Official Reports from My Body

Case File #0001

My Spine Has Retained Legal Counsel

 

Every family has that one member.

You know the one.

The dramatic one

The one who objects to everything, starts meetings nobody asked for, and somehow always ends up in charge.

In my family…

It’s my spine.

For reasons that remain unclear, my spine has decided it is no longer simply a collection of vertebrae.

It is now an independent governing body with its own legal department, union representative, and a very expensive attorney who bills by the muscle spasm.

Every request I submit must first pass through the Committee of Uncooperative Body Parts.

Today’s agenda included:

• Folding laundry.

Denied.

• Cleaning the kitchen.

Denied.

• Carrying groceries.

Denied with laughter.

• Existing enthusiastically.

Strongly discouraged.

I attempted to appeal the decisions.

Unfortunately, the Committee accepted new evidence in the form of a pinched nerve, two tight neck muscles, and whatever tiny gremlin lives in my lower back making executive decisions.

The appeal was immediately rejected.

Coffee, however, was unanimously approved.

The heating pad was once again voted Employee of the Month.

My recliner accepted another promotion to Primary Care Provider.

Meanwhile, my Fitbit continues to send cheerful notifications that begin with,

“You’ve got this!”

Respectfully…

Do I?

At this point, my Fitbit and my spine are no longer speaking to one another, and I have been appointed the exhausted mediator in a conflict I never agreed to oversee.

Despite the ongoing negotiations, I have decided to remain optimistic.

Mostly because hope has terrible hearing and keeps wandering into impossible situations.

And honestly…

I’m grateful it does.

Because some victories aren’t measured in miles.

Sometimes they’re measured in laughter.

Sometimes they’re measured in making the coffee before the committee notices you’re awake.

Sometimes they’re simply measured by showing up for another day.


📋 Official Report Summary

Case File: #0001

Spine Status: Dramatic.

Coffee Status: Refilled.

Heating Pad: Employee of the Month.

Laundry: Still waiting.

Fitbit: Delusionally optimistic.

Hope Status: Still intact.


Official Prescription

⭐ Take one deep breath.

⭐ Drink some water.

⭐ Laugh whenever possible.

⭐ Apply glitter as needed.

Refills: Unlimited.

Side Effects: Occasional smiling, lighter burdens, and the uncontrollable urge to negotiate with your own skeleton.

Not Every Thought Deserves Your Trust

 

“Be gentle with your mind”


I used to believe the goal was to stop negative thoughts from happening.

I don’t believe that anymore.

Negative thoughts often arrive quietly. Sometimes they sound like old fears, old criticisms, or old versions of ourselves trying to convince us that nothing has changed. I’ve learned that I don’t have to believe every thought simply because it crosses my mind.

When one shows up now, I try to pause instead of panic. I ask myself, Is this true, or is this an old wound speaking?

Sometimes the answer isn’t immediate, and that’s okay.

The best way I’ve found to deal with negative thoughts isn’t to fight them. It’s to meet them with curiosity instead of shame, acknowledge that they’re there, and then gently choose not to let them make today’s decisions for me.

Healing hasn’t silenced every difficult thought.

It has simply taught me that I get to choose which voice I follow.

 

The Kind of Chaos I’d Choose

“Not All Chaos Deserves a Place In Our Lives”

Is a little chaos actually good for us?

I think it depends on the kind.

Growing up, chaos wasn’t exciting. It wasn’t adventurous or spontaneous.

It was unpredictable.

It taught me to listen for changes in someone’s voice, to read the mood of a room before I stepped into it, and to prepare for storms that often arrived without warning.

That kind of chaos doesn’t make us stronger.

It makes us tired.

A peaceful front porch at sunrise with a rocking chair, warm blanket, lantern, coffee mug, and journal after a gentle rain.

            “Peace doesn’t have to be perfect to be beautiful.”

 

For a long time, I believed peace would feel exciting once I found it.

Instead, it felt… unfamiliar.

I wasn’t used to quiet.

I wasn’t used to not waiting for the next thing to go wrong.

Healing has shown me that peace isn’t empty—it just doesn’t shout.

But there is another kind of chaos that I’ve come to appreciate.

A kitchen that’s a mess because friends stayed too long talking over coffee.

A grandchild’s toys scattered across the living room after a day of laughter.

Plans that change because someone you love calls and asks if you’d like to take a drive.

The creative mess of writing when ideas spill across notebooks faster than you can organize them.

That’s the kind of chaos I’d welcome.

The kind that’s created by living instead of surviving.

Maybe the goal isn’t to eliminate every bit of disorder from our lives.

Maybe it’s to learn the difference between what drains us and what fills us.

These days, I don’t chase perfect order.

But I no longer mistake constant turmoil for a meaningful life, either.

If a little chaos brings laughter, creativity, connection, or unexpected joy…

I’ll gladly leave room for that.

The rest?

I’ve worked too hard to find my peace to give it away.