Tag: wife

Friday Exhale: 51 Years, 2 Years of Words, and Still Standing

by Mothersense, posted in Mental Health Recovery, Reclamation


Whew. Take a deep breath with me.
This week brings a quiet moment of reflection as I celebrate my 51st birthday—and mark almost two full years of sharing my heart on this blog. Looking back over where I’ve been and where I am standing today, only one phrase truly fits: I am still here.
Making it to 51 is an incredible, humbling blessing. Life hasn’t been a smooth, polished path; it has been full of real, sharp highs and deep, heavy lows. But sitting here on the other side of those seasons, my heart is overflowing with gratitude.
I look at my life and see a landscape rich with love. I am blessed with a wonderful, supportive husband who stands beside me, incredible children who make me proud every single day, and precious grandchildren who bring endless joy to my world. On top of that, I’m standing on the threshold of exciting new business opportunities, watching hard work turn into real progress.
Through every trial, health scare, and triumph, my family and my faith have been the anchor.
So as this week comes to a close, I’m stepping into the weekend not focused on the weariness of the journey, but on the joy of the destination. Here’s to 51 years of life, two years of shared words, and a future full of promise.
Thankful. Grateful. Blessed.

August, Transitions, and a New Beginning

by Mothersense, posted in This Life



Welcome to August. There is a shift in the air today, a distinct change in the season’s rhythm. For many, August marks the ultimate month of transitions. Around here, everyone is gearing up for the whirlwind of back-to-school season. Parents are checking off school supply lists, preparing for the upcoming Texas tax-free weekend, mapping out trips to Back-to-School Fairs, and rushing around for sports physicals. The entire community is collectively leaning into the preparation for a brand-new school year.
It is a season defined by clean slates, fresh notebooks, and new beginnings.
But for me, August brings a completely different layer of celebration and reflection: it is officially the beginning of my birthday month!
Turning a year older right alongside this collective community reset feels incredibly fitting. As a former classroom teacher, the energy of a new school year is practically woven into my DNA. Even though my daily schedule looks different now, that “new notebook” feeling never truly leaves you. It’s a reminder that no matter what kind of physical limitations, pauses, or unexpected health hurdles the previous months have thrown our way, August arrives with an invitation to start fresh.
A birthday month in a season of transition is the perfect excuse to evaluate where we are going and how we want to get there. It’s a time to celebrate another trip around the sun, to honor the roots that keep us steady, and to confidently look forward to the chapters yet to be written.
Whether you are frantically labeling school supplies, adjusting to a new family schedule, or celebrating a personal milestone of your own this month, let’s embrace the transition. Let’s welcome the new beginnings, the fresh energy, and a month dedicated to celebrating growth.
Happy August, everyone. Let’s make it a beautiful one.

Where the Fire Started

by Mothersense, posted in Musical Musings



Sometimes a song doesn’t arrive as a fully formed idea. It slips in sideways. A single line. A feeling you can’t shake. A truth that feels a little too loud to say out loud.

For me, one of those moments came wrapped in a lyric that hit harder than I expected:

“If I’m too much, go find less.”

I can’t take credit for that line — it comes from Elyse Meyers — but the second I heard it, it felt like someone had reached into my chest and put words to something I’d been carrying for a long time.

Even though I’d had similar thoughts, I’d never said them that clean, that sharp. That honest.

And that’s what stuck with me.

Because it didn’t come from confidence. Not at first. It came from that raw, uncomfortable place where you realize how often you’ve been shrinking yourself to fit into spaces that were never built for you.

I’ve spent years being a lot of things to a lot of people. Mom. Wife. Student. Teacher. The reliable one. The strong one. The one who keeps it all together. And somewhere in all of that, there were pieces of me I kept sanding down. Softer. Quieter. Easier to hold.

More “acceptable.”

But that line? That line was the snap.

It was the moment the narrative shifted from “Am I too much?” to “Why am I apologizing for being enough?”

That’s where the song started to take shape.


—

The First Spark

When I wrote that lyric, I wasn’t thinking about structure or genre or where it would fit. I was thinking about every time I bit my tongue. Every time I softened a truth. Every time I made myself smaller so someone else could stay comfortable.

That one line carried all of that.

So instead of building a song around an idea, I built the idea around that line.

What does it look like to stop apologizing?

What does it sound like to own your edges instead of hiding them?

What does it feel like to finally say, this is who I am — take it or leave it?


—

Letting It Get a Little Wild

At first, the song leaned reflective. Almost restrained. But the more I sat with it, the more I realized that wasn’t honest.

Because the truth isn’t quiet.

The truth, for me, was a little feral.

It had teeth.

It laughed too loud. It made questionable choices. It lit the match instead of walking away from the fire.

So I leaned into that.

I let the verses get bolder. Messier. More unapologetic. I stopped trying to make the narrator likable and started making her real.

That’s when the song found its voice.


—

Writing for Me, Not for Approval

There’s a version of songwriting where you’re always thinking about the listener. What will they like? What will land? What will sell?

And then there’s the version where you tell the truth first.

This song demanded the second version.

It wasn’t about being polished. It wasn’t about being palatable. It was about being honest in a way that felt a little dangerous.

Because if I’m being real, the line “If I’m too much, go find less” isn’t just a lyric.

It’s a boundary.

It’s a declaration.

It’s a refusal to keep editing myself down to a version that’s easier for someone else to hold.


—

The Shape It Took

By the time the song settled into itself, it wasn’t soft anymore.

It had grit. A little swagger. A little chaos.

It became a kind of anthem for that version of me that doesn’t ask permission anymore.

The one who knows exactly who she is — even when that’s inconvenient.

Especially then.


—

Why It Matters

I think we all have a version of ourselves we’ve been told is “too much.”

Too loud. Too emotional. Too driven. Too complicated. Too honest.

And we learn, over time, how to file those edges down.

But here’s the thing I’ve learned through writing this song:

The parts of you they call “too much” are usually the parts that are most you.

And maybe the goal isn’t to fix that.

Maybe the goal is to finally stand in it.

Fully.

Unapologetically.

And if that’s too much for someone?

They’re free to go find less.


—

That’s where this song came from.

Not from perfection.

From truth.

And honestly? That’s the only place worth writing from anymore.


—

The Line That Lit It (Full Circle)

And it still takes me back to that line I didn’t write, but absolutely claimed in spirit — the one from Elyse Meyers that put words to what I’d been circling for years.

Because sometimes the most powerful thing isn’t inventing the truth.

It’s recognizing it when you hear it.

And having the guts to build something honest in response.


—

Lyrics Excerpt

Verse I bent myself to fit the frame Cut my edges, dulled my flame Smiled nice and played it safe Just to keep the peace in place

Pre-Chorus But something in me finally broke Somewhere between the hush and choke

Chorus If I’m too much, go find less I’m done drowning in second-guess I won’t shrink to ease your mind Take it or leave it, this is mine Strike the match, watch it burn I ain’t got a damn thing left to learn If I’m fire you can’t confess If I’m too much, go find less

Bridge A little wild, a little free A little more of who I’m meant to be No more trimming down the truth No more asking for your proof


—

That’s the song that came out of it.

Not borrowed. Not copied. But sparked — by a line that told the truth so clearly, I couldn’t ignore it.

Why Emotional Labor Deserves Recognition

by Mothersense, posted in This Life

The Cost of Being Unpaid

I often feel invisible. Not unseen in a dramatic way—but quietly, persistently taken for granted.

My empathy, my sympathy, my knowledge, and the countless things I offer other human beings move through the world without acknowledgment. I do not get paid to cook nourishing meals. I do not earn a wage for listening while someone vents, or for offering advice, or for helping untangle problems that aren’t mine. There is no paycheck for being available, for showing up emotionally, for holding space.

And yet, these things take time. They take energy. They take experience.

I have knowledge. I have lived enough life to understand nuance, to adapt, to learn quickly, to respond with compassion and clarity. I share all of it freely—especially with family. I give because I care, because connection matters to me, because helping feels natural. But because there is no monetary value attached to my time, no salary or hourly rate, it often feels as though my worth is somehow less.

Less than my sisters.
Less than anyone who earns money doing things.

I know—logically—that my skills have value. I know that emotional intelligence, adaptability, and lived experience are not insignificant. But where do they fit on a wage scale? What number do you assign to being the person others rely on? Why does value seem to exist only when it can be measured in dollars?

If I stopped doing all the things I normally do—if I were no longer available, no longer the listener, the helper, the cook, the steady presence—what then? Would the absence finally make the value visible? Or would it simply be filled by someone else, still unpaid, still unacknowledged?

Americans are relentlessly committed to monetizing every moment. A hobby can’t just be enjoyable—it has to become a side hustle. Creativity must be productive. Passion must be profitable. But a hobby stops being fun the moment it becomes a have to instead of a want to. When joy is turned into obligation, something essential is lost.

So I keep circling back to the same painful question:
If I am not valuable because I do not earn money… then what does that say about all the work that keeps people going but never appears on a balance sheet?

Maybe the problem isn’t my worth.
Maybe the problem is a system that only recognizes value when it can be billed, sold, or taxed.

And maybe being unpaid does not mean being unworthy—no matter how often the world makes it feel that way.

Therapeutic Cooking: Finding Peace in Recipes

by Mothersense, posted in This Life

Finding Peace in the Kitchen: Cooking My Way Through the Chaos

Lately, I’ve been spending a lot of time in the kitchen — testing recipes, adjusting ingredients, and finding creative ways to use what I already have on hand. It’s not just about food; it’s about coping. It’s how I manage the discombobulation of my feelings, the uncertainty of the world, and the heaviness that sometimes tries to creep in. Cooking keeps my hands busy, my mind focused, and my heart grounded.

My kids are loving this little culinary journey — they’ve become my official taste testers. Not every recipe is a winner, but that’s part of the fun. My cinnamon rolls, for example, turned out tough and not fluffy at all. Instead of tossing them, I chopped them up, added a custard base, and turned them into a cinnamon roll French toast bake. It was a hit! Proof that even “failed” recipes can have delicious second lives.

I’ve been challenging myself to waste less and create more. Leftover taco meat, beans, Spanish rice, and corn turned into a comforting fall soup — some went straight into the freezer for another day. A close-dated can of fruit cocktail became the unexpected star of my “sweet heat salsa” when I mixed it with some red pepper flakes. I poured it over a pork roast, served it with mashed potatoes, and let me tell you — it was so good. Simple, cozy, belly-filling goodness.

Cooking every day — baking bread, making tortillas, mixing my own seasonings — has become more than a necessity. It’s a form of therapy. It helps me stay present and productive while I navigate this time of year, which has been difficult for me for a number of years. Recently, I restocked my pantry: flour, sugar, baking powder, cocoa, beans, potatoes, meats… all the staples that keep a kitchen humming. It gave me a strange sense of comfort and accomplishment — a reminder that even when life feels uncertain, there’s something deeply grounding about being able to nourish my family.

Sometimes, I think about my mom, Granny, Aunt Mertie, my former mother-in-law, and my Daddy. They all enjoyed my cooking, especially when my experiments turned out well. I think they’d be proud of me now — keeping their traditions alive while adding my own twist.

This — the mixing, the kneading, the simmering — this is how I cope. It’s how I manage the overwhelm, the grief, the unknown. It’s creative, it’s practical, and it fills both the stomach and the soul.

So if you’re feeling weighed down by the world or by your own thoughts, maybe try stirring something up in your kitchen. You might just find a bit of peace in the process, too.

Love and light, y’all.
And remember — you matter.