A Bowl of Spaghetti

 I'm still licking my wounds from my time in childcare management. Honestly, the daily dose of stress-fueled nonsense had become completely unbearable.

Surviving a shift didn't just feel like one thing going wrong; it felt like trying to cuddle a very affectionate porcupine. I told Dennis that running a daycare is exactly like staring at a giant bowl of spaghetti. Every single noodle represents a crucial task, and they are all hopelessly tangled together in a slippery, complicated mess.

For 16 straight months, it was an absolute avalanche. Between accreditation paperwork, DHS drop-ins, QRIS evaluations, food audits, parents treating tuition like a suggestion, staff quitting out of the blue, my own surgery, and the grueling due diligence of finally selling the place, I had nothing left to give. I was essentially a professional firefighter, putting out daily infernos while DHS kept trying to shut off the water.

I simply couldn't survive in that environment anymore. The sheer weight that has been lifted off my shoulders since I left is indescribable. You couldn't pay me enough to ever go back to a management gig where my primary job description is endless people-pleasing and kissing up.

I’ve been officially retired for exactly one week, and I’ve already landed in Facebook jail for three days because I finally stopped censoring my mouth!

Aaahhhh No Bells are ringing!

Every since I officially clocked out for the last time, my internal calendar has completely short-circuited. No annoying alarm clock waking me up for a routine day. A Monday morning feels exactly the same as a lazy Saturday afternoon, mostly because my most pressing deadline now is deciding when to pour my second cup of coffee. I will genuinely wake up, look out the window, and have absolutely no clue if it is a Tuesday or a Friday—and honestly, it is the most liberating feeling in the world. Losing track of the week used to mean I could meet a deadline, but these days, the only real deadline, after I pour that cup of coffee is what sounds good for lunch.

I’m stronger than I thought!

So I’ve started lifting weights… nothing wild, just what’s “recommended for my age.” Supposedly it keeps my muscles from quietly clocking out and filing for unemployment. We’ll see.

I actually like it, which feels a little suspicious. I’ve added a few other exercises too, so now I look like someone who has a plan, even if it looks super uncoordinated, it is all done with good intentions.

I’m on week two and still using the same weights. Honestly, it feels like I’m taking a prerequisite class… just making sure I’m strong enough before I enroll in the real deal. 😄

For now, I lift… carefully, consistently, and with just enough confidence to avoid injuring anything important. Progress is progress.

We are Free....

When you own a business, there’s a version of you that people come to know. She is polished, patient, and steady. She smiles through difficult conversations, chooses her words carefully, and stays composed no matter how others behave.

And she is me. But she is not all of me.

She is the version I needed to be to protect what I built—my staff, my families, my reputation. She holds her tongue on certain topics, keeps her opinions to herself, and responds instead of reacting. Not because she doesn’t have feelings, but because she does.

There is another side of me too. The one with stronger opinions, quicker reactions, and deeper emotions. The one who doesn’t always say things with a smile.

Both are real.

One built the life, and the other gets to live it. And for the first time in a long time, they are finally allowed to be the same person.

Keep Going Anyway

Teenage me was afraid of not being enough.

Not good enough. Not smart enough. Not pretty enough.

It wasn’t loud back then. It didn’t need to be.
It was just always… there. Quiet, steady, convincing. It showed up in comparison. In second-guessing. In wondering if I measured up in rooms I hadn’t even walked into yet. And the thing about that kind of fear is… it doesn’t ask for proof. It just settles in and waits for you to believe it.

I didn’t wake up one day and suddenly feel confident, and I didn’t magically outgrow it. What I did was... I moved forward anyway. I worked. I set goals. I showed up. Even on the days I questioned myself. Even on the days that voice was louder than anything else. Over time, that “not enough” girl didn’t disappear… she just got busy building a life.

I became a wife and a mother. I raised children, showing up day after day for the people who mattered most. I built a career.  A reputation, and three separate businesses over 34 years. I was ambitious, determined, a hard worker. Not because I always felt confident,  but because I kept going anyway.

Over time, something interesting happened. I stopped trying to feel like enough… and started building a life that reflected it. Not perfectly. Not without doubt. But staying on course, in one place consistently and creating a life. When you spend years showing up like that, your life starts to speak louder than your fears ever did.

Now, looking back, I can see her clearly … that teenage girl who was so unsure. And I don’t judge her. She didn’t know yet. She didn’t know what she would build. She didn’t know how strong she actually was. She didn’t know she would spend a lifetime quietly proving those fears wrong.

Teenage me was afraid of not being enough… not good enough, not smart enough, not pretty enough.

Adult me? I did it anyway. I was more than enough all along!