The Blissful Blogger: Beth B.

  Music’s playing. Dogs are barking. My fingers are clicking across the keyboard. It’s one of those Saturdays—laundry is piled up, a new career and a cubicle are calling, coursework waits in a tab I haven’t opened yet… and still, all I hear is the fan blowing. I’m deep in my thoughts this morning. The Weight of the Quiet The Barista isn’t home, and I can feel it in my bones. The silence hits different without him. Not because we’re overly affectionate—we’re not—but just knowing he’s near grounds me. I never realized how deeply his quiet presence is stitched into my sense of safety. Last night, Boo Thang shared something heavy—deep struggles, deep loneliness. She’s in another state, no family, no real friends yet… just her, holding her own in the quiet. And this morning? I'm feeling it too. For her. With her. Perspective in the Stillness When your friend hurts, you hurt too. Especially the ones who’ve held you up in ways they’ll never even know. And I realize now: I’ve ta...

  Soul Sisterhood, Sweat, and the Magic of Boo Thang Energy So now you’ve met the family I live with—now let’s talk about the family I chose . Enter: Boo Thang. My best friend. My ride or die. The thunder before the storm, the calm after my chaos, and the reason I didn’t pack it all up and disappear into a walk-in closet with a tub of peanut butter and existential dread. She’s not just a friend. She’s a force . She’s the walking embodiment of freedom, healing, and fierce-as-hell feminine energy. Let me paint the picture. How We Met: TikTok, Trauma, and the Power of Planks It all started in the land of TikTok. Yes, I’m on there. Yes, I’m also lurking on Instagram. No, I’m not dropping my handle unless you find it yourself. ( Privacy in this digital age? A blessing. ) Boo Thang was hosting a plank challenge on TikTok during one of those brutal, bone-chilling Southern snow days that shut down everything—schools, sanity, and any desire to wear pants. She would go live with her MOB...

  When the Barista has a work course to attend, it doesn’t just become a quick trip—it becomes our adventure . And Kansas City? It surprised me. I came into the trip with a plan. As someone who lived a large portion of life in a bigger body, travel used to mean indulgence and regret. Now, it means balance . I’m here to live, to taste, and to stay on track. This trip reminded me that I can do all three. The Bumpy Start It kicked off rough—our first stop was a tiny landmark diner with zero healthy options. The bacon off a BLT? Honestly, that was the win. Not exactly the balanced meal I had in mind, but sometimes, you just roll with it. City Impressions: Beautiful & Complex Walking through KC, I was stunned. The city is clean, well-kept, and truly lovely Country Club Plaza district. But there was a lot of visible homelessness. It wasn’t threatening, just... present. The contrast hit me—the kindness of the people didn’t reflect the heavy security presence. Armed guards stood ...

7.10.2025 | VUMC Waiting Room | Year 8 NED I’m sitting in the waiting room at Vanderbilt, waiting for my turn for bloodwork. The lights are bright, the small talk around me hums, and I’m wondering if I’m even checked in because it usually doesn’t take this long. I’m also wondering why I never just ask. Why I don’t speak up. But I know why. It’s not that I don’t want help. It’s that anxiety has a way of making me feel like speaking up equals being a bitch…and trust me, I don’t have the energy to navigate how I might be perceived right now. Because here’s what today is about: Confirming 8 years NED. Eight years. No evidence of disease. I’m claiming it. I’m speaking it. I’m breathing it in. There is no other option but health. I choose to believe that. But that doesn’t mean I’m not feeling everything else. The fear. The holding of breath. The pounding of my heart. White coat syndrome is real. Let’s not pretend it’s not. And you know what makes it harder? When people say, “I know how you f...

  If you haven’t figured it out by now, my thoughts are everywhere. Like, “should-I-start-painting-the-fence-or-burn-it-down?” kind of everywhere. It’s July 2, 2025, and I’m sitting on my back porch. We bought this house over three years ago because of the trees in the tiny backyard and the illusion of peace. Today, I’m debating if minimalism is the cure for my overactive brain while loud-ass cars blast down the road behind me. Little car, big car, oh look—it’s a “Little Dick Syndrome” car. You know the ones. The trucks so loud they rattle your internal organs? That’s ego on four wheels, baby. Call it judgment if you want, but when it interrupts my peace, I absolutely have something to say. I keep gazing at our three-toned fence. It’s a patchwork of our chaos: One section replaced after a tree fell. Another swapped out when yet another tree decided to give up on life. The original part? Hanging on like me—slightly weathered but still standing. Inside, I dream about painting somet...