Tag: writing

Walking My Daughter Down the Aisle: A Parental Perspective

by Mothersense, posted in This Life

Walking My Daughter Down the Aisle – With My Heart in My Hands

This past weekend, I had the honor – and the heartache – of watching my daughter get married. If I’m honest, I’m still trying to sort through the wave of emotions that swept over me. Pride, joy, sadness, nostalgia, relief… they all tangled together, sometimes knocking me off balance. It wasn’t just my own feelings, either. Weddings stir up emotions for everyone, and I found myself carrying not only my own heart but also helping manage the hearts of others around me.

Her biological father wasn’t there. That relationship ended long ago and with it, the possibility of his presence on this day. Instead, her big brother stepped up, handsome and steady, to walk his little sister down the aisle. Watching him place her hand into her groom’s brought tears to my eyes — not just for what was missing, but for the love and loyalty that was so beautifully present.

She missed her grandparents, too. There was a quiet ache where they should have been. The reception had a small wall piece honoring those no longer with us, which was both touching and bittersweet. And yes, there were others who weren’t there — for different reasons — and that stung. But we didn’t let the sadness linger long. This was, above all else, a celebration of love.

And what a celebration it was.

From the vintage two-tone blue Ford pickup pulling the wedding party out to the field by the pond, to the arch set up at the water’s edge — it was a scene straight out of Pinterest. My baby girl, the bride, was radiant. The wedding party looked lovely, the ceremony was short and sweet, and the photos seemed endless (but wonderful).

As the evening moved on, laughter, joy, and love filled the air. It was a day built of memories, both tender and joyful.

But as any parent knows, weddings are more than just events. They’re milestones. They’re turning points. And when I got back in the car to drive away, the tears came again.

Because while I am proud beyond words of the life my daughter has built, of the work she does, of the charming little town she calls home, and the wonderful support system she has around her… I am also sad. Sad because she’s far away. Sad because no matter how grown up she is, she will always be my baby.

I suppose that’s the paradox of parenthood: bursting with pride while your heart aches with longing. Relieved she is loved and cared for, yet still wishing you could keep her close.

So how did I get through it? I’m not sure I have a tidy answer. I breathed. I cried. I smiled until my face hurt. I carried others when I could, and leaned on my own strength when I had to. Mostly, I let myself feel it all — the pride, the sadness, the joy, the overwhelm, and the pieces I can’t even find words for.

Because that’s love. Messy, overwhelming, breathtaking love.

And as I continue learning how to let go while holding on, I carry one truth with me: Mom is always here. Always.

The Power of Empathy: Finding Hope Amidst Suffering

by Mothersense, posted in This Life

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.

Suicide Prevention Month: Honoring Lives and Spreading Hope

by Mothersense, posted in This Life

Honoring Carla, Hunter, and Holding on to Hope

September is Suicide Prevention Month, a time to shine light into the shadows and remind one another that every life matters. For me, this month is personal. Too personal.

Just this May, my friend Carla made the choice to leave this world. She had only just become a grandmother, a role I know would have filled her with joy. Carla’s smile beamed, her laugh was unforgettable, and she adored her children—kids the same ages as three of mine. To learn that she had taken her own life stopped me in my tracks.

My first thought was: My God, the pain must have been so immense for her to leave behind her beautiful little family. Whatever she was carrying must have hurt so deeply that leaving felt like her only escape. That thought still breaks me.

And Carla’s loss is not the only one close to my heart. Earlier this year, my family also said goodbye to Hunter, who lost his battle with his own thoughts. Two lives gone too soon. Two families left to navigate unimaginable grief.

Suicide prevention is not just a cause on a calendar for me—it is a daily prayer, a constant thought. I carry it not only for Carla and for Hunter, but also for my own child who has struggled. When you’ve looked into the eyes of someone you love and wondered if they’ll still be here tomorrow, suicide prevention becomes your heartbeat.

That’s why checking in on people matters so much. Sometimes we assume that because someone is smiling, laughing, or surrounded by loved ones, they must be okay. Carla looked like she had so much to live for. Hunter had so much life ahead of him. And yet, their battles were invisible to most of us. A simple text, a phone call, a coffee together—it might not “fix” everything, but it could remind someone they are not alone in their darkness.

I also hope for families left behind that practical things—like having a will, leaving clear instructions, or having life insurance in place—can ease some of the burden. Not because it takes away the grief, but because it provides breathing room in the middle of heartbreak.

But more than anything, I hope we all keep talking, keep listening, and keep showing up for one another. Because silence can be deadly, but compassion can save lives.

If you are struggling—or if someone you love is—please know this: there is help, and there is hope.

  • Suicide & Crisis Lifeline: Dial 988 in the U.S.
  • Crisis Text Line: Text HOME to 741741 to connect with a trained crisis counselor, available 24/7.
  • Veterans Crisis Line: Dial 988, then press 1.

For Carla, I pray she has found peace. For Hunter, I pray he knows how deeply he is loved. For my child—and for every person fighting silent battles—I pray you remember that your story is not over yet.

Because your smile, your laugh, your love—you matter. Always. ❤ Julie

From Writing to Healing: The Art of Emotional Expression

by Mothersense, posted in This Life

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 This Life

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.

✨🖊️🎶