This is a hard one to write about.

Honestly, this might be the hardest part of being on my own that I’ve ever had to face.

I went from a house that was always full; laughter, screaming, fighting, feet stomping up and down the stairs, to suddenly, every other week, being plunged into silence.

At first, I thought it was going to be glorious.

I imagined long, uninterrupted bubble baths. Peace. Calm. No one asking for snacks. No background chaos. And you know what? For the first day… it was amazing.

And then the silence settled in.

And it wasn’t peaceful anymore.

It was suffocating.

When Quiet Feels Loud

After that first day, I felt like I was losing a part of myself. I wasn’t fulfilled. My kids didn’t need me to make snacks. I didn’t need to cook supper. I lived off Cheerios. I stopped eating well. A lot of things in my life quietly fell to the wayside.

Not because I didn’t care but because I had lost my sense of purpose.

One week, every other week, my role just… disappeared.

I don’t want to speak for everyone, but I know I’m not alone in this. So many of us build our identity around being a mother, a caregiver, a spouse. We’re on call for everyone else long before we’re ever on call for ourselves.

And at some point, without even realizing it, we lose us.

Looking back, I can see how completely I had put myself last. My life had become:

• Where do the kids need to go?

• What do they need to do?

• What’s my husband up to today?

• What needs fixing, managing, holding together?

Everything snowballed. I was a stay-at-home mom at the time, and in my mind, that was my job, to be what everyone else needed, all the time.

And when that stopped? The silence was deafening.

Filling the Silence With Noise

At first, I couldn’t handle it.

I turned the TV up loud just to have background noise. Anything to make it feel like someone else was there. Eventually, I got a dog and that helped tremendously. Having something depending on me made the silence feel less empty.

But even now, if I’m honest, the quiet still hits.

There are moments when I’ll walk into my daughter’s room and smell her baby blanket just to feel that connection again. That ache never fully goes away. It’s always there just quieter some days more than others.

But the silence taught me something I didn’t expect.

It taught me that I had to start doing things for me.

Finding Pieces of Myself I Didn’t Know Were Missing

I got a horse.

I started spending time at a stable.

I did things I never thought I could or should do for myself.

And through those things, I found parts of myself that I had either lost… or maybe never even discovered.

I realized that I didn’t need to be everything for everyone.

I just needed to be everything for myself first.

Once that happened, something incredible followed I became a better mother. A more authentic parent. I stopped wearing the mask of who I thought I was supposed to be and started showing my kids who I really was.

And what they needed wasn’t perfection.

They needed a happy, healthy parent who was finding herself and continuing to find herself.

Because that journey never really ends.

Purpose Isn’t Selfish

I took up horseback riding.

I started painting.

I started writing this blog.

I found a sense of purpose I never even knew I was missing until I desperately needed it.

Sometimes I wonder: If I had found that purpose during my marriage, would things have turned out differently? Would I still be married today?

I honestly don’t know.

But I do know this and I want to say it to anyone who’s listening:

Yes, your purpose can be to be a mother.

Yes, your purpose can be to be a wife or a partner.

But your first purpose is to yourself.

That doesn’t have to mean huge changes or grand declarations. Sometimes it’s as simple as:

• A bubble bath once a week with a book and no interruptions

• A Pilates class without guilt

• A walk with the dog without your phone

• A podcast in your ears and silence everywhere else

The smallest things can make the biggest difference.

Choosing Yourself Changes Everything

We all need to stop putting ourselves last.

Putting yourself first is not selfish it’s maintenance. It’s how you become the best version of yourself for everyone else in your life: your children, your coworkers, your friends, your family.

I wish I had figured this out 20 years ago.

Oh, do I ever.

But I didn’t and I’m not ashamed to say that I finally did figure it out. I am the most fulfilled I’ve ever been as a 42-year-old, single mother of two. And I will continue being fulfilled because now I know how.

My children get to learn what fulfillment looks like. They get to see that loving yourself isn’t selfish it’s necessary.

So if this helps even one person decide to take a bath, read a book, go for a walk, or sit silently with their own thoughts… then this was worth writing.

If you’ve found your purpose tell me what it is. New ideas are always welcome.

Be gentle with yourself. Love yourself.

I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s true: you can’t fully love anyone until you love yourself.

Have an amazing week and bye for now.

Well friends, here we are.

The final installment of my Awkward Conversations series.

And while I’m calling this the “final part,” let’s all be honest for a moment, awkward conversations never actually end. They just change outfits, get a little sneakier, and show up when you least expect them. But for the sake of closure (and my sanity), I wanted to wrap this series up by talking about one of the most awkward conversations of all…

Lawyers.

Now before anyone clutches their pearls, let me be very clear: lawyers are necessary. When children, property, finances, and futures are involved, you need legal guidance. There is no gold star for “doing it without one.” We used lawyers. You have to.

What you don’t have to do, however, is let your lawyers fight a duel at dawn while you sit back eating popcorn.

Because trust me that option is often enthusiastically offered.

When Your Lawyer Chooses Violence (Figuratively… Mostly)

My lawyer was very good at her job. Very good. Her mission in life seemed to be placing my ex-husband on a silver platter and serving him up for dinner with a side of alimony, spousal support, and “everything you’re entitled to.”

And listen for some people, those things are absolutely necessary and deserved. No judgment there. Every situation is different.

But that wasn’t what I wanted.

I am not a scorched-earth kind of person. I don’t want to screw people over. I don’t want revenge disguised as legal paperwork. And I didn’t want my children growing up believing that I was only with their dad for his money or that I needed to “take him down” to stand on my own two feet.

I wanted to show my kids and myself that I could do this.

Choosing Independence (Even When It’s Hard)

I was incredibly blessed to be a stay-at-home mom for as long as I was. Truly. But when the decision was made to separate, I knew one thing for certain: our lifestyle was going to change.

And I did not expect my ex-husband to continue funding that lifestyle.

I wanted to support myself. I wanted to prove to myself, my children, and frankly anyone watching that I could stand on my own. And that mattered to me deeply, because here’s a little truth bomb:

I had never really been alone.

When I met my ex-husband, I had been living in my “own” apartment (and I use that term loosely) for about six months. Then we moved in together. From that point on, I always had someone beside me. I had never truly done it alone.

And I wanted to know that I could.

So when the moment came, I did it.

I did it by myself.

And I proved it.

The Lawyer Reality Check

Here’s something I really want people to understand:

A lawyer’s job is to get the most and the best for their client. Period.

That doesn’t always mean they share your values, your goals, or your vision of “fair.” Some lawyers come in hot. Some come in cautious. Some may have their own personal experiences coloring how they approach divorce.

And that’s why it is so important that you and your lawyer are on the same page.

If you’re not?

Find a new lawyer.

You don’t want to get screwed over — absolutely not. But you also don’t need to take more than you can live with ethically. I struggle with the word deserve. Yes, legally, I deserved half the equity in the home. That made sense.

What I didn’t want was all of it.

I didn’t want my ex-husband to be homeless.

I didn’t want my children to have one safe home and one unstable one.

I didn’t want to “win” at the cost of their security.

Equality Over Ego

Some lawyers will tell you you’re entitled to everything, spousal support, 100% Section 7, the whole kit and caboodle.

But here’s my truth:

I am a grown-ass woman who chose to have children with this man, and I will take equal responsibility for raising them.

Yes, child support is different — and necessary when incomes are unequal. My ex and I sat down and talked. Like adults. Radical, I know.

I told him plainly: if we want our kids to have healthy homes, safe neighborhoods, good schools, reliable vehicles, and food we actually agree on in the fridge, we both need to be okay.

Not just one of us.

I didn’t want him struggling while I thrived, or vice versa. I wanted balance. Equality. Two solid homes, not one strong one and one barely holding it together.

Do I make what he makes? Not even close.

Is he incredibly successful? Absolutely.

Am I hurting? Not even a little.

I’m doing well. And I’m proud of that.

The Real Lesson of Awkward Conversations

So this is where I land this series.

Awkward conversations never end. They just get less terrifying. And the best thing you can do for yourself and for your children is to face them head-on.

Don’t beat around the bush.

Don’t hide things.

And never ask your children to keep secrets. Ever.

What you’re really teaching them is that uncomfortable conversations are a part of life and that they don’t need to be feared. You’re teaching them communication, honesty, and emotional resilience.

And you’re also showing your ex that you can communicate. That you’re approachable. That healthy dialogue is possible.

That benefits everyone.

So yes, this may be the end of the Awkward Conversations series, but let’s not pretend they’re going anywhere.

They’ll keep showing up.

And I promise, you’ll keep getting better at them.

Have a great day, a great week, and I’ll talk to you all very soon. 💛

Alright friends, grab your coffee, tea, or emotional support snack, because today we’re diving into the surprisingly fun world of mediation. Yes, you heard me. Fun. I said what I said.

When I first heard the word mediation, I pictured two exhausted adults sitting in a stuffy office, inhaling recycled air and passive-aggressively arguing about who gets the good Tupperware. But for us? Mediation was… therapeutic.

I know. I’m confused too.

Enter: The World’s Kindest Mediator

The gentleman we worked with was genuinely one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. The sort of person who could probably talk a grizzly bear out of stealing a picnic basket. He was thoughtful, patient, and had this magical way of keeping things calm even when we were, how do I put this gently? butting heads like two stubborn mountain goats on a cliff.

And believe me, when you’re talking about kids, schedules, and money, of course you’re going to disagree. Those topics are basically disagreement magnets.

The Unexpected Blessing

Now here’s where we got really lucky. Because of where I stood financially, I actually qualified for a free mediator. Yes, FREE.

The universe must’ve been in a good mood that week.

We had a handful of sessions, some together, some one-on-one. And shockingly? They were productive. It felt a little like therapy, but with more forms, more sighing, and fewer, “So tell me about your childhood.”

The whole process kept the focus exactly where it needed to be: on the kids.

Because mediation isn’t about you.

It’s not even about you and your ex.

It’s about you, your ex, and your kids, and how to make life work for everyone without ending up in a courtroom reenacting a dramatic Netflix series.

Lawyers, But Make It Minimal

Don’t get me wrong, we still needed lawyers. Kids + property = legal paperwork whether you like it or not. But thanks to mediation, the lawyers only handled the official stuff. No courtroom brawls. No fiery speeches. No gavels slamming dramatically.

The mediator helped us plan almost everything else; parenting schedules, expectations, communication boundaries, even “What happens if one of us wants a night out but can’t find a sitter?”

(Spoiler: You call the other parent before you call the babysitter. Revolutionary, I know.)

Shockingly… We Agreed on Stuff

Here’s the plot twist I didn’t see coming:

We agreed on more than I thought we would.

Considering we were, ya know, getting a divorce, I expected fireworks. But not the good kind, the kind that start forest fires. Instead, we found ourselves on the same page more often than not. It felt… respectful. Balanced. Equal.

And that mattered.

Neither of us walked out feeling steamrolled.

On Equality, Dads, and Mental Health

Now listen. I have to say something I feel strongly about.

I’ve seen a lot of situations where the man gets the short end of the stick during separation. Massive financial burdens, limited parenting time, emotional expectations that don’t match reality. I’ve watched men lose pieces of themselves in the process, and I’ve lost friends to mental health struggles along the way.

Men have feelings.

Men deserve compassion.

Men deserve respect as parents.

Equality matters. On both sides.

And mediation allowed us to see eye-to-eye rather than toe-to-toe. It gave us a level playing field—no “I’m better than you” energy, no winner or loser. Just two parents trying their best.

Does Mediation Work for Everyone?

Short answer: Nope.

If you can’t sit in a room with your ex without reenacting a WWE match, mediation might not be your vibe.

But if you can push through the awkwardness and have real conversations, mediation can be an absolute game changer. It gives both people a voice. It encourages healthy communication. And honestly? It can save a lot of money, a lot of stress, and a lot of emotional bruises.

So That’s Part Two of the Awkward Conversations Series

If you’ve got questions, thoughts, comments, or your own mediation stories, I’d love to hear them. This journey can feel lonely, but it doesn’t have to be.

Have an amazing week, and remember:

Two homes. One heart. Always.

Welcome, welcome, welcome to the blog that will probably make half the world nod along like, “Yessss, preach it,” and the other half clutch their pearls and report me to the Co‑Parenting Police. Either way, hi. I’m glad you’re here.

Let’s talk about “The Awkward Conversation” the one nobody wants to have, but everyone ends up smack in the middle of anyway once the relationship splits and real life starts knocking like an impatient Amazon delivery driver.

If you’ve ever been through a separation, you know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s that moment you sit across from someone who has literally seen you in the least glamorous, most vulnerable moments of your entire human existence, childbirth, flu season, whatever that “I haven’t slept in six days” newborn phase was and somehow THIS conversation is the one that makes your armpits sweat.

Because now you’re not talking about feelings or dreams or where to go for date night. No no. You’re talking about the real stuff: schedules, holidays, living arrangements, and the ultimate relationship landmine: money.

(Insert dramatic soap‑opera music here.)

When we started figuring out our new lives, we did what any confused, stressed, slightly overwhelmed humans would do we asked our friends. And lucky/unlucky for us, we knew more than a few people who had already survived this process and lived to tell the tale. They told us what worked, what absolutely didn’t, and which ideas sounded good on paper but would cause emotional whiplash by week two.

We tried Sunday‑to‑Sunday. A bold choice. A terrible choice. Because if you’ve ever picked up kids on a Sunday, you know Sunday has a very specific vibe… a “my sock feels weird, why isn’t my tablet charged, I don’t want to go to school tomorrow, I’m too tired to exist” vibe. Not ideal.

So we switched to Friday‑to‑Friday and honestly, it was like upgrading from dial‑up internet to high‑speed fiber. Everyone was happier. No one cried about pants. The angels sang.

Then came the holidays also known as the Co‑Parenting Olympics.

Christmas was the big one for both of us, so we came up with a system that didn’t make either of us want to hide under the tree. One year one of us gets Christmas Eve to noon on Christmas Day, the next year noon to Boxing Day. Easy. Peaceful. Nobody ends up with emotional frostbite.

New Year’s wasn’t a big deal. One of us doesn’t drink and is perfectly happy doing a kid‑friendly countdown that ends at 9:47 p.m. because bedtime is sacred. The other one could go out with friends and live their best “ringing in the new year with adults” life. Everyone wins.

Halloween was the fun one. We both love it, so instead of fighting over it, we Frankenstein’d the evening together. If I had the kids that night, we’d trick‑or‑treat around my neighborhood, then head to his place so the kids could hit up his neighbors, too. I’d hand out candy at his house while they went roaming, and next year we’d flip it. Kids get double candy, double fun, double memories. Zero fighting. Stunning behavior, 10/10.

Now, onto the topic that makes everyone sweat through their shirt: money.

Listen. I didn’t get married to get rich. I didn’t have kids for financial gain. And I certainly wasn’t about to turn them into a walking ATM. I knew what my ex made. I knew his budget. I also knew that if we followed the government’s magic child‑support chart to the letter, he’d have been living in an apartment the size of a cereal box, living off discount noodles, and probably adopting a pet dust bunny because that’s all he could afford.

And what good is that for the kids?

Exactly. None. Zero good.

So we did something wild and rare: we were reasonable human beings. We agreed on an amount that worked, not for ME, not for HIM, but for the KIDS. He could keep a comfortable home, I could cover what needed covering, and no one had to sell a kidney to survive.

Could I have taken more? Oh, absolutely. According to that chart, I could’ve taken so much that I wouldn’t have had to work at all. But what does that teach my kids? “Hey darlings, look how Mommy thrives without lifting a finger because someone else foots the bill!”

No thank you. Hard work, independence, solid values those things matter way more than squeezing every dime out of a person just because you technically can.

So yes, that’s how we started. With one incredibly awkward, brutally honest, emotionally sweaty conversation. If you can make a human together, survive toddler tantrums together, and tag‑team vomiting children at 3 a.m., you can definitely sit down and talk about calendars and money. And if you truly can’t, get help. A friend, a mediator, whoever. Just communicate. Because you’re not doing this for yourself anymore you’re doing it for the kids.

And that’s the whole point, really. Two homes, one heart. Make both homes good ones. Make both places places your kids feel loved. Let them grow up watching two adults handle hard things with respect, not resentment.

This is part one. More awkwardness coming soon. Buckle up.

And if this blog makes you mad… well… the comment section is right there.

Parenting is hard enough without adding a layer of sugar‑coating and mystery. One of the most important lessons I learned back in my school system days was this: kids can handle the truth. They’re smarter, stronger, and far more perceptive than we often give them credit for. So why do we insist on wrapping life in cotton candy?

When my kids were little, I taught them the real names for things. No “fluffy” words. If it’s an elbow, it’s an elbow not a “funny bone stick.” That same philosophy carried through when life threw us a curveball: divorce. My son was in kindergarten, my daughter barely two. And when the therapist said, “We’re going to tell him straight,” I thought, Well, of course. He already knows what’s real.

That moment cemented something for me: if I expect my kids to tell me the truth, I have to model it. Sure, they fib, because they’re kids but they learn from what they see. And if I’m hiding big stuff, like my health scare last year, what message does that send?Everyone wanted to soften it for them: “Mommy’s just at the hospital because the doctors need to check her.” But that didn’t sit right with me. I wanted them to know what happened, what was being done, and that I’d be okay. Not to scare them, just to keep them in the loop. Because honesty builds trust. And trust builds resilience.

Kids don’t need bubble wrap. (Okay, maybe a little, our house has seen its fair share of stitches.) But they don’t need rainbows and unicorns either. Life isn’t always pretty, but it’s always manageable. When we tell the truth, we teach them to think for themselves, to form opinions, and to face reality head‑on.

So here’s my rant in a nutshell: Tell the truth. To your kids. To your partner. To yourself. Life gets a whole lot brighter when you stop hiding behind “maybe” and start living in “this is what’s real.”Because at the end of the day, two homes can still share one heart, if honesty is the foundation.

Pull up a chair, grab your favorite snack (bonus points if it’s secretly stolen from your co‑parent’s pantry), and let’s dive into the wonderfully chaotic, laugh‑out‑loud world of modern co‑parenting.Because let’s be honest:Kids don’t care whose house they’re in, as long as Wi‑Fi is strong.Coordinating schedules sometimes feels like solving a Rubik’s Cube blindfolded.And yes, “two homes” can still mean one big heart—with plenty of room for love, humor, and maybe a little eye‑rolling along the way.So whether you’re here for solidarity, survival tips, or just to laugh at the absurdity of packing the same stuffed animal back and forth every week, you’re in the right place. Welcome aboard—this is co‑parenting with a wink, a smile, and a whole lot of heart ❤️.