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.

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. 😂

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.

The Gift of the Conversations We Have While We Can


Yesterday, a good friend reminded me of something I sometimes forget.

She asked me how I was feeling about my dad, his cancer, and the fact that he is going through chemotherapy to keep it at bay.

My answer surprised me a little.

“I’m okay.”

Not because I want him to die. I don’t.

Not because I want him to experience pain or struggle. I certainly don’t.

I’m okay because my dad and I have talked.

We don’t keep things from each other. We’ve had the hard conversations. We’ve talked about what matters to him, what he wants, and what he doesn’t want. I know his wishes.

And there is an incredible kind of peace that comes from that.

I’m still his little girl. I’m sure there are times he puts on a brave face for me, and maybe even fights a little harder because I’m watching.

But underneath all of that is something I’m incredibly grateful for: we have talked honestly while we still can.

My dad has loved me to the best of his ability. He has taught me lessons through both the good and the difficult parts of life. He communicates the best way he knows how.

And that, in itself, is a gift.

There is another side to this realization for me.

My mom and I had those conversations too. We talked about life. We talked about difficult things. We talked deeply.

But dementia has changed that.

The conversations I once had with my mom, the ones where we could explore an idea, work through something difficult, or simply connect heart-to-heart, aren’t available in the same way anymore.

And that has made my relationship with my dad feel even more precious.

He has become, in some ways, my saving grace. I can still talk to him in a way I can no longer talk to my mom.

And maybe that’s the lesson I’m being reminded of.

Have the conversations.

Don’t assume there will always be more time.

Ask the questions you’ve been avoiding.

Tell someone what they mean to you.

Talk about what matters. Talk about wishes. Talk about fears. Talk about the things that feel uncomfortable.

Because someday, one of those conversations may become a gift you carry with you.

As a coach, I often talk about being intentional with our lives. Sometimes that means setting boundaries or taking care of our bodies. Sometimes it means slowing down enough to actually listen to what our hearts are telling us.

And sometimes, it simply means picking up the phone and having the conversation.

While you still can.

A few things to consider

– What conversation have you been putting off?
– Is there something you need to ask someone while they are still able to answer?
– Is there something you need to say that you’ve assumed you will have time to say later?
– Do the people closest to you actually know what matters most to you?
– And if circumstances changed tomorrow, would you have peace knowing you had said what needed to be said?

We can’t control how much time we have with the people we love.

But we can be intentional about how we use the time we have.

Sometimes the greatest gift isn’t knowing what the future holds.

It’s knowing that you’ve had the conversations that matter.The Gift of the Conversations We Have While We Can

Yesterday, a good friend reminded me of something I sometimes forget.

She asked me how I was feeling about my dad, his cancer, and the fact that he is going through chemotherapy to keep it at bay.

My answer surprised me a little.

“I’m okay.”

Not because I want him to die. I don’t.

Not because I want him to experience pain or struggle. I certainly don’t.

I’m okay because my dad and I have talked.

We don’t keep things from each other. We’ve had the hard conversations. We’ve talked about what matters to him, what he wants, and what he doesn’t want. I know his wishes.

And there is an incredible kind of peace that comes from that.

I’m still his little girl. I’m sure there are times he puts on a brave face for me, and maybe even fights a little harder because I’m watching.

But underneath all of that is something I’m incredibly grateful for: we have talked honestly while we still can.

My dad has loved me to the best of his ability. He has taught me lessons through both the good and the difficult parts of life. He communicates the best way he knows how.

And that, in itself, is a gift.

There is another side to this realization for me.

My mom and I had those conversations too. We talked about life. We talked about difficult things. We talked deeply.

But dementia has changed that.

The conversations I once had with my mom, the ones where we could explore an idea, work through something difficult, or simply connect heart-to-heart, aren’t available in the same way anymore.

And that has made my relationship with my dad feel even more precious.

He has become, in some ways, my saving grace. I can still talk to him in a way I can no longer talk to my mom.

And maybe that’s the lesson I’m being reminded of.

Have the conversations.

Don’t assume there will always be more time.

Ask the questions you’ve been avoiding.

Tell someone what they mean to you.

Talk about what matters. Talk about wishes. Talk about fears. Talk about the things that feel uncomfortable.

Because someday, one of those conversations may become a gift you carry with you.

As a coach, I often talk about being intentional with our lives. Sometimes that means setting boundaries or taking care of our bodies. Sometimes it means slowing down enough to actually listen to what our hearts are telling us.

And sometimes, it simply means picking up the phone and having the conversation.

While you still can.

A few things to consider

  • What conversation have you been putting off?
  • Is there something you need to ask someone while they are still able to answer?
  • Is there something you need to say that you’ve assumed you will have time to say later?
  • Do the people closest to you actually know what matters most to you?
  • And if circumstances changed tomorrow, would you have peace knowing you had said what needed to be said?

We can’t control how much time we have with the people we love.

But we can be intentional about how we use the time we have.

Sometimes the greatest gift isn’t knowing what the future holds.

It’s knowing that you’ve had the conversations that matter.

When the Petals Fall: Lessons from the Basswood Tree for Caregivers

This morning, I stood beneath a basswood tree in full bloom. Its large heart-shaped leaves stretched toward the summer sky, while delicate blossoms drifted gently to the ground below.

At first glance, it seemed contradictory.

How could a tree be so full of life and yet be letting pieces of itself go?

Then I realized that caregiving often feels exactly the same.

As caregivers, we spend so much energy trying to hold everything together. We want to remember every appointment, respond with endless patience, make the right decisions, keep the house running, care for our loved one, nurture our relationships, and somehow still care for ourselves.

We carry an invisible expectation that if we are doing it well, nothing should fall.

No tears. No exhaustion. No forgotten details. No frustration. No need for help.

But nature tells a different story.

The basswood tree stands strong and beautiful while its blossoms fall freely around it. It does not cling to every petal. It does not apologize for letting go. It does not measure its worth by what remains attached to its branches.

The falling petals are not a sign of weakness.

They are evidence of a season being lived fully.

Caregiving asks us to release many things along the journey.

We let go of the idea that life will return to what it once was.

We let go of perfection.

We let go of control.

We let go of the expectation that we can do everything on our own.

Sometimes we even let go of pieces of our loved one as illness slowly changes who they are.

These losses can feel heartbreaking. Yet they are also part of the sacred work of caregiving.

The basswood reminds us that letting go is not the opposite of loving.

Often, it is one of love’s deepest expressions.

When we release unrealistic expectations, we make room for grace.

When we stop demanding perfection from ourselves, we create space for compassion.

When we allow the petals of guilt, comparison, and self-judgment to fall away, we discover that our roots are stronger than we imagined.

Perhaps today you feel like a tree in bloom and in loss at the same time.

You are still showing up.

You are still growing.

You are still rooted.

And if a few petals are falling around your feet, that doesn’t mean you’re failing.

It may simply mean you’re in the middle of becoming.

So stand tall, dear caregiver.

Let the petals fall where they may.

Trust the roots.

Trust the season.

And trust that God is nurturing life within you, even when something beautiful is being released.

#Caregiving is not about holding on to everything. It’s about learning what can be lovingly released. 🌿💛

Still scrambling to keep up with the whole “New Year, New You” thing?

How many blogs, articles, or workshops have you tried that promised you would become the best version of yourself with their easy 5-step program? You probably felt excited and hopeful at first, but then life got in the way. After missing a week or two, you began to doubt yourself and felt deflated, ending up right where you started.

It’s important to know that feeling overwhelmed is normal, and you’re not alone. The people offering these courses often don’t share how many times they failed before succeeding. What you see can make it seem easy, leading you to wonder why you can’t do it too.

As a Health Coach, I help others reach their goals, but I also make mistakes. I know when to take on new challenges and when to stick to my strengths. Missing my own goals helps me relate to others. I prefer to learn from someone who’s been through it and is open about their experiences.

I know that the only way to achieve something different is to change what I’m currently doing. Yes, I understand this isn’t neuroscience, but it is hard. Our brains are wired to make day-to-day routines easy and abbreviated. Doing something different initially takes more time, thought, and grit at times to adhere to it.

The first step is to IDENTIFY what you want. This clarity serves as a guiding star, illuminating the path forward and helping you navigate the complexities of change with confidence. By reflecting on your desires, you can understand the motivations that drive you, allowing you to set focused goals that align with your values. This process empowers you to create a strategic plan for your journey and equips you with resilience to face challenges. Embracing this clarity ensures that each decision aligns with your vision, fostering fulfillment as you progress towards your objectives and enabling adaptability when unexpected opportunities or obstacles arise.

To achieve your goals effectively, it is essential to establish clear and thoughtful BOUNDARIES that guide your daily decisions and interactions. Start by setting a consistent bedtime of 10 o’clock, which will not only help you get adequate rest but also improve your overall focus and productivity during the day. Additionally, consider reducing the frequency of dining out, as this can not only save you money but also enable you to make healthier food choices that align with your objectives. Furthermore, take the opportunity to evaluate your friendships based on how they positively or negatively impact your self-esteem and mental well-being. Surrounding yourself with supportive and uplifting individuals will reinforce your commitment to your goals and empower you to stay on track towards achieving them.

Sounds easy, right?   Oh yeah and then there is the process of getting it into practice, making it a new habit, creating new neuropathways in the brain.  It’s a try it out, reconfigure, try it again type process, until you find the groove that works best for you and sticks so it becomes a rinse and repeat process.

That’s why I recommend a coach, someone to help you navigate