Let it Go

I’m a control freak. The thought or actuality of losing control is often what triggers my panic attacks and general anxiety. And while I have gained an arsenal of ways to combat this, it’s still a problem that I struggle with. When it really only affected me, I felt like it was manageable to some extent. Or maybe I just figured that this was something that I would have to suck up and deal with. As a mom, I am becoming more and more aware of my need to control my environment, and now my daughter’s…

I know that a full belly + plenty of sleep + lots of love + perfect health + fun = a happy Liana. But how many of those things are really up to me? I can’t stop her from getting sick. What about when I’m not there? Who will make sure that her naps start at the right time and last long enough for her to not be a cranky mess when she wakes up? These thoughts seem so stupid when I’m not in it, but they certainly don’t in those moments.

Most holidays me, my husband, and daughter travel to see family and we stay at our parents’ house. I always start out hoping that Liana will eat square meals at her normal times, take an early afternoon nap, and be in bed early so that she gets plenty of sleep. Guess how often this actually happens…never. Between Liana protesting and the grandparents not wanting to spend a moment away from her, times always shift. I used to make a fuss about these things with the grandparents, turning down activities because of naps or fear of Liana having a meltdown. But she loves visiting her grandparents and they love playing with her and watching her be the rambunctious talkative 3-year-old that she is when she’s happy.

She’s happy. She is HAPPY. I’ve started to let that sink in more and more. If I can focus on that through her threenage, preteenage, and teenage years, then I think we’ll be alright. And I can find myself in a happy place too. Girl, just let that ish go!


My toddler is potty training, which means we are all in training. She’s learning how to use a potty rather than a pull-up when she’s gotta go. I’m learning the many signs and indicators that a child has to go to the bathroom. I’m also learning patience, tolerance, and comfort with bodily fluids, so…yeah.

By now you may have noticed that I can turn anything into a life lesson. And our potty training routine is no different! When Liana sits down and actually goes “potty,” she usually gets a reward, whether it’s a piece of candy or watching a tv show. Being the sweet child that she is, her favorite reward seems to be getting huge hugs from me and my husband. We celebrate her successes and tell her we’re proud of her. “You peed in the potty! That’s awesome!” It’s a good time.

I love celebrating the success of my child, my husband, my friends and family, my neighbors, people who break world records, sports teams and people on reality TV. So why is it so damn hard to give myself a little toot of the horn when I succeed? I know I’m not alone in this, so let’s change it to “we”. Why do we feel like humility and grace are only achieved by keeping quiet about our accomplishments?

When I think of humility and grace, Misty Copeland comes to mind (if the name doesn’t ring a bell, do a quick Google search 😊). She is truly a star, and shows and discusses her talents and achievements, but is a total class act. Now I’m not bendy and graceful, but I’m a unique and talented woman. And it’s okay to showcase that. As I do, I find so many people just waiting to cheer me on and give me big hugs, maybe even give me candy.

It’s how this is supposed to go. These blessings are meant to bless others, not be hidden.


Today I chose to go to yoga rather than pick up my daughter from school. Her favorite sitter is picking her up and they’re having a blast. And my anxious brain has been telling me what a terrible mom I am. That only bad parents choose self care over childcare. Quite frankly, anxious brain, you can take all the seats. This chick needs self care to be the amazing momma that I am. Prayer and care are your worst enemy, so pardon me while I indulge. NAMASTE.