people’s comfort at the expense of my own sanity.”


Stop trying to become more efficient at carrying a load that was never meant for one person. Take out the red pen and edit the narrative. File the endorsement, change the terms of what you owe the world, and rewrite the policy so you can actually live a life well-covered.

The Weight and the Warmth of June 19th

by Mothersense, posted in This Life


The calendar tells us that Friday, June 19th is Juneteenth—a day designated for collective reflection, freedom, and celebration. But for me, the date always pulls me backward into a deeply personal history. It forces a quiet pause in the middle of summer. It rewinds the clock to 2019, to a road trip to Louisiana, and to a room filled with a heavy, holy kind of love.
June 19th was my precious Uncle John’s birthday. For probably twenty years or more, if you asked him his age, he’d grin and tell you he was “39 and holding.” But on that specific Wednesday in 2019, time was finally catching up. My sisters and I traveled down to see him, knowing we were stepping into a celebration that was also a final, fragile goodbye. He was about to be transitioned to comfort care.
The air in the room was heavy. We each took a turn to have a moment alone with him. When my turn came, I leaned in close. I leaned into the space between this world and whatever comes next, and I whispered into his ear that it was okay to go. I told him that Jeff would take care of me now. I’m not entirely sure how aware he was in that moment, but whispering those words into the quiet of the room was a balm for my own aching heart.
Then, the priest arrived to perform the anointing of the sick. Because Uncle John was a deacon, he shared a long, deeply rooted history with the priest—a brotherhood of faith and service. Yet, in the middle of all that sorrow, a strange and beautiful thing happened. The priest looked at me, knew exactly who I was, and called me by my name. “Emeline’s daughter,” he recognized. Uncle John had woven stories of me into his life and friendships long before those final days. He had carried me in his conversations for years, just as he carried me in his heart.
I still sit with that moment. I think about it every June 19th, right before the anniversary of his passing on June 20th. I look up at the sky and whisper back to him, hoping with everything I have that I am making him proud.
The Magic of a Louisiana Kitchen
When the grief settles into something softer, it usually leads me straight to the stove.
Truthfully, I was blessed with a family of cooks. Uncle John and Aunt Mertie weren’t the only ones who let me sit and pepper them with a million questions while they worked. But being in those Louisiana kitchens? That was a different kind of magic entirely.
Growing up, learning from Mom or Granny had its own rhythm, rooted in the familiar comfort of daily life. But stepping into Uncle John and Aunt Mertie’s kitchen felt like entering a sacred, vibrant sanctuary of flavor and storytelling. The humidity, the slow simmer of a roux, the effortless dance between them as they threw together dishes that tasted like pure love—it was an education in hospitality. They didn’t do it through formal lessons; they taught me simply by letting me exist in their space, answering every curious question a young girl could dream up.
To pass down a legacy is to answer the questions of the curious girl standing by the counter, watching you create.
God, I miss them. I miss the laughter, the Louisiana warmth, and the safe harbor of their home. But every time I replicate a flavor, test the seasoning, or cook with that patient, soul-filled instinct they modeled for me, they are right there.
So this Friday, while the world celebrates, I’ll be holding a quiet space for the deacon who was forever 39, for the mother who came before me, and for the beautiful, heartbreaking privilege of having people in our lives who are this terribly hard to lose.
Happy Birthday, Uncle Johnny. I hope the kitchen in heaven is everything you ever wanted.