Gratitude 10/10 for 2025… 2026 let’s continue to make it intentional.

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2025 for me, came in hot and left absolutely no crumbs. Promotion? Check. Growth? Double check. Health? Never been better. My family milestones alone deserve their own red carpet. Cameron got married and Stella got engaged. The whole crew somehow managed to stay thriving and healthy. A win in my book.

I love my kids in a way that sometimes makes me question my own parenting style. Watching them step into their lives, build love, chase goals, and create futures they’re proud of? That’s the real luxury. My family and friends…the backbone of every good story I have. They stayed prosperous, joyful and supportive. Thank God, because I don’t have the bandwidth to worry.

Now for 2026? This one’s about to be a headliner. Stella’s wedding. The adventures Brian and I will cook up (hopefully warm ones, because cold is still not invited). But the most important thing 2026 offers is bigger than events on a calendar. It’s the chance for the people I hold near and dear to stop living on autopilot, hit pause, and ask themselves this, “Does this serve me? Does this bring me peace? Does this bring me health?”

Life moves fast. Too fast. One minute you’re manifesting greatness, the next you’re digging through emails wondering who made you responsible for so much. It’s easy to let the routine lead us, to become reactionary instead of intentional. My prayer for the people I love most is that 2026 becomes the year they choose to lead life instead of letting life lead them.

To be purposeful. To be proactive. To evaluate their habits without judgment, and commit to growth without apology. To build the best version of themselves not for applause, but for peace. Nothing would make me happier than watching the people I love succeed, in their own way, on their own terms, with health and calm as their foundation.

So here’s to 2025… thank you for the memories, the lessons, and the glow-up. Here’s to 2026…may we lead boldly, choose wisely, and live in ways that actually serve us.

And in case you are wondering… I’m here, waiting to support, encourage and cheer you on every step of the way❤️

Massaging My “Perfections”

​Today, somewhere between my shoulders being kneaded like sourdough and the masseuse whispering “just relax,” a single thought popped into my head…She is massaging my perfections. Not my imperfections….my perfections.

The irony of that almost made me crack up right there on the table. If I’m being honest, I’ve spent the better part of my adult life admiring the “perfections” of everyone else while tearing mine apart. I have scrutinized my own body with a level of intensity that really should’ve been reserved for important things, like reading restaurant menus or hunting for lost Amazon packages.

For years, I didn’t understand, much less appreciate, the sheer magnitude of what this body has carried me through. I didn’t honor the places it’s taken me, the storms it survived, or the pain it endured that only I felt. Instead, I misused it, mistreated it, overworked it, over-exercised it, and undervalued it like it was some sort of crappy rental car I could just return at the end of the lease.

Now, at the ripe, seasoned, beautifully unbothered age of 44, fresh off one of the hardest and most gratifying years of my life…I see things differently.

I look at this body now with appreciation. Real, deep appreciation. The kind that sits in your chest and makes you exhale a little slower. Because this body… it never gave up on me. Even when I gave up on it.

The scars? I earned every single one. I endured that pain. The stretch marks? Proof of the beautiful, exhausting, magical privilege of carrying and birthing two incredible humans. The aging skin? A reminder that 1. time is undefeated and 2.  I should’ve listened when people said “wear sunscreen.” But here we are.

And still… I am healthy. I am happy. I am whole. I am finally giving this body the grace, love, kindness, softness, and care it deserves. Because perfection was never in smooth skin, flat stomachs, or the comparison traps I used to live in.

Perfection is in the resilience.

The healing.

The survival.

The memories etched into skin.

The strength that kept going even when my mind didn’t want to.

So today, while getting my knots kneaded like they owed somebody money, I realized something simple and profound. My body, exactly as it is, exactly as it has been…is perfection to me.

I’m done apologizing for it.

I’m done criticizing it.

I’m done overlooking it.

From here on out, we’re in this together…me and this perfectly imperfect body… giving each other a whole lot more grace than we used to.

Who I Am: A Roadmap For The Woman I’m Becoming

​There comes a moment when you stop asking, “Who should I be” and start getting real about “Who am I actually becoming”. I’m in that moment right now. Not the polished, put-together version of me, but the real one. The one who’s learning, unlearning, softening, growing, and finally paying attention to the woman underneath the responsibilities.

I’ve spent so much of my life mastering strength. Humor. Productivity. “I’m fine.” But vulnerability? That’s the one emotion I’ve tried to keep at an arms length. Lately, it keeps tapping me on the shoulder, whispering that maybe I don’t have to carry everything by myself. Maybe letting someone show up for me doesn’t make me weak. Maybe it just makes me human.

If my future self could come back and correct one thing, she’d probably snatch the “I’ll handle it” badge right off my chest. She’d tell me to sit down somewhere and let life support me for once. She’d remind me that the next level of my life won’t come from doing more… it’ll come from doing less of what isn’t mine to carry.

Somewhere along the way, I forgot about one of my greatest strengths. Connection. It comes so naturally that I assumed everyone had it. But they don’t. I’m the person who pulls people together, who creates belonging, who can walk into a room and shift the energy without even trying. That’s not luck, that’s a gift. One I’m finally claiming.

There’s a softer version of me that only shows up with a trusted few. She’s tender, calm, sentimental, loyal, and she feels everything deeply. I’ve protected her like she’s something that needs hiding, but I’m starting to understand that softness isn’t a liability, it’s a luxury, and it’s one I deserve to experience more often.

I defend my independence like it’s my job. “I’m good”, “I got it”,  “I don’t need anything”. That’s not toughness, that’s fear dressed up in confidence. A fear of being disappointed. Being let down. Needing the wrong person. While those fears came from real places, they don’t get to dictate the rest of my life.

I get misunderstood sometimes, especially when I’m direct. People hear the tone and miss the intention. Here’s the truth. When I’m honest, it’s because I care. If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t say a word. My strength isn’t aggression. It’s protection, for myself and for the people I love.

If expectations could just disappear for 24 hour’s, the real me would show up. The playful, creative, funny, adventurous me. The one who comes out during girls’ trips. The one who laughs loud, dreams big, and breathes freely. I want to see more of her in my everyday life, not just in moments where nobody needs anything from me.

It’s the heart-centered compliments that make me squirm. The ones about my softness, my emotional depth, or my inner beauty. Tell me I’m strong, sure. Tell me I’m resilient, absolutely. Tell me I’m tender or vulnerable? That hits places I’m still learning to accept in myself. Maybe others are simply seeing something true before I’m ready to own it.

I’ve been giving everyone else my 100% while giving myself whatever’s left. The woman I’m becoming is someone who rests without guilt, says no without apologies, and protects her peace like it’s a full-time job. She doesn’t pour from an empty cup, she fills hers first and pours from the overflow.

I’m not reinventing myself. I’m uncovering myself. Peeling back the layers of who I’ve had to be in order to meet the woman I’m becoming. She’s grounded. She’s awake. She’s full of heart and fire. She’s done apologizing for taking up space. She’s ready, more ready than she’s ever been, to step into the life she’s quietly dreamed about.

This is my roadmap. Not to a new me, but to the truest me.

Careers and Connection: it’s the connection for me

Square Garden.

When I was a little girl, I had one dream… to be a backup dancer for Paula Abdul. I’d spend hours in my bedroom, blasting “Straight Up,” perfecting my moves. I had  convinced myself I was destined for the stage. Watching MTV and VH1 like it was my job, and I took that job seriously.

One would think I was honing my skills, but let’s just say the rhythm didn’t exactly get me. My one move “the finger guns” became my trademark. If you know me, you already know what I’m talking about. It’s less choreography and more chaos with confidence.

As my dream of backup-dancing fame faded (somewhere around the time I realized coordination mattered), I also realized I didn’t have a backup plan. No calling, no passion, just a lot of personality and a knack for winging it. So, I did what most of us do, and I let life lead. I tried different jobs, wore different hats, and learned from a lot of “well, that didn’t go as planned” moments.

Eventually, I found something that stuck, people.

I could talk to anyone. I could connect. A friend once told me, “You could sell ice to an Eskimo.” However, I was less interested in the sale and more interested in the story.

I love hearing people’s stories. I love listening, learning, mentoring, laughing, and connecting. I love the moments where people feel seen…because truthfully, that’s what we all want, isn’t it?

Just the other day, a coworker said, “I told Martha to give you a call, you’re great at helping people work through things.” That meant more to me than any award or recognition. Not because I have all the answers (spoiler alert, I don’t), but because it reminded me that my purpose has always been about people. Not fixing them but connecting with them.

I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life. Some I wish I could erase, and some I’d likely repeat again because they taught me valuable lessons. I’ve been reactive when I should’ve been proactive. I’ve fallen flat on my face (metaphorically, and maybe once or twice literally). Every stumble taught me something. You get out of people what you put into them.

That goes for all my people. My kids, my  spouse, my friends, my coworkers and myself. 

My children are my proudest gift. They’re the best parts of their father and I. Just enough of my fire to keep things interesting but a whole lot of their Dads patients. My friends? Absolute blessings. My family? Unconditional love that can’t be described in words.

My coworkers..They’re my lifeline. My crew. The first people I talk to every morning and usually the last ones I chat with before I call it quits each day. We laugh until our sides hurt, we pick each other up when things go sideways, and we call each other out (lovingly) when we need to. We’re not in competition, we’re in collaboration. The prize, It’s not a title. It’s not the accolades. It’s definitely not the paycheck (though let’s be honest, those dollar bills don’t hurt). The real prize is loving what you do and who you get to do it with. Money won’t buy happiness, but being surrounded by good humans absolutely will.

At the end of the day, that’s my passion. To mentor, connect, and help people grow their own wings. To create spaces where people feel respected, appreciated, and valued. That doesn’t stop when the workday ends. I want my friends, my family, and my kids to feel it too. To know that I’m grateful for them and that they matter. Every single day. 

I’ll fail sometimes. I’ll get it wrong. I’ll say too much or expect too much. But I’m not chasing perfection, I’m chasing consistency and authenticity. When I show up, I show up all in. When I pull up a chair, it’s because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. If you need me to sit behind you while you take the lead, cheering like a proud stage mom.. I’ve got my finger guns ready.

So, the moral of my story?

I don’t want to sell ice to an Eskimo. I want the Eskimo to trust me enough to tell me why he doesn’t need it, laugh with me about it, and maybe invite me to stay for coffee anyway. Because it’s not about the sale. It’s about the connection. And that, my friends, is where the real magic happens.

Make Time To Live

Sometimes you just need to pack a bag, grab your sense of humor, and remind yourself that the world is a whole lot bigger than your inbox.

I’ve learned over the years that traveling isn’t about escaping life, it’s about remembering to live it. Whether it’s fly fishing in the mountains with the water cold enough to make you question your life choices, snorkeling in Jamaica alongside fish that are way too comfortable in your personal space, or taking a guided hike through the canyons of Arizona where every turn looks like a postcard. These are the moments that fill my soul.

Utah’s views stopped me dead in my tracks and the hikes there were no joke. Boston’s fresh seafood will ruin you… for all other seafood cannot compare. The Florida Keys, Don’t even get me started. Deep sea fishing there was a mix of beauty, chaos, and laughter. Basically, a perfect metaphor for my life. When I need to breathe, nothing calms my heart quite like watching the waves crash against the South Carolina coast. There’s just something about the ocean that makes all the noise in my head fade away.

But the best part of every adventure is who I get to share it with. The people that mean the most to me will always, by far, be the best part of any trip.

My family have been my favorite travel buddies from the start. Those long road trips with snacks, laughter, and questionable car karaoke, to cabin weekends now filled with card games, adult conversations, and the same kind of laughter that makes your cheeks hurt. Wanting to explore the country and having the opportunity to do so, is the kind of joy I’ll never take for granted.

Then there are the girls’ trips…horseback rides through the countryside, laughter echoing through cabins, and memories that remind me that being terrified or exhausted or totally out of your comfort zone is often where the best stories come from.

Here’s what I know for sure: peace doesn’t just show up on your doorstep one morning. You have to go out and make space for it. Sometimes it’s found in quiet mornings and other times it’s hidden in the middle of adventure. In saltwater hair, sore muscles, and sunsets that make you stop talking for a minute.

I’ve spent enough of my life rushing to the next thing. These days, I’m more focused on soaking it all in. The laughter, the beauty, the food (especially the food), and the people who make it all worth it. I want to keep saying YES to new experiences, to road trips, to seafood by the water, and to every moment that makes my heart swell with gratitude.

So that’s my reminder to myself and maybe to you, too.

Make time to live. To explore. To eat the good food, take the trip, and laugh until your face hurts with the people who mean the most to you. Because peace isn’t found in perfection. It’s found in the messy, beautiful, unforgettable moments in between.

From Paychecks to Purpose

If you lined up every job I’ve ever had, you’d probably think I was either wildly ambitious or just allergic to sitting still. Don’t get me wrong, each career had longevity, I have always been a hard worker but unsure of what my purpose really was. Truth is, it’s probably a little of both. My career path hasn’t been a straight line, it’s been more of a zigzag dance between opportunity, instinct, and “well, why not?” moments. From managing bars to teaching pole dancing classes (yes, that was a real job and no, I don’t regret it), to serving on more volunteer boards than I can count, my résumé reads more like a storybook than a checklist

Each chapter taught me something different. As a bar manager, I learned how to read people faster than any leadership course could teach and how to navigate chaos with a smile, even when everything around you is one spilled drink away from disaster. As a pole instructor, I learned that confidence isn’t about perfection; it’s about showing up, falling, laughing, and trying again. Years in the insurance industry taught me patience and the respect for a profession that no one appreciates. Through my years of volunteering, I learned that real leadership often looks less like standing at the front of a room and more like standing beside people, supporting, guiding, and helping them believe in themselves.

Leadership has always seemed to find me, no matter where I landed. I was the person others turned to when things got messy, when they needed direction, or when someone just had to take charge. I didn’t set out to be “the leader” I just cared deeply about doing things right, helping people feel seen, and making sure everyone left a little better than they arrived. Somewhere along the way, that turned into a career filled with purpose and pride.

But let’s be honest, it wasn’t always easy. There were years I was juggling too many hats, trying to prove myself, or quietly wondering if I’d ever find “my thing.” I’ve had jobs that pushed me to the edge of exhaustion and others that filled my heart but not my bank account. I’ve had moments of clarity and moments of pure confusion, and I’ve learned that both are equally valuable. Because it’s in those messy middle moments, the ones that make you question what in the world you’re doing, that you find your grit, your humility, and your strength.

The truth is, every stop on the road added something to the person I am today. I learned how to communicate with people from all walks of life. I learned that respect is earned through consistency, and that leading with empathy doesn’t make you soft, it makes you strong. I learned that being adaptable is one of the greatest superpowers you can have, and that sometimes the best opportunities show up disguised as hard work.

And now, after all the twists, turns, and trial runs, I get to wake up every day and do work that I love. Work that challenges me, fulfills me, and keeps me growing. More importantly, I get to do it alongside people who make me proud to show up, coworkers who value kindness as much as excellence, and a company that genuinely treats people the way they deserve to be treated. That’s rare, and I don’t take it for granted.

I’m thankful for every experience that shaped me, every lesson that humbled me, and every person who saw potential in me before I saw it in myself. I’m proud of the grit it took to get here and the grace I’ve learned to carry along the way.

So, here I am, still learning, still leading, still laughing through the chaos. I may have started my career chasing paychecks, but somewhere along the way, I found purpose. And if I’ve learned anything, it’s that your path doesn’t have to be perfect to be meaningful. Sometimes, the winding road is the one that leads you right where you belong.

Because purpose isn’t something you find at the end of the road, it’s something you build, one wild, beautiful, unexpected chapter at a time.

Rebirth At The Bathroom Sink

I held a toothbrush in one hand and gripped the counter with the other. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I knew for certain something wasn’t right.

Now listen, I’ve spent a lifetime going in and out of my “health is my top priority” eras. I’ve always known what I should eat, how I should move, and how both of those things are tied to my mental health. I didn’t always do the right things, but I sure knew what they were… and exactly what happened when I didn’t.

In my twenties, my priority was raising babies. In my thirties, I declared it my “take back” era. Then forty came along and I declared it again, because apparently I didn’t quite take back enough the first time. I tried every diet, every cleanse, every workout that left me seeing stars and questioning my life choices. And sure, I looked forward to my “cheat meal” like it was a national holiday.

I took classes, obtained my nutrition certification and became a fitness coach. If you can’t be consistent for yourself, teach others how to be consistent, right? (Kidding… sort of.) I loved coaching though. Being that mix of therapist, drill sergeant, and best friend was my jam. It was rewarding in a way few jobs ever are. I still couldn’t make ME my top priority. Until one day, I didn’t have a choice.

That morning at the bathroom sink, toothbrush in hand, I yelled for my husband. I didn’t even know what was happening, just that my body felt like it was giving out. By the time Brian came running, I was numb…literally numb. Turns out, genetics had decided to cash in their chips. I had suffered a series of strokes. So, yeah. Thanks, genetics. Appreciate you.

I spent a week at Atrium Hospital in Charlotte, NC. No friends or family nearby. Just me, Brian, and my laptop…because yes, I was still answering work calls, sending invoices, and pretending I hadn’t just had strokes. When Brian caught me doing that, he didn’t yell. He didn’t have to. If you know him, you know he’s a man of few words but when he speaks, you listen.

And that silence? It was loud. It was also life-changing.

In that stillness, something in me reignited. A fire, a rebirth, a clarity I hadn’t felt in years. I realized I’d been living like a passenger in my own life, and it was time to slide into the driver’s seat. No GPS, just gut and grace.

Working with my doctor and a functional health specialist, I found balance. I discovered I had Hashimoto’s, an autoimmune disease I’d probably had for most of my adult life. That diagnosis didn’t scare me; it set me free. Because knowledge is power, peace gives you time, and clarity? Clarity is everything.

I changed everything about how I lived. No alcohol, no caffeine, no sugar, no gluten, no dairy, no red meat… and yes, no stress. (That last one’s a work in progress, but we’ll call it “aspirational.”)

And before you say it… yes, I still eat ice cream. Dairy-free, gluten-free, and with the same enthusiasm as ever. If there’s an “Eaters Anonymous,” sign me up, because that’s one addiction I’m not quite ready to let go of.

Here’s the thing, food used to be comfort, distraction, therapy. Now it’s fuel. Nothing more, nothing less. The real challenge was learning to manage my stress. And honestly? Once I realized most of my stress came from other people, work, and my own doing, I knew what I had to do.

I stopped letting people’s opinions or actions take up space in my heart. I learned to say no without apologizing. I leaned on my team at work instead of trying to carry the entire world on my shoulders. Funny thing, when you stop trying to be everyone’s superhero, you actually make room for them to be heroes too. The power in seeing others grow and succeed is undeniably one of my favorite things about being in leadership at my company.

I also stopped putting myself in situations that didn’t fit who I was. If something doesn’t serve me, a person, a commitment, a habit…I let it go. I try new things, say yes to adventure, and genuinely live. Because if genetics want a rematch, they’ll have to catch me mid-laugh doing something I love.

To my kids: I’m sorry for the years I wasn’t the clearest, calmest version of me. Thank you for loving every version anyway.

To Brian: thank you for being steady when I wasn’t, for loving me through all my seasons, and for catching me, literally and figuratively, when I fell.

To those of you reading this: let me be your sign that it’s never too late to start your own journey. You don’t have to do it my way, just take the first step toward your version of better. Read the book. Take the walk. Do the scary thing.

When someone’s chapter in your life ends, don’t slam the book shut. Just place a bookmark, set it on the nightstand, and know you can always revisit it later, if and when it makes sense. Don’t hold grudges. Say thank you. Say I love you. Especially to yourself.

If no one’s told you lately, you are worth it. I’m over here high-fiving the absolute hell out of you. Because watching someone else find their power, That’s my purpose and it feels pretty damn good.