Barefoot, Brave, and Bold

02/16/2026

Yes, I am still here.
Still dancing. ♥️

There was a time when I treated my regrets like evidence. They were proof that I had failed, stayed too long, trusted the wrong voice, silenced my own.

When you survive control, every memory becomes a courtroom. You replay the scenes, cross-examine yourself, and ask how you didn’t see it sooner.

Some of my regrets still ache when I brush against them. But they no longer accuse me. They bear witness to the fact that I made it out.

So yes, sometimes I gather the almosts and the red flags I once called love, and I throw them into the air like confetti,
and I dance.

Not because it didn’t happen.
But because it did.
And I am still here.
꩜ Ella

02/15/2026

Every year, as a couple different dates near, I “wrestle” with myself a bit. One of those dates, March 8 is looming now. And the question is: should I still openly “celebrate” on Social media? I honestly don’t know anyone else, who celebrates annually, their “escape day” (mine’s October 17) or Divorce Day (March 8 ). So I’m… I guess… unusual.

It’s not that I want congratulations pouring in. And it is definitely NOT because I want to promote a divorce culture. Not my intent or my values at all. It’s this: they are the 2 most pivotal days of my entire mental health journey… in my complete existence. They are the markers of two days when I made choices that frankly meant I was either going to keep dying/ eroding more every day…. Or I was going to live and not JUST live, but heal and claim wholeness and peace.

They are the days when I popped the balloon. When I quit living under the pretense that we had a “normal, happy little family” and when I pulled the curtain back on the combat zone and said figuratively, “hey look… would you PLEASE look?! …. people (mainly me) are dying inside here. Help? Please help.”

They are my 2nd chances, my days of freedom. They are like old relics, pulled from dusty basements, covered in ugly, sticky spider webs and fine dirt 2” thick. And I got out a soft brush…. And began to uncover layers and layers of crud… very gently…. Because to just hose them off, would have broken them beyond repair. Each coat of trauma and pain had to be taken away, one at a time. And I could never have even started, had it not been for October 17 and March 8.

So yeah, I will celebrate. For me. For no one but me. I will honor those beginnings. And I will quit “wrestling” with it because I chose to LIVE on those days and that is worth celebrating. I might just throw a party just for me!

02/14/2026

It’s Heart Day, and I hate to even bring it up. Some loathe it and have painful memories attached. Others adore it and make it special. I suppose others ignore it. For me, I see it as another excuse to bring gifts to my granddaughters. I took the presents today, since their school parties were today. I live for their delightful reactions.

One Valentine Day I remember best was in 1991. It was the day I returned to work, after my maternity leave, with my older son, Nicholas. I was emotionally fragile and didn’t even feel I could walk in the front door of my workplace. I used the back door and immediately saw another employee, who’s birthday happened to be that day. I burst into tears and she was left comforting me instead of getting birthday wishes.

Over time, I adjusted.

No, that’s actually a lie. I was just “trying it on,” to see how it sounded. And it sounded just like a lie.

I NEVER adjusted to being a”happy full-time working mom.” Not ever…and not even close. I endured, through his infancy and toddlerhood, through the birth of my second son and through their entrance into school. For another 6 years after that Valentine Day, I endured. And on THE VERY DAY that my State retirement plan was vested (10 years employment), I had my last day of employment there. I chugged through. On my belly at times. I hated being away from my children, long awaited, and far-from-easily mine. Years of infertility and two life-and-death birth experiences made me their mom. And i wanted to be there for all of it.

I started my Staff Development Training business and worked, from that point, on, about 6 days a month (with lots of home office time in marketing and development… but WITH my sons close).

Now, thirty years later… I get to do life with those grandgirls (Nick’s daughters), nearly daily. I put in their hair, special pink bows I’d bought for their Valentine outfits. We did a little rustic (finger) nail art…. And I watched them run into school with bags of Valentines.

And you know that “vested” retirement plan? It’s not worth much… $315 a month today… but after a huge financial hit from my divorce, it helps.

And… Over time, I adjusted. Yeah, just different adjustments than working full-time while parenting. Different challenges. Different outcomes than I’d ever have imagined. And that is the truth. No regrets.

02/09/2026

Wow, my mind has been on overload. A good friend died last week at age 64 and I attended her funeral yesterday. Each of her 5 children gave a brief eulogy and I was in tears as they spoke of the kind of woman she was. Two brothers spoke as well, along with her husband. Their mourning was heavy and their love, sustaining. In all honesty, I’ve known few women that kind, gentle and yet willing always to stand up for what she knew to be right.

As they talked, I wept, first for them…. They KNEW what they’d had and appreciated it. They long now, for her wisdom. They break, being in their 30’s and knowing their own children won’t know this precious grandma. They laughed and cried openly at all she meant to them. Her husband was at a loss, his soul mate gone, suddenly.

I also wept for me… because though I will NEVER match Erin, I also know now that I was indeed also a good, loving, devoted wife…. And it was never enough for him. I couldn’t win. But I’m deeply grateful that Erin did win the honor of being recognized as an amazing wife and mom…. She deserves every bit of that.

Speaking of that, he (my ex) also attended this funeral. I wondered if he was hearing all that, wishing he’d gotten a wife like that. If he’d said it outloud, I’d have said without hesitation “you actually did get a good wife and your selfishness and image seeking never allowed you to see it.”

That conversation will never happen. What did occur, is that he sat about 10 feet from where I was sitting and I could hear every word of his conversation with another man. It actually felt a bit stalkish in that big church.
….Image
….Look good (around church folks).
….Say kind things (in public).
…..Always work your image.
….. and it was as hard to endure now, as it was during the marriage
…..so much “fake.”

After about 5 minutes and before the service began, I paused and debated for a minute to decide if the actions I was considering were about to be revenge (something Erin wouldn’t have done) or choosing emotional safety (she would have done that). I decided it was the latter and I gathered my things, arose, and moved to the other side of the church to be seated. Not loudly, or for drama. For safety. No more fake words bombarding my ears. Instead I could be still and pray. I’m thankful for the blessing my friend was to her family. They will carry her legacy beautifully. Love you, Erin. ♥️

02/04/2026

Lately, I’ve been reminded of how incredibly hard the work is… the work of healing. I’m in a position where I’m watching others approach a healing journey, and I’m hopefully providing a few tools and some support for them. (I’m leading a newly established support group for DV survivors).

This type of group is only one piece to the puzzle. It isn’t therapy. It isn’t the day-to-day time people have with their own thoughts or their own prayers. It isn’t the “push” we have to give ourselves to just do one more thing to get out there in the world when we only want to hide. But it is a set of strategies, a fellowship, a method for slogging through when it’s so hard to determine the next step.

I did all the things I’m encouraging these ladies to do and I recall that it was…

Draining
Hit and miss
Stalled at times
Sometimes encouraging
Grueling
Hopeful
Necessary, to reclaim my life

Healing from abuse ranks right up there with giving birth. It takes more than we believe we have to give and there are parts we don’t think we’ll ever survive. And, like giving birth and touching/ seeing your baby for the first time, healing gives life too.

Unlike birthing, it seldom has a moment when the goal is clearly achieved. But the goal of our own life reclamation does exist. It slips in. We look in retrospect and see that progress has been achieved. We quit settling for “manufactured joy” and find ourselves truly in awe of our contentedness. It happens in ways we don’t always imagine…. We just have to accept them when they come.

Healing is sacred work.

02/02/2026

THE TROUBLE WITH ALGORITHMS

Disclaimer- I am absolutely not a techy girl. I have learned how to do some technological things, but there is a world of tech I’m oblivious to. So this little commentary is based simply in observation by a woman who pays attention without understanding much about the mechanics of the outcomes. Dangerous, perhaps.

The internet “thinks” (does the internet really “think”? Probably not) that I love…and am obsessed by certain things…. Steve Perry, once of Journey fame (correct), Tiny Homes (correct), dogs (correct), door dashing (huh?), understanding relationships (well sorta, my background was in Family Life and Human Development, but I really don’t need EVERYone on the internet to tell me how relationships work/ fail). They think I love freelance writers of meaningful stories (I love some and block others). And Bible verses/ spiritual commentary (but im very picky about which commentators work for me… they are NOT all the same).

Right now it also thinks I am deeply in the market for an air purifier and that I will be nabbing one any minute now. Well, I’d LIKE one but they aren’t in my budget. Fifteen recommendations a day won’t get me there unless someone sends me $400 out of the blue.

There are times, as I have mentioned that I go through and unfollow certain topical groups. Do you know how many groups are devoted to nothing but Steve Perry? I signed up to follow 1-2…. I see 10-15 a day. According to these groups, NEVER in the history of the world has there been a more talented singer, and well, he DOES make my heart melt and I stop and listen every time “Faithfully” and “Don’t Stop Believin’” come on…. And THAT is why they send me more, more, more.

I listened to a gal talk about door dashing on some reels for about half an hour. Ack! Now I get dozens of door dashers sharing their journey of accepting orders/ not accepting them/ shopping stores they love and hate. We don’t even have “door dash” or similar in my tiny town.

So, finally… FINALLY… I’ll get to the point. They are controlling us! Feeding us what they think we want to see (might be right/ might not). STRONGLY pushing us to certain views. Causing us to obsess. I have to ask myself, every once in a while, do I really WANT this in my feed daily? And what things am I seeing that actually keep me stuck? (For me, it was definitely quotes and explanations about narcissists). I’ve realized we have to actively choose what we are seeing. Block, unfollow, choose.

I realize, this could prompt some to unfollow me! It’s ok… I’m glad for whoever is here and I support all of our rights to take control and CHOOSE thoughtfully!

02/01/2026

One of the strategies I embraced early post-divorce was “solo travel.” I wanted to enjoy my own company, navigate unfamiliar roads on my own, and see a few sights. I remember telling my bestie that choosing where to go was quite challenging because I didn’t want to go anywhere I’d been with my ex. The purpose of these trips was to forge a new life, NOT to revisit old memories.

In 30 years, we’d been to a lot of places. So (in my mind) I couldn’t go to many states and cities: South Dakota, Wyoming, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Washington State, British Columbia, , Rhode Island, Boston, Las Vegas, several others…. And to my horror, 😰… Colorado. I am a true Rocky Mountain girl….. give me John Denver songs, Estes, Casa Bonita, and hot air balloons dotting the sky. Give me the stomach drop looking over the Royal Gorge… and even Cripple Creek. Colorado owns a piece of my heart. So, I gave my Western neighbor (I’m in Kansas) a pass… Afterall, I’d been there as a child more times than in my marriage. I reasoned that it was a childhood memory… and I could still go… and I did.

Last week, I went (with Dave) to Las Vegas. I’m not even kidding or exaggerating… it barely even dawned on me that I was returning to, not just a place I’d been with ex… but to where we’d gone on our honeymoon!! I had, maybe 3 passing (30-second or less) thoughts, that reminded me of that fact. But I was there, creating new memories.

How did that happen? I believe it came from a long process of retraining my mind. I was literally once enmeshed (and trauma bound) with ex. Over years, I’ve trained myself to disconnect from him. Yes, he existed and I was with him an excruciating amount of time, but MY life, all of it, is MINE…. The parts he occupied and the parts he didn’t. It belonged to me. I didn’t shift quickly and I didn’t really notice when I’d shifted so far, that I’d found freedom in my mind from those old memories. That came slowly.

Now, I see…I can go anywhere I darn well please. And that guy doesn’t get a free ride in my mind when I go.

01/31/2026

This version of me is far from perfect, but this version is happy, content and grateful. And it definitely wasn’t free. It was so costly that I wondered over and over if I’d make it. So yeah, I protect it fiercely.

01/31/2026

I played a dumb “game” in my marriage. When I met my ex, he’d previously been married…. Twice. Once for about 6 months and another time for 8ish years. One son from the 2nd marriage. This is not, in any way, a put-down for people previously married/ divorced.

But, I considered that fact of 2 failed marriages very carefully. I also knew that at the end of his second marriage, he went straight to alcohol rehab and had been sober since then (8 years). He faithfully attended AA. He was a very involved dad. A hard worker. Very friendly in general… and enthralled with me.

I’ve mentioned before that I now know that he “love bombed” me the entire year between our first date and our marriage 54 weeks later. And the trouble began literally the first day/ week of our married life. I’d been “captured” but I didn’t realize it yet.

Here’s the game I played: I was going to win. I was going to make it in this marriage WAAAY past 6 months and past 8 years… for life, actually. I was going to be the kind, understanding, encouraging wife. I was going to “show” the others how it was done (not that I planned to discuss it with them… I was just going to model being the right kind of wife). He could count on me. And bottom line, I lost immeasurably. I lost my self-respect, my identity, my bubbly personality, my hope for the future…. Well, you get the idea… I could go on and on.

I lost myself (but have since regained my life), because I tolerated things they apparently wouldn’t tolerate. He never drank during our marriage, but he quit working his AA program. He nursed other addictions (work, complaining, eventually narcotics). It was a very dumb game, rooted in a belief that marriage was hard but beautiful, necessary for children, and a sacrifice. Yeah, I nearly sacrificed my soul. Those aren’t “bad” beliefs but they are faulty thinking, when the partner is desperately broken and unwilling to heal their own wounds. We can’t fix them. We just can’t.

Now, he’s with wife #4. I have no idea how their relationship has unfolded. I do notice that when we’re all in the same room (a few times a year), she waits on him hand and foot. I’ve considered that maybe she’s playing a version of the game too… showing me how it’s done… being the good wife. It makes me sad for her.

01/29/2026

Recently, I was afforded a lot of “spacial perspective.” Let me explain. Dave and I are concert-goers. We love 70’s bands, especially… our era of music.

Due to an amazing gift given by our children, we have just recently returned from Las Vegas and an incredible Eagles concert. The event venue was the “Sphere,” deemed (rightly so) the most technologically advanced venue on the planet. I could never argue with that!

Here’s where the perspective came in. At most concerts, one likes to get as close to the stage/ band as possible (and that we can financially afford). We tend to want to see the band member’s faces, watch their guitar and drum magic, and be absorbed into the atmosphere of (in our case) rock and roll!

At the Sphere, the exact opposite is true. The best seats (according to most) are in the upper levels, so far from the band that, the stage looks occupied by ants. I will never do justice in explaining why but I’ll try. It has the highest resolution LED screen on earth and the screen wraps 360° around… it is literally all around you, while in the venue. You don’t “watch” the performance. You are “inside” the performance. There are 167,000 state-of-the-art speakers. The sound is clear and comfortable in every single seat (20,000). And due to screen projection, i couldnt just see the band member’s faces…. I could see the sweat on their brows! I could see every strum of their guitars. I was not disadvantaged one bit, being in the 3rd (very high) level.

Though I couldn’t imagine the venue fully until I was inside it, it really spoke to me about “perspective.” About how things aren’t always as they seem. And how being “inside” my life is so much better than “watching it,” while someone else directed the show by moods. About experiencing the depth of life, not just surface. About how a new vantage point can challenge prior beliefs.

01/28/2026

At my age and stage of life, I don’t think of myself as very “busy.” It’s an incredible shift because for years I operated with lists/ calendars/ expectations. Each day was filled to the brim and in all honesty, I was overloaded. I read the book about creating “margin” (unfilled white space) but never quite accomplished that during my working years. “Need” encircled me and as a highly capable person, it seemed my duty to respond to much of that need. I took on way more than was smart or healthy.

I moved into retirement, mostly before I hit 60. As a self-employed person, it wasn’t overnight retirement but a slowing down process. I retired for 2 major reasons. My knees were in such pain, I could barely stand or walk, even after one knee replacement (with recovery so grueling that I cancelled the second one). And my PTSD diagnosis began to help me understand that as my life was imploding, I was coping in exceedingly unhealthy ways… trying to meet needs (mine, my family’s, friend’s, church ministry) I simply no longer could address.

And I began the long journey toward healing. I came to understand that trauma settles in one’s body. The inflammation in my knees was directly related to the brokenness of my heart/ and the war zone in my home. My physical pain and emotional torture weren’t 2 separate illnesses at all… they were intertwined so intricately that they couldn’t be pulled apart. It’s important to understand those things. But it’s equally important not to dwell indefinitely on them.

I did engage in trauma therapy. I began, slowly to change my thinking, and to choose my next day’s activity thoughtfully… not in light of demands I felt were placed on me and not in light of someone else’s mistreatment. Over time, my knees became less painful… not from any “knee intervention,” but from intervention in my spirit, mind, heart, perception and emotions.

I came to realize that I’m a “helper” and “encourager” but it is my responsibility to be gentle and kind with myself. I saw, finally that “fixing” anyone but me was futile and unhelpful. The pain in my body subsided immensely. The pain in my heart slowly was replaced with gratitude and purpose…. Not a purpose that killed me a little each day, but a purpose that understood healing to be a whole body process. Busy-ness doesn’t define me. Snuggling a grandchild or fixing a healthy meal are, some days, as busy as I get. And that is golden.