Hey Dana Jane

Author: heydanajane

  • Enraged

    The assassination of Charlie Kirk has left me shaken in ways I can hardly put into words. I don’t want to draw comparisons that don’t belong, but the words of Anne Wilson’s song echo in my mind: “Who changed the world when His blood was spilled? Who takes His own cross up a hill?”

    In so many ways, I believe the world will be changed by Charlie’s blood being spilled. He bore his cross with courage and conviction, carrying it faithfully and wholeheartedly in the name of Christ. He was hated for his beliefs, mocked for his boldness, and yet he never wavered. For that, he paid the ultimate price. Charlie was martyred.

    And yet, what deepens the wound is not just the loss of his life, but the cultural numbness that followed. To see people sharing the graphic video of his attack—carelessly, thoughtlessly, as if it were nothing more than shock-value content—is an act of cruelty in itself. One day, Charlie’s children may stumble across that video. That thought makes my stomach turn.

    This is not just brutality. This is sickness. This is a world so desensitized that we cannot even recognize the sacredness of life. And it enrages me.

  • A Nation in Mourning: Charlie Kirk’s Tragic Assassination

    I am overwhelmed with sorrow. I am seething with anger. Today, our brave, devout conservative friend Charlie Kirk was assassinated—struck down in cold blood while standing firmly for truth and faith at Utah Valley University. He wasn’t just a figurehead; he was a young father, a passionate believer, a warrior for Christ—and he fell victim to the hatred and division that poison this country.

    Charlie was brilliant. His mind was sharp, his insight clear. Whether he was debating on stage, speaking to students, or encouraging fellow believers, he had an ability to articulate truth in a way that cut through the noise. He was a leader who inspired countless young conservatives to think critically, live boldly, and never apologize for their faith. He had so much of life ahead of him—a life that should have been filled with more books, more speeches, more debates, more moments as a father and husband. That future was stolen.

    At approximately 12:10 p.m. MDT, a single gunshot rang out from a building roughly 200 yards away—hitting Charlie in the neck during a live public event. Within hours, he succumbed to his injuries and died at age 31, leaving behind a grieving wife and two young children.

    This wasn’t random violence—it was a savage act of political hatred. The perpetrators of this cruelty are the extremists who have poisoned our national conversation, who preach division, who despise Christians and conservatives, who incite fear and violence with their vitriol.

    To those who revel in chaos, who whisper that such violence is justified—know this: you have crossed a moral line. You have torn a family apart, left two children fatherless, and extinguished a vibrant life dedicated to faith and courage.

    I mourn Charlie’s life. I mourn the light he brought into conservative youth movements nationwide. I mourn his bold voice, his unapologetic Christianity, his unyielding commitment to truth. But I will not be silent.

    Let this crime spark a turning point. Let us confront and reject the hatred that divides us. We must stand united—Christians and conservatives in the face of extremist violence, in defense of free speech, in honor of Charlie’s legacy.

    Rest in peace, Charlie. Your brilliance, your faith, and your courage will not be forgotten.

  • Unlearning the Lie: A Journey Out of Dysfunction

    Disclaimer:
    To my family members who may be reading this—this is not a personal attack. This is a raw and honest account of my experience growing up in a dysfunctional family system. This is the result of years of therapy, painful reflection, and personal growth. If this makes you uncomfortable, I encourage you to sit with that discomfort. These things happened to me. Your discomfort is yours to manage. I won’t be gaslit, dismissed, or silenced.

    For as long as I can remember, I lived in a house where appearances mattered more than authenticity, where silence was safer than speaking up, and where love came with conditions. The air was often thick with unspoken expectations, repressed anger, and inherited trauma, disguised as tradition. There was little room for individuality—only conformity.

    The voice in my head that doubted me, shamed me, told me I was “too much” or “not enough”? It wasn’t mine. It belonged to a chorus—my parents, some aunts and uncles, a grandparent. Their values were imposed on me like scripture: obey, conform, suppress, believe. I was conditioned to accept their version of religion, success, womanhood, and morality without question. I spent decades chasing their ideals, only to end up exhausted and empty.

    It’s taken five years of therapy—deep, soul-level work—for me to realize that voice was never mine. That guilt and shame? Not mine to carry. Those expectations? Not my responsibility. My therapist once told me, “Just because they handed you the script, doesn’t mean you have to keep reading from it.” That was the moment everything began to shift.

    At 46, I’ve never been clearer. I no longer pretend. I no longer force myself to align with values that don’t fit. I don’t exist to be a mirror for someone else’s version of the “right” life. I now extend the compassion to myself that I so freely gave everyone else. That’s the most sacred, powerful gift I’ve ever given myself.

    Yes, my philosophies have shifted. Yes, my goals and beliefs look different. And no, I will no longer contort myself to please people who can’t—or won’t—see me clearly. I’m no longer afraid to stand up for what’s right for me.

    And if this disappoints my parents, siblings, or extended relatives—so be it. That disappointment is theirs to hold. I was never equipped to be the manager of everyone’s emotions, and I’m done trying to be. I have finally stepped out of the shadows of who I was told to be, and into the light of who I actually am.

    This is my truth. And I won’t apologize for it.

  • What 46 Feels Like

    On March 17, I turned 46.

    It’s a strange number. Not quite a milestone, but far enough along the timeline to make you pause. People ask, “How does it feel?” and I honestly don’t know how to answer that. I don’t feel 46. But then again, what should 46 feel like?

    There’s no textbook description for this age. No clean, universal definition. Some of us are raising children. Some are burying parents. Some are reinventing careers or navigating health issues. Some are chasing dreams we set down years ago, now finally brave enough to pick them up again. Forty-six doesn’t come with a rulebook—it comes with stories. Lots of them.

    That’s the most profound realization I’ve had this year: my greatest strength is not in how young I can stay, or how much I can still do, but in what I’ve lived through. The experiences. The heartbreaks. The doubts. The faith. The lessons I learned the hard way and the ones I learned by watching others fall and rise again. That’s where my real power lies now—in the hard-earned wisdom of all the ages I’ve already been.

    I don’t resent getting older. I don’t want to go back. But I am becoming increasingly aware of my mortality, of the finite nature of all this. The clock ticks louder in midlife, not in a panicked way, but in a purposeful one. Time feels like it’s speeding up, and suddenly every moment is asking to be noticed.

    I’m trying to slow down where I can. To be present. To laugh without distraction. To see the people I love more clearly. To soak in the ordinary. Because these are the days I’ll want back someday—the ones I’m living right now.

    46 isn’t old. It’s not young either. It’s a bridge between who I’ve been and who I’m becoming. And standing in that in-between space is sacred. It’s humbling. It’s beautiful.

    So this year, my birthday wish isn’t for more time—it’s for deeper time. More intentional, more meaningful, more alive. I don’t want to just exist. I want to live—fully, truthfully, and gratefully.

    Because I’ve never felt more me than I do right now.

    And maybe that’s exactly what 46 feels like.

  • Blog Post: “Wait…Am I the Narcissist?”

    Let’s talk about a hard truth today—narcissists, and what it’s like when one calls you a narcissist.

    It’s jarring, isn’t it? You’re standing there, trying to explain your feelings or set a boundary, and suddenly—boom—you’re accused of being selfish, dramatic, attention-seeking, or even worse: a narcissist.

    And for a split second, it works. You start to spiral. Am I really like that? Do I make everything about me? Am I the problem?

    Let me stop you right there. The fact that you’re even asking yourself those questions is a huge red flag in the other direction. Real narcissists don’t wonder if they’re narcissists. They don’t question their intentions or worry about how they affect others. That kind of self-awareness? Not in their playbook.

    Narcissists are often incapable of true introspection. They don’t believe they’re flawed or that they could be the cause of hurt. If they ever say things like, “I know I have my faults” or “I guess I’m just the bad guy,” it’s almost always part of a strategy. It’s manipulation disguised as humility. It’s them fishing for reassurance, guilt-tripping you, or trying to flip the script so they can get what they want—your silence, your apology, your compliance.

    So let’s be honest: dealing with a narcissist is emotionally exhausting. They project, they gaslight, and they rewrite reality in a way that makes you look like the villain for simply having needs or drawing a line. And when you finally push back, when you say “Enough”—that’s when they panic. That’s when the accusations start.

    But here’s the truth: if you’ve spent time questioning yourself, reflecting, even reading this blog post because it struck a chord—you’re not the narcissist. You’re likely the empath, the peacekeeper, the overthinker. And narcissists love those types because they’re easy to manipulate. Easy to guilt. Easy to confuse.

    Here’s your reminder: setting boundaries is not selfish. Asking for respect is not narcissistic. Walking away from toxic behavior is not a character flaw. It’s called growth.

    If someone keeps calling you the problem every time you stand up for yourself, it might be time to consider who really has the problem.

    You’re not crazy. You’re not selfish. And no—you’re not the narcissist.

    Keep shining your light. The right people will never try to dim it.

  • The Only Real Control We Have (Spoiler: It’s Not Over Other People)

    Let’s be real for a minute.
    You’re not going to fix that egomaniac in your life.
    You’re not going to outmaneuver the narcissist.
    And you’re definitely not going to “change” that toxic person who’s been draining your energy like it’s their job.

    I know, I know—this isn’t what you want to hear. But it’s what you need to hear. Because here’s the deal:
    The only realistic form of control you have in this life is self-control.

    That’s it. That’s the truth, in all its uncomfortable glory.

    You can’t control how other people treat you. You can’t control how they twist your words, push your buttons, or show up with all the emotional intelligence of a brick wall. You can scream into the void, lose sleep, spiral with overthinking, and still—they’re going to do whatever the hell they want.

    But here’s your superpower: you can control how you respond.
    That’s not weakness. That’s not giving up. That’s strength. That’s freedom.

    Setting boundaries isn’t about changing someone else’s behavior. It’s about saying, “I’m not available for this kind of nonsense anymore.”
    Walking away doesn’t mean you lost. It means you’ve decided your peace matters more than trying to win a battle you never signed up for in the first place.
    Choosing silence doesn’t make you passive. Sometimes, it’s the loudest thing you can do.

    And I get it—we all want justice. We want accountability. We want people to see the light and finally say, “You were right. I was the problem.”
    But you’ll wait forever for that moment with some people. And in the meantime, you’re sacrificing your sanity.

    So here’s the challenge:
    Stop trying to control what’s outside of you, and start mastering what’s within.
    Your thoughts. Your choices. Your reactions. Your energy.

    Because when you stop trying to change toxic people and start changing how you show up around them, something wild happens:
    You get your power back.

    And trust me, that feels a hell of a lot better than banging your head against the wall trying to fix people who don’t want to be fixed.

    You want control? Take it.
    Not over them—over you.
    That’s where the real magic is.

  • Life Lately: Work, Travel, and Sleep Deprivation

    Well, it’s been a minute, hasn’t it? I didn’t mean to disappear, but life has been a whirlwind lately. Work has been busy, I spent a week in Texas, and things haven’t slowed down since I got back. I keep waiting for a lull, but at this point, I think I need to accept that my “normal” is just organized chaos.

    Between keeping up with work, making sure the boys are where they need to be, and attempting to maintain some level of order in my house (a battle I’m slowly losing), I feel like I’m running on fumes. And just when I thought I had a handle on things, Owen left for his class trip to Washington, D.C., early Sunday morning—right as daylight saving time ended. Nothing like losing an hour of sleep and sending a kid off on a big trip to completely throw off my schedule.

    So, yeah, I know this isn’t the most exciting update. No dramatic stories, no major catastrophes—just the usual hustle of work, parenting, and trying to keep my head above water. But honestly? Sometimes the mundane is better than total chaos.

  • 40 Days of Renewal: A Catholic Journey Through Lent

    A 40-day Lenten guide for Catholics focused on prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. This daily plan will help you reflect, repent, and grow closer to Christ, leading you through Holy Week and into the joy of Easter.

    Week 1: Turning Toward God

    • Ash Wednesday (Day 1) – Fast and abstain from meat. Reflect on your Lenten intentions.
    • Day 2 (Thursday) – Read Matthew 6:1-6, 16-18 on fasting, prayer, and almsgiving.
    • Day 3 (Friday) – Abstain from meat. Pray the Stations of the Cross.
    • Day 4 (Saturday) – Do an act of charity: donate food or money to those in need.
    • 1st Sunday of Lent – Read Mark 1:12-15 (Jesus in the desert). Reflect on your own spiritual wilderness.

    Week 2: Deepening Prayer

    • Day 5 (Monday) – Spend 10 minutes in silent prayer with God.
    • Day 6 (Tuesday) – Pray for someone who has hurt you.
    • Day 7 (Wednesday) – Meditate on the Seven Sorrows of Mary.
    • Day 8 (Thursday) – Fast from distractions (social media, TV) for a day.
    • Day 9 (Friday) – Abstain from meat. Pray the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary.
    • Day 10 (Saturday) – Read and reflect on Psalm 51 (A prayer of repentance).
    • 2nd Sunday of Lent – Read Mark 9:2-10 (The Transfiguration). Ask God to reveal His glory in your life.

    Week 3: Acts of Mercy

    • Day 11 (Monday) – Forgive someone who has wronged you.
    • Day 12 (Tuesday) – Write a thank-you note to someone who has blessed you.
    • Day 13 (Wednesday) – Meditate on the Beatitudes (Matthew 5:1-12).
    • Day 14 (Thursday) – Perform a random act of kindness.
    • Day 15 (Friday) – Abstain from meat. Attend or watch a Stations of the Cross service.
    • Day 16 (Saturday) – Spend time with someone lonely or in need.
    • 3rd Sunday of Lent – Read John 4:5-42 (The Woman at the Well). Reflect on how Jesus satisfies your thirst.

    Week 4: Renewal of Heart

    • Day 17 (Monday) – Pray for peace in the world.
    • Day 18 (Tuesday) – Attend daily Mass or Eucharistic Adoration.
    • Day 19 (Wednesday) – Read Luke 15:11-32 (The Prodigal Son). Ask God for mercy.
    • Day 20 (Thursday) – Fast from complaining.
    • Day 21 (Friday) – Abstain from meat. Give alms to the poor.
    • Day 22 (Saturday) – Make a list of things you are grateful for.
    • 4th Sunday of Lent (Laetare Sunday) – Rejoice in the mercy of God and reflect on Ephesians 5:8-14.

    Week 5: Drawing Near to the Cross

    • Day 23 (Monday) – Read John 8:1-11 (The Woman Caught in Adultery). Accept God’s mercy.
    • Day 24 (Tuesday) – Pray for those who are suffering.
    • Day 25 (Wednesday) – Write down your burdens and offer them to God.
    • Day 26 (Thursday) – Read John 13:1-17 and reflect on serving others.
    • Day 27 (Friday) – Abstain from meat. Meditate on Jesus’ Seven Last Words.
    • Day 28 (Saturday) – Confess your sins in Reconciliation.
    • 5th Sunday of Lent – Read John 11:1-45 (Raising of Lazarus). Where is God calling you to new life?

    Holy Week: Entering into Christ’s Passion

    • Palm Sunday – Reflect on Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem (Matthew 21:1-11).
    • Holy Monday – Meditate on John 12:1-11 (Mary anoints Jesus’ feet).
    • Holy Tuesday – Read John 13:21-38 (Jesus predicts Peter’s denial).
    • Holy Wednesday (Spy Wednesday) – Reflect on Judas’ betrayal and examine your own heart.

    Sacred Triduum

    • Holy Thursday – Attend Mass of the Lord’s Supper. Reflect on the Eucharist and Jesus washing the disciples’ feet.
    • Good Friday – Fast, abstain from meat, and venerate the Cross. Read the Passion narrative (John 18-19).
    • Holy Saturday – Enter into silence and waiting. Pray the Sorrowful Mysteries and prepare your heart for Easter.

    Easter Sunday: He is Risen!

    • Celebrate Christ’s victory over sin and death! Read John 20:1-18 and rejoice in the resurrection.

  • Magic in the Mundane

    Life, at its core, is a repetitive business. You wake up, groggily smack the alarm, and shuffle into the same routine—coffee, emails, obligations, dinner, sleep. Rinse and repeat. If existence were a television show, some episodes would feel like reruns, lazily recycled from last week’s plot. Even the drama—lost socks, late meetings, the eternal question of what’s for dinner—feels scripted.

    But here’s the secret: monotony isn’t the villain. It’s the scaffolding. Life isn’t meant to be a constant highlight reel of grand adventures. It’s found in the micro-moments, the overlooked joys—hot coffee on a cold morning, a stranger holding the door, a perfectly ripe avocado.

    If we let ourselves, we can find magic in the mundane. The way sunlight filters through the blinds. The rhythmic hum of the washing machine, like a heartbeat reminding you that you’re here, you’re alive, and you still have clean socks to misplace. The quiet absurdity of a dog chasing its own tail, oblivious to the futility but delighted all the same.

    Monotony is just life’s way of asking: Can you find the beauty in this? Can you laugh at the little mishaps? Can you turn Tuesday into something worth remembering, even if it’s just because you tried a new brand of cereal?

    So lean in. Romanticize the small things. Because one day, you’ll look back and realize those little, ordinary moments weren’t so ordinary after all.

  • Faith and Frustration: Reconciling Catholicism with Gender Equality

    Loving my Catholic faith while rejecting its patriarchal structures is a constant tug-of-war. I find deep meaning in the teachings of Jesus—the radical compassion, the call to justice, the insistence that the last shall be first. But when I look at how the Church has evolved, I can’t help but wonder: did Jesus really intend for His Church to become a system that marginalizes half of humanity?

    There’s an argument that men and women are simply different, that our roles in faith and society should reflect these differences. Fine. But difference does not mean hierarchy. It does not mean exclusion. It does not mean that women, who were present at the foot of the cross, who were the first witnesses to the resurrection, who led in the early Church, should be relegated to the background while men make all the decisions.

    The Church claims to uphold the dignity of women while simultaneously limiting our influence. Women can educate, organize, nurture, and serve—but we cannot lead at the highest levels. We are good enough to be saints but not priests. We can be the backbone of parishes, the first teachers of faith in the home, but we cannot be decision-makers in the Church’s most sacred spaces.

    And yet, despite this frustration, I stay. I stay because I believe the Church is more than its flaws. I stay because faith is not about blind obedience to human institutions but about seeking truth, even when it challenges authority. I stay because I believe that change is possible, that women’s voices must continue to rise, and that the love of Christ is not limited by outdated structures.

    If Jesus broke barriers in His time, why should we accept them in ours? If He welcomed women as disciples, why should we accept a Church that excludes them from leadership? The contradiction is maddening, but the faith itself—the message of love, justice, and redemption—is worth fighting for.

    So, I will continue to challenge, question, and push for a Church that reflects the true spirit of Christ—a Church where women are not just silent supporters but active, empowered leaders. I refuse to believe that God created women with intellect, passion, and spiritual gifts only to see them sidelined. My faith is not in an institution’s flawed traditions but in a God who calls us all—male and female—to build His kingdom together, as equals.