A love letter to 2025

| retiredsequins

I read recently that your brain pretty much immediately deletes a year after it’s gone. Same can be said for a day, a month, a moment. And it’s true – think about the last two or three years. How much can you instantly retrieve from your memory vault?hard right?

2025; so many people hated it. Feels like everyone’s happy to see it go. I have been thinking of highs and lows from the last three hundred and sixty five days; and nothing jumped out. Kinda weird. 2025, who was she?! For me? I think my takeaway is it felt like the year that steadied me. She taught me how to carry things, and how to master the pause. To not react or respond to every single thing; that not everything deserved my attention. She taught me that just because I can see the potential, or the fix, it’s not always my duty to say so. It’s the year that taught me slow and steady may be the real winner after all.

Admittedly I’ve been a bit down in the dumps — My kids and I were all sick for the last ten days, and Christmas felt like so much work for absolutely nothing. A real shit feeling as a mom (and dad) who really did the most with their bank account this past couple months ☠️ After a Monday celebration with 25 people in my cute little house, everything quickly went downhill and so many plans were cancelled, kids were lethargic, and mama had been knocked down for the first time in 5 years. But last night 🥹 I celebrated with my sissy and her husband and have found my spirits are back to high, and my heart is just so full. My kiddos too. ((Dan escaped the entire flu week from hell somehow, so good for him blah blah🤣😘☺️))

I used to think a good year meant momentum. Forward motion. Clear triumphs you could almost touch, or at the very least point to and name. 2025 didn’t offer much of that. What it taught me instead, was steadiness. And who doesn’t love a steady mom? A steady wife? A steady hairdresser? Yes please. More of this 💫 very 💫 adult feeling 💫. Thank you Jesus.

The scab that sits on top of my grief was ripped open again this year when my father tried to make his way back into my life. He couldn’t show up (again) for my family, and I had to leave him behind (again) because one of my new mottos for 2025 is “no question mark people” So yeah, that entire situation — It’s messy and embarrassing and I won’t share more here, but I tried. And. It didn’t work. (Again)

While grief was still annoyingly present, it mostly just gets quieter as the years pass. My grief no longer announces itself. It lives in the small little pockets of who I am; in how I raise my children, in the way I hold space for the awareness that nothing is promised. In how I love my husband, my sister. My aunt. How I make time for my friends who I adore both near and far away. My grief has settled quietly in, and it’s forever changed how I notice the world around me. Even my grief, this year, has steadied me.

Homeschooling still set the rhythm for most of our days. This year, the medical freedom movement has gained so much momentum which in turn finally hushed the 7 year old question of if we’d ever really move. How could we leave what we have here? Most mornings Dan and I wake up and have coffee together, and it’s one of my favorite things we do together. My day really starts once Dan leaves and the kids wake up. Mornings slow but structured, afternoons spill outdoors, and the weeks revolve around co-op, practices, games, dance and moving our bods. This year there wasn’t much time for performing or polishing how life looks, but relishing in how it feels. It was a year of grounding. Our hearts and our life have felt so full, and it finally felt like ours 🤍

Each beautiful little baby of mine has grown so much – physically, emotionally and mentally. They each grew in their own direction. Confidence built through discipline and athletics. Independence expanded through time outside. Creativity danced in motion, curiosity, and joy. I watched them become more themselves, without forcing a shape that didn’t fit. Took me 11 years to say this, but I feel like motherhood has a learning curve, and I’m finally finding my groove.

My health stopped feeling fragile. I paid attention and listened. Food, sleep, stress, finding my own balance; none of it was perfect, but it was consistent. My body responded to consistency more than urgency or force. My mental health has taken the scenic route, but I feel like I’ve finally arrived at a place I feel content with. Dare I even say, happy. (Thank you Jesus! 🥹🥹🥹)

Work followed the same pattern. Less chasing, more refinement. I chose alignment over expansion and built boundaries that supported motherhood and my kids’ childhood instead of competing with it. My “why” has always spoken louder than the noise of the career I chose, and I have no shame in being mama before Brianna P on Vagaro. To have something that’s all my own, that I’ve built for 17 years is something I’m really freaking proud of as a mother, a woman’, and a professional who has a place in an ever evolving and demanding industry.

My marriage. My magnificently, beautiful, comfortable, wild, broken in, lovely, steady marriage ✨ r e s t e d ✨ in being real. Over the last 17 years, we’ve learned a lot. Our roles have ebbed and flowed and we’ve quite literally crashed on eachother’s shores, been eachother’s light in the dark, fought eachother and for our love, and we’re making it. To achieve anything in marriage is rewarding, and we try hard to find the time to work on US. There’s a quiet strength in honesty and commitment that doesn’t demand much else. I’m so thankful for him 🥹💫

Somewhere along the way, the noise hushed itself. I trusted my instincts more. I explained myself less. I stopped borrowing certainty from outside voices and learned to stand where I was planted. I’ve done so much work in my life. My hands and head are always busy, my heart always lets me know she’s there. 2025 probably has had some difficulties but I don’t remember that today. I realize that this past 365 taught me how to carry the hard parts without letting them harden me. How to lean into the curveballs instead of trying to dodge ‘em. How to stay soft, but steady.

And maybe that’s the real legacy of my life. To raise children who grow up knowing steadiness, even when life’s not perfect. To live in a home that feels anchored and warm; with present parents who kiss in front of them. To have parents that show strength is often soft, and slow doesn’t mean lazy. That love is not conditional. That traditions are important. And that family is forever.

Happy New Year friend 🎉 Make 2026 your bitch 🙂

A reminder*

| retiredsequins

Christmas time reminds me of all the doors I’ve left open to allow love to walk back through. And though my heart is usually overflowing with so many different kinds of love, this will be my tenth Christmas without my mom; and with that, it feels like the tenth Christmas without my dad too. And it stings. Like embers slowly burning inside the depths of my holiday heart. Because when she went to heaven, he went somewhere too. I still don’t know where, but it hurts. My aunt always told me that little passage – leave the door in your heart open – and it really is a special thought. But that’s where it stays, a thought. Not by my doing, but by his. And if somehow he ever were to stumble on my blog, or maybe he reads it religiously without my knowing, I’d want him to know the door is still open, and that I love him. But it’s up to him to show up. And to stay this time.

Christmas time can bring out the very best versions of people, and the very worst. I try to be my best. But so many people are hurting and this is when it shows. And though it is so unfair to be on the receiving end, I know somehow, the good ones like me are still good. Does that make sense? Even though we see all the nasty, the miserable, the rearing of the ugly head, yet we choose to still be good. We choose. to still. be. good. To do good, pour out good, show up good, teach good, speak out goodness – you get it. 

I’m finding, at the ripe age of 41, that so many people lack purpose, and therefore significance. And I nstead of finding help, or doing the hard and holy work; they spend their lives searching for ways to try to bring other people down. To undermine, undercut, and really under respect the good ones. And truly, they’ve been doing it so long it’s who they’ve become – and how shitty for them? But also, for the ones who’ve done the work, it’s annoying. So what can we do? We can watch repeated patterns, of people who loathe themselves, mirror that outwardly into their kids, their families, their friends, their jobs, and their innocent little worlds just floating around them, suffering from their lack of awareness.

This year I’m giving you the permission you need. Call them out. Tell them their behavior sucks. Or, say no to the invite. Those people don’t deserve to be around your light. They will and do dim it. If you must, spend time with them as far away from a holiday as you can, to protect your peace. 

I’m also giving you the nudge, to try and make things right. Resolution has no timeline; no end date, but it can help you know you did the right thing during a high pressure time.

My mother was so strong. And vibrant. She lit up every room she ever walked into. Any salon I’ve ever worked in, every bar or restaurant I walked in with her, hell, even doctors offices, she would drench that little vestibule with her golden energy, and heads would turn, faces would smile, and everyone was better because she was there. She spoke to everyone with the same enthusiasm and the same kindness, with a sass and a magnetic relatability I haven’t witnessed since. She was your instant friend. She rooted for you. She was just so fucking special. And I miss her. And while other years in the past have felt a little lighter, this 10th Christmas without her feels heavy again. And so, once again, for the first time in a while, I wanted to write about lessons she’s still teaching me from heaven. From the ways she handled people, the way she loved people, and the way she kept clear boundaries so the same people didn’t cross her twice.

I’d do anything to have my mother sitting at my dinner table ANY DAY OF THE WEEK. But I’d kill to have her at Christmas time. I’d love to have her burst through my doors, arms full of food and presents, showing up unannounced – So present I’d forget about any of my fears or stresses. So present I wouldn’t have to ask her for help with the next thing. She’d know where my spoons are, my apron is, and my kids favorite snacks. She’d know how to hug me with all her body and kiss me through my hair. She’d hold me and tell me I’m strong, she’d say whatever I wanted to hear. She’d tell me my sauce needs more salt, and make a face if she couldn’t say it with words. She’d cackle and go in the garage to smoke a cigarette, and she’d steal Dan for a conversation. She’d come back in, clean a little and then sit on the couch with my babies. She’d be here and that’s all I’d need, it’s all I want. Because I still needed her.

In a world of hurrying and impressing, self entitlement and disrespect – she wouldn’t care. She’d march to the beat of her own drum, laughing louder and shining even brighter. And she’d make me feel better for who I am. Because I’m just like her. And that’s my secret weapon in this game of life.

So, in this wild ride of Christmas time – be your most authentic self. It’s magnetic. It’s intangible. It’s the highest form of self respect.

Happy Holidays friends – go hug your mother for me 💜

Mountain Mama ⛰️

| retiredsequins

Nobody tells you motherhood is a mountain.

A mountain of laundry

A mountain of pride

A mountain of joy 

But one with no guide

A mountain of happy

A mountain of tears

A mountain of love 

And overwhelming fears

A mountain of surrender 

A mountain of making 

A mountain of exhaustion 

A mountain for taking

A mountain worth climbing

A mountain so steep

A mountain of memories 

A mountain to keep 

A mountain becoming

A mountain to move

A mountain to nurture 

So full of gratitude 

A mountain that stands proud 

Never shaken or stirred

A mountain enduring all of time

Full of kept secrets she’s heard

A mountain ever transforming

Becoming, just like the mother who climbs

A mountain so steady

A mother commits basically blind.

A mother who knows when to say sorry

A mother who keeps her kids like a diary

Year 9 🩷

| retiredsequins

I remember being young. Living in a house with my mom and dad, my brother, and then my sister. I could walk down the hallway and find someone to hang out with, a phone conversation to eves drop in on, someone to make me a snack, or someone to come outside to rate my handstands in the pool.  

Childhood memories feel like a fever dream as an adult. It seems like a time capsule that’s buried deep in a 90’s backyard that no longer belongs to me. But I’m connected to it in every way. I can’t understand how that time frame was in the same lifetime I’m currently living out. I was little and the world was so big. My mom was here, my parents were together, and my siblings were annoying but I also loved them too.

Today will forever sit in the heart of my deepest sadness. June 24th, 2016. My mom was called home to heaven. And my life with her is beginning to feel like that same fever dream. I wasn’t super anxious during the day the last few days, but night time’s been hard. I’ve learned to stop looking at Facebook memories during the month of June if I want a fighting chance of enjoying my days. But night time when the darkness settles in, and the house is quiet, and I can think of any and all the things I want, she comes to the forefront of my brain. The edges of my heart tingle, and produce a sadness that inches its way up into my throat, and the tears come rolling down. Hot tears, heavy anxiety, and not wanting to accept hugs from anyone I love as to not transfer any of my inside feelings onto them. But they hug me anyway, like the people who love you do. And the hugs breathe strength back into my bones, and my tears were recognized, and the heaviness is lifted. 

I went to a funeral earlier in the year. A friend’s mom passed away and I feel a personal responsibility to attend. Because when my mom died, the people that showed up for me made me realize that’s just what you do. It was there in that church, I realized I could still sit and cry about my mom for hours. And I did. When someone talks about their struggles or greatest sadness, I always think of my mom and I can always relate to their pain. A superpower I wish I didn’t have.

This year truly didn’t feel as bad as it usually does – approaching this day. Many people only remember the first year. But when you’re the owner of the grief, there is no forgetting. June will always be such a bittersweet month for me for so many reasons. So much has changed in 9 years, and so much goodness has been present in my journey. I wasn’t even feeling the need to write anything but then I realized, this is what got me through for so long. I owed it to myself to keep this date alive for the sake of my healing.

Grief has given me so much. It has helped me realize what’s worth fighting for. It has helped me understand how people tick. It’s made me really steep inside a moment, knowing it’s the recipe for a memory. It’s the reason I take so many pictures. It’s the reason I stay up late and do the things I don’t want to do. It’s the reason I try to live a healthy lifestyle. It’s the reason I buy the shoes. It’s the reason I love a good theme. It’s why I’ve kept traditions alive; and made new ones too. It’s the reason I don’t save a good outfit. It’s the reason I kiss and hug everyone as much as I can. It’s the reason I’m kind to people. It’s the reason I give people the benefit of the doubt. It’s also the reason I’m protective of my peace, the people I love, and their peace. It’s the most powerful and simple perspective I have. And I have the greatest pain to thank for all of this good.

So to my mom, on her 9th year an angel: thank you. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for always believing in me. My heart is broken and so full of gratitude because you were mine. Thank you for working so hard, staying up late; and for doing it tired, pregnant, and sick. Thank you for always showing me how to live out loud. I miss you dancing in the kitchen while cooking, and singing together. Thank you for instilling such confidence and love inside me. I miss you every day, my kids talk about you on a regular basis, and we live to honor you. I love you, and mama, I still needed you 🩷👑✨

Mother memories

| retiredsequins

Dan drove by my childhood home last night. As soon as we turned down the familiar streets leading up to the road that raised me, I instantly started to sob. A reaction I haven’t felt in quite awhile. “You’re really gonna drive past my mom’s house aren’t you?” • Yep! He said. He held me in our front hallway hours before and let me cry into his chest. He knew what he was doing.

She didn’t have a final resting place. We were too shocked and too hurt to think about all of that, I think. I don’t know how I feel about not being able to go and visit her at a headstone. But I felt the overwhelming weight of her absence, mixed with ability to have the space to cry over her again. While parked out front of the house she made a sacred space for me for so many years, I let the tears roll, and listened to my kids talk all about her from the backseats. They know her so well.

It’s overgrown, and unkempt, but there’s still little things about it that breathed into me. The brick everyone thought my mom was crazy for painting purple. My favorite tree that blossomed my favorite color – fuscia – every spring is still there, just bigger now. So tall it almost pointed like an arrow directly to the room I used to get to fill with my girlfriends every Friday and Saturday night. The room with the bed I sat on and broke up with my first boyfriend, she sat next to me crying too. The room I got ready for prom, and my 21st birthday in. The room we’d lay on the floor of, and read the inside of every new CD booklet, and learn every word. The room I packed up when I was 27 while I was mad at her, and moved out. The room that smelled like cool noxema after a hot summer night. She used to put it on my sunburn. She always had extra toothbrushes for my friends, and there was always fresh bagels in the morning with free entertainment inside her commentary about our behavior the night before. Her breath always smelled like coffee or mints, and her hair like a fresh cigarette or Dolce and Gabana’s light blue. There was no in between, and I loved it. I loved her. So much. And I love her still. 

This time of year is like a heavy punch to the heart. Hot tears that hurt to cry. Grief wrinkles I notice a little more, that I acquired from crying on a daily basis all those years ago. A reminder of empty cards, bought, but never filled out by her. Of hospital visits. Of scary conversations. Of hard hope. It’s bittersweet. I’m so thankful to have been able to steep in my own feelings. I remember my first therapy visit being told when I’m in my cave of emotions, it’s ok to not come out. Yesterday felt like the first year of missing her all over again. And I had no idea that was coming. That’s the tricky part. I know she’d want me to be happy, which Dan tried to remind me; but I think she’d want me to feel sad too. Because she was life personified. She was the most special person. She was the garden I walked through in hard times and happy ones. She was my rock, my stepping stone, and then God turned her into a rolling stone. So I sat. In my cave. A few times. Somehow her love still finds its way to me, and for that I’m anchored in gratitude, while her love ripples through my soul. 

Grief is an unpredictable tide. One that rises fast and consumes you. One that dissolves reason and remedy. And then it washes out into the ocean of healing, and before you know it, one foot goes in front of the other, and you’re okay again. 

To my mom, on Mother’s Day. I still needed you.

T h a n k  y o u.

I love you, forever; through all of Heaven and earth. I wish we were planning our outfits for a Saratoga brunch. Telling eachother how excited we are about the pressies we got one another. And I always wonder how you would cope with having to get used to being interrupted 178 times during one story by your grandbabies. Gaga. Glammy. Mama. You are so missed and loved by us 🩷 

Strawberry Shortcake

| retiredsequins

Calendar is creeping up on me and that feeling annoys me. It’s March 9th, which would have been my great aunt’s 100th birthday. Which means Tuesday will be my mom’s 9th birthday she’s spent with wings. The fact I have to double check now irks me in a way I can’t explain and makes me sad that it’s almost been 10 years. I didn’t really expect much but once I felt the overwhelming feeling of dread last Friday at my abdominal ultrasound appointment, it made sense. The overall fact that I’m aging, inching closer to the age where my mom left forever, is starting to set in. While it’s giving me a perspective I feel lucky to have, it comes with a very heavy cross I forget I still bear.

She would have turned 66 on Tuesday. It’s so wild to say that because honestly I  always told my mom she was prettier than Cindy Crawford because I genuinely thought so. I told her every night: “Goodnight God bless you, I love you, sweet dreams – you’re prettier than Cindy Crawford ma” She never seemed to age. Her chocolate brown hair, her beautiful olive skin, her squinty brown eyes, her long fingers with silver spoon rings and gold and diamonds on every finger. Her nails and toes always done. I don’t think she would have aged even if she was still here. She’d still be shopping like a maniac, making nail appointments for Veni and her, and dropping hints for what she was wanting for her birthday this year. I’d do anything to hit wits end, homegoods, persnickety’s, and the beauty supply store to get her the perfectly rounded and well thought out birthday spread. Trying to find something she didn’t already own or order. Allie reminded me last night of Persnickety’s and it was like another secret kept, only we know and only we remember. And it’s not the first time I’ve realized these little secrets have turned to treasures we get carry around and honor her with when we do in fact remember. And conversations turn to late night thoughts which turn to tears and then usually a blog for me to sort all these feelings out.

I don’t know if I’ll ever sort them out.

She’ll still turn 66 on Tuesday, March 11th – and I’ll still celebrate by having her favorite dessert. We’ll sing to her, and her grandbabies will blow out her candles and laugh and then look at me to see if I’m crying or not. Their precious little souls have grown up witnessing all the emotions of a mom without a mother. Some I wish I could have saved them from, but also understanding they were built to be the little precious treasures they are, made for a mama without her own. That realization still hurts my daughter heart.  

I’d do, almost anything. To see her. To be able to hug her. To call her for a very long overdue, full conversation. I’d cry and complain and we’d definitely laugh. We’d make a plan to hang out and for dinner or coffee or all the above. I’d do anything to have her nuzzle her face in my ear when she kissed me hello or goodbye. To yell at her for smoking a cig. I’d do anything to lay in bed next to her and watch Dr. Baden Medical examiner and tell her this is why she can’t sleep at night, while she lotioned her tan legs and perfect mom feet. I’d do anything to stop and get her a tea, and bring it to her kitchen table for a proper coffee talk. I’d do anything to be able to have her name show up in my schedule at work, and then yell at her when she was 20 minutes late. I’d do anything to pull up into her driveway and see her standing at the door. I’d do anything to watch Veni hold her face in her hands and kiss her the way Mav once did. I’d love to hear her commentary on how beautiful Ace is because he looks just like me, and how she has everything to do with that. I’d love for her to tell Mav how big and grown he’s getting and embarrass him with stories of their short but sweet memories only she holds the keys to. I’d do anything to ask her for advice. To tell her I just need her to listen and not fix. To ask her questions about her health history. To ask her the names of her friends whose kids we backed a car into the rock wall across the street from our house in Saugerties. To list her as an emergency contact, a safe person to pick up or chaperone my kids. To have her sit on the sidelines at all the kids sports and activities. To see her dance with Veni. To see her at Ace’s baseball games, to see her cry at Maverick’s first dance this spring. 

I could go on. And I probably will. March was known as Rita’s birthday month. It’ll always be known as that to me. March can feel so much like spring and so much like sorrow for me. All because I got to love her, and I get to love her still. I know she’s here in the way she can be, because I’ve seen 3:11, 1:43, and RC for the past week. I’ve heard her songs, and I’ve found and felt little things that only make sense because of her. A mother’s love.

So powerful it can transcend time, and all of heaven and earth. I hope that wherever she is, reading this, she knows that my babies know her and miss her. That she is loved and missed in every moment. That she’s the sole reason I can go on with an empty cup. That I can mother, wife, and wear all that hats I do. Because her love was so big, and she rooted for me so loud. She taught me what inner beauty is, and she knew when my sparkle was dull. She showed me what a strong woman was, and when to be soft.  When to lead and when to follow. How to speak my mind and how to live out loud. She taught me most of this when she was here; and in her wake I’m learning still.  Mama, I really would do almost anything to have the roads that lead to your house somehow transport me to another realm where I could sit with you, just for 10 minutes, I’d tell you how thankful I am for everything you did. All the magic you made. The photo albums, memories, birthday parties, sleepovers, vacations, presents, advice, tough love, karaoke Wednesdays, jersey shore trips, shopping sprees, Christmas and every holiday actually, and a thousand other things you created for me. But all I can say, is ~ happy birthday month mamacita. I still needed you 👑🤍✨

I won’t preach on how lucky you are if you can go and do all these things with your mom today, I hope you already know and do 🤍

Thank you 2024 ⭐️

| retiredsequins

Here we are. At the very end of 2024. Everyone is posting and planning and plotting for the next thing. Yet I find myself feeling a little sad about it. For the first time maybe ever, instead of nostalgic and excited, I’m feeling like time is really starting to fly. To think an entire year has passed. My first born turned 10. I turned 40, we celebrated every single birthday away from home; for the sake of experiences, and presence over presents. We renovated a camper and took it out on the open road more times than I can remember. What a blessing. I saw my best friend from college. It was amazing in every way, and I’m tearing up thinking about her, and her family and the laughs and tears we shared ♥️

We made memories in good weather and bad. We bonded as a family of 5. The kids grew taller, and funnier, smarter, cooler, stronger and somehow, more lovely. While sitting, and soaking up the moments together, I realized that wasn’t enough. I wanted to quite literally marinate in them by adding a song to a playlist, taking videos and pictures, holding their faces in my hands, and telling them I love them in an otherwise simple moment. I was missing the moment while I was still living in it. 

Summer was so beautiful, and the weather matched. We were gone almost every weekend on an adventure, or celebrating someone or something. It flew by and stood still. The greatest blend of excitement and monotony peppered itself into a life already brimming to the top with love. (Almost no simmering. IYKYK) 

Today, looking back on the year I truly can’t comprehend how a year ago I left my boys at the lake for a sleepover and drove a sleepy 4 year old home. Now she’s 5. How?! Dan and I shared deep conversations, hopes and fears, and Veni, oddly, woke up throughout the night. How was that a year ago? We discussed life and homeschool and moving and living and loving our way through. We made plans for the future, and talked about the past. We do a good job of finding our balance through bickering. Today, and probably then, too 🙂

Twenty twenty four. No lesson left unlearned. Yet I feel like I haven’t learned anything yet. Thank God. I’m not a crotchety old lady yet 😂 

This year I’ve protected myself, my family and my sacred space from people I once shared it with. I’ve stood up for my marriage to people who stood by my side on our wedding day. I’ve begged for forgiveness from people I vowed never to hurt. I’ve overshared. I’ve forgiven people who never apologized. I spoke up. I kept my mouth shut. I’ve spent too much money. I’ve wanted for things. I’ve ignored. I’ve tried one last time. I’ve matched energy, and that didn’t feel good, I’ve made amends. I’ve set boundaries. I’ve settled for peace inside, instead of creating the same old war. I’ve been told I don’t dress my age, act my age or look my age, and for all of those things – I’m thankful.

I’ve been told I’m strong and inspirational but out of 365 days, there were many where I woke up feeling like I’m not enough, like I could be doing more. Some days I prayed to be a better mom, wife, sister and person. Because of that, I say things I’m learning to believe, before my feet even hit the floor, every single morning. For that I’m thankful.

Because I still belly the fullness of grief, I practice gratitude on a regular basis. I can laugh in the morning, and sometimes cry by nightfall, and I’m so thankful for the duality and for the wisdom to know this is normal. 

I’ve learned to lean into old friends who have seen me long before I’ve ever recognized myself. They’re important. And special. And so sacred to me. I lean into new friends who link arms with me and walk together through the realness, happiness and heartaches of life.

I set goals and dreamed dreams for this last year, and I’ve truly achieved them all. That’s empowering and humbling all at once. That being said I have no idea what my goals are yet for 2025 except to go to church more. 

This year, I’ve happily danced with memories that once made me cry, and I have laughed in places that once broke my heart. I’ve learned how to better manage anxiety and stress, but also think it may be a continued work in progress. And that’s ok too. 

I’ve learned. I’ve tried really hard. I’ve endured. I’ve also been weak, and I’ve hated myself. With that, I’ve been working hard to become the change I wish to see in the world. I start every day within the walls of my home to be that light. Some days, I fall dark. (Also okay. We listen and don’t judge)

But every day this year, I have prayed. I have loved and felt love. I have been open to love. I have expressed thankfulness to God and the universe and to the people who love me for making me who I am. For giving me all I have. For knowing that I am abundant in the things money can’t buy. And that breaks my heart in a beautiful way some days. 

I’m grateful for all the pain, the beauty, and the kindness still existing in the world. Without all that, we’d feel nothing, and that’s not something I ever want to experience. I’m thankful for the health of my family and myself. I’m thankful for true friends. I’m thankful for old friendships and blossoming ones. I’m thankful for peace and the power of confidence and the vulnerability in love. 

May 2025 be the year you need. May it bring peace and many blessings. May it be surprising and steady. May it break your heart in beautiful ways, and balance you with peace. May you keep your eyes on Jesus. Remember to be slow to judge and quick to help. We can only meet someone as deeply as they’ve met themselves. We can only be our authentic and highest self and pray that the right experiences, people, and things find us in perfect timing.

Thank you 2024 for all of the memories. And 2025, thank you for being good to me and all the people I love 💗 I’ll be loving all my people without limits. Living life out loud to honor my mom. I’ll be kind, while taking no bullshit. And I’ll be manifesting more great things for myself and spending it with the people I adore so much ✨ To HEALTH, happy hearts, peace and LOVE. 2k25 🎊

Dear Mama ❄️🎄✨

| retiredsequins

I still remember the time surrounding her death. So many people prayed with me, prayed over her, and ignited my soul in a way that has kept me warm this entire time. Something that steeps in the most fragile corners of my mind, was someone who told me “you’re just like her; but with softer edges” a beautifully haunting phrase that has wrapped around my bones throughout the years. 

As Christmas season covers the world in a soft spoken prayer, I find myself missing her more. There’s still so much love that lives, yet still without a home. When she left she brought a mansion of unmade memories with her. And sometimes, here, without her, feels so empty. 

When I get sad, I find the urge for a quiet spot, to pour my heart into a calming pile of words. It feels like a wild stream of consciousness for a little bit until I find my rhythm, but tonight I knew just what I needed to say. I couldn’t wait to write a letter I wish I could’ve written when she was here with me, along with the beautiful pain of knowing everything I know now.

Dear mom, thank you for all the magic. Thank you for curating the blueprint for all of my most perfect memories. Thank you for guarding our innocence and feeding our childhood.  Thank you for silencing fears and negative thoughts. Thank you for putting me before yourself. Thank you for staying up late, and sometimes spending the last dollars you had set aside for yourself, on us. Thank you for thinking ahead, planning in advance, and having to create Christmas magic, tired, sick and sometimes while maybe even PMSing. That shit is hard. Ugh. The most superficial, may be the one that thanks you for the living room that literally overflowed into the hallways with presents. Another thank you whispers every time I make meatballs, vodka sauce, or the occasional (perfect) crispy but fluffy pancake. It was always magic, it was always you, and the way you taught me so much simply by doing good things and being present in love and life is why it worked. But I know it was hard. I know it was hard because I’m living it now, and somehow, for almost 9 years, I’ve done it without you. 

Thank you.

For teaching me how to set a proper table, and also how to set boundaries. How to forgive with grace, and how to never forget. How to cook with love, and that saying no with love, is an art to master. How to break bread with all kinds of people and also how to break in a new pair of cowboy boots, heels, and a solid leather jacket. 

Thank you.

For all the ways you loved me, and made me feel so seen and special. For the ways you built me up, and even for the ways you knocked me down. Thank you for teaching me how to pray and for praying for me, I know those prayers protect me still. Thank you for showing me how to live out loud, to never let anyone dull my sparkle, and to know the difference of digging my heels in to grow roots, or using my wings to fly. I’ve used all you’ve taught me and more. I learned to speak my mind, and wear my heart on my sleeve. I’m still trying to learn how to stop wearing my heart on my face though (iykyk). I learned when to soften my heart to hard situations, and when to let my thick skin do its thing. I’ve forgiven people and let people see themselves out, I learned the sacred skill of teaching people how I want to be treated. I’ve learned the precious balance of power and peace within.  

All because of you. ♥️

There’s so many times I’ve thought of you this season. Like when my friend brought me roses that instantly reminded me of you, but even more when I knew to cut them on an angle, under running water, for freshness and longevity. I think of you every time I shop, because I long for a Christmas with you again that I know will never come. I think of you every time I drink tea, and would do quite possibly anything, to drink one with you. I think of you in every laugh, every tear, every ornament hung on the tree. I think of you when the sunlight dazzles through the bare winter trees. I think of you when the snow quiets the sounds of the busy world. I think of you when I wrap presents, curl ribbon, and think of the best presents for the people I love. I think of the way you’d guess your present before you opened it, and always being annoyingly right. I think of you when I’m dog tired after a long day at work, and still come home to be super mom. You were the OG of super moms.

I learned it all from you. And thank you doesn’t feel adequate, especially when it’s coming years after you’re gone. But it’s important for me to honor you, on your 9th year an angel, at Christmas. You’ve taught me how to be strong and that it’s ok to be weak. You’ve taught me how to appreciate the most delicate details, knowing that’s where the difference between mediocre and magnificent lies. You’ve taught me to cherish the nuances of simplicity. The impact of unique experiences and quality time. The lessons that are found in every day living. All of this and everything more. There is nothing that seems insignificant in your absence. Everything is important because the lessons and treasures you left behind. Somehow, I’m still learning every day. And I have you, in life and in death, to thank for all of this. 

I almost forgot 🥹🥹🥹 My kids; your grand babies, they know exactly who you are, and I hope it melts you when you hear the way they speak about you. They know your favorite song, and what you’d order at Cracker Barrel (meatloaf 😂😞). It kills me to hear Veni say she misses you. For Mav to recall the way your house smelled and how spoiled your dogs were. And for Ace to question his own reality of remembering you or not. But you and I know he knows you, and he just might have been your favorite. They ask you to send them butterflies, refer to lady bugs as Gaga, beg for you to send them bucks in the woods, and credit you and St. Anthony when they’ve found something lost. You’re woven into the stories I tell, the meals we make together, the features of their faces, their mannerisms, their humor. You’re in every corner of their little personalities, and your spirit lives on inside them. They love you so much ✨

So that’s it. My poured out on the floor, broken little Christmas heart. I feel sad that I still miss you this much. So. Merry Christmas to my mama. Heaven is so lucky to see this season through your soul. And I know you know, but – I love you forever 🤍 I still needed you 👑

south in my back pocket 💜

| retiredsequins

I was on the third level of my grandmas house playing in the attic that my uncles renovated. You could see the NYC skyline from the top of her house, which is where I was about to go perch myself, when I was woken up by the pain in my stomach. The in between details don’t matter much, but I worked all day with the stomach ache before driving myself to urgent care and then was diagnosed with appendicitis and needed emergency surgery. You could imagine the thoughts. 💭 did I kiss my kids before I left? Will I have to stay the night? Do I smell? How much will this cost? Will I miss work? How did this happen?

Typical woman. I cried for 10 different reasons when they said I’d need surgery and that day. I also just got my period that morning, and every single health care person that had to ask me when my last period started and I told them “oh today” they all shared their sympathy with me. 

Surgery went swimmingly and I really must say I had a calm wash over me when I did hear the diagnosis because I know how bad it could have been. I also know there are many people, in my life even, that have dealt with and are dealing with, WAY scarier things. But this thing was pretty big and it rocked little parts of my world. But what it didn’t rock was the steadfast commitment my friends and family have in situations like this. My kids were immediately thought of, and nana was the first to arrive. By evening, the kids were fed, warm, safe and snuggled in with some of their favorite people. An impromptu, emergency sleepover serving as a special treat. 

I know that what I just went through isn’t a big deal. But for someone who’s withstood many traumas, I can’t help but feel extremely grateful for being on the receiving end of goodness that just shows up. To sit with me and pray. Ask the hard questions. Ask all the questions. Clean my phone when I drop it in the hospital floor and can’t bend over. Update my work family and add me to a group text that immediately makes me laugh. To be on the receiving end of my sister in law showing up in her bright pink lipstick with the intention to take my jewelry off, my clothes, pack them neatly in a bag, and help slip socks onto my feet. To be there for me while I waited for Dan to come back in the midst of a very chaotic work day for him. Only for her to come again the next day to my house, with oversized pajamas, a cozy blanket, my favorite seltzers and healthy snacks. Then to have all the messages and phone calls and hugs sent through my babies from my friends and family. Another earth angel walking through my back door, loving on my mouthy dog who she somehow tamed into not even bark at her, filled my fridge with my favorite hamburgers, cake, and goodies for my kids.   At the same time, I had two angel people walk in my house to spoil 😭me?😭 I can’t even find the words to fill the void I have to explain what it all means to someone like me. The flowers, food and everything else good continued through my front door today and my heart has been filled to the brim.

You guys know that for 6 years, we’ve been praying for God to guide us on whether or not we should pick up everything and move. But how do you pick up people that pick you up? You can’t. This was our do or die year. Kids are getting old enough where their opinions and mental health *really* matter. This would have been the year to do it. The year to bet it all on the south and go. For our kids, for their education, for a better, warmer life. For six years we’ve had one foot planted in our New York/homeschool life, one foot planted in the fantasy of leaving everything we know, plucking our kids out of their favorite neighborhood, away from their best friends and cousins, and homeschool community for MAYBE a better life? Said who? Me as the stressed out mom? Dan as the stressed out dad? Aren’t most parents stressed? My opinion is yes. We’re in that season. 

The hurricane that hit definitely shook up some of our plans to head south next month. And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t shake our souls too. Like, we aren’t built for that? We don’t know what that level of destruction and devastation would do to us as a transplant family. Then this happened to me over the weekend. Truth be told, in August, we put down the conversation of moving south to better focus on our life and goals here. We put down the move, internally so to speak, to focus on life out loud. Does that make sense? Or am I rambling? Many nights we’ve put the kids to bed, and then sat on the couch with a glass of wine and dove DEEP into the hardest parts of the conversation. 

We had never chose to homeschool, we were forced into it. Those of you who know us well, know we used to believe in vaccinating our kids and  now we don’t. We have history on both sides that led us to the decision to stop. My mother’s medical complications and Dan’s history with epilepsy were two prime factors, coupled with the advice of a respected pediatrician who showed us the other side of the information in a very genuine way, and worth noting is, we weren’t looking for the info, it found us. 

I could talk for hundreds of hours on our journey to becoming former vaxxers, and invite anyone who would like to sit and talk with me about it, to do so. With all that to say, I don’t judge anyone for the way they raise their kids, I know as mothers and fathers we come from a place of love in decision making, and I respect your right to make informed choices, and ask for that same respect in mine. With that, we can always have a progressive conversation about ANYTHING. But this wasn’t my point here – though it is a very prominent ongoing topic of talk in my world 🙂

My point in writing this was to say, you can’t pick people up and move them with you. Try as we may, we can’t pick up our village in NY and bring them to the beach so we can send our kids to school. Trust me, we’ve tried 🤣 This last weekend was another answer to our prayers. Moms and dads, aunts and uncles, neighbors and friends, cousins and kids in the neighborhood all helped us out. The things we weren’t even thinking about were covered for us without having to ask. And if you know Dan and I, we’re cut from the same cloth in that we hate asking for help, we hate showing weakness, and we love with all we have. The people who have picked us up when we’ve been knocked down never had to hear us say “we need help” they just came in and helped. And that’s the stuff that money can’t buy. Thats the stuff, that though it can be imitated, it truly couldn’t be duplicated. That’s what faith is all about. That’s what down home, salt of the earth type people feel like. 

With the risk of sounding dramatic, this little roadblock was so much more to us. A small emergency surgery sent ripples throughout our little community. Our little village. And the ripples have returned to us. As love. As community. As an answer to a 6 year prayer. 

Today my kids all sleep til after 9, a gift to them after a weekend full of family, fresh air and probably a little fear in their hearts for their mama. A gift that homeschool gave them. A gift that will echo into their adulthood. No rushing, no waking up for school after a wild weekend. No worrying this morning who would be there for them. Because mom and dad were home. The house was warm. The blankets were snuggly. And we could do school from the couch today. When people ask me what it’s like to homeschool, it’s hard to answer because I don’t know any different. It’s an extension of motherhood for me. It’s an extension of the purpose I have here on this earth. It’s become a central part of how I choose friends, how I view myself and my family, and how I operate through life. Homeschool has been a blessing for my kids and for us as a family to find community in so many ways. I’m thankful just to be on this journey. Tomorrow, nobody knows what it holds or what promises and blessings it will bring. But for today I’m thankful to be here. I’m just so grateful to be here.

Thank you Jesus for blessing me in ways I don’t deserve, and for keeping my family safe and healthy, and most importantly, loved ♥️