My Life In A Not-So-Nutshell

How much is enough, really? Did you go to the gym today? Plan your meals? Oh, don't forget to meditate. Read for 15 minutes. Car payment is due in four days. That event is coming up, what are you going to wear? I think every human being at some point or another has questioned whether they were doing enough. Giving enough. Being enough. Maybe you questioned it five minutes ago. Maybe you questioned it five years ago. At the end of the day, not a single person's life has been left unmarked by internal judgment. And that's what I'm here to talk about today. In the aftermath of trauma, especially sexual trauma, survivors typically experience shame and guilt for what has happened to them. Neurologically, we're beginning to understand how trauma triggers these emotions. But how do you cope? There's enough stressors in everyday life of trying to feel like you're enough, let alone after someone has taken advantage of you, and broken into the home that is your ...

I was listening to a podcast today on burnout. When I was in high school, I used to think being overly busy & having a grossly packed schedule was the "cool" thing to do. I was involved in literally  everything. In fact, I don't recall a time from when I was 7 or 8 up to present day where I wasn't running from point A to point B and then some every. single. day.   My poor parents - child number 5, their last, and by far the craziest. I owe them my entire life and a pony. I'm an online health coach to over ten clients, who I speak with on a scheduled hourly basis every week, with daily text conversations. I started a small business shortly after graduating last May because... that's just what you do... when you... graduate college. I have a part time job at Orangetheory. I volunteer for various organizations and am in the developmental stages for the formation of my own nonprofit. I operate two Instagram accounts, and yes, since my business is in the on...

CW: sexual violence. The topics I avoid the longest are the topics that desperately need to be written. It's usually just a matter of time before I get to that point of physically putting my thoughts into a cohesive piece, which, is always hardest on these particular subjects. Today's topic is forgiveness. I grew up Catholic, so I think I've always grown up with the concept in my head that forgiveness is, ya know, important. The only problem is, I never knew how to forgive exactly. It's probably why for a large portion of my life up until the last year or so, I had suffered from crippling anxiety and panic disorder, but that's probably another topic for another day. So... forgiveness. How do you forgive? Is it always needed? Is it always possible? These are questions that I could've never told you the answer to six months ago. These are questions I am still learning the answers to, but the point of this post is to share what I have learned thus far in my...

I got a tattoo on the day I turned 18. I'm 22 now, so I figure the real test of maturity is deciding whether or not you need to find someone to cover up/remove said-18-year-old-Maggie tattoo. A little backstory here: my mother's favorite movie is "The Shawshank Redemption." I had seen this movie dozens of times throughout my adolescent years and into young adulthood. It's not exactly the jolliest movie to date, but the underlying theme of 'hope' was something I really appreciated and was captivated by. I decided that, after serious deliberation between a Mumford & Son's song lyric & a quote from the film (I know, I know...), that my first tattoo would be a quote from my mom and I's favorite movie. I love my sweet mom, so it just seemed fitting. And the quote talked about hope, so I digress. The tattoo reads: "There's something inside, that they can't get to, that they can't touch. That's yours." "Wh...

I wrote a post recently talking about the men of my life, and with the recent passing of a holiday that represents all things gratitude and the return to our physical homes, this piece seems fitting. There's so many things to say about each of the men of my life. So much so, I feel strongly that some day, I could dedicate an entire book to these men (I am going to need a lot of consent waivers). In all seriousness, I resent so many of them yet am so grateful to all of them, the men of my life. It's the most conflicting set of emotions. I reflect on this daily now, especially as I see story after story on the television and in the newspapers of women and men ousting power players in Hollywood for their acts of sexual violence. I am filled with a deep nostalgia thinking about all of the men I've encountered in my life. And still sometimes, when I see an old face from my past that was warm or comforting then, that same warm and comfort (and safety) finds me in that momen...

(Content warning: sexual violence) This blog post has taken me a while to write. I've had my fair share of Harvey Weinstein's. But you know, I'm a pageant girl, so that's to be expected, right? ...Right? Here's a pretty solid rundown - a forewarning that if you desire to know nothing more about me, stop reading now: At the age of 11, I had a priest tell me that I needed to go to an "ugly tree" because I was "just too pretty." This was in a confessional booth. We were alone. At age 14, I was taunted for being a "prude." At age 15, I was sexually assaulted. Probably because, you know, I was a prude. At various ages throughout high school, I was catcalled, assaulted, harassed, and then some. At age 21, I was raped. I have a long saga of men treating me (and my loved ones and my dear friends) as an object at which they sought to throw their sexual desires at. It was as if, for some reason, I seemed to wear a sign saying,...

Are you a licensed therapist? A trained counselor? Good, me either. If you are, hi. I'm not a licensed therapist or trained counselor. Welcome. I often notice trends or similar habits amongst those who haven't sought out therapy. I notice these particular habits because they used to be my own before I utilized a therapist. I would put a lot of my problems on other people (friends, family members, etc.) and unknowingly/unconsciously vent my life away to them, hoping for and seeking a response that they often times could not give me. And with good reason. They were not trained to give counsel over my life's problems and then detach themselves from their relationship to me. I've found in the last few years that once you share your own experience with something (traumatic or not) you unconsciously give other people permission to share their same experiences with you. This is particularly true (and happens frequently) in the case of sexual assault. When I first came out ...