No Theme, Just Vibes – DEEP ROOTS

Permission Slip

One of my goals for last year and this year has been to write something at least once per month. The last time I posted anything here was on January 2nd, so I’ve already slipped a bit. Oops. I’ve been telling myself that because I published four posts in January, I am still averaging over one per month, so it counts. At this stage, that’s the kind of flexibility I need. I simply don’t have the capacity to add any unnecessary pressure to my life.

I like pressure. I’m nothing if not routine-oriented. That’s why I’ve given myself a goal of a monthly post in the first place. Without some sort of deadline, a task ceases to exist to me. Since July of last year, I’ve made twelve posts on this blog, and you know what? I am damn proud of that.

Still, something about this space does not feel quite right. Even though it is completely mine, I have been overthinking and overcomplicating it. That’s something I’ve been known to do before and I’ll go ahead and guess that it’s going to happen again. Luckily for me (and for everyone in my life,) when I get like this, I usually snap out of it in a moment of sudden clarity. That’s kind of what’s happening here.

I’ve realized that the thing preventing me from even attempting to write something is nothing more than pesky perfectionism. I tell myself that if what I have to say is even slightly unpolished, I should wait until I’m feeling less scattered, frustrated, manic, overwhelmed, goofy, tired, etc. Except, well, you know. That moment rarely comes at a time when I can drop everything to go write a blog post. So…here I am! More than two full months into the new year, resetting some expectations with myself on how this goal should look and feel.

I keep thinking about how tiny kids make friends so easily. They’re weird, they’re loud, and they haven’t developed a filter yet. Part of why kids are so funny is because their thoughts go straight from brain to mouth with no hesitation and no second-guessing. They call it like it is.

Then, those kids get a bit older and they start to care more about what everyone around them thinks. They may alter their behavior a bit to avoid being different from their peers. Any parent of school-aged children know that when kids come home at the end of the day, they unleash the most chaotic, emotional versions of themselves. They’ve been holding in their initial reactions and their big feelings all day and as soon as they’re in their safe place, they can be their full selves again, warts and all.

People have always said that as you get older, you get more confident in yourself and you stop caring as much about external opinions. For me, that has proven to be true – and yet I do still feel the pressure to deliver the most polished version of myself. I doubt that will change in most areas of my life, but at least here, at Deep Roots | Full Bloom, I am giving myself permission to “bring my full self.”

This is my permission slip to myself to write what’s on my mind and to do it for me first. I love having you here, but I think we will all enjoy this space more if I let go of some of the polish and lean into more honesty.

Thanks for being here.

Q1 2024 Reflections: in Resilience Through Transitions

One thing not everyone may know about me is that I am deeply reflective. Read: I think… nonstop. The end of the year is often when I reflect the most, taking stock of what I’ve learned, how I’ve grown, and where I’ve struggled. This year, being full of lessons, challenges, and growth, has given me plenty to think about. As I look back on the first quarter of 2024, I’m reminded that transitions and adaptability weren’t just themes—they were necessities. Here’s what those months taught me.

January: Emotions shape resilience.

On January 24th, I returned to work after maternity leave—delayed by my twins’ RSV hospitalization in December. The transition brought nerves from all sides. At home, I felt the weight of leaving my babies after such a scary time. At work, I faced a reorganization that had dissolved the team I once led, returning me to my former role as an Executive Trainer.

Excitement carried me into the office, eager to reconnect with my professional self, but emotions ran high. By 4:00 on my first day, I was in tears during a 1:1 with a close friend, and many commutes home were spent crying in my car, processing the overwhelm. Still, my optimism helped me persevere. When emotions align with purpose, they become a source of resilience, carrying you through even the toughest transitions.

February: Tradition doesn’t have to make sense.

My sister and I take four sister days each year—one for every season. This winter’s was a perfect way to celebrate one of my favorite things: Leap Day! We wore ridiculous sweatshirts inspired by my comfort show, 30 Rock, that were totally outside our usual fashion sense. It almost felt like we were in costume, which meant we giggled about it all day. Per usual for a sister day, we went to a Mexican restaurant and shared some queso and margaritas while trying not to cry laugh when we noticed people noticing us.

Maybe the loudest thing about me right now is that I am a working mom of three. I feel like I say it or think it constantly, but hey – it’s pretty damn all-consuming, so you’ll forgive me. In this “season,” it can feel impossible to take a day off that I don’t absolutely need. With three kids in daycare, there are already so many sick days to juggle. But tradition is worth protecting. These days give us a chance to connect, uninterrupted, and do whatever we feel like—whether it’s running errands, making an elaborate cheesecake, or laughing over queso. It’s always time well spent.

March: What was isn’t what is.

Returning to a familiar-yet-changed business area was disorienting, to say the least. I had only been away for a year, but reorganization after reorganization meant almost nothing and no one were as I had left them. It felt like I was in the Upside-Down version of my job—just without the slimy monsters and with better lighting.

My personal life had undergone massive changes, but so had everyone else’s. I’m only the main character in my own life; everyone I worked with had likely faced their own struggles, shifts, and challenges that shaped them over the past year. Relationships were different, the people I leaned on at work had shifted, and dynamics I’d once relied on no longer felt the same. Even my own goals and definition of success had changed, yet two months in, I still couldn’t fully define them.

I had excelled as a trainer for years, but this new environment felt foreign. My new leader valued very different things than my previous leaders, and processes that had always worked for me suddenly didn’t. Adapting hasn’t been easy, and I still have moments where I feel out of place. But I’m proud of the work I’ve put in to build culture on my team and to lead from where I am, even without a formal leadership title. This year has tested my agility and adaptability, and though I miss the leadership role I once held, I’ve grown in ways I didn’t foresee.

Closing Thoughts: Finding Strength in Transition

The first quarter of 2024 was a lesson in navigating transitions with resilience and adaptability. It was a period of emotional highs and lows, of rediscovering myself at work and at home, and of leaning into traditions that remind me of who I am.

Stay tuned for lessons learned in Q2, Q3, and Q4—each quarter brought its own unique challenges, reflections, and growth that I can’t wait to share!

More Than Mine

Two weeks ago, there was an event in honor of my grandfather at a local art gallery. We lost my grandpa nearly two years ago, and he had such a profound impact on his community that I now get to admire a mural that was painted in his honor. It is on display in the city in which he lived and worked – and for a man who spent a lot of time worrying over the future he was providing for his family and his community, I think that’s pretty damn close to miraculous.

The artist who painted it, Jeremy, made limited edition prints of his mural of my grandfather. My copy will hang on the photo wall I’m creating in my home, modeled after the one I admired in my grandparents’ home. It will hang near the art I inherited from him and my grandma. It is a surreal experience for me and to put it as plainly as I can, it’s very moving. I am a bit overwhelmed by it all.

The fact that my grandfather had this ripple effect on his community inspired me to get some of my thoughts out. I wrote this, and while it’s never going to be possible to fully articulate my feelings – hey, it’s a start.

I can’t be the expert on my grandfather.
I can’t because his life was so much more than the parts I got to observe.
I can’t measure the weight of his impact
On his friends. His sons. His dainty duck.
I can’t even measure the impact he had on me, though I know it was substantial.
I cannot possibly know the ways he both blessed and befuddled his neighbors.

What I do know is that he was observant and obstinate.
What I do know is that he was particular. Exacting. Meticulous. Firm.
His humor: quick and dry.

I was lucky enough to know him on a different level than most.
To most of you, he was a colleague. A boss. A mentor. A landlord. A partner. A leader.
He was sharp and resolved. He was so often RIGHT, if not incredibly stubborn.
That man who you knew better than to get into an argument with, if at all avoidable.

I was able to live with my grandfather in my life until I was 32 years old.
Three plus decades of influence from this man.
Three decades of watching him conduct classical music with one hand,
A glass of vodka or red wine in the other hand.
Three decades of his booming voice cheering for the Lions on Thanksgiving.
Three decades of him sitting at the head of my parents’ dining room table and sharing stories from when my dad and uncles were kids.
Three decades of seeing him smile through his retellings of favorite memories.
Mischief. Nostalgia. Wit.
Eight plus decades of experiences, stories, lessons, and values to pass down to his people.

Above all else, he wanted to see his community and his family thrive.
He wanted to provide stability for the people and places he loved.
He aimed to uphold the highest of standards.
He strived to create a legacy that outlived him.
And he did.

His legacy is woven into the fabric of our family,
Threads of resilience, humor, meticulous care.
Doing whatever it takes to provide for our people.
An intrinsic need to better our communities.

I miss him.
I had him longer than many have their grandfathers,
But when you admire someone so much,
There is no such thing as enough time.
I could have had a thousand more family dinners with him,
I should have asked a million more questions.

I miss hearing his “way to gos” and “attagirls.”
But the truth is, I still hear them.
Every accomplishment.
Every life lesson learned.
His influence is ever-present, in ways big and small.
The decisions I make.
The way I strive to live my life with integrity.

Attagirl, Haley!
I hope it never goes away.

Portrait in Progress

I have known I’ve wanted children from the time I was a child myself. I remember coming up with potential names for my two hypothetical girls and discussing them with my cousins and my sister. As I kept growing up and having a stronger picture of what I wanted my life to look like, kids were always in the picture. People laugh when I tell them this, but a couple of weeks into dating my husband, we were sitting at the bar at Brew Detroit, and I told him that marriage and children were important to me.

“I am having a lot of fun with you and I really like spending time with you, but these things are non-negotiables for me. I don’t need them right now, but if you don’t also want that in your future, it might be best for us to cool it.”

Is that a direct quote? Absolutely not. This was several dark beers deep and also nearly 10 years ago, but this was the gist. And well, I already told you he was my husband, so you can see how that ended up.

When I told this to some of my friends, they laughed and told me things like, “Oh my gosh, you are too much!” I’ve heard this kind of expression my entire life. I am too much. Intense. High octane. A lot. Sometimes, people said it with big smiles on their faces. Other times, people said it with judgment and overt irritation. Either way, it’s true. I have a “big personality.”

An important thing to know about me: I am a type-A control queen. I have a vision for my life, and I do everything I can to make that vision a reality, whether that’s in my personal or professional life. When my husband and I decided it was time to start the parenthood journey, I had a whole plan. I made budget spreadsheets to see what was feasible. I took ovulation tests. I had a fancy bracelet that I wore at night that gave me stats on the best time to conceive. I planned it out strategically, but despite that preparation, it took us longer than we had envisioned to get pregnant with our daughter. Whew, this was emotional. Everyone who has been there is nodding along with me on this. It is crushing. Longest story short, we were lucky enough to finally welcome our sweet girl in 2020. We fell in love with her immediately and have marveled at her every single day since.

A few years later, when we felt we had kinda-sorta figured out this whole parenting thing and could maybe handle having another baby, the budget spreadsheets and ovulation tests came back out. The second time around, it definitely didn’t take as long. The speed actually surprised us, but we were thrilled. From the very beginning, my second pregnancy was noticeably different. I was exhausted and nauseous much earlier, and I was showing at like, 8 weeks. I thought this was odd but chalked it up to it being a second pregnancy and no longer being able to rest as much as I could when I wasn’t also taking care of a toddler. It made sense to me that it would be a bit different.

At our first ultrasound, everything suddenly made sense. “So, here’s baby A…”

Baby A?

“And this might be a surprise, but here’s baby B!”

Oh my gosh. Twins. My sister has an older daughter and twin boys. I had seen firsthand the wild ride that is adding twins to a family.

“We need to buy a bigger house,” was the first thing I said. The ultrasound tech laughed and said, “Pretty much everyone says that!” It was my first moment of camaraderie with other twin parents, but I didn’t realize it then. I was too gobsmacked.

We walked out of the doctor’s office and sat in my car to continue digesting this world-rocking news. We were excited but also completely terrified. All of those spreadsheets were basically pointless at this point, and we had a mountain of things to figure out. We hadn’t taken the day off because we weren’t expecting to have this sort of intense news at 8:30 AM. As I drove into work, I called my mom to tell her the news. She thought I was playing a joke on her, but I promised her I wasn’t. It was just truly so unbelievable. We brought my sister into the call and I spent the entire commute talking to them, laughing about the insanity of the situation, and staving off a panic attack. After I made it through the big, important meeting I was running, I booked a conference room on a different floor of my building and basically hyperventilated. I called a few of my closest friends and shared the news. I was admittedly not the most productive this day. I was rethinking everything about my home and the way my life would look moving forward. I thought of the upcoming Christmas. I thought of Christmas 30 years from now. I thought about money, our 3-bedroom house, our vehicles. My mind was absolutely reeling.

Fast forward to today. My twins will be one year old next month. It’s been so magical and these kids are all-caps CUTE. It’s absolutely fascinating to see them developing in different ways and at different paces. They make me laugh and smile and become overwhelmed with love every single day.

They have also been chronically sick after contracting RSV when they were three months old. They were born with premature lungs and required a stay in the NICU when they were first born. To see them all covered in tubes and wires and sensors again just a few months later was traumatic. My baby boy had to be intubated and sedated. My baby girl didn’t require intubation, but her condition was also dire enough to land both of them in the PICU at Children’s Hospital. We barely made it home in time for Christmas. What I had envisioned as our first Christmas didn’t quite play out, but it was still an absolutely perfect day. I’ve never been so happy to be comfy at home with my family.

Since I returned to work in January, these sweet little babies have been sick enough to have to stay home from daycare approximately 3-4 times per month. When the routine gets interrupted, we have to shift everything around. And then it happens again, and we have to shift again. And again. And again. We are so stressed. We are exhausted. There are so many childcare-related tasks that the home-maintenance tasks and self-care tasks fall to the wayside with great regularity. Despite the stress, I find so much comfort in holding them in my arms or watching them play together. I give these kids of mine about 1,000 kisses each per day and I’m so happy to have them.

Even so, this past year or so has been the hardest, most trying of my life. I wouldn’t give any of it up because it gave me my beautiful babies and created the sweetest big sister in our daughter. It strengthened my connection with my husband. Despite the great things it has brought my way, it has also been incredibly difficult. I am sure that there isn’t a single human being who looks at my family right now and says, “Wow, they make it look easy!” I actually joke that we’ve become a cautionary tale for our friends because everyone can identify that we’re living inside a bit of a perpetual tornado. I am struggling to find my footing. I never envisioned having three kids, let alone chronically sick kids. My brain and my heart go in a trillion directions every day. That picture I was painting of my life is now a bit unrecognizable to me. I can get through it, I am getting through it, and I will get through it, but this has been an enormous transformation in our lives.

Another important thing about me: I’m optimistic by nature and tend to skew positive. It’s why I know I’ll get through this phase and my husband and I will look back and congratulate each other on enduring and prevailing. But you know how people used to call me too much? Intense? A lot?

Right now, I feel very small. Not enough. Coming up short. Empty because I’m pouring every last drop into keeping these kids healthy, safe, and happy. I am wrung out, y’all.

I’ve always felt called to help others—to be a source of support and strength for those around me. Going through this whirlwind of working motherhood, with all its challenges and surprises, has been tough, but I know it’s also shaping me into someone who can offer even deeper empathy and insight. Experiencing this myself is going to make me a stronger asset for others in the future. I’ll be able to say, “I’ve been there. I get it.” That connection is priceless.

I’m learning (over and over again) that life doesn’t always adhere to our carefully crafted plans, and that’s okay. As much as it feels like I’m juggling on a unicycle, I’m beginning to understand that it’s less about perfect balance and more about resilience. I’m still that type-A, big personality woman with dreams and goals, but I’m also someone who’s slowly coming to grips with the fact that I’m not actually in control. Shocking, I know. Instead, I’m trying to remind myself to embrace the mess, roll with the punches, and find grace in the unexpected, even if it means occasionally falling flat on my face or crying so much in one day that I give myself a three-day migraine. (True story.)

This season of my life is teaching me that even when the picture you were painting takes on new colors, shapes, or textures you never imagined, it can still be beautiful—or at the very least, interesting. The love, the joy, and yes, even the chaos, are all part of my life that is rich, real, and deeply meaningful. Each time I get to watch my kids playing together or my husband and I lock eyes after our toddler says something hilarious, I realize that this uncharted path we’re on is the greatest adventure of all.

While I may not always know what’s coming next, I do know this: I’m surrounded by love, I’m stronger than I think, and even in the midst of this whirlwind, I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

Plus, if nothing else, hey – it gives me plenty of material for therapy.

Functioning Through the Fog

My mind is a whirlwind these days. Even “scatterbrained” feels too polite for the chaos in my head, much like calling my house “a bit cluttered” when it looks more like the aftermath of a tornado. I can’t pinpoint when it started, but I do know that it amplified when my twins were hospitalized with RSV back in December, and it amplified again when I returned to work after maternity leave at the end of January. (One of these days, I will write about my birth experience with the twins and their scary hospitalization, but today is not that day.) The sheer amount of STUFF in my head and on my mind has brought my decision fatigue to an all-time high. When you add a detail-oriented career to the standard postpartum brain fog, sheesh. I feel like I’ve been slowly losing my mind.

I learned recently that pregnancy causes a loss of gray matter in the brain, with the most loss happening in the frontal and temporal lobes. These changes are believed to prepare the birthing parent to be more responsive to their babies. My readings assured me that this loss isn’t anything to worry about, even though the effects can last a few years after delivery. It’s like finding a missing piece to the puzzle of why my brain feels like it’s running on low battery. It’s fascinating and just adds to my belief that having kids is the most immersive science project one can perform.

Learning this has been validating. I have laughed about “mom brain” with my friends, family, and colleagues, and even though it can bring silly moments, it’s genuinely frustrating. I notice it happening at home, but it’s louder and more embarrassing for me at work.

I’ve been at my company for nearly 10 years and have spent that time learning as much as I can about my field, dedicating myself to consistent growth, and making a commitment to developing others. Regardless of the role I’ve held, those three remain the same. Learn. Grow. Develop. It’s no surprise to me that I’ve found my home in Learning and Development, nor that I was so excited to go back to work after having I and O. I’ve been back to work for six months now, and to put it in the simplest of terms: I just feel different.

My passions are still prevalent. I am still ambitious, and my love for developing others keeps me stretching toward formal leadership. I still want to learn, grow, and develop. I just…also added two people to my household and keep unlocking new parenting levels with all three of my children. My identity at work, once steady and sure, is now evolving to accommodate the ever-growing demands of motherhood. I’m still trying to juggle everything I did before, but now I’m doing it with a baby in each arm. (And I’m finding that juggling is pretty hard with no available arms, you know what I mean?) Uncharted territory is fun, sure, but it’s also a bit unsettling.

Mom brain. Brain fog. Scatterbrained. Losing my mind. Uncharted. Unsettled. But also:

We’ll be out of formula in about 4 days, so I need to get that order in. Or wait, maybe it’s finally back in stock. Nope, still sold out, we’ll have to buy online. We really need to get R in to see a dentist soon. I should make an appointment to get that bloodwork done. We have about half a box of diapers left, but the babies have a box at daycare, and they’ll be there the next three days, so I don’t need to make a special order. I can just add a box to our upcoming grocery cart. R is loving soup right now, maybe I’ll make two different soups this week. The babies could eat some of the softer veggies in that, too, and they have been loving carrots. I wonder if they will like celery. Ooh, we need some more purees. Not the mango, though, that didn’t agree with them. Baby boy likes the chicken ones, baby girl likes the fruit oatmeal ones. Do you think we should increase the amount we’re giving them in their bottles? They always seem to want a bit more these days. Do we have swimsuits in the kids’ bags for daycare? Water day is coming up. Be sure to sign the bug spray and sunblock form so their teachers can apply it during the day. Do they get shots at this pediatrician appointment? I wonder when we will be able to afford sending the babies in for one more day during the week, that will make such a big difference. R will be in kindergarten next year, maybe then…where are we sending her to kindergarten? I should start looking into that…

I could go on and on and on.

So yeah, maybe my “peak performance” looks a bit different these days than it has in the past. If I’m only judging myself on my past markers of success, it is really easy to feel like I’ve lost more than just a little bit of gray matter. What I’ve gained, however, is the ability to keep track of the wants and needs of my family, and that, I realize, is its own form of mastery.

My brain, foggy it may be, has adapted to juggle the myriad of tasks and decisions that come with being a mom of three and a dedicated professional. It’s a different kind of expertise, one that blends empathy, multitasking, and the relentless pursuit of balance. I am not just learning and developing at work; I am also learning and developing at home. The scatterbrained moments, the fog, the exhaustion—these are signs of growth and change. They are reminders that I am doing the hard, beautiful work of raising a family while staying true to my professional passions. Maybe they are also reminders to slow down and focus on one thing at a time so I can be more present in each moment.

Navigating this uncharted territory is difficult for a planner (read: control freak) like me. I am trying my hardest to remind myself to embrace the chaos and trust in my resilience, because damn if this year hasn’t shown me that I can handle some of the hardest things. Amidst the brain fog and the endless to-do lists, I am cultivating something extraordinary—both in my career and in my home. That, I believe, is the true essence of blooming where I am planted.

If you’ve read this far, will you do me one more favor? Every now and then, could you remind me and the other parents you know that they are doing hard, miraculous, worthwhile things? I promise, I’ll do the same for you.