It’s Okay to Not Be Okay (And Break Stuff)
Some weeks are just… a lot. In a world obsessed with toxic positivity and hustle, this is your permission slip to feel it all. From overstimulation to breakdowns, rage-room-worthy days to mindset shifts, this post reminds you that healing isn’t linear—and that making it to the couch counts as progress.
Some weeks are just… a lot.
We don’t always realize we’re spiraling until we’re knee-deep in unanswered texts, unopened mail, or a pile of dishes we’ve been “meaning” to get to. Sometimes our social calendars stay blank because we just don’t have the bandwidth to “people.” Other times, we snap at someone we love and only then realize—oh yeah, we’re overstimulated as hell. Before we even know we’re in a spiral, we are reenacting opening scenes of Alice in Wonderland.
We live in a world that promotes toxic positivity—the idea that you should always “stay grateful” or “look on the bright side.” A world obsessed with #GoodVibesOnly and hustle culture, it’s easy to feel guilty for not being on your A-game all the time. And while yes, gratitude matters, so does honesty. Here’s the truth:
Healing isn’t linear.
And thank goodness, because if it were, I’d definitely be failing the course.
The Beautiful, Messy Chaos of Now
I love what I’m building here with the blog. It’s become such a powerful creative outlet. I’m in awe of my son’s drive—starting a company and charity at his age? Incredible.
But between life, work drama, car trouble, skyrocketing costs of just surviving, and the general unraveling of society… yeah. It’s a lot.
There’s no telling what’ll be the last straw. One day you’re riding the high of a great week, the next you’re mentally smashing plates in a rage room while smiling politely as your kid tells you about their Grow-a-Garden in Roblox.
Queue Limp Bizkit’s “Break Stuff.”
I try to stay positive. But I’m not positive all the time. That would make me a robot. Or worse—a liar.
Tools in the Toolbox: Grounding, Not Guilt
When your vibration feels low (yes, that’s a thing), there are ways to recalibrate:
Grounding: Think of it as returning to center. Walk barefoot in the grass, hold something earthy like a stone or tree, or just sit still and breathe. Earthing is a physical form of this—connecting with the actual ground to stabilize your nervous system.
Guided Meditation: Especially helpful if your brain (like mine) hosts an endless squirrel rave. I need someone telling me what to do every second or poof—I’m thinking about laundry and lizard people.
Frequency music: Sound vibrations can literally affect our energy. Playlists designed to balance brain waves, chakra tones, or healing frequencies can actually help ground you.
But sometimes? None of that helps until you feel the damn thing.
Embrace the Suck
Sometimes, the best thing you can do is sit in the suck.
Not because it’s fun. Not because it’s wise. Just because it’s honest.
There’s a time for growth and a time to just be. And sometimes what we’re being is pissed off, overwhelmed, or completely done.
This is why rage rooms were invented—because throwing a chair through a window is still frowned upon in most friend groups or work.
I heard someone say once, “Embrace the suck.” And yeah. Sometimes the only meaning in a crappy situation is that it’s crappy. And that’s okay. Let the grief, the frustration, the hurt pass through you.
Progress? I Made It to the Couch.
Here’s the truth: Climbing out of a dark space doesn’t mean you’ll summit a mountain the next day.
Sometimes “healing” looks like brushing your teeth and finally replying to that one text. Sometimes it’s making it to the couch instead of staying in bed. That’s progress. That’s something.
When you’re in the thick of it, give yourself the grace to move slowly. Rest is part of the climb. You don’t have to bounce back instantly.
Let your recovery be messy. Let it be human. Don’t expect miracles overnight—expect small, quiet steps in the direction of the light.
Laughing Through the Chaos (Yes, Really)
Storytime: My Personal Descent into Travel Hell
Let me take you back to a recent “everything is broken” moment: I was flying home from Galveston after a work trip.
Everything was smooth… until the way home and everything went wrong. Bad weather delayed my flight. Then I sat on the plane for an hour. Missed my connection in Dallas. Got stuck overnight. The airline only offered a discount for a hotel because weather = not their problem.
Fine. Whatever. I Uber to the hotel.
They don’t have my reservation.
Turns out—because of course—there are two hotels with the exact same name, one North, one South. I get rerouted. Get to the right one. Finally sleep.
Then the next morning, the shuttle driver goes MIA. My flight gets delayed again, gate changes again. By the end of the trip, I’m laughing like a lunatic. Because seriously—what else can you do?
Ironically, I had been reading The Power of Now on that trip. I think the universe was having a good chuckle. The absurdity of it all hit me like a sitcom montage. Was it frustrating? Absolutely. But I could either spiral or shift my mindset. That was the choice.
And no, this isn’t toxic positivity. This isn’t “just manifest a better day.” It’s about allowing yourself to feel the feelings—and then choosing what to do next. Choosing when and how to rise or to just laugh through it.
Positivity vs. Processing
I’m a firm believer in therapy, medication, support systems—the whole toolkit. Healing isn’t something you “think” your way into. But mindset? It’s a powerful piece.
I believe in mindset shifts. I believe in meditation and manifestation.
But I don’t believe in bypassing our pain.
You have to feel your feelings to heal them.
You don’t need to immediately hunt for the “lesson” or force yourself to move on. You’re allowed to grieve, scream into a pillow, hide in a blanket burrito, or mentally bench yourself for a few days.
Just promise me this: Process it.
Because unprocessed emotions? They don’t disappear. They just leak into places they don’t belong, like rage-snapping at your barista or crying over expired cottage cheese.
Healing Is Not a Straight Line—It’s a Spiral Staircase
Some days you’ll take two steps forward, then fall down the entire metaphorical escalator.
That’s okay.
Just like the mindset shift I had when I stopped asking, “Why is this happening to me?” and started asking, “Why am I letting these people/situations stay in my life?”
We all know that friend who wallows in misery and rejects every lifeline. We can offer help, but at the end of the day—we all make choices.
To feel our feelings without shame
To change what we tolerate
To rebuild after a breakdown
To decide what version of ourselves rises from the ashes
The Long Game of Healing
Healing isn’t a checklist.
It’s nonlinear. It’s chaotic. It’s messy and frustrating and often hard to explain.
But the way we alchemize our hardest moments—the way we turn pain into power—is what builds the life we’re working toward.
So no, I’m not always okay. But I’m always trying. And that counts for something.
Final Thoughts
So go ahead—embrace the suck when it hits.
Cry it out. Rage it out. Then laugh at the absurdity when you’re ready. And when you are? Reclaim your power. Rise like the resilient, sweatpants wearing, frequency-vibing phoenix that you are.
You don’t have to climb a mountain today. You just have to make it to the couch.
We’re not healing to be perfect.
We’re healing to be whole.
With love (and a little chaos),
Lauren
P.S. I’ll be sharing a poem (or maybe two) later this week tied to this theme—I’m just indecisive because I’ve written several that hit a little too close to home. Stay tuned and we can spiral poetically together.
You’re Not Lost—You’re Living
We’re often told our purpose has to be grand—world-changing, headline-worthy. But what if your purpose is found in the smallest acts? A kind word. A shared story. Surviving something that was meant to break you. You don’t have to have it all figured out—you just have to live. Because sometimes, simply existing in your truth is the most powerful thing you can do.
When Lightning Strikes (or Why I'm Writing at 2:30AM)
I’ve never been great at using the word acquaintance—so forgive me if I call everyone my friend. If we’ve crossed paths, shared a moment, or exchanged stories, you’re in my circle.
A few days ago, one of those friends shared a vulnerable post about a hard season he's going through. I meant to reach out, but—life. You know how it is. Still, what I wanted to say stuck with me like an earworm, looping in my brain until it finally demanded to be written.
At 1AM last night, I woke up. I tried to roll over and go back to sleep, but the words kept tumbling in my head, asking to be polished. Like I said in The Frequency Pit - lightning strikes when it wants to. So here I am at 2:30AM, drafting a blog post.
Survival, Struggle, and the Question of Purpose
About six months ago, my friend was in a horrific accident—one of those where doctors and first responders are left saying, “We don’t know how you’re still alive.” And while he survived, he didn’t come away unscathed. He’s relearning to walk. Recovering every day. Healing. Processing.
His story isn’t mine to tell, and I wouldn’t do it justice even if I tried. But in a recent post, he shared something raw and real:
He was struggling to find the purpose in his survival.
“Why was I spared?”
“What am I meant to do with this life now?”
He even wondered if maybe it was survivor’s guilt talking. And while that may be true, I think it is something more universal.
The Myth of Monumental Purpose
We are taught that our purpose must be massive.
World-changing. Revolutionary. Life-altering.
Something that lands in headlines or history books. Like we must cure cancer, invent teleportation, or achieve world peace to be worthy.
With such standards, we all struggle to find our purpose.
But sometimes, our purpose shows up in whispers, not roars.
I once read something (and forgive me for forgetting where—if I find it, I’ll give credit) that said:
‘Sometimes, your purpose is found in the tiniest act.’
That one kind gesture. That smile. That story you shared that made someone feel less alone.
The Ripple Effect (and Why the Little Things Matter)
There was a commercial once—a ripple-effect chain reaction. One act of kindness inspired another. A stranger held the door. Someone smiled. A child watched. A seed was planted. That energy passed on, unseen but powerful.
It reminds me of the butterfly effect—a concept from chaos theory that suggests something as small as the flap of a butterfly’s wings can cause a tornado on the other side of the world. It's a poetic way of saying:
Small actions can create massive, unforeseen outcomes.
You may never know how your words, your presence, or your help shifted the course of someone else’s day—or even their life.
Maybe you compliment someone’s earrings without knowing they made them and were ready to give up on their art. Maybe you listen when someone needs to talk.
Maybe you hold the door open for someone who’s been invisible all day.
Maybe you survive—and in doing so, show someone else it’s possible. Maybe you write a blog at 2:30AM because a friend’s vulnerability reminded you that words matter.
Maybe… your purpose is simply to live.
The Forgotten Impact of Everyday Moments
I remember once in high school, I spent an entire class period doing a friend’s hair for a dance. She wasn’t going to go—but the confidence boost got her there. I don’t remember the style. I probably forgot by the next day. But years later, she told me that moment stuck with her.
We don’t always recognize the impact we have. We never know how we ripple. We don't see them. But they’re there.
And in a world that constantly pressures us to do more, be more, achieve more, it’s easy to forget that existing with intention—living with kindness, authenticity, and heart—is enough.
When the Little Things Are the Big Things
Yes, chase the big dreams if they call to you. Walk toward your “higher purpose” if you feel it in your bones. If you feel called to something greater, pursue it. Build it. Run toward it with open arms.
But don’t discount the sacredness of the small things. The smiles. The shares. The showing up. Don’t think that just because you aren’t moving mountains every day that your life isn’t purposeful.
Heck, this blog? I joke I’m writing for all two of my readers (hi Dad). But it’s not about numbers. It’s that quiet voice, that nudge in my gut that says: Write this. Someone needs it. Maybe even just you.
You might be that person for someone else.
You might be the reason someone gets out of bed tomorrow.
You might never know the full story—but that doesn’t make it any less powerful.
Living in Purpose, Not Chasing It
The people we often revere in history—revolutionaries, leaders, artists, healers—didn’t always set out to become icons. They weren’t necessarily chasing fame or legacy. Most were simply following what felt right. They leaned into conviction, pursued justice, or gave voice to something buried in their soul.
They didn’t find their purpose as much as they lived in it. They followed the spark placed in their heart and let it guide their actions. By existing authentically in that truth—by standing up, speaking out, or creating something honest—they became the people who changed the world.
The Cosmic Joke, the Sacred Number
In The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, a supercomputer calculates the answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything. That answer? 42. A number, offered with no context—hilarious, absurd, and oddly profound.
But maybe it isn’t random at all.
In angel numbers, 42 is seen as a divine nudge—a reminder to seek balance, cooperation, and alignment with your soul’s purpose. It encourages you to grow spiritually while tending to both material and emotional needs. (Angel numbers are repeating or significant sequences, believed by many to be messages from the Universe or spiritual guides, since numbers are the universal language.)
In sacred geometry, 42 is connected to the Seed of Life, the geometric foundation of all creation. In Buddhism, it’s the age at which one can reach nirvana, full spiritual enlightenment. In Kabbalah, it’s the number of divine acts by which God created the Universe.
So maybe that number is the answer.
Maybe the real joke is that we keep looking for a single grand meaning, when in reality, purpose reveals itself in sacred patterns, small moments, and the choice to live each day in alignment with what speaks to our soul.
Your Life Is Enough
So to my friend—and to anyone reading this:
Don’t feel pressured to find your purpose.
Just live with purpose.
Life is fragile. Life is miraculous. And life is meaningful—especially when we collect it one small, intentional moment at a time.
You don’t have to move mountains. You just have to move honestly—with courage, kindness, and truth. That’s how revolutions start. That’s how healing begins. That’s how history remembers.
Be here. Be honest. Be you.
How you live is your purpose. And it might just be the thing that saves someone.
Even if that someone… is yourself.
But check back with me on my purpose when I turn 42—apparently that’s when the Universe drops the answer.
With love (and too little sleep),
Lauren
P.S. This blog was brought to you by emotion, insomnia, and the word “Ripple” stuck in my head to the tune of “Sexy and I Know It.” Sorry if it’s in yours now (not really—suffer with me).
Paint the Wall Black: Reflections on Self, Space, and Showing Up Fully
One of the original intentions behind The Building Life was to document the literal building—of my home, my spaces, and my life. I haven’t written much about the renovations lately, but that’s about to change.
Because life, in all its concert-going, charity-organizing, cofounding chaos, recently gave me a new project: my sons decided to swap bedrooms.
From Mural Walls to Black Ceilings
It started with simple intentions: move some furniture, repaint a wall or two. But one change spiraled into many—painting over a Mario mural I’d once done for my younger son, redoing furniture, purging toys, reorganizing chaos.
And then came the request.
“Mom, I want to paint my room black.”
My first reaction? Absolutely not. You can’t live in a dungeon.
But then I caught myself.
I remembered being that age—wanting a dark purple room and covering my walls with posters and collages. My mom compromised, maybe against her taste, but she gave me a space that felt like mine.
This request from my son sparked something deeper. Why was I resisting the same self-expression I had once craved?
When Style Becomes a Mirror
Over the years, I’ve decorated apartments and homes in ways that made sense at the time. But if I’m being honest, a lot of those choices were about what I thought others wanted to see—what looked Pinterest-worthy or socially acceptable.
I forgot that once, my room was a sanctuary. A place to be me.
Now, years later, I find myself painting my own living room with a black accent wall. But I hesitated when my son asked for the same?
It made me realize: somewhere along the way, I stopped decorating for myself.
But lately—whether it’s age or healing or just exhaustion—I care less about my home being a showroom and more about it being a haven. For me. For my kids. For the love we live in every day.
My walls are sometimes scratched, my furniture is always being repainted, and my house is rarely minimalist or curated. But the artwork speaks to me. The colors calm my nervous system. The chaos reflects the creative soul that lives here.
So yes, I compromised on dark grey for a few walls—but I also let my son paint his ceiling. And I don’t regret it for a second.
We Were Never “Too Much”
I’ve seen the quote a few different ways, but the idea sticks:
“Eventually, we return to the person we were before the world told us who to be.”
I know I’ve spent years trying to fit into molds—watered-down versions of myself I thought were easier to love, safer to show. But I tell my kids all the time: Be yourself, and the right people will love you for it.
And I’m finally trying to live that truth, too.
What’s wild is how this self-return shows up in the most unexpected places—like a paintbrush, a thrifted dresser, or a room transformation I didn’t plan.
Because our homes tell a story. And for many of us, they reflect either who we are—or who we think we’re supposed to be.
So, I ask you:
Does your home feel like a sanctuary… or just another chore?
Is it a reflection of your soul… or a curated version meant to impress?
Now, I’m not saying you should end up on an episode of Hoarders, and yes—I’ve seen houses that could’ve dialed back the personality just a bit before hitting the market (and if you haven’t fallen down that particular video rabbit hole… you’re welcome).
But we’re allowed to take up space, to have rooms that feel like us. Even if that means painting the walls black.
Clutter, Chaos, and Creativity
Yes, I envy the pristine homes I see online—the clutter-free zones and perfect lighting. But I know myself. I know my brain. I live with AuDHD. With trauma. With passion. With love.
And I know this: if I had to maintain a perfectly curated home every day, I would fracture.
Actually—I have. Just maybe not with a dramatic furniture-smashing scene from a movie (though I’ve definitely painted over the same dresser seven times, so… close enough).
I’ve come to accept that the clutter and chaos are part of me. Part of the ever-evolving metamorphosis that is healing, parenting, and being human.
So if you're like me—constantly tweaking, rearranging, repainting—maybe it’s not a flaw. Maybe it’s just evidence of growth. Of movement. Of becoming.
Masks, Minimalism, and the Middle
I get why some people reserve one “sacred” room to be themselves in—a man cave, a craft space, a moody bedroom. But what happens when the rest of our house still caters to other people’s opinions?
Where does the concern for being “too much” end, if not behind our own walls?
And if we don’t feel free in our homes, how can we feel free in our lives? Our minds?
Some people hide behind face paint and wild outfits (absolutely reflected in our recent music festivities.) Others hide behind beige walls and throw pillows. Some of us hide behind constant people-pleasing and clean counters.
But hiding is hiding—whether it’s glitter or gray.
And maybe it’s not that we’re judging others for how they express themselves.
Maybe we’re projecting our own fear of doing the same.
Teach Them Freedom
I don’t want my kids to grow up and have to unlearn things because of my conditioning.
I want them to feel safe being themselves—to be bold, to ask questions, to wear what speaks to them, and yes, to paint the wall black.
Even if you don’t have kids, I hope you know this:
You deserve to show up as the version of you that brings joy.
Not the curated version. Not the watered-down version.
The real one. The colorful one. The loud one.
The one you were before the world told you not to be.
And if that version of you lives in a cluttered, colorful, paint-splattered house?
Even better.
Because that house holds your magic. (Pun intended)
And magic was never meant to be minimalist.
Keep building life, one imperfect, beautifully authentic room at a time.
With love from my little black heart,
Lauren
P.S. Soundtrack of this post? Black No. 1 by Type O Negative. Obviously. Paint It Black by The Stones is a good runner up.
More Than Music: Sharing Sound, Shaping Souls
Explore the emotional power of music as memory, medicine, and legacy. From metal concerts to lullabies, discover how music connects generations, soothes the soul, and helps us express what words cannot.
I’m switching things up a little this week—but if you’ve followed the blog, you know everything circles back eventually.
My older son and I are heading to a four-day music festival. Since he was 10, we’ve celebrated his birthday by going to concerts in May. This festival is new for us, but it gives me a chance to talk about something close to my heart: music.
Now yes, I’m a metalhead. But don’t worry—this post isn’t just about the genre. It’s about the power of music as a language, a memory keeper, and a tool for healing.
A Childhood Memory, A Seed Planted
I remember a school field trip in California. I ended up in the car with my crush and his mom, and she had the Beastie Boys blasting—No Sleep Till Brooklyn. I was young, impressionable, and thinking: this mom is really cool.
That memory stuck. Music has a way of doing that.
My family didn’t really listen to rock or metal. My dad dabbled in classic rock, but the genre really came alive for me through friendships. Over time, I fell in love with all kinds of music. It became my language. Music is poetry you can move to. It says what we often struggle to express. It reveals something raw inside of us.
Music as a Thread Through Life
In high school, I helped organize local shows. In college, my thesis film was a documentary on Baltimore musicians. I've been backstage at Ozzfest. I've met artists, attended countless concerts, and raised my kids on sound.
But one moment stands out.
In 2021, we were at a festival watching Sevendust. I've followed the band for over 20 years. They were meaningful to me—especially as a mixed woman at a time when Black musicians in metal were rare.
As my son stood watching them, he turned to me, eyes lit up, and said, “These guys are awesome. Why didn’t you tell me about them?”
In that moment, I realized something powerful: he was connecting with the same music I had found at his age. I didn’t push him into the music. He was discovering it on his own, through my love of it —but creating a relationship of his own.
This is the moment.
Sometimes we share our passions to express ourselves. But when someone we love finds joy in them too? That’s sacred.
When they reflect that passion back to us—when they truly see a part of us, we’ve shared—it’s humbling. It’s like hearing, “Thank you for letting me love a piece of you.”
Therapy, Frequencies, and Feeling Seen
My son struggles with social anxiety, but even his therapist shared that her partner — much like my son — comes alive in a concert setting. There’s something powerful about being in a crowd of strangers, united by the same lyrics, the same beat, the same emotional release. In that shared space, the masks drop. The heart opens. The anxiety quiets.
Lately, I’ve been diving deeper into how frequencies affect the body. Sound creates literal patterns—visible in cymatics, the study of sound wave interactions with matter. Frequencies can alter mood, regulate our nervous systems, and open portals to healing.
They aren’t just heard — they’re felt.
Science tells us that music activates multiple areas of the brain. Certain tones can actually lower stress, regulate the nervous system, or even help with focus and memory. Studies show that specific vibrations affect our cells, our energy centers, and our emotional state.
But beyond science, there’s ancient wisdom here too. Many indigenous and ancient cultures believed sound was sacred. Drumming rituals, chanting, singing bowls, and vibrational ceremonies were (and still are) used to connect with spirit, release trauma, and realign the body’s energy. Churches use hymns. Temples use bells.
This belief isn’t new — it’s just something modern medicine is finally beginning to understand. Music, at its core, is healing. It’s movement. It’s memory. It’s medicine.
But music is also expression. It’s not just something we receive — it’s something someone, somewhere, gave. Each lyric, each note, is a release of feeling, a fragment of someone’s story pressed into sound. I believe music feeds the soul because it comes from the soul — it is the soul’s offering to others.
When I connect with a song, it’s not just because it resonates with me — it’s because I can feel the emotion the artist was trying to organize. The joy, the ache, the chaos, the clarity. That offering, that vulnerability, becomes a bridge between two strangers. And sometimes, that bridge is the very thing that helps us heal.
If numbers are the universal language, then music is where math and meaning converge—rhythm speaking directly to the soul. It offers nourishment to even our darkest depths, in a beautiful, primal dance of connection.
Pebbling, ADHD, and Love Languages
In neurodivergent communities, there’s a term called “pebbling.”
It comes from the way penguins court one another by offering pebbles. In human relationships, pebbling is how we show love—sharing songs, memes, facts, or moments that made us think of someone.
I pebble with music. Constantly. Songs that move me. Make me laugh. Stir something deep. Or simply remind me of someone I love. Music is the medium I use to say things I can’t always articulate.
When I send a song, I’m not just sharing a link—I’m offering a frequency that touched something in me, lyrics that reached my soul, in hopes that it touches something in you too.
Passing Down the Playlist
Music isn’t just what we stream or save to playlists — it’s the lullabies we were rocked to sleep with, the hymns that echoed through our childhood churches, the jingles our grandparents hummed in the kitchen. It’s the silly little rhymes passed down through generations, echoing with nostalgia and love.
I still remember my dad singing Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Loo-Ral or The Old Rugged Cross, and the playful nonsense of Mairzy Doats or A Bicycle Built for Two. They weren’t just songs — they were comfort. Connection. A thread tying me to something bigger than myself.
Cruising the California highways with my Mom, sunroof open, singing Sheryl Crow’s All I Wanna Do at the top of our lungs like a call to freedom. It may have only been a moment, but the music turned it into a memory.
Now, as a mom, I pass those songs on — but I’ve added my own. I make up ridiculous tunes for everything. Cleaning the house, brushing teeth, cooking dinner. We dance around the kitchen to songs with made-up lyrics and inside jokes. We laugh. We repeat them like rituals.
And while part of me wonders if my kids will remember these as quirky “mom moments,” my deepest hope is that these melodies stay with them — tucked into their memory like soft blankets. That someday, long after I’m gone, they’ll hear a tune or a phrase and smile, remembering the joy and love wrapped in every off-key note.
Because music isn't just passed down — it’s lived. In the quiet, in the chaos, in the laughter, in the legacy.
Why It All Matters
This blog post may seem like a detour—but it's not. It’s a loop. Because building life includes music. Includes memory. Includes connection. Includes the art of sharing pieces of ourselves and letting them echo through someone else.
Sometimes, the loudest breakthroughs come in the form of music. And if you’re lucky, they come while standing next to someone you love—singing, swaying, or screaming the lyrics to a song that says everything you’ve never known how to say.
And if you ever find yourself lost in a song, moved by a lyric, or standing in a crowd feeling the bass shake your bones — I hope you know, in that moment, you’re not alone.
We are frequency. We are rhythm. We are story. And music… well, music is the thread that ties it all together.
That’s its magic.
See you in the pit,
Lauren
P.S. If this post spoke to you, check out this week’s poem, “In the Key of You” It’s a love note to the moments, memories, and music we share—and how they shape the ones we love.
Resources
Cracked Open: Why I’m Rebuilding, One Brick at a Time
“Healing is one of the hardest things to do. You have to crack yourself wide open and destroy yourself worse than anyone else ever has, just to see the parts of you you’ve kept hidden. But in that wreckage, you discover the beauty you were always worthy of.”
Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve shared a lot about the people who make up my circle—the sisters, friends, and soul-family who lift me up. But today, I want to turn the focus inward and share a little more of my story—the story behind your host, the woman behind this blog, and the journey that led me here.
We often let our past define us. But our past? It’s just a chapter. A necessary one, sure—but not the whole book.
A Quick Backstory
I was a child of divorce. I still remember the book my parents used to break the news: Dinosaur Divorce. If I remember the title decades later, it tells you something.
Before that, I remember arguments. Finances. Distance. My mother, overwhelmed by her own unhealed trauma. My dad, across the country, later battling a disease that drained the life from him and led to a transplant during my college years. There was also an "evil stepmother"—which, by Disney logic, technically makes me a princess, right?
By the time I was 13, I had already experienced sexual assault. Twice.
Then came the years of partying, welcoming the wrong people in, staying too long, and failing to set boundaries because I didn’t think I was allowed to have any.
There were abusive relationships. Codependency. Confusion. Shame. And, eventually, growth.
Owning My Role in My Own Story
It was a friend who finally said the words that cracked something open:
"It’s them, not you."
I appreciated it—but I also knew it wasn’t just them.
There was something in me—some wound, some belief, some pattern—that was allowing certain people in and worse, letting them stay. Low self-worth. Generational guilt. Trauma. A complete lack of boundaries. It wasn’t just happening to me—I was playing a role in it.
And if I was the main character in my life (which I am), then I had to take some responsibility for the script.
Wounded people wound others. But we get to choose whether or not we continue the cycle. We get to choose to heal.
We get to squelch the bleed before we spill on those we love.
No One’s Coming to Save You (And That’s OK)
Every fairytale I was raised on had a hero who swooped in to save the princess. Some people are lucky enough to find that hero.
But for most of us?
We have to choose to save ourselves.
You rarely realize you're the victim of a villain until it’s too late. Abuse can creep in like fog—slow, quiet, disorienting. For me, it was fear that kept me stuck. But my son? He was my catalyst. I didn’t want him to think love looked like that. I didn’t want him to treat women that way, or worse—think it was normal for a woman to be treated like that.
Looking back, I can see how much I did for others. For my kids. For love.
But I wasn’t doing those things for me.
I didn’t believe I was worthy of saving just because I existed.
I didn’t think I mattered unless I was doing something for someone else.
But here's the truth I came to understand:
You don’t need an external reason to make the hard decisions.
You are reason enough.
Staying Soft in a World That Tries to Harden You
People often say I’m “too nice.” One friend even joked about signing me up for B*tch Lessons.
And sure, part of me envied people who could build walls fast and cut people off like a guillotine.
But I didn’t want to become jaded.
I wanted to stay soft—but protected. Kind—but boundaried. Loving—but wise.
I didn’t want the people who tried to destroy my softness to win.
I didn’t want to become the same monster they had become.
So I made a choice: to let my tenderness be my superpower, not my weakness.
Healing is Brutal—but Worth It
Let me be real: Healing is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
You have to crack yourself open. See what’s really there.
You have to look at the mess, not with judgment, but with compassion.
It’s not about blaming others. It’s about accountability.
It’s about learning to love yourself with the same fire you use to protect your kids or hype your friends.
It’s about choosing to stay in integrity with yourself—even when it hurts.
For a long time, I told others:
You are worthy just because you exist. You don’t have to earn it.
But somewhere along the line, I stopped believing that for myself.
That’s what I’m unlearning now.
Even starting this blog, I thought:
What could I possibly offer? Who would want to hear my story?
But I’m learning to silence that imposter voice.
Because I do have value.
Because I am worthy.
And because we all are.
There’s a quote I love:
“A bottle of water is worth $1 at the grocery store and $5 at the airport. Same bottle—different setting.”
So if you don’t feel valued, maybe it’s time to change the setting.
And if you can’t do that yet, maybe it’s time to change the mindset.
The right people will see your worth, even when you’re struggling to see it yourself.
Why We're Here
This blog exists to build—together.
Through healing. Through truth. Through community.
I don’t have it all figured out. I’m not here to preach.
But I am here—one brick at a time—constructing something worthy of the woman I am becoming.
The mother. The friend. The human.
And in that process, I’ve cracked myself wide open—and I offer that vulnerability to you, not as weakness, but as a reminder that there is strength in being seen.
May it give you the courage to do the same.
Poetry was part of The Building Life from the beginning.
So later this week, I’ll be sharing the first new poem since the relaunch:
"You Did Something to Me."
Until then, thank you for being here.
For building with me.
With love and cracked-open grace,
Lauren
Resources
To the Good Men: Thank You
A tribute to the men breaking generational cycles, raising kids, showing up with love, and healing quietly. Their stories deserve to be told.
The long-awaited post, as mentioned in my guest appearance on Porch Talk with Spade (Episode 8).
So I’ve made it a point to shout out the incredible women in my life — my sisters, soulmates, healers, business queens, and co-warriors. And rightfully so. But today, I want to flip the script for a minute and give some long-overdue love to a group we don’t always talk about when it comes to healing, strength, and support…
The good men.
Over the years, friendships have come and gone, and life has shown me again and again that people come into our lives exactly when they’re meant to. Sometimes it’s a blessing. Sometimes it’s a lesson. And sometimes, it’s both.
Recently, I reminded a friend — who was grieving the end of a relationship simply for setting a boundary — that sometimes the Universe (God, Spirit, whatever name you prefer) removes people we wouldn’t have removed ourselves. That gentle nudge helped her shift perspective. And it reminded me how sacred it is when the right people stay. Or show up exactly when we need them most.
I’ve heard people say, “Men and women can’t be just friends.” And I don’t buy it. I think it’s absolutely possible — with respect, boundaries, and clarity. Some of the most meaningful, grounding, and honest relationships in my life have been with men who never asked anything of me other than to just be myself.
These are men who let me vent, cry, cuss, and be “one of the guys” when I needed that space. But also showed me emotional depth, vulnerability, and truth that broke stereotypes and healed my heart in ways I didn’t know I needed.
And more importantly — they showed up for my kids.
As some of you know, and others will find out, my boys don’t have active or healthy fathers in their lives. And while that’s a story for another day (or a podcast), what I want to say is this: when my oldest was struggling this past year, I had the honor of calling on some truly remarkable men who stepped up. Who gave their time, their presence, their wisdom, and their love — with no strings attached.
Men who checked in, showed up, and stood tall.
Men who reminded my son that he matters, and that being a man includes being kind, vulnerable, strong, and soft.
Men who reminded me that I’m a badass mom even when I felt like I was barely holding it together.
These are men breaking generational cycles. Men becoming what they never had. Men raising children who aren’t biologically theirs, loving them as their own. Men grieving devastating losses. Navigating toxic co-parenting dynamics. Fighting addiction. Battling mental health in silence. Doing the same emotional work we talk about with women — but without the same community or encouragement.
And still, they show up.
One friend of mine — who has supported me and my boys countless times — recently confided that he was in a dark mental space. And it hit me like a wave. Because I don’t know what our lives would look like without him in it. But he spoke up. And that, to me, is a superpower. In a world where men are told to “man up” instead of speak out, that kind of vulnerability is revolutionary.
So today, this one’s for the men who don’t always get the thanks they deserve.
To the ones who stand beside women, not in front of or behind them.
To the ones who break cycles and build bridges.
To the ones who are healing too — even if the world rarely makes space for your tears.
To the ones who treat friendship as sacred, not transactional.
To the ones raising good humans, with or without a blueprint.
Thank you.
For the strength you show.
For the strength you hide.
For reminding us all that goodness still exists.
We may talk a lot about women’s healing on this blog — and we will continue to — because we talk about what we live. But make no mistake: your healing matters too.
So here’s to the good men. The ones who help build the life we dream of. One friendship, one conversation, one act of love at a time.
With a safe space and a hug,
Lauren
P.S. You should know who you are, but just in case:
Brian (Imperial Photography), Dylan, Taylor, Casey, Christian, Brandon, Kevin, Gerret, Worth, Jim… thank you.
Resources
Fixing Each Other’s Crowns
True friendship often arrives when we least expect it. This heartfelt post explores the beauty of female friendships, the unexpected ways women show up for each other, and how connection and community become anchors through chronic illness, motherhood, and personal growth. Featuring an inspiring tribute to fellow entrepreneur and lupus warrior @TiffyKakes, this story celebrates healing, resilience, and the power of lifting each other up—crowns and all.
A Tribute to Friendship, Growth, and Grace
This is my page, so let me shamelessly promote my friend’s business: TiffyKakes — creative genius, confectionary artist, and one of the fiercest women I’ve ever had the honor of doing life with.
But business accolades aside, let me tell you about my friend Tiffany — a woman who continues to inspire me more with each passing year.
We met through our significant others shortly after both relocating to Alabama — me from Baltimore, her from Houston. We were both tall Texas girls, but that’s where the similarities seemed to end... at least at first glance.
Our first meeting was at a flea market (which, to this day, she had no business being at — she was a vision of elegance while I was chasing a toddler in a hoodie, covered in queso). I never imagined we’d become the kind of friends that hold each other’s legs in delivery rooms — but here we are, years and two god-babies later, woven into each other’s stories forever.
When she became devastatingly ill with lupus a little over a year after giving birth, I watched her strength take on a new shape. Tiffany has never been one to sit still, but lupus forced her to reshape her life. From that pain, TiffyKakes was born — a business that gave her creative outlet, freedom, and fire, even on days when it hurt to move. She says I planted the seed. Maybe I did. But she built the garden.
Since I first wrote this post years ago, so much has changed — for both of us. I've now come to accept my own diagnosis with fibromyalgia, and it’s been a journey filled with pain, clarity, surrender, and healing. Our stories, though different, mirror each other in the ways we’ve had to rebuild.
Even more beautifully — both of our children are now starting their own businesses. Watching her daughter grow into a mini powerhouse is just chef's kiss. Seeing her lead by example and continue to thrive, not just survive, is awe-inspiring.
And the best update of all? After years of unrelenting pain, Tiffany is finally in remission.
She still doesn’t always see what we all do — the powerhouse of a woman, mother, creator, and friend she is. But if she forgets, I’ll be here to fix her crown. Because she’s done the same for me — time and time again.
On Friendship and Finding Your People
As we get older, making genuine friends becomes harder. We move, we raise families, we work nonstop, we heal, we hide. Life makes us cautious, tired, guarded. And sometimes, we feel too broken or too busy to connect.
When I moved to Alabama, I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t have a village here, or any clue how to build one. But then, two things happened that changed that: I found a community of bold, vibrant women in Mobile’s Divas, and I strapped on skates with the Mobile Derby Darlings.
Let me tell you, nothing builds fast trust like bruises and laps and laughter shared with women who refuse to let you fall alone — on or off the track.
Those early friendships, like the one I have with Tiffany, were lifelines. They reminded me that connection is worth the effort — that there are women out there who will clap for you when you win and hold you when you don't. That it's never too late to find your people.
If I had let insecurities or snap judgments define our first meeting, I would’ve missed out on one of the most important friendships in my life. Tiffany is not only a role model to my kids and an anchor in my chaos, but she’s also proof of what happens when women support each other instead of compete.
So, to all of you reading this:
May you have friends who see your crown even when it slips.
May you be the kind of person who reminds others of their light.
And may you never underestimate the power of building life with women who lift as they climb.
And to the true friends I’ve found along the way—the incredible women who’ve become more like family—thank you. Life is richer, softer, and more meaningful with you in it. Your presence has been one of my greatest blessings.
Love you always, Queens,
Lauren
Resources
The Weight I Didn’t Know I Was Carrying
For years, I ignored my pain, dismissed my exhaustion, and powered through life without listening to my body—until I was finally diagnosed with fibromyalgia and began exploring the deeper connection between trauma, energy, and healing. This blog post shares my journey from misdiagnosis and burnout to spiritual awakening, energy work, and finally reclaiming my health and self-worth through both science and soul.
Fibromyalgia, Energy Healing, and Finally Listening to My Body
In January of 2014, I was finishing my master’s degree, working full-time, raising my then 3-year-old son as a single mom, and trying to push through the exhaustion with willpower and bad coffee. I had never liked coffee—honestly, the smell alone repulsed me—but I trained myself to tolerate it, like slowly introducing poison, just to keep going.
I knew something was off.
But I told myself I was just tired. Just overworked.
Pain? That was just part of life… right?
When I was first diagnosed with fibromyalgia, I rejected it completely. My mother had the same diagnosis—after years of being told it was lupus. I watched her suffer, struggle to function, and be shuffled through medications that never seemed to help. I couldn’t accept that was my path too.
So, I didn’t.
I ignored it.
I powered through the pain—roller derby injuries, gym workouts, broken tailbones, chipped bones—walking it off like a champ and chalking it up to being tough.
But I wasn’t just tough.
I was disconnected from my body.
Relearning Pain, Relearning Myself
Through pregnancy, injuries, and countless misdiagnoses—ADHD, depression, hypersomnia, insomnia—I told myself this was normal. It wasn’t until 2024, a full decade later, that I met a P.A. who finally connected the dots and looked me in the eye and said, “It’s time to take this seriously.”
He explained fibromyalgia as a neurological disorder, often tied to trauma and PTSD. He wasn’t dismissive or vague. He made it clear: This is real. This is in your body. And it deserves your attention.
That moment flipped a switch.
I dove into research like my life depended on it—because, in many ways, it did.
Suddenly, everything made sense.
The misfires. The exhaustion. The stubborn weight. The pain.
All the symptoms I had tried to manage separately… were deeply connected.
Healing Isn’t Just Clinical
With the right medication, a supportive new primary care doctor, and actual rest, my life started to shift. I lost 30 pounds. I had more energy. My mood lifted. My brain fog cleared. And I even got off some of the medications I’d been taking for years (under supervision, of course).
But that’s only part of the story.
The Wisdom of Ancient Healing
As I began learning about energy healing, I found myself looking backward as much as forward. Long before fibromyalgia had a clinical name, countless ancient tribes and healing traditions around the world already understood what many of us are just rediscovering—that illness isn’t just physical. It’s emotional. It’s spiritual.
In many cultures—from Indigenous tribes across the Americas to Chinese, Indian, and African traditions—pain was seen as a sign of imbalance in the energy body. Trauma was not simply a psychological event, but a soul injury, often treated with ceremony, energy work, bodywork, herbs, or ritual.
Practices like Reiki, cupping, acupuncture, and breathwork were rooted in the idea that healing must happen across all levels—physical, emotional, energetic, and spiritual. There was no shame in seeking healing. There was wisdom in it.
Enter Kodo—And The Session That Shifted Everything
Last month, an old friend from Maryland reached out. Jade, who had also been diagnosed years ago, had taken a more spiritual path and co-founded a holistic healing practice called The WooWrX. She invited me to try something I’d long been curious about: Reiki and intuitive energy healing.
What followed was a distance session guided by both Jade and her husband, combining elements of Reiki, chakra alignment, and deep energetic insight. It was something I didn’t realize how much I needed until it was happening.
They identified pain rooted in my root chakra—the exact place I carry physical pain in my hips and legs. They spoke truth into the silence I had lived with. They helped me release a weight I didn’t even realize I was still carrying.
After the session, my pain didn’t vanish, but it changed. My energy felt lighter. My breath, freer. I wasn’t just managing fibromyalgia—I was finally meeting it with presence.
Chakras, Science & The Grey Area
Since that session, life has done what life does—work trips, missed meds, everyday chaos—but something is different. The pain hasn’t returned in the same intensity. And the wild part? I noticed the shift before I even read their session notes.
Coincidence? Placebo? Maybe.
But healing isn’t black and white.
This is the grey space—where ancient knowledge and modern medicine don’t contradict each other… they complete each other.
We are more than bodies. We are energy. We are story.
And we are worthy of healing from all directions.
What I Want You to Take Away
If you're living with fibromyalgia or chronic illness—or even just unexplained exhaustion and disconnection—please, please be your own advocate. Doctors are knowledgeable, but they’re not omniscient. If your diagnosis doesn’t feel complete, keep digging. If your treatment isn’t helping, explore the spaces between.
Lean into your curiosity. Lean into the discomfort.
And when your body whispers—listen.
It might be telling you everything you need to know.
What’s Helped Me (So Far):
A supportive primary care provider who listens
A balanced medication and supplement routine
Researching the neurological & trauma links behind fibromyalgia
Reiki + energy healing (like Kodo through The WooWrX)
Letting go of shame and guilt for needing care
Honoring ancient healing practices with an open heart
This post isn’t medical advice. It’s my story.
It’s a reminder that we are not just pain.
We are not just labels.
We are not broken.
We are building—slowly, gently, beautifully.
With love & healing,
Lauren
Resources
Reclaiming Your Energy & Listening to Your Body Reading List
Reclaiming Your Energy & Listening to Your Body Journal Prompts
The Power of Saying No (Without Guilt)
Women are taught to say yes—to everything and everyone—until burnout becomes the norm. In this post, I explore the emotional toll of people-pleasing, the guilt we carry for setting boundaries, and the freedom that comes with learning to say no without apology. Join me in reclaiming your time, energy, and peace through mindfulness, self-compassion, and a whole lot of unlearning.
A couple of weeks ago, I co-hosted our monthly event for my women’s group.
First—let me brag about this group and its founder. She’s an incredible woman and mama who created something really special: a space for women from all walks of life to come together once a month—to connect, laugh, learn, or just breathe.
Not being originally from here, and after I stepped away from roller derby (which deserves its own post, and trust me, we’ll get there), it’s been hard to make adult female friendships. But I’ve been part of this group for about six years now, and it’s something I genuinely look forward to.
Last month’s event? A wellness night and acupuncture clinic.
Huge shoutout to Ivy Garden of Wellness and my amazing friends Jess and Tacy—link below because, yes, I am absolutely plugging women who pour into other women.
As women filtered in for treatment, I created a list of mindfulness questions for them to sit with while they waited. Nothing too heavy—just little prompts to nudge them back toward themselves.
But something surprising (and kinda heavy) happened:
Many of us couldn’t answer them.
We literally had to pause and think hard… about things like:
"What do I need more of?"
"When was the last time I did something just for myself?"
"What emotion have I been avoiding?"
These aren’t trick questions. But they’re hard when you’ve spent so much time taking care of everyone else.
Hard when you always say yes.
Hard when you’ve been handing out parts of yourself on autopilot for years.
Burnout Isn’t a Buzzword—It’s a Silent Epidemic
So many of us—especially women—have been taught that saying yes is noble. That being needed is our value. That if we say no, we’re letting someone down.
And listen, nurturing is in our bones. Caregiving is instinctual for many of us. But what happens when we’ve given away so much care that we forget to care for ourselves?
We burn out.
And not just in the "I'm tired" way.
We feel guilty when we rest.
We feel selfish for needing space.
We feel uncomfortable not helping, even when we have nothing left to give.
We turn ourselves into emotional overdraft accounts, constantly handing out more than we’ve replenished.
You Can’t Pour from an Empty Cup—And You Shouldn’t Have To
If your body, mind, and spirit were a bank account, would you be in the negative right now?
Think about it.
Every time you get a little deposit—an hour alone, a compliment, a nap, a podcast that stirs your soul—you immediately give it away.
You don’t let your balance build.
You don’t give yourself permission to keep the good stuff for yourself first.
And then… the metaphorical flat tire hits.
The emotional emergency.
The unexpected bill.
And you realize: You’ve got nothing left to cover it.
Saying “No” Isn’t Selfish. It’s Sacred.
Saying no isn’t a rejection of others. It’s a reclamation of self.
It’s setting a boundary that says:
“I am worthy of rest.”
“I need time to replenish.”
“I am not abandoning you—I am choosing me.”
We’re not just fighting people-pleasing habits.
We’re unlearning ancestral patterns, too. Generations of women before us didn’t always have the permission or privilege to say no.
They survived by putting everyone else first.
And now, we carry that guilt like it’s inherited.
But it stops with us.
Not because we don’t care.
But because we care so much—we know we can’t keep living this way.
How to Break the Yes Cycle and Heal From Burnout
Here are a few ways to start gently honoring your own capacity:
1. Practice Saying “Let Me Get Back to You”
You don’t owe an immediate yes. Give yourself space to check in with your energy before committing.
2. Check Your Capacity, Not Just Your Calendar
Just because your schedule is open doesn’t mean your nervous system is. Energy matters more than availability.
3. Start With Small “No’s”
Decline an extra task. Skip an event. Say no to guilt-tripping yourself into overextending.
4. Create a “Replenishment List”
Write down 5 things that refill your cup (even if it’s silence, a nap, or watching water boil in peace). Do one weekly.
5. Ask: Who or What Pours Into Me?
Your giving shouldn't be one-sided. Relationships should be reciprocal. If no one’s pouring into you—you’re allowed to pause, refill, and protect your peace.
This Is the Work of Rebuilding
This blog—The Building Life—isn’t just about furniture flips, home projects, or poetic reflections.
It’s about rebuilding from the inside out.
Tearing down beliefs that no longer serve us.
Saying yes to ourselves with the same energy we give to everyone else.
So here’s your permission slip (in case no one’s handed you one lately):
You can say no and still be kind.
You can rest and still be worthy.
You can be full of love without being emptied out.
And when you forget—come back here.
We’re building something better.
With a boundary and a hug,
Lauren 🤎
Shoutout to Ivy Garden of Wellness, Jess & Tacy – thank you for holding space for women to come home to themselves.
ResourcesSaying No, Boundaries & Burnout Reading ListWelcome (Back) to The Building Life
It’s been a minute—and by “a minute,” I mean a few years of surviving, growing, parenting, healing, overcommitting, under-resting, and occasionally remembering to breathe. Life has been lifing, but The Building Life is back—blog and podcast included. We’re picking up the pieces, dusting off the dreams, and diving into everything from home projects to healing, from boundaries to burnout, and all the mess and magic in between. Let’s build something beautiful—together.
Originally dreamed up in 2020, reborn now—with spirit, grace, and a much bigger toolbox.
Hey friend,
Thank you for showing up—and welcome (or welcome back) to The Building Life.
This blog and podcast have lived in my heart for years. The idea first sparked in 2020, in the middle of a wildly uncertain time, when I was craving more purpose, clarity, and connection. Like many of you, I was navigating the chaos of life, trying to make sense of it all while raising my boys, holding down work, and still remembering who I was underneath it all.
I’ve tried to launch this space more than once, but life has a way of… well, life-ing. Being a single mom means time is never your own. Add in work, relationships, house projects, unexpected turns, and just trying to stay sane—and it’s easy to see how some dreams get pushed to the back burner.
But here's the truth: this dream never really left. It just needed to grow with me.
What’s Changing (and What’s Not)
The Building Life is still about the same things that inspired me from the beginning:
Navigating real-life struggles with honesty and humor
Creating a meaningful life through intention, creativity, and chaos
Finding healing through home, heart, and hustle
But now, we’re coming back with fresh eyes, deeper perspective, and a whole lot more stories to tell.
We’ll revisit some early content and conversations—this time with new tools, new wisdom, and maybe a little more wine. And we’ll be diving into some beautiful new territory too: healing, creativity, self-love, spirituality, DIY life hacks, and what it really means to rebuild from the inside out.
About the Podcast
Yes, the podcast is coming too! Think kitchen-table conversations about:
Being a mom while trying not to lose yourself
Learning to set boundaries and build again after heartbreak
Talking to experts, friends, and people who’ve been through it
The messy, magical work of building a life that feels like yours
Who This Is For
This space is for the dreamers, the doers, the tired mamas, the recovering people-pleasers, the creatives, the ones healing while hustling, and anyone who’s ever said:
"I want more, but I’m exhausted."
Same.
Let’s talk about it. Let’s build some sh*t. Let’s figure it out together.
Want to Be Part of It?
I’d love to hear from you—what do you want to talk about? What are you building in your life right now?
Drop a comment, subscribe to the newsletter, or follow along on Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest and YouTube.
We’re just getting started.
With love and a hammer,
Lauren
The Building Life