If It Feels Like My Diary, You’re Reading It Right

28 Feb 2026:

Someone told me recently that they stopped reading my blog.

“It feels like I’m reading your diary.”

They meant it as feedback.

I received it as confirmation.

Because I didn’t start writing to skim the surface.
I didn’t start writing to post polished thoughts wrapped in safe language.
I didn’t start writing to be digestible.

I started writing because for most of my life, I held everything in.

I was strong.
Capable.
Measured.
Composed.

The one who could handle it.

And that woman survived a lot.

But she didn’t always feel seen.

So now, when I write, I don’t dilute it.
I don’t soften it for comfort.
I don’t filter it into something easier to consume.

I open the door.

On purpose.

If it feels personal, it’s because it is.
If it feels raw, it’s because I stopped pretending that strength means silence.
If it makes someone uncomfortable, that discomfort isn’t mine to manage.

This isn’t oversharing.

It’s intentional vulnerability.

There’s a difference.

A diary hides.
A diary is written to be locked away.

This is written to connect.

I’m not interested in shallow applause.
I’m not interested in curated connection.
I’m not interested in sounding impressive.

I want the woman who reads something and exhales because she thought she was the only one.

I want the person who feels less alone.

Depth isn’t neat.
Honesty isn’t tidy.
And vulnerability doesn’t ask permission.

For years, I showed up armored.

Now I show up open.

Not everyone will understand that.
Not everyone will want that.

That’s okay.

But I’m not shrinking my voice to make it easier to read.

This isn’t a diary.

It’s a doorway.

Walk through it — or don’t walk through it.

Your choice.

But I choose to keep the door open.

Journal Reflection: The Door I’m Willing to Open

After reading this, sit with these questions:

1. Where in my life am I still writing “diary entries” no one is allowed to read?
2. What am I afraid would happen if I let someone see the real version of me?
3. Have I ever called someone “too much” when they were simply being honest?
4. Do I want connection — or do I want comfort?
5. What would it look like to leave one door open this week?

Writing Prompt:

If I stopped shrinking my truth to make other people comfortable, I would…

Song Pairing

“This Is Me” – Keala Settle (from The Greatest Showman)

Spotify Link:
https://open.spotify.com/search/This%20Is%20Me%20Keala%20Settle

All of my love:

Stacey

Lonely, But Not Lost

21 Feb 2026

Today was a good day.

I found two end stands for the spare bedroom.
Started stripping them down.
They’re mid-process — half raw wood, half old finish.
A little messy. A little hopeful.

The house is quiet.

It’s me.
Cannoli.
And the grand-kitties — Moona and Bjorn — weaving in and out like soft little shadows.

The kids are in Vegas.
Britt is somewhere on the open road in a van with her two childhood friend, chasing scenery and memories and that van-life kind of freedom.

And here I am.

At home.
Eating a home-cooked meal.
Drinking homemade sangria.

Lonely.

But not sad.

There’s a difference.

Lonely doesn’t mean broken.
Lonely doesn’t mean I regret my life.

Lonely just means…

I’m wondering.

Where do I go next?
And how do I get there?

I want connection.

I want someone to share this sangria with.
Someone to laugh with.
Someone who would sit across from me at this table and say,
“Tell me about your day.”

But I also don’t want noise.
I don’t want chaos.
I don’t want to shrink or armor up or overperform.

I’ve done that version.

Tonight, I’m comfortable.
The animals are near.
The food is warm.
The house feels safe.

And yet… there’s a quiet space beside me.

That space isn’t grief.

It’s possibility.

I’m not in survival mode anymore.
I’m not rebuilding from wreckage.
But I’m not fully standing in what’s next either.

This is the middle.
The sanding stage.
The half-stripped furniture.
The life-between-lives.

It’s peaceful.
And it’s a little lonely.

Both can be true.

So where do I go next?

Maybe the better question isn’t where.

Maybe it’s:

Who do I want to be when I get there?

Do I want to be the woman who waits?
The woman who hides in comfort?
Or the woman who gently steps toward something new — even if it’s awkward at first?

Maybe it starts small.

A class.
A hike group.
A coffee invitation.
A yes instead of a “maybe next time.”

Not because I’m desperate.

But because I’m ready.

Tonight I’ll finish my sangria.
Cannoli will curl up.
Moona will claim a chair like she owns the place.
Bjorn will stare at something invisible.

And I will sit here — not sad, not broken — just aware.

Aware that my life is stable.
Aware that my heart still wants more.
Aware that the next chapter doesn’t knock on the door.

You open it.

Spotify Pairing:
“Vienna” – Billy Joel

Vienna • Billy Joel

Journal Prompts:
• What kind of connection do I actually want — not just activity?
• What feels like a safe, small step toward that?
• Am I protecting my peace, or avoiding vulnerability?

All my love,

Stacey

The Fire Doesn’t Burn Me Anymore

12 Feb 2026

Tomorrow, I will turn off my computer for the last time.

After almost nine years.

Nine years of early mornings.
Nine years of building teams.
Nine years of systems, strategy, audits, travel, growth.
Nine years of connection.

I love what I do.
I love my team.
I love the people who trusted me, leaned on me, challenged me, grew with me.

So yes… it is bittersweet.

But every chapter comes to an end. Even the good ones.

And this one?
This one feels less like an ending and more like ignition.

Aries Energy

I don’t think I’ve ever talked about this here, but I am an Aries.

And if you know anything about Aries… you know we are fire.

We are builders.
We are bold.
We don’t stay where we have outgrown ourselves.
We feel deeply. We react quickly. We love fiercely.
We lead naturally.
And when life knocks us down, we get up — sometimes bruised, sometimes crying — but always moving forward.

That part? That’s true for me.

The last year has been a whirlwind.
There were moments when I thought I might completely break.

Divorce stress.
Financial uncertainty.
Career decisions.
Loneliness.

But here’s what I’m realizing:

I may crack.
But I do not break.

And that’s not bravado.
That’s history.

It’s Personal

This job has been my identity for almost a decade.
You cannot spend that long building something without it becoming personal.

Even though it’s “just work,” it’s not just work.

It’s leadership.
It’s loyalty.
It’s shared late nights and hard audits and impossible timelines.
It’s watching people grow.
It’s knowing your value.

So no — I cannot separate the professional from the personal.

But maybe I don’t need to.

The New Chapters

What feels different now is this:

The divorce stress?
It doesn’t feel like it did a year ago.
Or even six months ago.

It’s no longer panic.
It’s no longer fear.

Now it feels like… annoyance.

Because I have plans.

Big plans.

I may not have every dollar in place yet.
But I have direction.
I have strategy.
I may have even found a way to fund the down payment on the new business.

One step closer.

Not just professionally — but personally.

This may be the longest stretch of time I’ve spent truly alone in a very long time.

And instead of fearing that, I’m starting to understand it.

Solitude is not emptiness.

It’s construction space.

Becoming

I am understanding who I am.
And maybe more importantly — who I am becoming.

I am strong, even when I don’t fully own it.
I am honest to the core.
I am vulnerable in ways that once terrified me.
I am fiery and bold (sorry, not sorry).
And there is a new strength emerging — quieter, steadier, less reactive.

Aries energy is often described as impulsive.

But there’s another side.

Aries is the first sign of the zodiac.
The initiator.
The pioneer.

Not reckless.

Brave.

And bravery isn’t loud.
It’s choosing growth even when staying would be easier.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow I will meet with my team for the last time.

I will close the laptop.
I will log out.

And I will step into something new — new relationships, new audit adventures (hopefully with fewer travel mishaps), new challenges, new terrain.

Not because I had to.

Because I chose to.

And that feels powerful.

The Fire

I have everything this life has to throw at me.

I always have.

Even on the worst days —
when I doubted myself,
when I questioned my resilience,
when I felt alone —

I never truly broke.

The fire didn’t consume me.

It refined me.

This isn’t one chapter ending.

It’s several.

Career.
Independence.
Business.
Self-love.
Self-discovery.

And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m surviving the storm.

I feel like I’m steering into open water.

🔥♈

Journal Prompt

• Where in my life have I mistaken strength for survival?

• What would it look like to own my fire instead of apologizing for it?

• What chapter am I ready to close — even if it’s a good one?

• Who am I becoming when no one is watching?

Spotify Pairing

Rise Up – Andra Day

https://open.spotify.com/track/0tV8pOpiNsKqUys0ilUcXz?

All my love,

Stacey

When the Door Finally Opens

10 Feb 2026

For a long time, I wasn’t sure when—or if—I would be able to write this.

After almost nine years with my current employer, I am stepping into a new chapter. I’m not ready to share where I’m going just yet, but what I can say is this: the decision feels right. The timing feels intentional. And the sense of relief I feel tells me everything I need to know.

I didn’t arrive at this moment easily.

Professionally, I was starting to feel worn down. Defeated, even. When you give so much of yourself—your time, your intellect, your energy—it’s easy to forget that growth sometimes requires movement. Staying can be comfortable. Leaving requires courage. And yet, sometimes the universe nudges you forward precisely when you’re questioning yourself the most.

This new venture arrived at exactly that moment.

On a personal level, life continues to remind me that clarity doesn’t always come wrapped in calm. Ongoing legal matters remain unresolved, and there are still external influences that complicate what should be straightforward processes. I’ve learned to stay measured, factual, and focused on resolution rather than reaction. Peace, I’m learning, is often protected through restraint.

Emotionally, I’ve also reached a line I can no longer ignore.

I’ve spent too long being the place others come to feel reassured, validated, comforted—while my own needs sat quietly on the sidelines. I’ve listened to explanations that don’t align with actions. I’ve watched patterns repeat themselves while being told change was “coming soon.” And I’ve realized that words without follow-through aren’t hope—they’re noise.

What I know now is simple, but powerful:
I deserve consistency.
I deserve emotional availability.
I deserve to be chosen, not postponed.

I’m no longer interested in being someone’s emotional safety net while they sort out feelings they aren’t ready to release. I’m tired of carrying weight that was never meant to be mine. And I’m finally honoring the truth that self-respect sometimes means stepping back—even when it’s uncomfortable.

This season isn’t about anger.
It’s about awareness.
It’s about choosing myself without apology.

There is something incredibly freeing about realizing you don’t have to keep explaining why something hurts. You don’t have to justify your boundaries. You don’t have to stay in spaces that require you to shrink.

This chapter is about movement—forward, upward, and inward.

And for the first time in a long while, I feel aligned.

Reflection Prompt:
Where in your life are you still waiting for actions to catch up with words—and what would it look like to stop waiting?

Spotify Pairing: I Am Not Okay — Jelly Roll

https://open.spotify.com/search/i%20am%20not%20okay%20jelly%20roll

Some seasons aren’t about pretending you’re fine. They’re about choosing yourself anyway.

All my love,

Stacey

When the Realization Begins to Settle

27 Jan 2026

Before anything else, there is this quiet absence.

My beautiful little old lady, Annie, is gone.
She was strong in a way that didn’t ask for recognition — steady, loyal, enduring. She fought hard for her life, right to the very end, and she stayed with me for sixteen full years. Through moves, transitions, long days, and silent nights, she was my constant companion. Always nearby. Always watching. Always choosing me.

Losing her has left a kind of loneliness that words don’t easily reach. The house is quieter now. The routines are broken in small but aching ways. Grief doesn’t always arrive dramatically — sometimes it just settles in, heavy and persistent, reminding you of how much love once filled the space.

And then life continues.

There’s a moment that comes after the grind, after the proving, after the years of saying yes when it would have been easier to say enough.

It’s not loud.
It doesn’t arrive with a finish line or a celebration.

It arrives quietly — as a realization.

I’ve built teams.
More than one.
I’ve designed processes, repaired broken systems, stabilized chaos, and carried responsibility well beyond what a title or salary ever captured. I’ve worked long hours — not because I had to, but because I cared. Because I believed in doing things the right way, even when it cost me time, energy, and pieces of myself.

And now I find myself asking a question that feels both overdue and unavoidable:

Where do I go from here?

At the same time, life has a way of stacking its own pressures. Obligations that should have been resolved linger. Resources that were meant to arrive haven’t. Financial strain doesn’t care how competent or capable you are — it simply demands attention. So you adapt. You cover what needs covering. You keep moving, even when the math is tight and the waiting feels endless.

There’s stress in that. Real stress.
The kind that settles quietly in your chest while you keep showing up anyway.

There are dreams on pause — not abandoned, just waiting for the right conditions. Plans that require patience, timing, and capital. Visions that haven’t faded, even if they’ve been temporarily boxed up.

And then there’s the emotional reckoning.

Relationships that reveal themselves for what they are — or what they’re not. Conversations that stall. People who hover without truly showing up. It’s clarifying in a way that’s both disappointing and freeing.

This feels like limbo, yes.
But it’s also something else.

It’s the space where awareness sharpens.
Where exhaustion turns into honesty.

Where experience begins to demand alignment.

I don’t have every answer yet.
But I do know this:

I’ve earned the right to choose what comes next — not from fear, not from scarcity, but from clarity.

This chapter isn’t about endings.
It’s about recognizing that staying the same is no longer an option.

The next chapter begins the moment you stop ignoring the question.

🎧 Spotify Pairing: River

https://open.spotify.com/track/3hhbDnFUb2bicI2df6VurK?si=87778db272244dc6

A grounded, soulful track about movement, patience, and letting the current carry you forward when pushing harder no longer works.

(This one hits differently when you’re standing at a crossroads.)

✍️ Journal Prompt

Where in my life have I already outgrown the role I’m still playing — and what am I afraid would change if I finally admitted it?

Write without editing. Let the answer surprise you.

All my love,

Stacey

When Silence Answers the Question

15 Jan 2026

Some explanations never arrive — because they don’t need to.

There are moments when no confrontation happens. No argument. No dramatic ending.

And yet — everything becomes clear.

I was recently placed back into a familiar role: the steady one, the listener, the emotional safe space. Someone from my past reached out during turmoil in their own life, expecting support, reassurance, and presence. I gave it — because clarity and honesty still matter to me.

Then, unintentionally, I was shown something I was not meant to see.

A screenshot. A partial glimpse. A connection that raised questions.

When I asked for context, I received none. Instead, the conversation ended abruptly.

And then came silence.

This Is Where the Pattern Breaks

This wasn’t about jealousy. It wasn’t about control. It wasn’t about demanding access to anyone’s private world.

It was about integrity.

I recognized the familiar imbalance:
- Emotional access without transparency
- Expectation without accountability
- Connection offered only on someone else’s terms

Silence — when clarity is appropriate — is not neutral. It is a decision.

What I No Longer Do

I don’t chase explanations that require someone else’s honesty to exist.
I don’t fill in gaps with self-blame.
I don’t remain available to people who disappear the moment questions surface.

When someone exits the moment accountability enters, that is the answer.

The Boundary That Feels Like Peace

There was a time this would have unraveled me. I would have stayed. Explained. Waited.

But growth doesn’t announce itself loudly.

Sometimes it looks like a quiet pause, a closed conversation, and the choice not to follow.

I didn’t lose anything here.

I simply stopped carrying what was never mine to hold.

Reflection Prompt

Where have you been asked to show up fully — while being offered partial truths?

What would change if you let silence stand as the answer?

Spotify Pairing

“Already Gone” — Kelly Clarkson

https://open.spotify.com/track/4fq2YUONcgrCJ2SPndSeKC

This song reflects recognition rather than heartbreak — the moment you realize the leaving already happened, and all that remains is choosing to move forward intact.

I sat here tonight writing this and I realized that I have grown and healed so much over the last year. I no longer accept what hurts me. I have the ability to determine when I walk away. I am able to discern between what was and what is and who I will be! And I choose to be brilliant, whole, loved! And I mean truly loved!

With all my love,

Stacey

When Words Arrive Too Late

29 Dec 2025

There are songs that feel like they were written for moments when love is fragile and raw — when someone wants to be seen, understood, held in a single breath of connection before the world intrudes.

One of those songs speaks about wanting to be known by one person when everything else feels broken. About hiding from the world because the truth is too tender for judgment. About moments that feel sacred precisely because they won’t last.

On their own, those words are vulnerable.
But words do not exist in a vacuum.
They land inside lived experience.

And sometimes, when words arrive after the damage, they don’t feel poetic — they feel misplaced.

Context Is Everything

When lyrics about closeness and being seen come from someone who betrayed trust repeatedly, struggled with addiction without seeking real repair, and was emotionally absent during the most devastating loss of my life, they do not read as romance.

They read as a memory rewritten without accountability.

Because when my life broke open — when grief hollowed me out in ways I didn’t know a human could survive — I wasn’t met with presence. I wasn’t held. I wasn’t protected.

And love that disappears in crisis does not get to reappear in metaphor.

What Healing Changed

Healing didn’t make me colder.
It made me clearer.

I no longer confuse vulnerability with intimacy, emotion with responsibility, or longing with safety.

I’ve learned that being seen means being shown up for — consistently, soberly, honestly — especially when life is unbearable.

Someone doesn’t get to understand me now if they refused to protect me then.

That isn’t bitterness.
That’s discernment.

This Is the Boundary

I can appreciate the beauty of words without reopening doors they no longer belong to.

I can recognize longing without offering access.

I can say: I understand what you’re trying to say — and still say — you no longer get to say it to me.

Because healing isn’t about hardening your heart.
It’s about deciding who is allowed near it.

Where I Stand Now

I don’t need to be understood by someone who couldn’t stand with me in truth.

I know who I am.

I am a woman who survived profound loss.
A woman who rebuilt a life from wreckage.
A woman who learned that love must be safe, present, and accountable — or it isn’t love at all.

This chapter isn’t about explaining myself anymore.

It’s about living in alignment with what I now know.

Reflection Prompt

What words have been offered to you that came without accountability?

Where in your life are you being asked to choose between nostalgia and self-respect?

What boundary are you proud of setting — even if it was quiet, even if no one applauded it?

Write without editing. Truth doesn’t need polish.

Song Pairing

“Iris” — Goo Goo Dolls

https://open.spotify.com/artist/2sil8z5kiy4r76CRTXxBCA?si=EnkF6FfTQu2P_hC8ojN91w

Not as a love song anymore, but as a reminder: Feeling deeply is human. Choosing yourself is wisdom.

With all my love,

Stacey

Goo Goo Dolls: Iris

https://open.spotify.com/artist/2sil8z5kiy4r76CRTXxBCA?si=EnkF6FfTQu2P_hC8ojN91w

When Something Shifts and You Can’t Unfeel It

27 Dec 2025:

It’s been a few days since I last wrote, and for once, it wasn’t because I didn’t have words.
It was because the words were heavy.

There are moments in life when something quietly rearranges itself inside you—not loudly, not dramatically—but in a way that makes it impossible to return to who you were just moments before.

This week, I experienced one of those moments.

The Kind of Knowing That Steals Your Breath

I learned something about a situation I thought I had already put behind me.
Nothing graphic. Nothing I’ll explain here.

Just the realization that something I once brushed off as coincidence… wasn’t.

I had suspected harm before. That intuition had whispered to me, nudged me, unsettled me. I did what so many of us do when the truth feels too heavy—I minimized it, rationalized it, told myself I was overreacting.

But when suspicion becomes confirmation—even without details—it lands differently.

It doesn’t scream.
It sinks.

And suddenly, you’re not just processing what happened…
You’re processing what could have.

When You Reach for Support and Find the Air

Last night, I reached out to someone I thought might hold the moment with care. I didn’t ask for fixing. I didn’t ask for solutions.

I simply said I wasn’t okay.

The response was brief. Dismissive without meaning to be. Life moved on quickly for them. Sleep mattered more than sitting with the weight I was carrying.

And today, silence stretched on longer than it should have.

By the time contact came, something had already settled inside me—not sadness this time, but clarity. The kind that stings.

I realized that when something truly shakes you, the people who matter don’t rush past it. They don’t minimize it. They don’t delay showing up.

And when they do… something breaks quietly.

The Line I’m No Longer Willing to Cross

I spoke up today. Not softly. Not carefully.

Not because I wanted conflict—but because I finally understood something important:

I am done explaining why my fear deserves space.
I am done shrinking my reactions to keep others comfortable.
I am done accepting half-presence in moments that require full humanity.

This isn’t about anger.
It’s about self-respect.

What I’m Sitting With Now

I’m safe. I’m grounded. I’m breathing.

But I’m also allowing myself to acknowledge how deeply unsettling it is to realize that your instincts were right… and that not everyone is capable of holding that truth with you.

Some people walk away when things get real.
Others reveal themselves by how quickly they return to themselves.

And I’m learning to pay attention.

A Quiet Promise to Myself

I won’t rush past this.
I won’t bury it under productivity or politeness.
I won’t apologize for needing care in moments that matter.

Every chapter counts—especially the ones where you finally stop questioning your own knowing.

And this one?
This chapter is teaching me exactly who I can trust… including myself.

Spotify Pairing: Pink – “Trustfall”
https://open.spotify.com/track/1gUwi1o1S9W9P0FQgJdY8s?si=efebddeab6744061

Reflection Prompt:
Where have you minimized your own fear or intuition to avoid making someone else uncomfortable?
What would it look like to honor it instead?

All my love,

Stacey

Why Putting Your Feelings First Is Not Selfish

19 Dec 2025:

For a long time, I believed that putting my feelings first meant I was asking for too much. Too sensitive. Too emotional. Too needy.

So I learned how to shrink them.

I learned how to listen more than I spoke.
How to rationalize disappointment.
How to tell myself “it’s fine” when it wasn’t.

And somewhere along the way, I confused endurance with strength.

But here’s the truth I’ve come to understand—slowly, gently, and without drama:

When you ignore your feelings, you abandon yourself.

The Quiet Cost of Putting Yourself Last

Putting everyone else first doesn’t make you noble.
It makes you tired.

It teaches your nervous system that your needs are optional.
It teaches your heart to settle for crumbs instead of connection.
It teaches your inner voice to whisper instead of speak.

And the most dangerous part?

You stop trusting yourself.

Because every time your feelings tried to protect you— warn you— slow you down—you told them they were wrong.

Choosing Yourself Isn’t Loud

Putting your feelings first isn’t about ultimatums or dramatic exits.
It’s not about being cold or cutting people off.

It’s often quiet.

It looks like:
Pausing before saying yes.

Walking away when something feels heavy instead of hopeful.
Not explaining your boundaries to people who benefit from you having none.
Allowing yourself to feel disappointed without immediately forgiving it away.

It’s choosing alignment over approval.

Your Feelings Are Data, Not Weakness

Your feelings are not flaws to fix.
They are information.

They tell you:
When something is misaligned.
When a situation is draining instead of nourishing.
When your body knows something your mind is still trying to justify.

Ignoring them doesn’t make you stronger.
Listening to them makes you honest.

This Is the Chapter Where You Choose You

Putting your feelings first doesn’t mean you love others less.
It means you finally love yourself enough to stop disappearing.

You’re allowed to want peace.
You’re allowed to want consistency.
You’re allowed to want to feel safe, chosen, and respected.

And if something—or someone—requires you to betray yourself to keep them?

That’s not love.
That’s a lesson.

Every chapter counts.

Especially the ones where you come back to yourself.

Reflection Prompt

Where in my life have I been minimizing my feelings to keep the peace?
What would change if I trusted what I feel instead of explaining it away?

Spotify Pairing

Let It Hurt • Rascal Flatts

All my love,

Stacey

Where I Am, Right Now

11 Dec 2025

The last couple of weeks have felt like one long stretch of airport gates, hotel rooms, and half-finished cups of coffee. I’ve been on the road again for work — even though, technically, I’m supposed to be on PTO. But life, and this job, have a funny way of rearranging plans without asking for permission. So I packed my bags, adjusted my expectations, and kept moving.

Traveling this much has a way of turning everything into a blur. Days pass quickly, but the emotional weight of what I’m still waiting on feels heavy and unmoving. I’m still waiting for the final appraisal on the Florida property…the last big piece before I finally know what the “ex” owes me. It’s strange how something as clinical as an appraisal can feel like a chapter that refuses to close — but there it is, sitting in limbo with the rest of the unresolved pieces.

And then there are the New York properties — the ones I worked so hard for, the ones that should already be listed, already on the market, already helping me move into my next season. But I can’t even put them up for sale yet because the caretaker still hasn’t moved out.
Not after months of notice.
Not after every polite conversation.
Not after explaining clearly that the court order requires them to be sold.

I’m not happy about it.
I’m tired of waiting for other people to do what they’re supposed to do while my life gets held up in the process. It’s unsettling to feel like your next steps depend on someone else finally taking theirs.

But here’s the truth I’m leaning into tonight:
Even when external things are stuck, I am not.
I keep moving. I keep showing up. I keep doing the next right thing.
I keep building the life that is finally, finally mine.

This season isn’t about stillness — it’s about endurance. It’s about trusting that the pieces will come together in their own time, and that the delays aren’t failures…they’re simply detours.

And despite all of it — the travel, the waiting, the frustration — I can feel myself changing. Becoming more grounded. More certain. More unwilling to let anyone, or anything, pull me backward.

I’m not where I want to be yet.
But I’m absolutely on my way.

Reflection Prompt

Where in your life are you waiting on something outside of your control? How can you keep moving — emotionally or spiritually — even before the situation resolves?

Spotify Track

Song Pairing: I Won't Back Down • Tom Petty

All my love,

Stacey

✨ Ten Days Into My Freedom

27 Nov 2025

Ten days.

That’s how long it’s been since the judge said the words that officially closed a chapter I never imagined would end this way. Ten days since I walked out of that courthouse carrying nothing but a stack of papers, a deep breath, and the kind of quiet strength you only earn through fire.

Divorce isn’t just the end of a marriage — it’s the end of a version of yourself.
And for me, it’s the beginning of a completely new one.

These last ten days have been strangely calm. Not painless… just clear.
There’s a shift that happens when you finally put down a weight you’ve carried for too long. Your spine straightens. Your mind steadies. Your breath deepens. Doors you forgot about start opening.

And trust me… I’m walking through every last one of them.

New Career. New Direction. New Chapter.

I’m planning changes — big ones.
Career. Location. Energy. Every part of my life that deserves better is getting a reset.

I’ve got dreams that don’t fit inside the life I just left.
I’ve got a business to build, freedom to claim, and a future that actually feels like mine.

And yes… it scares the hell out of me.

But here’s the surprising part — fear doesn’t feel like a warning anymore.
It feels like a signal that I’m stepping into something bigger.

This fear feels like a doorway.
A signal that I’m stepping into something bigger.
A reminder that courage isn’t the absence of fear — it’s choosing to walk forward anyway.

And forward is exactly where I’m going.

I’m Not Closing My Heart. Not This Time.

You’d think that after everything I’ve lived through;
—the trauma
—the betrayal
—the heartbreak
—the years of emotional survival mode

—the years spent trying to fix what was never mine to fix

that I’d give up on feeling anything for anyone ever again.
But I won’t.

I refuse to let the demons of my past steal the best part of me:
my ability to feel deeply, love fully, and trust again.

I refuse to let old wounds steal my softness

No — I’m not getting married again. Let’s be clear on that.
But my heart is still open.
I won’t punish myself for someone else’s failures.
And I won’t let fear make decisions for me.

What I Choose Now

I will NOT repeat the patterns of the past.
This time, things will be different — because I am different.

If someone is going to be in my life, here’s what it will look like:

He will think about me first thing in the morning.
He will think about me last before sleep.
Not because he needs me…
but because he wants me.

I will not be second best.
I will not be a convenience.
I will not be “almost enough.”

He will not be halfway in.
He will not choose me only when it’s easy.

I will be his best friend.
—His peace.
—His priority.
—His “person.”
—His safe place.
—His joy.
—His soft landing.
—His fire.
His everything he never knew he could have — because he’ll actually be ready for it.

And I won’t settle for less.
Not anymore.

Because This Time… I Choose Me First

And strangely, beautifully… choosing me doesn’t close the door to love.
It opens it wider — just for the right person.

Someone who will meet me where I am.
Someone who will walk beside me, not ahead of me or behind me.
Someone who shows up — fully, consistently, intentionally.

And until that person shows up, I’ll keep growing, healing, building, and becoming the version of me I fought so hard to uncover.

Ten days into freedom…
and for the first time in a long time,
My heart feels open.
My future feels possible.
And I feel like I finally, finally belong to myself.

🎵 Spotify Pairing

Pink Beautiful Trauma: I Am Here • P!nk

🪶 Reflection Prompts

• What beliefs about love or worth am I shedding with this new chapter?

• What parts of me did divorce reveal or return to me?

• What kind of love am I ready to receive — and what will I no longer tolerate?

• What scares me the most about this next version of my life… and why might that be a sign to keep going?

✨ Closing Quote

“I am no longer surviving my story — I’m writing it.”

All my Love,

Stacey

Living in the In-Between

04 Sep 2025

I’m at a place where I really don’t know what the future holds. There are so many plans in my head, so many things I want to do, and yet everything feels paused — half-finished, half-waiting.

My business is ready. All it takes is one signature to make the license official. But I’ve been holding back, leery of stepping forward before the divorce is finalized, worried about income and the weight of bills. That hesitation trickles into other parts of my life too. My house reflects it — projects left midstream. A bathroom standing half-demoed. An upstairs patio waiting to be transformed into a reprieve filled with flowers, a pergola, cozy furniture, and a fireplace. A downstairs bathroom that needs finishing. Saltillo tiles that are begging to be cleaned and sealed. The vision is there. The plans are there. But I’m still waiting for the right time to move forward.

And then there’s the personal side. I’m still figuring me out. Do I accept that this is it — just me, alone for the rest of my life — or do I hold space for something more? Emotionally, I feel like I’m getting to a better place. My head feels clearer. But part of me wonders if it’s clarity or just a clever way of blocking certain things, keeping myself from fully feeling them. I’m good at that — too good sometimes.

But maybe this is what this season is supposed to look like. A pause. A half-finished chapter. A moment to breathe in the middle space before deciding what comes next. The house will get finished. The tiles will shine. The business will launch. And I will keep walking forward, one step at a time, toward whatever future is waiting for me.

For now, I’m learning to live in the in-between — not rushing, not forcing, just trusting that the unfinished parts of life don’t make me incomplete. They simply mean the story isn’t over yet.

🌿 Reflection

Sometimes waiting feels like wasted time, but maybe it’s really a mirror. In the pause, I start to notice the thoughts I avoid, the emotions I push down, and the resilience I didn’t realize I had. Waiting reveals my impatience, but it also uncovers my endurance. It forces me to sit with myself when there’s no distraction of “what’s next” — and in those quiet moments, I learn who I am without the noise of constant forward motion.

Maybe the gift of waiting is not just patience, but clarity. It’s in the stillness that I can hear my own voice a little more clearly, and it’s in that space that I can begin to choose what I really want — not just what comes next.

✨ Blog Prompt

“What does waiting teach me about myself?”

🎶 Spotify

I Will Wait • Mumford & Sons

When Change Knocks at Every Corner

31 Aug 2025:

Today was one of those days that seemed to stretch endlessly, filled with tasks, conversations, and reflections. I started in the yard, pulling weeds and picking up the clutter that somehow always seems to gather faster than I can clear it. From there, it was on to the pool — my ongoing “green to blue” project. I repaired some leaking pump parts, hoping this time it holds steady.

In the middle of all of that, I took the Harley for a quick ride. It hadn’t been moved in a long while, and it was tucked away on the back patio. Just feeling the rumble of the engine reminded me how long it’s been since I gave myself the freedom of the open road.

Later in the day, I caught up with an old co-worker who had left for a new opportunity. It was good to hear her voice and see how her life has been unfolding. But then I got news from another co-worker — someone who soon won’t be part of the company anymore. That one hit harder. He’s a great employee, a genuinely good person, and someone I will truly miss working alongside.

It seems life is constantly moving us through seasons of change. Some changes we anticipate and even welcome — like finally fixing that leaky pump or moving the Harley to where it belongs. But others arrive without warning, reshaping our daily lives in ways we never imagined. This year has been a whirlwind of unexpected turns for me, and truthfully, I feel very ready for it to pause.

Yet, change rarely waits for our readiness. It challenges us, stretches us, and sometimes wears us down. But it also reminds us that nothing stays the same forever — not the weeds in the yard, not the pool water, not the people who pass through our lives. Maybe the best we can do is hold on to the moments, appreciate the constants we do have, and keep finding small ways to move forward through it all.

✨ Reflection Prompt:
Think about a recent change in your life — whether big or small. How did it challenge you, and what hidden strength did you discover in yourself because of it?

🎵 Spotify Track Pairing: Landslide by Fleetwood Mac

Landslide • Fleetwood Mac

Much Love,

Stacey

When Enough Feels Like Enough

29 Aug 2025

It’s been a week since I last wrote, and today I can feel the weight of that gap. The truth is, I’ve been tired. Not the kind of tired that a nap fixes — but soul tired. The kind of tired that comes from giving and giving until there’s nothing left, and realizing that no one ever really shows up for you in return.

I’m annoyed — annoyed at the constant interference of others in my divorce, annoyed at a husband who threw away a marriage for people who only want to take from him, annoyed at the way it feels like I’ve been left holding everything while everyone else feeds on the pieces.

And beneath that annoyance sits something heavier: I feel used. Over and over again, I’ve poured into people who only ever took. And now? I feel sick of it all. I feel like I just want to withdraw completely, to close the door on everyone and stay there, because at least then the hurt would be quieter.

But withdrawal isn’t only about shutting people out — sometimes it’s about finally choosing yourself. Sometimes it’s about saying, “Enough. I won’t keep bleeding for people who never stop cutting.”

I don’t know if I’m ready to rise above these feelings yet, but I do know this: it’s okay to say you’re done being used. It’s okay to admit that sometimes, it feels like no one gives a damn. And it’s okay to step back until you feel safe enough to come forward again.

Reflection Prompt

When was the last time you realized you were giving far more than you were receiving? How did you respond — and what would it look like if you chose yourself this time?

Closing Thought

It’s not weakness to want to withdraw — it’s self-preservation. Protecting your heart is the first step to rebuilding it.

Suggested Song Pairing

🎵 “Creep” by Radiohead

Creep • Radiohead

Much Love,

Stacey

Building Boards, Breaking Illusions

23 Aug 2025:

Today I wrestled with myself. I wanted to find something fun to do, but Albuquerque was quiet—no real events pulling me outside. I thought about going horseback riding or renting an ATV to roam the trails, but decided that would be better saved for when my girlfriends are here for the Balloon Festival.

Instead, I channeled my energy into a project I’ve been putting off: building my own headboard. A trip to Lowe’s for materials turned into an adventure in itself, and I spent most of the afternoon learning how to cut 45-degree angles for the molding. For a first attempt, it turned out pretty good. The project kept my hands busy, even if it couldn’t quite silence the thoughts swirling in my mind.

Reflection

As I worked, I thought about the massive headboard I left behind in Florida—the beautiful frame and footboard I searched so long for. Kenny had driven me all over Jacksonville and Saint Augustine in search of the perfect set, one that would work for him, too, given his mobility needs. After weeks of looking, we found it. It became a symbol of building a home together.

And now it sits in Florida, in a house that isn’t my home anymore. For all I know, another woman could be sleeping in that big, beautiful bed with my husband. It’s a brutal realization, how life can shift so suddenly, and how words—those three little words spoken every day—can be proven empty.

What I’m left with now is a new kind of construction: identifying and classifying. Who in my life truly considers me? Who has, and who still does? It’s overdue, but necessary.

Quote of the Day

“Sometimes you don’t realize your own strength until you come face to face with your greatest weakness.” – Susan Gale

Journal Prompt

Think about one object from your past—a piece of furniture, clothing, or even a photo—that carries deep meaning. What story does it hold, and what emotions rise when you revisit it?

Spotify Song Pairing

🎵 “The Story” by Brandi Carlile

The Story • Brandi Carlile

Much Love,

Stacey

Day 24: Quiet Accomplishments & The Social Reset

22 Aug 2025

Today was productive in a quiet, steady way. I finished some much-needed SOP revisions for work, attended Day 3 of the Unstoppable Summit, and even signed up for November’s “Unleash the Power Within” with Tony Robbins and Sage. That in itself felt like planting a future flag—something big to look forward to.

I also picked up my laptop from Best Buy (after the screen was ruined on my NY flight) and managed to get grocery shopping done. Honestly, leaving the house was an accomplishment, since I hadn’t been out since last Friday. Sometimes even those little errands feel like bigger victories than they should.

It was otherwise a quiet day—no news, no drama. And while they say “no news is good news,” the quiet can feel a bit lonely, too.

Reflection

Lately, I’ve noticed my natural introverted side edging into isolation. Staying home feels comfortable and safe, but it also makes the silence louder. It got me wondering: should I set a plan to get out of the house, at least once mid-week? Something small, like a class, a coffee shop night, or even just a walk downtown.

Because as much as I recharge in solitude, I also crave those little sparks of connection—the smile from a stranger, a random conversation, or simply the reminder that life is still happening outside my four walls.

The Social Reset Plan

- One mid-week outing. Nothing fancy—just consistent.
- Keep it low-pressure. It could be a coffee shop, a meetup, or a short volunteer shift.
- Reassess after a month. See if it lightens the weight of loneliness and adds balance.

It’s not about forcing extroversion; it’s about protecting myself from isolation.

Quote of the Day

“Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.” – Anne Lamott

Journal Prompt

What small step could you add to your week that feels like a reset—not overwhelming, just a gentle nudge back into connection?

Spotify Song Pairing

🎵 “Brave” by Sara Bareilles — an uplifting push to take that small step outside your comfort zone.

Brave • Sara Bareilles

Much Love,

Stacey

Day 23: Relationships and Loneliness- Navigating Self-Discovery

21 Aug 2025

Today was full — not just with tasks, but with thoughts and truths that aren’t always easy to face.

I worked, as usual, but I also showed up for myself in a new way today. I attended Day 2 of the Unstoppable Summit and completed a vulnerable assignment: film a short clip naming what I want to fix in my life. I chose relationships. Not just the ones I’ve had or hope to have, but the way I show up in them. I admitted—out loud—that I can be my own worst enemy. That before I can build something lasting with someone else, I have to do some renovating on the inside.

Afterward, I did some rearranging at home—physically and emotionally. Shifting energy. Making space. I won’t lie and say I’m not lonely, because I am. Loneliness doesn’t always come crashing in; sometimes it just quietly lingers. But I’m trying hard not to let it steer my choices or cloud my judgment.

I even looked into one of those “eat with strangers” events. Not for dating, but simply to connect—to find people I can have a conversation with, maybe share a meal or a laugh. It’s strange and hopeful all at once, wanting to belong without needing to be needed.

This season is about me choosing not to run from the quiet. It’s about learning to be whole, even when I feel a little empty. And maybe, just maybe, meeting myself with kindness along the way.

It’s not easy admitting the role I’ve played in the gaps I now feel in my life — but I am learning that being honest with myself is the first step. I don’t want to fill space just because I can. I want real connection. I want to be proud of how I spend my time. And I want to be able to say I did the work to heal and grow, even when no one else saw it.

Tonight, I’m choosing myself. I’m learning to let loneliness be an invitation to rediscover who I am becoming. That’s not nothing. That’s a beginning.

💬 Quote of the Day:

“The most powerful relationship you will ever have is the relationship with yourself.” — Steve Maraboli

📝 Reflection Prompt:

What are three small ways I can nurture the relationship I have with myself this week?

🎵 Spotify Song Pairing:

“Rescue Me” — OneRepublic

Much Love,

Stacey
 

Day 22: A Cozy Guide to Doing Almost Nothing (Beautifully)

20 Aug 2025

Some nights wear name tags—birthday night, deadline night, collapse-on-the-couch night. And then there’s tonight: a quiet shrug in a comfy sweater. Not unhappy. Not on fire. Just… here. Hi.

When I can’t name a feeling, I let the data be small and kind:

·        Body: a little heavy, like I forgot to take off an imaginary backpack.

·        Mind: steady-ish, with one mischievous tab that keeps reopening itself.

·        Heart: okay, with tiny chirps of “did we forget something?”

·        Social battery: meh—open to a voice note that requires zero reply.

·        Room vibe: cozy-adjacent—30 seconds and a candle away from full cozy.

None of this is dramatic. It’s just honest. Which, I’m learning, is plenty.

What I’m letting be true

I can be proud and pouty, tired and tempted to do one more satisfying little thing. I don’t have to earn rest with perfection. Tonight can be simple and still count.

The Gentle Ritual (5 minutes, promise)

1.      Pick a verb: rest / tidy / close / create / connect (only one).

2.      Match a five-minute action: if it feels good, do five more; if not, gold star for trying—stop.

3.      Add 1% cozy: dim a lamp, warm a mug, relocate your phone to a distant habitat (like the sock drawer).

My verb tonight is close.

The half-written email gets its last sentence.

The nomad mug returns to the kitchen.

The sweater stops auditioning for “Chair Pile: The Musical.”

Closing tiny loops tells my nervous system, “We’re landing.”

Evidence of a small, real life

·        I watered a plant before it staged a dramatic faint.

·        I asked for help and the world did not explode.

·        I told my brain, “Thank you, bestie, that’s enough ideas for now,” and it… mostly listened.

Note to Future Me

When your feelings are indecisive, you don’t need a breakthrough—you need a blink. Let the night be soft and slightly silly. Make tea. Put on the good socks. Write two sentences that tell the truth about right now:

Spotify song: “First Day of My Life” — Bright Eyes

First Day of My Life • Bright Eyes

I’m a person who showed up. I’m a little tender and a little sparkly.
That’s more than enough for tonight.

Much love,

Stacey

Day 21: The Quiet Questions

19 Aug 2025:

Most of the day I was okay. Work keeps my brain occupied — there’s no time to drift when deadlines and projects are staring me down. But it’s the quiet time that gets you. That’s when the thoughts sneak in, uninvited.

I catch myself thinking about how much of myself I give — my life, my hopes, my heart — to others, without ever really knowing what they want in return. Sometimes I think they don’t even know what they want.

I’ve started to wonder if most people carry at least two versions of themselves: the one they let you see, the one they polish for the outside world, and the one they keep tucked away, only letting pieces slip when they’re distracted or by mistake. Maybe I see it more clearly because of my own damage, my insecurities that I haven’t quite conquered. Or maybe it’s just the truth of being human.

The thing is, none of us go into relationships — of any kind, whether friendship, family, co-worker, or romantic — thinking, I don’t want to know the real you. If anything, we crave it. We want to know someone’s hopes, dreams, fears, and aspirations. But how do you know when what you’re seeing is real? How do you trust? And more than that — how do you allow yourself to stay open, knowing that the possibility of being wrong, of being hurt, is always there?

These are the questions the quiet brings. And maybe, just maybe, the answers are found in the willingness to keep asking.

The quiet doesn’t always have to be filled with doubt. Sometimes, it can be the space where we learn who we are.

🌿 Reflection Prompt

What version of yourself do you show the world most often? What part of you stays hidden?

✨ Quote

“The most powerful relationship you will ever have is the relationship with yourself.” – Steve Maraboli

🎶 Song Pairing

“Who You Are” – Jessie J
Who You Are • Jessie J

Day 20: Learning Who I Am

18 Aug 2025

I didn’t write the last couple of nights. Life slipped by with a movie night with my son and then simple tiredness that caught up with me. But I don’t like missing days, so tonight I’m writing a bit earlier — no excuses.

The kids are off on the road for a month, living the van life adventure before Britt starts her next assignment. So it’s just Annie and me here at the house. And strangely, I feel better this week. I don’t feel as alone as I did, and I don’t feel as lost in my head. That in itself feels like progress.

I keep reminding myself that I have so much to be thankful for — and maybe I forget that sometimes. Gratitude doesn’t erase the questions I’m asking, though. Questions like: What if I am alone for the rest of my life? What will I do? How will I fill my time when work isn’t enough? What would truly make me happy?

I don’t have all the answers. But maybe that’s not the point. Maybe this is the season to start learning who I really am, beyond work, beyond roles, beyond the noise of everything else. Maybe being “alone” isn’t about being without someone, but about finally getting to know myself.

Tonight reminded me of that in a very real way. I spent time on the phone with my niece, who is raising her children alone. It’s not easy, but she’s working hard and paying her own way — and she’s doing it. That kind of strength inspires me. I also caught up with a very old friend, someone who has known me for more than half his life. He reminded me that I’m not without, that there are so many amazing people in my life. And he’s right. Sometimes I forget, but the truth is I’m never truly alone.

And then, there are the moments that come out of nowhere — reminders of the people I’ve lost. Tonight it was something as simple as a v-neck men’s t-shirt that brought memories of my youngest son flooding in. Even after ten years, it still surprises me how something so small can reduce me to tears. I shared it in a quick message, and was grateful for a call to check in, to make sure I was okay. Some things can only be understood by those who have lived them — and I am thankful for those people, and for the comfort only they can bring.

🌿 Reflection Prompt

When memories surface — joyful or painful — how do you let them remind you of love, rather than only loss?

✨ Quote

“And you? When will you begin that long journey into yourself?” – Rumi

🎶 Song Pairing

Try • P!nk

Much Love,

Stacey