Hey Dana Jane

Author: heydanajane

  • Elvis Presley: The King Lives On

    Today, the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll would have turned 90. Ninety. Let that sink in for a moment. Elvis Presley—hip-swiveling, velvet-voiced, heartthrob of the universe—would be blowing out candles on his 90th birthday cake if life had dealt a different hand. The thought feels surreal, doesn’t it? Can you even picture Elvis at 90? Because I can’t. His timeless persona exists forever in the glitz of his Vegas jumpsuits, the smolder of his early leather jackets, and that iconic lip curl. Elvis might have left the building 47 years ago, but let me tell you, he still occupies a penthouse suite in my heart.

    It’s almost laughable to think of Elvis as an old man. The man was pure energy, a lightning bolt in human form. Could he have even slowed down? I imagine him still strutting around, hips defying gravity, probably managing to make orthotic shoes and bifocals look sexy. Maybe he’d trade in his gold Cadillac for a Tesla. But let’s be real—he’d have it custom-wrapped in rhinestones.

    The thing about Elvis is that his magic doesn’t age. His music, his movies, his charisma—they’re as fresh today as they were when they first lit up living rooms and jukeboxes across America. “Jailhouse Rock” still makes me want to dance like no one’s watching, and “Can’t Help Falling in Love” still makes me swoon. (And if you don’t get goosebumps during that scene in Blue Hawaii, you might need to check your pulse.)

    What blows my mind is the devotion of his fans. We’ve been loving this man for decades, through thick and thin (and yes, even through those infamous peanut butter and banana sandwiches). For 47 years, we’ve kept him alive in our playlists, our hearts, and, let’s be honest, in our Elvis-themed kitchen towels. Because when you love Elvis, it’s not just fandom—it’s a lifelong commitment.

    So today, let’s raise a glass (or a peanut butter and banana sandwich) to the King. Here’s to 90 years of Elvis Presley, the man who redefined cool, who brought rock ‘n’ roll to the forefront, and who taught the world that a little hip action could go a long way.

    Happy Birthday, Elvis. Thank you very much.

  • Marriage, Resentment, and the Unequal Exchange of Labor

    Marriage has long been painted as a union of love and mutual respect. It’s sold as the ultimate partnership, where two people come together to build a life as equals. But let’s be honest: in many marriages, the scales of labor are far from balanced, and the weight of that imbalance almost always falls on women.

    Women often enter marriage expecting partnership but end up with responsibility instead. Studies repeatedly show that women perform the majority of household labor, childcare, and emotional caregiving—even when they also work full-time jobs. Husbands may chip in, but it’s often the wife who keeps track of doctor’s appointments, plans the kids’ schedules, and ensures the fridge is stocked and meals are ready. This unequal distribution of labor leaves many wives feeling more like exhausted managers than equal partners.

    And let’s not ignore the emotional toll. It’s not just about folding laundry or helping with homework. Women often bear the mental load—the invisible, unpaid labor of keeping a household and family running. Meanwhile, some husbands dismiss this as “nagging” or downplay the significance of what it takes to make a family thrive.

    This isn’t just anecdotal frustration—it’s a systemic issue rooted in patriarchy. For centuries, marriage was less about love and more about ownership. Women were considered property, their roles confined to serving husbands and bearing children. Although we’ve made strides in women’s rights, echoes of this archaic mindset still linger in how many marriages operate today.

    The truth is, marriage doesn’t always protect or support women. In too many cases, it burdens them. And while some men step up, far too many don’t—and women are becoming increasingly resentful of the ones who don’t even try.

    Here’s where feminism comes in. Feminism isn’t about vilifying men; it’s about leveling the playing field. It’s about ensuring that women aren’t entering marriages destined to be one-sided arrangements where they’re treated as the lesser sex. Feminism challenges us to reimagine marriage as a true partnership—a collaboration between equals where the work, love, and responsibility are shared, not dumped disproportionately onto one person.

    We should be entering marriages as teammates, not as master and servant. It’s time to dismantle the idea that wives exist to pick up the slack or bear the brunt of the work. No woman should feel like she has to mother her husband while raising her kids or carry the entire emotional and logistical load of a family on her back.

    The power dynamics in marriage won’t change overnight, but they won’t change at all if we don’t call them out. Women deserve better than marriages that drain them, leaving them bitter and broken. We deserve husbands who see us as equals, who value our time, and who recognize that a true partnership means sharing the burdens of life—not adding to them.

    Marriage can be beautiful, but only when both partners are committed to pulling their weight. Let’s stop settling for less. Let’s demand equality, respect, and balance—not just in society but in our homes.

  • The Draw of Psychology

    I recently came across a quote from The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides that stopped me in my tracks:

    “I believe the same is true for most people who go into mental health. We are drawn to this profession because we are damaged—we study psychology to heal ourselves.”

    It struck a chord with me because it encapsulates the deeply personal reason I’ve always been fascinated by psychology. My interest began with my very first college psychology class. I was hooked, not just by the science of it, but by the way it seemed to illuminate the human condition—my condition.

    Years later, when childhood traumas I had long buried began to surface, psychology became a lifeline. Therapy and psychology books were the first places I turned, hoping to understand myself, heal, and learn how to set boundaries. I wanted to know why I had spent decades in denial about the dysfunction in my family. I had questions, and psychology held the answers I desperately needed.

    What I’ve learned is that denial is a survival mechanism. It shields us from pain until we’re ready to confront it. For years, I clung to a narrative that felt safe. But when the cracks appeared, I couldn’t unsee them. Psychology helped me name the chaos I grew up in, recognize unhealthy patterns, and, most importantly, begin the work of healing.

    And here’s the thing—I’ve come to believe we’re all healing from something. Life leaves its marks on all of us, whether it’s childhood wounds, broken relationships, or the weight of unmet expectations. Healing isn’t linear, and it isn’t quick. It’s messy, frustrating, and often painful. But it’s also worth it.

    Psychology taught me that understanding is the foundation of healing. By exploring the “why” behind our emotions and behaviors, we can begin to untangle the threads of our past and create a healthier future. It’s a process of unlearning harmful patterns, rewriting our inner narratives, and building something stronger in their place.

    For me, psychology has been more than an academic interest; it has been a mirror, a roadmap, and a guide. It’s shown me that while we may be “damaged,” we are not broken beyond repair. We are capable of growth, resilience, and transformation.

    If you’ve ever been curious about what makes us who we are, I encourage you to dive into this field—even if you’re just exploring for yourself. It’s not just about healing the world; sometimes, it’s about healing ourselves first. And as we heal, we create space for others to do the same.

  • Braving the Frozen Tundra: A Sisterly Adventure at Lambeau Field

    Yesterday, my sister Rachel and I bundled up in layers and set off for an unforgettable day at Lambeau Field. It was our first winter game, and let me tell you, it was a whole new ball game compared to our usual September or October outings. Originally, my dad and brother Nathan were supposed to go, but they bailed—probably because of the cold. Rachel and I, however, decided we weren’t wimps. No way were we letting a little (okay, a lot) of Wisconsin chill stop us from cheering on our Packers!

    The game itself? A rollercoaster of emotions. It started with that familiar sinking feeling as the Bears took the lead, but our Packers fought back like champs. We caught up, fell behind again, took the lead, and then… heartbreak. With less than one minute in the fourth quarter, Bears kicker Cairo Santos nailed a 51-yard field goal as time expired. The final score? 24-22, Bears. Ouch.

    The loss was tough to swallow, especially since the Bears haven’t exactly had a stellar season. They came into this game on a 10-game losing streak! Rachel and I decided this loss was a gift from the Packers to the Bears. After all, it’s been the season of giving, and clearly, the Bears needed the boost. You’re welcome, Chicago. Enjoy your consolation prize while we head to the playoffs.

    Let’s talk about the game’s turning points. It wasn’t just a loss; it was a sloppy one. Our defense struggled to contain Bears rookie quarterback Caleb Williams, who made a clutch third-down conversion to set up Santos’ game-winning kick. To add insult to injury, a horse collar penalty on Williams and some seriously soft defensive coverage sealed our fate. On the bright side, we’re still playoff bound! The Packers clinched the seventh seed in the NFC postseason and are gearing up to face the Philadelphia Eagles in the wild-card round. Fingers crossed that Jordan Love and Christian Watson recover quickly after their injuries in this game. We’ll need all hands on deck to take on that explosive Eagles offense.

    Despite the loss, the experience was unforgettable. There’s something magical about Lambeau Field in the winter, even when your fingers are frozen and your team comes up short. Rachel and I spent the game cheering at the top of our lungs and huddling with our bleacher mates for warmth. The Packers may not have won, but we walked away with memories that will last a lifetime—and maybe a touch of frostbite.

    As for those Bears fans gloating over the win? Let’s not forget that their team’s season ended yesterday. Meanwhile, the Packers are still in the hunt for Lombardi Trophy number 14. So go ahead, Chicago. Bask in your moment. We’ll see you next season.

    Here’s to playoff football and braving the frozen tundra. Go Pack Go!

  • Backwards or Traditions Reclaimed? A Woman’s Take on the American Catholic Church

    I love my Catholic faith. The teachings of Christ, the sacraments, the sense of community—it’s deeply woven into the fabric of who I am. But loving something doesn’t mean you don’t question it or call it out when necessary. And lately, I’ve found myself wrestling with something troubling: a seemingly growing movement within the American Catholic Church to return to “old” traditions, particularly when it comes to women.

    I’ve seen women donning veils in Mass and receiving communion exclusively on the tongue, and I can’t help but feel that this marks a step backward. Let me be clear: I don’t have an issue with women who choose to practice their faith in this way. If wearing a veil makes someone feel closer to God, or if receiving communion on the tongue deepens their reverence, that’s beautiful. Faith is personal, and everyone’s journey is unique.

    What I do have a problem with is the undercurrent of manipulation, guilt, or outright judgment from some corners of the Church, suggesting that if you don’t conform to these “traditional” practices, your faith is somehow lacking. That, as a woman, my way of practicing Catholicism must look like it did a century ago. To that, I say no.

    The Catholic Church has a long history of oppressing women—limiting our voices, marginalizing our contributions, and sometimes even blaming us for the Church’s shortcomings. I refuse to be guilted, forced, or shamed into a role that feels archaic, subservient, and disconnected from my identity. Women are not the lesser sex, and we don’t need to hide behind veils to prove our holiness.

    This isn’t just my personal frustration; it’s a systemic issue. The Church is, ultimately, an organization dominated by men. And often, those men are flawed. Power-hungry. Sometimes narcissistic. And let’s not forget the scars left by the abuse scandal. Many of us—myself included—are still reeling from it, struggling to reconcile the faith we love with the institution that failed so profoundly to protect its people.

    It’s not easy being Catholic in America today. There’s a growing divide between tradition and progress, and too often, women are caught in the middle. When women feel unheard or oppressed within the Church, they leave. And when they leave, they take their children with them. That’s why pews are emptier now than in years past.

    So, to the leaders of the Church, I ask: Are we so fixated on reclaiming the past that we’re willing to lose the future?

    I will always love my faith. But loving my faith doesn’t mean I have to agree with everything about the Church. It’s okay to question, to push back, to demand better. Because if the Church truly wants to thrive in the modern world, it needs to recognize that women are not relics of the past. We are the present, and we deserve a faith that honors our dignity, intelligence, and contributions—not one that tries to veil them.

  • Protecting Your Family From Manipulative People

    Let’s talk about something we all hope never to deal with: people who try to worm their way into your family and use manipulation to get what they want. You know the type—they seem charming at first, maybe even helpful, but over time, their true colors start to show. Before you know it, they’re stirring up drama, playing the victim, or turning people against each other. It’s exhausting, right?

    Here’s the thing: protecting your family from these kinds of people isn’t just important—it’s absolutely necessary. Let’s break it down.

    How Manipulators Operate

    These people don’t show up with a flashing sign that says, “I’m here to mess things up!” They’re sneaky. They might:

    • Act helpless: They love to make you feel sorry for them. Suddenly, you’re bending over backward to help someone who never seems to help themselves.
    • Twist the truth: They’ll make you question your own memory or feelings. You’ll catch yourself thinking, Am I the problem here? Spoiler alert: you’re not.
    • Exploit weaknesses: Maybe they latch onto the soft-hearted member of your family, or they guilt-trip someone who’s too nice to say no.
    • Create drama: They thrive on chaos. They’ll pit people against each other or stir up conflict to keep the focus off their own behavior.

    Sound familiar?

    Why It’s Such a Big Deal

    If you let this kind of behavior slide, it doesn’t just go away. It grows. Here’s what happens when you don’t set boundaries:

    1. Trust gets shaky: Suddenly, you’re questioning each other instead of the person causing the problems.
    2. Everyone’s drained: Dealing with manipulation is emotionally exhausting. You end up feeling tense, frustrated, and maybe even guilty for wanting peace.
    3. The family dynamic shifts: Instead of feeling like a team, your family starts to feel fractured, which is exactly what the manipulator wants.

    So, What Can You Do?

    Protecting your family doesn’t mean you have to be rude or aggressive, but it does mean you have to take a stand. Here’s how:

    • Set boundaries: Be clear about what’s okay and what’s not. And don’t just set the boundary—enforce it.
    • Trust your gut: If someone’s actions consistently make you uncomfortable, pay attention to that feeling.
    • Stick together: Talk openly as a family about what’s going on. The manipulator’s power comes from dividing you—don’t give them that chance.
    • Know when to walk away: If someone keeps crossing the line despite your best efforts, it might be time to cut ties. It’s tough, but sometimes it’s the only way to protect your peace.

    It’s Okay to Protect Your Space

    At the end of the day, you don’t owe anyone an open door to your family. If someone’s behavior is causing harm, you’re allowed to step in and say, “Enough.” That doesn’t make you mean or heartless—it makes you protective of the people you care about.

    Family should be a place of love and support, not manipulation and drama. If someone can’t respect that, it’s not your job to make excuses for them. Trust yourself, stand firm, and protect what matters most. You’ve got this.

  • Back to School, Back to Reality

    Yesterday marked the boys’ first day back to school after 12 days of Christmas break, and I’m still wrapping my head around it. The entire day I thought it was Monday—something about the holiday haze and lack of structure messes with my internal clock. But here we are, back in action, and while I’m relieved to return to some semblance of routine, I am utterly exhausted.

    Christmas break was a whirlwind. The boys were full of energy, bouncing between being overstimulated by holiday festivities and moments of sheer boredom. There were days when it felt like they were ready to climb the walls, and others when they were glued to their new toys or screens. Keeping them occupied was like juggling flaming torches while balancing on a unicycle—exhilarating but completely draining.

    Now that they’re back in school, the house is quieter, and I’m back at work, trying to plan for a new sales year. It’s a little calmer on my end, which is perfect for strategizing and finding my footing for what’s ahead. January always feels like a blank slate in some ways, and I’m ready to make the most of it.

    On the home front, I’m determined to keep this house clean and organized. We all know how quickly things spiral when routines fall apart, and I’m not about to let the chaos of break seep into the new year. If the dishes are done and the laundry isn’t threatening to overthrow the house, I’m calling that a win.

    So here’s to getting back into the groove, finding balance amidst the madness, and embracing the slower, quieter moments when they come. January may not have the sparkle of Christmas, but it’s a chance to reset—and I’ll take that any day.

  • Naming the Darkness: How Neon Angel Resonates with My Experience

    Reading Cherie Currie’s memoir, Neon Angel, was a deeply moving experience. Cherie’s story of rising to fame with The Runaways and the darker struggles that came with it is raw, unfiltered, and deeply human. One quote in particular struck a chord with me: “Because there is a certain type of person in this world, a type that has something black inside of their soul.”

    Growing up in my dad’s bar, those words resonated on a level that’s hard to describe. As a teenager working behind the bar, the threat of sexual assault wasn’t some distant fear—it was an ever-present shadow. I was only 14 when I started bartending, and by the time I was 16, I’d seen the worst parts of human nature far too often.

    There were always those regulars who had my dad fooled. They’d come in, shake his hand, and laugh like they were the picture of respectability. To him, they were “upstanding citizens,” good for business and trustworthy. But once a few drinks loosened their tongues, their true nature came out. They’d flirt, they’d grope, and some even tried to manipulate me into being affectionate with them.

    It’s difficult to explain what it’s like to be in that position, teetering between fear and self-preservation. I never felt safe around those men, yet I also understood the stakes. My dad’s business depended on these customers, and I didn’t know how far I could push before accusations would turn into drama—or worse. At 14, 15, 16 years old, I had no idea how to navigate that fine line.

    How much do you tell your dad when you’re that young? What if he doesn’t believe you, or what if he does and things escalate? These questions swirled in my mind constantly, leaving me feeling isolated and unsure of how to protect myself. I learned to smile politely, sidestep advances, and deflect with jokes, all while keeping my guard up. Looking back, it was a survival strategy—but it shouldn’t have had to be.

    Reading Cherie’s words about the darkness inside some people’s souls brought back those memories in a wave of understanding and validation. She’d seen that darkness too, felt it closing in, and fought against it. There’s a strange kind of comfort in knowing you’re not alone, that someone else has faced the same shadows and named them for what they are.

    Her memoir reminded me of the strength it takes to confront those moments and the importance of shedding light on these experiences. When I think back to that time in my life, I feel a mix of emotions: anger, sadness, and pride. Anger at the men who thought their behavior was acceptable. Sadness for the girl I was, navigating a world where she didn’t feel protected. And pride for the woman I’ve become, who’s not afraid to speak the truth.

    Neon Angel isn’t just a story about music and fame; it’s a story about resilience. It’s about naming the darkness and refusing to let it define you. For anyone who’s ever felt that shadow looming, Cherie’s words are a reminder that you’re not alone, and that your voice has power. I wish I’d known that back then, but I’m grateful to know it now.

  • Full Circle: A Reflection on Penny, My Childhood Bully

    Life has a funny way of coming full circle, doesn’t it? As I sit here reflecting on my childhood, one story stands out—a story that I’ve spent years processing, only to find it has a twist ending that even I couldn’t have predicted.

    Let me introduce you to Penny, the girl who turned my junior high years into a battlefield. Penny and I met in 5th grade when she transferred to the same elementary school. At first, we were friends—two girls navigating the awkwardness of pre-adolescence. She lived in a trailer park with her mom and younger sister. I visited her home a handful of times, but there was never much adult supervision. Her mom worked second shift at a nursing home and would often head out to the bars after her shift, leaving Penny and her sister to fend for themselves.

    We spent summers walking around the trailer park—something I now realize was dangerous given the sketchiness of the area. Penny loved chasing boys and flirting, a hobby that didn’t sit well with me. But things shifted in 7th grade when Penny decided I was a threat to her relationship with her boyfriend. The accusation was absurd—I had no interest in him—but that didn’t stop her from turning on me.

    The insults came first. She called me ugly, accused me of stealing his attention, and declared I’d never be good enough for anyone. By 8th grade, she’d recruited a posse of mean girls to back her up. I was shoved into lockers, my head slammed against walls, and mocked with the nickname “Tuna.” They tried to make me feel ugly, unwanted, and disgusting. And for a while, they succeeded.

    Their cruelty stripped me of my confidence, leaving me feeling small and helpless. My father, furious at the treatment I endured, told me to steer clear of those girls, calling them “derelicts and deadbeats.” Over the summer before freshman year, I took his words to heart. I realized I had nothing to prove to Penny or anyone else. I learned to stand up for myself and started to see their behavior for what it was: jealousy.

    They envied the life I had—a stable home, loving parents, and opportunities they couldn’t imagine. I was more than just the girl-next-door pretty or the friendly face in class. I had potential, ambition, and resilience.

    Fast forward to now, and here’s the ironic twist: Penny is a bartender at my family’s tavern, a job she landed during a period when I was no-contact with my family. When I first heard the news, I laughed. The girl who once tried to make me feel small is now working for my family. Imagine being a single mother of five, no education, and needing to ask for a job from the family of the girl you tormented in junior high.

    Is she laughing about this, thinking she pulled one over on them? Maybe. I’m almost certain her thinking was, look how dumb the Jurgellas are, they know I bullied Dana and hired me anyway. But I can’t help but see the poetic justice in it all. Penny, who thought she was untouchable back in the day, is now slinging drinks in a bar owned by my family.

    Meanwhile, I’ve built a life I’m proud of—a college-educated professional with a fulfilling career, a loving husband, and three wonderful kids. I live in a home filled with love, a far cry from the chaos of her trailer park days.

    Penny once tried to make me feel like a loser, but life has a way of revealing the truth. I didn’t just survive her bullying; I thrived despite it. And that’s the ultimate victory.

  • New Year, New Me: Lies We Tell Ourselves Every January

    Ah, the dawn of a new year. A magical time when we collectively agree to lie to ourselves about how much better we’ll be this year. Sure, 2024 Dana might have eaten cookies for breakfast (twice), but 2025 Dana? She’s gonna crush it… starting tomorrow, of course.

    Let’s explore some of the classic resolutions we all make and inevitably abandon by Valentine’s Day.

    1. “I’m going to get fit!”

    Cue the gym membership boom. You’ll proudly strut into the gym January 2nd, head high and water bottle in hand, ready to conquer your fears (and the elliptical). But by January 15th, your gym bag is serving its true purpose: carrying snacks. The treadmill? It’s collecting dust in your Amazon cart.

    2. “I’m eating healthy!”

    Sure, you stocked your fridge with kale and quinoa, but who are you kidding? By week two, that kale will have decomposed into the bag, and you’ll be back to asking the pizza delivery guy if he remembers your name. Because honestly, quinoa is a sidekick, not a meal.

    3. “I’m going to save money!”

    You’ll download all the budgeting apps, make a spreadsheet, and promise to stop spending $7 on lattes. Then Lainey Wilson tickets drop, and suddenly you’re shouting, “TAKE MY MONEY!” The spreadsheet cries softly in the background.

    4. “I’m going to read more!”

    This is the year you’ll tackle War and Peace! Or… you’ll reread Bridgerton because you deserve some historical smut, okay? BookTok will convince you to buy 12 new hardcovers, and by March, they’ll still be unopened. Who needs to read when they look so pretty on the shelf?

    5. “I’m staying organized!”

    You buy a planner with inspirational quotes. It’s color-coded. It’s beautiful. By February, it’s blank except for a coffee stain and a cryptic note about a dentist appointment you probably missed. Marie Kondo would be ashamed.

    6. “I’ll be nicer!”

    You say this every year. Then someone cuts you off in traffic on January 3rd, and you’re yelling, “WHERE DID YOU LEARN TO DRIVE, A GO-KART TRACK?” Maybe next year, champ.

    7. “I’ll stop procrastinating!”

    You’re writing your goals down on January 1st. Then… January 2nd. Then, suddenly, it’s July, and you’re like, “I’ll just try again next year.” Honestly, respect for being consistent.

    The Real Resolution

    Let’s face it: none of us are changing overnight. But that’s okay. Life is messy, and resolutions are just a way to trick ourselves into thinking we have control over it. This year, I’m resolving to laugh more, love more, and stop making resolutions I know I’ll break.

    So here’s to 2025: May our kale stay fresh, our gym bags remain snack-friendly, and our planners catch all our coffee spills. Cheers to another year of trying, failing, and realizing we’re pretty great just the way we are.