Category: The Girl

Martha Stewart Called

One thing I miss about the motherland are the amazing thrift stores. The current homeland, lacks SEVERELY.

When opportunity permits, I enjoy visiting said thrift stores in the motherland.

Upon my most recent visit, my mother mapped out exactly what time we would arrive at said thrift store. I found some lovely jewelry and upon check out, the cashier said, “we enjoy seeing your mother here every Monday!”

Really mother? Every Monday?

Yep.

So the following day as we planned our day, to no surprise…where did we go?

You bet. Another thrift store.

If you have read other previous posts, this Holiday Season is the best I have felt in several years. Actually, it is the first Christmas since living in THE121 that I have felt well enough to decorate not just the tree but the outside as well!

THE121 has beautiful window boxes (thanks so my amazing builder). I have dreamed about what would fill the window boxes at Christmas time since I moved in.

With finances being tight between short term and my first paycheck from my new job, I welcomed the thrift store shopping!

On day two, what did my eyes behold…an entire box of sparkling beautiful ornaments on sale!

C’mon you know that thrift + sale =‘s an angels voice beckoning from above!

I did a little skip from the counter to our car with my new found treasure in hand.

Saturday morning the weather was just right to practice my outside decorating skills.

I opened the shed, found my pruning sheers and off to the woods I went.

The woods here at Teaberry Acres sure do ground me (that’s another post). With each step, finding the perfect pine boughs to cut, my heart of gratitude welled, thanking the Lord for this free provision of fresh pine!

I laid out my branches and my ornaments and got to work.

I can neither confirm nor deny that Martha Stewart called and invited me onto her show for a special segment with Snoop Dog.

I then sent her pics of THE121 in a snow storm and she expedited my segment!!

All kidding aside, it may not look like much, but to me, it’s everything. It’s everything that God has provided for this year and that my friends, is enough.

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And here we are…

It’s the eve of December, the last month of the year.

I had the opportunity to sit around the Thanksgiving table with 42 relatives and 3 new friends this past Thursday. Thanksgiving is by far my favorite holiday. Multiple reasons solicit this answer, but mainly the opportunity to gather, reflect, eat lots of my favorite food and of course stretchy pants.

At the end of each year, I ask God for a word for the next year. The word He gave me for 2025 was “hard.” I asked Him for another word.

MULTIPLE TIMES

Each time, His answer was the same…

Your word is HARD.

I think we all can attest we like fluffy words or words that inspire. Not worlds like HARD.

I walked into 2025 bracing myself for what was to come. Without the ability to see into the future, I stepped in faith knowing that God had more of my sanctification in mind.

2025 has been HARD.

Relationship difficulties, two job changes, health challenges, major surgery and a host of other personal obstacles.

This Thanksgiving as I ate an ENTIRE plate of scrumptious offerings, it wasn’t lost on me that this was the first holiday in elven years that I ate my entire plate with family and I wasn’t sick.

This Thanksgiving was the first time I was able to spend valuable time with individual family members thanks to a remote job.

This Thanksgiving was the first time I left my tiny house for more than 7 days and returned to a home without incident.

Has this year been hard? 100%

Am I different because of the hard?

You bet.

I am stronger.

I am healthier. Physically, Mentally and Spiritually.

I am learning.

So as the calendar flips tomorrow to the last month of 2025, I am thankful God isn’t finished. He continues to push me, to challenge me and sanctify me.

Why?

Because he loves me that much.

He also loves you.

I am grateful for both.

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The people along the way…

Fun fact about this Tiny House girl, I’m an introvert.

You may not believe me if you’ve ever met me in person, but truth be told I’m enjoying a beautiful evening in, adorned by the back drop of the twinkling lights of my Christmas tree. It’s Friday evening, my cockapoo is snoring and I’m at peace.

So while that may be surprising to some, I will also admit I do fall more towards the middle on the Myers Briggs. I still very much enjoy people.

It’s the people along the way that make the journey worthwhile.

I can still recount names from jobs first worked, who have impacted my life. It’s always the people that make the leaving, the changing hard.

My biggest fear starting new jobs is always, “what if I don’t make any friends?”

It’s irrational.

Always is.

And yet, it’s always there.

Today as I walked out of my office for the last time, my heart swelled with gratitude for the relationships the Lord allowed me to form. It’s always the people that make the difference.

You can scroll back and read story after story of people who have impacted my life.

I can only pray that my life has made an impact as well.

I can also pray that, even in a new remote job, perhaps, just maybe, I’ll make some more friends.

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A liturgy of goodbye

Tonight I had the immense privilege of practicing the liturgy of goodbye.

11 months ago, I signed up to be part of a cohort of men and women from across the country to practice the art of healing.

I had no idea 11 months ago that these men and women would become like family to me.

Each Monday night we would gather in our virtual living room and hold space for each others stories.

In 11 months they have watched me resign from a job, start a new job, wrestle through the changes of my body, agree to another life altering surgery, wrestle through relationships, resign from a job and step in faith into another job.

I have found healing, held space for others and helped them heal in the process.

I sit in awe and amazement at what 11 months, 7 people and space can do for a persons heart.

So what does the liturgy of goodbye entail?

3 questions:

1.) Where have I seen you change?

2.) What do I long for you?

3.) How you and your story have changed me.

So simple and yet so profound. Most of us don’t do goodbyes well. If we are honest, we create rupture so the goodbye doesn’t hurt as bad (proverbially).

Tonight changed that for me. We can do goodbyes differently. What if, instead of cursing, we do blessing?

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If only I were kidding…

Living off the grid in the woods is a lovely life. Even though some think I live in the “wilderness” I find it quite fantastic.

I have learned there is a phrase people use around here and it goes like this, “goin into town.”

Starting a new job, as you can imagine, requires “things.” Those “things” for me have included finger printing and a drug screen. I decided to “stack them up” if you will, to save on my trips “into town.”

Finger printing. ✅

Next up…

Drug Screen ….

And this, my friends, is where the fun began.

I turned down the back alley in my hoarded pick up truck, pulled over to consult my “pass” as to the location of said screening center.

Found it.

I opened the door and waited.

After an episode of HGTV the technician waived me back.

Wash your hands.

Empty your pockets.

Pee to the gallon mark line.

I’ll wait outside the door.

Ready. Set. PEE.

Except I wasn’t prepared to PEE.

Listen, I’ve never had a drug test. Ever. I thought they draw your blood. Don’t judge.

AND all the tips and tricks I’ve ever used were OFF LIMITS.

Run the water. NOPE. The faucet was under a pad lock.

DEEP BREATHES. NOPE. The technician kept knocking on the door.

“Time’s up!” She snarled outside of the door. “Go sit by the water cooler and start drinking!”

Lovely.

After another 27 episodes of HGTV (maybe 26…) I told her I was ready to “try” again.

DENIED

She denied my try!

“If you try and fail we will have to start over.”

Sit back down.

Then the front door to the shady place locks.

LOCKS!

Excuse me? I said to the technician

We are going to lunch. Was her reply.

Bye.

Can I go or do I have to sit here for an hour while you’re at lunch?

Sure.

Thank you Lord, she let me leave!

So there I was, with an hour to “waste” on a VERY full bladder!

I decide to grab a coke from McDonalds because that settles my stomach AND comes with FREE fries.

In my haste, somehow an entire bottle (maybe packet) of ketchup erupts alllllll over my white sweatshirt.

Lovely. The technician is really going to love me now!

I bypass the hour with my coke, fries and a trip to the Dollar Store.

If my bladder was full before, now it’s a Balloon ready to POP!

You know what else is ready to pop?

My ileostomy bag.

Yep. Remember this tiny house girl has an ileostomy bag which also “fills” with fluid intake.

1:06, great lunch break should be over.

I re-enter the shady back alley office and now…there’s a LINE!!!!

I bypass the country man, and a few other bulky construction men to flag down the technician who tried to hold me hostage.

Thankfully she had pity on the girl with ketchup stain all down her sweatshirt with a full ileostomy bag and bladder.

We repeated the empty your pockets, wash your hands…ya da ya da stuff.

Are you ready? She asks

Yep.

I proudly carry my cup into the bathroom again and this time fill it to overflowing!

This should do it.

BUT I also had to empty something else.

My ileostomy bag.

So I prepare to empty. I figured there was the toilet and better to do it when I was near a toilet. Right?

WRONG.

As the contents empty there’s a knock on the door!

What are you doing?!!!

Yep. The technician was standing outside the door.

I am emptying my bag.

Unbeknownst to me, emptying the contents of your ileostomy bag is forbidden in a drug screening!

I’m sorry?

Is that the right response?!

At this point. I have no idea what is and isn’t allowed in a drug screening scenario.

I’m coming out!

I gladly carry my gallon of pee across the hall to my technician friend (I try to call her friend, it doesn’t go well) as if I had won a gold medal! I smile big and hand her said gallon,

She isn’t amused.

Sign here.

I sign my initials, she hands me a paper and points to the door.

Just like that our 1.5 hour escapade is over.

Did I pass?

At this juncture. I’m not even sure how I find myself in these scenarios.

And this my friends, is how my new job begins.

***there may or may not be some exaggeration in this post, but mostly, this is how I recall the events happening.***

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A whirlwind leads to change…

Mel Robbin’s is famous for her Let them Theory. Her famous quote, “Let them show you who they really are and then YOU can choose what you do next.”

I listened to this audio book in just a few days. Such a simple quote with such profound and deep impact.

You may remember a post about a certain employer not playing nice. This came just after I finished Mel’s book.

I knew I had a choice to make.

Sometimes the choice is no choice and other times, the choice is to follow the leading of the Holy Spirit.

In my case it meant…hang on tight, here we go!!!

After 2 months of praying, waiting and listening, last week I had a series of interviews that led to a job offer this past Friday.

God opened one door after another and in two weeks, I will begin a new adventure as a therapist with an intensive outpatient organization working completely remote.

God and I have been having conversations about my concerns returning to work. I believe this new opportunity is His compassion on me.

Please join me in prayer for smooth transitions, as well as opportunities to share the light and hope of change.

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Never did I ever

Never did I ever imagine an America where citizens didn’t have access to food.

Here we are.

I have volunteered in food distributions.

I have donated to food distributions.

This past week, I was given food at a food distribution.

If you have never struggled with food insecurity, you are one of the very few.

I am a masters level, associate licensed therapist who was served at a food distribution this past week due to the circumstances of my current life.

For 28 days, government employees have not received a pay check (barring special circumstances or generous banks).

Beginning this Saturday, many Americans will lose their food benefits completely.

Can you imagine a world where you couldn’t eat?

Close your eyes for a second and try.

What lengths would you be willing to go to in order to feed your family?

It doesn’t matter what side or middle of the isle you straddle. Humanity is humanity.

I pray that we would rise up, rise above politics, pressure and power to come along side of our fellow Americans who will and are the victims of said politics, pressure and power.

If we wonder what will happen when people lose access to food, we are about to find out.

It’s time for us to be the hands and feet of Jesus.

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So much more than soup

25 years ago, this insecure pompous tiny house girl walked into a science class on a college campus. Not because she wanted to be in said science class, but because it was required.

So there I was. I was barely surviving the college scene, carrying my own baggage and now this…I DEFINITELY wasn’t going to survive this.

Truth be told, I scraped by. Not because of anything I did, but because of who was teaching.

Mrs. Wright didn’t talk down to us, she taught us to think up. She knew that we counseling students may not have been the best scientists but that didn’t stop her from expecting us to learn and grow.

It wasn’t what happened in the classroom that I remember however, (although I do have a pretty solid memory of my friend falling asleep over her pig in lab and Mrs. Wright snapping her out of her coma!) no, I remember the investment she made outside of the classroom.

The invites to her house to watch CSI, the coffee breaks, the stops to simply ask “how are you?”

Her lab door was always open and it didn’t matter if we were science majors or not.

In grad school, Mrs. Wright invested in us even more. As poor grad school students, she frequently made us meals and invited us over (I can neither confirm nor deny that my roommate and I downed an entire pan of stuffed shells in one sitting).

If Mrs. Wright were cooking, we knew we were in for a mouth savoring meal.

As I began working for the University, Mrs. Wright became so much more than my professor, she became my friend. Lunches shared in the cafeteria would center around our lives and what God was doing. In some of the hardest days, she would simply listen.

Life went on and our paths parted.

Every now and then she would check in and upon the Tiny House making her maiden voyage to PA, Mrs. Wright made the hour trek to welcome her home!

If I were to describe Mrs. Wright in two words, it would be:

Intentional & Brilliant

Her intentionality sprung into action when I received a message that she wanted to come see me post op.

It wasn’t even a hesitation for this tiny house introvert.

Yes. Of course. Come.

It was just as if no time had passed.

She brought some amazing home made soup and cookies which, I devoured.

But it was so much more than soup. It was about a professor who invested in her student, mentored her student and then become friends.

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This I know

I can’t say that life has magically gotten better. That’s just not true. Most days are like ground hog day.

I don’t hate the days.

I don’t hate much of anything.

If I hate anything, I hate mental illness and diseases that plague so many of us.

I have heard from several of you after my last post. If I look at the stats, I would say mental illness hits most of us, if not personally, than perhaps relationally.

What does mental illness look like when you live alone?

It looks like, for me, doing what I know.

I know spending time tucked up with my Jesus is helpful. Even if, cognitively, I can’t go as deep as I normally would. I do it.

Why?

Because the word is alive and active.

I’ve been spending each morning with one verse of my favorite Psalm.

He is my safety. The Holy Spirit dwells in me. I know He is present at THE121.

He and He alone is my safe place.

I sleep.

Some days I can sleep more than others and that’s ok.

I advocate when I have the strength.

Just today, I advocated for more liquid supplements. The Dr wanted me to take over the counter. However, when I’m on short term disability, money is still tight. She heard me and sent a prescription. Thank God for insurance and empathetic doctors.

Physically, I feel better than ever with next to no pain (my pacemaker stitch is being a little spesh).

So I do each day, what I KNOW to do.

I’m so thankful for my tiny house tucked up on the woods that allows me peace and solitude to heal.

Heal physically.

Heal mentally.

Heal emotionally.

Healing takes time. It takes work. It takes each other.

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We must do better

As I write this post, it’s well after midnight. While most days have felt pretty mundane as of late, every now and then (like today), the day is anything but.

On the ‘anything but’ days, it’s typically a doctors appointment that sends the day in a tail spin.

I’ve prolonged writing this post because I needed some time to ground myself, to seek the Lord and make sure that I wasn’t writing out of haste.

I write this post for advocacy, awareness and perhaps to help someone know they aren’t alone.

My first month of recovery felt a lot like trying to catch my breath. Between doctor’s appointments, meals being delivered and friends visiting, there was a lot going on, not to mention trying to learn this new body.

When week 4 hit, it literally felt like I had fallen off the edge in every sort of the imagination. I felt like the earth had stopped moving and I was just here…in mid air…somewhere…

I tried to distract myself by attempting to create things, trying to “do” all that I knew how to “do.”

It all fell so very short.

I just knew I wasn’t…me.

Cue the vulnerability….

My mental health tanked.

The days grew darker and darker.

Nothing I did was helping.

I called my dr.

We can’t see you until March

Not helpful was my reply.

Go to urgent care.

Was theirs.

We can’t see you.

Was urgent cares reply.

Between what felt like sheer absurdity, one kind scheduler in the dark web of Geisinger found one lone appointment with one lone physician “in my area” who could see me the next day.

I took the appointment, trusting it was what God provided.

I explained the darkness. Told him I didn’t think I was absorbing my mental health pill due to my new system.

Are you going to kill yourself?

He asked.

No

I replied.

Then you’ll be fine.

WE HAVE TO DO BETTER.

With tears in my eyes, I advocated hard with every fiber I had left in my being to get my mental health meds re-prescribed to liquid (ileostomy surgeries are notorious for malabsorption problems).

I write this because had I not been a therapist who knows a thing or two about mental health, I wonder where the non-therapist Tiny House (and big house) girls and boys of the world would be.

Sadly, I don’t have to wonder.

It is absolutely not ok for anyone, let alone a physician to declare the mental health baseline to be death.

I have also since advocated for a complete blood work up and found some other contributing factors to my floating out in the abyss. Which, once corrected will also help my mental health.

I write to hopefully remind us all that we all have struggles.

You are not alone.

None of us can know what others are going through.

Ask the questions.

If your mental health is struggling. Reach out. I’m a huge advocate of talk therapy (yes therapists need therapists!) along with medication.

988 is a valuable resource.

As a society, as friends and yes in the medical profession.

We all must do better.

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