How waitressing has shown me some old wounds…

I haven’t been wordy for a while.

Well that’s a lie. Ive been wordy cause that’s who I am on a cellular level 😜

I just haven’t officially worded in blog form lately.

So here goes:

Something rattled my little heart the other day and it’s through writing I am able to journal and heal.

I waitressed at my girlfriends bar the other night. I can count on one hand how many times I have ever waitressed and they have ALL been at her place.

Most the times it’s been slanging beers at peeps for poker runs so it wasn’t all that intricate.

I have less than zero experience in the food serving, waitressing arena. So I’m probably admittedly, not the greatest.

As with most new things people try they are probably going to stumble around until they get their bearings and then get better with experience.

I wasn’t doing too terrible in my own eyes. But for some reason I can’t let go of overhearing a girl at a table I was getting an order from make a snark ass comment about me.

I had taken one families order from that table and this other girl was there with her daughter. I was going to get her order in a second after I yelled out to the guys in charge of grilling how many burgers we would be needing so they could get their food faster by giving them a heads up.

But Miss Snarky said something to another girl at the table to the effect of “OH You probably over did it for her (me) she can’t handle that much (order taking)”….

It was busy in there and whatever. I was able to ignore it. Until I wasn’t. Of course, because it ate on me.

It’s sitting heavy with me for several reasons. The first is I have less than zero experience waitressing. That was probs my first time doing it with food involved.

I could never imagine mocking someone for working out for the first time and not having a clue what they were doin even though I am skilled and have years of experience in that arena.

So it sits heavy on me when people mock others.

Second, I wanted to tell her maybe the fact that I get overwhelmed and stressed out is because I have a huge fear of fucking up someone else’s things or business for them.

And that stemmed from being a little girl probably the age 6 with my step dad. I was in the garage with him when he was doing some carpentry work. I accidentally nudged his trim he was cutting and made him mess up and the next thing I know he’s exploded, cussing and throwing the wood all around the garage and it terrified me.

That was the beginning of years and years worth of being told I was stupid for not knowing how to do something when I have never been shown. I have IMMENSE anxiety of trying new things because of those old traumatic experiences.

To another person it might not seem like a big deal. But to me and my intricate making it is.

The immensity at which my stepdad blew up that day made my little 6 year old shoulders fear that I was going to get him fired, we weren’t going to be able to afford rent and we were going to be homeless.

I was never told that things were going to be alright.

For my sensitive heart it’s hard for me to understand in a time where things are already hard enough in life why another person would willfully and recklessly wish to undermine another with a complete absence of any compassion.

Unfortunately, that comment about my waitressing isn’t the first slew of toxic garbage to come out of her mouth towards me.

But it’s getting old.

I’m not even going to lie to you. I may be spiritual and woo as fuck, but that little 6 year old hurt girl in me wants to rip this miserable person a new asshole.

It makes me envision myself telling her about herself and unleashing the fury on her.

I reflected over how her comments take me back to an unpleasant place in my heart about my life growing up.

It also made me realize the power of our words.

It also made me realize the power of my defensiveness. It’s no fun hearing critical things about yourself especially if it’s in an arena that’s a major sensitivity landmine.

It took me a while from evolving from where I wanted to tell her to go fuck herself to really sitting back and asking myself if I really believed what she said about me to be truth?

I laughed then because I realized that while I might not be the worlds greatest waitress, God has given me numerous other gifts that far outweigh trying to please a seemingly miserable, shallow female with a cheeseburger.

I was gifted with a intuition and a passion for helping heal others from not only their own self imposed suffering BUT from pseudo-bullying just like that poor girl was doing to me with her hate spewing.

It became comical to me that while she was mocking ME for my lackluster skill in an area I have zero experience in, that I am actually fully capable of helping to illuminate pathways of healing in others from shit people like her cause.

No I’m not a fucking waitress.

So what now though?

I see her EVERY. DAMN. TIME. I am at my friends place.

If I have words with her she will make the situation more miserable than her mere presence already does.

I know hate cannot drive out hate.

And I also know that hurting people, hurt people. She’s miserable inside. Clearly unhappy.

The best thing I can come up to fight back is to send her love.

But let’s be real… it’s hard. REAL fucking hard to send someone love when they do nothing but terrorize you.

So this will be an exercise in being human for me.

Will I fail??! OHHH I’m German, Irish, Bohunk and was gifted with the shortest fuse on earth only after Gramps and dead mom once it’s been lit ☺️

I really imagine saying things to her like this:

So while it may look like the lights are on but no ones home. I actually have LOTS goin on. It’s just that most those things should probably stay nestled safely in my brain. πŸ™ƒπŸ™‚

I feel better writing about it and reading this myself I know that I am not that 6 year old girl anymore. I realize my defensiveness stems from those old experiences. I don’t need to retaliate in defensiveness.

Even though miss snarkypants is unpleasant it has shown me areas in myself that I need to come to with more compassion about myself. It’s shown me contrast of how NOT to be towards others.

It’s also showing me that while it’s fun to future fake scenes of me clawing her peepers out, that it’s actually more crucial to be even more light for others so that they don’t have to feel less than and can grow with confidence in any new endeavors they try.

It reminds me that there will always be opposition, cruelty and recklessness but to keep showing up with more light.

And finally it reminds me the importance of compassion.

To ourselves and others. Even when it’s hard….

ESPECIALLY when it’s hard.

With all my absolute love and light.


a. Danielle

How my own self-love journey allowed me to heal from hating Dead Mom…

When I think about it I realize that I have spent the majority of my life vehemently hating my (now dead) mom.

It’s been a hot minute since I have sat down and let words come to life. I think it’s time to give credit where credit is due.

I need to talk about my relationship with Dead mom.

My little soul has done this lovely thing where it’s locked up things in a vault and gives me occasional access to memories.

I have zero memories of a loving nature that have to do with my dead mom.

From as far back as I can remember my Grandma Betty (aka Neen) raised most of us kids. She was the source of any maternal love I ever received as a child.

Dead mom was absent physically and emotionally.

I spent weeks at friends houses growing up. I pretended in my soul I think that I was always part of their families.

It was a coping/numbing mechanism for me to disassociate from her, before I got into the real drugs and numbing in adolescence.

I read something in a book the other day and completely related to it.

“Dear God, I love my family but I wonder if you tried out anyone else before you sent me to them.”

I’m not even really sure why my Dead mom procreated. I was certain that she was incapable of feeling.

But I was wrong.

She was just incapable of feeling towards us kids.

I had older siblings that eventually went and lived with their dad and our Grandma Betty.

But I was the (un)lucky pawn in her game of life to play house and act like a happy family with my stepdad.

Their relationship was….


Tenacious and passionate and all things inappropriate for raising a child.

As I reflect back I am able to see the reason she did some of the things that did. It was her very own personal search for love and acceptance.

But she was looking in all the wrong places.

All of our enlightened, spiritual teachers, God and everyone instructs us to turn within to find home, love, acceptance and wisdom.

I’m afraid in her case, even she was afraid to look within for fear of what was lurking in that domain.

It was from a very early age that it became apparent that us kids were not a priority. I also learned really young that I was going to be shoved aside when the next best thing came along.

I went on to be in relationships that mimicked that same lack of love, lack of feeling valued or worthy, and getting abandoned, tossed aside and replaced.

Growing up she never let me see my real dad. That did a number on me also. It felt like even he didn’t want me.

There must be something wrong with me if my own birth mother didn’t love me and always had something better to do and my dad didn’t want to spend time with me.

I learned later he didn’t have much say.

There’s a special place in hell for women who play custody games with their children and exes.

I am a product of where kids being in their mothers custody was NOT in the best interest of the child.

I’m a firm believer that there needs to be better balance in that arena. I see it everyday and it makes me ill.

Mother’s with an inability to love, but just play the part are so incredibly damaging to a child’s soul.

The tumultuous relationship that was her marriage taught me how to be alone and feel safe that way. I never wanted to be near them and their hostile love environment.

From the moment I got home from school till the absolute last possible second I was out on my little dirt bike with my German Shepard out in the country where we lived and I didn’t need people.

The ones I did have left me feeling deflated and disappointed so I learned to be my own best friend young.

I was always so embarrassed or scared to have friends over because I never knew what fight would ensue or what type of crazy train Dead mom would be on.

So I pretty much isolated myself.

My first love was basketball and pretty much the only connection I had with my stepdad. That was the only thing I really had to love.

Both him and dead mom were on a journey to find love no matter who was forsaken for the cause.

But even then Dead mom always made me feel like a burden or nuisance having to go to games.

Which was where the seed was born for me to feel like burden and nuisance in adulthood as well.

I used to dread having to ask for help or favors because of this. It was much later in life that I learned there is a whole world of peoples out there that actually have feelings and love helping others out.

That was simply not what I was used to.

Things really went south when my oldest niece was born. Until then I was the baby of the family.

I knew I could get love from Grandma Betty. And she was my only source of it.

I recall my niece spending a shit ton of time with us. It makes me cringe to say this or even write it out loud but I watched as my dead mom would parade my baby niece around in her little carrier with my stepdad as she acted like my niece was their child.

And I was tossed aside like a used sock.

I was 12 when my niece was born and that was a turning point for me.

I hate to even admit this but I hated my niece. She was so readily getting the love and affection that I yearned so terribly for.

It made me wonder even further what was wrong with me.

It built a system of belief that I was unworthy of love or positive attention.

So what does one do when that happens to them? Well, in my case I started going to find love and affection in other places.

And it didn’t necessarily mean a person. I dove face first into experimenting with Booze first, then every drug I could get my adolescent little hands on.

By the time the whole faking my nieces as their own baby thing came along I was engulfed in full fledged seething, tenacious hatred to the women I had to call mom.

I hated the joy she had in her face when she would be handling my niece with my stepdad in the living room while I was virtually unseen.

Looking back I realized that my poor body, heart and soul were riddled with so much hate it should have made me ill.

I started going down hill in a big way. I ended up quitting basketball for drugs.

I was completely disgusted and disrespectful to dead mom because I couldn’t stand the sight of her.

We fought terrible.

Sometimes the fights would end violently.


Even typing this I feel some of that latent burn.

I ended up getting kicked out when I was almost 17 I think. She came home from going out to eat with my stepdad and caught me and some friends who drove over playing a drinking game I learned from watching HER and her friend play one time.

You use an ice tray and try and get a quarter in a hole in the tray. The further away you got the quarter in you got to give away that many drinks from the ice cube tray but you had to use a small straw to suck the booze out.

She caught us and I think she seen the cut off straw and thought we were doing blow (cocaine). Which we weren’t.

That time anyway. Besides I didn’t need a straw I was plenty good without the use of training wheel type devices.

We got in a huge ass fight and my stepdad had to peel us apart. I bolted.

I ran and hid. I eventually snuck back into the basement when they didn’t know. I overheard her call my dad and told him to come get me.

I knew help was on the way.

When he showed up I came flying out of the basement grabbed some stuff and we took off.

Ironically enough, he was living with a girlfriend and she didn’t want anything to do with me.

Shocker. Another woman letting me down. This would begin the fledgling seed for feeling that women were unsupportive, unreliable, Crazy and a bunch of other heinous things.

So we had to live with my uncle for a bit until Dad moved from Fremont to Elkhorn so I could continue school.

I’ll never forget the Monday going back to school after that eventful weekend. We had those standardized tests and I went to sign in and gave them the last name I had been using since Dead mom and stepdad got married.

The teacher pulled me aside and said I had to go talk to the school counselor.

Apparently, I was not legally adopted and my name was never legally my stepdads last name.

Dead mom in all her craziness would just randomly change our last names to whomever she was married to at the time.

I later found out that she did this same bullshit to my siblings.

The guidance counselor told me that dead mom called that morning and informed them that my last name was to be changed to my dads real last name. But gave me no heads up about that.

I was fucking MORTIFIED. And the nails in the coffin were sealed of me ever having any sort of respect or anything for her ever again.

I fucking loathed her with every ounce of my being.

For the first few weeks of living with Dad I pretty much was a reckless teen. But the most amazing thing happened when I realized that I didn’t have to run and hide or numb and drug myself because the environment and the person I was with gave me security, belonging, acceptance.

For the first time I was actually being seen. I changed dramatically. I never lived with Dead mom again.

Our relationship would muster on as I transitioned into adulthood. She was still so fucked up, Crazy, and untrustworthy.

The final straw came when she didn’t come to my super small wedding.

I got the scissors out and snipped away at that relationship. It was for my highest good to rid myself and my life of her toxic energy.

I didn’t speak to her from 2007 until 2011 until I found out she was gonna die.

Turns out energetically that if you harbor a bunch of bullshit in your soul like she did it will manifest in the form of illness. And she got a doozy.

Stage 4 metastatic lung cancer killed her in just under 6 months.

Y’all know I’m about as woo as they come so yes, I most definitely believe that she brought that disease on that took her to meet her maker because all off that harmful energy she put out her entire life.

Smoking contributed, yes. But being a menace like that will have consequences.

So what does my own self-love journey have anything to do with being able to look at dead mom through a more compassionate lens?

Because in my own spiritual journey I know that we seek love and acceptance. But what we are generally never taught until we fuck up royally a bunch, is that we must learn to love and accept ourselves first and foremost.

We are never taught to really be our own best friend. We look to external sources to fill spaces in us that our own selves need to be filling in healthful, uplifting, soul-filling, empowering ways.

I recall Grandma Betty (dead moms mom) telling me when Dead mom was dying that she had deep regrets when it came to mom.

She mentioned that mom was never meant to have siblings. She had a younger sister that rocked her world when she was born.

She was replaced… Sound familiar? Ya. Because that’s exactly what she did to me.

Grandma told me Dead mom really spiraled when grandpa was gone all the time trucking. She went looking for love in a bunch of wrong places.

She loved her daddy.

Got married young. Got pregnant young.

It was all a part of her quest for love and belonging.

I will give credit where credit is due.

She loved my stepdad more than a person possibly could, and then some. His first wife wanted him back after he started dating my mom allegedly from stories I have heard. I distinctly recall fights going on between the two women.

Which is ubber funny because now my stepdad is back dating his first wife and she does my hair.

Sorry (notsorry) Dead mom πŸ™ƒ

But that’s the power of forgiveness and not holding grudges.

Watching my stepdad struggle to this day with Dead mom being dead makes me sort of yearn for someone to love me like that.

He knew her craziness and the mess of stuff we uncovered when she died and STILL loves her unconditionally.

That’s all this was for her. A journey to and for love. For her it didn’t matter that innocent bystanders were forsaken.

Namely, me.

But looking backwards with this light helps me ease the burden and be able to forgive.

Holding hatred for her is like me drinking poison and expecting her to die. OH wait, she is dead πŸ€£πŸ™ƒ

It serves no one. Plus knowing what I know now about energy and emotions and all things woo, I don’t want those lower vibrational feels roaming around in my heart or soul.

Also, looking back at this helps me see where my path to love was going. It helped direct me and get me looking in the right places. But not after spending 33 years looking in all the wrong ones.

I forgive her for everything because had I not gone through some of that shit I wouldn’t have the strong feelings I do now in regards to kids.

I know to teach and inspire and impress upon EVERYONE the importance of learning to source love and acceptance internally.

That means every part of us inside. The things we keep locked up and hidden in shame and regret. The scars. All of it deserves our own love and acceptance.

Anything we rely on that is external can be taken away. But when we are sovereign inside ourselves we are able to manage that.

I am able to extend a bit of gratitude towards her now. Her journey to love overlapped with my journey to coming home to me. The person I was before all this stuff happened to me.

It was through my self-love journey that my relationships outside of me started being transformed. Even with dead peeps.

As I celebrated my 36 birthday I dedicate this year to being more me than I have ever been.

Maybe that means divulging more of my deepest darkests void of fear of judgement from others. Maybe it means standing alone more than before because the priority of being authentic and unapologetically me supersedes the need to simply belong now.

I’m not sure of many things but I know this, when we are able to view others and their behaviors as their own journey to find themselves and to be loved it makes it much more easy to be forgiving and compassionate. I’m not always perfect at this but I’m moving in the right direction.

Enough for now.

Every ounce of my being… ❣️

a. Danielle

I missed a dead person today.

I missed a dead person today.

This might not seem like a big deal to anyone else but to me it is.

I wouldn’t say I pride myself on being good at dead people, but I’m pretty good at it.

I coined 2011 “The Year of the Dead People” for me. Not to be confused with 2012 being “The Year of the Black Cloud” πŸ™‚

My beloved mother in law died at 8:42am on 2/2/11. Neen Aka Grandma Betty AKA dead moms mom died on dead moms birthday 8/11/11. Then dead mom took the flutter out of her earthly body about the same time in the morning a few weeks later on 9/2/11.

This made me really good at dead people.

When dead mom was going through her cancer treatment I was the one that went to the appointments and had to reiterate what the drs were saying to my stepdad who was in denial about imminent death of his soul mate.

I forced the drs to cut the bullshit and tell me the straight up non fluffy facts. I knew my mom was going to die. I had a funeral for her long before she crossed over.

I was numb.

Neen was obese. Her body had long given up on her. She couldn’t get around and had horrible knees to boot. She was supposed to have a simple knee surgery to repair a botched job. She got sepsis and died.

My heart and soul are made up a little differently than the average bear. I believe heavily in spirit and know that our dead people are constantly around us in their non physical form.

With Neen I was half relieved when she ditched her body. It was hard seeing her the way she was on earth. She had a boat load of pills she was always taking and it was pretty excruciating to be see.

Of course I’d rather had her in a healthy body where she could be active and happy and spoiling all of us grandkids that she pretty much raised.

My view on death and dying is very liberal. I don’t fear it for myself or for others. I know I will see them again. And I know things always happen for a reason.

However, today something strange happened.

I was moving and noticed that on my beloved night stand that Grandma Betty made me for me there was some handwriting on the bottom of it. I never noticed this before.


it was little note from my grandma. I don’t know what it was about that note or the writing but I became overwhelmed with emotion. It was as if I could feel her fill the entire room up.

This took me by surprise because I don’t get emotional. I’m not attached to dead peoples “things” or property. I was really taken aback.

I finished moving and putting stuff away but I couldn’t kick thinking about the feeling that I had.

I reflected further and realized that there is a possibility that while I have always coined myself at being good at dead people what I was actually good at was putting up walls around my heart so I wouldn’t have to feel.

I am far enough along in my spiritual journey to know that we are simply unable to selectively numb things.

I must say that building up a Berlin Wall around my heart to numb is MUCH better tactic than my previous go to combos such as Xanax + wine or Ambien + any boozy treat.

It was weird feeling this way though. I found myself wondering if this was just a short glimpse of what other people who grieve feel like well after their loved ones are gone.

I recall Dad telling me that this thanksgiving was hard on him because it was the first year his mom wasn’t on this earthly plane.

But I remember telling him that I guess I could be thankful because even though I suffered great loss in a short amount of time I don’t have any residual sorrow from it.

Or do I?

Over this last year I have embarked on a journey to embrace self-love. Through this process I KNOW I have knocked down some barriers within me that restricted me from loving myself and in turn prevented me from truly loving others.

I loved. But at an arms distance.

I could arguably say I didn’t much love me at all. Which was the root of the problem.

As my heart wall gets removed a brick at a time I can attest to the fact that new fresh feelings are coming in.

Tonight for instance really rocked me a bit. I was uncomfortable because I wasn’t used to feeling so fully.

I look back and see when the first brick of my heart wall was put up. It was when my beloved mother in law died.

I was fucked up. I watched my husband spiral from his loss. And I dove face first into his Ambien which was the onset of my drug induced heart wall building phase of life.

I think we all do this to a certain extent. We deal with trauma in our own unique ways. My emotional intellect was lackluster so I turned to drugs to cope.

While I was drugging myself my internal Bob the builder was building a fortress around my heart so I didn’t have to feel once I kicked the drug numbing mechanism.

It worked. But it didn’t. I blocked so much love from flowing in and I can see that now.

It wasn’t terrible feeling that tiny moment where I actually missed my grandma. It was actually quite beautiful after I thought about it.

It felt good to feel. And I have been doing a lot more of that lately in my journey.

I think the problem with us is that sometimes it’s hard to sit with our shit. It’s hard to handle those lower vibe feelings. I think we need work on being able to navigate and allow them instead of pushing them under the rug or numbing ourselves out to avoid them.

I know beyond a reasonable doubt that because of the transformative work I have been going through and the self love journey I have embarked on that I am able to feel a broader spectrum of emotions.

I am the happiest, most peaceful, empowered, sovereign, joyful version of me that I have ever, EVER been in my entire existence.

If a small side effect of that is feeling a vast array of emotions more fully to be able to access this level of living I have evolved to, then so be it.

I might even go on to say that for the first time since she’s died I could really feel her presence and energy.

So fuck this heart wall.

I invite anyone whose ready to join me to start working on taking down their heart walls and any other barriers we have to allow love to flow more freely.

It starts with us though. Love begins and ends with us.

I can see where trauma had hardened me. And that’s not how I want to live moving forward.

Emotions are not bad. It’s the judgement we place on them when we are feeling them that attaches a negative connotation.

2017 was a year of major demolition for walls and barriers against Love. My transformation because of this has been nothing short of phenomenal.

2018 is going to be amazing.

My prayer is that we are each able to tap more deeply into our heart space and access the parts that allow for true transformation.

Enough for now.

a. Danielle ❣️

Turn up our self-love dial and watch shift happen πŸ™ƒ

“As I began to love myself my relationship with everyone changed” is one of the most profound concepts I have come across.

It’s incredibly transformative and yet so many of us haven’t the slightest grasp of what this means.

Our external relationships are a direct mirror to our relationship we have with ourselves.

An example of this is seen when a woman keeps meeting the same type of men that don’t treat her with an ounce of respect, makes her feel less than, devours any remaining sense of self worth, etc. She knows deep in a corner of her heart that it’s not the best but she settles.

This is a mirror of her relationship with herself and it illuminates the lack of self-love that she has for herself.

The guy is only offering her a means to show her that. But we don’t pay attention to these universal languages and concepts.

She attracts this same type of man because that is where her vibration or belief systems are at about herself.

She doesn’t respect herself because if she DID, she wouldn’t be with a man that treated her less than a fucking queen in the first place.

It’s not (entirely) her fault though. People, situations and other events slowly mold and shape us and we (subconsciously) start creating limiting beliefs about ourselves. These things slowly start taking us away from the our truth. Our truth is that we are valuable, worthy, unique beings that deserve all the love and light a person can handle and more.

We are told in various ways, verbal and nonverbal, direct and indirect, that we are unworthy so that’s what types of relationships we get into. The ones that prove that limiting belief in us right.

So then what do we do when we find ourselves in relationship like this?

We try and change THEM 😳

And we fail miserably, most likely destroying both of us and the relationship in the process of it.

Every time you find yourself spending time trying to figure another human out or trying to change another human it’s an opportunity to pause and turn our happy asses right around and go look in the mirror.

Every. Single. Time.

It’s the truth Ruth. And it sucks swallowing that bitter pill but, oh so worth it.

We have some faulty wiring in us that prohibits us from loving ourselves sometimes. Or we don’t think we should put ourselves first. We think it’s selfish. We establish a martyr like persona.

And it’s damaging our relationships with everything.

We need to look inward and start asking ourselves the important questions like how much did we love ourself today? How kind was I to myself? Did I sacrifice myself for another today for fear of disappointing them but ended up ultimately betraying me?

If we are feeling stressed how often do we pause, connect with ourselves and ask what it is we truly need in that moment?

No. We don’t most often because we are bad asses and we barrel through life tackling anything that it throws at us. Which totally rocks and that serves us well.

Until it doesn’t.

I invite you to start reflecting on your relationship with yourself. Do you speak down to yourself during the day and not even really notice it because it’s the norm?

Do you find yourself going insane trying to figure out your narcissistic ex that keeps toying you along?

Get to the mirror ASAP.

Figure out what is the most loving thing you can do for yourself. AND DO IT!!!

I will say I am an AVID IPA beer drinker and love my spritzers but this is one time where I will tell you that boozy treats are not an act of self love.

It doesn’t enrich our relationship with ourself. It numbs us to it.

When we start respecting ourselves and celebrating the monstrous things we have over come and using positive, empowering language during our self talk we will notice a change in dynamic around us.

Shift will happen πŸ™‚

Lots and lots of shift. πŸ™ƒ

My invitation for us is to turn inward and start assessing how we love and treat ourselves. This is NOT another opportunity to beat ourself up for coming to the realization that we are terrible to ourself.

It’s an opportunity to make amazing shift in your life.

When we commit to loving ourselves that’s throwing out a big, bold ass statement to everything around us that we are now more fully able to love them too!

But we must come first.

Enough for now.

Absolute (self) love ❣️

a. Danielle

The scale can go fuck itself πŸ™ƒ

I’m not one to preach or write something that I don’t have experience with so when I tell you I have been in the trenches at war with myself and letting my happiness be dictated by the scale… I’m not exaggerating.

Not the slightest.

It’s awful how addicted or obsessive I was around that stupid thing. I remember many days being nervous to step on it and having the bottom drop out of my stomach when I would read the numbers.

The rest of the day I was in a down hill spiral of self loathing, self shaming, criticizing, judging etc.

Any way I could further devalue myself I did.

Actually as I write this I feel sick for how terrible I really did treat myself for all those years.

I think as women (and men’s too πŸ™‚) we need to be taught young in life that our value is NOT dictated by the shape of our body or the number on a scale.


I recall asking my PE teacher in elementary school how many calories it took to burn 1 pound of fat…. The hook for disordered eating and body dysmorphia was set.

Fast forward to adulthood where my favorite flavor of disordered eating was binging and purging. Food became my companion. My friend. It was ALWAYS there for me.

But the thing about that type of love affair with food is that it’s most often laced with shame, guilt, self hatred and the like.

After years of binging and purging I arrived at what would be my spiritual rock bottom. I found myself in the discard phase of the narcissistic cycle.

Most the times during stress I would eat. But turns out when your losing your marriage and life as you know it and dealing with smear campaigns from hell: you lose your appetite.

I lost 30 lbs in a few weeks. My body started eating its own muscles for fuel. I was thin. I was ill.

BUT somehow I felt more worthy.

Fast forward to coming back from that and being healthy BUT being a prisoner to the scale! I would beat myself up the more the number on the scale crept up. It didn’t matter I was victorious because I was healthy and happy! I was unable to see that. I was blinded because of the stupid fucking scale.

OOOOOOO much healthier in mind, body and soul than I was in the picture on the left.

But I couldn't appreciate what I seen in the mirror or that I FELT so much better because that damned number told me some bullshit lies.

The despair I was feeling got so heavy I knew I had to make a choice. I could choose to be prisoner to the scale or I could break up with it and make my focus and happiness on how I FELT not that number.

As with any change when your addicted/obsessive about something it was a bitch to kick the scale habit. I mean really hard. I studied habits and methods to change habits and have them stick and I am the all or nothing type of person. So I had to quit cold turkey.

And I never looked back. I'm free from being in-prisoned by the scale. I gauge where I am by how I feel when I try on my clothes. If they start feeling a little snug I make small adjustments in the daily life to afford me to get back to my good vibes right away.

I have never felt more free. Well, except when I got divorced from someone who didn't love or respect me I felt pretty fucking free and fabulous then too πŸ€—

But I feel free. I dropped the war with myself. I'm easier on myself than I ever have been. And I think it's no coincidence that I am the most successful in terms of being healthful than I ever have been in my life.

I'm writing this because I was speaking with my girlfriend who was sharing her story and journey with weight watchers.

I know she's been wildly successful in the past using weight watchers and I am behind ecstatic to watch her journey back to health and to loving herself as she deserves to be loved.

But one thing really made my heart break when she was sharing her story. She said she went for weigh in this week and she "only lost half a pound".

My native language is energy before words and I could literally FEEL the defeat seeping from her when she spoke those words.

I KNOW first hand what lower vibrational feelings like despair can do for a person. They can make you give up.

So continued with her story saying how she had done "soooooo Good all week" but was like WTF at her weigh in.

I asked her what "did Good all week" translated into for her. She said she followed her nutrition as she should. Her jeans had started fitting loosely and sagging in her butt. She felt better all around.

When she was telling me this I could feel her excitement and hope but then she stepped on the STUPID MOTHERFUCKING SCALE.

And boom.

Just like that.

Every good, positive feeling she had about herself and her progress was killed.

She didn’t have to continue the story of how her week went after that because I know what happens when a person feels defeated.

She said she had a shitty week. She didn’t follow her Nutrition… she essentially said F it and gave up.

This is SO CRUCIAL and I want everyone to hear this:

Do not let the number on the scale mess with your progress. I know that most of us have it engrained in us that the scale is the only source to gauge our “success” but it’s not.

We have what’s referred to as Non-Scale victories. Aka NSV’s.

And these are your best friends. Your allies. They are there to help you in your journey so you don’t give up when the scale doesn’t budge.

NSV’s are your jeans fitting looser after you have been consistent in your journey. It’s FEELING good and being happy about feeling good. It’s about celebrating you choosing to make the ultimate commitment to yourself to love yourself enough to care for it properly.

They need to be celebrated.

I think I probably blacked out and don’t remember much else because it infuriates me to NO end seeing someone’s progress derailed by the scale.

But I have asked her to go back to how she thought and felt about herself prior to her weigh in. Source those good, positive enthusiastic vibes again.

Getting our mindset behind us is the secret to being a total flipping badass! It’s what I incorporate in my personal training and my go to when I do my transformative guiding.

It’s clutch.

We ALL have the ability to be wildly successful in anything we set our sights on.

I know my friend has got the most tenacious heart. I have no doubts that by her being mindful and diligent about her mindset going forward and working on celebrating her NSV’s along the way she’s going to knock her own socks off.

I want to scream this message from the roof tops though. Don’t just gauge your progress from the scale. Try on your clothes. See how they fit.

Step on the scale if you know about the anatomy and density of fat in relation muscle and understand what body composition means. If you can trust yourself not to be trailed by the scale not moving and keep your positive outlook, then have at it.

If you easily get derailed by the scale, let’s find another method to gauge yourself.

My go to is asking yourself how you fucking feel? Do you feel better when you try on old jeans in your closet and your heart leaps out of your chest because they fit better? Then use that as your guide.

Then use your enthusiasm and high vibes to help carry you on to more success. It’s a domino effect. Use this to your advantage.

Because ultimately when we set a goal to get to a certain weight it’s because in our brains we think that getting to that weight will elicit some feeling we are desiring.

Happiness, confidence, sexiness, self love.. etc.

I’m saying… source that fucking feeling now about yourself WHILE you are journeying down to your goal and watch how your progress catapults. ☺️

Mmmmmm that’s delish.

I am the biggest advocate for us learning to love ourselves to health.

Enough for now.

With much gratitude,

a. Danielle

How limiting beliefs that cause us repeated suffering of a similar flavor can be traced back to a single event…

I have this place in my soul I refer to as the vault that I have shoved memories and things that have happened to me or that I endured to never be seen in the light of day again.

I was delusional in my belief that if I blacked out a traumatic memory it would disappear forever.

I can tell you that could not be further from the truth.

We are not given our tumultuous circumstances for us to shove them away in a dark corner of our soul and not grow from them and use them to catapult us into spiritual growth.

While our waking conscious may not be aware of our past traumas, our subconscious and our soul is very much aware of them. Stuffed traumas can be magnetic for us in a way that we find we relive the same type of trauma but with a different flavor and different characters.

But the damage is all the same.

It’s time I bring Dead Mom to life for you guys so you can get a better grasp of my life and what’s shaped me.

In my spiritual growth I have learned that if we leave things in us that are unhealed (shoved in the vault, unaddressed) that we will unknowingly attract similar situations to us until we learn the lessons we are supposed to be learning from it.

I see the pattern now of something I have been a prisoner of for my entire life and I was able to trace it back to a traumatic occurrence that happened when I was in grade school.

A boy on the school bus started to put his hands on me. It was slow at first as he was testing the boundaries that I neglected to set.

He was an upper class-men and I feared saying anything to him telling him to stop or quit.

I started dreading riding the bus so I would fake sick. Dead mom (who was undead back then 😜) was getting fed up and pissed off at me for being sickly all the time and her having to call me in sick and leave me home alone.

One day during the morning when I was trying to get called in sick a fight erupted and I finally blurted out that a boy had been touching me inappropriately on the bus and I was uncomfortable with it and didn’t want to be around him or ride the bus anymore!

Dead mom did what any mother of the year would do…..

She screamed at me. She blamed me. She threw her purse across the room and stormed around the kitchen screaming profanities because “now how the fuck was she going to get to work and deal with me getting to school”.

I wanted to die.

My loving subconscious only allows me to retrieve just enough of this memory to write about it while sparing me the reminder of the details because the rest is blacked out still. I’m sure it will surface one day and when that comes I’ll bring it to life on paper (my blog πŸ™‚).

That incident right there paved the way for numerous things.

It taught me that I was a hassle for everyone. If I was a burden for my parents who were supposed to love you unconditionally, I for sure am a burden for tertiary peoples as well.

You can see this limiting belief played out to this day as it is extremely difficult for me to rely on or ask for help from others.

This incident showed me that it doesn’t matter if you go to authorities (read: parents, the law, your supervisors) because don’t count on them protecting you.

This taught me that the predator will get away with murder and that it’s not worth the turmoil and heartache to bring up being victimized because it will be ME that gets the repercussions.

This last one has played out several times in my life. It’s because this belief was SO strong in me that I managed to attract more situations that would allow that theory to be proven as gospel.

This showed up the time Mr. Good showed up in the city of Omaha fire truck when I was trying to move out and blocked me in the driveway with the engine.

I’m pretty sure that using City Fire Trucks to harass your soon to be ex wife that was already hiding under ground due to immense fear of her situation – was not kosher.

I reported it as I was advised to do. What happened? NOTHING. The board who reviewed it didn’t think anything was wrong.

This showed up the time I was seeking a restraining order and was denied.

These are the precise reasons victims choose to keep quiet.

This limiting belief has tainted my life incredulously.

There is one incident that has rotted in me that I have struggled to forgive myself for allowing to happen and not saying anything about that I cannot Shake.

Forgiving others is a task. But forgiving ourselves?? Can seem impossible at times.

Several years ago our boss took us to Vegas to a fitness convention. The coworker guy and I were more along for the ride and didn’t have to attend the seminars like the managers all did.

During the first night of the event he and I went walking the strip with our boss. It stared getting unusual when our boss starting wanting to take photos of only me standing bye things on the strip.

I felt the stir in my gut that something wasn’t right. But at that time I wasn’t attuned to the language of intuition and shoved it.

I don’t recall the exact reasoning but the coworker guy and I had to go to our Bosses room for something with him.

I don’t know if I had a gut check at that moment or not as I am writing this I am not clear about it.

But what I am certain of is that what transpired next is blows well past the line of appropriate that it makes me ill.

While all 3 of us were in his room he instructed me to get on his bed and pose.

I KNOW I blurted out NO. Because that was way out of line. I remember looking at him and he had this blank look in his eyes that made him look inhuman. It was frightening like something had snapped in him.

He ended up pushing me by the shoulder on his bed and proceeded to take pictures of me while the coworker guy stood there. I was fully clothed. NOT that that detail matters in any way shape or form because what happened was wildly destructive and inappropriate.

I remember him emailing me later when we got back to Omaha and dropping a little black mail- Esqe type hint in an email about having those photos.

I remember asking him to delete them. He responded back that he was only joking about using them.

I never shared this with anyone back then. In fact, the coworker guy and I never breathed a word about it until many years later. He directly witnessed what happened and subsequently now refers to our (ex) boss as Weinstein.

There are so many things to cover as I type this. Such as the anatomy of why I remained silent with this living in me for all these years.

I will address that later as it is VERY important.

What I want to link together is the incident with my dead mom when I reported the kid touching me on the bus and her response and how what that engrained in me from that moment dictated how I handled situations in my life from then on.

I don’t think we realize the impact we leave on ourselves and others. That adage of get thicker skin or let things roll off your back can really go fuck itself.

Things like this, traumas, can stick with us and haunt us even when we think we have buried it. We won’t make the connections between things until we have a massive awakening and the veil is lifted from us and we see things on a much grander scale.

I couldn’t imagine how different things would be for me had my own mother stood up for me like a NORMAL mother should have.

I distinctly remember vowing to myself then and there that if I couldn’t protect my babies better than my dead mom protected me that I would NEVER bring a child into this world.

That incident buried the chance of her and I ever having a relationship. I built up a Fort Knox around my heart to block her out that would never be removed. Not until many years after her death has it finally started to come down brick by brick.

It feels good to have that freedom. As I learned later we are simply unable to selectively block love.

I recall an incident a while ago where my friends daughter had some punk kid say some pretty heinous threats towards her in school. I recall how I felt the moment I heard what happened and I went into hypervigilent mode wanting to protect her from that and protect her from allowing that to latch into her soul and to wreak havoc in her remaining life.

I probably had a PTSD episode because I literally felt the fear intensely in every cell of my body.

I wanted to save her from the things I couldn’t save myself from. I need not get my feathers in a tizzy because this girl has been gifted with a bomb as set of parents that protect her. Her father was beyond upset with the kid – rightfully so and it was apparent that her feelings and how this affected her was their priority.

That’s how parents should be.

While I was not gifted with those kinds of parents I was gifted with a fucking courageous, resilient heart, the gift of words and the gift of seeing dynamics of things in a light that most don’t.

I realize now how these were lessons I needed to learn and needed to experience to help bring light, love, compassion and awareness to.

I am able to show the connection of life events that were born from that traumatizing occurrence with dead mom.

I am now strong enough with enough courage in my heart to speak my truth even if my voice shakes.

And that’s just what I’m gonna do.

My prayer is that it inspires courageous actions from anyone who needs to do the same.

Enough for now.

Love and light. πŸ”₯

a. Danielle

What I learned by examining my own victim mindset by observing the anatomy of a narcissistic bully situation….

I’m back and ready to dig further into my experience of being on the receiving end of a narcissistic assault from my boss the other day.

I am grateful for the lessons I learned from that experience. I am humbled by the realization that hatred was seething through my veins for not only him but other tyrant leaders in my life (read: my very own dead mom) even if I tried not to acknowledge it.

Once I am able to acknowledge the hatred, it can start healing by me learning to let it go.

I felt very soothed in writing that piece but that was short lived. It was pointed out to me that my words were spoken from a victim perspective.

At first I didn’t (want to πŸ€”) see it that way.

Ego flared its little temper. I found myself trying to justify how the piece came across but at the end of the day I came to terms with it.

It had a victim perspective.

In my particular case I was viewing myself from an almost helpless mindset when dealing with my situation.

But that couldn’t be further from the truth. The part I was missing was that I have gone through so much transformation in here last few years that I am no longer the person I once was where I was easily swayed into believing other people’s views and opinions of me.

I am no longer the woman that had her self esteem and confidence and very identity stripped from her during her marriage that was susceptible to accepting less than treatment from anyone because I didn’t think I deserved better.

The truth of the matter is I ALLOWED what happened to me to happen.


When I first chewed on that realization that it tasted shit and I wanted to spit it out. But it is the truth.

In retrospect I can see where I gave away some of my power. The sovereignty that I have is freshly budded and will need some practice getting used to but I could absolutely see where I slipped and allowed myself to feel a certain way by what was being spewed at me.

At the core I know more of who I am than I ever have in my entire life. The more solid we are in our resolve of believing in and truly knowing ourselves then the less likely we will be affected when others try and tell us differently.

Narcissists are NOTORIOUS for the slow, methodical, torture and emotional abuse of beating your soul out of you. They are skilled at making you feel worthless, causing you to lose your self and self esteem and a myriad of other fancy words for what really means fucking your world up so badly that your lucky to make it out with one ounce of your soul in tact.

They prey on people that are easy targets for a fuel “supply”. I was an easy target. WAS being the key word.

Here’s where I want to illustrate the importance of knowing who we are, instilling our own love and positive belief systems about ourselves and our daughters, children – EVERYONE.

And start it from a young age. We don’t realize the true detriment of nonverbal things like being shunned and tossed aside when a new baby sibling comes along can do to a persons psyche.

As we go through life we forget our “true selves” because we start listening to our peers and society and other information highways if they tell us we are nerdy or fat or worthless or whatever.

It’s crucial, absolutely CRUCIAL we do everything in our power to keep that solid, strong, sovereign sense of self.

This has been monumental in me maneuvering this ordeal. I’ll explain why:

As I navigate this terrain with my situation I am trying to take the viewpoint of observer and I am learning much about the anatomy of a narcissistic bully situation.

It’s quite intricate the amount of manipulation that gets done. I decided that it’s my calling to write about these experiences for those who don’t have a voice or an option to get out of something similar whether it be work or home or whatever.

The next phase after the assault is a sneaky maneuver where the assassin quickly goes around to the tribe and builds a case in which they are in fact the victim. They initiate operation smear campaign where they start dragging your name through the mud purely to gain power in numbers by getting the upper hand with people siding with them because they share the sob story first.

They will tell the others that you are throwing them under the bus and use whatever toxic methods they can to paint you in a bad light and make others turn against you. They all then start stonewalling you and treating you less than respectfully to capitalize on the amount of pressure and disdain that causes you to eventually break.

This is where it’s absolutely vital for us to know who we are at the core level and believe in ourself a million percent because it gets shitty being ganged up against.

This can be excruciating for the person that is easily affected by being singled out and bullied and intimidated and that needs a sense of belonging to a group EVEN if the group is toxic.

Earlier this summer I read the most brilliant book by Brene Brown called Braving The Wilderness.

The just of it is that the wilderness is finding yourself and being true to yourself even if it means it’s a lonely place.

Life is truly about learning lessons if we pay attention and treat each situation as such. We always have the choice to learn from our experiences or succumb to them.

The situation I am in kinda blows. It’s not something I would try and manifest for myself intentionally but it has shown me multiple things.

The first is the power of braving my own wilderness and learning who I am and knowing that it doesn’t change based on someone else’s treatment of me OR their opinion of me.

That is some good shit right there and WAYYYYY worthy of celebrating!!!!

How people treat us is more of a reflection of THEM than it is us anyway. (Write that kibble down and save it for a rainy day πŸ™ƒ)

This has shown me just how far I have come in the last few years since my divorce and rebirth. I’m (sorta) fine with the bullying and being excluded and watching the toxic dynamic that is going on with using people as pawns for power.

I’m fine with it because it’s shown me that I am not affected by it where as before I would have been destroyed by this type of treatment. It is a perfect recipe for disaster for someone with a crushed self esteem and zero confidence.

That is no longer who or what I identify with. Also, VERY worthy of celebrating!

So even though this situation is not ideal I celebrate these victories and it tastes pretty damn good.

The next thing it taught me is what my victim mindset was trying to serve me. Which was essentially a bunch of dis-empowering bullshit.

I allowed myself to be treated the way I was. I have a choice to tolerate that going forward or not. I don’t have to be scared like the voices in my head try and tell me to be. That is VERY empowering for me.

The other thing it’s shown me is that there is essentially bullies in most groups. There is always that person that isn’t secure enough in their own selves. They don’t try and do the soul work to improve themselves and thus their life so they gain their own approval by applying manipulative tactics to everyone around them. It’s far easier for them to bully and create their own fake reality than work on themselves.

At end of the day we know who loves us for who we truly are and anyone that is willing to crucify us off of someone else’s slanderous claims, ISNT someone that is worth an ounce of our attention.

Therefore zero energy really needs to be exerted in that direction. Which leaves much more time and positive vibes to do the important things in life like remembering each and every day who we are, like loving ourselves and those around us and co- creating brilliant creative lives that serve the most good.

This feels much better for me to focus on examining where I have grown in this situation rather than spend needless time feeling like a victim of my circumstance.

It was a small reframe and mental shift that took me from deflated and low vibe to empowered.

I am learning that sometimes it’s the teensiest change that creates the most dramatic shifts.

Much love.

a. Danielle ❣️