Hey Dana Jane

Tag: love

  • 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.

  • A Glimpse Into the Future

    Yesterday, I took my son, Owen, to lunch after his dermatology appointment. It was a rare weekday treat—just the two of us, with enough time to sit down, enjoy a meal, and chat before he had to be back at school. We chose Olympia, a local favorite, not just because the food is good, but because it feels like home. It’s the kind of place where you always know someone, where the waitresses recognize you and where the owner, Pete—who also happens to be Owen’s football coach—buzzes around, refilling coffee cups and checking in on regulars.

    As we settled into our booth, I took in the familiar hum of the restaurant—the clinking of coffee mugs, the murmur of conversation, the easy rhythm of a place where people have gathered for years. And then, across the aisle, I noticed three elderly women sitting together.

    They were probably in their seventies, dressed in the kind of casual comfort that comes with age—soft cardigans, sensible shoes, easy laughter. Their conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on the little things that make up a life: plans for the afternoon, where to find the best sales at Kohl’s, the upcoming visit from grandchildren, the latest community news. It was nothing extraordinary, yet it was everything.

    When the waitress asked if they wanted more coffee, they declined. It was time to say their goodbyes. They stood up, embraced, and promised to do it again.

    “You have to join us again—we hardly see you!”

    “Yes, I should do that. Let me know when you’ll go to lunch again.”

    “We’re here every Tuesday,” one of them said with a knowing smile. “Keeps us busy in our retirement years.”

    And just like that, I saw my future. I saw Jamie and Katie sitting across from me in 25 years, our hair graying, our faces softened by time but still recognizable to one another. I imagined us sharing updates about our children and, perhaps, our grandchildren. Maybe we’d vent about our husbands driving us crazy in their old age—or maybe, by then, some of us would be navigating widowhood. We’d talk about doctor’s appointments, books we’re reading, the latest deals at our favorite stores. The topics would change, but the comfort of friendship wouldn’t.

    The thought made my eyes misty.

    So much of adulthood is spent in the rush of responsibilities—work, kids, errands, obligations. It’s easy to assume friendships will always be there, waiting, but the truth is, if we don’t tend to them, they fade. Watching those women, I realized how important it is to nurture the friendships I have now—to make time, to stay connected, to carve out spaces for laughter and conversation. Because when the noise of career and parenting quiets, when the days stretch out in retirement, those friendships will be the tether that keeps us grounded.

    As the ladies parted ways, I smiled to myself. Getting older isn’t going to be so bad. Not if we have friends waiting for us every Tuesday at lunch.

  • Remembering Grandma Alice at Christmas

    Christmas always brings a swirl of emotions for me—joy for the present and a wistful longing for the past. This season, more than any other, makes me think of my Grandma Alice, who passed away on December 6, 2005. Though she has been gone for nearly two decades, her memory is woven into every part of the holiday season. She loved Christmas, and it was a time when the house was filled with all her children and grandchildren, bringing the family together in a way only she could.

    Grandma was a warrior. Widowed in 1978, she endured unimaginable heartache after losing Grandpa Adolph. She also survived several strokes that left her partially paralyzed, but she never let those challenges dim her spirit or her love for her family. Christmas, to her, was a chance to pour love into each of us, whether through the meals she helped prepare or the gifts she so thoughtfully gave.

    A Rotating Celebration of Love

    Every year, Christmas Day rotated between my mom, Aunt Donna, and Aunt Mary’s homes. Regardless of whose house hosted, the warmth and joy were always the same. Grandma ensured the traditions stayed alive, even when her health declined.

    One of my favorite memories was the mountain of presents under the tree. Grandma always went above and beyond to make sure every grandchild felt special. She often enlisted Aunt Judy to help her wrap gifts, and it wasn’t unusual to find something wrapped in a cereal box—a funny, practical touch that still makes me smile. The excitement of tearing into those uniquely wrapped presents is a feeling I’ll never forget.

    The Feast

    Of course, Christmas wasn’t complete without the feast. The table overflowed with family favorites: ham, Polish sausage, delicious potatoes, and green bean casserole. And let’s not forget the desserts! The cutout cookies and peanut butter balls were legendary, a treat we all looked forward to year after year.

    It wasn’t just about the food or the gifts, though. What I treasure most is the time spent with my cousins, playing and laughing. We didn’t get to see each other every day, so Christmas was extra special. It was a time to reconnect and create memories that we’d carry with us long after the holiday ended.

    Grandma’s Legacy

    Looking back, I realize how much effort Grandma put into making Christmas magical for us. She made sure we had these beautiful moments to hold onto, even when life was difficult for her. Her resilience, love, and determination to keep our family close are lessons I carry with me to this day.

    Now, as a parent, I pray that my children will have fond memories of Christmas, just as I do. I want them to feel the same warmth and love that Grandma Alice worked so hard to give us. Whether it’s through baking cookies, unwrapping gifts, or simply being together, I hope to pass on her legacy of making Christmas a time for family and love.

    So this Christmas, as I cook the meal or watch my kids tear into their presents, I’ll be thinking of Grandma Alice. I’ll be grateful for the memories she gave me and for the lessons she taught about love, family, and resilience. And I’ll pray that somewhere, she’s smiling down on us, knowing how much she’s missed and loved.

  • Embracing Vulnerability: A Path to Authentic Connection

    Vulnerability, often perceived as a weakness, is paradoxically one of the greatest sources of strength and genuine connection. It’s the raw honesty of showing our true selves, imperfections and all, to others. However, many find it challenging to make space for vulnerability in their lives. Here’s how you can begin to cultivate it and foster deeper connections with the people you long to share it with.

    1. Understand the Power of Vulnerability: Recognize that vulnerability is not a sign of weakness but rather an act of courage. It requires self-awareness, acceptance, and a willingness to step out of your comfort zone.

    2. Practice Self-Compassion: Start by being kind to yourself. Embrace your flaws and acknowledge that making mistakes is a part of being human. Treat yourself with the same empathy and understanding that you would offer to a friend in need.

    3. Cultivate Trust: Vulnerability thrives in an environment of trust. Surround yourself with supportive and non-judgmental individuals who create a safe space for you to express yourself freely.

    4. Start Small: Begin by sharing your thoughts and feelings with trusted friends or family members. Start with low-risk situations and gradually work your way up to more vulnerable conversations as you become more comfortable.

    5. Practice Active Listening: Foster vulnerability in your relationships by being an attentive listener. Create opportunities for others to open up by demonstrating empathy and understanding.

    6. Set Boundaries: It’s essential to establish healthy boundaries to protect yourself emotionally. Be discerning about whom you share your vulnerabilities with and avoid oversharing with those who may not respect your boundaries.

    7. Seek Professional Help: If past experiences or trauma make it challenging for you to be vulnerable, consider seeking guidance from a therapist or counselor. Professional support can help you navigate and heal from past wounds, making it easier to embrace vulnerability in your life.

    8. Reflect on Your Desires: Are there particular people you long to share more vulnerability with? Reflect on why these connections are significant to you and what fears or barriers may be holding you back from opening up to them.

    9. Initiate Honest Conversations: Take the initiative to start open and honest conversations with those you wish to share more vulnerability with. Express your desire for deeper connection and ask if they’re open to engaging in more vulnerable dialogue.

    10. Be Patient and Persistent: Building the courage to be vulnerable is a journey that takes time and practice. Be patient with yourself and others as you navigate this process, and don’t be discouraged by setbacks or moments of discomfort.

    Learning to make space for vulnerability in your life is a transformative journey that can lead to deeper connections and a greater sense of authenticity. By understanding the power of vulnerability, cultivating trust, practicing self-compassion, and setting boundaries, you can create a supportive environment that allows you to express your true self openly and authentically.