Healing, Hindsight, and the Humans Who Keep Me Grounded
That last post?
Just a snippet—a small peek into one of the most monumental moments of my life.
And trust me, there’s so much more between there and here.
We’ll get into it. All of it.
But for now, this is where the real shift happened.
That was the day I screamed in the mirror:
“I want to f*cking live.”
It was the moment I met rock bottom and decided to climb—not crawl—out of it.
It was also the beginning of something I didn’t know I needed:
Growth mindset.
And yes, even... manifestation.
(Insert conservative-childhood guilt trip here.)
I’m not exactly sure why you’re reading this—but I’m grateful you are.
This blog isn’t about whose pain was harder, or who had it worse.
My story isn’t “special” because it hurt—it’s special because I’m choosing to write it.
And right now?
This process—this—is healing me more than I ever expected.
June 2025 wrecked me.
I spent the entire month drowning in my own feelings. Not the poetic kind—the heavy, ugly, “why am I still feeling this?” kind. It cost me time, energy, and probably a few brain cells. But now it’s July, and I’m deciding to do something different with my pain. I’m writing through it.
Let me introduce you to the people that tether me to Earth when I want to float away or fall apart.
First, there’s The Barista.
You’ll hear about him often.
He’s not into social media, so he earned a stage name the way all mysterious men do—through morning routines and good coffee.
When I had weight loss surgery, he started making my daily proffee (protein + coffee) like it was a sacred ritual. That’s where the name stuck.
He was also the “old man” when we met. (Work husband turned real husband vibes.)
The guy I said I’d never marry.
Yet somehow, on 12/13/14 at exactly 15:00 hours, we made it official after living together for years.
He works a lot. Like, a LOT.
We don’t travel much together. I take the adventures. He holds down the fort.
He talks very little, works very hard, and loves very deeply.
People ask me how I live with someone so quiet.
Here’s how: He looks at me like I matter. He shows up when it counts. And when the world feels too loud, he’s my calm.
He’s the puzzle piece I didn’t know was missing.
The full story of how we became "us"? That’ll stay locked away for now.
But what I will say is:
I didn’t think anyone would ever commit to me.
I had no self-worth, no confidence. I had survived a marriage built on betrayal.
I was convinced I’d be alone forever.
But look at me now—proving myself wrong, one damn chapter at a time.
Then there’s Biggs – my bonus son.
Twenty years old. In college. Crushing it.
He’s the future mechanical engineer who drives me nuts and makes me proud in the same breath.
He’s home for the summer, working at the YMCA as a lifeguard and occasionally blowing through the house like a tornado of snacks, headphones, and heavy footsteps.
And finally—my heart: the Wee One.
My biological son and my daily reminder that love can wear chaos like cologne.
He’s got the biggest heart I’ve ever seen—gives everything he has (and some of ours) to anyone in need.
He just got certified as a lifeguard and chose to spend his summer away at Scout Camp, working for pennies just to teach water safety to other kids.
That’s his heart.
One kid coasts through school but has no idea how a laundry basket works.
The other one hustles through every class but could probably rebuild a dishwasher if he wanted to.
Two totally different humans.
Both mine.
Both adored.
We are a quirky, chaotic little tribe.
A blended family with zero borders.
We argue over stupid things, celebrate weird milestones (like post-op farts), and show up for each other in ways the world doesn’t always see.
And me?
I’m just over here trying to heal while holding it all together.
July is here.
That means I’ve got one more month before I officially return to work—now in my new role as a consulting teacher for special populations. It still doesn’t feel real.
I spent so long building a career in the classroom. Now I’m stepping into something totally new. Something bigger. Something unknown. And terrifying.
But this is my pause.
This is my space to revisit the past, grieve the pieces I buried, and stop pretending old pain doesn’t still sneak into my headspace when I least expect it.
This blog? It’s part therapy, part memoir, part middle-finger to the idea that we have to stay quiet about our battles.
I’m here to heal loudly.
To honor my past without staying stuck in it.
To let you into the mess and the magic, and maybe help you feel a little less alone in your own.
If you’re still reading this—thank you.
Let’s keep going.
We’ve got stories to tell.
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