Honoring the Gift

azn8ive67Leave a comment

Recently, someone I know received a heart transplant.

A real, honest-to-goodness miracle.

The heart was a perfect match. Surgery went well. Recovery went well. In fact, things went so well that they were released from the hospital earlier than expected.

Then they ended up back in the hospital.

From what I understand, they were feeling so good that they weren’t following all the precautions the doctors had recommended.

I’ll admit, I spent a few days serving as the self-appointed Chairperson of the Committee for Other People’s Life Choices.

Then I realized something uncomfortable.

The questions I was asking about someone else’s heart were questions I had never seriously asked about my own.

Because I, too, have been given a heart.

Not a transplanted one. The original equipment model.

It has faithfully shown up every day for nearly six decades without asking much in return.

And unlike the transplant recipient, I didn’t even have to wait for mine.

It was given to me freely.

By the greatest Giver of all.

That realization led to some uncomfortable questions.

Do I take care of my body the way I should?

Do I exercise enough?

Do I eat the way I know I should?

The answer to most of those questions depends on the day you ask me and whether Dr Pepper Zero Sugar counts as a food group.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized the question was bigger than physical health.

What does it mean to honor the gift of being alive?

Not just to keep my body alive.

To keep my soul alive.

To keep curiosity alive.

To keep hope alive.

To keep kindness alive.

To keep laughter alive.

To keep writing alive, even when nobody is waiting for the next blog post.

To keep learning new things at an age when I occasionally wonder if I should have everything figured out by now.

To keep loving people despite disappointment.

To keep showing up.

There is a difference between merely staying alive and truly living.

I’m not talking about skydiving or climbing Mount Everest. Frankly, both sound exhausting.

I’m talking about being awake to the life we’ve been given.

Because if I’m honest, I spend a lot of time thinking about all the things I should be doing better.

I should eat better.

I should exercise more.

I should be more disciplined.

I should be further along.

I should have figured this out years ago.

The problem with “should” is that it usually brings shame along as a traveling companion.

Lately, I’ve been wondering if there is a better question.

Not:

Why aren’t you doing better?

But:

How can you honor the gift today?

Some days, honoring the gift might look like taking a walk.

Some days it might look like calling a friend.

Some days it might look like setting a boundary.

Some days it might look like resting.

Some days it might look like starting something that scares you.

Some days it might simply mean getting back up after making a mess of the day before.

I’ve discovered that not every imperfection is evidence of failure.

Sometimes it’s simply another place where I can be intentional.

Another opportunity to grow.

Another reminder that I am still becoming.

Because honoring the gift of being alive isn’t about doing everything right.

It’s choosing to live with purpose and intention, even on the days we feel messy, imperfect, unseen, or painfully aware of our mistakes.

The beautiful thing about a heart is that it doesn’t quit because yesterday was imperfect.

Every morning, it is still beating.

Maybe that’s the invitation for the rest of us, too.

Whimsical Realist

azn8ive67Leave a comment

Finding humor while keeping both feet on the ground

A story about the title.

I have worked in drug and alcohol rehabs over the past several years. One day a client said, “Kaydawn, you are the most whimsical realist I have ever met.”

Naturally, I asked for a definition.

She said, “You are aware of the harsh realities of life. You choose to find the good anyway.”

To this day, that is one of my favorite compliments.

It’s who I want to be.
Who I strive to be.
Who I hope I am meant to be.

Like most of us, I don’t always get there.

Some days realism wins. Bills, disappointment, loneliness, fear, exhaustion, self-doubt… all of it can get loud. There are days when life feels less whimsical and more like repeatedly checking your bank account while pretending not to panic.

But I’ve also learned that whimsy is not denial.

It is not pretending hard things aren’t hard.
It is not toxic positivity.
It is not walking around blindly chanting “everything happens for a reason” while surviving primarily on Dr Pepper Zero Sugar and avoidance.

To me, whimsy is softer than that.

It is choosing to notice small good things while fully aware that pain exists.
It is laughing when you can.
Buying the fancy pen.
Watching the sunset.
Sending the text.
Starting over again on a random Tuesday.
Believing people can heal.
Believing you can heal.

Maybe being a whimsical realist means understanding life can be brutal and beautiful at the exact same time.

And maybe maturity is learning that these two things can coexist.

I don’t know if I fully live up to the title yet.

But I still think about that comment. And on the hard days, especially, I think:

“Yes. That is the person I want to become.”

What about you?
Do you consider yourself more of a realist, an optimist, or somewhere in between?

Showing up

azn8ive67Leave a comment

This week got away from me.

Actually, if I’m honest, parts of me willingly handed it over.

Mother’s Day was harder than I expected. Not catastrophic. Not dramatic. Just… heavy in that quiet way some days are heavy. I kept thinking I would write a midweek post called Mother’s Day (Adjacent), which feels very on brand for me. Close enough to the thing to acknowledge it without fully stepping into it.

That didn’t happen either.

Now it’s Sunday night. I’m studying for a national counseling exam this week, my brain feels like a browser with 47 tabs open, and every tab is playing music.

Part of me thinks I should skip this week, too. Rest is important.

But another part of me knows this blog was never supposed to be about polished performance. It was supposed to be about showing up honestly. Even imperfectly. Especially imperfectly.

So maybe this week’s victory is smaller.

Maybe the victory is:
“I didn’t disappear.”

Maybe it’s:
“I wrote something anyway.”

Maybe keeping promises to ourselves doesn’t always look impressive. Maybe sometimes it looks like tired people typing on Sunday night because they still care about becoming the kind of person who stays.

Anyway… this one counts.

And now I’m going back to studying.

I can’t be the only one with 47 tabs open.

Pray for my brain cells.

The Dumb Kids Use Computers

azn8ive67Leave a comment

When I was in grade school, I was the reading kid.

You know the type.

Top reading group.
A-plus student.
The one teacher asked to help other students.
The one who felt pretty confident… at least when words were involved.

Math?

That was a different story entirely.

I struggled.
I got tutored.
And in sixth grade, back in 1975, my school introduced something new for kids who needed extra help in math:

Computer class.

Now, to be clear, this was not the exciting, cutting-edge, “the future is here” kind of computer class.

This was the “you need help, so go work on math problems on the computer” kind of class.

At least, that’s how I understood it.

One day, my teacher reminded me, “Kaydawn, don’t forget to go to your computer class.”

And then one of the boys in my class said:

“Only dumb kids go to computers.”

Kids can be cruel.
Kids can be careless.
And sometimes, kids say things that lodge themselves into places we don’t even realize are vulnerable.

At the time, I don’t know that I consciously believed him.

But somewhere along the way, I think part of me did.

Because here’s what I’ve come to realize:

That moment may have shaped more than how I felt about math.

It may have quietly influenced how I felt about technology, learning new things, and even my own intelligence.

Logically, I know how ridiculous that sounds now.

Computers are everywhere.
In our homes.
In our cars.
In our pockets.

We use them for work, connection, creativity, problem-solving, and yes… blogging.

No one hears “she uses a computer” and assumes incompetence.

And yet, old beliefs don’t always disappear just because they no longer make sense.

Sometimes they just get quieter.
They hide underneath frustration.
Avoidance.
Self-doubt.
That subtle voice that says, “This is probably not for you.”

Looking back, I wonder if part of me hasn’t resisted technology because I’m bad at it…

…but because some small, younger part of me learned to associate it with feeling dumb.

And maybe avoiding it felt safer than risking that feeling again.

Funny how protection can sometimes look a lot like procrastination.

Or stubbornness.
Or “I’m just not good at this.”

The truth is, we all carry stories.

Things people said.
Moments we misunderstood.
Labels we accidentally accepted.

And sometimes, without even realizing it, we keep living as though those stories are still true.

This blog, in many ways, is me challenging one of mine.

Not because I have something to prove to anyone else…

…but because maybe I still have something to prove to myself.

That I am capable of learning.
Capable of changing.
Capable of questioning beliefs that never deserved permanent residence in my mind.

I can’t be the only one carrying around an outdated story.

Maybe yours isn’t about computers.

Maybe it’s about your body.
Your worth.
Your voice.
Your intelligence.
Your lovability.

Whatever it is, maybe it’s worth asking:

Who told me that?

And more importantly…

Do I still believe them?

Because maybe the problem was never that we were incapable.

Maybe we were just still listening to someone who didn’t know what they were talking about.

Turns out, I was never dumb.

I was just still listening to a sixth grader.

I have a feeling I’m not the only one.

What outdated story are you still carrying around… and who told you it was true?

Grace, Growth, and the Small Wins We Forget to Celebrate

azn8ive67Leave a comment


There’s something I’m realizing lately:

I am often far better at giving grace to other people than I am to myself.

If a friend is overwhelmed?
I get it.

If someone I care about drops the ball?
I understand.

If life hits hard and they’re doing the best they can?
Compassion. Every time.

But me?

Oh no. Apparently, I should have it all figured out, stay motivated, never procrastinate, heal perfectly, show up consistently, and possibly also become a morning person.

(We all know that last one is unlikely.)

Somewhere along the way, many of us learned to treat our own humanity like failure.

We minimized our progress because it wasn’t big enough.
We dismissed our effort because it wasn’t perfect.
We overlook growth because we’re too focused on how far we still have to go.

And honestly? That’s exhausting.

I’m starting to think grace is about making room.

Room to be a work in progress.
Room to celebrate small wins.
Room to acknowledge that maybe getting out of an old pattern is worth noticing, even if it’s not dramatic.

Maybe grace is recognizing that healing, growth, discipline, and change are usually built in tiny, unremarkable moments that don’t always look impressive from the outside.

And maybe… maybe we deserve to celebrate those moments more.

Not in a “everyone gets a trophy” kind of way.

But in a “hey, I handled that better than I used to” kind of way.

I’ve been quietly sitting with the idea that we may need to get better at documenting our wins—not just the giant, obvious milestones, but the subtle victories too.

The days we paused instead of spiraling.
The moments we chose kindness over criticism.
The times we kept going.

Maybe those count more than we think.

And maybe giving grace—to ourselves and others—isn’t weakness.

Maybe it’s how we keep growing.

So here’s your reminder (and honestly, mine too):

Celebrate the good.
In yourself.
In others.
In the tiny things.

Because life is hard enough without constantly moving the finish line.

And sometimes…

The victory is simply noticing you’re doing better than you were before.

Caught myself

azn8ive67Leave a comment

Caught Myself

It’s Sunday night.

I’m exhausted. The kind of tired where even thinking feels like work.

And I don’t have a great idea for this week’s post.

Which—if I’m being honest—felt like the perfect out.

“Just skip this week.”
“Do something better tomorrow.”

I almost went with it.

That’s kind of how my pattern works. It doesn’t usually look dramatic. It looks reasonable. Logical, even.

And that’s what makes it so easy to follow.

But tonight, I caught it.

That quiet shift from “I’m tired” to “I’m not showing up.”

So this is me interrupting it.

Not with something great.
Not with something impressive.

Just… something honest.

Because apparently, this is what practice looks like for me right now.

Catching it.
And choosing differently.

Perfect? No.
But I caught it.
And that feels like something.

Practice Doesn’t Care If You Feel Like It

azn8ive67Leave a comment

I say this to my clients all the time:

“Any change takes practice.”

We usually laugh about it, because now some of them beat me to it. Before I can even say the word “practice,” they’re already smiling like, I know, I know… practice.

It’s a good reminder.

Turns out, I don’t just teach this… I have to live it

This week, I didn’t feel inspired to write.

Not even a little.

No big ideas. No meaningful insights. Nothing felt worth putting into words. And if I’m being honest, it didn’t take much for my brain to start offering me reasons to skip it altogether.

And honestly? That’s kind of my pattern.

If it’s hard, or inconvenient, or not coming easily, there’s a part of me that starts looking for the exit.

“Maybe skip this week.”
“No one will notice.”
“You can do better next week.”

All very reasonable. All very convincing.

But here’s the problem.

Practice doesn’t care if I feel like it.

It doesn’t care if I’m tired, or uninspired, or mildly annoyed that I have nothing profound to say. It doesn’t wait for motivation to show up and get me going.

It just quietly asks the same thing every time:

Are you going to show up or not?

I think sometimes we believe that if something matters, we’ll feel driven to do it.

But in my experience, the things that matter the most are usually the ones that require the most practice… and the least amount of feeling like it.

Consistency isn’t glamorous.

It’s sitting down when you don’t want to.
It’s writing something that isn’t your best.
It’s doing it anyway.

So here I am.

Not inspired. Not particularly eloquent. Definitely not perfect.

But I showed up.

And right now, that feels like enough.

Perfect? No.
Acceptable? Yeah.
Still here? Also, yes.

Why Not Ourselves?

azn8ive67Leave a comment

I had a thought this week… follow me for a minute.

I was talking with a client about forgiveness. They were working through some pretty deep betrayal, and we were discussing how, if we choose to move forward and forgive, we eventually have to find ways to let go of anger and resentment.

Not all at once. Not perfectly. But over time.

We talked about how it takes practice. Repetition. Even a little bit of that “rewiring your brain” stuff.

And then I kept thinking about it after the session.

Because here’s the question that stuck with me:

Why are we so willing to practice forgiving others…
But so resistant to forgiving ourselves?

We talk about how holding on to resentment in relationships creates distance, tension, and disconnection.

But we don’t always talk about what happens when that resentment is turned inward.

When we hold grudges against ourselves.
When we replay mistakes.
When we refuse to give ourselves grace.
When we “beat ourselves up” and call it accountability.

That creates conflict, too.

Just… inside.

And I don’t think self-forgiveness is all that different from forgiving someone else.

It takes time.
It takes intention.
It takes practice.

It probably feels uncomfortable and unnatural at first.

And maybe—just like with others—we don’t have to jump straight to full forgiveness.

Maybe we start with:
“I don’t have to punish myself forever for this.”

I’m a therapist by profession, so I get to have these kinds of conversations often. And honestly, they don’t just help my clients—they help me. They give me a chance to slow down and really think about how I’m showing up in my own life, too.

This isn’t meant to be a therapy blog or a list of steps to fix anything. It’s just me, sharing what I’m learning and noticing along the way, in real time.

Because if I believe in showing up for myself (which I talk about a lot here), that probably includes learning to let go of my own resentment, too.

Still working on that one.

But I think it’s worth practicing.

And maybe that counts as a win.

My MO is changing

azn8ive671 Comment

I almost quit today.

Not in a dramatic, throw-my-hands-up kind of way. Just the quiet, familiar thought:
“Yeah… this is too much. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

My blog subscription thing wasn’t working (or so I thought). Friends were trying to support me, and I couldn’t even get the subscribe button to cooperate. It felt frustrating, a little embarrassing, and very tempting to just… walk away.

Because if I’m being honest, that’s kind of my pattern.

When something feels confusing or I don’t immediately know how to fix it, my brain goes straight to:
“Maybe this just isn’t your thing.”

But today I didn’t quit.

I asked for help. I stayed in it. I kept clicking around, even when I felt completely lost.

And you know what the problem was?

Spam.

The emails were going to spam.

That’s it.

All that frustration, all that self-doubt… and it was a spam folder.

Which feels very on brand for life, honestly.

But the win isn’t that I fixed it.

The win is that I didn’t quit on myself.

I’m starting to realize that confidence isn’t about always knowing what you’re doing. It might actually be about staying when you don’t.

Also… maybe I’m not as bad at things as I’ve decided I am.

Wild thought, I know.

Anyway, if you tried to subscribe and didn’t get an email, check your spam folder. Apparently, that’s where all the important things go 😅

And for me?

I think this counts as a win.

Procrastination Stole My Brain… So Here We Are

azn8ive67Leave a comment

Procrastination Stole My Brain… So Here We Are
Imperfect follow-through still counts

A few years ago, I wrote this:

I have learned that procrastination is a thief.
Let it into your life, and it will rob you of time, energy, peace of mind, and self-confidence.

And today—ironically—I had a whole train of thought building on that idea.

It was good. Insightful. Probably blog-worthy.

And now?

Gone.

Vanished somewhere between “I should write that down” and “I’ll do it in a minute.”

Which, honestly, feels a little fitting.

Because procrastination doesn’t always show up loud and obvious.
Sometimes it just quietly takes things from you.

A little time here.
A little energy there.
A little bit of mental space.

Until suddenly, the thing you meant to do… the thought you wanted to hold onto… the version of yourself that felt capable and on top of things…

is just out of reach.

That’s the part I don’t think we talk about enough.

It’s not just about getting things done or not getting things done.

It’s about what it slowly chips away at over time.

Your peace of mind.
Your confidence.
Your trust in yourself.

And yet…

Here I am.

This isn’t the post I planned earlier.
It’s not as polished or thoughtful as it could have been.

But it exists.

And maybe that matters more.

Because maybe the goal isn’t to never procrastinate.

Maybe the goal is to not let it take everything.

So tonight, this is my small act of taking something back:

I showed up anyway.

Late.
A little scattered.
Definitely not perfect.

But I kept a promise to myself.

And that counts.

So if today got away from you—if your energy dipped, your focus wandered, or your ideas slipped through your fingers—you’re not alone.

Let’s just practice this:

Show up anyway.

Even when it’s messy.
Even when it’s late.
Even when it’s not what you planned.

Because procrastination may be a thief…

…but it doesn’t get to take everything.

Not if we decide it doesn’t.

But first… maybe just a small nap.