Tag: #tRUE

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Scars

The other day, I was listening to random songs on a music streaming app when a familiar one came on. As I sang along, I paid closer attention to the lyrics — being present is my new thing, after all. One line caught me: “I got a scar I can talk about.”

That lyric made me think about my own scars. First the physical ones, then the mental ones, and finally the life moments that have shaped me into someone different than I was before.

Physical Scars

I’ve only had two surgeries in my life: an appendectomy and bunion surgery. Both scars have healed, but every time I see them, I’m reminded of the pain before, the pain after, and how necessary those difficult days were to reach the comfort I feel now. They’re small reminders that healing hurts — but it’s worth it.

Mental Scars

I’ve had a pretty darn good life. I grew up in a loving, close family. I’ve always had friends. I was raised with warmth and support. But even with a good life, certain moments leave marks.

One of my earliest mental scars came from a friend who told me she couldn’t be my friend anymore — for no reason at all. It took me forty years to understand that her actions had nothing to do with me. People don’t intentionally exclude me. How others treat you and what they say about you is a reflection of them, not you.

Another scar came from a relationship that made me feel like I was losing my mind. I became convinced I wasn’t normal, that something was wrong with me. I wanted so badly to be “normal” — to communicate well, to live without constant stress. In my search for clarity, I went to therapy. One day my therapist said, “There is nothing wrong with you. You are the most normal patient I have ever had.”

WOW.
You mean I’m not the angry one?
I’m not the one who can’t communicate?
That relationships aren’t 50/50 — they’re 100/100?

A few days later, I was being yelled at for being angry when I hadn’t expressed any emotion at all. I mentally stepped outside the moment, watching it like a fly on the wall. He was telling me how I felt — but how could he know? I was the only one who could name my feelings. And in that moment, I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t upset. I was calm.

Yet there he was, red-faced, nearly exploding, desperate to provoke a reaction.

From that moment on, no one gets to tell me how I feel.

Life-Changing Moments

Have you ever been told you’re not the same person you used to be? Have you ever felt it yourself?

In my early thirties, a friend moved in with me for a few months. She was an alcoholic. I had never lived with someone struggling like that. Watching her destructive behavior changed me. I remember sitting on my back porch wondering why I felt different — why I wasn’t as happy or giggly anymore. Seeing my best friend nearly kill herself forced me to grow up fast.

The next life-changing moment happened four years ago today. I had woven myself into so many lies and dug myself into so many holes that I finally hit rock bottom. At the time, I wanted nothing more than to disappear. I fantasized about my death and how people would react. But then I realized I would cause far more pain by leaving than by facing my demons and accepting the consequences I deserved.

So I made a commitment:
To start over.
To be 100% true to myself and to everyone around me.

I read over 200 books. I studied religious books. I watched people transform their lives and become honest with themselves. And I followed that path.

tRUE

The word tRUE became my motto — a blend of true and rue.

  • True: Something that matches reality; genuine, accurate, loyal.
  • Rue: To feel sorrow, remorse, or regret about an action.

Because I felt deep remorse for my past actions, I promised myself I would be real and genuine moving forward.

And I have kept that promise.

I am not the same person I was four years ago — thank goodness. During the hardest two and a half years, I kept daily journals. I still reread them to remind myself of my struggles and my growth. Every action I’ve taken since then has been intentional. I understand the consequences of my choices. I allow myself to be different from others. I allow myself to be imperfect.

And I have never been happier being 100% tRUE.

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Understanding Vanity, Ego, and Genuine Self-Acceptance 

Stepping outside, I am greeted by the unmistakable sound of a middle-aged woman singing karaoke in her garage across the street. Her voice echoes through the neighborhood, and I can’t help but wonder if she realizes how far her performance carries. Does she know the entire block can hear her? Perhaps she believes she has real talent; after all, don’t we all tend to overestimate our own abilities? 

We often claim to be humble, yet secretly, we are convinced that others are constantly talking about us. There is a persistent belief that everyone cares deeply about our appearance at any given moment. The reality, however, is much different: people are primarily concerned with themselves. Our egos drive us to think we are the center of attention, reminiscent of the famous song lyric, “You’re so vain, you probably think this song is about you.” 

It’s almost comical how we imagine that every person in the grocery store is waiting for us to arrive, eager to see our outfit and how we styled our hair and makeup. We act as if we are the reason everyone else decided to get out of bed that morning. This mindset is clearly unrealistic, yet it persists. 

Reflecting on childhood, it becomes apparent that our priorities were once different. Comfort was paramount; the only concern about an outfit was whether it allowed us to climb the jungle gym or jump rope with ease. At some point, though, we are taught to become more self-conscious, convinced that we are on a pedestal and everyone is watching, judging what we wear, say, and do. 

Unless we are professional athletes or movie stars, the truth is that most people do not care about us or our choices. This begs the question: why do we care so much about celebrities? Perhaps it is because we compare ourselves to them, building them up only to tear them down. By highlighting their flaws, we make ourselves feel better, forgetting that their success is the result of hard work and determination—qualities we may not have been willing to pursue ourselves. 

Yet, beneath this fascination with others, there lies a missed opportunity to redirect our attention inward and cultivate genuine self-acceptance. Instead of fixating on the perceived gaze of the world or the exploits of distant celebrities, we might find greater peace by embracing our own quirks and imperfections. Imagine the freedom in living authentically, without the weight of imagined scrutiny or the urge to measure up to standards set by strangers. In learning to release these self-imposed expectations, we open space for more meaningful connections—with ourselves and those around us—rooted not in comparison, but in understanding and appreciation. 

By letting go of the illusion that we are constantly under a spotlight, we start to recognize the value of quieter moments and the richness of everyday experiences. The truth is, when we release the pressure to perform for an imaginary audience, we grant ourselves permission to make choices that are true to our desires rather than dictated by external expectation. In this space, self-worth becomes less about comparison and more about authenticity, allowing us to nurture a confidence that isn’t dependent on fleeting validation but is rooted in genuine self-respect and personal growth. 

Embracing Authenticity 

In recent months, I have made a conscious effort to apply these reflections to my own life. Choosing to let go of the pressure to conform to others’ expectations has been an incredibly liberating experience. This newfound freedom has allowed me to focus more deeply on the person I truly want to become, rather than shaping myself according to what others might desire or expect from me. By centering my actions and self-perception on my own values, I am gradually discovering a more genuine sense of self and purpose. 

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The Criteria to Making Good Choices

Success, in its truest sense, is not a matter of luck or mere circumstance—it is the culmination of the choices we make, day in and day out. Each decision is a thread that weaves into the tapestry of our lives, shaping our actions and, ultimately, our results. Yet, despite this fundamental truth, we often find ourselves grappling with less-than-optimal choices, wondering why our intentions and our actions fail to align. To answer this, we must dig beneath the surface, exploring the biases, influences, and inner narratives that subtly steer us away from our best interests. The journey to making good choices is both an art and a science—one that requires self-awareness, discipline, and an ongoing commitment to personal growth.

The Foundations of Choice

At its core, every choice is an intersection of opportunity and intention. We are presented with countless decisions daily, from the trivial—what to eat for breakfast—to the profound—whom to trust, which career path to pursue, or what values to uphold. The results of these choices, compounded over time, form the architecture of our lives. It is often said, “We are what we repeatedly do”; perhaps more accurately, we are what we repeatedly choose.

But why don’t we always make the choices that serve us best? To answer this, we must first understand the three pillars that underlie every good decision: awareness, discipline, and alignment.

1. Awareness: The Power of Conscious Choice

Good choices begin with awareness. This is not mere knowledge of the options before us, but a heightened consciousness of ourselves—our motives, beliefs, and the stories we tell ourselves. Without awareness, we operate on autopilot, letting habits, impulses, and unconscious biases dictate our actions.

  • Conscious Decision-Making: Make an effort to pause and examine the motives behind your decisions. Ask yourself, “Why am I making this choice? What is driving me?”
  • Upgrading Identity and Belief Systems: Our choices are only as good as our self-perception permits. If we see ourselves as unworthy, incapable, or stuck in old narratives (“I always fail at this,” “I’m not good with money,” etc.), our decisions will mirror these limiting beliefs. The path to better choices, then, often begins with rewriting our internal scripts. Cultivate a growth mindset and reinforce positive self-beliefs.
  • Recognizing Biases and Influences: We are influenced by cognitive biases—confirmation bias, anchoring, loss aversion, and more—that distort our view of reality. Social pressures, cultural norms, and even fatigue can cloud our judgment. Becoming aware of these forces arms us with the power to question them and choose more wisely.

Awareness is an ongoing practice. Journaling, mindfulness meditation, and honest self-reflection are invaluable tools for cultivating it. By regularly examining both our motivations and the external influences at play, we increase the odds of making choices that are authentically ours.

2. Discipline: Bridging the Gap Between Knowing and Doing

Often, the trouble is not that we lack knowledge of the right choice, but that we lack the will to act on it. This is where discipline comes in. Discipline is the bridge between intention and action—the force that compels us to act in accordance with our highest values, even when motivation wanes.

  • Managing Physical State: Our bodies are the vehicles through which choices are enacted. When we are tired, malnourished, or physically depleted, our willpower is compromised. Prioritizing sleep, nutrition, exercise, and rest creates a foundation for better decision-making.
  • Caring for Emotional Well-Being: Emotional neglect erodes discipline. If we are stressed, anxious, or emotionally exhausted, we are more likely to reach for comfort in the form of easy, short-term choices. Regular emotional check-ins, social connection, and, when needed, professional support, are critical for sustaining discipline.
  • Building Habits and Routines: Discipline is easier when good choices are habitual. Ritualize the actions that serve you—set specific times for exercise, meal preparation, or focused work sessions. Habits automate discipline, reducing the mental energy required to make each decision.

Discipline does not mean living a life devoid of pleasure or spontaneity. Instead, it is about aligning your actions with your long-term goals, even—and especially—when it is inconvenient.

3. Alignment: Ensuring Choices Reflect Values and Priorities

Good choices are not made in a vacuum. They spring from the soil of our values and priorities. When our decisions are out of sync with what truly matters to us, we experience inner conflict and dissatisfaction.

  • Clarify Your Values: Take time to identify what is most important to you. Is it health? Connection? Creativity? Security? Once your values are clear, use them as a compass for your decisions.
  • Set Clear Goals: Good choices are made easier when you have defined targets. Break down big goals into actionable steps, and measure your choices against these benchmarks.
  • Anticipate Trade-Offs: Every choice involves a trade-off. By weighing the pros and cons, and considering both short-term and long-term consequences, you can make decisions that truly serve your best interests.

Alignment is the harmony between your internal world (values, beliefs) and your external actions. When the two are synchronized, your choices become powerful vehicles for personal fulfillment and success.

Overcoming Obstacles to Good Choices

Even with awareness, discipline, and alignment, we encounter obstacles on the path to good choices. These can include:

  • Decision Fatigue: The more choices we make, the more our ability to make optimal decisions erodes. Simplify your environment by automating trivial decisions, delegating where possible, and focusing your energy on what matters most.
  • Fear of Regret or Failure: The anxiety of making the “wrong” choice can lead to paralysis. Remind yourself that very few choices are truly irreversible. Embrace experimentation, learn from setbacks, and view every decision as a chance to grow.
  • Perfectionism: Waiting for the perfect option often leads to inaction. Instead, aim for progress, not perfection. Sometimes, a good-enough choice, made in a timely manner, is far better than the elusive perfect one made too late.

Practical Tools for Better Decision-Making

To consistently make good choices, integrate these practical strategies into your daily life:

  • The Pause Principle: Before making a significant choice, pause. Take a breath, reflect, and resist the urge to react impulsively. This brief moment of mindfulness can prevent countless regrets.
  • Pros and Cons List: A classic tool, listing the advantages and disadvantages of each option can clarify complex decisions.
  • Seek Diverse Perspectives: Consult with trusted friends, mentors, or professionals. Others can spot blind spots and biases you may have missed.
  • Visualize Outcomes: Imagine the possible consequences of each choice—how will you feel tomorrow, in a week, or a year from now? This future perspective can often highlight the wisest path.
  • Commit to Continuous Learning: Every choice is an opportunity to learn. Reflect on outcomes, adjust your approach, and celebrate both your successes and your growth.

The Journey of Choosing Well

Making good choices is a lifelong journey, not a destination. It is a practice refined by experience, reflection, and the courage to face ourselves honestly. When we nurture awareness, cultivate discipline, and align our choices with our truest values, we transform the ordinary act of choosing into an extraordinary force for success and fulfillment.

Remember, the quality of your life is determined not by the few dramatic decisions you make, but by the thousands of small, everyday choices. Make each one count, and success will follow as the natural product of those daily decisions.

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The Quiet Grace: A Story of Self-Compassion After a Mistake

Finding Light in the Shadows of Regret

It happened on a day that began with the promise of sunlight. The air outside was cool and bright, the birds persistent in their melody. But inside me, a storm brewed—one that would soon break. I made a terrible mistake. The kind that echoes, not only in the ears of those touched by it, but also in the secret chambers of one’s own heart. It was the kind of misstep that stung with shame and disappointment, and as the reality of what I’d done settled around me, I felt the world shrink to a single, suffocating point.

At first, anger and self-loathing filled my every thought. Regret played itself on a loop; I replayed my actions, searching for the moment where I could have chosen differently, wishing fiercely that I had. Every time my mind circled back to the incident, a new wave of shame crashed over me, threatening to pull me under. I told myself that I didn’t deserve forgiveness—not from others, and certainly not from myself.

But as the hours wore on, exhaustion crept in. Self-criticism, I realized, was a fire that consumed everything in its path, leaving only ashes. My thoughts grew quieter, the sharp edges of my guilt dulling just enough for me to hear something softer beneath: the whisper of compassion.

It was faint at first, a mere suggestion. Maybe, it said, you do not have to be the villain of your own story. Maybe, just maybe, you could try to see yourself as you would see a friend in pain, someone who had made a mistake but was trying to make amends. The idea was foreign. I resisted it. After all, wasn’t compassion something you earned? And hadn’t I just forfeited that right?

Still, the whisper persisted. So, tentatively, I decided to try. I sat down, closed my eyes, and imagined myself sitting across from me—not as I was now, braced for self-attack, but as a version of myself who deserved kindness. I pictured the hurt in my own eyes, the tremble in my voice as I explained what I’d done. And as I listened, I imagined what I would say to a friend in this position:

“You made a mistake. Yes, it matters. But you are not only this mistake. You are a whole person, capable of learning, of changing, of making things right.”

A tear slid down my cheek. It felt as if some inner dam had broken, releasing a torrent of sorrow and longing for forgiveness. For the first time, I allowed myself to cry—not out of self-pity, but out of a deep need to mourn the harm I’d caused, and to accept that I was still worthy of care.

In the days that followed, I began the difficult work of making amends. I reached out to those I’d hurt, offering apologies that were raw and honest. I didn’t expect forgiveness; I knew it was not owed to me. But by speaking my regret aloud, I acknowledged the reality of my actions and took responsibility for them. This in itself was an act of compassion—not just for others, but for myself. I was telling the truth, giving myself the chance to grow from it.

There were nights when regret curled in bed beside me, whispering old accusations. On those nights, I practiced what I’d started during the day: I would breathe in, and with each breath, gently remind myself, “I am doing the best I can with what I know.” I thought of all the ways I’d tried to make things right, and recognized that punishing myself endlessly would not change the past, nor would it help anyone heal.

Slowly, I began to notice subtle shifts. My shoulders rested just a little lower. Food tasted like food again, rather than penance. I started to see myself as a work in progress, rather than a collection of failures. Each day I made one small, compassionate choice for myself—whether it was taking a walk, talking to a friend, or simply allowing myself to laugh at something silly. Each of these moments was a thread in a new tapestry, one woven with both the dark and the light.

Compassion did not excuse what I’d done; it did not erase the pain I’d caused. But it allowed me to hold my mistake in both hands, to look at it fully, and to say, “This is a part of my story, but not the whole of it.” It gave me strength to keep showing up, to do better, and to trust that redemption—though never guaranteed—is possible so long as we keep trying.

Through this journey, I discovered that the hardest forgiveness to receive is often the one we must grant ourselves. It is a forgiveness that asks us to see our flaws and still choose love, to recognize our failings and still offer ourselves the gift of hope. Compassion is not a one-time act, but a practice: it is the daily decision to treat ourselves with gentleness, even when we feel least deserving.

Now, when I look back on that day—the sunlight, the storm inside—I see not only the pain, but the path it opened before me. A path that winds through apology, understanding, and gradual self-acceptance. I am not proud of my mistake, but I am grateful for the lesson it taught me: that true compassion begins at home, in the quiet grace we extend to ourselves, even in the shadow of regret.

And as I continue forward, I carry with me the hard-won knowledge that self-kindness is not a luxury, but a necessity. It is the first step toward healing, the gentle soil in which redemption can take root. No matter how grave the error, there is always room for compassion—a light that, once kindled, makes the journey onward not only possible, but deeply human.

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The Enduring Nature of Love

Love Through Different Seasons

Love is a force that adapts and flourishes through the various seasons of life. In our youth, love often manifests as an exciting adventure, filled with the thrill of new discoveries and the promise of endless possibilities. As we mature, love deepens, evolving into a steadfast commitment that weathers the storms of life and stands resilient in the face of challenges.

In the early years of a relationship, love is often characterized by passion and intensity. These moments are precious, as they lay the foundation for a bond that will grow stronger over time. As we embark on new journeys, whether it be pursuing careers, building a home, or raising a family, our love transforms, becoming a source of support and stability.

As we navigate through the middle years, love takes on a different hue, one marked by understanding and mutual respect. The shared experiences and memories create a tapestry rich with meaning, and our connection becomes a refuge from the world’s chaos. During this time, love is not just a feeling but an action—a daily choice to cherish, nurture, and uplift one another.

In the later stages of life, love becomes a testament to endurance and grace. It is a quiet strength that provides comfort and solace, a gentle reminder that we are not alone. The love between partners who have walked a long path together is a beautiful testament to the power of commitment and the joy found in companionship.

No matter the season, love remains the constant thread that weaves through the fabric of our lives. It adapts and grows, reflecting the changes we undergo and the experiences we share. It is an anchor that keeps us grounded, a light that guides us, and a force that inspires us to become better versions of ourselves.

As we continue our journey, may we always find ways to celebrate and honor the love we share, recognizing that it is the most precious gift we can give and receive.

A Side Note For My Loved Ones

Throughout my life I have transitioned from high school to college; from being single to being married; from spending time with friends to raising children. There are times I have altered my habits, thereby changing my activities and companions. Although the time we spend together may diminish, my affection for you does not wane. In fact, my love for you grows with each passing day, and my longing for you is beyond what words can express. I sincerely hope that we may soon reconnect and forge new memories to add to those I already hold dear in my heart.

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Holding the Line: Loyalty and Change at ASU Baseball

After five years as the ASU Men’s Baseball Team Manager, I transitioned into the role of Administrative Assistant to the head coach. This role was meant to keep me involved in the university’s baseball program, with the goal of eventually working my way up into the front offices of the baseball world. However, shortly after returning from the College World Series in Omaha, Nebraska, our head coach passed away after a battle with liver cancer. He was my mentor, my advocate, and the most influential person in my life up to that point.

Suddenly, I was thrown into the midst of running an athletic office, while only familiar with the on-field processes. The university began searching for a new head coach immediately. I was convinced one of our assistant coaches would be promoted. Bill Kinneberg was a strong contender, though his status as an alumni of our rival, University of Arizona, made him a less-popular choice with the hiring committee. Despite his three years as our pitching coach, the prestigious head coach position was not decided by the previous coaching staff.

Within a couple of weeks, the new hire was announced: Pat Murphy from Notre Dame. He was young, enthusiastic, and eager to start. The athletic department was excited about their decision, and Coach Murphy arrived the very next day. However, the existing coaching staff was less thrilled, a sentiment I did not fully understand until I began working under him. Murphy was arrogant and constantly boasted about his connections and plans to change ASU baseball.

The problem was, ASU Baseball was already the most prestigious NCAA Division I baseball program, with a long list of alumni who had made it to the Big Leagues. Murphy’s desire to change the program seemed unnecessary, but he wasted no time in doing so. Within a week, he had fired the entire coaching staff. I was the only familiar face left in the baseball program. I felt indispensable, as Murphy needed my help to navigate the procedures, introduce him to the players, and show him the facilities.

Despite my administrative role, I longed to be back on the field, where I thrived and stood out among my peers. My true talents lay in setting up batting stations, compiling statistics, and tracking spray charts. I was the one who kept the dugout running smoothly during practices and games. Fans, boosters, sports writers, alumni, umpires, and players relied on me as Packard Stadium’s curator. I was not meant to sit at a desk on the fifth floor of the ICA Building, dressed in business attire and working behind the scenes.

Murphy did not like my close relationships with the players and the Brock Family. He wanted me to be impartial and loyal solely to him and his new crew. This was difficult, as I bled maroon and gold, while they still had Fighting Irish running through their veins.

During that first week, I fielded phone calls from legendary athletes like Brian Urlacher and Pat Leahy. Murphy always took calls from famous people, while everyone else received a message of, “He’s not available right now. Can I leave him a message?” His overconfidence was too much, and I never felt comfortable in his presence. I wanted things to be the way they had always been-classic Sun Devil Baseball heritage and pride. The common joyful exchange between players, coaches and fans. A commitment to excellence for the program’s sake, not a personal pedestal to become self-important.

To be continued in next week’s blog post

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The Cowgirl

I often bragged to my classmates that I was a “true” cowgirl because I was born in Wyoming and named after my uncle’s horse. That certainly qualified me, right? Inevitably, I would be the best horse rider if given a chance. In fact, one Sunday after church I naively decided to assess my novice riding skills on our neighbor’s horse, Cloudy. She was a young, gentle, smaller horse that let me pet her whenever I wanted. Her coat was steel gray, with patches of white, emulating clouds. Much to my surprise, she did not approve when I walked her next to the fence and jumped on her bareback. She immediately bucked me off into the gravel where I had the wind knocked out of me for at least 10 seconds. I do not exactly remember what happened next, but the line of events led to getting my first (and only) belt spanking. I always assumed the stiff punishment was a result of riding a horse on the Sabbath. It was more likely because I tried to ride a horse that did not belong to me without permission.

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Year 2: The Path to My Authentic Self

Over the past year, I have documented my journey from a low point to discovering a brighter future. While my story may not be miraculous, it is sincere and intended to inspire others to persevere, even when the end seems out of reach.

As I conclude the first year of sharing my experiences, I am committed to maintaining authenticity with myself and my audience. It is crucial for my readers to understand that their struggles do not define them negatively as individuals. Most importantly, I want people to recognize that each day presents a new opportunity for change. Regardless of one’s circumstances, transformation is possible. I have witnessed individuals transition from incarceration and homelessness to homeownership. Though it may seem implausible, there are countless stories of remarkable personal turnarounds. I aspire to be one of those stories. By sharing my journey, along with the courageous stories of those I have met along the way, I aim to encourage others to embrace their true selves as I navigate the challenges of transitioning from inauthenticity to self-acceptance.

I invite you to join me as I embark on the second year of what I consider an extraordinary life.

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Transform Your Life: Simplify, Plan, and Stay Motivated

The Nature of Passion: Embrace Change

When I was younger, I was passionate about Snoopy. Today, I’m indifferent and no longer desire to collect Snoopy memorabilia. Back then, I might have been known as “the girl who collects Snoopy memorabilia.” Now, my activities have changed. You are not defined by what you choose to do; you are defined by the effort you put into those activities. Passion is key to success in anything you pursue.

Time for a Fresh Start?

I love mornings, Mondays, new months, and new years. Each new beginning excites me with the possibility of changing my life’s direction. Monthly, I create new habit trackers, to-do lists, and goal lists. While I was incarcerated, I realized I needed to change my daily routine monthly to stay motivated and avoid boredom. Some habits remain consistent, but I generally create a new routine every month or two.

In my early twenties, moving to a new place was an opportunity to reset my life. I would clean out my closet, discard unused items, and create new routines. Today, moving is the last thing I want to do. Instead, I change my routine, deep clean, and organize my space to satisfy my need for novelty.

Finding Joy in Movement

I love walking outside in new places, enjoying nature, nice neighborhoods, and getting lost in the beauty around me. I hate walking on a treadmill—it bores me quickly, and my OCD kicks in as I obsess over tracking my time, distance, and calories burned. What changes do you need to guarantee success in your life?

For me, I dress in my workout clothes first thing in the morning, pack my work clothes, makeup, hair tools, breakfast, and lunch in my gym bag, and hit the gym at 5:30 am. This routine ensures I get my workout done and prevents me from spending money on unhealthy convenience store foods.

Planning Meals for Success

Another habit I practice is weekly meal planning. I plan at least five meals and shop for groceries on Sunday or Monday, so I know what we’ll be eating each evening. Waking up early allows me to prepare ingredients, ensuring I don’t get lazy and back out of making dinner. This habit has saved me and my partner from eating out or grabbing fast food countless times.

Making Discipline Easy

Discipline alone doesn’t work; you need to make tasks easy to accomplish. For instance, if all the ingredients for dinner are bought, cut, thawed, and ready to cook, you’re more likely to stick to your dinner plans because it’s easier.

I struggle to sit at my desk and work on my book. I’ve found that a cute coffee shop, library, or other inspiring location helps me get excited about writing. It gives me an excuse to get out of the house and experience new places while making progress on my book.

Simplify Your Goals

  1. Lose Weight – Buy fun, healthy foods. Shop at a new grocery store. Find easy, new recipes you want to try.
  2. Exercise – Make morning gym visits easy. Pack your bag and lay out clothes the night before. Explore new locations, take dogs to the dog park, choose a new trail weekly, walk while golfing, or stroll in a beautiful neighborhood.
  3. Write a Book – Plan inspiring places to write that get you out of the house and keep you motivated.

Show Up Where the Work Gets Done!

Run experiments. Try a library, coffee shop, park, or gym. Don’t be afraid to change and experiment often. I know I need new experiences to stay motivated.

Schedule Your Goals

Have time, location, start time, and stop time scheduled before you start. Leverage your goals by marking them on the calendar. Can you overlap two goals to get both done simultaneously? For example, take your dogs to the dog park and walk with them.

I would love to hear about your hacks around simplifying tasks and leveraging new experiences.

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Self Love

For years, I battled an invisible enemy: my own reflection. Each glance in the mirror shattered the image of the flawless, movie-ready persona I’d painstakingly constructed in my mind. This fictional version of myself—a tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty with effortlessly perfect hair—was my armor. Confronting my true self threatened to erode the fragile confidence I projected to the world. 

In reality, I was a tall woman with big bones and big breasts, hazel eyes, and dirty blonde frizzy hair that refused to cooperate. My fingernails were thin and weak, my wide feet bore the scars of broken pinky toes, and my round face boasted “chipmunk” cheeks.

My nose, though average, always seemed just a bit too large. Despite being underweight at times, my stomach muscles remained elusive, and my style—a mishmash of Gap sale items and occasional splurges from Nordstrom—never felt truly mine. 

Caught between wanting to be a girly-girl and rejecting the tomboy label, I longed to be anyone but myself. I yearned to be shorter, thinner, prettier, classier, petite, and naturally beautiful. Yet, the only thing I could control was my demeanor, and even that felt like a lie. How could I learn to love and accept myself when I couldn’t even bear to look in the mirror? What did others see that I couldn’t? And why was I so terrified of facing the truth? 

The turning point came one bleak winter evening. After an exhausting day at work, I collapsed onto my couch, scrolling aimlessly through social media. Picture after picture showcased lives that seemed perfect—vacations in exotic locations, radiant smiles, flawless bodies. Each post was a painful reminder of what I wasn’t. My chest tightened, and tears welled up in my eyes. 

In the depths of my despair, a thought pierced through the fog of self-loathing: What if I tried to see myself through someone else’s eyes? What if I could capture even a glimpse of the value others might see in me? 

With a surge of determination, I picked up my phone and called my best friend, Lucy. As soon as she answered, I poured out my heart, revealing the insecurities and self-doubt that had plagued me for so long. There was a moment of silence on the other end before she spoke with surprising gentleness. 

“You’re not alone in feeling this way,” Lucy said. “But you need to understand that we love you for who you are, not who you think you should be. You have a heart that’s big enough to hold all our secrets, a laugh that lights up the room, and a strength that inspires us every day.” 

Her words hung in the air, and for the first time, I let them sink in. Maybe, just maybe, there was a different narrative I could embrace—one that didn’t require perfection but celebrated authenticity. 

Over the next few months, I embarked on a journey of self-discovery. It wasn’t easy. There were days when the mirror was still my enemy, and the old doubts crept back in. But I started to make small changes: I practiced gratitude, focusing on the things I appreciated about myself and my life. I surrounded myself with people who uplifted me and made me feel valued. I sought out activities that brought me joy, rather than those I felt I should enjoy to fit a certain mold. 

Slowly, the fictional character I’d created in my mind began to fade, replaced by a more genuine version of myself. I learned to love the things that made me unique—the quirks, the flaws, and the strengths. The mirror no longer held power over me; it became a reflection of the journey I’d undertaken. 

In time, I came to realize that self-love isn’t about achieving a perfect image. It’s about accepting and cherishing who you are, both inside and out. And as I stood in front of the mirror, I smiled—not because I saw a flawless figure, but because I saw someone who was learning to love herself, one day at a time.