Hey Dana Jane

Tag: life

  • 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.

  • 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.

  • Dysfunction in Crisis: The Caretaker’s Burden and the Path to Freedom

    Crisis reveals everything. It strips away the everyday distractions and exposes the mechanics of a dysfunctional family in stark relief. When disaster strikes—an illness, a death, an addiction spiraling out of control—everyone assumes their role like a well-rehearsed play.

    The Martyr drowns in their suffering, making sure everyone sees their pain.
    The Denier pretends nothing is wrong, keeping up appearances at all costs.
    The Scapegoat absorbs the blame, cast as the family’s eternal problem.
    And then there’s the Caretaker—me, maybe you—the one who holds it all together.

    We are the steady hands that wipe tears, the calm voices that diffuse tension, the planners, the peacemakers, the ones who set our own needs aside so everyone else can function. We step up before anyone even asks because we have always been the ones to fix, to manage, to endure.

    But here’s the truth no one tells you: the Caretaker breaks, too.

    We don’t shatter in obvious ways. We don’t scream or slam doors. Our fractures appear in the quiet—exhaustion that seeps into our bones, resentment we swallow before it can surface, the loneliness of being the one who carries everything while no one carries us.

    And yet, we keep going. Because who else will?

    The Lie We Believe

    The biggest deception of the Caretaker role is that we must continue at all costs. That without us, everything falls apart. That our worth is measured in how much we can endure.

    But let me ask you something—when was the last time someone cared for you? When was the last time you let them?

    The truth is, dysfunction thrives when roles never change. And healing begins when one person decides to break the pattern.

    A New Way Forward

    If you are the Caretaker, I want you to know this: you do not have to save everyone. You are allowed to step back. You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to say, I need help, too.

    Maybe that starts small—saying no to a responsibility that isn’t yours, letting someone else manage their own emotions instead of absorbing them, asking for support instead of assuming no one will give it.

    Maybe it means reminding yourself, daily, that love is not measured in sacrifice alone. That your needs are not burdens. That the people who truly love you will not disappear when you stop being their fixer.

    Hope for the Weary

    There is a life beyond being the caretaker. A life where you are not just holding everyone else together but living fully, deeply, for yourself. It won’t be easy. The people who have relied on you to be their constant may resist. But you were never meant to be the foundation of someone else’s survival.

    You deserve peace. You deserve care. You deserve a love that nurtures you, not just one that takes.

    Step back. Breathe. Let the world spin without you holding it up for a while. It will keep turning. And you? You will finally be free.

  • Green & Gold: A Love Letter to Wisconsin, Family, and Football

    There are movies that entertain, movies that inspire, and then there are movies that take root in your soul. Green & Gold is one of those movies.

    Gannon and I saw it yesterday on opening weekend, and from the very first scene, I knew I was about to witness something special. A story about the humble, hardworking, God-fearing farming communities of Wisconsin—woven together with the deep, unwavering love for the Green Bay Packers—was bound to be emotional. But I wasn’t prepared for just how deeply it would resonate with me.

    Sitting in that dark theater, memories of my childhood came rushing back, so vivid I could almost smell the fresh-cut hay. I was back on my grandma’s farm, watching my Uncle Pauly deliver a calf—his arm buried up to his shoulder to help bring new life into the world. I could feel the rough twine of hay bales in my hands, the weight of them just a little too much for my small arms to lift. I saw myself, cautiously walking the aisle of the old barn, petting the heads of the Holsteins, naming them—Bessie, Bossy, Lulu, Buttercup—just like Craig T. Nelson’s character, Buck, named his cows after the 1968 Packers Championship team.

    I thought of my Grandma Alice, how fiercely my family cared for her after her stroke, how we did everything we could to keep her home, safe, and surrounded by love. When Jenny’s grandma had an accident on the farm, the ache in my heart was real. I knew that story.

    And then came the real-life footage of the 1992 Green Bay Packers. Brett Favre, the Gunslinger. Sterling Sharpe. LeRoy Butler. John Jurkovic. Chris Jacke. The icons of my childhood, the voices of my dad and siblings echoing in my memory as we watched those games together. I had goosebumps reliving that era, the golden days of Sundays spent in front of the TV, where wins felt like magic and losses felt personal.

    Craig T. Nelson embodied the kind of Wisconsin man I’ve known my whole life—the hardworking dairy farmer who loves God, his land, his family, and his neighbors. A man whose word is his bond, whose hands are rough from labor but gentle with his children. A man who always does the right thing, even loving his enemy.

    And then there was Jenny—played so beautifully by Madison Lawlor. A girl growing up on a farm, knowing the work never ends, but still daring to dream of something more. I was Jenny. I understood the exhaustion, the longing, the pride. The way your roots never really let go of you, even when you reach for something beyond the fields.

    As the credits rolled, I wiped my tears, turned to Gannon, and asked, “What did you think?”

    “This is the greatest movie ever,” he said.

    I nodded, my throat tight. It’s the Wisconsin, football, farming version of Field of Dreams, I thought.

    And let’s not forget the voice of Charlie Berens, carrying through the film like a thread tying past and present together. It stirred something else inside me—a reminder of Bob Uecker, the voice of my childhood, the sound of sports radio humming in the background of my life. It made me realize, maybe more than ever, how proud I am to be from Wisconsin. To have farming in my blood, to be part of a community that shows up for each other, to wear green and gold like a badge of honor.

    Gannon was right. Best movie ever. Go see it. And Go, Pack!

  • The Dreamer’s Curse and Gift

    Being a Pisces is like living with one foot in reality and the other in an endless dream. I feel everything, deeply and completely, often more than I’d like to admit. My heart is a sponge for the world’s emotions, and my imagination paints vibrant pictures of how things should be. It’s beautiful. It’s maddening. It’s my gift—and my curse.

    I’ve been told that my empathy is admirable, that my creativity is inspiring. But here’s the thing no one talks about: feeling everything and dreaming big can leave you crushed under the weight of it all. When reality doesn’t align with the perfect world I’ve imagined, it’s like hitting a wall at full speed. And I hit that wall a lot.

    There are days when I feel like I’m drowning in emotions that aren’t even mine, carrying the burdens of people who don’t even realize I’m doing it. I’ve learned to hide that part of me, smiling through the ache, retreating into the sanctuary of my mind when it becomes too much. My daydreams are my escape hatch, my shield against the harshness of reality.

    But I’ll let you in on a secret: escaping isn’t the answer. No matter how vivid the dream, it doesn’t erase the pain or solve the problems waiting outside of it. If you’re a Pisces—or even if you’re not, but this resonates with you—remember that while it’s okay to dream, you can’t live there.

    Use that sensitivity, that imagination, that dreamy idealism as fuel. Let it inspire you to create change, not just escape. The world needs people like us. People who feel deeply, dream vividly, and love unapologetically.

    So, yes, I’m a Pisces. A dreamer. A feeler. Sometimes a little too much of everything. And sometimes, I get lost in my own head trying to make sense of a world that feels too harsh, too cold. But I always come back, because those dreams of mine? They’re worth chasing.

    If you’re like me, don’t let the world convince you that you’re too much. Your empathy isn’t a weakness; it’s your power. Your imagination isn’t an escape; it’s a vision. And your sensitivity? It’s what makes you human.

    The world needs dreamers like us—because without us, who else will imagine a better future and bring it to life?

  • Dancing Through the Dust: My Cleaning Frenzy Before Christmas Eve

    Twas the week before Christmas, and all through the house, not a thing was in order—not even the couch.

    If you’ve ever tried to get your home ready to host a holiday gathering, you know the chaotic mix of optimism and panic that sets in. Yesterday, I embarked on a cleaning frenzy with the same energy as a contestant on a game show where the grand prize is “Your Guests Don’t Judge You.” Spoiler alert: I didn’t win.

    Step 1: The Soundtrack of Cleanliness
    Here’s a tip from me to you: when it’s time to clean, crank up the music like your life depends on it. I mean BLAST it. Enter my new favorite cleaning companion: the JBL Party Box speaker. This thing is so powerful I’m pretty sure the neighbors felt my cleaning energy from three doors down. (Not a sponsored post, but seriously, JBL, call me!)

    To kick things off, I queued up a mix of feel-good classics, but things quickly took a turn. The kids commandeered the playlist, and suddenly our house sounded like a live rap concert with enough bass to rattle the ornaments off the tree. But hey, if it gets them to clean their rooms, I’ll allow it.

    Step 2: Dancing (I Mean “Cleaning”)
    My cleaning strategy involves equal parts scrubbing and jamming out. I had a broom in one hand and a makeshift mic (read: the TV remote) in the other. At one point, I’m pretty sure I spent more time perfecting my moves to Uptown Funk than dusting the bookshelves. The Huz walked in, gave me a look that said, “Are you cleaning or auditioning for a music video?” and wisely walked back out.

    Step 3: The Kids Get Involved
    Here’s the thing about teenagers: they’ll do anything if you make it fun. The JBL Party Box worked its magic, and before I knew it, the boys were competing over who could vacuum with the best rhythm. The bassline was pounding, the lyrics were questionable, but the floors were spotless. Win-win.

    Step 4: Reflecting on My Progress
    After hours of “cleaning” (read: hosting an impromptu family dance party), the house looked… well, not perfect, but good enough. Let’s be honest, if anyone’s inspecting the grout lines on Christmas Eve, they’re not getting invited back next year.

    Final Thoughts
    Here’s my motto: cleaning is what happens when music and caffeine collide. Whether you’re blasting rap, rock, or Mariah Carey’s Greatest Hits, just make it fun. You’ll be amazed at how much dust you can dance away.

    Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a tree to redecorate because apparently, JBL bass is strong enough to jingle the ornaments off the branches.

    Merry (clean-ish) Christmas!