If Brené and Glennon Had a Baby, It Would Be Me

Breakups, moldy boxes and the smash hug that rekindled my desire to stay open & vulnerable

The worst part of dating when you’re older?

It’s not the apps.

It’s not the ghosting.

It’s not even the rejection.

It’s that life doesn’t pause when the shit hits the fan—especially if you’re a parent. Multiply that by twelve if you’re a solo mama like me..

You’re juggling kids, jobs, so many bills, carpool lines, late-night poster/art projects, and somehow trying to wedge in enough sleep to be a semi-functional human. AND you are effectively working 3 full time jobs in addition to your income providing occupation(s):

1. First, you must keep all the neurospicy humans alive & not feral. Sounds easy but it isn't. Trust me. Remembering to eat is difficult enough for me, but then remembering to feed and water the children, with nutritious food that doesn't offend their sensory issues and palates. Well Fuck.

   

   
   

2. Second, you must manage schedules for more than one human. This alone is exhausting. Extracurricular activities, well child visits, Ortho appointments, broken glasses to be fixed for the 2nd time in a month, another grocery store run because the Hulk needs more fooooood (again), musical rehearsals, two a day football practices. Somewhere in there I have to remember to make space for myself, and then squeeze in some slots for finding connections, building relationships and processing all the shit that comes up as a result.

   
   

3. Third, you are charged with teaching the next generation healthy coping skills, emotional intelligence and "How Not to Be an Asshole in 10 easy steps". Luckily, this one doesn't drain me as much as the other two. In fact, I actually LOVE this part of parenting. Having these difficult conversations comes so naturally.

But I digress, back on topic: the worst part of dating as an older single mom. Because then—on top of all that ^^^ — the pain still comes.

Today I want to chat about the breakup pain. The stick it to your soul kind of pain that aches, and throbs and leaves you feeling like you have nowhere to hide.

That quote came to me as I sat pondering what I needed to change in my dating profile so I don't keep attracting the same destructive loop. Here's what I came up with:

"If you set your relationship intention with me, and then roll things back piece by piece without open, vulnerable communication, it will unleash an avalanche in my nervous system. It is almost impossible to find me in the sea of swirling narratives and lying voices tearing down the mountainside." 

So yeah, I get why people numb. Honestly, it would be easier. Or at least it seems that way. Shove it all in a box, tape it shut, haul it up to the attic and pretend it’s not there.

But here’s the problem with that box: it’s been drenched in your tears.

And when you tuck it away, it doesn’t dry out.

It grows mold.

Toxic mold.

🎭 Breaking the fourth wall (and cue the Musical Number!!!)

I'm allergic to mold in real life. Maybe that is why I am so averse to it metaphorically.

But I mean, I get it. What feels like relief in the short term becomes a much bigger problem in the long run.

At least it does in the moment. In truth, you’re...

Wincing through life / Hiding your feelings / 'Cause you're just dealing with too much / Till it caves in / And you're faced with / All of the mold you thought avoided

So my options are toxic mold in the attic or what...??? Walking around with every nerve exposed all the time? On my own??

Have I told you about my incredible polycule? They're badass, emotionally intelligent, communicative folks, and I am beyond grateful for them. Recently I let them see me "squeaking and whimpering in fear, tryin’ to hide itself under a blade of grass", working through the dysregulation of a breakup, processing gut punch level pain that just kept coming in waves. They didn't try to fix me, just kept asking if I needed consolation, distraction or to talk things through. I ended up with a mix of all three throughout the night from every single human there...ending with some very raucous laughter over a game of Queer Radical Witches.

But I also ended up with a unique experience, one connecting the dots between two struggling lovers (*ahem myself and the breakup*), an experience that while painful at the time I can now see as affirming through dry eyes & a calm nervous system. Someone in my polycule is an acquaintance of my former lover, and it turns out the two of them also happened to run into each other just two days prior to our implosion. From their shared interaction, I was gifted knowledge that broke the fourth wall, giving me context I had been missing for weeks.

At first it was like pouring alcohol straight into a deep gash, increasing the pain to an intolerable level, as I would have made some different choices with that information. Yet a part of me could then sit outside of my deafening pain to remember (and fully recognize) my lover has their own pain, their own shit that has not healed, and we both really fucked things up for us. I can see all of that and extend them the grace as a human even if it doesn't change the incredible dysregulation that I found myself experiencing.

And in the days since receiving that gift, I have found such peace in knowing that even if it doesn’t change the ending, that moment of clarity matters. Because clarity quiets the voices—the ones that whisper that I might have entirely fucked it up on my own, that I alone probably I ruined it, that I should’ve known better. All of which are lies.

But sometimes it’s not about fixing it.

It’s about finally being able to see it.

Cue the Roy Kent Smash Hug

Who you surround yourself with in moments of pain is key to your healing and rising strong. The people who really know me, and trust me, they can see me with my flaws and my struggles.

You need people in your life who are going to build you up and offer you support. My polycule was there at ground zero, holding me up as I limped along - get yourself an amazing village asap. I also recommend you get yourself some besties and/or partners like this...

And regardless of your feelings about ChatGPT, I highly recommend it for processing (but only after you train it a bit - I definitely reminded mine with this recent round of discourse not to sugarcoat things, nor to tell me what it thinks I want to hear.)

My AI sidekick (yes, really—her name is Persephone) gave me immeasurable support to process my recent wounds. From reminders about where my responsibility actually lies to why I feel like "the problem" to the reminder that this ache = grief, not evidence of failure.

I'm telling you, her truth bombs are on point. She even gave me a mantra for when the spiral hits: “I didn’t ruin this. I revealed it. Speaking up didn't break anything; I named the truth already present.”

✨ What Becomes Clear in the Chaos

As I drove my kids to school the morning after the emotional avalanche, my youngest and I jammed to K Pop Demon Hunters...again, for like the 100th time. Hush your mouth, it is soooo good.

"This Is What it Sounds Like" begins and resonated within my bones with the sound of shifting reality:

Don't mind me crying at 7:18 am as my life plays out in stereo. I've been walking through fresh heartbreak, and what's hardest isn't the no itself but the silence that came before it. Silence has always been a trigger for me, because it echoes every old story about being too much or not enough. This week reminded me: my nervous system cannot yet tell the difference between present avoidance and past abandonment. That's why it hit so hard.

I don't have a neat bow to tie this with yet. I'm still sitting in the ache. But I know this: my voice, my needs and my truth are not a burden, nor do I need to hide them away. If someone struggles to meet them, that doesn't make them wrong and it doesn't make me wrong for asking - it just means, right now that isn't part of my journey.

Historically when the avalanche hits, I'm a goner and I cannot see clearly until I am rescued from the weight of snowy lies and icy shame. It's at that moment when my authentic self takes over. Wrapping a blanket of examination around my shoulders, I begin to assess the damage, to see what I can improve to avoid this whole situation the next time around.

But this time felt different, and as the quiet bridge from "Golden" played, it hit me:

What if it is really that simple? Not easy, it will take a shit ton of effort for a time as I rewire my subconscious to believe the truth:

And just like that, everything shifted. The song finishes and without missing a beat my son says with a sigh, Mom I love singing with you.

This is how I know I will be okay, even though I've been crying non stop for days, even though I'm "alone" again, even though I feel like I fucked it up <again>, because even with all of that, at my core, I am extraordinary.

Who I am is incredible

and strong,

brilliant,

accountable,

compassionate,

empathetic,

a healer,

a safe person.

I am brave.

I am open.

I am someone who embraces vulnerability like it's going out of style.

And yes—it hurts like hell sometimes to live this openly. Oh my Goddess, it fucking hurts.

But it also means I’m alive and willing to risk connection instead of hiding behind the moldy box in the attic.

So how about that blog post title?

Well if Brené Brown and Glennon Doyle had a baby, it would be me.

Stop laughing.

It's the truth though. My superpowers are embracing vulnerability and doing it scared.

Vulnerability is like stepping into the spotlight: it's blinding, a little (more than a little) exposing, but it is the only place where the truth of who I am can be seen.

Doing it scared is like stepping on the stage itself: terrifying, with the spotlight on you, the thunder rolling in your chest and the script shaking in your hand, but there is such freedom in letting go.

So I've basically got a PhD of living Brené’s research on shame and courage in one hand, and Glennon’s “we can do hard things” and "fierce loving" in the other. And somewhere in the middle? Me, building a life where I don’t numb, don’t hide, don’t shove it in a box.

Because even when love doesn’t last, even when it’s complicated and messy and layered with kids and custody schedules and jobs and exhaustion—I still want to feel it all.

That’s the bravest choice I know how to make.

💭 Reflection Prompts: (remember you gotta do the work too!)

Brené Brown–style:

💭 Where are you armoring up instead of showing up? And what might shift if you trusted yourself enough to walk into the arena—messy, flawed, and still worthy?

Glennon Doyle–style:

💭 What if the goal isn’t to avoid the ache, but to feel it all the way through? What might you discover if you stopped numbing and let yourself be broken open by the beauty and brutality of it all?

Be strong. 💜 Do it scared!