Sleep is one of the most important tools in your healthy you toolbox.
For years, I thought running on three or four hours of sleep was a badge of honor. “Look at me, conquering the world on minimal sleep!” Let me tell you, there’s nothing heroic about walking around like a zombie. It wasn’t until I got sick that I realized sleep isn’t something to skimp on—it’s essential for our health and well-being.
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When I first heard about Ozempic, it was through that unforgettable “O-O-O-Ozempic” commercial. If you’re anything like me and remember the song “Magic” by Pilot, you’ll understand why that jingle lodged itself in my brain. It aired around the same time I found out I had diabetes, and I remember thinking, “Hmm, that might be something to try in the future.” It’s funny looking back because, at the time, it felt like a niche product with a catchy jingle. Little did I know that Ozempic would soon become a household name. It’s amazing how a couple of years can turn a little-known medication into something that’s practically everywhere.
Fast forward to about a year ago when I actually started taking Ozempic. It was primarily to manage my diabetes, but I soon discovered it had some surprising perks. I didn’t experience the weight loss that many others did; instead, I gained a bit. With my blood sugar under better control, I found I could enjoy foods that were previously off-limits without worrying about sugar spikes. It felt liberating after years of strict dietary restrictions.
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The term Karen has become a cultural shorthand for an entitled, often middle-aged white woman who demands to “speak to the manager.” It conjures images of someone who makes unreasonable complaints, exhibits privilege, or acts condescendingly toward service workers. But over time, what started as an internet joke has transformed into something much bigger—sometimes even silencing women who are simply advocating for themselves.
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Growing up, many of us were taught to “tough it out.” I remember carrying firewood with my siblings and falling, only to be told to shake it off when I told my parents my hand hurt really bad. It had been a long day and it happened at bedtime, so everyone just wanted to go to sleep.
The next morning, I found myself in the emergency room with a hand full of fat sausages, my fingers so swollen they were touching. My mom felt terrible, but that “tough it out” mentality stuck with me, and I’m sure a lot of you suffer the same problem.
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For a long time, a lot of my joy was tied to food. Special occasions meant special meals. Family traditions revolved around baking and sharing treats. And then, life threw me a curveball—I found out I was diabetic.
Suddenly, the very things that brought me comfort and connection—the cookies, the Christmas treats, the homemade dishes I tied to memories—were off-limits, or at least had to be drastically changed. My first holiday season after getting sick was rough. Every year, I had made my mother’s favorite Christmas desserts as a way to feel close to her and my dad. But now? That tradition, that little piece of joy, felt like it had been ripped away.
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If you’ve ever said “I’m fine” while holding back tears, this is for you.
We all know the drill. Someone asks how we’re doing, and without a second thought, we slap on a smile and say, “I’m fine.” Doesn’t matter if we just stubbed our toe, spilled coffee on ourselves, or are actively suppressing an emotional breakdown—“I’m fine” is the default response.
A friend of mine pointed this out to me one day. He told me, “You always say you’re fine, even when you’re obviously not. That’s just you.” And honestly? He was right. Even when I was exhausted, overwhelmed, or barely keeping it together, I still said I was fine. Because that’s what we do, right? Especially women. We keep moving. We take care of everyone else. We don’t want to be a burden.
Then my friend jokingly said, “You should make a shirt so that when you’re not fine, you can just wear it, and I’ll know.” And thus, my “I’m Fine” shirt was born.
It’s funny. It’s sarcastic. But it’s also way too real.
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There was a time when I thought the words “low-carb” belonged to a realm of misery and sacrifice—like a dystopian novel where potatoes were contraband, and bread was only available on the black market. Let me set the stage: back when I started my health journey, I wasn’t in it for the mirror or the scale. I wanted to feel better. Look better? I mean, I woudn’t be mad about it.But I had bigger goals—like not feeling like a tired and wore out on the daily.
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Eight years ago, I decided to focus on health rather than chasing perfection. We often imagine that losing weight will transform us into supermodels, but that’s rarely the case. When our bodies don’t match the image in our minds, it can be discouraging.
Losing weight is a journey, and sometimes our bodies don’t quite match the supermodel image in our heads. Stretch marks, extra skin—these are badges of honor, not flaws. They’re proof that you’ve worked hard. And let’s face it, nobody’s perfect (not even those airbrushed and over-filtered influencers!).
Hey there, friends! Long time, no blog. If my website had tumbleweeds, they’d be blowing across the homepage right now. But here I am, brushing off the dust, because life has been a lot—and honestly, I missed you all.
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“Don’t Feed the Frenzy.”
We’ve all been there—whether as the one being targeted or standing on the sidelines, watching the rumors swirl. Sometimes we get swept up in it, maybe even glad it’s not us on the receiving end. But the truth is, when we feed into it, we’re not just adding to the chaos, we’re feeding something bigger—something darker.
The mantra I come back to is simple: “Don’t Feed the Frenzy.”
Picture it like this: the frenzy is a school of fish, darting around in a panicked mess. Each rumor, each piece of gossip, each hurtful comment is another fish, whipping the waters into chaos. But what we don’t always see right away is the shark lurking beneath the surface—the shark that’s waiting for us to feed it. The shark represents the real damage—the hurt, the negativity, the emotional toll that all this gossip and judgment creates.
When we spread rumors, when we pile on to hurt someone, we’re feeding the frenzy. And every time we participate, the frenzy grows. The shark gets stronger, more powerful. It becomes the looming force of negativity, tearing through people’s lives.
And we have a choice in that moment: we can either feed the shark, or we can starve it.
It’s easy to get pulled in, to feel the pressure to participate, or to think, “Well, at least it’s not me.” But every word we say, every time we join in the gossip, we’re adding to that frenzy. We’re giving the shark exactly what it needs—more fuel to cause hurt, more power to stir things up.
But what if we didn’t feed it? What if we made the choice to swim away? To stop feeding the rumors, the gossip, the negativity?
When we don’t feed the frenzy, we’re taking away the shark’s power. We’re refusing to let it grow. We’re choosing peace, kindness, and compassion over chaos and hurt. It’s about recognizing when things are turning toxic and having the strength to say, “Not this time.” It’s about protecting our own peace, our own integrity, and not allowing ourselves to become part of something that only leads to more pain.
The next time you see the frenzy happening—when the rumors start to fly, when the gossip starts to grow—remember that you have the power to stop feeding the shark. You don’t have to join in. You can walk away. You can protect your peace, and in doing so, protect others from the harm that comes when we let the frenzy take over.
“Don’t Feed the Frenzy.” It’s a simple reminder, but it holds real power. The more we choose not to engage, the more we choose kindness and empathy, the weaker the shark becomes. And when we stop feeding it, we’ll find ourselves in clearer, calmer waters—where peace, compassion, and true connection live.
Check out my Don’t Feed the Frenzy shirts here!
My 30 Point Life 