Welcome to my own source of personal therapy.
This blog is an outlet for the inner workings of my mind, but is also a story of how you can make anything out of your life regardless of your upbringing or circumstances. You have to persevere and want more.
I made this life I have today, with a loving and ridiculous family who makes every trip around the sun an interesting one. With each step taking me closer to the type of success I dream about. I shouldn’t have what I have, but I do because I wasn’t willing to take less.
My blog is to share some of how I got here and how I keep going places. It’s a place to share struggles and realness. A place to share the absurdity that is being a mom.
Sometimes I overshare in my posts. I curse and give gory details about vaginas and grossness that comes with men and raising kids. But I also talk about spirituality, dealing with your babies not being babies anymore.
In here, I talk about what real life really is.
I’m not writing this blog, Raising the Curtins, to be popular or make boatloads of cash. That would be wonderful, but this blog has other purposes. To give me therapy so I stay somewhat sane, to leave a digital legacy for my children, and to share what’s real in life so others feel a connection through real life, not filters.
For years, I was the girl in front—the human shield between my father’s belt and my older brother. I thought I had moved on, but my therapist pointed out that I’ve forgiven the people who hurt me, but I haven’t healed the child they broke.
It was time to go back to that dark bedroom floor, pick up that little blonde girl, and tell her she doesn’t have to be the protector anymore. A raw, honest look at trauma, marriage, and why sometimes the person you need to save most is yourself.
I’ve been with my husband for 30 years, but perimenopause turned my heart into a cold, analytical “Lawyer.” One argument over a lollipop almost led to an email-delivered ultimatum. This is a story about the emotional detachment of “the change” and why we’re choosing to hold on.
Vince calls AI my ‘boyfriend’ because it listens better than him, doesn’t drink my coffee, and doesn’t ask for sex. But in reality? AI is like my air fryer on crystal meth. It’s helping me build career-fit games for Scarlett, analyze real estate deals while I play ‘doggy workshop’ with Evie, and save hundreds of dollars at the vet. The robots are coming, and I’m using those hunks of silicon to do all the stuff I don’t want to do so I can enjoy my family more.
Our boy Vince is like a bomb. Between catching himself on fire while making fajitas and getting called out by his ‘inner dickhead’ daughter, the dinner table was a ticking time bomb. Will he explode or laugh it off? Dive into the fire, the silence, and the ‘light emotional damage’ that builds resiliency.”
It started with Evie—Patient Zero—who licks handrails like a Michelin Star Inspector of metal pipes. Before I knew it, the ‘Lost Week’ between Christmas and New Year’s turned into a scene from Outbreak. Between the sickness fluids, a husband ‘auditioning’ for patient status, and my own Type A refusal to sit down, I realized something: the only thing harder than being sick is being the Mom everyone else depends on.
You shouldn’t know where someone is 24/7—that’s borderline restraining-order energy. I’m pitching a new reality show: no technology, no preplanned dates, just straight notes mailed through the USPS. Because there’s something about a tear-stained doodle in the margins that a text just can’t touch.
If you love sarcasm, unfiltered motherhood stories, and the occasional chaos of my life (think: a mind that never stops over-analyzing everything. single. thing., parenting 4 daughters whose age ranges are ridiculous, and being married to an asshole)…you’re in luck.
Whether you're in the carline, folding laundry, or taking an extra long time on the toilet, throw on my audio files and pretend we're having a large glass of wine together and getting real. Because sometimes, you just need a voice in your ear telling you all the crazy shit about a middle aged woman and her family.
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