Some days, the weight of waiting and the ache of hope sit a little heavier. This post isn’t polished advice or a list of wins—it’s raw, honest self-talk from a day where I needed to remind myself why I keep going. If you’ve ever felt like you’re doing everything right and still struggling, this is for you too. We’re not alone in the wrestle—and sometimes, saying it out loud is how we find our next breath of strength.

Life’s Journey: Detours and Triumphs, Real Talk

Self-Talk – The Truth of Today

I feel lost a bit today.

I’ve been doing everything I can to keep my home and family—loving the difference I make in my kitchen, making better foods, recreating favorites from good ingredients, reading labels, switching out chemical-laden foods for better choices. Sourdough bread, buns, pizza dough—I’m trying to return to simplicity. To goodness. To food that nourishes more than just the body. And maybe that’s what hurts the most—I’m doing the right things. I’m choosing moderation. I’m creating. I’m pouring my energy into doing better, and still… it’s hard.

It’s hard to trust that this matters. Hard to wait. Hard to believe that doing what I can is enough when so much feels out of reach.

I can’t move like I want to. I can’t do all the things that live in my heart and in my mind. And what if none of this matters? What if I go through with this gastric sleeve, lose enough to qualify for hip surgery, and then what? Wait more? Another surgery, another year of healing, and then—maybe? What if it’s six years? What if I never get the hip revision? What if I die before I even get the chance?

And in chasing that chance, I lose something I care deeply about—My Kitchen and my love for food, and not just the eating of it, but the making of it. The creativity, the care, the joy. What happens to the part of me that sings through spices, dough, warm oven air? Will I be stuck with two ounces of blandness while my spirit starves?

I keep hearing, “But by 67…” But what about now? What can I even do at that age? What dreams will still be possible?

I know—I will never walk right again. We all know that. But somewhere deep in me, the girl who wanted to change the world is still alive. Still dreaming. Still reaching. Maybe I can’t change the world on my feet. But maybe I can change it from this chair, from my kitchen, from my words, from the sheer fact that I haven’t stopped showing up.

One of the things I love most about summer is my pool—the feeling of floating, the coolness against my skin, the freedom to move without pain or fear. I miss that deeply. My husband said he wishes he could make me tiny, place me in the pool, and let me become big again—strong, floating, moving. That image stays with me, not just because it’s sweet, but because it reminds me how deeply I am supported—how his love sees all of me, not just the struggle, and believes in my strength even when I don’t.

I am so tired. Of watching every step. Of being afraid in the shower. Of the exhausting planning just to get into bed without dislocating something. But—I can still do these things by myself. And that is not nothing.

I think of the story of Jesus and the man born disabled. The man asked, “Why have you not healed me?” And Jesus said, “You are here for a greater purpose. You are to be faith for others.”

Maybe that’s me.

Maybe my limp and my struggle are how light gets through. Maybe my faith is what others see—because I haven’t stopped, because I keep creating, loving, baking, hoping. Maybe I am the difference I always wanted to be, just in a form I didn’t expect.

And if this is my truth, then let it be lived.
With courage.
With grace.
With the strength I already carry.

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I am thinking on writing a book, What do you think? This is a start of it.  

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Living your best life and doing what feels good for you is the secret.

Keep it simple, Stay well and safe.

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