My Wegovy Journey: Weight Loss, Wellness, and Dancing at My Daughter’s Wedding

I’ve lost almost 45 pounds over the last eighteen months. My endocrinologist, gastroenterologist, and cardiologist all agreed that weight loss would be key to getting my health back on track. In fact, I had a prescription and insurance approval for eight months before I finally went to get it filled — and I’ve been on Wegovy ever since.

Being in your late fifties with autoimmune diseases, insulin resistance, and menopause is not easy. For years, I gained two pounds a month, no matter what I did. Yes, I’m active. I walk 10,500 steps a day, go to the gym, and take reformer Pilates classes. But it didn’t seem to matter — I couldn’t lose weight. I just kept gaining.

My husband always had suggestions: exercise more, eat fewer calories, try intermittent fasting. Trust me, I tried them all — and nothing worked. Lucky for him, he’s a six-foot-tall man who can shed weight easily. I, on the other hand, am a curvy, petite woman who’s had three kids.

I was worried about side effects from the medication — I tend to be very sensitive. But to my surprise and relief, Wegovy helped in unexpected ways. My IBS improved dramatically. I was less bloated, and the constant nausea I used to live with finally stopped. I no longer have to plan my day around knowing where every bathroom is. That, in itself, felt like a small miracle.

When someone asked me what my goal weight was, they were surprised by my answer. My goal wasn’t a number on the scale — it was about my cholesterol and blood sugar levels.

My life hasn’t changed drastically, but I’ve dropped two sizes. I bought a few new outfits, and now I fit better in my old clothes too. But perhaps the best moment? I danced all night at my daughter’s wedding — something I wouldn’t have been able to do a year and a half ago.

I feel better. I sleep better. And now, I’m waiting to see those blood test results come back in range — the final confirmation that I’m truly back on track.

The Sounds We Forget to Hear

The Sounds We Forget to Hear

Hearing is something most of us take for granted. We rarely pause to notice the sounds that surround us—the rustle of leaves, the hum of traffic, the laughter of children. Instead, we walk through life plugged into headphones, filling every moment with music, podcasts, or phone calls. We wear them when we walk, talk, commute, and definitely when we exercise.

This week, my youngest made crème brûlée. She’s been perfecting her recipes lately and this time offered dairy-free, vegan, and lactose-free options. In our household, that’s not just a nice gesture—it’s a necessity. We are a home full of celiacs, lactose-free lifestyles, and IBS sufferers. My children, poor things, didn’t need a genetic test to prove maternity—they inherited all my “fun” genes: the celiac gene, the IBS gene, and definitely the lactose intolerance gene.

But here’s the moment that gave me pause: as she torched the sugar on top of the crème brûlée, I heard it. The delicate, satisfying crackle of caramelizing sugar. That beautiful, subtle sound was only possible for me to enjoy because I had my hearing aids in. Without them, I’d have missed it entirely. That tiny moment of joy made me think about how much we miss when we don’t stop and really listen.

Take Charlie, our neighborhood squirrel. Charlie is something of a local character—and a sworn enemy of our dogs. (They’re terriers. It’s instinct.) Charlie, bold as ever, hisses at them from his perch on the tree. Every time he does it and I actually hear it, I can’t help but laugh. It’s such a strange, small sound—one I never noticed before hearing aids. But now I hear it, and every time I do, I’m delighted.

When I was younger, my mother used to warn me: “Don’t listen to music so loud—you’ll ruin your hearing!” I wish that was the reason I have hearing loss. But for me, it’s just part of the hand I was dealt.

I remember the day I got my first hearing aids. My audiologist looked at me and said, “Just a heads-up—the world is loud.” She wasn’t wrong. It is loud. But it’s also incredible. Hearing the world—even when it’s loud—is a gift.

So if you can hear the birds in the morning, the hiss of a squirrel, or the crackle of sugar on a homemade dessert—pause for a moment. Take your headphones off. Listen. The world has so much to say, and it’s worth hearing.

Still on the Road: From Minivans to Empty Nest Adventures

Still on the Road: From Minivans to Empty Nest Adventures

We always took road trips with the kids. Every other year, we’d pack the car to the brim and just go—no rigid plans, just the open road and a map. Over the years, we explored the entire West Coast of the USA this way, stopping at national parks and hidden gems along the route.

The kids would argue, bicker, and sometimes make us question whether they were enjoying any of it. But deep down, we knew—we were creating memories.

Back then, we drove a trusty minivan. The girls took the second-row captain’s seats, while our son (now a six-foot-two adult) claimed the back row, stretching his legs all the way to the front and occasionally sticking them in his sisters’ faces—just for laughs, of course.

We even did a two-week road trip across Canada. We really did travel a lot, and on a limited budget. With one income, three kids, a dog, and lots of coupons and budgeting tricks, car trips were simply the most economical—and the most memorable.

These past few years, the kids have grown up, started jobs, and moved on with their own lives. And yet, my husband and I are still hitting the road—just the two of us. No more minivan, now it’s an SUV. We pick an area, pack the car, and go.

This year was a little harder to plan. Our daughter got married. My husband went on a two-week biking trip across Europe with our son, which made his vacation time limited. I, on the other hand, had the opposite problem—plenty of unused vacation days and no one to go with.

After some back and forth—debating between a cruise, an all-inclusive resort, or another road trip—we chose the road. It’s funny, really. We don’t have the same financial limitations anymore, but we still picked the simplest option.

The truth is, we just love road trips. For us, it’s a time to reconnect. We talk, laugh, and reflect. Not every conversation is deep or exciting—401(k)s and investments come up, and I admit I tune some of those out—but even the silences are meaningful.

I used to worry about what would happen once the kids left. Would we run out of things to say? But lucky for us, we’re still discovering new things to talk about—even if we don’t always agree.

I hope we’ve passed on to our kids a love of adventure, and the understanding that no matter your stage of life, seeing new places is always worth it—with kids, or without.

What’s your favorite road trip memory?

“Apparently, ‘I’ Is a Problem”

This past week, I was reprimanded at work—verbally, of course. They never put anything in writing.

No, I didn’t do anything outrageous. I sent an email about IT problems in the office. Since the IT guy was scheduled to stop by, I wrote that I needed something fixed.

The horror. Apparently, writing “I need” instead of “we need” is a big enough deal to warrant a call from my boss.

To clarify: the IT problems were specific to me. I was the one whose internet wasn’t working. I was the one using my personal hotspot and personal cell phone to get work done.

Still, my boss looked me in the eye and told me it was inappropriate to write “I.” I asked if she was serious. She was.

But wait—there’s more.

Last month, I got pulled aside because “someone” heard me say I had maxed out my vacation days and needed to start using them. That was apparently gossip-worthy.

This is a pattern. I keep getting spoken to—always verbally, never formally—about things “someone” heard me say.

What’s strange is that this is not a terrible place to work. Most people are kind, helpful, and just trying to do their jobs. But management? That’s another story.

Ironically, my annual review was glowing, and my bonus was great. So, clearly, I’m doing something right. Right?

We even did harassment training earlier this year. It had a section on bullying and toxic behavior. I guess some folks in management skipped that part.

Let me be clear:

  • Is this nitpicking? Yes.
  • Is it creating a culture of fear and second-guessing? Absolutely.
  • Is it starting to feel toxic? More and more.
  • Am I being targeted? It really feels like it.
  • Why? I honestly have no idea.

This is a private, family-owned company. I’m not a threat. I’m not gunning for anyone’s job. I just want to do my work, collect my paycheck, and go home to my dog.

When my boss called me about the email, I said what I’ve been thinking: “This feels like harassment.” I asked that future complaints be formal and in writing.

Not holding my breath on that one.

So now I’m wondering:
Do I just show up this week and wait for whatever “someone” says next?
Do I say nothing?
Do I start documenting everything and protect myself?

I don’t know the answer yet. But I do know this: I’m not crazy. And I’m not alone.

A Six-Year Mission: Decluttering One Box at a Time

A Six-Year Mission: Decluttering One Box at a Time

We’re on a six-year mission to declutter the house—a mission that began when a broken pipe flooded and destroyed our entire first floor.

We had to box up everything salvageable and move it to the garage while the renovations were underway. Just as the construction was finally completed and we were allowed back in, COVID hit. Suddenly, four adults and a dog were working and living full-time in a house that still wasn’t organized. Computers were everywhere. The boxes? Still in the garage.

Our two-car garage quickly became a one-car-plus-boxes garage. For the past couple of  years, we stared at those boxes, inventing every excuse not to deal with them. It’s too cold. It’s too hot. I’m tired. My leg hurts. Any excuse, valid or not, was enough.

But this past year, we finally started. Every weekend, we tackle one box. This weekend’s box? Flat sheets.

I hate flat sheets. I know people use them as a barrier between themselves and the comforter, but I find them cumbersome and annoying. I donated some, but we’d kept extras in the garage “just in case”—for painting, protecting furniture, or other projects.

We pulled them all out, washed them, sorted them. Now we’re asking: what do we really need? Maybe two or three. The rest? Donate or sell.

We don’t always see progress when we take small steps. The garage isn’t clean or organized yet—but there’s one less box to tackle, and one small shelf that’s now empty and clean.

I saw a post today that said: “There’s nothing too small to celebrate.” And so, I’m celebrating one less box, and a decluttering journey that’s still moving forward.

I’m a Prepper—But Not the Doomsday Kind

I’m a Prepper—But Not the Doomsday Kind

I’m a prepper. Not the doomsday, bunker-digging kind—but the worst-case-scenario type. I always have a contingency plan, and honestly, I blame my engineer husband for that. I used to be a carefree human being. But after almost forty years together, I’ve been… optimized. Ruined, if you ask me.

They say you eventually start to look like your dog or your spouse. Mine are both tall and hairy—I am still neither. But I have adopted my husband’s practical, forward-thinking mindset, even if I haven’t grown a beard.

I love to joke that it’s all his fault, but truthfully, it’s not. It’s life. Being a mother while my husband traveled ninety percent of the time meant I had to be prepared and self-reliant. And that’s not even counting the ever-present car stash: snacks, spare clothes, and vomit bags—just in case.

To this day, my car still holds extra water, a blanket, a coat (even though I live in Southern California), and random supplies I might never use—but might need. That’s just who I am now.

Of course, it wasn’t just motherhood that turned me into a prepper. Chronic health issues played a big role. With IBS, I learned to identify clean bathrooms in any location, faster than a GPS could. With Celiac disease, I memorized every gluten-free menu within a 20-mile radius. And now, as my hearing declines, I’m prepping for a future where my job might need to adapt to my changing abilities.

I started researching careers that suit people with hearing challenges—something less dependent on constant interaction. Coding and accounting popped up frequently, but both sound painfully boring to me. Living in near silence is one thing; adding tedium on top of it feels unnecessarily cruel.

Then I fell into the rabbit hole of side hustles: everything from selling foot pics (a hard no) to flipping items on Poshmark, eBay, and Mercari, or trying affiliate marketing, blogging, or becoming an influencer.

Influencing sounded promising—until I realized I dislike makeup tutorials and find most influencer videos kind of annoying. So much for that.

But I did start a Poshmark closet—and surprisingly, I’m enjoying it. It’s fun, but not easy. Finding good deals to resell takes patience, organization, research, and planning. A lot more work than people assume.

Blogging? That’s also enjoyable, but creativity doesn’t always clock in when I do. Some weeks, my brain just refuses to show up. And without a clear niche, it’s easy to feel stuck.

Someone recently asked me why I’m exploring all these side hustles. I told them: I’m prepping. I’m prepping for the day when my hearing aids stop working well enough. I’m prepping for retirement. I’m prepping for life—whatever it throws at me.

Because that’s what I do. I’m a prepper.

And honestly? It’s not a bad thing.

No One Gave Me a Dragon


I woke up with a panic attack at 1 a.m. last night. It took me three hours to calm down and fall asleep again. Needless to say, I’m exhausted this morning.
My husband asked me what was bothering me, and it took me a while to figure it out. I had to retrace all my steps from the day before. Eventually, I remembered a conversation I had with a coworker—we were talking about that odd feeling you get when you return to work after a long vacation.
I told him that ever since my husband started his new job, he no longer experiences that “back to work” anxiety. For those of us who dread Monday even after a regular weekend, that kind of peace feels like a distant dream.
My husband was laid off at the beginning of 2024 from one of those massive high-tech companies. It was the kind of job that felt like it would never end—6 a.m. and 10 p.m. meetings with overseas teams, constant Slack pings, nonstop reporting. He didn’t like it, even though the pay was great. Honestly, he was pretty unhappy.
When the layoffs began, they crept closer and closer to his division—until they finally reached him.
It took some time, but he eventually found a new job. It doesn’t come with high-tech pay, but it does come with something better: boundaries. Normal working hours. The ability to mentally switch from work mode to home mode.
He recently returned from a ten-day bike trip in Europe with our son—and went back to work without any stress or anxiety. It’s really nice to see him like this.
Unfortunately, that’s not how things feel for me.
Some days, my work feels like a Game of Thrones episode—but no one is giving me a dragon. And honestly, I really want a dragon.
Office politics aren’t my favorite. Working with toxic coworkers? Even less so. But the worst part is waking up in the middle of the night with a work-related panic attack.
I don’t have the answers yet about what comes next. I need time to think. I’ll figure it out eventually—dragon or no dragon.

#WorkAnxiety #BurnoutIsReal #MentalHealthMatters #WorkLifeBalance #BlogPost #GameOfThronesMood

Late to Class, Right on Time for Perspective

Late to Class, Right on Time for Perspective

I was almost late to my Pilates class the other day. I like to get there early to grab my favorite reformer—it’s perfectly positioned under the air conditioning and to the right side of the room, which works best for my non-functioning ear. (I’m 98% deaf in my left ear, but let’s be honest—98%, 100%, it’s all the same. I hear nothing.)

But alas, I was distracted and arrived just a minute before class started. My usual spot was taken, and I ended up in the back, squeezed between two other reformers. Not ideal. But class was great regardless, and I was happy I made it.

There’s a nice mix of women in the class—some younger, some older. Some wear those perfectly coordinated Pilates-girlie sets, others show up in whatever they grabbed from their closet that morning. I usually fall into the latter camp. That day was no different.

I admire the cute outfits, but I rarely wear them. They don’t work well for my body. I was born with Spina Bifida, and it’s visible if I wear low-rise pants or crop tops. It looks like a belly button on my back—I’m used to it, but other people, not so much.

Over the years, I’ve been poked, prodded, and asked more questions than I can count. Most people are just curious and mean no harm, but sometimes the questions are too much. So, I often opt for clothes that cover it all up. It’s not just about comfort—it’s about avoiding attention, avoiding questions.

My reformer choice is also influenced by who ends up next to me. If I’m not early enough to choose my spot, I sometimes spend half the class adjusting my shirt to keep my lower back covered. That morning was no different—I kept tugging at my top between movements, trying to stay hidden.

But then, somewhere mid-class, I looked around. Both women beside me were completely focused on their own breath, their own bodies. Not looking at me. Not noticing my back. Not thinking twice.

And it hit me—maybe it’s me. Maybe I’ve been the one too self-conscious all this time. Maybe I’ve spent fifty-plus years worried about exposing something no one is actually paying attention to. I’ve avoided cute outfits, backless tops, anything that might show “too much,” thinking it would invite questions or judgment. But what if it wouldn’t? What if people are more focused on their own stuff—just like I am?

So maybe next time, I won’t worry so much about the reformer, or the waistband of my pants, or who might be glancing at my back. Maybe I’ll wear the outfit I’ve always liked but always avoided. Maybe I’ll let myself breathe a little easier, like the women on either side of me did—focused on their own journey, not mine.

Because the truth is, no one’s looking as hard as I think they are. And even if they are, maybe it’s time I stop hiding the parts of me that have carried me through life so powerfully. Spina Bifida, a late arrival, a back-row reformer—they’re all part of the story, but none of them get to define the joy I feel when I show up fully, as I am.

Maybe showing up is the cute outfit after all.

 Why do toxic workplaces exist in the first place?

 Is it poor leadership? Bad hiring choices? Or is it simply a case of management being unaware of what’s actually going on?

A friend of mine recently shared a situation that really illustrates the issue. Her boss approached her and said that someone had spoken to a higher-up, complaining that she had prevented them from raising an issue or making a change. This incident, supposedly, happened months ago. No name was given. No date. No written complaint. Just vague hearsay.

Here’s the kicker—my friend wasn’t even involved in the situation the complaint was about. She’s not responsible for the area in question and has no authority over it. Plus, her office promotes an “open door” policy—everyone has everyone’s contact info. So why was this brought up at all, and in such an unclear way?

What upset her most was the lack of clarity and transparency. She couldn’t defend herself because there were no facts to respond to—just a murky accusation floating in the air. Now, she’s left wondering which colleague might be talking behind her back, and whether leadership believes the claim. Trust has eroded.

This, to me, is a perfect example of what toxic environments look like in action—not just overt bullying or blatant discrimination, but subtle moments that breed fear, mistrust, and isolation.

When leadership fails to address conflict with transparency, and instead spreads vague complaints with no accountability, they don’t solve problems—they create them.

Have you experienced something like this in your workplace? How do you think companies can do better?

#ToxicWorkplace #OfficePolitics #WorkplaceTransparency #EmployeeStories #LeadershipMatters #TrustAtWork #WorkLife

You Found My Blog. Here’s What I Think

I write because I love writing, I always did. It is a great hobby that you can take anywhere with you. All I need is a piece of paper and a writing utensil. When I have inspiration you can find my writings on napkins, sticky notes and scribbles everywhere and wherever I am.

I am also a shy introvert, at least this is how I see myself. So all my social media is under a pseudonym not because I am hiding my identity but because I am shy and I value my privacy.

My dogs have a great tik tok and instagram and my public tiktok and instagram are ok as well, both of them do not even have any postings with my face or my name, again I am an introvert who lives her public persona through her dogs and blog.

I post about what I feel like and I write about what I want to or care about, family life, dogs, food, travel and work, yes work.  I was told at work recently that corporate did not appreciate one of my blog posts. I found that interesting as I never ever mention where I work and even on my professional work related social media it does not name any of my work places. 

They did not dispute what I wrote, but rather did not appreciate it. I typically  do not write about anything that I have not written in the employee surveys  and yet in those I was ignored. But someone had some spare time on their hands and found a blog that does not mention them or references them in any way on a social media platform that does not even have my name on.

After that first thought the second thought was – is this a veil threat? I do not like to be threatened and I do not like to be censored so I asked and was told no. But still the message that I got was just to know  we follow your writing so in actuality it is a threat even if it was not meant that way.

This all goes back to what message you are giving your employees, the message I got was not positive and left a bad taste in my mouth. So if it was meant to be different it was surely handled wrong. 

And I will continue writing about what I want, and if I write about my place of employment I promise to not to use its name and hopefully they will not provide me with anything major to write about. However, this is a free country.

So my message to corporate- Since you know who I am, you can always call me. I will be happy to tell you in person what I think and I am always happy to help and you are welcome to use my talents. I appreciate you reading my blog, I earned  a big amount of twenty five cents from you going there and am closer to drinking a lava flow on a tropical beach. Feel free to add some likes or comments and for heaven’s sake finally fix the air conditioner.

  • #CorporateLife #WorkThoughts #RealTalk #OfficePolitics #FreeSpeech
    #RespectWriters #VoiceMatters