Tag: health

BRAIN DUMP

Sometimes I get writer’s block. Distracted and stuck on Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok. Experts say you get a dopamine hit from being on social media, and that is why they also say it is addictive. But when I am on social media, I most often feel it pulling me down instead of lifting me.

That is, until someone leaves a comment:

“Good one.”

“This.”

“Thanks, I needed that.”

Evidence that my post stood out to someone. And then I feel it; there it is, the dopamine “feel good” feeling I was searching for.

Why do I write? Why do I do anything? What can I do to get a dopamine boost without the weight of “doom scrolling”

Drinking is unhealthy, Facebook is harmful. Most of it is fake, and the drama is relenting. Too many people use it to vent.

Then there are the needy. Those who can’t think for themselves are always asking what to do. For Christ’s sake, Google it or use ChatGPT! You’ll get a better, safer response. There will be no one there to say anything that could potentially hurt your feelings or judge you.

Perhaps that is why some people, like my husband and me, are drawn to AI. There’s no real risk beyond entrusting your life to a bot.  AI is intelligent; it draws from all the wisdom across the internet. But does it then give you a blended meshed version instead of the actual best version? Or is it mixing the bad answers with the good answers and giving you the mediocre? The average? I wonder.

I wonder why doctors are against AI. Is it because it challenges their thinking? Like one of my doctors, who is against genetic testing. But yet he will sit there and tell me that my high cholesterol is genetic. How funny. Too often, they think that it’s a one-size-fits-all.

But not all doctors. I don’t believe my current doctor is a one-size-fits-all kind of practitioner. He’s good at reducing medication when possible, primarily when a healthy diet supports it.

Sometimes people’s eating habits necessitate medication, such as my high cholesterol. I was eating vegan, and it did not improve. So Paleo and keto, and it still did not change. The only thing I haven’t done is add more grains due to insulin resistance or glucose spikes.

Surely there is a way to add grains without the spike. I believe they are healthy, and our bodies need them to function correctly. Not necessarily rice, but oats, etc.

Then there is the question of whether it is the way we were designed to eat, but if you genuinely want to get back to our design. How far do we go, and where do we go? Do we go to Adam and Eve, or do we go to our hunter-gatherer ice age?

What is the truth? Just as people have evolved and adapted, I think that applies to our eating habits too, as the food chain has changed. So have we; we have adapted. We have evolved.

So, what is the right way to eat? Is it a one-size-fits-all? I don’t think so. I believe it varies from person to person and is based on their lifestyle. So perhaps a sedentary person needs less protein than the bodybuilder. And the runner needs more carbs than the office manager who dreams of yoga flexibility.

This is your classic morning brain dump. I hope you enjoyed a ride in my mind.

Peace, love, and still trying to figure out my write way.

Fa-La-La-Laaaaaaa

Fa-La-La-Laaaaaaa

Saturday morning, I awoke with the innocent idea of a bath. A little peace, little self-care. With just a few drops of lavender oil for calm and a touch of peppermint to invigorate the senses. Just a drop or two.

I should have known the moment I saw the crooked cap on the peppermint oil that fate had other plans. I bent down, meaning only to twist it shut, but the bottle leapt from my fingers like it had a will of its own. It hit the edge of the tub, ricocheted onto the trash can, and finally exploded onto the floor in a minty massacre. Over half the bottle spilled, its contents cascading across the tub, the floor, the trash, and into the steaming bathwater too.

Quickly, I grabbed a washcloth and wiped where I could, not grasping the full extent of the invasion. The scent was intense, but pleasant. Clean and energizing. I mistook it for a good omen.

Then, I stepped in.

The moment I slid my body into the water, my lady bits were met with an icy fire I can only describe as what I imagine happens when frostbite and cayenne pepper make love and have a menthol demon baby.

A blinding, searing chill set my nerves alight. My body seized, my breath caught, and I launched out of the tub like it had turned to lava. In a frenzy, I pulled the drain and stumbled into the shower, fumbling with the knobs like I was defusing a bomb. For minutes that felt like hours, I stood under the water rinsing my stinging, peppermint-soaked body, praying it would end.

The tingling and burning betrayed me. Every inch of my skin pulsed with arctic intensity. My toes were numb. My nether regions felt violated by peppermint’s cruel embrace. She ached with an almost comical vengeance.

The bathroom had become a cathedral of menthol. The scent, powerful and unrelenting, spread like incense across the house. Every room minty. Every towel minty. Every breath like freshly chewed gum, minty. I smelled like a candy cane, an echo of that peppermint curse clinging to the air. The house remained a shrine to my overzealous self-care.

Lesson learned: essential oils may be “natural,” but they are not gentle. Especially not peppermint. Peppermint is not your friend. Peppermint waits for a moment of prideful peace, then it strikes. Use it wisely and use it sparingly. And never assume the cap is on tight.

Before the World Awakes

Before the World Awakes

Even the most ordinary mornings are full of movement, memory, and quiet decisions.
Maybe we don’t need big moments to feel present—just enough space to notice the small ones.

I turned over in bed, wondering how long I’d been in that same position. My arm had fallen asleep, and my chest felt crunched. I took a deep breath, thinking about checking the clock, but I also wanted to roll back over. I usually toss and turn all night, but this time, I didn’t. Must be the progesterone doing its job.

I adjusted my pillows — only to realize one was missing. I patted around until I found it above my head. Did I slide down during the night? Did I fall asleep on my husband again? That usually throws off the pillow setup. I sat up, got the pillow back under my head… and then, of course, my alarm started to vibrate, lighting up the room.

Oh no — it’s going to wake him. I never let the alarm go off. I’m usually up before it. I tapped the dismiss button on my watch and sat on the edge of the bed, brushing hair out of my face — except it was stuck. Strands crisscrossed my mouth, nose, and eyes. What in the world? Did I drool? Then I remembered — my detox box sent me that nighttime serum that makes my face sticky. That explains it.

I grabbed my phone, picked up my clothes from the floor — we both agreed sleeping naked is non-negotiable — and tiptoed to the bathroom. I used my phone light to close the door slowly. The bathroom light stays off — his eyelids are basically transparent. He’s a night owl. I’m a morning person. Our compromise is to be in bed by 9–10, and I’m up between 3 and 4. He “sleeps in” until 6:30.

I turned on the closet light instead — it’s in the bathroom, which I always thought was a weird design choice, but it works and is quite convenient. I sat on the toilet, like usual, giving my body time to eliminate any bad decisions from dinner. Then I changed into yoga pants, a sports bra, and one of my many sweatshirts. I always tell myself I need to buy another one—I wear them year-round.

Then came the stealth mission: turn off lights, tiptoe across the tile (hoping my ankles don’t click), and open the bedroom door without setting off the vacuum-force door slam. The cat meowed her usual greeting — so I didn’t wake him, but I did wake her. Last obstacle: close the door behind me with just the right amount of pressure to keep the vacuum from yanking it.

Once it clicked into place, I exhaled. I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath.

The kitchen was dark. I turned on the light and went through the usual motions:
Tea pod out. Decaf in. Brew on espresso.
Creamer in the frother. Start.
Swap in a chicory pod. 10oz of bold flavor.
Yeti from the dishwasher. Cream, coffee, done.
Spring water in a glass. Cat fed.

And now I’m downstairs, writing this, wondering…

  • Is it out of respect for his sleep… or is there something comforting in the ritual of moving unnoticed?
  • Is it desire for peace, control, or maybe even to feel needed in the stillness?
  • Why do small creatures always seem to keep us on schedule better than alarms?
  • Does waking early give me a head start… or just a moment to exist without anyone else’s noise?
  • And what am I really trying to let go of — each morning, sitting there in silence, waiting?

If Only…

If Only…

October 18, 2025

If only I weren’t sick with COVID right now, maybe I would feel more inspired or have the energy to put my thoughts on paper. But as fate would have it, I have little thoughts other than those directed towards health and healing.

I was reminded yesterday about a saying I heard or read. It said, “The problem with pain is that it demands to be felt.” The same goes for us. Pain, whether emotional or physical, has an insistent need to be felt.

Am I currently in pain? No, but something definitely feels “off” in my body, and thankfully, I know why. But what about the times when we don’t know why? When I’ve gone to the doctor and they’ve run test after test, only to come up with the same answer: nothing.

What about that feeling that still asks to be felt? I don’t know if I would call it a feeling exactly, but our body is definitely trying to get our attention. It says, Hey, look at me. Something is wrong. Keep looking. Keep searching. So we do, hoping to find a solution.

Often, the pain or problem felt within the body can be linked to something emotional. Something we haven’t fully processed. I know that’s the case with me. I have things, and traumas, and past experiences that I haven’t completely processed, and my body has demanded that I slow down and do that.

If only I listened to it more often. If only I listened to my body, would I then be more in tune with it? In tune with why it’s feeling the things it is feeling?

If only I could type without looking at the keyboard and stop overthinking it. Just as my body asks me to listen, maybe my creativity does too. If only I could just let the fingers move as the spirit led me to type the letters and form the phrases of the story I am writing. What would happen if I let the spirit move my fingers?

I think it’s called muscle memory when your brain remembers specific paths to take or keys to touch. After you’ve done something enough times, your brain knows how to do it. That’s why they say it’s like riding a bike. Apparently, we never forget. It may feel like a rut, but maybe it’s actually the rhythm of remembering, our brain and its muscle memory keeping us on track.

If only I could let go and listen long enough to hear the answers my life has been trying to tell me.