The Quiet Comforts That Carry Me Through

Okay, look. Single mom life is overwhelming. I tell my kids I'd fight a bear bare-handed at the drop of a hat for them—and while we all know I'm going down, at least my babies know I'd go down fighting hard enough to buy them some time. But even without the bears, my daily life is packed. From chaotic mornings and hypersomnia struggles to food allergies, trauma healing, and parenting with chronic illness, some days even I wonder if finding hope in chaos is really possible.

Which is why my most treasured tool for empowerment and emotional healing is mindfulness. It's a determination to stay in one moment at a time, to allow myself to be present right where I am, right when I am. To look at the thing that must be done, the obstacle that must be overcome, the season that must be lived in...then I give it my best, and move on to the next.

It sounds simple, I know. But it works. And staying in the moment has guided me through nurturing emotional resilience, reclaiming identity and empowerment after abuse, learning to engage in guilt-free self-care practices, trusting God in healing, and yes, even surviving the holidays.

But with Thanksgiving behind us, leftovers still dwindling in the fridge, and the Christmas gift-giving season upon us, I thought this might be a good time to let you in on a little not-so-secret truth: mindfulness and gratitude aren't the only everyday survival tools I count on.

Most mornings in my life are routine. I stumble out of bed, wash my face, brush my teeth, wake my youngest daughter. Check the calendar. Caffeinate.

Maybe it's Strike Force energy, maybe it's Celsius powder; either way, these energy drink alternatives are everyday essentials. And honestly, I'm not even sorry anymore, because between late nights, early mornings, the physical symptoms of cPTSD, and chronic hypersomnia, my brain is half-asleep three-quarters of the time even with medication—so caffeine isn't just my recreational drug of choice. Some days, it's my personality.

Years ago, I would have apologized. For needing help, for needing energy. For needing to feel seen and heard and cared for. But those days are over, and now I do whatever it takes to be able to show up for my life and my kids. I use the tools at hand, the little things that seem so meaningless but mean so much—because they're the things that help me to be me.

Not so long ago, I was married to a man who loved few things more than making me feel small, stupid, and insignificant. He hated my music, my makeup, my faith. Even my perfumes. So I stopped wearing them. I let my home fill up with the stench of condescension, and for a while, I forgot the fragrance of confidence. These days, I wear what I want. And because I can, I start most days with a little spritz from a bottle that looks like nothing but is filled with magic. A simple refillable perfume bottle—currently holding the last of my favorite (and sadly discontinued) Vera Wang Pink Princess Eau de Toilette.

After that, the days are a mess of places to go, people to see, things to do. I check in with my cousin, take my daughter to school or doctors (or both), and do my best to squeeze in a little writing. I wash the laundry, sweep the floor, clean umpty-million dishes I'm pretty sure I didn't use. I make gluten-free sourdough. And I pause for conscious gratitude every time I open the dedicated 11-in-1 Cosori air fryer that makes gluten-free living just a little more possible in my world.

When the day fades and the house settles...when I've given the best I had to the moments available...I let my hair down and comb my favorite Maui Moisture hair mask through ends that usually look as tired as I feel. Aging may have changed the color and texture of my hair, but these simple moments of self-care are more than a last-ditch effort to keep these long strands smooth and shiny. They're a reminder to slow down. To see myself as valuable enough to care for, important enough to nurture.

And then I curl up in bed with a book. Long before I ever wrote one, books introduced me to healing through storytelling. They taught me to breathe when cPTSD survival felt like suffocation. They opened doors to Christian encouragement when my faith was young. And they kept me company in my loneliest seasons. My Kindle Paperwhite is a treasure trove of adventures, an infinite library of worlds to explore. (And it's backlit so I can read with the light off, waterproof so I can read in the bath—and digital so my youngest daughter can't steal my bookmarks anymore.)

These "favorite things" seem so ordinary, so simple. On their own, they're just everyday items that don't really matter. But when I pull them together, they're sparkling reminders of God's redemption story in my life. They are the seeds from which I harvest gratitude in hard seasons, the threads of empowerment woven into who I am and how I survived.

They're the invisible lifelines that taught me how to heal the past—with gentle faith, passing time, practiced patience, and stubborn, habitual hope.

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Even now, sometimes I'm surprised by how easily the little things in life become the things that anchor us in our storms. Not because any of these things are special in themselves, but because of the way they quietly bandage wounds in our hearts.

The perfume that smells like freedom and autonomy. The caffeine that feels like capability. A home that sighs peacefully, rather than trembling with fear. A Kindle filled with stories to sink into, learn from, grow with. And my own books—once, nothing more than impossible dreams but now, shining reminders that God still uses broken things.

You might not find them on Christmas shopping lists or holiday gift guides. They won't be counted in this year's top ten winter comfort essentials, and I still don't know if they're self-care must-haves. They're not big, and they're not fancy. But they don't need to be, and maybe that's why they're my favorite things...because they are the steady, dependable comforts that remind me who I am. And what I can still become.

Maybe you're like me, and living life moment by moment also means prepping and surviving one holiday at a time. Maybe you're like my youngest daughter, with every gift wrapped and ready before December even arrives. Or maybe you're somewhere in between, and always on the lookout for the perfect stocking stuffers.

Maybe you're on your own this year, and just hoping for something small to warm your winter. Either way, I hope you found something valuable here, even if it's only this encouragement to...

The greatest gifts we give each other are moments of connection, and in our post-tech society, many of those moments are virtual. We touch the people we care for every time we unlock a screen—through our texts, our messages, our video calls. And yes, our emails. That's why I'd like to reach out especially to you, with a Monday morning note that'll help make sure you don't miss the next thing I'm up to. There, you'll find links to the week's content, news on my latest books...and maybe even an occasional giveaway. Want in? Sign up here!