This week has felt different — in the best way. For a long time, I was just going through the motions as a mom. I was there physically, but my mind was everywhere else: thinking about work, my to-do list, what to make for dinner, or just waiting for bedtime so I could finally relax.
But lately, I’ve found my groove. And it’s changing everything.
Healing My Nervous System
The biggest shift started with me. For years, I was living in constant fight-or-flight mode — rushing, reacting, trying to control everything. No wonder I didn’t have the capacity to be fully present with my kids.
Over the last few months, I’ve been intentionally healing my nervous system, which has looked like:
Releasing trapped emotions that were stuck in my body and weighing me down.
Feeling my heart more instead of staying numb or disconnected from my emotions.
Meditating regularly, even for just a few minutes a day, to slow my thoughts and reconnect with my breath.
Choosing slow, intentional movement (like walking, stretching, or gentle yoga) instead of always rushing from task to task.
Doing less throughout the day and letting go of the guilt for not being “productive” every second.
Somatic exercises to bring my body back to a state of safety and regulation.
Bit by bit, my body has started to feel safe again — and that safety has opened up space for connection.
A Huge Realization
This past weekend, I uncovered something huge about myself. Growing up as a middle child, I didn’t get much attention. And now, as an adult, I notice how that’s been showing up everywhere: craving attention from my husband, wanting my kids to notice me, even seeking it from my work team.
Realizing this was eye-opening. It helped me see why giving my children undivided attention matters so much. I don’t want them to grow up feeling unseen the way I often did. Instead, I want them to feel deeply loved, heard, and valued — not through big gestures, but through the simple act of me being present with them.
The Power of Presence
Now that I feel calmer inside, I can actually show up for my kids. Not distracted, not halfway listening while I scroll my phone or mentally plan tomorrow. Just there — noticing the silly things they say, getting on the floor to play, and being interested in what lights them up.
And you know what? Their behavior has changed. There are fewer meltdowns, fewer sibling fights, and way more giggles. When I’m grounded and engaged, they feel safe and seen. And when they feel that way, everything runs more smoothly.
How I’m Making It Possible
I’ve realized that showing up for my kids starts with showing up for myself.
Daily Movement – Moving my body every day helps me process stress and reset my mind.
Choosing Foods that Support Me – I’ve been cutting back on sugar, not from a place of restriction, but because I feel so much better without the highs and crashes.
Little Moments of Joy – Reading a few pages of a book, taking a hot shower, or sipping tea before bed fills me up so I can pour into my family.
These small habits are helping my nervous system stay regulated, which means I can respond with patience instead of reacting out of stress.
The Ripple Effect
I didn’t expect the shift in my energy to ripple into my whole house, but it has. The mornings feel calmer. Playtime feels lighter. Even bedtime feels less like a battle and more like a connection point.
And maybe that’s the secret — when I take care of me, I have the capacity to take care of them, too. And when I make sure my kids feel truly seen, I’m breaking a generational pattern of disconnection.
Your Turn
If you’ve been stuck in survival mode, I see you. Healing doesn’t happen overnight, but you can start today. Take a deep breath, release some tension in your body, choose one thing that feels nourishing — and most importantly, give your kids a few moments of undivided attention. It might change more than you think.
There was a time when I didn’t even realize how often I was reaching for sugar just to soothe myself through the chaos. A moment of frustration, a tired afternoon, a noisy room full of tiny voices calling “Mom!” on repeat — and suddenly I’d be halfway through a pack of chocolate chips, barely remembering how they got into my hand.
But lately, I’ve been practicing something different.
I’m learning to come back to the moment — especially with my kids. Not the perfect, Instagram-worthy moment, but the messy, beautiful, in-between ones: when my son is telling me a long story about his latest Minecraft creation, or when my daughter wants to show me the same jump for the tenth time. Those are the moments I used to try to escape with sugar. Now, I’m trying to be in them instead.
One thing I’ve noticed: the more I resist the present moment, the more I try to control everything around me — especially my kids. I tighten up. I start snapping, micromanaging, needing everything to be just so. But when I soften into what’s actually happening, even if it’s inconvenient or chaotic, I’m a lot more grounded. The urge to control fades. The need for sugar fades too.
The other day I was outside with the kids, and I felt that familiar surge of overwhelm as my mental to-do list started spiraling: I should be working, I should be cleaning, I should be catching up. I could feel the pressure in my chest building, thoughts racing. But instead of getting swept up in it, I noticed the chaos in my head. I deepened my breath. And I looked at my kids.
They were just… playing. Laughing. Being kids.
So I stayed. I chose to watch them, to really see them — and suddenly, everything softened. I felt so grateful for that moment: my kids playing together, the sunshine on my skin, the stillness that was waiting for me underneath all that mental noise. That presence was everything. And it was so much sweeter than anything I could have found in the pantry.
This isn’t about guilt or being the perfect parent. It’s about choosing presence over autopilot. Choosing connection over comfort food. Choosing to feel what’s happening instead of numbing it away.
And honestly? It’s not always easy. Sometimes I still get the urge to disappear into a bag of trail mix or sneak a handful of something sweet while no one’s looking. But I’m getting better at pausing. Breathing. Noticing.
And when I do that — when I stop resisting and just let the moment be what it is — I often realize the thing I was running from isn’t as scary or overwhelming as it felt. Sometimes I even find joy in it.
So now, when I feel that pull to run to the pantry, I try to ask myself:
What if the sweetness I’m craving is already right here?
Because one day, the toys won’t be scattered everywhere. The interruptions will quiet. And I know I’ll miss it — all of it. These days are fleeting, and I want to live them, not numb my way through them.
✨ Try This: A Simple Presence Practice
Next time you feel yourself spiraling with stress or reaching for sugar out of habit, try this tiny reset:
Pause.
Put one hand on your heart or belly.
Take three slow, deep breaths.
Name one thing you can see, one thing you can hear, and one thing you can feel.
Whisper to yourself: “I’m safe to be here now.”
It might seem small, but this shift can help you return to your body — and to the life that’s happening around you.
🌱 Presence Reminders for Daily Life
Here are some gentle cues I’ve used to reconnect when I feel myself slipping into control or autopilot:
– Every time I sip my water, I take a breath and come back to my body. – When my child says “Mom!” for the tenth time, I use that as a grounding moment instead of a trigger. – I leave my phone in another room while spending time with my kids, even just for 10 minutes. – I keep a sticky note nearby that says “This is the moment.”
🧡 One Moment is Enough
If you’re reading this and feeling like it’s hard to be present — you’re not alone. But maybe today, you can choose one moment to slow down and stay. One moment to soften instead of control. One moment to breathe and look around you, just like I did outside with my kids. That one moment is enough. And it’s a start.
Lately, I’ve been feeling like I’m holding up the entire house with two tired hands.
The dishes. The laundry. The meals. The kids’ emotions. My own emotions. The invisible checklist that loops through my mind from morning to night.
And recently, something in me whispered: This isn’t sustainable.
The weight I’ve been carrying—physically, emotionally, mentally—has felt heavier than ever. Especially with my husband checked out lately, glued to the TV, barely present with the kids. I know he’s struggling too—he’s said it’s depression from losing his job—but knowing that doesn’t make it easier when I feel like I’m parenting alone.
I’ve tried to push through. Tried to be efficient. Tried to manage everyone and everything like I’m some kind of machine.
But I’m not. And I don’t want to be.
So yesterday… I stopped.
I didn’t plan on it. But something in me just surrendered. I let the to-do list sit where it was. I let go of trying to be “productive.” I didn’t force myself to multitask or squeeze in extra chores while my kids played.
I played with them. Fully. Presently. Joyfully.
And something wild happened… I felt alive again.
I had fun. Real fun—not that fake, “I’m-smiling-but-thinking-about-dinner” kind of fun. I laughed. I chased them. I watched their faces light up and realized how long it’s been since I truly joined in their world.
And the to-do list? It still got done. Not all at once. Not on a strict timeline. But enough.
I’ve been noticing this pattern in myself: the more I resist what’s happening, the more I try to control everything around me. And when I do that, I feel more stressed, more reactive, more exhausted. But when I pause… when I breathe… when I accept what’s in front of me and meet it with presence—something shifts.
There’s more peace. More grace. More room for me and the kids to just be.
And while I still feel that familiar tug toward “getting everything done,” I’m learning that presence is productivity too. That being with my children, fully, is not a break from my job—it is the most important part of my job.
So today, I’m choosing that again. Even if it’s messy. Even if the laundry piles up. Even if dinner is just chicken nuggets and cut-up fruit.
I’m choosing presence over perfection. Connection over control. And joy—real joy—over just making it through the day.
Letting the to-do list go (just for a little while) I didn’t abandon responsibility—I just pressed pause. I reminded myself that the dishes could wait, the laundry would still be there later, and that I could trust time to stretch a little if I chose to be present now. Releasing that inner urgency made space for joy.
Breathing before reacting When I noticed overwhelm or frustration bubbling up, I put my hand on my chest and just took a slow, deep breath. It didn’t fix everything, but it gave me a pause—a window where I could respond gently instead of snapping or zoning out. That breath anchored me to now.
Saying yes to play Instead of trying to get the kids to “go play” so I could do something else, I stepped into their world. Even five minutes of full-body, full-heart play shifted the energy in our home. It reminded me that joy is right here when I choose to engage in it.
You’re Not Alone
If you’re a mom feeling overwhelmed, like you’re constantly doing everything for everyone else—please know this: you are not failing. You’re just carrying too much. And sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is let something go and be right here, just for a moment.
You deserve joy too.
Let the house be a little messy. Let the list wait. Let your heart rest in the giggles, the sunshine, the tiny hands pulling you into their world.
It’s not perfect. It’s presence. And that’s more than enough. 💛
Sugar has been my constant companion for as long as I can remember. What started as an innocent treat quickly spiraled into a full-blown addiction, consuming my life, my health, and my happiness. But through years of struggle, heartache, and healing, I’ve found my way out—and I want to share everything I’ve learned with you. Here’s the quick version of my story.
When I was around 17 or 18, still living with my parents, I was obsessed with Twizzlers. They weren’t just candy to me; they were nostalgia—memories of movie nights and camping trips. They gave me comfort, routine, and familiarity during a time of transition between adolescence and adulthood. I would sneak them into my room or nibble on them late at night while watching TV. But one day, something bizarre happened that shifted everything.
I was in the shower when I noticed something red coming from my belly button. Panic set in. I thought I was bleeding. I threw on my bathrobe, ran to my mom, and started freaking out. But then, I dug around and pulled out a red, slimy piece. I sniffed it, and that’s when I laughed—it was a piece of Twizzlers! How it got there? I had no clue. I hadn’t even eaten any for five days. After that, my obsession with Twizzlers lost its appeal a little bit. The absurdity of the moment cracked something open in me: maybe this love affair with candy wasn’t so harmless after all.
When I moved into an apartment with my soon-to-be husband, my sugar addiction evolved into something more secretive—and more destructive. Sour Punch Bites became my new obsession. I would walk into Target and somehow always find myself in the candy aisle, pretending I was just grabbing a few things. I remember the thrill of ripping open that bag in the car and stuffing handfuls into my mouth. I wasn’t eating for taste—I was eating to escape.
It was a double life. I would buy huge bags, demolish them before my fiancé got home, and then pretend I wasn’t hungry for dinner. I would throw away the evidence and act like everything was fine. Sometimes, I paired it with Chinese takeout, scarfing it all down in a frenzy of emotional eating. The shame would hit hard afterward, but not hard enough to stop me. I was stuck in a vicious loop—eating because I felt depressed, and then feeling more depressed because I was eating and gaining weight.
I began hiding not just the candy, but myself. I avoided mirrors, avoided intimacy, avoided the truth. I knew I was spiraling. At my worst, I weighed 250 lbs, and I didn’t recognize myself anymore. I was afraid of my own reflection—and of what my addiction might eventually cost me.
My health started to scare me. I went to the doctor for bloodwork, fearing diabetes, which ran in my family. I was borderline pre-diabetic. That terrified me. I tried the Paleo diet, and to my shock, it worked. I lost 80 lbs in a year. I thought I had beaten my sugar addiction. But I hadn’t.
By 2017, I was sugar-free for seven months. That was a huge deal for me—seven months without giving in to cravings, without bingeing, without using sugar to numb my feelings. I felt proud, empowered even. So when my sister’s wedding rolled around, I thought I could handle a single indulgence. One brownie. Just one. A reward for how far I had come.
The moment I took a bite, I felt the flood of emotion and nostalgia rush in. The sweetness hit me like a wave—overwhelming and all too familiar. I hadn’t tasted anything that rich in so long, it was like my taste buds lit up and my brain screamed, “MORE!” I didn’t even finish the whole thing, but it was enough to trigger something deep in me. It awakened the addict part of my brain that I thought I had silenced.
Over the next few days, the cravings grew louder. I tried to resist. I reminded myself how good it felt to be free from sugar. But the memory of that brownie lingered like a siren call. I gave in. Then I gave in again. And before long, I was bingeing like I used to—hiding wrappers, sneaking bites, spiraling into shame. That one brownie felt like it undid months of hard work, and I was devastated.
In 2018, I went on a Hawaii cruise, already feeling guilty for regaining weight. I overindulged the entire trip, convincing myself that it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience and I should just enjoy it. But deep down, I was ashamed. I was already disappointed in my body, in my lack of control, and in the role sugar was still playing in my life. Shortly after that trip, I found out I was pregnant with my first child.
At first, I was ecstatic. I wanted to be the best mom, and I imagined having a glowing, healthy pregnancy. But that vision was quickly overtaken by intense cravings and fatigue. Pregnancy amplified everything—my need for comfort, my anxiety, my hormones. I ballooned to 255 lbs. It felt like I had no willpower. I was eating to soothe myself through every emotion: fear, joy, stress, overwhelm.
My dream of a peaceful home birth was shattered when I developed high blood pressure near the end of my pregnancy. I felt like I had failed before I even started. And motherhood? It hit me like a freight train. I tried to breastfeed, work, and survive on almost no sleep. I felt like I was drowning. Sugar became my anchor—even though it was dragging me down. I stashed candy in drawers, snacked during every feeding, and constantly felt like I was just barely holding it together.
I remember crying because I felt like I was missing out on precious moments with my baby. Everything felt like a blur. Instead of soaking in the early days of motherhood, I was lost in a fog of cravings, exhaustion, and guilt. I wanted to be present. I wanted to remember it all. But sugar had such a grip on me that I could barely catch my breath.
Liam was a whirlwind of energy, always moving, never sitting still. Even as a toddler, he was unlike other kids I saw around us—he was climbing furniture, running in circles, and flipping himself into somersaults when others were calmly walking. It wasn’t until we started taking him to social events or out in public that the contrast became painfully clear. While other kids followed instructions or stayed close to their parents, Liam would dart off, touch everything, and completely ignore me when I called his name. I felt judged. I felt like I was doing something wrong as a mom.
The turning point came in 2024 when Liam was diagnosed with severe ADHD. Hearing the words gave me a mix of relief and grief. Relief because finally, there was an explanation. I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t just a “bad parent.” And grief because I realized just how much Liam had been struggling—how often his needs went misunderstood, even by me.
What made it even more complex was his perfectionism. He wouldn’t try things unless he thought he could master them. He delayed talking, reading, even walking, not because he couldn’t—but because he didn’t want to do it wrong. And then when he did start? He soared. It was like watching a light switch flip on. He went from speaking a few words to full sentences overnight, and later, from not knowing his letter sounds to reading simple books by the end of kindergarten.
Still, the emotional toll was heavy. His unpredictable energy, the defiance, the meltdowns—it drained me. And when I felt drained, I reached for sugar. That became my coping mechanism, my escape, my fuel when I was running on empty. But the guilt was overwhelming. I wanted to be fully present for Liam. I wanted to understand and guide him, not just survive him. But surviving is exactly what I was doing, one day at a time, using food to numb the chaos I didn’t know how to manage.
After everything I went through with my first pregnancy and early motherhood, I knew I wanted things to be different the second time around. I was determined not to fall into the same patterns. I had learned so much—about myself, my triggers, my body, and my emotional limits—and I made a conscious decision to do better for myself and my growing baby.
This time, I stayed active. I stuck to a workout routine, even if it meant just stretching, dancing, or doing a short Barre workout while my toddler played nearby. I still had cravings—because let’s be real, pregnancy does that—but I didn’t let them take over. I was more aware. More intentional. I didn’t want to lose myself again.
My second child, Ashlyn, was born after a much healthier pregnancy. I felt stronger. And while the newborn stage still came with its own chaos, I didn’t spiral into binge eating the way I had before. I held onto the habits I had formed. I gave myself grace but also structure. And that mindset shift made all the difference. I wasn’t perfect, but I was grounded—and that was new for me.—
I decided to take a stand for my health. It wasn’t a single moment of inspiration—it was more like a quiet resolve that built up over time. The chaos of two young kids, work demands, and the constant cycle of sugar highs and crashes had taken their toll. But when Liam started kindergarten, something shifted. With him at school during the day and Ashlyn being more mellow and manageable, I finally had some breathing room.
For the first time in what felt like years, I had space to think. To notice how exhausted and disconnected I felt. I wasn’t just physically tired—I was emotionally drained. My body hurt, my clothes didn’t fit, and my mind was constantly racing with guilt, shame, and the pressure to do better. I realized I had been in survival mode for far too long.
So I started slow. I went for walks. I made meals that didn’t come in wrappers. I danced again. I remembered how it felt to enjoy movement, not use it as punishment. I didn’t overhaul everything overnight, but I began making one mindful choice at a time. I stopped waiting for motivation and just started taking small, loving actions for myself.
Since then, I’ve lost 25 lbs. But more importantly, I’ve found myself again. I’m still on my journey, still learning how to care for my body and mind, but I finally believe I’m worth the effort. That, for me, was the real turning point.
Mindful Presence: I remind myself to be present, especially with my kids. Instead of turning to sugar for comfort, I focus on cherishing those fleeting moments with them.
Awareness of Triggers: I’ve learned to recognize my triggers—stress, exhaustion, loneliness—and I’m better at catching them before they lead to bingeing.
Healthier Substitutes: I’ve replaced sugary snacks with healthier options I genuinely enjoy, like fresh fruit, yogurt, or nuts.
Self-Compassion: When I slip up, I remind myself that I’m human. I don’t spiral into guilt anymore.
If you’re struggling with sugar addiction, please know you’re not alone. It’s not just about willpower—it’s about understanding yourself, your triggers, and finding healthy ways to cope.
This morning was one of those mornings. You know the kind.
My son was deep in the Lego zone—laser-focused on building something very specific. I, being the well-meaning mom I am, tried to help… and accidentally broke his creation. Big mistake. Huge. I am not the Lego parent. That’s my husband’s territory. But he wasn’t home, and I was just trying to help.
Cue the complete meltdown.
He was on the floor, sobbing, furious, heartbroken. We had about 10 minutes before we needed to leave for school, and my blood was starting to boil. You know that feeling? When you can literally feel the heat rising in your chest and you’re just seconds away from snapping?
In that moment, I knew that if I lost it, we’d both spiral—and I’d be carrying a load of guilt with me for the rest of the day.
So instead… I stood still. I breathed. I dug up some shred of patience and offered him a choice:
“You can keep having your meltdown and be late for school… or you can get up now, get to school early so you can play on the playground, and then finish your Legos after school.”
Honestly? I didn’t think it would work. I braced myself for more tears, maybe even prepared to leave the room and have a good cry myself.
But he surprised me. He got up.
We made it to school a little early. He proudly showed his friends his monkey bar skills. And guess what he’s doing right now? Yep—happily building Legos with his dad.
Was I perfect? Nope. Did I have a magical strategy? Not really. Just a quiet moment, a pause, and a choice.
I’m not a master of staying calm in chaos—but I’m learning.
If you’re in the same boat, trying to parent through big emotions (your kid’s and your own), just know: you’re not alone. Sometimes, we just need to breathe, stand still, and offer a little grace—to them and ourselves.
We started the morning with backyard egg hunting — and in the moment, I totally forgot to take pictures (which honestly means I was really present, right?). I made sure the kids ate breakfast before the sugar hunt, so I felt slightly less guilty watching them sneak behind a tree and devour their treasures like little candy goblins. 😆
(Didn’t get a pic, but this gives the vibe )
This was the first year Ashlyn (3) was truly into it, and that made everything extra fun. Liam (5) was in full chaotic energy mode later at grandma & grandpa’s — crushing chips on a bench, stealing candy from other kids, and just being, well… Liam. 😅 Ashlyn was running wild too. I felt like the only mom there with kids who seemed like a tornado in a sea of calm.
By the time we got home, I was toast. Zero capacity. Couch mode: activated. Didn’t want to play, talk, or even parent if I’m being honest.
And just when I thought the day was over, Ashlyn decided that she now needs to sleep with her door open. As if the light that’s already on all night long to chase away the “shadow monsters” isn’t enough — now we’ve got the hallway noises to keep her (and me) on high alert too. 😵💫
But… I woke up today feeling intentional. Like I’m here again. Not just running on autopilot. And that in itself feels like a win. 🌱💛
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