 Every weekend, I sit down and write out this giant to-do list. You know the kind—the everything-and-the-kitchen-sink list. The one that includes house cleaning, bigger home projects that have been waiting for months, organizing for another week of homeschooling, planning meals and after-school activities, and squeezing in work emails or lingering business tasks that I know will help me feel a little more “on top of things” by Monday morning. It’s a list that could easily take a small team to complete. And yet, I hand that impossible workload to one person—me. Some weekends, I power through and check most of it off. But most of the time, I end Sunday staring at what’s not done. The unchecked boxes glare back at me, whispering all the ways I fell short. And if my body dares to ask for rest—or I decide to meet a friend for coffee or spend the afternoon outside instead—I end the weekend feeling guilty, as though I traded productivity for pleasure. But recently, something shifted. It dawned on me that these lists I create are never going to end. There will always be more things that could be done, more ways to be better, cleaner, more prepared, more accomplished. I realized that my list wasn’t a tool to support my week—it had become a silent standard of perfection I could never, ever reach. So, I decided to pivot. This weekend, instead of writing my list based on everything that needed doing, I wrote it based on what would leave me feeling accomplished and grounded before Monday morning. It sounds so simple—almost laughably small—but that single shift changed everything. When I reframed my list, I found myself focusing on what truly mattered for that moment in time. I asked myself, what would make me feel ready? What would ease my mind? What could I complete that would genuinely add peace to my week ahead? And once I finished those few things, I gave myself permission to stop. That afternoon, my son and I spent the day at the ocean. The air was unusually warm for fall, and the sun seemed to stretch itself across the water just for us. I remember thinking, I could be home doing laundry or answering emails right now. But instead, I felt calm, full, and satisfied. Not because I finished it all—but because I chose to be content with enough. I’m sure not every weekend will land this way. Life, after all, rarely follows a neat plan. But if this small change—this simple redirection of intention—helps me start most weeks with more peace and less panic, then I’ll take that as a success. Maybe It’s Time to Reimagine Your To-Do List, too! Here are a few reflections you might try this week:
Journal Prompts: What would my to-do list look like if it was built around peace, rather than pressure? What tasks would stay? What could I release without guilt? Healing Practice - This weekend, before you begin your usual to-do list, pause. Take three slow breaths. Ask yourself: What would help me feel satisfied, not stretched? Then write from that place. And when the day invites you to rest or play—accept the invitation fully.  
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 While listening to a podcast the other day, I was struck by a simple but profound observation: the problem with many modern spiritual teachings on manifesting is that there’s too much focus on the Law of Attraction and Law of Resonance, and not nearly enough attention on the concept of Total Energetic Coherence. It made me pause — because while so many of us are visualizing, journaling, and affirming our desires, few of us are truly examining whether our whole lives are in alignment with what we say we want. And that’s where most manifestations fall apart. What You Focus on, You Attract. The Law of Attraction is the most well-known concept in the manifestation world. It’s the idea that like attracts like — that your thoughts, feelings, and beliefs draw corresponding experiences into your life. If you focus on abundance, gratitude, and joy, you magnetize more of the same. If you focus on lack or fear, you’ll continue to find yourself surrounded by situations that mirror that energy. But what’s often missed is that the Universe doesn’t respond to your words — it responds to your frequency. You can speak affirmations of wealth and love all day long, but if your energetic baseline is rooted in scarcity or self-doubt, that’s what you’ll continue to attract. You Receive What You Are. If the Law of Attraction is about what you focus on, the Law of Resonance is about what you embody. Resonance says that your vibration — the frequency of your thoughts, emotions, and behaviors — determines what experiences you’re a match for. In other words, it’s not enough to simply want something; you have to become it. You can’t just desire love while resonating with unworthiness. You can’t call in abundance while your energy still holds resentment toward money. You can’t align with joy while still harboring bitterness from the past. Resonance requires honesty. It asks you to look at the ways your energy contradicts your desires and to bridge the gap between who you are right now and who you’re becoming. When All Parts of You Align this is where the deeper — and often more uncomfortable — work begins. Total Coherence means that every part of your life, from your relationships to your habits to your environment, is in energetic alignment with your higher self and your desired reality. It isn’t enough to meditate on love but tolerate a toxic relationship. It isn’t enough to visualize wealth but continue making fear-based financial decisions. It isn’t enough to say you value peace while surrounding yourself with chaos. When we say we want to manifest a better life, the Universe listens to our energy, not our excuses. And if parts of our lives are still rooted in old patterns, outdated dynamics, or self-sabotaging behaviors, that incoherence becomes resistance. As the podcast host said, “You can’t be in partial coherence and expect total transformation.” Think of it this way: if you’ve cut out toxic family members but continue to accept toxic romantic partners, you are not in total coherence. If you’ve learned to set boundaries at work but continue to betray your own needs at home, you are not in total coherence. The Mirror Work: Where Manifestation Really Begins. Here’s the uncomfortable truth: mirrors are only painful for those who still refuse to look at their own reflection. Manifestation isn’t just about dreaming big — it’s about radical self-honesty. It’s about holding the mirror up to your life and asking, where am I still out of alignment? Where do I still settle, self-abandon, or compromise my peace? Where do I still play small while claiming I’m ready for more? Total coherence requires us to look at the parts of ourselves and our lives we’d rather avoid — the unresolved wounds, the people we keep around out of guilt or fear, the habits that drain our energy even though we know better. It’s shadow work in motion. And yes, it’s uncomfortable. Growth always is. But as long as we continue to tolerate the things that contradict the frequency of what we’re calling in, our manifestations will stay stuck in potential instead of becoming reality. True manifestation isn’t just about feeling the vibration of your desires — it’s about living it. It’s the daily, conscious decision to choose thoughts, relationships, and environments that honor your highest self. It means having hard conversations. Walking away from what no longer resonates. Taking responsibility for your energy. And holding yourself accountable for the frequencies you maintain, not just the ones you dream about. Because manifestation isn’t magic — it’s energetic math. When every part of your life adds up in the same frequency, the Universe responds in kind. That’s when the right people, opportunities, and experiences begin to appear almost effortlessly. So, the next time you find yourself wondering why a certain manifestation hasn’t come to life, pause before you blame the Universe. Look in the mirror. Ask yourself — where am I still out of coherence? What am I still tolerating that keeps me from fully embodying the version of myself I say I want to be? Because until we can look at our own reflection without flinching, the life we desire will remain just out of reach.  5 Lessons I Learned from Sociopath: A Memoir by Patric Gagne, PhD and Why You Should Read It Too! I often choose books that will bend my mind. Concepts, ideas that will challenge my beliefs or open me to a new world of perspective. I can't even remember where I found this book, but it had been sitting on my nightstand for several months. During my current state of “I am checking out of social media and chasing and instead focusing on learning and growing” mindset, I decided to finally finish it. Truthfully, I have an empathetic vein of blood that courses strongly through me. I want to understand people and appreciate them at a deep level — not just the surface version the world thinks they are. NOT just the labels society gives them. There was something that attracted me to the concept of Sociopath and a fascination I wanted to know more about. This book touched me in so many ways. In fact, rarely would I tell a reader, you must not only read the book, but the entire Epilogue titled “Modern Love.” I actually think the Epilogue was my favorite part. Why? Because it summarized everything I’ve learned, even through raising my son who is on the autism spectrum — that “just because your love is different doesn’t mean it doesn’t count.” A direct quote from Gagne’s book by David. Here are five lessons I learned (and continue to reflect on) from Sociopath: A Memoir:
I thought a lot about how often we use labels as shortcuts to understanding — autism, sociopath anxiety, introvert, empath — without always considering the complexity behind them. Sometimes a label helps us make sense of the chaos, but we must always remember it’s not the full story. In fact, more often than not, it isn't even half the story and throwing labels and the stereotypes that those labels come with, can cause us to miss out on incredible people and experiences.
Her words softened something in me — a reminder that we all want to be understood on our own terms, without someone trying to fix or define us. Carl Jung said: "The deepest human need is to be seen and known." Gagne highlighted that fundamental need beautifully.
We’ve been taught that love should look and feel a certain way, but maybe love isn’t about the grand gestures or perfect emotional expression. Maybe it’s about showing up — in whatever capacity you can — and choosing connection over isolation. Maybe it really, truly is, meeting people where they are at. To learn to give and receive love that is authentic and unconditional and meaningful for all parties involved. A beautiful, beautiful ending and testament to what we are capable when we desire to heal, understand and love ourselves and others. Reading Sociopath stretched my heart and my understanding of what it means to be human. It made me see that empathy and love are not confined to one definition or experience. They are lived in infinite ways — through logic, through care, through quiet understanding. It’s a book that asks you to question everything you think you know about emotion and morality — and to soften your judgment toward those who simply experience the world differently. If you pick it up (which I strongly, strongly encourage you to do), don’t rush through it. Sit with it. Especially the Epilogue. It’s a mirror for how we define love — and maybe, how we can expand it. In fact, maybe it highlights the lessons of unconditional love through radical acceptance of each other that this world so desperately needs. As an Amazon associate, I may receive small commissions, but they will not impact the cost of your purchase.  Life is rarely quiet.
Our schedules overflow, the world spins faster every day, and the demands on our attention never cease. But within the noise, there is always a still point—a breath, a moment, a pause. That is where mindfulness lives. It’s not about escaping the chaos; it’s about returning to yourself inside it. Mindfulness is the art of presence. It invites you to show up fully in this moment—not the regrets of yesterday or the worries of tomorrow, but right here, right now. It’s a radical practice in a world obsessed with doing. To be present is to reclaim your power. You don’t need a silent retreat or hours of meditation to practice mindfulness. You just need intention. Start with your breath. Breathe in deeply through your nose. Hold. Exhale slowly through your mouth. Feel the air move. Feel your feet on the ground. You are here. That’s enough. Everyday moments are invitations. Washing dishes? Feel the warm water, notice the rhythm. Walking to your car? Feel the ground beneath your feet. Drinking tea? Savor the flavor. These small acts, done with awareness, become portals to peace. Mindfulness teaches you to respond rather than react. When life gets overwhelming, you can choose to pause. To breathe before you speak. To soften your shoulders. To ask yourself, “What do I need in this moment?” That space between stimulus and response is where your freedom lies. Incorporating mindfulness into your routine can be as simple as a one-minute body scan, a gratitude journal before bed, or a mindful stretch between meetings. Technology can help—apps like Insight Timer or Calm offer short meditations to guide you back to center. But even a mindful walk in nature can do wonders for your nervous system. The more you practice, the more mindfulness becomes your way of being. You become less reactive, more grounded. Less anxious, more attuned. You begin to witness your thoughts instead of being ruled by them. You become the calm in your own storm. And perhaps most importantly, mindfulness reminds you that you are enough—right now, exactly as you are. You don’t need to do more or be more. You only need to be here. Alive. Awake. Aware. That is where peace begins.  To live authentically is to live freely.
But freedom isn’t always easy. We grow up absorbing messages about who we should be—how to look, what to say, who to love, what to want. These expectations are like invisible scripts written for us before we were even born. But at some point, we must decide to write our own. Authenticity begins with unlearning. Unlearning the belief that your worth is tied to your productivity. That your body needs fixing. That your voice should be quiet. That being accepted is more important than being true. Peeling away these lies is painful, but necessary. It creates space for your real self to emerge. Ask yourself: What parts of me have I hidden to make others comfortable? What truths have I silenced to be liked or approved of? What version of myself have I presented to survive? The answers may be uncomfortable—but within them lies the invitation to freedom. Letting go of “should” is an act of revolution. You should be thinner. You should be more successful. You should smile more. You should settle down. These shoulds are chains. Start replacing them with “I choose.” I choose rest. I choose joy. I choose authenticity. In doing so, you reclaim your power. Living authentically often means disappointing others—but it also means finally showing up for yourself. It might look like changing careers, ending toxic relationships, or expressing yourself creatively in ways you once feared. It might mean wearing red lipstick on a Tuesday or quitting a job that kills your spirit. Authenticity is a homecoming. It’s when your inner world and outer world finally match. It’s when your actions align with your values. It’s when you wake up and look in the mirror and say, “There you are. I’ve missed you.” It’s not about being perfect—it’s about being real. You don’t owe anyone a watered-down version of yourself. The world doesn’t need more conformity—it needs your light, your voice, your difference. Your authenticity gives others permission to be real, too. So burn the script. Exit the roles. Say the thing. Wear the outfit. Chase the dream. Let the people who love the real you find you. You were never meant to fit in—you were born to stand out.  Healing from trauma is not a straight path—it’s more like a spiral. You return to the same places, again and again, each time with a little more strength, a little more wisdom, and a little more capacity to sit with what once felt unbearable. It is a courageous, sacred process that cannot be rushed, only honored.
The journey begins with acknowledgment. Many of us were taught to minimize our pain or push it aside. But naming what happened—whether it was a single event or a lifetime of subtle wounds—is a radical act of truth-telling. You cannot heal what you pretend didn’t happen. Giving language to your story is the first key to reclaiming it. Next comes embodiment. Trauma is not just a memory; it’s stored in the body. Breathwork, yoga, grounding exercises, and somatic therapy can help release what words alone cannot touch. Simply placing your hand over your heart, breathing deeply, and saying, “I am safe now,” can begin to rewire the nervous system and invite safety back into your body. Therapy—especially trauma-informed, EMDR, or internal family systems (IFS)—can be life-changing. It provides a safe space to unpack what feels too heavy to carry alone. But healing doesn’t only happen in the therapist’s chair. It also lives in journaling, art, poetry, music, movement, and silence. Healing is personal. There’s no one right way. Community matters. While trauma often occurs in isolation, healing often requires connection. Whether through a support group, a trusted friend, a spiritual guide, or even a pet—having someone witness your pain without trying to fix it is profoundly healing. You don’t need a crowd. You just need safe, attuned presence. Forgiveness is a complex and deeply personal part of the healing process. It's not about excusing harm or forgetting what happened. It’s about releasing the grip that pain has on your heart. Sometimes the person you need to forgive most is yourself—for surviving in the only ways you knew how at the time. There will be setbacks. Days when the old stories try to pull you back into shame or despair. That doesn’t mean you’re failing—it means you’re still healing. Give yourself grace. Progress isn’t measured in leaps, but in the quiet resilience of choosing to feel and move forward, one breath at a time. Remember: you are not your trauma. You are not the worst thing that ever happened to you. You are the survivor. The alchemist. The brave soul learning how to transform pain into purpose, fear into freedom, and silence into song.  Self-love is not narcissism. It’s not selfish. It’s the foundation of everything. Without it, everything else - our relationships, our work, our dreams—becomes shaky. Self-love is the quiet revolution that changes everything from the inside out.
It starts with how you talk to yourself. Are you kind? Gentle? Encouraging? Or do you criticize your every move, compare yourself relentlessly, and dismiss your needs? If you wouldn’t say it to a child, you shouldn’t say it to yourself. Your inner dialogue matters more than you know. Boundaries are love in action. When you say no to what depletes you, you say yes to what nurtures you. Setting limits isn’t rejection—it’s protection. It’s choosing your peace over pleasing others. And it’s one of the most powerful ways you declare your worth. Self-love is rest. It’s permission to put the phone down, close the laptop, and take a nap. It’s acknowledging your humanity, not your productivity, as your value. Rest isn’t laziness—it’s restoration. When you begin to love yourself, you stop begging others to fill your cup. You become your own source of validation, joy, and peace. You recognize that your worth is not tied to your weight, your past, your productivity, or anyone’s approval. You begin to dream again. Big, bold, breathtaking dreams. Not because someone said you could, but because you finally believe you’re worthy of living a life that lights you up. That belief shifts everything. Happiness isn’t found in some far-off place of perfection. It’s found in the present moment, when you decide—again and again—to choose yourself. To show up for your needs. To honor your desires. To love yourself where you are, not just when you “arrive.” Self-love is the beginning of everything good. It’s the seed that grows into joy, connection, and purpose. And the most beautiful thing? It’s never too late to start.  Resilience doesn’t mean pretending everything’s okay. It doesn’t mean masking your pain with positivity or pretending to bounce back like nothing ever happened.
True resilience is quieter, slower, deeper. It’s about rising—but rising differently. Softer. Stronger. Wiser. Life throws us curveballs: loss, betrayal, heartbreak, illness, change. Each one can feel like an earthquake, shaking the very foundation of who we thought we were. And yet, within those cracks, something new begins to grow. A new strength. A deeper compassion. A resilience born from truth, not toughness. We’ve all faced seasons that stretched us beyond what we thought we could bear. The grief that left us breathless. The betrayal that made us question everything. The uncertainty that stripped us down to our bones. But look—you’re still here. Still breathing. Still becoming. Let the scars tell their stories. Let them be badges of courage. Your pain is not a sign of weakness—it’s a testament to your humanity. The scars mean you felt, you risked, you lived. And that matters more than the neat, polished image society tells you to strive for. When you rise from the ashes, you don’t rise the same. You carry wisdom. You carry empathy. You carry the understanding that life is both beautiful and brutal—and that you can hold both without breaking. Resilience means allowing yourself to fall apart when needed and giving yourself the grace to rebuild at your own pace. It’s not linear. Some days you’ll feel victorious. Others, you’ll feel defeated. Both are valid. Both are part of your story. What if the obstacle wasn’t in the way, but was the way? What if your hardship carved a path to purpose you never could’ve seen before? That’s the miracle of resilience—it transforms our pain into possibility. So when life knocks you down, take your time getting up. Cry. Scream. Rest. But know this: the strength you need is already inside you. The proof is in every breath you’ve taken since the storm began.  You are not your résumé, your relationship status, your income bracket, or your Instagram bio.
Those are roles you perform, not the truth of who you are. Self-discovery starts by daring to peel away the layers of expectation and performance that the world has wrapped around you. It asks: Who were you before the world told you who to be? True self-discovery begins with stillness. In a society that glorifies busy and drowns in noise, choosing silence is radical. It is in quiet moments—those long walks without distraction, the stillness of early morning light, the sacred scratch of pen against journal paper—that your inner voice begins to rise. That whisper in your heart? That’s the you that’s always been there. Asking, “Who am I when no one is watching?” unlocks the door to truth. When the performance stops, when you’re not being the good mother, the strong partner, the diligent worker—what remains? Often, we discover a tender part of ourselves that craves expression and authenticity, the version of ourselves we left behind to please others. Self-discovery is about curiosity, not condemnation. It's about approaching yourself with wonder, not judgment. You are not a project to fix, but a mystery to unfold. Be gentle as you explore. What lights you up? What drains you? What dreams did you bury because someone told you they were unrealistic? Peeling back the layers is a vulnerable act. You might find grief there—grief for the years you lived muted, the dreams you deferred, the pieces of yourself you abandoned to survive. Let that grief be honored, not rushed. It is proof that you are waking up. Reclaim the parts of you that were silenced. The artist. The rebel. The dreamer. The child who spoke freely. The woman who once danced barefoot in the rain. They are not gone. They are waiting for your permission to return. You are not becoming someone new. You are remembering who you’ve always been beneath the roles, the pain, and the noise. You are rediscovering your voice, your rhythm, your essence. Self-discovery is a lifelong journey. There is no final destination, only deeper and deeper layers of knowing and becoming. Keep listening. Keep trusting. Keep choosing you.  Change rarely arrives with a gentle knock. More often, it crashes through the door uninvited—messy, loud, and inconvenient. It doesn’t ask if you’re ready. It doesn’t wait for your permission. It simply arrives, rearranging the furniture of your life, scattering the familiar, and daring you to find beauty in the mess.
But what if change isn’t the enemy? What if it’s the sacred invitation we’ve been unknowingly waiting for? The kind that doesn’t just shift our circumstances—but reshapes our soul. We are taught to fear change. To cling to the known, even when it no longer fits. We stay in relationships that no longer nourish us, jobs that drain us, identities that suffocate us—because the unknown feels too vast, too uncertain. But the truth is, the unknown is where we meet ourselves most honestly. It’s where we shed the layers that no longer serve us and step into the wild, uncharted territory of who we’re becoming. Navigating life transitions begins with surrender. Not the kind that gives up, but the kind that gives in—to trust, to timing, to transformation. Surrender says, “I don’t know what’s next, but I trust that I’m being led.” It’s a softening, a loosening of the grip we have on control. And in that softening, we find strength. There is grief in change. Even when the change is good. Even when it’s chosen. We grieve the version of ourselves we’re leaving behind. The routines, the roles, the rhythms that once felt like home. Honor that grief. Let it move through you like a tide. Let it cleanse. Let it teach. Let it go. And then, begin again. Slowly. Gently. With curiosity instead of fear. Ask yourself: What is this transition trying to teach me? What parts of me are being called forward? What am I being invited to release? You don’t have to have it all figured out. You don’t need a five-year plan or a perfect roadmap. You just need presence. One breath. One brave step at a time. Trust that the ground will rise to meet you. Remember, you’ve done this before. You’ve survived heartbreak, loss, reinvention. You’ve risen from ashes you thought would consume you. This transition is not your undoing—it’s your becoming. So take the leap. Let the old fall away. Let the new unfold. You are not lost. You are being remade. |
AuthorJust a woman, finding the beauty in the ordinary, every single day. Archives
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