I wanted to start Real Talk Friday as a place to show up, just as you are. No filter, no fluff. Because if you know me, you know that’s how I live. It’s also how I met the new neighbor in sweats with my hair on the top of my head today.  

This is a space for real life. Real growth. Real moments. The messy and the meaningful.

This week was big. Not just because I got published. But because I finally let myself feel the weight of it all.

The weight of everything we’ve been carrying.

The recent Mayo trip. The scans. The remembering. The added appointment in June with the eye doctor because my MRI showed signs of increased pressure, so better safe than sorry. 

The thing about Mayo Clinic is there’s peace there, but there’s also pain. Because that’s where I became brave. Where I learned what it meant to whisper “You can do hard things” through tears in an MRI machine. Where I sat in a surgical gown, completely alone, as the razor buzzed and pieces of my hair hit the floor. That’s where I realized that there was no going back. Only through. Where I felt God. 

And now, years later, we’re still navigating the hard. 

Today we were supposed to be in Chicago with our hockey family for one of Max’s favorite tournaments. But unfortunately he had to make the incredibly hard decision to step down from spring hockey.

He’s doing school from home. He’s facing the hard. And we’re letting him lead because his voice matters. His mental health matters. This is a moment of time in his life and we are showing up for him- in whatever way he needs us to. Because being strong doesn’t always look like pushing through. Sometimes it’s saying “I need space to process this all.”

We found a new immunologist and he is AMAZING. Finally, someone who sees him. Who looked at him and asked him how he felt about all of this. Sympathized with him about not being fair, and promised to not only advocate for him, but to treat him as if he was one of his own kiddos. His school has also been incredible through all of this and that support has meant everything.

But we’ve also been fighting insurance over his meds after not one, but two reactions.Then the med we added to try and help him make sense of all of this made him so sick he couldn’t eat. It’s affecting him more than he would ever admit and he’s embarrassed by all of this because he’s ten. And honestly? It’s affecting me too. No one wants to see their kid go through this. 

All I can do is sympathize. I weaned off Effexor because I didn’t like how it made me feel—and now the PPPD symptoms are back sprinkled in with the night sweats and hot flashes. I started physical therapy and cried when I couldn’t even look at a video of a grocery store without getting dizzy. I was also embarrassed. This wasn’t me before surgery. It’s invisible, but it’s there. And it’s heavy.

But in the hard, there’s still good.

We were able to go up by my mom for Easter weekend. There was laughter. There was rest. There was fighting and there was absolutely no silence because 5 kids in one house, enough said. 

And in the chaos I’ve been writing like crazy. It’s my outlet, my therapy, and somehow, my dream job. My freelance copywriting work has taken off. New clients, new opportunities. I'm living a version of what I used to only imagine.

But even in the good, the weight remains.

Kinley is burned out from hockey. She’s ready to put the skates away and focus solely on softball, and that’s okay. She’s been skating for the last ten months. Her body is tired. She’s still fighting for answers for her migraines. Her pupils aren’t reacting properly to light, likely from her concussion and it’s the light that’s triggering the migraines. I suggested a tinted bubble for on the ice, but apparently that’s not cool. 🤷‍♀️ This week she took another hit to the head and couldn’t fully open her jaw the next day.

That kind of thing doesn’t just weigh on her. It weighs on me. Because I want to fix it all, and I can’t. And sometimes it’s hard to watch your kid put themselves through all of that for a game (especially with a bleeding disorder), but that game is one of her favorite things in life. It’s a tough balancing act.

And then there’s Maddy: who left Grandma’s house with a giant steam burn. Because why not?

And me? Let’s just say we’re adding a little thrush to the party. Don’t ask because I don’t even know. 

Some days feel like survival mode. Others feel like progress. Most feel like both.

But I’m learning that healing is brave. Protecting your peace is strength. And that you’re allowed to move slowly, especially when life feels this heavy.

And in all of this we made a decision that most will think we’re crazy for, and we probably are, but it’s exactly what we needed and we are SO excited. Stay tuned!

In the meantime whatever you’re going through… if the climb feels steep, it’s because the view is going to be breathtaking. One step at a time. You've got this.

I’ll see you next week. 🫶🏻