Reading, for me, used to consist of catching up on the Skimm in the morning and sporadically reading articles online from a link through on Pinterest while procrastinating at work. That run-on sentence alone indicates how distanced I became from my formal English education. I’ll
I can never resist an ode to Tom Petty, and today was not a diamond. This morning I woke up feeling like a complete failure. I broke my dry January pledge to have some sparkling rose… yes, I know #basic… with friends. My insecurity and
The term addiction used to instantly make me think of an episode of Intervention. I aligned the term strictly with chemical dependencies, and having a family history of alcoholism solidified this limited perspective. In hindsight, I also avoided expanding my perceived scope of addiction because
Any other compulsive apologizers out there? The Sorry habit is a tough one to kick. This is a problem I still struggle with at times since it goes hand in hand with people pleasing and perfectionism. I have apologized when I did nothing wrong and often
Drowning in information… that’s how I felt when I first set out to address the root cause of my autoimmune disease. I was so motivated to learn everything I could about mind body medicine, leaky gut, and the latest treatment methods for Hashimoto’s. I had
In my late 20s, stagnation was how my mental and emotional life would be defined. I had checked a lot of my self-imposed, obligatory, accomplishment boxes: MBA √ Husband √ House √ Dog √ Corporate Job with a decent salary √ Happiness ?!? The gaping unchecked box
I listened to a morning talk show on while I drove into work today (the day before Thanksgiving), and each DJ shared what they were thankful for. This is a tradition of expressing gratitude that my family honors most years, but for some reason this
The Beginning… Finding out you have an autoimmune disease – or a chronic condition of any kind – is a blow. There is no escaping the sudden feeling of having something “wrong” with you. My diagnosis of CREST syndrome, also called limited scleroderma, came
“I hate my body” was practically a mantra in my head for the better part of my adult years. No body is perfect because perfection is not attainable, nor should it be. If you insist on using the word perfection, at least accept that your
Pulling back the curtain and letting you see the (wo)man behind the Wizard of Oz is not an easy step for me. Owning my story, especially the part in which I developed an eating disorder, is truthfully, one of the hardest things I have ever done. I say this having lived through two Category 4+ hurricanes, one of which resulted in losing all of my belongings, so please trust it is not an expression I use lightly.
My truth is no longer something I choose to hide. I choose to embrace it and share the lessons I have learned from it.