Are you living out someone else’s script of love — or writing your own?

On Saints, Sacrifice, and a Poet Who Might Have Started All This.

Every year around this time, everything turns pink.

Suddenly we are all supposed to feel something specific. Romantic. Hopeful. Coupled. Desired. Or at least convincingly unbothered.

And yet, when you look at the origins of Valentine’s Day, it’s… strange.

Before roses and heart-shaped boxes of chocolate that somehow all taste the same, mid-February in ancient Rome meant Lupercalia — a fertility festival involving ritual sacrifice and pairing by lottery. Not exactly soft lighting and handwritten notes. It was physical. Earthy. A little chaotic.

Then Christianity layered itself on top of it. Several Saint Valentines, possibly more than one martyr. Stories blurred. Legends stitched. A priest defying an emperor. A letter signed “from your Valentine.”

It’s hard to separate fact from folklore.

Which feels oddly appropriate.

And then, unexpectedly, comes poetry.

In the 14th century, Geoffrey Chaucer wrote “Parlement of Foules.” In it, birds gather on Saint Valentine’s Day to choose their mates. Whether he meant February 14th specifically is debated. But something shifted there.

Love became literary.

It became courtly. Intentional. Romanticized.

We sometimes act like Valentine’s Day is timeless and sacred, but it’s actually layered — pagan ritual, Christian martyrdom, medieval imagination, Victorian sentimentality, and modern marketing all stitched together.

A patchwork.

And maybe that’s the point.

Love itself is layered. Rarely pure. Rarely simple. Often inherited in forms we didn’t consciously choose.

We grow up absorbing ideas about romance from poems, holidays, movies, expectations. We participate in rituals we didn’t invent. We measure ourselves against traditions that were, in many ways, improvised.

It’s a little ironic.

A holiday rooted in sacrifice and myth now asking us to perform perfection.

And yet.

Somewhere inside all of it, something real still exists.

Two people choosing each other.

Or one person choosing themselves.

To “dare to mend” on Valentine’s Day is not to reject it entirely. It’s to see it clearly. To acknowledge the absurdity without becoming cynical. To recognize that love has always been complicated, layered, human.

Chaucer imagined birds gathering under divine order to find their mate.

Today, we scroll.

Different medium. Same longing.

The question hasn’t changed much over the centuries:

Who am I choosing?

Why am I choosing them?

Am I choosing from fear, pressure, tradition — or from wholeness?

Maybe this is the quieter work of February 14th.

Not the performance.

The reflection.

Not the urgency.

The discernment.

Not the need to prove love exists.

But the willingness to define it intentionally.

Valentine’s Day was never as simple as the cards suggest. And neither are we.

So perhaps the most honest way to honor it is not with grand gestures — but with clarity.

To mend what has been broken.

To unlearn what was inherited without question.

To choose love — if and when we do — with open eyes.

That feels braver to me than roses.

That feels like progress.

That feels like daring.

Progress Over Pressure: Gratitude in My Weight Loss Journey

I want to pause and express gratitude.

I’ve been struggling a bit lately with additional weight loss, and my appetite seems to be creeping back in the wrong direction. But instead of panicking, I’m choosing to take this one day at a time. When my body is ready, I trust the process will find its rhythm again.

So often, we rush ourselves and place unnecessary pressure on our bodies to lose weight quickly—fast, steady, now. 🙋‍♀️

But sometimes our bodies are saying, slow down… take it easy.

And that’s okay.

It’s important to savor how far we’ve already come. I can do so much more than I could before. Even though I still have pain and some limitations, I am miles ahead of where I was last year—and the year before that.

So thank you, body, for holding me together the best you could.

Thank you for continuing to heal.

Thank you, heart, for offering me grace.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Nighttime Ritual: A Poem

A candle holds the day in amber light,

its small flame breathing slow and kind.

Piano notes fall gently—Mozart-soft—

meeting the steady murmur of running water,

and time loosens just enough

for the body to exhale.

The wick has done its work.

What ailed me rests, at least for now.

I extinguish the flame without regret,

letting darkness arrive as a friend.

With hope, with prayer,

I place tomorrow carefully ahead of me—

asking for blessing,

for protection,

and for a day free from added strain,

from sharp edges,

from unnecessary pain.

The Tools That Helped Me Mend

(Not Fix, Not Cure — Mend)

For a long time, I believed healing was supposed to arrive all at once. A realization. A turning point. A clean break between who I had been and who I was meant to become.

What actually happened looked nothing like that.

What happened was mending — slow, uneven, often invisible. What helped weren’t revelations so much as tools. Tools that didn’t demand I reinvent myself, only that I stay present long enough to stitch what had frayed.

Over time, four influences began to shape how I live inside my own mind and body: SMART Recovery, cognitive behavioral tools, Carol Dweck’s growth mindset, and Jon Kabat-Zinn’s mindfulness. I didn’t adopt them as an identity. I absorbed them gradually, through use, resistance, forgetting, and return.

They didn’t change who I was.

They helped me work with what was already there.

SMART Recovery: Learning I Had Choices, Even When It Didn’t Feel Like It

SMART Recovery — Self-Management and Recovery Training — is grounded in science and psychology rather than labels or lifelong declarations. At its core is a quiet but radical idea: you have agency, even when things feel out of control.

The tools are practical — cost–benefit analysis, urge surfing, the ABC model — but what mattered to me was the tone. No one told me what I was. No one insisted I define myself by a single struggle. The focus was on how thoughts influence feelings, and how feelings influence behavior.

At first, using these tools felt awkward and overly structured. Writing things down didn’t magically stop impulses or emotional waves. But over time, something shifted. I stopped reacting automatically. I learned how to pause — just long enough to notice what was happening before I acted.

That pause didn’t solve everything.

But it gave me room to choose.

Cognitive Behavioral Tools: Separating What I Thought From What Was True

Cognitive behavioral tools taught me to examine my inner dialogue instead of obeying it.

The basic premise is simple: thoughts, emotions, and behaviors are connected — and changing one affects the others. What wasn’t simple was realizing how often my thoughts sounded authoritative when they were actually distorted.

I began noticing patterns: all-or-nothing thinking, catastrophizing, assuming intent where there was none. For years, these thoughts had passed as facts. CBT tools helped me slow them down and look at them directly.

Over time, my thoughts stopped feeling like commands and started feeling like information — sometimes useful, sometimes not. That distinction mattered. It softened my responses. It lowered the volume of shame.

I didn’t stop having hard thoughts.

I stopped letting them run the room.

Carol Dweck’s Growth Mindset: Releasing the Idea That Struggle Meant Failure

Carol Dweck’s work on fixed versus growth mindset reframed something I hadn’t questioned before: the belief that difficulty meant deficiency.

A fixed mindset says, “This is just how I am.”

A growth mindset says, “This is something I’m still learning.”

That shift didn’t make life easier — it made it more honest.

Through this lens, setbacks became information instead of indictments. I stopped treating mistakes as proof that I was broken and started seeing them as part of the process of learning how to live differently.

Growth mindset didn’t push me to be optimistic or relentless. It allowed me to be unfinished without being defeated.

Jon Kabat-Zinn and Mindfulness: Staying With What Is

Jon Kabat-Zinn’s teachings on mindfulness introduced me to a different kind of repair — one that didn’t involve changing anything at all.

Mindfulness, as he teaches it, is about paying attention on purpose, in the present moment, without judgment. Not fixing. Not suppressing. Not escaping.

At first, this felt counterintuitive and uncomfortable. Sitting with discomfort went against everything I’d learned about coping. But slowly, mindfulness showed me that I didn’t have to outrun my thoughts or emotions. I could observe them. Breathe with them. Let them pass without attaching a story or a verdict.

Mindfulness didn’t remove pain.

It removed the urgency to make pain disappear.

How These Became Part of Me

None of these approaches arrived fully formed or stayed consistently practiced. I forgot them. Resisted them. Returned to them. Over and over.

SMART gave me choice.

CBT gave me clarity.

Growth mindset gave me patience.

Mindfulness gave me presence.

Together, they didn’t create a new version of me. They helped me mend the relationship I had with myself — stitch by stitch, with long pauses in between.

Hope didn’t arrive as a feeling.

It arrived as a practice.

And over time, that practice began to hold.

A Gentle Invitation

If you’re reading this and feeling behind, overwhelmed, or unsure where to begin — you’re not doing it wrong.

You don’t need every tool.

You don’t need to be consistent yet.

You don’t need to be ready.

Sometimes mending starts by holding one loose thread and deciding not to pull away.

That’s enough for today.

It’s Nuts! My Career Change at This Stage

Feeling Like You’re Starting Over

Switching careers at this stage feels a lot like trying to crack a nut with a spoon. Exciting? Sure. Overwhelming? Absolutely. Some days I feel like I’m moving forward; other days, it’s enough just to show up.

 

The Challenge Is Real

Making a career change later in life—or after a long break—comes with its own hurdles. Fear of the wrong move, learning new skills, and keeping pace with younger professionals can be exhausting. And yet, here I am, trying anyway.

 

Steps I’m Taking

I don’t have it all figured out, but these steps are helping me gain traction:

  • Researching roles and industries that fit my strengths. I’m mapping where my skills meet opportunities, even if it takes time to find the right fit.
  • Updating my resume and online presence. Tiny tweaks each week make a difference and help me feel more confident.
  • Reaching out to mentors and contacts. Honest conversations bring clarity, encouragement, and sometimes a new perspective.
  • Focusing on technical training. I’m building skills for remote roles—learning tools, software, and processes that will make me competitive.
  • Starting small while seeking the right remote job. Temporary work, contract gigs, or volunteer projects keep momentum going and help me test interests without the pressure of perfection.

 

Lessons I’m Learning

Progress isn’t a straight line. Some days feel like tiny victories; other days, survival itself counts. Balancing training, job searching, and life feels messy—but each step forward, no matter how small, is proof that change is possible. Success isn’t speed—it’s persistence, curiosity, and the courage to keep trying.

 

You’re Not Alone

If you’re navigating a career change at this stage, know you’re not alone. Every small action—taking a course, sending an email, exploring a new path—adds up. Even when progress feels slow or uncertain, each step moves you closer to a role that fits your skills, life, and future. Eventually, the nut does crack.

 

Dear Resilient Reader,

What’s one small step you’ve taken recently toward a new path, skill, or goal? I’d love to hear about it in the comments—or feel free to just reflect silently. Every effort matters.

One of Those Days

Today felt off.

After a few genuinely productive days in a row, I woke up irritable, unsettled, and uncomfortable in my own skin. The weather can’t seem to decide what it’s doing—hot, then cold, then hot again—and my allergies are clearly taking that as a personal invitation to act up. My body noticed before my mind did.

Life has a way of doing that. Just when things feel like they’re smoothing out, it throws a few quiet twists and turns. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to remind you that control is mostly an illusion.

At some point today, I resigned myself to a simple truth: this just isn’t a good day.

I once heard Mel Robbins talk about the “rule of thirds.” A third of the day goes well. A third is neutral. And a third is… less desirable. Despite good intentions, decent habits, and real effort to “be well,” my physical and emotional state landed squarely in that last third today.

And that’s frustrating—especially when you’re doing all the “right” things.

Still, the day wasn’t a total loss. I got most of my basic chores done. I crossed one or two things off my to-do list. The world didn’t end. Nothing caught fire. Progress just showed up quietly instead of triumphantly.

The biggest win came late in the day, when I finally stopped arguing with myself.

I told myself it’s okay.

It’s okay to feel unpleasant feelings without fixing them. It’s okay to sit with discomfort instead of trying to out-think or out-work it. Whatever moment this is—it will pass. They always do.

So tonight, the plan is simple: refocus, reset, repeat.

And wipe itchy watering eyes and sneeze.
Because apparently that’s part of it too.

Michelle

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