Tag: writing

Friday Exhale: Unraveling the Map and Adapting as I Go

by Mothersense, posted in Mental Health Recovery, Reclamation

If you’ve been following along, you know this past week has required a lot of listening to my body—stepping back, treading water, and letting go of the need to do it all at once.

For a long time, when my body threw out warning lights—fatigue, brain fog, shortness of breath—it was easy to assume it was just one thing. We tell ourselves, “I’m just tired,” or “My iron must be low again,” and we keep pushing.

But real health transitions happen when you stop guessing and start digging.

What the Map Is Showing Me

Over the last few months, I’ve been working closely with my care team—specialists across different areas who are helping me piece together a puzzle that’s been building for a while.

Instead of a single isolated issue, the tests and conversations are showing a web of connected signals: heart health, blood sugar, oxygen levels, and metabolic balance. Receiving clear news—like where my A1C stands or how my body is handling stress and nutrition—can feel heavy at first.

It’s scary to realize your body is raising its hand and saying, “We can’t keep doing things the old way.”

At the same time, clarity is a gift. You can’t fix what you refuse to name. Having actual data from my doctors means I no longer have to wander in the dark guessing why I feel drained.

How I Am Adapting

Finding out what’s going on under the hood isn’t a dead end—it’s the start of a redesign. Here is how I’m turning those clinical answers into daily action:

  1. Fueling for Function, Not Just Convenience: My kitchen is transforming. I am pivoting toward a heart-healthy, low-sodium, and blood-sugar-mindful way of eating. It means trading quick, processed fixes for whole foods, lean proteins, and meals that protect my heart while keeping my iron and energy steady.
  2. Protecting My Lungs: Part of this adaptation means ending my reliance on nicotine for good. Moving away from cigarettes was step one; letting go of the vape to give my lungs the clean air they need to heal is the necessary final step.
  3. Pacing Over Pushing: I am learning to treat rest as a non-negotiable medical instruction, not a luxury I earn after I’m exhausted.
  4. Building the Support Network: Leaning on my family, my doctors, and clear accountability so I don’t try to navigate this massive shift alone.

The Exhale

If you are fighting your own quiet health battles or trying to make sense of a new diagnosis, know that it’s okay if the answers take time to sort out. You don’t have to have the entire journey mapped on day one.

You just need to listen to what your body is asking for today, trust the professionals in your corner, and make the next right choice for your health.

As we roll into the weekend, take a deep breath, give yourself some grace, and let your body rest.

T is for Transitions, Truth, and Treading Water

by Mothersense, posted in Mental Health Recovery, Reclamation

If you noticed the quiet here on Friday, thank you for your grace. My body called a hard timeout, and honoring that pause wasn’t optional—it was necessary.

When you’re running a series like this, missing a beat can make you feel like you’ve fallen behind. But as we step into T, it feels right on time. Today, T stands for three things that are currently intertwined in my life: Transitions, Truth-Telling, and Treading Water.

The Reality of Treading Water

When we talk about life changes, the world loves to highlight the “before” and “after.” We talk about making strides, taking big leaps, and celebrating clean breaks.

What people rarely talk about is the awkward, exhausting space in between—the season where you are simply treading water.

Treading water gets a bad rap because it looks like standing still from the surface. But underneath? Your legs are moving constantly just to keep your head up. It takes real energy to hold your ground while your body and mind adapt to change. If all you did today was keep your head above water while navigate a hard shift, that wasn’t a wasted day. That was survival.

Facing the Hard Truths

You can’t navigate a transition successfully on half-truths or wishful thinking. Real growth requires a serious period of Truth-Seeking and Truth-Telling—starting with the person in the mirror.

That means looking squarely at what we are putting into our bodies, our minds, and our daily routines, and asking: Is this actually serving me, or is it just a crutch?

For me, that truth-telling hits close to home right now:

  • The Habit Swap: Back in January, I made the big decision to quit smoking. That was a huge win, but to keep the edge off, I picked up vaping. It cut down the harm, but the truth caught up with me: my lungs are letting me know in no uncertain terms that vaping has to go, too. Moving from one crutch to another isn’t the final destination; it was just a stepping stone on the way to full clarity.
  • Fuel vs. Filling Space: I’m in a season where I have to be intensely mindful of every single thing I eat. It can no longer be about convenience or quick fixes. I am actively learning to seek high nutritional value and genuine flavor, shifting how I view food entirely.
  • Adding & Subtracting: Transitions aren’t just about cutting things out—they’re about replacing old, harmful patterns with nourishing ones. It’s an ongoing audit of habits, routines, and inputs.

Bringing Your Circle Into the Fold

The hardest part of truth-telling is doing it out loud with the people who love you.

It is terrifying to admit to the people close to us that we are struggling, or that a habit we thought we had under control is actually holding us back. But hiding our struggles only isolates us.

When we tell the truth to our family, friends, and support system:

  1. We drop the mask: Pretending “everything is fine” takes twice as much energy as actually dealing with the problem.
  2. We invite accountability: The people who love us can’t help us keep our balance if they don’t know we’re tipping over.
  3. We build a safer bridge: Letting others see our raw transitions allows them to support us in practical, meaningful ways.

Finding the New Normal

Learning a whole new set of life skills—whether it’s stepping away from nicotine entirely, restructuring your diet, or managing physical boundaries—feels heavy when you’re doing it all at once.

If you are currently in a transition of your own, give yourself permission to tread water for a minute. Be honest about where it hurts, stop pretending you have it all figured out, and let the people who care about you help hold you steady while you build your new normal.

We don’t have to swim laps today. We just have to keep reaching for the truth, one breath at a time.

The Friday Freedom Exhale

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



We are hitting the release valve again today. No alphabet lessons, no self-improvement frameworks, and absolutely no expectations. Just a deep, collective breath heading into the weekend.
I’m calling today the Friday Freedom Exhale.
When you are someone who is used to operating at full capacity, the hardest part of navigating a forced health pause or carrying heavy grief isn’t just the physical limitation—it’s the mental trap. We tell ourselves that if we aren’t working on our big, full-steam-ahead plans, then we must be strictly resting. We turn rest into a chore, a rigid box we have to stay inside of so we can heal.
But true freedom doesn’t live in a rigid box.
So today, consider this your official, unfiltered permission slip to do exactly what your spirit needs this weekend—whether that means doing all the things or absolutely nothing at all.
If your body is finally feeling a spark of energy and you want to bake a mess of bread, dive into a creative project, or deep-clean the kitchen because that is what puts your mind in order—do it. Do all of it with joy, and don’t feel guilty for “wasting” your resting energy.
And if your body or your heart looks at the weekend and says, “I cannot move,” then let the dishes pile up. Leave the projects right where they are. Lie on the couch, turn on a favorite crime drama, and do completely, beautifully nothing.
Freedom is knowing that you don’t owe anyone a predictable pace. You are allowed to ride the waves of your own capacity. You can be a force of nature on Saturday and completely still on Sunday.
Drop your shoulders. Unclench your jaw. The weekend is here, and the choice is entirely yours. Let’s exhale.

I’m Not the Mom I Thought I’d Be — And That’s Okay

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



When I first became a mom, I had ideas.

Not just little ones, but full pictures in my head of how life would look.

What kind of mom I would be.
What kind of home I would create.
Who my kids would grow up to become.

I did not think of it as expectations at the time.
It felt more like hope.

I wanted a doctor.
Two nurses.
A veterinarian.

I wanted stability for them.
Security.
A life that felt a little more certain than the one I had known.

And I worked hard toward that in my own way.
Raising them.
Showing up.
Trying to guide them toward what I thought would give them the best future.

But life does not follow the plans we make in our heads.

And kids are not meant to become our plans.

They are meant to become themselves.

Somewhere along the way, I had to face a quiet truth.

My kids are not who I once imagined they would be.

They are not following the paths I pictured.
They are not fitting into the neat little futures I had hoped for.

And for a moment, that felt like loss.

Not because there is anything wrong with them.
But because I had to let go of the version of their lives that existed in my mind.

That is a hard thing to admit.

As parents, we do not like to say that part out loud.

But here is what I know now.

My kids are good people.

They are strong in ways that do not show up on paper.
They are learning, growing, struggling, and figuring life out in real time.

And they still call me.

When things get hard.
When they need advice.
When they just need someone to listen.

That means something.

Maybe everything.

Because at the end of the day, that was always the goal, even if I did not realize it at the time.

Not perfection.
Not a specific career path.
Not a life that looks impressive from the outside.

But connection.

Trust.

A relationship that lasts beyond childhood.

I am not the mom I thought I would be either.

I have changed.
Life has changed me.

There are things I would do differently if I could go back.
There are things I have had to learn the hard way.

And there are moments where I have questioned myself more than I ever expected to.

But I am still here.

Still showing up.
Still loving them the best way I know how.
Still learning alongside them instead of trying to control the outcome.

And maybe that is what motherhood really is.

Not raising perfect kids.
Not following a perfect plan.

But walking beside imperfect humans as they figure out who they are.

And learning to let them.

So no, my life does not look like I thought it would.

My kids are not who I once imagined.

And I am not the mom I expected to be.

But we are real.

We are connected.

We are still choosing each other, over and over again.

And that is more than enough.

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.