Now that I am reaching 54 years of age, I find myself contemplating things I never really paid attention to before.

This Father’s Day I find myself remembering how hard my dad worked.  I mean really- back then, he hustled. It was the 80s and we lived in Niagara Falls, New York. He worked at a plant called Union Carbide.  I remember watching him get up wicked early, make himself a cup of coffee, drink it black and boiling and then head out to shovel the car out of the snow. He would mutter and mumble, scrape and shovel, piss and moan and then he would crank up the old beater car and head out to work.

I would visit the shop every now and then and it was like I was a visiting royalty – my dad’s work buddies feigning shock and awe at “how big” I was getting and “how pretty” I was – j“you aint Joe Coyle’s daughter, where’d he get the likes of you?”  Laugher would ensue and my thoughts of importance would ground me amongst the group.

My dad was a welder back then, so the shop was an open hanger type layout with fire and metal, intense heat up against extreme cold – a world of stark opposition – and I loved being there.

I remember him coming home full of soot and metal fragments. He had cuts and abrasions and often burns along his neck and forearms.  For me, as a witness to this, I was horrified and always so concerned, yet he would simply brush it off as no big deal.  He would clean up and immediately start making dinner.

I would sit in protest against yet another batch of goulash or heaven forbid, his weak attempt at tricking me into eating venison by way of a sauce laden meatball or I would gag down his tuna noodle casserole. But you can bet I ate it – if not that night, it would be waiting for me for breakfast. We did not waste, and we certainly did not assert our dominance and declare that we weren’t going to eat THAT, or that we were vegetarian or that we really didn’t want to sit at the table and listen to others chew – misophonia what??

I would clear the table, I would wash the dishes, I would feed the dogs and take them out back to our fenced in yard so they could do their business and then when the weekend arrived, I would clean up that business from that backyard and anything else that needed to be done.  And there was always something that needed to be done because my dad was always tinkering.  He was our electrician, plumber, carpenter, mechanic, painter, gardener, landscaper, pest controller, seamstress (yes, he sewed) and all-around Jack of all trades.

What I am remember most, at this stage in my life, is that he did the difficult stuff – he shoveled in zero-degree weather, fingers blue from holding the metal shovel (even with gloves) and then he would shovel the neighbor’s walkway because they were older and that’s what we do.

He would cram himself under the sink to try and fix a leak – head over to the hardware store to get some part and then back again to work on that leak.  If he couldn’t fix it in time for dinner, he would be back at it the next day.

My dad didn’t go golfing on the weekends, he wasn’t away on some adventure with his buddies to some sold out show or lounging at the pool with friends.  He was home or he was at work, or he was with us at some relative’s house, watching football or telling stories.

I don’t say this as a nod to the best dad in the world because he was NOT that- he had some major issues and parents back then still believed in physical punishment so trust when I say -this isn’t a “my dad was the best dad” blog post.

What I am feeling however, is that my dad did the hard stuff, ALL. THE. TIME. He didn’t live in his comfort zone; he didn’t stop when he was tired- he stopped when it was done. He didn’t put himself and his social calendar first – he put us first.

He used to tell me “Life isn’t fair” whenever I would throw the “that’s not fair” phrase around and I HATED it – but it prepared me and he was right, life isn’t fair, life is hard and to reach your full potential you must get uncomfortable and push yourself to do the hard things.

How I viewed my dad back then was through a filter of frustration as opposed to a lens of curiosity, and I suppose that will be how it goes for most child/parent relationships – we don’t see what we are not seasoned enough to see, but I do invite you to slow down a bit and find the beauty in what may have been an ugly experience growing up or at the very least- seek to see what you weren’t able to back then, good experience or otherwise.

This Father’s Day my gift to my dad is, I SEE – I GENUINLY SEE, and I am forever grateful for his dedication, hard work and his selfless commitment to me, my family, and our home.

Speaking of a commitment to our family and our home, check out these pictures of the incredible arbor that was a mere idea in my head, that became a reality through the talent and hard work of my husband Ben ~ When he is tinkering away, building and creating for our family it is the epitome of feeling cared for and I want to wish him a very special Happy Father’s Day!

Productizzity  ~ Not sure if this word even exists but it does for me; it’s the way my head can spin when I hit the ground running and don’t stop until I feel parched, drained and literally dizzy.

For someone who specializes in body awareness and self-care I should know better, and I do, but embodying it is different than knowing it.

We were not created, and our bodies are not designed to go non-stop; and that goes for our thoughts and mind chatter as well.

It is imperative that we do a check in with ourselves to see if we are existing on autopilot and not staying present to our needs.

Scan your body; have you taken a good, deep, lung expanding, diaphragm contracting breath?  Have you dropped your shoulders, softened your neck muscles, and stretched out your jaw?  What about your hands? Have you massaged each knuckle? Do you feel any ache or discomfort when you do?

Your feet, can you squat all the way to the floor while keeping your feet flat? Do you have adequate range of motion in your ankles to allow for this position?

When was the last time you woke in the morning and took 30 minutes to slowly stretch the sleep away, or stopped in the middle of the day to close your eyes and just listen to the world around you? How much water have you consumed today, and did you eat mindfully or just crunch a piece of toast down on your way to where you go?

If you let these things get away from you, you too will find your self in a state of PRODUCTIZZITY – and if you stay in this state for long enough, you will begin to lose the ability to recognize when your body is sending you a message, and just like a nerve that is stimulated at excess – eventually the messages stop coming and your body can move into a place of chronic stress, exhaustion and shut down.

And who wants that?? Self-care (albeit a supremely over-used and consumer driven notion) is really a THING and it starts with knowing your body, knowing your limits and honoring both!!

Is there anyone out there that can relate to this feeling of productizzity?  How does it feel for you and what are your methods of pulling yourself out of it?

I’m not sure why exactly, I suppose it would be interesting to ponder, but I love fall weather.  Sure, I (like so many) love the crisp air, the vibrant colors, the cozy sweaters, soups, and stews; but there is something far more primal ruminating within me that I long to understand.

Some people come alive in the summer, and to some degree I do as well, but the fall and winter invites a moody paradox of wild awakening and dormant deep sleep that cannot be matched in any other season.

Over the course of the next few months, we will embark on a season’s journey, and together, maybe I will come to understand the changes that occur when I walk through winter.

This is my blog, designed to offer up a platform for me to share, ponder and excavate ideas and feelings planted below the surface. What do you hope to uncover?

“Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost

“The woods are dark, lovely, and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.”

As I write this blog post I am 3 years past the time I found the lump in my right breast.  I look back on that time and I recall being overwhelmed with the devastation Covid had on my business, relishing in the undivided time I had with my family and not overly concerned because I had found lumps in my breast for years and was told they were simply fibrosis.

So, I carried on, moving from one task to another and holding myself together best I could for a naturally anxious, multitasking, whirling dervish in the throes of a pandemic. It would be several weeks before I even thought about that lump again.

By the time I had come to believe it was something more than simple fibrosis, Covid had decimated the medical field; getting an appointment anywhere was virtually impossible.  First, I had to find a general practitioner to provide me with a physical which would afford me a referral.  Once I secured the referral, there was a decent wait to sit for a mammogram – so I waited.

In March of 2021 I had my first mammogram in over 3 years, and it wasn’t a mere routine, it was prompted by a lump that had not gone away.  So, when the technician said they wanted to do some further testing I could feel myself begin the stages of disassociation.  I remember an ultrasound, where the nurse found something concerning around my lymph nodes, I remember a doctor coming in to verify the concern and order a biopsy, I remember getting dressed and driving home and I remember the sound of the ocean in my ears as I dropped to my bed for the escape of sleep.

I would stay in this state on and off for the next month while I waited for the results of the biopsy.

In April of 2021, while I was getting ready to leave for the spa, my phone rang and I answered it as I typically do, “Hi, this is Corie” – the woman on the other end of the line said, “Hi Corie, this is Shery from LabCorp, I have the results of your biopsy- do you have a minute to talk and do you have something you can take notes with”?

I still have that scrap of paper that I used to take the notes that would forever change my life.  I kept it because I could see the illegible writing created by the uncontrollable shake of my hands and I never want to forget that feeling, I never want to lose that deep humility that comes with knowing how utterly impermanent we are.

Over the next month I will do my best to share my story, to unpack it and take a hard look at what so many others have and will soon endure.  It breaks my heart to know that as I write this approximately 57 people have been diagnosed with breast cancer. Each year over 20,000 women will be diagnosed, and the numbers are rising.

Right now, the numbers are 1 in 8 women; approximately 13% will develop breast cancer.  This, to me is a pretty low risk and if I were the girl of yesteryear I wouldn’t think twice about it, but I learned a lot over these past few years and I can tell you, that YOU, the reader may not (by the grace of God) get cancer – but you more than likely, will at some point, know someone who will.

Thank you for being here, for reading this far down and for holding space for some scary stuff.  I look forward to exploring this new life with you and hopefully hearing your story as well, and I hope to see you on October 4^th, 2023, as we come together for those impacted by breast cancer, those who seek to know more and those who simply want to find ways to be humanly supportive.

Love, Corie