Brain Dame

I’m sitting at Dallas Fort Worth airport, waiting for my flight to Cleveland to spend the day and weekend with my daughter, Kassie, and my precious grandson, Matthew, at the Cleveland Clinic.

I can feel the tension in my stomach and the ache in my heart as I anticipate the day. Will I be able to bring my daughter any comfort? What will today hold?

Matthew hasn’t been able to tolerate nutrition for a month and a half, yet he continues to fight for his life. And we continue to love him, pray, and treasure the time we have.

So here I am, in the middle of a busy airport, with one hand over my heart and one on my belly, practicing the same breathing technique I share with my clients. Breathing gently. Offering my heart, my gut, and my busy brain a little appreciation and tenderness.

The breathing doesn’t change what’s happening in that hospital room, but it helps me settle enough to take the next step and be present with the people I love.

If you’re carrying anxiety, stress, or a hurt that has settled into your body, you’re welcome to try it, too. I’ll share my Brain Dame™ Gratitude & Calming Breath in the comments.

Where do you notice stress first, in your thoughts, your chest, or your stomach? 💕

Gratitude gives us a moment to notice what is still good, even when life is hard.

A kind word. Someone who shows up. A small moment of peace. Pausing to appreciate these things can make room for joy and connection.

You can be grateful and still be grieving. Both belong.

What is one thing you’re thankful for today? 🌿

Please share…

My Brain Has Declared a Household Emergency

Apparently, anything is urgent when I’m about to process my feelings and start to heal.

After spending the weekend at Cleveland Clinic with baby Matthew, Kassie, and Jonathan, I came home with a heart so heavy my body seems to be helping carry it. (Our grandson has been in the NICU since his birth on June 9) I am grieving what feels like the inevitable while clinging to hope like a dog with a bone.

That bone is not available for discussion.

This morning, after my usual routine, I decided to do one of the healing exercises I teach my clients. I could feel that I needed to make room for my grief.

My brain immediately requested an emergency meeting.

BRAIN: “We have reviewed your proposal to feel your feelings.”

ME: “Wonderful.”

BRAIN: “Denied.”

A decision from The Department of Puffy-Eye Prevention.

Here is something fascinating about the brain: it uses past experience to form expectations about what might happen next. Those expectations help shape perception and prepare us to respond.

This is useful when driving, catching a ball, or recognizing that the dog standing beside the pantry is not there to discuss theology.

But this morning, my brain seems to be using its forecasting abilities to prevent an encounter with a tissue box.

BRAIN: “According to our previous records, this exercise may result in crying.”

ME: “Yes. That is why I want to do it.”

BRAIN: “You appear not to understand the seriousness of the situation. We are predicting swollen eyes.” (and embarrassment at your doctor appointment this afternoon)

ME: “I understand.”

BRAIN: “Big ones, Rhonda. Puffy. We have pictures.”

My brain has assembled a presentation titled:

WHY WE SHOULD NEVER FEEL ANYTHING BEFORE LUNCH.

Slide one: my face after crying.

Slide two: the same face, enlarged.

Slide three: a suspiciously urgent household chore.

Suddenly, I can see everything that needs doing.

The moment I decide to sit with my grief, every little unfinished task begins waving at me.

My brain, which can occasionally misplace the reason I entered a room, has become a highly qualified household inspector.

BRAIN: “Before we begin, perhaps we should unpack the suitcases.”

ME: “That can wait.”

BRAIN: “Certainly. But have you considered EVERYTHING?”

Apparently, my feelings require a clean house, an empty inbox, and full compliance with all imaginary domestic regulations.

The grief appointment has been postponed until the premises pass inspection.

This is an impressive operation. My brain is trying to distract the Neuro Coach from an exercise the Brain Dame teaches other people.

The irony has excellent timing.

My brain remembers, but it is not a fortune-teller.

I sometimes describe the brain as a record keeper. It learns from what we have lived through and uses those experiences to anticipate what comes next.

But its records are selective. Memory is not a perfect video archive, and a prediction is not a guarantee.

My brain may associate making room for grief with painful feelings and puffy eyes. I recognize the impulse to avoid that discomfort by finding something useful to do.

That is my interpretation of this morning, not a brain scan or a laboratory finding about my housekeeping.

Still, the pattern is familiar:

This could hurt. Find a distraction.

I can understand that protective impulse without letting it run the entire schedule.

“Dear Brain, we are allowed to be sad.”

The truth is, this is not a situation I can organize into being okay.

I love Matthew. I love Kassie and Jonathan. Watching them live through this is heartbreaking.

No completed chore changes that.

And hope does not cancel grief. They are both here, occupying the same heart, apparently without consulting each other about the seating arrangements.

So I want to speak to my brain with a little compassion:

“Thank you for trying to protect me. I know this hurts. We can take it slowly.”

I do not have to force tears or turn crying into an assignment. I can give myself time, pause if I need to, and let whatever I feel be there.

Today, a good cry is what I believe my heart needs and God is not embarrassed by my tears.

Psalm 56:8 says:

“Put my tears into Your bottle; Are they not in Your book?” —NKJV

That image comforts me. My sorrow matters to God.

I do not have to arrive in prayer looking composed. He can meet me with swollen eyes and a sentence that will not quite come out.

My brain may be worried about the puffy-eye situation.

God is paying attention to my heart.

The chores can wait their turn.

So here is where I am this morning: noticing the resistance, recognizing the distraction campaign, and choosing to make some room for grief anyway.

I will go gently.

The house can tolerate a little unfinished business while I attend to the person living in it.

And if the Department of Puffy-Eye Prevention has further objections, it may submit them in writing.

Have you ever noticed your brain suddenly discovering urgent chores right when you are about to feel something difficult?

What is its favorite distraction?

The Brain Dame | Brain Vitality Coach in Mission Viejo, CA Searching for a Brain Vitality Coach in Mission Viejo, CA? Check out The Brain Dame. I educate and inspire people with simple strategies to transform their brain, body, and life back to health.

I’m proud of Survivors who are able to share their stories, bringing awareness to more people.

It takes far more than courage for abuse survivors to stand up and tell the truth.

They are not just facing the individuals who harmed them, but also the structural misogyny, powerful institutions, and cultural protections that shield abusers and degrade victims. These systems are designed to silence and discredit them, often using the very tools of law and medicine that should protect them.

For a survivor, coming forward means risking retraumatization, public shaming, and further isolation. It also means carrying the immense weight of going against networks of wealth, influence, and denial that thrive on keeping victims invisible.

It takes willing attorneys, sensible laws, safe community, unwavering allies, and cultural shifts that stop blaming and dehumanizing victims.

Only when the environment is strong enough to support survivors can their truth be heard without it destroying them in the process.

Today is our 38th wedding anniversary.

This morning, I walked to the coffee pot and found a beautiful card my husband had left for me.

And I cried.

But the tears weren’t only happy tears.

This has been a heavy week. Our grandson, Matthew, whom I dearly love, is facing his 12th invasive medical procedure today and has never left the NICU since his birth. Other people in our family are walking through the devastating grief of precious Daisy being still born at 38 weeks. A grand niece just got out of the hospital as a toddler. There is suffering around us that I cannot fix, and I admit it:

I’m weary. I’m overwhelmed. I’m sad. I’m discouraged.

And then, right in the middle of all that pain, here was this beautiful reminder of how incredibly blessed I am to have shared 38 years with a wonderful man.

For a moment, instead of simply receiving the joy, I almost felt guilty for having it.

Why do I get to be this blessed when people I love are suffering?

Have you ever felt that?

🧠 NEURO NUGGET™

Your brain can hold two seemingly contradictory emotional experiences at the same time.

Grief and gratitude can coexist.
Sorrow and joy can share the same room.
You can ache for someone else and still receive something beautiful in your own life.

One does not invalidate the other.

Sometimes when we’re surrounded by suffering, our nervous system becomes so oriented toward threat, sadness and caregiving that joy itself can feel unfamiliar, even undeserved.

We may unconsciously believe:

How can I laugh when they’re crying?
How can I celebrate when they’re grieving?
How can I enjoy my blessing when someone else is losing theirs?

But diminishing your joy does not diminish someone else’s pain.

You do not have to suffer more to prove that you care.

In fact, allowing your brain to notice love, beauty, gratitude and connection during painful seasons can help give your nervous system small islands of safety in the storm.

Scripture gives us permission for this complexity and makes room for both:

“Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.” Romans 12:15

And Ecclesiastes tells us there is “a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance.”

Sometimes, I think those times overlap.

Today I can cry for the people I love.

I can pray fervently.

I can feel weary.

I can acknowledge that my own life has contained seasons of deep suffering.

And I can also look at the man God gifted me and has allowed me to walk beside for 38 years and say:

Thank You, Lord.

Healing isn’t learning how to never feel sadness and emotional health isn’t pretending everything is wonderful. Sometimes it is expanding our capacity to hold the whole human experience without running from any part of it.

So if you’re walking through a painful season and something beautiful happens today, receive it.

Drink the coffee.

Read the card.

Watch the sunset.

Laugh with someone you love.

Thank God.

Let yourself feel the warmth.

Your joy is not a betrayal of someone else’s sorrow.

Sometimes joy is precisely the grace God gives us enough strength to carry the sorrow.

Today’s Brain Dame™ Course Correction:

I can grieve what hurts and receive what is beautiful. I do not have to choose between sorrow and gratitude. I give myself permission to experience both, trusting God to meet me in each.

“Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.” Psalm 30:5

Rewire the Mind. Heal the Heart. Alive in Christ.

With The Power of Thoughts and Imaginations – I just got recognized as one of their top fans! 🎉

Ever walk into the kitchen to clean… and somehow end up upstairs organizing a junk drawer?

Just me? 😂

Here’s how my day usually goes:

✔️ Decide to clean the kitchen.
✔️ Open the pantry to put something away.
✔️ Realize the pantry is a disaster.
✔️ Spend an hour organizing the pantry.
✔️ Go upstairs looking for storage bins.
✔️ Notice the pool table has become the family “museum of random stuff.”
✔️ Start cleaning that.
✔️ Remember I forgot to eat lunch.
✔️ Find my vitamins… then forget to take them.
✔️ By dinner, I’ve been busy ALL day…

…and somehow the kitchen is even messier than when I started. 🤦🏼‍♀️

For years, I thought this meant I was lazy or undisciplined.

Now I know better.

Many survivors grow up with brains that were trained to survive, not to slow down and care for themselves. We become experts at solving problems, anticipating needs, and taking care of everyone else, while forgetting our own.

So today, instead of asking,

“What’s wrong with me?”

Try asking,

“How can I love the person God entrusted to my care… me?”

Maybe that love looks like taking your vitamins.

Eating before you’re starving.

Going for a walk.

Drinking another glass of water.

Or simply laughing at yourself instead of shaming yourself.

Healing doesn’t usually arrive in one giant leap.

It often begins with one small act of kindness toward the person in the mirror.


The Brain Dame💕

P.S.
I’d love to hear your funny survivor-brain story!

How I Turned a Detox Bath into a Five-Alarm Fire 🔥🛁

After five weeks away from home helping both of my daughters welcome their new babies into the world, I was finally back in my own bathroom.

To say it had been an emotional roller coaster would be an understatement.

There were newborn snuggles, sleepless nights, joyful moments… and then our precious grandson, Mighty Matthew, fighting for his life in the NICU. My heart had been stretched in every direction imaginable.

I was ready.

Ready to exhale.
Ready to let go.
Ready to settle my body, quiet my mind, and reconnect with God.

So I did what any self-respecting Neuro Coach would do.

I drew myself a detox bath. Then I turned on a beautiful sermon about the verse:

“Be still, and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10)

Perfect.

The bath recipe called for lavender essential oil. I couldn’t find it. No problem, I thought.

Wintergreen smells invigorating! That’ll help me get motivated for the day.

Friends…

This was not my finest moment.

Within minutes my legs and bottom felt like they had been introduced to molten lava. 🔥

The peaceful music continued playing.

“Be still…”

Trust me…I was still.

Not because I had reached a deep state of meditation.

Because moving HURT!

I finally escaped the tub looking like a boiled lobster with legs on fire, frantically searching for aloe vera while wondering if I’d accidentally invented a new form of self-inflicted torture.

Thankfully, the aloe won.

Wintergreen lost.

But as I sat there laughing at myself, something deeper dawned on me.

This is exactly how many trauma survivors approach healing.

We desperately want peace.

So we work harder.

Research more.

Read another book.

Listen to another podcast.

Take another course.

Try another technique.

Push ourselves just a little further…

Because somewhere along the way we learned that healing comes through striving.

But what if it doesn’t?

What if healing isn’t another mountain to climb?

What if it begins when we finally stop trying to earn our rest?

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

While I was literally listening to a sermon telling me to be still, I had unknowingly chosen the one ingredient that set my nervous system on high alert.

Sound familiar?

Many of us have spent our entire lives doing exactly that. We long for peace…but unknowingly choose what keeps us activated.
We long for rest…but fill every quiet moment with more doing. We long for healing…but believe we have to exhaust ourselves to get there.

Maybe that’s why Psalm 46 doesn’t say,

“Work harder and know that I am God.”

It says,

“Be still.”

Sometimes the most courageous thing a survivor can do isn’t to try harder.

It’s to rest. It’s to trust. It’s to believe that healing isn’t something we force. It’s something we receive.

So today, my nervous system learned two important lessons:

1. Wintergreen and hot bath water are not a match made in heaven.
2. Neither are striving and healing.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an aloe vera date with my legs… and I think I’ll stick with lavender next time. 🌿😉

🧠 Brain Food: Have you ever had one of those moments where life handed you an unforgettable lesson in the funniest way possible? I’d love to hear your story in the comments.