Sharing the Truths that Helped Me Heal

Why do I share my truths?

Because, for the first time in a long time, I feel like I finally get it.
Life is hard.
We all have life lessons, whether they are big or small, that change us. They make us rethink what we believe, how we show up, and what we might do differently the next time.
I’ve had my share of unhealthy relationships, relationships with little communication, lots of control, and old beliefs I was following without even realizing it. Eventually, I reached a point where I no longer knew who I was.
They say people sometimes stay in unhealthy relationships because the familiar feels safer than the unknown. Even when the familiar hurts, at least you know what to expect.
I get it.
And I’m grateful that I’ve experienced healthy relationships since then. But healthy doesn’t mean perfect, and it doesn’t always mean forever.
One of the hardest and most humbling things I’ve ever done was end my first marriage after 8½ years together. When I left that relationship, I also lost a stepson I loved. In many ways, I felt like I had lost myself, too.
I had become an over-glorified housekeeper, cook, errand runner, and laundry maid. I felt overwhelmed, frustrated, and deeply underappreciated.
When I finally left, I shut down.
I felt like a quitter. And honestly, it completely sucked.
I didn’t believe in divorce, but I also couldn’t unhear or undo the things that had torn the relationship apart. I couldn’t go back to pretending I didn’t know what I knew.
Several months later, life became quieter.
I spent time with a dear friend who was battling cancer. I rescued a puppy. Little by little, I started living again.
And somewhere along the way, I let go of the belief that I had to have everything together all the time. I didn’t have to put on a brave face or pretend I was okay.
I could simply be human.
I felt broken, with all my cracks showing. It was terrifying.
And it was freeing.
So why do I share this?
Because I know there is someone out there experiencing something similar.
Someone who has been made to feel small or powerless. Someone who has reached their limit but is terrified of what comes next.
If that’s you, please know this:
You don’t have to have the whole path figured out before you take the next step.
Surround yourself with people who are kind, loving, and able to see you for who you really are. Create boundaries that protect you from returning to the same patterns. Give yourself permission to learn from what happened instead of allowing it to define you.
And, perhaps most importantly, learn to love yourself enough to stop abandoning yourself just to keep someone else comfortable.
Sometimes healing doesn’t look like having it all together.
Sometimes it looks like finally letting yourself be seen, cracks and all.

Finding Your People:  When Belonging Feels Like Home

Have you ever walked into a room, sat down with a group of people, and felt something different?

Not necessarily excitement. Not even instant friendship.

But a sense of ease.

You don’t feel the need to impress anyone, carefully choose your words, or wonder whether you’re being judged.

You can simply be.

And somewhere in that experience, you realize, these are my people.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about community and what it really means to find your people.

We all have relationships that develop because of proximity. Family we’re born into, neighbors who live nearby, coworkers we see every day, and friendships that form through shared activities or circumstances.

These relationships can be beautiful, meaningful, and deeply important.

But there’s something different about finding a community of people who are intentionally doing the work of understanding themselves.

People who recognize that we all carry experiences, wounds, fears, and beliefs that influence how we show up in relationships.

People who are willing to look inward rather than constantly pointing outward.

People who understand that personal growth isn’t about becoming perfect. It’s about becoming more aware.

Your People Don’t Have to Be Perfect

Let’s be clear. Finding your people doesn’t mean finding individuals who never judge, never disagree, or never trigger something within you.

We’re human, after all!

Sometimes our initial reaction to someone comes from our own experiences, insecurities, or past hurts.

The difference is what we do next.

Are we willing to question our assumptions?

Can we recognize when our reaction has more to do with our past than the person standing in front of us?

Are we willing to apologize, listen, learn, and grow?

Maybe your people are those who have been to therapy, practiced setting boundaries, worked through childhood experiences, or simply begun asking themselves some difficult questions.

Not because therapy or personal development makes someone better than anyone else.

But because self-awareness changes the way we connect.

There’s a difference between someone who expects you to manage their emotions and someone who takes responsibility for their own.

There’s a difference between someone who takes your boundaries personally and someone who respects them, even when they don’t understand them.

And there’s a beautiful difference between someone who needs you to be who they expect and someone who welcomes you as you are.

Familiarity Isn’t Always Belonging

Have you ever stopped to consider the difference between being familiar with someone and truly feeling connected to them?

We can know someone for twenty or thirty years. We can share holidays, family gatherings, memories, and countless experiences together.

We know their stories. They know ours.

But do they really know who we are today?

And perhaps more importantly, do we feel comfortable allowing them to?

Sometimes we confuse familiarity with belonging.

Familiarity is knowing someone’s history. Belonging is making room for who they’re becoming.

Think about that.

You might meet someone and, within a few conversations, find yourself sharing things you’ve never felt comfortable discussing with people you’ve known for decades.

Not because your longtime relationships lack value, but because there’s something different about being with someone who listens without immediately judging, fixing, comparing, or making your experience about them.

Someone who can hold space for you.

Someone who is curious rather than critical.

Someone who understands that your boundaries aren’t a rejection of them.

And here’s the beautiful part.

They don’t have to agree with everything you say.

They don’t even have to understand every experience you’ve had.

They simply need to respect your right to have your own experience.

That’s the difference between being accepted for the role you’ve always played and being welcomed for the person you truly are.

When Growth Changes Your Relationships

Here’s something we don’t talk about enough.

Sometimes, as we grow, our relationships have to grow with us. And sometimes they don’t.

Maybe you’ve always been the person who says yes. The dependable one. The peacekeeper. The person everyone calls because they know you’ll figure it out.

And then you begin doing your own work.

You start recognizing your patterns, understanding your triggers, healing old wounds, and practicing healthier boundaries.

You begin saying no without offering a ten-minute explanation.

You stop taking responsibility for everyone else’s feelings.

You realize that loving someone doesn’t mean sacrificing your own well-being.

And suddenly, some of your relationships feel different.

Not necessarily because the other person has changed.

But because you have.

Perhaps the relationship was built around a version of you who was always available, always agreeable, or always willing to put yourself last.

Now you’re showing up differently.

And that can be uncomfortable, for both of you.

Here’s where I think we need to offer ourselves and others a little grace.

Not everyone is going to understand your growth. Some may question it. Others may feel threatened by boundaries they aren’t accustomed to.

And some might surprise you by growing right alongside you.

We don’t need to judge where someone is in their journey simply because it looks different from ours.

But we also don’t need to abandon our growth to keep others comfortable.

You can love someone deeply and recognize that the relationship needs to change.

You can honor your history without allowing it to dictate your future.

And you can make room for new connections without dismissing the importance of old ones.

When You Can Finally Exhale

I think one of the greatest gifts of finding your people is the ability to exhale.

To let your shoulders drop.

To laugh loudly, cry openly, admit you’re struggling, or share something you’re proud of without feeling the need to minimize it.

You don’t have to be the strong one, the caregiver, the fixer, the professional, or the person who always has the answers.

You get to be you.

And isn’t that something we’re all longing for?

To be seen, heard, understood, and accepted without having to earn our place at the table?

True belonging doesn’t require us to abandon ourselves to maintain connection.

That’s where the boundary work comes in.

Because when we’ve spent years pleasing others, avoiding conflict, or taking responsibility for everyone else’s happiness, being in a healthy community can actually feel unfamiliar.

Sometimes even uncomfortable.

We may find ourselves waiting for the criticism, the rejection, or the unspoken expectations.

But over time, something shifts.

We begin to trust that we can say no and still be loved.

We can disagree and still belong.

We can have a difficult day and not be considered difficult people.

And perhaps most importantly, we can allow others to be themselves without needing to change them.

A Coaching Moment: What Does Your Internal Compass Tell You?

This is where I invite you to look a little deeper.

In my coaching work, I often encourage people to become curious about what they’re experiencing rather than immediately reacting to it.

Our body, heart, mind, and spirit can tell us a great deal about the relationships we’re nurturing.

Body: What do you physically experience?

When you’re spending time with certain people, do you feel relaxed or tense? Are your shoulders tight? Is your jaw clenched? Do you leave feeling energized or completely depleted?

Our bodies can offer valuable clues, although discomfort doesn’t always mean a relationship is unhealthy.

Heart: How do you feel emotionally?

Do you feel safe sharing your feelings? Can you celebrate your accomplishments without worrying that someone will diminish them? Can you express sadness without someone rushing to fix you?

Mind: What stories are you telling yourself?

Are you constantly rehearsing conversations, second-guessing what you said, or wondering whether you’ve disappointed someone?

Or can you leave a gathering feeling peaceful, knowing you showed up authentically?

Spirit: Does this connection align with who you’re becoming?

Does this community encourage you to grow, honor your values, and live with greater intention?

Do these relationships create space for faith, grace, compassion, and honest conversations?

And perhaps the most important question:

Can you remain true to yourself while belonging to this community?

Finding Your People Also Requires Becoming Your Own Person

Here’s something else I’ve learned.

We can spend so much time searching for people who understand us that we forget to ask whether we truly understand ourselves.

Have we done our own boundary work?

Do we recognize our triggers?

Can we sit with someone else’s discomfort without immediately trying to fix it?

Are we willing to have honest conversations, even when they’re uncomfortable?

Can we extend the same grace we’re hoping to receive?

Finding your people isn’t just about discovering the right community.

It’s also about becoming someone who can participate in healthy, reciprocal relationships.

And that takes practice.

It takes humility.

It takes a willingness to recognize that we’re all works in progress.

A Little Guidance From Your Coach

This week, I encourage you to pay attention to the people in your life.

Not to judge them or begin sorting everyone into categories of good and bad relationships.

Simply become curious.

Ask yourself:

– Who allows me to be fully myself?
– Who respects my boundaries without requiring a lengthy explanation?
– Where do I feel comfortable being vulnerable?
– Which relationships encourage my growth rather than keeping me attached to an old version of myself?
– Am I offering others the same acceptance and grace that I desire?
– Am I holding on to a relationship because of who we are today, or because of who we used to be?
– Where might I need to create space for a new community?

And one final question:

Am I choosing connection out of habit, obligation, or genuine belonging?

There’s no need to abandon lifelong friendships or distance yourself from family simply because you’re growing.

Sometimes growth creates opportunities for existing relationships to deepen.

And sometimes it invites us into new rooms, new conversations, and new communities.

Both can be gifts.

When It Feels Like Home

I believe God places people in our lives for different seasons and different reasons.

Some teach us patience. Some challenge us. Some help us recognize where our boundaries need strengthening.

And some remind us what it feels like to be fully ourselves.

Those are the connections worth nurturing.

The ones where laughter comes easily, silence isn’t awkward, differences are respected, and vulnerability is met with compassion.

Where you don’t have to shrink yourself to fit.

Where you can grow without leaving your authentic self behind.

Where being together doesn’t feel like another responsibility.

It feels like coming home.

Maybe finding your people isn’t about finding somewhere you fit in. Maybe it’s about finding somewhere you no longer have to try.

So this week, pay attention to where you feel at home, not just where you’ve always belonged.

There may be a difference.

And perhaps your next season of growth is inviting you to discover it.

Until next time, stay curious, honor your boundaries, and keep listening to your internal compass.

Pivot. Kick, Ball Change!

Learning to Release Control, Honor Boundaries, and Dance with Life

Pivot, kick, ball change!

This phrase has been running through my head for the past couple of days.

No, I’m not taking dance lessons, although with the fancy footwork life requires lately, perhaps I should!

I’m talking about the dance of life.

The one that doesn’t always follow the music, doesn’t give you a rehearsal, and certainly doesn’t ask if you’re ready for the next move.

It requires patience, flexibility, quick thinking, and sometimes a whole lot of grace.

Let me share a little story from Wednesday morning.

Wednesday is exercise day for Mom. We typically leave the house at 9 a.m.

Simple enough, right?

Well, Mom was having a wonderfully leisurely morning.

She enjoyed her coffee, lounged a little longer than usual, and ate her breakfast very mindfully, chewing each bite with intention.

Meanwhile, I was mentally watching the clock.

I asked what she planned to wear to exercise, which led to the question of whether she needed to shower.

We discussed it, and she decided she’d shower afterward.

Perfect! We were on track.

Or so I thought.

Ten minutes later, Mom was in the shower!

Now, here’s where the dance begins.

I could have interrupted her. Reminded her we were running late. Tried to hurry her along.

But here’s the thing. Mom was independently following a healthy habit and familiar memory pattern.

Why would I interrupt something so valuable just to stay on schedule?

So, I pivoted.

The pup and I enjoyed a little extra cuddle time on the couch.

Around 9:05, Mom emerged, showered, dressed, and ready to go.

Well, almost.

Water bottle needed refilling.

Oops, bathroom break!

And finally, we were off!

Only to arrive at the senior center and discover it was CLOSED.

Seriously?

Pivot. Kick. Ball. Change.

We could have been frustrated. I could have focused on the time we’d lost or everything else waiting for me at home.

Instead, we went for a beautiful walk together.

We admired the changing colors of the leaves, listened to the birds, and enjoyed the fresh fall air.

No rushing. No agenda.

Just Mom and me, enjoying an unexpected gift of time.

And you know what?

It was lovely.

So What’s the Lesson Here?

There was a time when this morning would have stressed me out.

I would have been watching the clock, trying to keep everyone on schedule, thinking about the next thing I needed to accomplish.

Sound familiar?

But I’ve learned something through caregiving, coaching, faith, and simply living life.

Sometimes the greatest source of stress isn’t what’s happening around us. It’s our need to control how everything unfolds.

Think about that for a moment.

How often do we become frustrated because things aren’t happening the way we expected?

How often do we believe that if we don’t do something ourselves, it won’t be done correctly?

Or that if things don’t go according to plan, somehow we’ve failed?

I know I’ve been there.

For me, the need for control has often been connected to the fear of failure and the belief that I’m the one who needs to make sure everything gets done right.

But here’s what I’ve come to understand.

Different doesn’t necessarily mean wrong. And changing the plan doesn’t mean I’ve failed.

Learning to Surrender

This has been a journey for me.

A journey of understanding that I am enough.

That I am fearfully and wonderfully made by God. (Psalm 139:14)

That my worth isn’t determined by how much I accomplish, how perfectly I manage my day, or how many people I keep happy.

And perhaps one of the greatest lessons?

I don’t have to control everything to be responsible, loving, or capable.

Surrender doesn’t mean giving up.

It means recognizing what is mine to carry and what isn’t.

It means doing my part, trusting God, and releasing the belief that I must manage every outcome.

And that brings me to something I teach and continue to practice myself.

Boundaries.

What Does Surrender Have to Do With Boundaries?

More than you might think!

When we believe we’re responsible for everything, we tend to say yes to everything.

We take on more than we should.

We try to keep everyone happy.

We rearrange our schedules, sacrifice our own needs, and sometimes push ourselves right to the point of depletion.

And why?

Sometimes it’s because we’re afraid of disappointing someone.

Sometimes it’s because we believe we’re the only ones who can do it right.

And sometimes it’s because saying no to someone we love feels incredibly uncomfortable.

I’ll be the first to admit, I still struggle with this, especially with loved ones.

But I’ve learned that my responsibility isn’t to make everyone understand or agree with my boundaries.

My responsibility is to communicate them with love, stand firm, and live by example.

Saying no doesn’t mean I love someone less.

It isn’t a personal attack.

It’s simply an honest answer about what I’m willing and able to do without sacrificing myself to exhaustion.

I can love you and still say no.

I can be compassionate and still have limits.

I can be flexible without abandoning myself.

And I can allow someone else to be disappointed without making it my responsibility to fix their feelings.

That’s not always easy.

But it’s a practice worth continuing.

Building Grace and Space Into Our Days

These days, I don’t schedule my life quite so tightly.

I intentionally build in a little more grace and space.

Grace for myself and others when things don’t go as expected.

Space in my schedule for the unexpected.

And boundaries that protect my energy so I actually have the capacity to be flexible.

I’ve discovered that flexibility is much easier when I’m not already running on empty.

And here’s something else I’ve learned.

Not every interruption requires a solution.

Not every change is a problem.

And not every expectation deserves to be met.

Sometimes the best thing we can do is pause, take a breath, and ask ourselves:

What really matters in this moment?

On Wednesday, what mattered wasn’t getting Mom to exercise at precisely the right time.

It was encouraging her independence, honoring her familiar routines, and enjoying time together.

And when our original plan fell apart, we found something equally meaningful.

A walk.

A conversation.

A moment to simply be.

Come Coach With Me

I’d love for you to reflect on a few questions.

– Where in your life are you holding on too tightly to control?
– Are you afraid that if you don’t do something yourself, it won’t be done correctly?
– Do you associate changing plans with failure?
– When was the last time you said yes when you really wanted or needed to say no?
– What might change if you truly believed you were enough, even when you disappointed someone?
– Where could you create a little more grace and space in your day?

And here’s one question I’d especially encourage you to sit with:

Are you making choices from love and intention, or from fear, obligation, and the need to control?

There’s no judgment here.

I’m still learning, still practicing, and yes, still occasionally stepping on my own toes!

But I’m learning that life doesn’t require me to dance every step perfectly.

It requires me to be present, recognize when the rhythm changes, and have the courage to adjust my steps.

And sometimes that means saying yes.

Sometimes it means saying no.

And sometimes it means taking an unexpected walk with Mom and enjoying the beautiful fall leaves.

Pivot. Kick. Ball. Change.

Because surrender isn’t losing control of your life. It’s learning that you don’t have to control every moment to live it well.

—

A final thought: You are enough. You can love deeply, set healthy boundaries, and trust God with what you cannot control.

And if you’re finding yourself exhausted from trying to do it all, keep everyone happy, or manage every unexpected turn, I’d love to work with you.

Together, we can explore ways to create healthier boundaries, reconnect with what matters, and find more grace and space in your everyday life.

Coaching inquiries: coachvickie24@gmail.com

When Being Flexible Becomes A Way of Life

Routines, boundaries, and learning when to bend and when to stand firm.

How do you feel about routines?

Personally, I love them. They are the rhythm of my day. They provide structure, predictability, and a sense that I have some control over what comes next.

My typical morning looks something like this:

Wake up, head to the gym, get my workout in, walk the pup, prepare breakfast, get Mom ready and off to exercise, shower, get myself ready, grab some lunch, and head into the office.

And sometimes, somewhere around 10:30 or 11 a.m., I find myself thinking…

Good grief, I’ve already put in a full day, and I haven’t even started my actual workday!

Here’s the funny part.

My work as a massage therapist and life coach often feels like my rest.

Yes, you read that correctly.

After a morning of juggling schedules, caregiving, household responsibilities, and whatever unexpected adventure the day has decided to deliver, spending five to six and a half hours caring for clients, listening, coaching, and helping others actually feels restorative.

Perhaps because, during those hours, I’m doing something I love. I’m present. I’m focused. And I’m not simultaneously trying to figure out what Mom needs, where the dog disappeared to, or what we’re having for dinner.

Then it’s home, figure out dinner, wind down, relax, go to bed, and prepare to do it all again.

Sound familiar?

But What Happens When the Routine Gets Interrupted?

Because we all know it will.

The phone rings. Someone needs something. An appointment runs late. A family member has an unexpected need. The dog decides today is the day to test your patience.

And suddenly, the beautiful rhythm of your day sounds more like a marching band with everyone playing a different song.

How do you respond?

Do you adjust easily? Get frustrated? Feel overwhelmed? Or immediately begin rearranging your own priorities to accommodate everyone else’s?

I know what I often do.

I pray.

“God, I need Your help.”

“Lord, I can’t do this on my own.”

“Please give me the strength, patience, and wisdom to handle what’s in front of me.”

Sometimes those prayers are whispered quietly. Other times, well, let’s just say God and I have some pretty direct conversations.

But lately, I’ve been thinking about something.

What if the problem isn’t that our routines get interrupted? What if it’s that we’ve created routines with no room for interruption?

And perhaps an even bigger question:

What if we’ve become so accustomed to being flexible for everyone else that we’ve forgotten we have boundaries?

When Flexibility Becomes Self-Sacrifice

Being flexible is a wonderful quality.

It allows us to adapt, respond with compassion, and navigate life’s unpredictability.

But there’s a difference between being flexible and being constantly available.

There’s a difference between helping someone because we genuinely want to and helping because we’re afraid of what will happen if we say no.

And there’s a difference between showing compassion and sacrificing ourselves to keep everyone else comfortable.

That last one is worth sitting with.

How many times have you said yes when everything inside you was saying no?

Maybe your jaw tightened.

Your shoulders crept toward your ears.

Your stomach felt heavy.

Or you felt that familiar wave of resentment building because, once again, you were the one expected to adjust.

Our bodies often recognize when something isn’t right before we’re willing to acknowledge it.

Yet how often do we ignore those signals?

We tell ourselves:

“It’s just easier if I do it.”

“I don’t want to upset anyone.”

“They need me.”

“It’s not worth the argument.”

And perhaps the most familiar one…

“I’ve always done it this way.”

But just because you’ve always done something doesn’t mean you have to continue doing it.

Why Are Boundaries So Much Harder With Family?

Have you ever noticed how much easier it can be to establish boundaries with people you don’t know particularly well?

You can politely decline an invitation, turn down a request, or explain that you’re unavailable.

But family?

That’s an entirely different conversation.

Family members know the version of you who always said yes.

The one who rearranged her schedule.

The one who stepped in, figured things out, smoothed things over, and made life easier for everyone else.

And sometimes, when you begin setting boundaries, they don’t particularly like this new version of you.

Not necessarily because they don’t love you.

But because your boundaries may require them to adjust.

They were comfortable with your flexibility, even when that flexibility was costing you your peace.

And that’s where boundary work becomes real work.

Because setting a boundary isn’t simply learning how to say no.

It’s learning how to tolerate someone else’s disappointment without immediately abandoning your own needs.

It’s recognizing that another person’s frustration doesn’t automatically mean you’ve done something wrong.

It’s understanding that you can love someone deeply and still have limits.

And it’s remembering that you are not responsible for making every situation comfortable for everyone else.

Boundaries Aren’t Something You Learn Once

Have you ever taken a class, read a book, or attended a workshop about boundaries?

Maybe you walked away feeling empowered.

“This is it! I’m going to start saying no. I’m going to protect my time. I’m going to stop overcommitting!”

And then Monday morning arrives.

Someone needs a favor.

A family member has an expectation.

Your carefully planned day starts unraveling.

And before you know it, you’ve said yes three times when you meant no.

Welcome to being human.

Boundary work isn’t a one-time lesson.

It’s a practice.

And I say that as someone who teaches this work, believes deeply in it, and still has to remind herself to use it.

Especially when it involves people I love.

Building Flexibility Into Our Routines

So what if we approached our routines differently?

What if, instead of trying to fit every possible task into every available minute, we intentionally created breathing room?

What if we stopped treating every request as an emergency?

What if we gave ourselves permission to say:

  • “I can’t do that today.”
  • “Let me think about it before I commit.”
  • “I can help, but not right now.”
  • “That doesn’t work for me.”
  • “No, thank you.”

No elaborate explanation.

No lengthy apology.

No carrying the guilt around for the rest of the afternoon.

Just a respectful, compassionate boundary.

Because here’s something I’m learning:

Being available to everyone else shouldn’t require being unavailable to yourself.

And sometimes, the most loving thing we can do is allow another person to figure something out without immediately stepping in to rescue them.

A Little Coaching Moment

This is where I invite you to become curious about your own patterns.

Not judgmental. Curious.

The next time your routine gets interrupted or someone asks something of you, take a moment before responding.

Pause and ask yourself:

  1. Body: What is happening in my body right now? Am I feeling tension, exhaustion, tightness, or resistance?
  2. Heart: Am I saying yes out of love and willingness, or guilt, obligation, and fear of disappointing someone?
  3. Mind: Is this truly mine to handle? Is it urgent, or have I simply been conditioned to respond immediately?
  4. Spirit: Am I acting from a place of peace and discernment, or am I trying to control everything and keep everyone happy?

Then ask yourself one more question:

What would it look like to respond with compassion without abandoning myself?

That’s where the work begins.

Not in creating a perfectly organized schedule.

Not in learning to say no to everything.

But in recognizing when flexibility is healthy and when it has quietly become self-sacrifice.

A Final Thought

I don’t want to give up my routines.

I love my morning workouts, my walks with the pup, caring for Mom, and the meaningful work I get to do with my clients.

These things are important to me.

But I’m learning that a good routine shouldn’t just make room for responsibilities.

It should make room for me, too.

For rest.

For unexpected moments.

For saying no without guilt.

For saying yes because I genuinely want to.

And for remembering that I don’t have to hold everything together all the time.

Sometimes I simply need to pause and pray:

“Lord, give me the wisdom to know when to bend, the courage to know when to stand firm, and the grace to recognize the difference.”

Because maybe the goal isn’t to become better at doing everything.

Maybe the goal is to become more intentional about what we’re willing to carry.

Come Coach With Me

If you’ve found yourself constantly adjusting your schedule, your needs, and your boundaries to accommodate everyone else, perhaps it’s time to explore a different way.

This is part of the work I’m passionate about: helping people reconnect with themselves, recognize their limits, and develop healthier ways of navigating life’s demands.

You can be compassionate without being constantly available.

You can love deeply without losing yourself.

And you can create routines that support your life instead of simply filling it.

Let’s explore what that could look like for you.

Reach out at coachvickie24@gmail.com.

Because your time, energy, and peace matter, too.

When Life Backs Up: A Lesson in Capacity

Maybe the lesson isn’t to push harder. Maybe it’s to recognize when you’re full.

So today is the second Monday in a row that I’ve had plumbing problems at my house.

Last Monday, plumbing issues.

This Monday, plumbing issues.

And at some point this morning, I found myself thinking:

Okay, God. What are You trying to tell me? I’m listening.

Because apparently we’re doing object lessons through plumbing now. 😂

And here’s the thing. We aren’t throwing crazy things down the toilet. Nobody flushed a towel, a toy, or something that obviously doesn’t belong there.

There is just a clog.

Something isn’t moving through the way it’s supposed to.

And while I was waiting for the plumbing situation to be resolved, it got me thinking about something I talk about often in coaching:

Capacity.

How many spoons do you have today?

There’s a concept often called “spoon theory” that uses spoons as a simple way of thinking about the amount of physical, mental, and emotional energy we have available.

So let’s imagine that on a really good day, you wake up with 25 spoons.

You slept well.

Your body feels good.

You’re emotionally grounded.

Nothing major is weighing on your mind.

You have energy to work, exercise, care for other people, make decisions, cook dinner, walk the dog, answer the text messages and maybe even deal with an unexpected problem without completely losing your marbles.

That’s a 25-spoon day.

But then there are other days.

You didn’t sleep well.

You’re worried about someone you love.

You’re caregiving.

You’re grieving.

Your body hurts.

You’re stressed about work.

Your hormones are doing whatever adventure they’ve decided we’re going on today.

Or maybe you can’t even identify one particular thing. You simply wake up and realize:

I don’t have 25 spoons today.

Maybe you have 12.

Maybe you have 10.

Maybe you have 6.

And here’s where I think we get ourselves into trouble:

We still expect 25-spoon performance from a 10-spoon body.

We look at the same to-do list.

We expect the same productivity.

We say yes to the same responsibilities.

We take care of everybody else.

We keep pushing.

And then something unexpected happens.

The toilet backs up.

Someone needs you.

The phone rings.

Plans change.

There’s an appointment you forgot about.

The dog needs something.

And suddenly that unexpected situation just ate four of the ten spoons you had for the entire day.

Now you’re standing there holding your remaining six spoons thinking:

But I still have all of this to do.

Maybe you don’t.

Your capacity is not your capability

This is an important distinction.

Having less capacity today does not mean you are less capable.

It doesn’t mean you’ve become lazy.

It doesn’t mean you’re failing.

It doesn’t mean you need to try harder.

It simply means that today’s available resources are different.

And maybe that’s where we need to become a little more curious and a little less critical of ourselves.

Instead of asking:

What’s wrong with me today?

Try asking:

What is taking up my capacity today?

Maybe your body is already using energy managing pain.

Maybe your heart is carrying grief.

Maybe your mind has been quietly running through worst-case scenarios since 4:00 this morning.

Maybe caregiving has required you to stay alert for so long that you don’t realize how much energy that vigilance consumes.

Those things count.

Even when nobody else can see them.

Check your capacity before you spend it

This is where I come back to a framework I’ve developed in my own coaching work.

Before automatically pushing through, I stop and check in.

BODY:
What is happening physically? Am I tired? Tense? Hurting? Rested? Energized?

HEART:
What am I carrying emotionally today?

MIND:
What is occupying my thoughts? What am I worrying about, planning, anticipating, or replaying?

SPIRIT:
Where am I feeling grounded? Where am I feeling depleted? Where might God be asking me to loosen my grip a little?

Then I ask:

Given all of that, how many spoons do I actually have today?

Not how many I wish I had.

Not how many I had yesterday.

Not how many everyone else seems to have.

How many do I have today?

And then comes the harder question:

What deserves them?

Maybe dinner doesn’t need to be homemade tonight.

Maybe the laundry waits.

Maybe the workout becomes a walk.

Maybe you don’t return every phone call.

Maybe you say no to something you normally would have squeezed in.

Maybe one of those remaining spoons belongs to sitting outside with a cup of coffee.

Maybe one belongs to prayer.

Maybe one belongs to absolutely nothing.

Because rest doesn’t have to be what happens after you’ve spent every last spoon.

Rest can be one of the things you intentionally spend your capacity on.

And apparently, God sent me a clogged toilet

Twice.

Two Mondays in a row.

Message received. 😂

Because maybe there’s a lesson hiding in something as ridiculous as plumbing.

When a system has reached capacity, continuing to force more into it doesn’t make things move faster.

Sometimes it creates a bigger mess.

We’re not all that different.

There are days to push.

There are days to stretch.

There are days when we have 25 spoons and can pour ourselves into the world.

And there are days when wisdom looks like recognizing:

I have 10 today.

So I’ll choose those 10 carefully.

I’ll give some to the people I love.

I’ll give some to the things that truly matter.

I’ll save at least one for myself.

And I’ll trust that tomorrow’s capacity may look completely different.

Because maybe the goal was never to prove how much we can carry.

Maybe the lesson is learning to recognize when we’re full.

And, God willing, maybe next Monday’s lesson won’t involve a plumber. 😂

When You Finally Get the Peace and Quiet

How many times have you said it?

“I just want some peace and quiet.”

I know I have.

But I’ve been thinking about what I actually mean when I say that.

For me, peace and quiet doesn’t necessarily mean complete silence. Let’s be realistic, I almost always have a dog tethered to me in some capacity, or at least following me around like my little furry shadow.

For me, peace and quiet means not having any demands placed on me.

Nobody needs me to make a decision.

Nobody needs me to fix something.

Nobody needs me to be somewhere, remember something, prepare something, answer something, or take care of something.

For just a little while, I get to be.

And today, I had one of those moments.

I was sitting along a walkway where there were birds everywhere. And for about ten minutes, I just sat there.

I watched them fly around. I watched them land. I listened to them. I noticed what was happening around me.

And I could feel something changing.

I felt myself settling.

Not just mentally.

It felt like the quiet was settling into my bones.

And it made me wonder…

We spend so much time saying we want peace and quiet.

But when we finally get it, what do we do with it?

Do we actually receive it?

Or do we immediately pick up our phones?

Do we replay the conversation from yesterday?

Do we worry about tomorrow?

Do we take something that happened and turn it over and over in our minds until we’ve used up the very ten minutes of peace we said we desperately needed?

Do we become uncomfortable and decide we’re bored?

Do we start looking for something to do?

Maybe you’ve never wanted peace and quiet at all. Maybe being around people fills you up. Maybe conversation, activity, music, movement, and stimulation are what restore you.

That’s worth knowing about yourself, too.

Because perhaps the real question isn’t:

“How do I get more peace and quiet?”

Maybe it’s:

“What actually restores me?”

And when I get it, do I allow myself to receive it?

So here’s something to sit with:

When there are no demands on you, what happens inside of you?

Can you be still without needing to fill the space?

Where does your mind go when nothing is asking for your attention?

Do you rest, or do you ruminate?

Does quiet feel peaceful to you, or uncomfortable?

What makes you feel genuinely restored?

And maybe most importantly:

When was the last time you allowed yourself ten minutes that didn’t need to accomplish anything?

Today, mine happened to include some birds, a walkway, and my ever-present four-legged shadow.

Nothing profound happened.

I didn’t solve a problem.

I didn’t check something off a list.

I didn’t become more productive.

I just sat there.

And maybe that’s exactly why it mattered.

For ten minutes, nothing was asking anything of me.

And instead of filling that space, I let myself have it.

I let the peace settle into my bones.

The Things That Remain:  Permission to Exhale

There are things in this world that have stood the test of time.

The ocean continues to meet the shore.

Trees grow, shed their leaves, stand bare for a while, and somehow know when it is time to bloom again.

The seasons arrive without asking our permission.

None of them seem particularly concerned with our schedules.

And maybe there is something to learn from that.

Lately, life has felt full of movement. Caregiving. Work. Family. Decisions. Appointments. Responsibilities. The unexpected things that somehow find their way into an already-full day.

Go. Adjust. Handle it. Keep moving.

And then occasionally, life interrupts all of that.

A day comes when there is nowhere I absolutely have to be. Nothing immediately demanding my attention. I can walk a little slower. Drink my coffee while it’s still hot. Take the dog outside and actually notice the trees instead of mentally making a list of what I need to do when I get back.

And here’s the interesting part.

Sometimes slowing down feels uncomfortable.

I start thinking, Shouldn’t I be doing something?

And that’s when the coach in me gets curious.

What is this teaching me about myself?

Maybe I’ve become so accustomed to being needed that being still feels unfamiliar.

Maybe I’ve connected productivity with worth more than I realized.

Maybe my body has been asking me to slow down long before my mind was willing to listen.

Or maybe I’ve simply been moving so quickly that I haven’t had enough quiet to notice what I need.

This is where I come back to a method I’ve developed in my coaching work. It helps me slow down enough to check in with myself instead of automatically pushing through.

I notice what’s happening in my body.

I make room for what I’m actually feeling.

I pay attention to the thoughts and stories running through my mind.

And I reconnect with what grounds me and reminds me who I am.

I don’t necessarily need to fix any of it in that moment.

Sometimes I simply need to notice.

Because awareness has a funny way of showing us things that busyness can hide.

Maybe the interruption isn’t the problem.

Maybe sometimes the interruption is the invitation.

The ocean doesn’t hurry.

The trees don’t panic when their leaves fall.

The seasons don’t fight one another for their turn.

They simply move through their rhythms.

Perhaps we weren’t designed to live every day at full speed either.

So today, I’m giving myself permission to walk slower.

To leave some things undone.

To notice what is still good, still beautiful, still here.

And instead of immediately filling the empty space, I’m going to get curious about it.

What is this slower pace teaching me about myself?

Because sometimes we don’t need another thing to accomplish.

Sometimes we need enough quiet to hear ourselves again.

Inhale.

And, finally…

exhale.

And if slowing down feels harder than it sounds, or you’re not quite sure what you’re hearing when you finally do, that’s part of the work I love doing with people.

Sometimes we don’t need someone to give us the answers.

We need someone to help us slow down long enough to discover what our own life has been trying to tell us.

Before You React, Breathe

Lately, I’ve had a lot of opportunities to practice something I teach.

Funny how life does that.

It’s one thing to talk about staying grounded when you’re sitting comfortably with a cup of coffee. It’s another when something unexpected happens, someone needs you, plans change, your phone is ringing, and your brain is already five steps ahead trying to solve everything.

As a caregiver, I know this feeling well.

Something happens with Mom and immediately my mind wants to go to: What do I need to do?

But I’ve been practicing something different.

Stop. Assess. Listen. Soothe. Then act.

Stop & Assess

Before I jump into action, I ask myself:

Is this actually an emergency?

Does something need to happen immediately, or does it simply feel urgent because my nervous system has sounded the alarm?

There is a difference.

Listen

Then I check in with my body.

What is happening right now?

Is my heart racing?

Are my shoulders practically touching my ears?

Am I holding my breath?

Is my stomach tight?

Am I sweating?

Is my jaw clenched?

Our bodies are incredibly good messengers. The problem is, we’re often so busy trying to fix the situation that we don’t stop long enough to hear what they’re saying.

When we’re under stress, our sympathetic nervous system can kick into gear. That’s our fight-or-flight response. It’s designed to protect us, and it’s incredibly useful when we truly need to respond to danger.

But not every stressful moment requires an emergency response.

Soothe

This is where I breathe.

Sometimes it’s several slow, intentional breaths.

Sometimes I walk outside with the dog.

Sometimes I pray.

Sometimes I need five minutes in nature before I decide what comes next.

Slow, controlled breathing can help settle the body’s stress response and support the parasympathetic nervous system, the part associated with “rest and digest.”

And here’s what I’ve learned:

A calmer body gives me access to a clearer mind.

I’m no longer trying to make a decision while my internal fire alarm is blaring.

Then Act

Only after I’ve stopped, assessed, listened and soothed do I ask:

What actually needs to happen next?

Not five steps from now.

Not every possible worst-case scenario.

Just the next right step.

That little space between reaction and response can change everything.

It doesn’t mean the situation isn’t difficult. It doesn’t mean I’m magically calm or that caregiving suddenly becomes predictable.

It means I’m learning not to let the loudest moment make the decision for me.

As a coach, this is something I want others to learn too.

When life gets loud, don’t immediately demand an answer from yourself.

Stop.
Assess.
Listen.
Soothe.
Then act.

Take the breath.

Lower your shoulders.

Feel your feet on the ground.

Step outside if you need to.

Pray.

Walk.

Give your nervous system a moment to realize that you are safe enough to think.

Then decide what comes next.

Sometimes the most powerful thing we can do in the middle of chaos isn’t to move faster.

It’s to create enough space to choose our next step.

Things I Learned as a Caregiver This Week


It’s been a hairy week.

The kind of week where plans change, doctors and waiting rooms become part of the schedule, and you find yourself thinking, Well… this wasn’t on my calendar.

But somewhere in the middle of it all, I realized I’ve learned a few things.

First: shower. 😂

Seriously. If you’re a caregiver, just shower and get dressed before you leave the house. Because “we’re just going to get this checked out” can quickly become hours at urgent care, a doctor’s office, or the ER.

A shower won’t fix the situation, but at least you’ll feel comfortable in your own skin while you wait.

Second: pray.

Pray when you hear the news.
Pray on the drive there.
Pray while you’re waiting.
Pray with the person you love.

Sometimes I have beautiful words. Other times it’s simply, “God, please help me with whatever comes next.”

That counts too.

Third: remember that you ARE doing it.

Sometimes we get so caught up wondering, How am I going to handle all of this?

Meanwhile… we’re handling it.

Maybe not perfectly. Maybe with messy hair, cold coffee and a puppy waiting impatiently in the car. But we’re doing it.

And somewhere in all of this, I’m also learning that I still have to live my life.

Today, I’m going to lunch with a friend.

I’m going to walk the dog.

I might pull some weeds and smell the flowers.

I’m going to appreciate that my body works and carries me through these crazy days.

And I’m even going to be grateful for the construction mess around my house because, yes, it’s noisy and chaotic, but it also means we’re fortunate enough to be creating a beautiful new sunroom.

Sometimes gratitude shows up wearing work boots. 🌿

A Few Helpful Reminders

• Eat and drink the water. We caregivers can keep everyone else fed, hydrated and cared for while somehow surviving on coffee and three almonds.

• Don’t borrow tomorrow’s problems. Take care of what is actually in front of you today.

• Let good enough be good enough. Some days, everyone getting safely to bedtime is an accomplishment.

• Keep little pieces of your life. Lunch with a friend. A walk. Gardening. Sitting quietly with your coffee. These aren’t extras. They help keep you connected to yourself.

• Laugh when you can. Sometimes you laugh. Sometimes you cry. Occasionally you do both within five minutes. Welcome to caregiving.

• Notice what is still good. Even during a hard week, there are little gifts everywhere if we remember to look for them.

And maybe that’s my biggest lesson this week:

Taking care of myself isn’t something I do after I’m finished caregiving.

Taking care of myself is part of caregiving.

So today, I’m going to lunch.

The appointments, responsibilities, construction dust and weeds will still be there when I get back.

But for a little while, I’m going to sit with a friend, breathe, laugh and simply be.

And thank God for the good that is still growing right alongside the hard. 🌸

When All You Can Do Is Laugh

You know those moments when life piles on one more thing and all you can do is laugh?

That was my morning.

I got home from the gym, talked to Dad, walked the pup, greeted the contractors working on the house, and finally walked inside.

And there comes Mom toward me…

with one hand twice the size of the other.

Seriously. 😳

Deep breath.

Get the ice pack.
Ice and elevate.
Quick shower.
Get dressed.
Load Mom into the car.
Load the precocious puppy into the car.
Off to urgent care.

And now… we sit.

Funny thing is, sitting here, I can finally breathe.

The workday I had planned? That’s going to have to flex.

The contractors? They’ll figure it out.

The puppy in the car? Well, he’s along for today’s adventure. 🐾

And Mom?

She’s right here beside me, and I’m doing everything I can to take care of her.

I think this is one of the strangest parts of caregiving. You can wake up with a perfectly reasonable plan for your day, and within minutes, life grabs the calendar and scribbles all over it.

There are moments when I want to cry. Moments when I’m frustrated. Moments when I wonder how I’m going to get everything done.

And then there are mornings like this when I just have to laugh.

Not because it’s funny that Mom is hurt.

But because sometimes laughter is the release valve.

It’s the moment I realize:

Okay, God. Apparently this is what we’re doing today.

So I breathe.
I adjust.
I take care of what’s directly in front of me.

And I remind myself that I don’t have to manage the entire day right now.

I just have to manage this moment.

A few caregiver reminders for days like this:

– Your plans are allowed to change.
– Not everything that felt urgent this morning is still urgent.
– Take care of what actually needs you first.
– Breathe before jumping ahead to the next problem.
– And when the day becomes so ridiculous that you don’t know whether to laugh or cry… sometimes laughing is exactly what you need.

Can you relate?

Have you ever had one of those caregiving mornings where you thought, You’ve got to be kidding me… and it’s not even 9 a.m.? 😂

Maybe finding calm in the chaos doesn’t mean the chaos disappears.

Maybe it means learning how to find yourself in the middle of it.