Category: Adulting

Why Are We Racing Through Life?

This morning, I caught myself sprinting—not toward a meeting or deadline, but toward my favorite reformer at Pilates.

It wasn’t about being late. It was about being first. Someone else who likes the same reformer had just parked, and instinctively, I rushed.

Why? Because the AC is over that spot, and it’s next to a wall—my non-working ear faces it, so the silence suits me. Logically, I know the workout would be the same anywhere in the room. But emotionally? I needed to win that micro-race.

It made me think: how often do we do this?

We weave through traffic just to stop at the same red light. We rush to checkout lines. We race—not because we have to, but because we feel like we must.

Most of us aren’t race car drivers or Olympic sprinters. So why do we move through the world like we are?

As I grow older, I’m starting to question the value of being first. Maybe it’s not about where you end up in line—but about showing up at all. And getting home safely.

That’s the real win.

Curious if anyone else feels this way—have you caught yourself racing for no real reason?

#Mindfulness #PersonalDevelopment #Productivity #Leadership #WorkLifeBalance

When the Bots Win: My Frustrating Return Dispute with Poshmark

I’ve been arguing with Poshmark for the past week—yes, me, a tiny human being in a standoff with a big company over one of my sales.

Poshmark’s return policy is supposed to be clear: no returns for buyer’s remorse or fit issues—only for misrepresentation. But lately, buyers have been exploiting that exception, and Poshmark’s bots usually approve these returns without much scrutiny. Why? Because they don’t want to upset buyers. Ironically, this is upsetting sellers—the very people who supply the platform’s inventory.

Poshmark takes a 20% commission on every sale. In exchange, they offer easy shipping and claim to provide protection for both buyers and sellers.

My sold listing included plenty of photos—front, back, inside, outside—and detailed measurements from every angle, along with a solid description. Buyers can either click “Buy Now” at the listed price or make an offer to negotiate. In this case, the buyer—located in a different time zone—sent an offer while I was asleep. Impatient, they went ahead and bought it at full price.

I don’t ship immediately when someone pays full price. There’s a window for cancellations, and I like to give time for buyer’s remorse to settle in. So I shipped the next day, as I usually do.

Just two minutes after the item was marked “delivered,” the buyer opened a return case citing misrepresentation. I reached out privately and—surprise—the buyer admitted they regretted the purchase. (Yes, I took a screenshot.)

I responded to the case with all the listing photos and that screenshot. But of course, I got the typical bot reply.

Frustrated—and admittedly with some free time—I emailed customer service with a full breakdown. This time, a human responded. They agreed I was right, but said the return had already been approved and couldn’t be reversed. Essentially: “Sorry, our bad, but tough luck.”

I work in customer service myself. I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of complaints. But I’ve never told a customer, “Yeah, we messed up, but it’s your problem now.”

Their follow-up email was vague and meaningless. I responded again, expressing my disappointment in the company.

My husband thinks I’m nuts—and maybe I am. But I don’t like being called a liar, especially not by a person or a platform I’ve supported.

I love Poshmark. I buy and sell there because it’s easy to use compared to other platforms. But their customer service? Let’s just say it should be renamed the “Customer No Service” division.

I don’t know if they’ll respond to my last email—and honestly, at this point, I don’t care. But they’ve left a bad taste in my mouth, and now I’m reevaluating this whole side hustle.

“Have you had a similar experience? Let’s talk.”

#CustomerServiceFail #poshmark #onlineseller #buyersremorse

Why I Made Wednesdays My Self-Care Day

This year, as part of my annual resolutions, I designated Wednesdays as my self-care day. On Self-Care Wednesdays, I schedule doctor appointments, handle insurance issues, and manage my FSA and HSA tasks.

Why Wednesdays? Honestly, it was a practical (and slightly petty) choice—I don’t like the Wednesday Pilates instructor. Silly, but it worked. I needed a dedicated day for health-related matters, and Wednesdays stuck.

At the beginning of the year, I listed all the medical visits I knew I’d need—dermatologist, endocrinologist, dentist—and mapped them out month by month. Then I just started calling and scheduling . This way, I eliminated excuses and avoided procrastination.

As we get older, our calendars fill up with more medical appointments. But caring for ourselves—physically and mentally—is the best gift we can give ourselves and our loved ones.

For a long time, I avoided doctors. Like my dad used to say, “They just find things you didn’t know were wrong.” It took ten years and a lot of frustration before I was finally diagnosed with Celiac disease. Back then, doctors didn’t seem helpful—just another round of meds and foods to eliminate. So I stopped going.

But now I understand the value of routine care. I’ve made peace with it. And scheduling everything on a specific day ensures I actually follow through.

Wednesdays work for me. What day could work for you? Designate a self-care day for yourself—you deserve it.

#selfcare #wellness #health #lifehacks

The Mourning We Don’t Talk About

In life, we mourn many things—not always death.

I’ve mourned my celiac diagnosis, my sudden hearing loss, and most recently, a friendship of nearly 30 years that quietly came to an end.

When I was first diagnosed with celiac disease, I mourned my freedom. The freedom to eat without fear, without reading every label, without scanning menus for hidden gluten. Back then, gluten-free options were scarce, and most of them tasted awful. I remember walking through Costco and crying, realizing there was nothing I could buy there ever again. That moment stayed with me. It took a long time to adjust to this new reality—20 years later, I still feel that sense of loss sometimes.

When I lost my hearing overnight, I mourned again—this time with fear. Fear of navigating life without a major sense, one that’s crucial for safety, for work, for connecting with others. I’m now five years into living with hearing loss, and some days are still hard. Crowded spaces overwhelm me. Conversations at parties are nearly impossible. I’ve become even more of an introvert, not by choice, but by necessity.

And this past year, I’ve been mourning a friendship. A nearly 30-year bond with someone I once considered a true friend. The kind of friend you shop with, laugh with, lean on. The one who would’ve helped me pick a dress for my daughter’s wedding, told me the truth in the fitting room, and listened when I needed to vent. She would have been there—and I would’ve done the same for her.

I have other friends. Good friends. But that doesn’t erase the ache of letting go of someone who once held a permanent place in your life.

Grief comes in many forms. And like any loss, it moves in stages. Maybe I’ve reached the final one. Maybe I’m at acceptance.

Or maybe I’m just learning that some grief never really ends—it just changes shape.

Why I Finally Started Taking Time Off (And You Should Too)

I took a day off today—not for any special reason, but simply because I maxed out my vacation hours and am no longer accumulating any more. Since that’s the case, I’ve started taking a day off every other week, turning my weekends into three-day breaks.

I have too many unused vacation days—not because I didn’t have plans, but because I was never allowed to take them. There was always something more urgent that needed to be done. For a long time, I was semi-okay with this. And then, one day, I wasn’t anymore.

I’m not sure if it’s related to my age, or the fact that I’m finally at a point in my life where I’m financially secure enough to work because I want to—not because I have to. Maybe it’s just that I’ve realized I need to take care of myself first.

There should be no reason for anyone to max out their vacation days. We should take time off.

Time off energizes us. It gives us time with our families, offers us mental space, and helps nourish our souls.

Some companies pay you for unused vacation days. Mine doesn’t. But honestly, I don’t want the payout—I want the time.

Today, I cleaned out one of my junk drawers, took a nap, and finally watched a TV series I’ve been meaning to catch up on. And I had time to pause and think about the future and what I really want.

Do I want to keep working for a company that doesn’t let me take time off? One that doesn’t seem to care about burnout or mental well-being?

In the middle of my day off, my boss texted me asking where I was. I reminded her I was off—we had talked about it. She replied, “You didn’t, and it’s not on my calendar.” But it was on her calendar. It was also on the calendars of the people covering for me. In fact, the whole office knew I was taking the day off.

At the end of the day, we are all replaceable. It wouldn’t take long for my company to post a job ad and find someone new. But the time I lose—I don’t get that back.

I’ve already planned out a few more days off over the next three months. Maybe on one of those days, I’ll even update my résumé—or apply somewhere that does value employees taking time for themselves.

#Work-life balance  #Burnout #Time off #Mental health at work
#Employee wellness #Career reflection

Five Years After Hearing Loss: The Things No One Told Me About Hearing Aids

Junk Drawer Finds and Hearing Aid Memories

I was clearing out one of my many junk drawers as part of my 2025 clutter mission when I found the receipt for my first hearing aid. It instantly brought back everything I went through that year.

From the moment I realized that I really couldn’t hear—and that it wasn’t temporary—to finally accepting that I needed hearing aids just to get through everyday life. I stressed constantly about how I’d manage at work and even more about the cost of the devices.

It took months of back-and-forth with insurance to get them covered. Then came the “test-driving” phase, followed by several more months of getting used to the new sounds and training my brain to adapt.

What they don’t tell you is that the world is loud. And they definitely don’t tell you that hearing aids won’t restore your hearing to what it once was.

I learned that loud places are overwhelming, movie theaters are actual punishment, and despite all the technology available, I still won’t be able to follow every conversation. It hit me hard—so hard that I spiraled into depression and grief.

And people… well, some people are completely clueless. One of my favorite comments (read: least favorite) was:
“But you don’t look deaf.”
 Apparently, I forgot to wear my antennas that day.

Another time, I asked someone to repeat what they said because I didn’t hear them, and they responded by leaning in and yelling directly into my ear. The shock on my husband’s and my face must have been priceless.

Now, five years and a second hearing aid later, I’m still adjusting. Still learning to live with the fact that I’ll never hear “normally” again.

I wonder what I’ll find next week when I tackle another junk drawer. Hopefully something better—like forgotten money from a year ago.

#hearing loss journey #adjusting to hearing aids #living with hearing loss

#hearing aid struggles #hearing loss depression

Guaranteed to Raise Your Blood Pressure—Just Add Customer Service

My cardiologist told me that I need to lower my blood pressure.
 I would love to do that—sadly, there’s no magic button or app on my phone that can make it happen.

I work in customer service, and let me tell you: working in customer service is practically a guarantee that your blood pressure will be high. It might as well come with a sticker that says “100% Guaranteed.”

Customer-facing jobs have never been easy or appreciated much. You need a strong personality to last in them. Apparently, I have one—I’ve been in this industry for over thirty years.

This week, our phones were out for a day due to a VOIP outage. Honestly, it was kind of great for a few hours… until they started working again. Then the ringing didn’t stop.

Technically, not a problem. But the first call I was lucky enough to answer?

No greeting. No polite chit chat. I was immediately yelled at.

I asked the customer to explain the issue, and she just kept yelling. I asked again, politely, but she continued, yelling about a conversation she’d had with someone else in the office—five days ago.

I tried to stop her to ask her name (which she never gave me, too busy yelling), and I explained I couldn’t continue a conversation I wasn’t part of. That only made her yell louder.

I wear hearing aids, so yelling on the phone goes straight to my ears—and it hurts. I asked her kindly to stop yelling. She didn’t. She just hung up.

I’ve been yelled at by customers before—this wasn’t new to me or my blood pressure. But I’m always perplexed when people think yelling or being rude will help them get better service.

In my experience, kindness goes a long way.

To my cardiologist’s chagrin—and my blood pressure’s detriment—I’m still here at my job. And I can’t wait for the next person to raise it.

#CustomerServiceLife #YouCantMakeThisUp #behindtheadmindesk #customerservicestories

Bread Trucks and Blood Pressure: Finding Humor in Life’s Challenges

funny. You see, I’m a Celiac — I can’t eat gluten because of an autoimmune disease. I was diagnosed with it as a “birthday gift” on my 39th birthday, and as a former carb-lover, giving up bread and pasta wasn’t easy. Back in the day, gluten-free options were hard to come by and, frankly, not very tasty. And, let’s be honest, gluten-free bread is still the size of a postage stamp.

Life these days is hectic, crazy, and sometimes full of stress. Lately, work has only made it worse. My cardiologist told me I need to lower my blood pressure. I asked him how to do that when people around me constantly annoy me and drive me crazy. I’m still waiting for a solid answer to that question.

I try not to take everything too seriously — not because I think life is a joke, but because we’re all dealing with serious things. We need to find humor in what surrounds us. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to help much with my blood pressure.

Losing my hearing was tough. I went through the stages of grief because losing such an important sense impacts my quality of life and everyday well-being. But five years later, when people ask how it affects me, I joke that it’s actually a blessing for my husband — I don’t hear any of his annoying remarks anymore.

So, having a bread truck full of gluten following me around was pretty funny. Who knows, maybe it’ll even show up in my dreams tonight.

#GlutenFreeHumor #CeliacLife #FindingTheFunny #LaughThroughTheStruggles
#CeliacWarrior #HealthWithHumor #BreadTruckChronicles #AutoimmuneLife #GlutenFreeJourney #StressAndLaughter

Our Foster Fail: The Story of Shuki, Our Gentle Giant

We fostered a rescue dog several months ago with the intent to “foster fail” and adopt her. Happily, we did fail at fostering, and now she shares our last name.

Our Shuki girl was rescued from a house that did not feed or give water to her and her siblings. She was extremely malnourished and very suspicious when we got her. Feeding time was like a piranha frenzy in the Amazon. She ate her food so quickly, you could barely count the seconds, out of fear that it would be taken from her. She gulped water the same way, creating big, messy puddles all around her.

She’s been with us for almost three months now, and we love her dearly. In that time, we’ve seen her grow from a fearful, malnourished pup into a sweet, cuddly companion. She is a big cuddler, unlike our previous dog, and seeks pets and attention quite a lot. She’s also scared of many things, especially big white cars. We suspect her abuser had a car like this.

Shuki knows many commands at this point and understands them in two languages. She is a very smart girl.

This week, however, we had a scary incident. Some kids came fast behind her on a walk with motorized scooters, and it freaked her out. She was so scared that she broke the leash and ran away. We panicked. Since she’d only been with us for three months, we weren’t sure where she would run to and were afraid she’d get hit by a car—or worse.

An emergency family phone call ensued, and we all went looking for her, worried sick. We found her about 10 minutes later—or better yet, she found us. She ran home, and luckily my husband was close by. He saw her and opened the door for her to enter the house. On the Ring camera, you can see her calmly walking into the house, while we were all in a panic.

Shuki girl ran home. She ran back to a place where she felt safe, secure, and loved.

There’s a common “Three, Three, Three” rule for rescue dogs. It means: three days to decompress, three weeks to learn the house routines, and three months to feel fully at home. We are very happy that she found her way home and that she considers our home her safe place. She’s a gentle giant, and we’re hopeful that she’ll be with us for many more years to come. But we could certainly do with fewer scary moments like that one!

Surveys, Feedback, and the Silence That Follows

Every year, my employer sends out an anonymous survey to gather employee feedback, but I can’t help but wonder why they even bother. It’s supposed to be a chance for employees to voice their thoughts, yet nothing ever seems to change—and I’m not sure anyone even believes it’s anonymous.

The first time I filled out the survey, I was the only one in the company with my unique position, so my feedback was easily identifiable. In the comments section, I pointed out that the survey couldn’t truly be anonymous for someone in my position. Little did they know, that was just the beginning of me becoming a “thorn” in their side.

Since then, I’ve continued to fill out the survey honestly, even though I know no one really cares about my feedback. I figured out how to make the sections for areas of improvement larger. One year, I copy-pasted my MBA thesis on leadership—full of practical advice for change—just to see if anyone would notice. It was a thesis that earned a distinction, yet still, nothing changed.

I love my job, and I genuinely like the people I work with, which is why I’m still here after many years. But I can’t help but question the purpose of these surveys. Are they just for show so the company can tick a box and say they care? Or are there companies out there that actually listen to their employees and take meaningful action?

I know this conversation has probably been had many times before, and some companies do genuinely care about their employees. But for me, I’m still not sure.