One of my bachelor’s degrees is in psychology. I wanted to be a therapist or psychologist to help others. I’ve always been intrigued with human development and the vastness of the mind. For a while, I worked as a school psychologist, but that role is more about testing and shuffling paperwork than working one-on-one with individuals, so I moved on to other avenues. Nonetheless, I’ll be forever grateful for the knowledge I gained in those undergraduate years.

In what feels like a previous life, I was a mom blogger. After the birth of my youngest son, now age 10, I created a blog called Zealous Mom. This was during the early years of blogging when it was all about content and connecting with others in the blogging community as opposed to pushing out posts on social media and seeing how many likes and views it could get. 

It is mind-boggling that in the year 2022 a barbaric, nonsensical war rages in Ukraine. It’s an example that no matter how evolved we are or how technologically advanced we become, the wickedness of one human can impact the world and destroy precious lives. 

They say nostalgia and reminiscing can do two things to the psyche: be a buffer against ailments like depression and anxiety or exacerbate pre-existing mental health conditions. Personally, I’ve experienced both sides of the coin. 

My mom was a tiny Southern lady who graduated salutatorian of her senior class and never said a cuss word in her life, minus the one time someone cut her off in traffic and I heard her whisper the word for a female dog. But underneath that seemingly demure exterior was a fierce and funny woman, a lady that held multiple degrees, could make some mean fried peach pies and started a successful tour company after she’d retired from 35 years of teaching. 

My older son turned 13 on Jan. 19, and my younger son turned 10 on Jan. 20. They are both officially in the double digits, which is hard for this mama to believe. Since they were babies, we’ve hosted a dual birthday party, as opposed to separate celebrations for each boy. 

I listened to a podcast recently that blasted January’s public relations company for making everyone feel bad about themselves. Instead of promoting “New Year, New You,” the podcasters honor “New Year, Same You.” Although we’ve entered into 2022, we have the same mind, same body, same soul. 

I read a quote recently by Charlie “Tremendous” Jones that said, “You will be the same person in five years as you are today, except for the people you meet and the books you read.” 

Glennon Doyle is a favorite writer of mine and currently hosts a powerful podcast called “We Can Do Hard Things.” Doyle says what screws us up the most is the picture in our heads of how things are supposed to be. From birth, we’re offered images, words, models and examples of the types of people we’re encouraged to one day become. 

Every year of our girlhood, my sister and I woke up early on Thanksgiving Day, sat at the kitchen barstools in our pajamas and helped my mom break up cornbread and biscuits so we could make my great grandmother’s dressing recipe. Throughout the day, the house would fill with smells of turkey, macaroni and cheese, sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie. Sometime mid-morning, my grandparents would drive up from Travelers Rest, S.C., to join in on the festivities.