Posted in inspiration, life experience, Self Improvement, Uncategorized

Living With Intention: 24 Days In, and My Mind Is Quiet

I didn’t start this on January 1st.
I started on December 26th. Something in me knew I didn’t need a “new year” to begin. I just needed a decision.

My intention for 2026 was simple but not easy:
to stop living in my head and start living in the moment.

I have a habit of overthinking.
Replaying the past.
Worrying about the future.
Letting anxiety write stories about things that haven’t even happened yet. And when I really sit with that truth, most of my stress isn’t caused by real events. It’s caused by my thoughts about them. My reactions. My rushing. My fear of what might be.

Anxiety, when you break it down, is just future worry.
And peace lives in the present.

So I made a promise:
I would live each day with intention.
And I would write every single day for 365 days.

Not to vent.
Not to complain.
Not to immortalize chaos.

But to notice.
To reflect.
To be grateful.
To learn.

Every entry starts with gratitude. Usually something as simple as:
“Today was a good day because…”

Some days the list is long.
Some days it’s short.
Some days I’m honest enough to say:
“There isn’t much to report today. This was a quiet, ordinary day. And that’s okay.”

Because not every day is meant to be exciting. Some days are just meant to exist.

I also decided something else that felt powerful:
I wouldn’t name people.
I wouldn’t place blame.
I would write about experiences, lessons, and growth. Not wounds.

And every single entry ends the same way:

Living today with intention.
— Mercy

That line anchors me. It reminds me that the day is complete. That I showed up. That I was present.

Today is January 18th.
Which means I’ve been doing this for 24 days.

Twenty-four days of choosing not to make chaos permanent.
Twenty-four days of allowing frustration to pass instead of turning it into ink.
Twenty-four days of honoring the day as a gift, even when it wasn’t easy.

And here’s the most unexpected part:

My mind is quiet.

Today is Sunday. Normally, Sundays used to come with anxiety.
The “week is starting” stress.
The mental checklist.
The anticipation of everything waiting for me.

But today?
My mind is calm.

I have plans, yes.
But they’re a blueprint, not a prison.

I’ve learned that structure helps me stay grounded, but surrender is where magic lives. Some of my best days have been the ones that went completely off-plan. The days I let flow. The days I stopped forcing and started trusting.

Have all 24 days been perfect? Absolutely not.

There were days I caught mistakes.
Days I was aggravated at work.
Days I wanted to lose my patience entirely.

I complained. I reacted. I felt human.

But when I got home, I didn’t give those moments permanent residence in my journal. I let them pass through me instead of defining me. I refused to stain an entire day with one heavy moment.

That was the difference.

Living with intention doesn’t mean living without frustration.
It means choosing what deserves permanence.

And what I’ve discovered is this:
Peace isn’t something you find.
It’s something you protect.

This practice hasn’t “fixed” me. I wasn’t broken.
But it has softened me.
Quieted me.
Returned me to myself.

I’m excited to see what writing every day with gratitude, reflection, and hope will do over time.
If 24 days can bring this much clarity, I can only imagine what a year will bring.

Living with intention works.
Not because life becomes easier,
but because you become steadier.

And right now, that’s exactly what I needed.

Living today with intention.
— Mercy

Posted in ageism, aging, life, life experience

When Did I Stop Being the Cool Girl?

I don’t even know what this blog is about yet. I just know something has been sitting with me lately, and apparently my brain decided to work through it via a dream… involving chocolate pudding. So here we are.

I’ve always worked in places where people were my age or older, so age was never really a thing. It was just a number. But lately, I realized I’ve become one of the oldest people in the room. Not ancient. Not “where’s my walker” old. Just… the one with the most life experience. And somehow that hits different.

I don’t feel old. I don’t think I look old. But I can feel the shift. The quiet repositioning. The way younger people look at you less like a peer and more like a responsible adult. Like someone who probably has snacks in their purse and knows how to file taxes. The energy changes from “she’s cool” to “she’s safe.” Which is flattering… but also, excuse me, I’m still cool.

And no, this isn’t about wanting to go to happy hour or trying to relive my 20s. You couldn’t pay me to stay out past 9:30 on a weeknight. This isn’t about wanting to be young again. It’s about realizing that even when you still feel vibrant, funny, and slightly chaotic in the best way, the world starts putting you in a different box.

Part of this is probably because I had my kids young. I got married at 21 (which now feels like something that should’ve required a permission slip), had my first baby at 23, and my second before I turned 24. So now, at 45, I have a 20 and a 21-year-old. Full-grown humans. With beards. And when people find out I’m their mom, they’re shocked. Which should make me feel like I’m winning, right?

But then I stand in front of the mirror.

Suddenly I’m analyzing every wrinkle like I’m an FBI investigator. Counting grays like they’re trying to form a rebellion. Even though I’ve had gray hair since my 20s and survived just fine. Even though I know aging is biology, stress, genetics, and life doing what life does. Still… here I am, casually Googling Botox like it’s not a personality shift.

Not because I hate who I am.
But because I’m trying to locate myself again.

And then came the dream.

In it, I decided I was going to be extra sweet at work. No complaining. No irritation. Just calm, nurturing energy. So I was in the kitchen making chocolate pudding for everyone (because obviously that’s how maturity shows up), and someone joked, “Here’s the mommy of the group making us dessert.”

I woke up in actual tears.

Not because they were mean.
Not because it was offensive.
But because something inside me whispered,
“When did I stop being the cool girl?”

It used to be, “You’re 33? You’re a baby!”
Now it’s, “You’re 45? I never would’ve guessed.”
Which is technically a compliment… but also a reminder that 45 is now considered a shocking number.

And honestly, our generation looks good. We don’t look like 45 used to look. The Golden Girls were my age and they were already calling it a wrap. Meanwhile, we’re lifting weights, drinking protein shakes, and debating collagen powders. We’re aging… but make it modern.

So maybe this isn’t about wanting to be younger.
Maybe it’s about realizing that aging isn’t about losing beauty.
It’s about shifting identity.

You trade:

  • novelty for depth
  • chaos for clarity
  • being “the cool girl” for being the grounded one

And that’s powerful… even if it sometimes feels like,
“Wow, I became the mom of the group without even getting a ceremony.”

So if you’re in your 40s and you occasionally stare at the mirror wondering when this transition happened, just know you’re not alone. You didn’t lose your spark. You just upgraded it.

Still cool.
Just with better boundaries and probably better skincare.

Posted in life experience, Self Improvement

Everyone Should Record One Ugly-Cry Video (Trust Me)

I firmly believe everyone should record at least one ugly crying video during a personal crisis.

Let me be clear:
This is not for posting.
This is not for content.
This is not a “soft sad aesthetic with perfect lighting and a single tear.”

No. This is a full-blown, unfiltered, windshield-in-the-background, mascara-smudged, mouth-contorted, breathing-like-you-just-ran-a-marathon cry.

And the funniest part?
The setup.

Because in the middle of your emotional collapse, you still somehow think, “Let me prop my phone up real quick.”You’re adjusting angles, checking lighting, making sure your phone doesn’t fall, like, priorities. You’re in shambles, but still directing your own low-budget documentary.

I recorded one of these a while back. Totally forgot about it.
Fast forward to today: I’m cleaning up my phone, deleting old videos, feeling productive… and BAM.

There she is.

Me.
In my car.
Crying like an absolute idiot.
About being lonely.

I almost dropped my phone laughing.

First of all, there is nothing cute about crying. Anyone who says “crying can be beautiful” has never seen themselves mid-sob with their face doing things it has no business doing. My face looked like it was trying to escape my skull.

Second of all, the DRAMA.

I was watching it thinking, “Girl… if I could reach through this phone and slap you, I would.” The things I was crying over? The people? The situations? The absolute bare minimum I was begging for?

Embarrassing.
Historic levels of embarrassing.

What makes it even better is that now I’m out here writing blogs about how I can’t stand needy people. Meanwhile, past me was like, “Please love me” in surround sound. The irony is loud.

But here’s the thing: watching that video did something unexpected.

It reminded me that:

  1. Emotions are temporary. What feels like the end of the world today becomes comedy later.
  2. Growth is real. You don’t notice it while it’s happening, but playback does not lie.
  3. Humor is healing. Because honestly? That video deserves background music. Maybe a sad violin. Maybe something dramatic. Maybe a full voiceover just roasting myself.

I mean, journaling about my feelings is one thing. Writing about my wall? Fine. But physically watching myself cry like a jerk?

Top-tier comedy.
Five stars.
Highly recommend.

So no, don’t post it. Don’t share it. Don’t send it to friends.
Record it for you.

Because one day, future you is going to stumble across it, laugh until you snort, shake your head, and think, “Wow. Look at me now.”

And honestly?
That alone makes it worth pressing record. 😌

Posted in inspiration, life, life experience, Self Improvement

When Gratitude Interrupts Anxiety

I once heard that you can’t hold faith and anxiety at the same time. I don’t remember where I heard it or who said it, but the idea stayed with me. The suggestion was simple: when your mind starts drifting into anxiety about the future or replaying stress from the past, shift your focus to gratitude. Write it down. Say it out loud. Anchor yourself in what’s good right now.

This past Sunday, I woke up feeling anxious for no clear reason. It wasn’t dramatic, and it wasn’t tied to anything specific. Just that quiet, unsettling feeling that shows up uninvited. Almost like my body was searching for something to worry about, as if calm itself felt unfamiliar.

Instead of fighting it, I grabbed my journal.

I decided to write down everything good that had happened that day, no matter how small. I started with the basics: I was able to take my son to the airport and make it home safely. I fell back asleep. I woke up rested. I went to church with my mom. I shared breakfast with my son. Moment by moment, I filled the page with ordinary things that, in reality, were anything but ordinary.

By the time I finished writing, I realized something surprising: the anxiety was gone.

The next morning, I felt that same uneasiness creeping in again. This time, instead of writing, I simply said out loud three things I was grateful for and three things I was looking forward to that day. Almost immediately, the tension lifted. Not because anything in my life had changed, but because my focus had.

Gratitude pulled me into the present moment. It didn’t allow me to live ahead of time, and it didn’t let me sit in the past. It forced me to stay right where my feet were, focused on what I could control, not what I couldn’t.

Living this way, with intention, has become the theme of my year. I’m learning that peace isn’t found by eliminating uncertainty, but by choosing presence. My hope is that this practice becomes so natural that it feels instinctive.

We live in a world designed to keep us anxious. Social media feeds us unrealistic versions of life. The news thrives on urgency and fear, constantly reminding us of everything going wrong that we have no power to fix. Bad things have always existed, but we weren’t meant to carry the weight of the entire world every single day.

I’m not claiming to have the cure for anxiety. I don’t. But I’ve learned that gratitude is a powerful interruption. It brings you back to now. And sometimes, that’s enough.

If this reflection helps even one person pause, breathe, and choose intention over anxiety, then it’s worth sharing.

Posted in inspiration, life, life experience, Self Improvement

I’ve Never Trusted Whirlwind Anything

I’ve never been one to trust whirlwind anything.

And no, this doesn’t mean I’m closed off, cold, or incapable of connection. I’m actually very social. I’m friendly, warm, and I genuinely enjoy meeting new people. I’ll walk into a room, engage, listen, laugh, and connect. But I’ve always been someone who warms up rather than dives in headfirst.

What I’ve learned about myself is this: the faster someone attaches to me, whether it’s intense praise, instant closeness, or declarations of how “special” I am, the more uncomfortable I become. Not flattered. Not excited. Uncomfortable.

There’s something about immediate admiration or fast emotional attachment that doesn’t sit right with me. When someone decides very quickly that I’m their person, their best friend, or the answer they’ve been searching for, I don’t feel chosen, I feel rushed. And rushed decisions, in any area of my life, have never been my style.

Sure, there’s a moment at the beginning where the attention can feel good. Who wouldn’t enjoy being admired? But that feeling fades quickly for me, replaced by a quiet instinct that says: You don’t know me yet.

And that’s the part that matters.

I recently talked to someone for a short time. He was kind, attentive, and genuinely a good person. There was nothing “wrong” with him. But the pace, the whirlwind of emotion, intensity, and certainty, turned me off almost immediately. Not because he was bad, but because it was too fast to be real for me.

I believe certain things take time. I want to be known, not idealized. I want someone to see my moods, my boundaries, my routines, my flaws, and my independence before deciding I’m the one they’ve been waiting for. Anything else feels like someone falling in love with an idea of me rather than the person I actually am.

Maybe this is a defense mechanism. Maybe it’s wisdom earned through experience. Or maybe it’s simply self-awareness.

I know this much: you don’t truly know how you feel about someone in the beginning. You only know the version they present and the version of yourself you choose to show. Depth comes later. Reality comes later. And I prefer to make decisions when reality, not excitement, is leading.

I’m calculated in all areas of my life. I don’t make rash choices. I sit with things. I observe. I reflect. And yes, that same approach applies to relationships. For me, slow doesn’t mean disinterested. It means intentional.

So I wonder, how do others feel about this?
Is moving slowly a flaw, or is it simply choosing substance over speed?

Because for me, real connection has never been about how fast it starts, but about how steady it lasts.