One of our employees came back from lunch, waved his hand through the air, and asked, “Are you doing some of your juju stuff?” I gave him a confused look. “You know,” he said, “clearing the energy or something.”
“Oh—smudging?” I asked.
“Yeah, yeah, that!” 

But I hadn’t been smudging. So I started wondering—what smell? 

The Shift Begins I’m not done with worrying. But I’m starting to see how it’s not the same as loving. And how it’s not actually helping. And how maybe—just maybe—I can still care just as much without all the tension and anxiety in my chest. 

Sometimes it makes more sense to start at the end. 

When I made the decision to stop drinking about four years ago, I commemorated it by getting the word “free” tattooed on my left arm. It was small, just for me, and it felt like a declaration. I was a little nervous Glenn would say, “Oops, another tattoo,” but this one wasn’t about anyone else. It was about me. 

It happened during the annual NIADA convention in Austin, TX. Getting a tattoo in a strange place just felt right—no one knew me, and I didn’t know anyone at the shop. I didn’t tell anyone I was getting it. My husband had sort of drawn a line after my third tattoo: “You shouldn’t get any more.”

This is a familiar pain—friends past and present, even family members—people I long to feel deeply connected to. A history of unanswered Voxer messages and text messages. My desire or need for connection just left… sitting there. 

I find myself wondering, what is wrong with me? 

We talk a lot these days about nervous system regulation, childhood development, and how to cope with stress. But what if some of the answers are simpler than we think? This week, something as small as a teddy bear—and watching my granddaughter go through a transition—brought up some big questions about comfort, regulation, and the things we hold onto when life feels too big. 

I am 56 years old and still sleep with a teddy bear. 

In 1995, I was living in Cincinnati, Ohio. I was married, pregnant, and working full time. We needed two incomes to survive. As women, we were expected to do it all—and told we could have it all. We worked 9 to 5, cared for our kids and husbands, and although we were being told to start conversations about sharing household chores, those conversations weren’t going very well.

A few weeks ago, I noticed I was yawning during the day—which is not like me. I give my body plenty of sleep and rest. But by 2 p.m., I was tired—deep in my bones, in a hard-to-describe way. I wanted to fall asleep, and by 4:30 p.m., I found myself dozing, watching TV. Something was off. I went to bed crazy early, giving my body what it was asking for. 

Then my heart rate started climbing. I could feel my blood pulsing in my veins. The overnight stats on my Oura Ringtold me my resting heart rate was about 10 points higher than average. My HRV (heart rate variability—see definition below) was dipping well below my baseline. One morning it even asked, “How are you feeling today?” and suggested I take it easy. 

There are things we think about doing and then talk ourselves out of. But ever since I said yes to ketamine, it’s been a full-on hell yes. No doubts. No second-guessing. No “shouldn’t spend the money” narrative. No fear.

Just clarity. Which, to me, is the clearest sign: this is what I need. This is what’s going to change everything.

Yes, ketamine is a psychedelic. And yes, it’s legal through a doctor here in Ohio.

A year ago, I started drinking cacao every day—not just as a wellness trend, but as a spiritual path. Plant medicines have power. I believe that. Many would agree. Cacao helped me begin to reconnect with the version of myself I had lost somewhere along the way—the real me, the expressive me, the one who had been conditioned out of existence by family expectations, peer pressure, and the need to belong. And amazingly, got me off my anxiety meds FOREVER. 

“I am the master of my time.” 

That sentence arrived like a whisper from Source the other day. Out of nowhere—but also not. I was feeling off, I had asked for help, guidance, a little light. And that mantra came through. So, I wrote it down fast in my planner, knowing how quickly my flashes of clarity can vanish if I don’t capture them. 

The thing is, my mind had been full. And not in a “productive, creative energy” way—more like a crowded hallway of nagging voices, looping thoughts, and background noise that wouldn’t quit. 

In 39 days, I’m supposed to go to Minnesota with my daughter, Toria, and my granddaughter, Zoe. Zoe is going to be the flower girl in a friend’s wedding, and I agreed to come along to help with her so Toria could enjoy the wedding.

Again and again, you’ll hear me talk about this truth: thoughts become things. I even have a Celtic knot on my left wrist to remind me. Am I perfect? Hardly. I let my thoughts run wild sometimes, heading straight for the negative. 

When I was younger, I practiced what I now call reverse manifestation. That’s my own term, but you’ll see what I mean. 

You’ve probably heard the saying, “Where attention goes, energy flows.” That includes positive and negative energy. Here's how I’ve manifested things in both directions. 

Well, this morning, I broke one of my own rules—and it did not go well. 

As I sat down to drink my cacao and meditate, my phone screen flashed. A Facebook message. “Don’t check your phone,” I heard clearly in my head. But Facebook messages are usually light and breezy, so what was the harm? 

The message was from the wife of one of my husband's employees. As I skimmed through her three-screen-long message, the best way I can describe her tone and attitude is low vibration. And that’s me being very kind. 

Always one to seek confirmation of who I am, I remember taking a quiz in Glamour Magazine in the late ‘80s or early ‘90s titled “How Resilient Are You?”

At the time, I had gone through a rough breakup, my parents’ messy divorce, and yet, I felt like I had come out of it all pretty well. The quiz results confirmed it—I scored high on resilience. Back then, I took comfort in sayings like “God never gives you more than you can handle” and “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” I had a pretty healthy outlook on life—or so I thought.

Most of The Time
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been hyper-aware of people’s emotions—picking up on their moods, anticipating reactions, and adjusting myself accordingly. It started young.

The Early Signs
When I was 14, I fell in love with Mike before he even asked me out. He was my first love, a hockey goalie who lived around the corner, and I thought my life was made when we became official. If you asked my mother, she’d say we fought all the time. Looking back, I can see how I constantly checked in with his moods, trying to keep everything ‘good and right.’

About six months ago, my husband started walking our Treeing Walker Coonhound when he got home from work. Traditionally, I was the one who walked the dogs in the morning, but after our dog Rugs developed vertigo last August, his mornings became groggy, and he preferred to stay in bed. 

Glenn’s new routine of evening walks was good for the dogs and good for him—until he developed plantar fasciitis. As anyone who’s had it knows, it shows up out of nowhere and, just as mysteriously, disappears one day like magic. 

The inspiration for my bi-weekly blog posts comes from my life, the events around me, or an idea that strikes me and simply needs to be written about. These posts can be deeply personal and vulnerable or more practical and factual. This week’s post is personal, current, and, hopefully, practical. It might resonate as something you’ve experienced in your daily life, or maybe it’s something you’ve never had an issue with—in which case, lucky you! 

Last week, my husband, a few friends from Toastmasters, and I attended a service at the Mennonite church in London, Ohio. After the service, we found ourselves chatting in the hallway, and, as conversations often do, the topic of our Buy Here Pay Here car business came up. Pastor Preston, with genuine curiosity, asked me a simple but surprisingly loaded question: “Do you miss it?”

In hindsight, I wish I had paused to think before answering. Instead, my response felt rushed and, frankly, not my best. I mentioned a photo I had recently posted on Facebook—a celebratory picture with a young woman who had just paid off her car. She’s part of a family with a long history with our business, and I joked that she’s “crazy” (something I’ve said to her face before) and noted that she’s the only one in her family to ever go full term and pay off their vehicle.

As I am starting to write this post, it is 5 a.m. on 12/25/2024. Typically, the idea for a blog sort of flows out of me. Today, it is unclear, and I seem to have multiple ideas wanting to be expressed—to write about the current situation with my mother and me, my goals for 2025, and who I want to become. And then there is my current and ongoing obsession with always wanting things to be better. Perhaps this is a year-end reflection and a nod forward to 2025. All I am seeing in my inbox, on my podcast feed, and on YouTube are “top 5 things I learned in 2024,” “how to improve your life in 2025,” etc. The end of the year is a good time for reflection, and for the last six weeks, I have found myself in the space of reviewing 2024 and planning for 2025.

My senior year in high school, I took an elbow to my lip from a girl named Liz Lawlor. Why do I remember her name 37 years later? Memory is funny that way. The fact that this memory is wrapped up in the emotions of anger and the pain of splitting my lip is why it’s still vivid to me. It was a heated game with plenty of pushing, shoving, and fouls. After being elbowed in the lip and knocked to the floor, I found myself sitting on the hardwood, my vision narrowing—perhaps the blow had stunned me. I slammed my fists down on the court.

When I put my hands out in front of me, all I could see was bright red blood.