Tag: healing

Holiday Blues: Finding Light in Dark Times

by Mothersense, posted in Uncategorized

The Perfect Storm

As we wind down the year and the days grow shorter, the holiday season settles in like a familiar rhythm—lights, music, gatherings, the scent of good food, and memories tucked into every corner. For many, it’s a time of joy. But for just as many, it’s the beginning of a perfect storm.

Longer nights. Dreary weather. A calendar full of holidays that once held laughter, tradition, and warmth—but now may carry the heavy weight of grief. This might be your first holiday season without a loved one. Or maybe it’s another year of feeling lonesome, out of place, or disconnected while the world around you insists that this is the season of togetherness. Everywhere you look—commercials, store displays, conversations—there’s a reminder of what this time of year is supposed to be. And if your heart isn’t in it, that reminder can sting.

Seasonal depression is real. Grief is real. Loneliness is real. And the darkness of winter has a way of amplifying what’s already there.

But here’s what’s also real: you are not the only one feeling this way.
Not even close.

Millions of people across the country and around the globe quietly carry similar feelings—sadness, heaviness, grief, fatigue, numbness. Many worry that something is “wrong” with them, that they’re somehow broken because they can’t summon holiday cheer on demand. But you aren’t broken. You aren’t failing. You aren’t even unusual. You are human, navigating a season that can be as complicated as it is beautiful.

And we all cope in different ways. Some people power through. Some find therapy or medication. Some dive into work or scroll endlessly on their phones. Some turn to hobbies, routines, or rituals that keep them grounded. I’m not advocating for one particular method—just acknowledging that we’re all doing the best we can with what we have.

But if the weight becomes more than temporary—if it presses hard, especially as this season closes in—please talk to someone. A friend. A pastor, priest, rabbi, or imam. A counselor or therapist. Someone who can listen, reflect, and help you feel less alone.

Because you aren’t alone.
People see you. People remember you. People count on you.
Your presence matters more than you know.

Please don’t let the perfect storm pull you under. Make it to the new year. Celebrate the tiniest victories along the way. If you did ten lunges today—high five. If you made your bed—HIGH FIVE. Those little things matter. They add up. They are proof that you’re still here, still showing up for yourself, even in the hardest season.

And that is no small thing.

Low Flame, Big Impact: The Strength of Being Present

by Mothersense, posted in Uncategorized

Blog Post: A Low Flame Still Lights the Dark

I haven’t wanted to do much of anything this week. Oh, I’ve done the bare minimum the best I can. I have pain. I have grief. I have things that need doing, and absolutely no motivation to do them. Showering, cooking, cleaning—those things get done, though some days I have to talk myself into each one.

I check in on my kids. It probably annoys them sometimes; I ask the same questions and get mostly the same answers. But I hope they know I’m here. I’m listening. I cheer for them silently, and I cover them in prayer every. single. day.

Right now, I’m in my mostly silent era. I’m being still, being quiet, trying to heal the parts of myself I don’t share with the world. I’m taking a beat to remember who I am, what I stand for, and how to stay present. Even if “present” looks like me half-asleep on the couch, waiting to welcome my daughter home after her trip to say goodbye to a friend who could no longer bear the weight of his pain.

I keep reminding myself that I am not expected to have all the answers. That others need grace and mercy. That the time and space I occupy matter—and simply being present matters.

Readers, when you come across this, and as you move through your day and all the days to come, please remember to be kind. You never know what battle someone else is carrying. I’ve studied world religions and belief systems, and one major tenet shows up in every single one: don’t be a jerk. Do good where you can. Help those who struggle. We have to be the light, even if sometimes we’re only a low flame.

Always,
Julie 🙂

The Power of Empathy: Finding Hope Amidst Suffering

by Mothersense, posted in Uncategorized

Is it just me?

Cautiously Optimistic: Navigating the Weight of Others’ Pain

I’ve often described myself as a cautiously optimistic person. It’s a way of being that helps me face the challenges of life with hope but without completely abandoning my awareness of how fragile things can be. I try to hold on to the belief that things will get better, that there is light at the end of every dark tunnel. Yet, beneath this cautious optimism is something much deeper—an empathy that can feel all-consuming. I feel everything, and when I say everything, I mean everything.

It’s as if my heart is finely attuned to the pain of the world. When I see someone struggling, whether it’s a close friend or a stranger, I feel their burden. I feel their sadness, their frustration, their fear. It’s hard to explain to those who don’t share this experience, but it’s almost as if I can physically feel their emotions in my own body. And with this heightened sense of empathy comes a natural desire to help. If I’m in, I’m all in. When someone I care about is hurting, I will do everything within my power to ease their pain. But here’s where the challenge lies: No matter how much I want to help, no matter how deeply I feel their suffering, I can’t fix everything.

And that’s the part that has become so difficult. Everywhere I go, I see people struggling. Whether it’s a friend facing a personal crisis, a family member dealing with loss, or a stranger encountering hardships I’ll never fully understand, it feels like there is a constant presence of pain in the world. It’s overwhelming at times. And as much as I want to be there for everyone, as much as I want to ease their suffering and show them that they are not alone, I feel a sense of helplessness that gnaws at me.

I think the hardest part is that the more I care, the more I absorb. I can’t turn off my empathy. When someone is hurting, I can’t just ignore it or pretend it doesn’t affect me. So, I carry these burdens with me. I hold space for others’ pain even when I have nothing left to give. This emotional weight becomes part of my daily existence, and sometimes, it feels like it’s a battle to simply get through the day without being overwhelmed.

Coping has become a process—a continuous, daily, and sometimes hourly, practice. I’ve learned to breathe through moments of heaviness, to step back and remind myself that it’s okay not to have all the answers. I’ve had to accept that my capacity to help is limited, that sometimes, the best thing I can offer is simply my presence, my listening ear, and my unwavering support. But that doesn’t always feel like enough. I want to do more—to take away the pain, to find a solution, to make it all better. The frustration of knowing that I can’t is, at times, unbearable.

But as I reflect on these feelings, I realize that my cautious optimism isn’t about ignoring the pain or pretending that everything is fine. It’s about holding space for hope, even in the face of suffering. It’s about recognizing that while I may not have the power to fix everything, I do have the ability to show up, to care, and to be a source of light in the lives of others.

The truth is, I may never be able to ease all of the burdens that I see around me, and that’s something I have to come to terms with. But I also believe that even the smallest acts of kindness, empathy, and support can make a difference. They may not erase the pain, but they can help carry it for a little while. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

So, I’ll continue to navigate the world with this cautious optimism—holding space for the pain I encounter, but also holding space for the hope that one day, things will get better. I’ll keep doing what I can, even when it feels like it’s not enough, because I know that the journey of healing is a shared one. We may not always have the power to solve each other’s problems, but we can always choose to walk alongside each other, offering empathy, understanding, and love. And in the end, maybe that’s the most important thing we can do.

From Writing to Healing: The Art of Emotional Expression

by Mothersense, posted in Uncategorized

I shared with you guys that I had been using writing as a creative outlet. I also stress bake and cook as a way to cope. It has been a roller coaster around here the past year so I have experimented with writing songs, poetry, new recipes, just about any way that you could imagine to creatively deal with all of the changes.

Here is a sneak peek at a song I wrote about the complicated relationships with sisters:

🎶 Sister Things

(Original song about the fierce, complex bond between sisters)

[Verse 1]
 We’ve shared shoes, secrets, silence, and screams
Traded dreams, and jeans, and in-between things
Laughed ‘til we cried, cried ‘til we laughed
Drew battle lines, then erased the past
You knew the boy before he broke my heart
I knew your tells before you fell apart

[Pre-Chorus]
 We don’t say sorry — not out loud
But we show up when it really counts

[Chorus]
 It’s a sister thing, it don’t always make sense
Like throwing shade but leaping to defense
We can fight like hell behind closed doors
But God help the fool who says one word more
You get me like no one ever could
And still hurt me worse than anyone would
But there’s grace in the grit, love in the sting
That’s just how we do… sister things

[Verse 2]
 I’ve rolled my eyes at the life you chose
You’ve judged my pain like it’s a TV show
But deep down we’re tied at the soul’s seam
Different stars in the same wild dream
You’ve been my mirror, my rival, my home
The first to call, the last to condone

[Pre-Chorus]
 We’ve got bruises that no one sees
But girl, your wins still feel like wins to me

[Chorus]
 It’s a sister thing — part fire, part gold
A little too much, a little too bold
We’ll talk behind each other’s backs
Then come out swingin’ if someone attacks
You keep my ugly, you’ve seen me weak
Still call me strong when I can’t speak
Yeah, it cuts and it heals — that’s the swing
Of this wild and holy… sister thing

[Bridge]
 And not all sisters are born the same
Some show up later, without the name
They pick you up, they pull you through
They know the mess, but love you true
So here’s to the soul-tied, battle-scarred few
Who love like sisters… and show up like glue

[Final Chorus]
 It’s a sister thing — it’s sacred, it’s loud
Full of silent vows we never said out loud
You can tear me down, but build me up too
‘Cause no one else sees the whole damn truth
From the sandbox fights to wedding rings
We’ve weathered it all… sister things
Not just blood, but heart and flame
And I’d choose you over and over again

[Outro]
 Yeah, it’s raw, it’s real, it’s a lifelong sting
But thank God for this beautiful…
Sister thing

And then I wrote about people, the kind of people who will smile to your face and do hurtful things behind your back. I really have enjoyed writing and creating. I might someday get the chance to perform these songs somewhere or maybe find an artist that appreciates the sentiment and wants to record them. Who knows? But for now, for now I will share them with you guys and hope you enjoy!!

🎶 “Smiling Snake”

(Original song – sassy, upbeat, and too real)

[Verse 1]
 Oh, she’s got a hug that’s sugar-sweet
But her eyes say she’s sizing up the meat
Brings a pie to your potluck dream
While she’s stirring doubt in her own scheme
Knows your birthday, knows your fears
Knows just how to play those gears
Laughs with you, then walks away
To twist your truth another way

[Pre-Chorus]
 Yeah, she claps when you rise — slow and tight
Then whispers why you’ll fall by Friday night

[Chorus]
 She’s got a Sunday smile and a serpent’s soul
Wears kindness like a high-heeled role
Says “I’m just worried” with a perfect pitch
But she’s rooting for a breakdown, not a switch
She don’t hiss — no, she sweet-talks fate
Pulls you close just to watch you break
Oh, bless her heart — that girl is fake
She ain’t a friend, she’s a smiling snake

[Verse 2]
 She’ll comment “love this!” on your post
Then share it in a group chat roast
Says “I’m so proud” to your face
Then prays you trip on your own grace
But baby, I’ve been watchin’ too
And now I know what snakeskins do
She’s just a mirror with no soul
Reflectin’ shadows, never whole

[Pre-Chorus]
 So go on, girl, keep up the charm
I’ve built a fence around this heart

[Chorus]
 Yeah, she’s got a halo that’s glued on tight
Winks in public, claws at night
Says “we go way back” with a champagne grin
But she’s counting your cracks while she sips her sin
She don’t bite — nah, she whispers fate
Sews her lies like they’re first-rate
Oh, bless her heart — that smile’s so fake
She ain’t a friend, she’s a smiling snake

[Bridge]
 Now I ain’t bitter, just awake
Learned how to spot a polished fake
Not every grin means love or peace
Some just want a front row seat…

[Breakdown – Spoken or Half-Sung]
 To your fall — or your rise
But either way, she’ll act surprised

[Final Chorus]
 So raise a glass to the girls who know
That sisterhood ain’t just for show
We’ve seen the venom dressed in pearls
The side-eyes hidden in “you go, girl!”
But we’ve learned to smile, and walk on by
With sharper hearts and clearer eyes
No more fools for the games they play
We see ’em now — from a mile away

[Outro – Tagline Hook]
 Oh bless her heart…
She’s just a smiling snake.

Healing Through Creation: The Power of a Creative Outlet

by Mothersense, posted in Uncategorized

There’s something magical that happens when we put our pain, joy, confusion, or hope into words, images, or melodies. Lately, I’ve been writing songs, poetry, short stories, and sharing pieces of my journey here on this blog. Each piece—whether it flows easily or arrives stubborn and raw—has been a small but powerful step forward in my healing.

Creating isn’t just about making something beautiful or polished. Sometimes it’s messy. Sometimes it’s just about getting through the day, giving shape to a feeling that doesn’t have a name yet. But over time, I’ve come to see that this act of expressing—of making—has been one of the most effective tools in my emotional toolbox.

Why Creative Outlets Heal

When we go through pain, trauma, stress, or even just the overwhelming pressure of day-to-day life, it can feel like everything inside us is swirling out of control. Creative outlets give us a way to take back the narrative. They allow us to externalize what’s internal, and suddenly, what felt chaotic becomes a canvas we can look at, understand, and maybe even learn to appreciate.

Here’s what I’ve noticed about using creativity to heal:

  • It makes space for truth. There are things I didn’t even realize I needed to say until I wrote them down. That truth, however small, opens a door.
  • It reduces the pressure to “fix” everything. Healing doesn’t need to be linear. Sometimes it’s just about showing up and writing the next verse or paragraph.
  • It empowers me. Whether I’m writing a powerful lyric or a quiet line of poetry, it reminds me that I have a voice. That I’m not just surviving—I’m creating.

Balancing Healing and Hustling

Right now, I’m also deep in study mode, working toward earning my securities licenses. It’s a grind. It’s mentally exhausting. But even in that structured, analytical world, I find moments where creativity sneaks in—whether it’s the way I reframe a financial concept to help it stick, or the way I motivate myself with a lyric I wrote last week. Studying for these exams is part of my future, but writing keeps me present.

It’s strange but comforting how these two seemingly opposite parts of my life—rigid test prep and freeform writing—are actually balancing each other out. One grounds me, the other sets me free.

How’s Your Healing Journey Going?

If you’re reading this, maybe you’re on a healing path of your own. Maybe you’re creating something, or maybe you haven’t yet, but the idea is tugging at you. I encourage you to try. You don’t have to show anyone. You don’t have to be good at it. You just have to let it be real.

So how’s your healing journey going? What helps you feel a little more whole?

Leave a comment or just reflect quietly—but know that your story matters. And maybe, just maybe, your next step forward begins with a blank page.

Until next time,
Keep creating. Keep healing. Keep going.

✨🖊️🎶