I am thankful.

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friendship, growth, happiness, Healing, life, love, relationships, writing

This is my first holiday season without my mother. But I am still thankful.

I’m wishing all of you a good holiday and lots of wonderful company and food.

— Love, Countess

Once in a While…

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blue moon, Dreams, growth, happiness, life, love, odd, poems, poetry, relationships

I’m waiting on my blue moon.

Songs that made me smile this morning…

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Healing, life, love, memories, music, smile, songs, tears

I cried off and on this morning on my drive to work, but there were two songs that made me smile.

Cowboy – Kid Rock. The memory of my eldest child at two years old singing “Cowboy baby” in the backseat of the car just makes me laugh. I know it wasn’t very appropriate, judge all you want, but she was too little to understand the words anyway.

My Lovin’ – En Vogue. My daughters and I harmonizing the “never gonna get it” part of the song was just a super fun moment that I’ll remember for a long time.

We Have Not Long…

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happiness, life, love, poetry, relationships, writing

I don’t want to be needy

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blog, connection, emotion, growth, happiness, Healing, honesty, life, love, mental health, need, Reassurance, Reflection, relationships, tenderness, Truth, vulnerability, writing

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the word needy. It’s one of those words that feels heavier than it should. Like it’s somehow shameful to want things like reassurance, connection, softness, presence. I don’t want to need reassurance, but I do need it. And pretending I don’t only makes me feel worse.

The truth is, I need to hear that I matter sometimes. I need to know I’m not too much or too quiet or too emotional or too lost in my own head. I need to know that the people I care about actually want me around. I wish I didn’t feel that way as often as I do, but I’m trying to learn that wanting comfort doesn’t make me dramatic or broken, though it feels that way sometimes. I’m only human and definitely imperfect.

It’s a strange push-and-pull inside me. I crave reassurance, but I also hate asking for it. It feels like I’m handing someone my vulnerabilities on a little plate and whispering, “Please don’t drop this.” And because of the people I’ve known and the life I’ve lived, I almost always expect them to let it slip right through their fingers.

But I’m trying to unlearn that. I’m trying to believe that needing reassurance doesn’t make me weak. It means I care enough to want clarity. It means I’m still open, even after everything.

And maybe it means I deserve people who don’t sigh, roll their eyes, or make me feel small for needing what I need. Maybe I deserve people who say, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m right here.” People who don’t make me feel guilty for wanting a little steadiness in a world that can be anything but steady.

I’m not all the way there yet. I still struggle with the idea that wanting reassurance makes me a burden. But I’m working on it. Because of my therapy, I’m trying to leave space for the softer parts of myself. The parts that still get scared, still doubt, still reach out in the dark hoping for someone to take my hand.

My life is messy, but I’m working on cleaning it up. I’m actually a little scared of the healing process. Dave Ramsey said a long time ago (and probably still does) that people don’t change because change is scary, they don’t change even though they are miserable sitting in their mess, but it’s warm and it’s something they are used to.

I don’t want to stay stuck in the version of me who apologizes for having needs or swallows whole thunderstorms just to look “easy.” Healing may be scary, but staying small is terrifying in its own way. And I’m tired of settling for comfort that only exists because I stopped asking for more.

So, I’m going to start letting myself say what I feel. Letting myself want things without immediately shaming myself for wanting them. Letting myself believe that connection doesn’t have to hurt, and that someone holding my heart carefully isn’t just a fantasy, it’s something I’m allowed to hope for.

When Rest Feels Like Failure

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executive dysfunction, grace, Healing, human experience, kindness, mental health, neurodivergent, productivity, Reflection, reframing, rest, self-acceptance, self-compassion

I, personally, don’t like the word lazy. It feels heavy and judgmental. I suffer from executive dysfunction. That means that sometimes, even when I desperately want to, I simply cannot. My brain says “get up and go,” but my body just doesn’t follow. It’s like being trapped behind invisible glass, watching life move while I stand still.

As a child, I was often called lazy, and maybe sometimes I was. But when I finally got diagnosed, a lot of things clicked into place. It wasn’t about a lack of willpower or caring, it was about my brain working differently. I can spend an entire day wanting to clean the kitchen, pay bills, start laundry, or even just get dressed… and yet, nothing happens. Then comes the guilt spiral: feeling bad for not doing, which makes it even harder to do.

People like to say “just push through it,” but it’s not that simple. For me, it’s a cycle of needing rest, feeling guilty for resting, and then burning out because I never gave myself real permission to slow down.

So when I think about “lazy days,” I try to reframe them. Sometimes they’re not lazy at all — they’re necessary. They’re recovery days. They’re my brain’s way of saying “I need a minute.” And the truth is, rest is productive. Without it, everything else falls apart.

I’m learning to give myself more grace. To celebrate the small wins. Needing rest doesn’t make me lazy, it simply makes me human.