I read about a woman whose friend posted a picture of her online. She took one look and her stomach dropped. All she saw was how heavy and frumpy she looked. She stewed on it, then texted her friend and asked her to take it down. Her friend said okay. But first she told her why she posted it: "Look at your smile. Look how much fun you were having." So the woman looked again. And she saw it. The joy was all over her face. She told her friend to leave it up. Then her friend said something I can't stop thinking about. When we look at pictures of ourselves, we go hunting for what we don't like. We don't ask why someone would post it. We look for reasons it shouldn't be up. That hit home. Maybe I see a double chin in the picture with my grand baby. Everyone else sees a grandmother who is completely in love. Maybe I see how heavy I look on the dance floor at one of my husband's shows. Everyone else sees a woman having a great time, supporting the man she loves. Same picture. Totally different story. Try this today (5 minutes): 1. Pick one photo of yourself you've been avoiding or scrolling past. 2. Write down the first thing you notice. (Yes, the critical thing. Get it out.) 3. Now write three things someone who loves you would see. Not looks. What's happening in the picture. Keep that list. Next time you catch yourself picking the photo apart, read it back. Drop a comment: what did you see first, and what did you see the second time around? 💛

I've been listening to Valerie Bertinelli's Getting Naked — yeah, she's a celebrity, but that's not really what it's about. The first few chapters hit different because underneath the fame, it's just a woman being honest about the story she was telling herself all those years. And that's the part that got me. Because here's the thing — it's never really about the person in the book. It's about what happens in your head while you're listening. The things you say to yourself about yourself when it's just you, alone, no audience, no performing for anyone. That inner voice? The one that shows up in the quiet moments — driving, doing dishes, lying awake at 11pm? That's the one running the show more than we give it credit for. So I'll ask you what her book asked me: What's the story you keep telling yourself — and is it even true anymore? Drop it below. Doesn't have to be pretty. This is a no-judgment zone.

The first time I looked into the eyes of each of my three boys, I fell in love. If I’m being honest, I fell in love with them before I ever met them. Years earlier, I’d been told I might never be able to have children. So to eventually find myself the mother of three boys seemed almost too good to be true. I felt like the luckiest woman on earth. At first, I wondered whether raising boys would be difficult. I didn’t know anything about being a boy mom. Turns out, they would teach me. I learned about army men and dinosaurs, superheroes and Star Wars, wrestling and, of course, football. I learned there was something pretty incredible about having a chubby little hand reach for mine whenever someone was scared, tired, hurt, or simply wanted to be close to Mom. Whatever my boys loved, I wanted to be part of. Some days seemed to last forever. The years didn’t. There were days when our house was so loud and chaotic that I thought I might lose my mind. Three boys being boys. Someone was hungry. Someone needed something washed. Someone couldn’t find his shoes. Someone wanted a friend to sleep over. And always, another request. One more story, Mommy? Can I have another drink of water? Will you make Shrek pancakes in the morning? Back then, sometimes I just wanted everyone to go to sleep. I’d give almost anything to hear one of those requests again. Those were the years when my life felt incredibly full. And purposeful. As the boys got older, the chaos changed, but it didn’t disappear. Our house became the house where everyone gathered, and I loved it. Their friends were always welcome. There were teenagers everywhere, food disappearing almost as quickly as I could buy it, and more noise than any reasonable person should enjoy. Apparently, I like chaos. Our lives revolved around homeschooling, gym workouts, wrestling shows, football practices and games, friends coming and going, meals, laundry, and whatever was happening next. I didn’t have much time to slow down. What I didn’t understand was that the busier they kept me, the faster time seemed to move.

It's been a minute since I've posted, and I've been thinking about you. So tell me — what's actually going on with you this week? Skip the polished version. I want the real one, even if it's messy. Especially if its messy! Still tangled in it? Starting to feel a little lighter? Or just now letting yourself admit something has to shift? However it comes out — a word, a sentence, the whole story — drop it below. This is your space to say it out loud without cleaning it up first. I'll be in the comments today, so come say hi.