Mindset & Abundance

Today was Joy's first day with us. It also had me thinking about Anne, our first assistant, who was there when everything was brand new, and Kay, who came after her and has been essential ever since. Business growth is personal in a way spreadsheets never capture. It's built by the people who show up, stay through the hard parts, and sometimes leave before their story with you is over. This is the honest, unresolved version of it, not a tidy lesson wrapped up with a bow.

A coaching call this week left me sitting with a pause I haven't stopped thinking about — the moment right after I told a client something they didn't want to hear. What happened next taught me more about trust than any framework could. Real trust isn't someone agreeing with everything you say, or never questioning you. It's the ease underneath — where you can tell the truth, they can sit with it, and neither of you turns the disagreement into a threat to the relationship.

I have a very sophisticated home organization process. I see the mess. I stare at the mess. I walk away from the mess. Then I come back and think — no, seriously, this needs to be fixed. We're living somewhere temporary, which makes everything more complicated. I don't want to spend a fortune on a place we're leaving. But we're also living here, every single day. And somewhere between the unused shoe cabinet and a mug that says let all that you do be done in love, I figured s

She doesn't know what late means. She doesn't feel the clock ticking or the pressure building or the invisible weight of someone waiting. She just sees a ladybug — and stops. Every single time I'm standing at the door, shoes in hand, watching her, I think: she isn't behind. She's just still here. Maybe that's the thing I'm supposed to remember. Time will teach her to hurry. But right now, she's teaching me to stay.

I packed six outfits for a three-day conference and I'm not apologizing for it. Some of it is preparation. Some of it is anxiety. Honestly, most of it is love — because when you're packing for yourself and a toddler whose preferences can change between the kitchen and the front door, you stop calling it overpacking and start calling it thinking ahead. Somewhere inside every backup outfit is a woman just trying to make sure everyone lands okay. Day 244 of 365.

We went to Costco to return produce. That was the whole plan. Then the doors opened — and somewhere between the return counter and the televisions, our quick errand became beach towels, a lifetime supply of soap, and me seriously pricing out boat-cleaning equipment for a boat we do not own. But the best thing we brought home wasn't in the cart. It never is. A funny, tender look at impulse buying, motherhood, and the ordinary days you don't realize you'll miss.

Yesterday I was incredibly productive. The only problem is that none of it was on my list. I chopped vegetables, made excellent lists for things that didn't need listing, and spent thirty minutes in a deeply committed conversation about water. The conference prep waited. The home organizing waited. Everything that actually mattered — waited. And here's what I've learned: doing the A thing first isn't punishment. It's kindness toward the person you're going to be tomorrow.

My two-year-old asked for rice. Specifically, deliberately, rice. So I made it. Then she looked at that plate like I'd personally wronged her. "I DON'T LIKE RICE." I tried to reason with her. My husband tried. We both lost. But somewhere between the exhaustion and her very loud rejection of dinner, it hit me — adults do this too. We just do it quietly. We pray for something, work for it, get it, and think: oh. maybe not. Changing your mind isn't failure. Sometimes it's just h

I woke up at 4:00 a.m. for no good reason, survived a toddler who was thrilled to be awake but opposed to everything that followed, and then proceeded to order breakfast from a restaurant we never actually went to. My husband walked in to pick up an order that didn't exist there. The GPS had opinions. And somehow, in the middle of all of it, a kind manager reminded me that grace is always available — even before coffee.

I announced I was taking the weekend off, and I meant it. In my head, this small act of work-life balance would transform me: magical family adventures, delicious food, a perfectly aligned nervous system by Monday. Instead? A cranky toddler, a husband who kept working, a mysteriously missing bathing suit, and endless rain that canceled our one plan. But tucked inside the chaos was one sweet moment—and a reminder that rest doesn't have to earn its keep to count.

Getting a new phone is supposed to feel like Christmas morning. For me, it feels like a formal audit of every password I've ever confidently created and immediately forgotten. Somewhere in the universe lives a password made by me, for me — and Past me took it with her when she left. I hope she's well. She has not been helpful. This is a love letter to everyone who has ever pressed "forgot password" and felt personally attacked by the results.

I would like it formally noted that I washed two plums today. Two whole plums. I am currently waiting for my parade. Every grocery order begins with the best intentions—beautiful grain bowls, gorgeous greens, maybe even a sauce prepared ahead of time. Then real life arrives. The cilantro gets forgotten. The parsley gets pushed to the back. And somehow, I keep buying it anyway. Because every bunch of cilantro is a quiet vote for the week ahead. Healthy eating habits, it turns

For two years, I have been living inside the question so many working moms are afraid to ask out loud: can you actually have it all? My honest answer is yes — but not all at once, and not the way I imagined. Some parts of "all" have to wait their turn. Balance rarely looks balanced while you are living it. And sometimes the most profound thing motherhood teaches you is that waiting is not the same thing as losing.

For 24 hours, my whole family got emotionally invested in a baby lizard in the house. He wasn't fully inside — just stuck between the window and a torn screen during a storm. Then I named him Jamie, my daughter fell completely in love, and a casual rescue turned into a full family mission to get him home. It's a small, silly, heartwarming reminder that sometimes life hands you a big lesson, and sometimes it hands you a tiny lizard in a window.

I showed up before I felt ready, poured my heart into it, then checked my phone and found exactly 133 views staring back. Humbling. But that little number taught me more about the fear of failure than any pep talk ever could. This is the story of what happens after you're brave—the obsessive refreshing, the urge to delete everything, and the quiet decision to show up anyway. Because the number isn't you. The failure isn't you. And one hard day doesn't get to decide how your s

I am terrible at social media. There, I said it. I can hand a friend a business plan before she finishes her sentence, but my own? Technical difficulties. So I joined a beta business program, got a patient coach named Matt, and an assignment that terrifies me: three pieces of content a day. This is the awkward beginning — the fumbling, button-hunting, gloriously unpolished part. Because sometimes the bravest thing you can do is show up before you feel ready. Waddle on. ❤️

I've known these clients longer than I've known my husband. So when they decided my part was the easiest piece to cut, it stung—more than I expected. It wasn't about the budget. It was a choice. Then a colleague I've worked with for decades said one sentence that melted my heart: "I won't work with them if they don't work with you." Here's what she reminded me about how to know your worth—and why generosity and value were never opposites in the first place.

I stopped watching the news a long time ago—not to hide, but because it started feeling like a steady drip of fear. So I began looking for the good instead. Then I found this: a toddler goes missing on a beach in Poland, and within moments, hundreds of strangers link arms and form a human chain to search for a little boy they've never met. This is the story that reminded me there's still so much good in the world. Come look for the helpers with me.

Ever wake up ready to conquer your entire to-do list, only to end up feeling overwhelmed by everything before your coffee's gone cold? Same. On Day 220, I'm confessing to the water filters I still haven't ordered, the Legos I keep meaning to buy, and the seventeen tabs open in my brain. Turns out you don't have to reorganize the whole closet. You just have to put away one shirt. A gentle, honest reminder that small still counts. Waddle on. ❤️

This morning I took the first sip of my coffee and felt something I've never quite known how to name. My husband had made it, the way he does many mornings, stirring in my almond milk before handing me the cup. It felt like home. So much of a good life isn't built from milestones—it lives in the little things in life that we're quick to overlook. This is a reflection on noticing them, and letting something simple be enough for a minute.