Inside the Mind of a Bipolar

My Story620X300Browsing through the blouses at a nearby consignment store I overhear the owner holler to an employee, “Grab up all the Kate Spade purses!” The employee responds, “What?  What for?”  The owner laughs, “She just off’d herself, they’re going to be worth a ton!”

It took everything I had to walk by her on my immediate exit out, without saying what I really wanted too.  Diagnosed bipolar for the last 18 years, I have attempted suicide three times.  I’ve thought about it a thousand times.

I’ve heard everything from, “How can you be so selfish?” to, “Get a grip, stop feeling sorry for yourself.”  I’ve dealt with, “Aren’t you on your meds?” to, “Stop attention seeking.”  I’ve fought the battle with mind over matter, prayer, medications, therapy, meditation and yet even then, even then, the thoughts still seep in thick as devil’s play.  Some weeks, when I’m cycling (mania causes a myriad of feelings and behaviors such as anxiety, depression, and hyper mania), I will even hide the pills and knives myself.  However, if I’m triggered by an outside force and it hits with the force of a tornado, it’s all I can do to hold on for dear life and pray I make it out.

I’m going to tell you the mind of a suicidal bipolar. In those wrecked seconds of time when that singular thought occurs, “I cannot do this anymore,” there is another voice. It says, “They’ll hurt, but at least they won’t have to suffer because of me anymore.”  Many see suicide as selfish, but in fact, often times it is the mere thought of putting our loved one’s through yet another episode, another bout of depression, another mania (over-spending, gambling, drinking, drugs, sex, panic, neediness, etc.) that drives us to actually think that it’s the right thing to do.  Okay, I know, you’re thinking, that’s totally ass backwards.  Yes.  It is.  Such is the bipolar thought process.

More times than not it is the voice, “You’re worthless.  You cause damage,” that cracks open old wounds and before we can even think to get a bandage, we are bleeding all over the place.  For bipolar brains, the ability to process healthy coping skills is stunted in many ways, and the electricity coursing and rushing through our bodies isn’t to rationalize our thoughts, but to save ourselves and our loved ones as fast as possible.

Here’s the truth … I live the most blessed, abundant, undeserved life of anyone I know. I am married to an Angel on earth whose love is unconditional and I am spoiled, treated, and fully and completely supported by this man.  I have incredible grown children who have endured 20 years of mania with me, our relationships aren’t completely unscathed but we love one another.  I have two beautiful grand babies who love to bake and read stories in my lap and I have a job I get to go to Monday through Friday that I’ve been able to keep now for 6 months.  I have outstanding friends who never hesitate to show up on my doorstep at 9:00 at night when I’m lonely, or invite me over when I’m down to cheer me up, and I have parents and siblings who never hesitate to call me on the phone just to say they care.  I live an authentically special life.

I still have episodes that cause suicidal thoughts.  You see, bipolar mania doesn’t care if you’re rich, poor, fat, skinny, loved, unloved, black or white or red … it is a mental illness that causes irrationality and poor judgement and the inability to process, at a normal pace, healthy coping mechanisms.  We look at Kate Spade, Robin Williams, and so many other individuals in the lime light who seem to have had it all … bipolar does not judge.

Please, please, if you have someone in your life who has this illness, read up on it and get to know what they are dealing with.  Some of my best supporters know that even as irrational and awful and strange it is that I deal with suicidal thoughts, I still deal with it.

It is not a selfish attempt to garner attention.  It is a mental illness.  And it’s real.  To all of you who have loved one’s that have bipolar disorder, please know … they love you.  How they feel about you and what you mean to them often has nothing to do with their suicidal tendencies.

For more information on bipolar disorder visit the National Institute of Mental Health



Motivated to Love: From Death’s Door to Heaven on Earth.

Everywhere we look we are inspired to love.  From self-help books to the Bible to do gooder’s on social media who remind us that there is hope in mankind; when we look for it, we see the evidence of love.  Love though … sometimes it’s not as easy as paying for the person behind you in the drive-thru or making smiley face chocolate chip pancakes for the kids.  It’s hard.  It’s selfless.  It’s messy.

I had been married for 19 years when my husband divorced me.  Oh, he had every reason and they were all good.  I was a selfish, manipulative, strung out bi-polar with no intent on changing.  I’d had several suicide attempts but yet refused to get help.  My husband, despite how much he loved me, knew he had to let me go.  I was either going to face reality or drop off the cliff, but he was no longer willing to go there with me or allow our children to witness the chaos of my ignorance.

Homeless, jobless, money-less, and without any family I ended up staying with an old friend,  in her basement.  It was late one night when rock bottom came crashing down around me and having lost everything I’d ever loved I got on my knees next to the mattress on the floor and I decided that I was going to end it.  I was tired.  Tired of the fight, tired of the failure, tired of never being good enough.  I thought everyone would just be so much better off without me messing everything up all the time.  Yes, I decided, I was doing the people I loved a favor.

Compelled by some reason to pray first, I bowed my head as the tears flowed and I prayed, “God, if you have any favor in me, please accept me into Heaven despite what I’m about to do.  I’ve tried everything, everything, and nothing’s worked.  I’m too tired now.  I tried.”

As I prepared to stand to go get the pills, I was racked with shivers, as if electricity shot through my head down into my toes and it froze me in place.  Then, in my mind, I heard the words loud and clear, “You haven’t tried everything yet.”

Now, I’m not going to say it was the voice of God, and I’m not even going to say I understood what was going on, but it was enough to quiet me.  It was enough for me to pause, and wonder … what haven’t I tried?

“You haven’t done it MY way.” I hear.   Love.   Truly, authentically, unselfishly, perfectly love.  I collapsed.  In a whirlwind of thoughts swimming around me I could see how, for all my life, I’d been in survival mode.  It was all about me and what I could get, what I needed to make it another day.  Approval, validation, praise.  In my insecurity, which started as a little girl who was abused for many years, I operated in performance  mode.  If I did this, you’d do that.  If I say this, you’ll say that.  If I act this like, you’ll act like this back.  I saw how I’d pushed so many people away because I was so needy to be accepted.  I was loving others, not because I truly wanted to bless them, but because I needed them to love me back.

“Okay,” I said into thin air.  “Okay.  It’s not about me, I get it.  I’ll do it your way.  I’ll love without expectation.  My motivation will be only to show my family how much I truly do love them, so that they know.  Once they know … I’m taking myself out.  You get 2 months God.”

I still didn’t get it obviously.  But, it was a start.

I did everything I could possibly do to begin building my life again.  Once I decided to live, even temporarily, and once I decided to love, without expectation, things slowly began taking form.  I did everything I could to re-build from tossing newspapers at 4 am to working in a call center collecting debts, and finally a retail sales job with education benefits.  My husband allowed me to see the kids every weekend, and while I felt so incredibly guilty for not being able to take them anywhere because I was so broke, we spent our weekends playing dance off party, at the park, or simply sitting around talking.  I was re-bonding with my babies.  I started college.  I rented a little house.  All in month one.

Then, the bigger step.  Getting help.  Therapy and medication started.  I knew going into it that it was only for another month, but I’d promised myself I’d try everything I’d never tried before, so I went for it.   Another week came and went, and my ex-husband, sitting in the garage on his new motorcycle, said as I came to pick up the kids, “You look different.”

“I do?”  God he looked good on that bike.

He nodded, “Yeah.  It’s a good look.”

“Well, that bike looks pretty good on you too,” I say.  We laugh.  For the first time.

He calls on me to help when help is needed and I am there.  I begin to make enough money to treat the kids and give them their own bedroom in my house.  I work 40 hours a week and do several online classes and two on campus classes and every ounce of my time outside is spent with the kids.

I’m 7 weeks in and my youngest daughter says to me, “I like the way you are now Mama.”

I wonder.  Maybe I’ll extend another month.  Heaven can wait a few more days.

As my motivation to love shifted from getting my own needs met to meeting the needs of others, my life started to become easier.  I wasn’t thinking about who cared about me, who was paying attention to what I was doing, or if I was good enough.  I was just, well, living.  The joy in my heart grew every time I gave.  My confidence sky rocketed.

I slowly began to see that I had something of value to offer, and that it was good.  It didn’t need a billboard of praise or a gift of thanks, it was the first petal on a Spring flower that bloomed after the freeze and existed even if no one ever saw it.  It just was.

Two months turned to four which turned to six.  I was excelling at work, my children were beginning to trust me, I was facing some dark demons through therapy, and the new medication was curbing the mania.  I began reaching out to my extended family, asking for grace and forgiveness for the pain I’d caused and hoping to start again.

Eight months later I went to pick up the kids and my ex-husband, in the garage working on his bike, caught me off guard, “Hey, uh, I just wanted to say thanks.”

“Thanks for what?” I ask.

He stood, slowly and came closer to where I stood.  Taking my hand in his, “For loving us enough to change.  I  see what you’re doing.  It’s a good thing.”

Later that week I got a call late at night from him, “Hey, I was wondering if you’d wanna do lunch tomorrow? If not, that’s cool, just asking.”

Never in a million years did I ever expect that my ex husband would ask me to go to lunch with him.  I was treading lightly on the soft waters of his heart, and I knew, going into this, he deserved the very best I had to offer and if I was honest with myself, I had to also ask if I was that best.

“Friends, right?” I asked over a Panera Asian salad.  He smiled, “Yeah.  Friends.”

I saw my ex in a different light that day, a man who had loved me more than anyone else ever had but who had the courage to stop being an enabler and protect his children from further damage.  I saw the pain in his eyes, the having to let me go, but I also saw a new light forming there.  Confidence.  Trust in himself.  We had both grown through our loss of one another, having chosen to be motivated to love without condition.

We started secretly getting together behind the kids’ backs.  Motorcycle rides through the country side, late night phone calls, lunches, and often times just sneaking off for a few hours to sit in the car and talk.  Friends.  Just friends, I kept telling myself.

Nearly a year later I was washing dishes in my kitchen in my little rental house when the kids came rushing through my front door.  I was surprised because it wasn’t my day or weekend to have them, “What are you doing here?”

Their eyes were wide, their breathing rushed, and I could tell they were so excited about something.  My youngest daughter spoke first, “We gotta tell ya something!”

They pulled out a chair and sat me down in it, all gathering around me.  Then, without warning, in walked my ex-husband.

With the children gathered around me, he got down on one knee.  They all said, at the same time, in unison together, “We want you to come home.”

My ex-husband and I remarried in 2013 and have been blissfully overcoming our past history for a glorious five years and counting.

I get down on my knees almost every night before bed, and I pray the same prayer …

“… Thank you.  Hold my spot.  I’m not coming anytime soon.”

I continue to check myself daily, asking the hard question … what is my motivation?  Am I self-seeking right now, am I wanting something in return, or am I simply loving to bless?  Am I being the real me, a woman who has value, or am I performing so others will give me the feedback I think I need?  It’s an on-going process, a daily refresher course, but what I do know for sure … what will always and forever be true for me isn’t just the fact that the night I wanted to die God saved me; but that he taught me love.

I hope you get the opportunity to love today.  I hope that my story reminds you that you are worthy to be loved, as much as you are called to love others.  Sharing the ugly, dark parts of my life is not easy, but we all have them and we’ve got to stick together to remind one another that we’re not in this alone.  Be kind to yourself, and love with your whole heart.

And chocolate chip smiley face pancakes help too.






&*#! U Depression. I’m here to stay.

For some of us it’s situational and for others it’s a chemical imbalance.  For some it’s triggered by screaming people in our faces, reminding us of childhood abuse and for others it’s the long hot shower turned cold because we can’t fathom how we’re going to finish the day.  For some, bi-polar disorder, PTSD, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Mania ….. showing up to work hoping you can make it until noon so you can drive around the block and sit at  the corner and cry it out or hell, not even making it out of bed on a Tuesday.  Tuesday’s are hard.

Truth.   Depression you DO NOT OWN ME.  I will refuse to allow you to take me down.  I will get help.  I will see my therapist.  I will take my medication.  I will eat right.  I will exercise.  I will tell the people I love the most when I am hurting instead of isolating.  I will REFUSE, do you hear me now, I will REFUSE TO TAKE THIS LYING DOWN.

I will write a book about you.  How you tried to kill me.   And I will save others because if I am here for good …. SO ARE THEY.

Believe.  Hard.  For whatever reason.  Depression ?  @*(# ….. WE ARE HERE TO STAY!

Redemption.  Coming Soon to Amazon.  Follow me at @courtneyfrey on Facebook for details on Friday’s launch!

Author Uses Pain to Heal the Broken



R_fcI told my story.  The day my publisher sent me the author copies it was as if I took off all my clothes and walked into the streets naked for all to see.  Was I really doing this?  What would people think?  How was my story any different, better, or more interesting than any other stories?  Truth is … it’s not.  It’s just a voice. A Singular story that denies pain it’s opportunity to destroy.  I tell because I know you need to.  WE all do.  But, it’s not just to tell.  It’s to change.  To empower.  To inspire.  To literally unite the stories of deep, painful wounds from broken hearts and instigate a purposeful, passionate change within and around us.

You are connected.  Please, don’t isolate.

I told my story for you.

Today, $2.99 is the investment you will make to begin telling yourself ….. NOTHING IS EVER IN VAIN.

I’d love to hear from you.



Build Your Bridge


Rebecca and Courtney build a bridge in a ditch that is symbolic of their plight to bridge the gap between the little girls that were hurt and the grown women they’ve had to become to survive.  It is their story, but it is your story.  What sacrifices did you have to make as you survived the hands that hurt you?  What part of yourself do you hide away and shelter from the word for fear of hurt?  The walls you’ve built, they will come down.  It will be okay.  You’re not alone.

For all the women who’ve had to go back and get the little girl they’d left behind.  Bridges.  My song.  Your song.  The road to healing.

Listen NOW


What has been your catalyst? The Crossroads. That one defining moment.

A Moment That Brings Revolutionary Change

FB_Catalyst_1What Has Been Your Catalyst?

The word of the podcast tonight is Catalyst. A person or thing that causes a change. Have you ever stared your own reflection down and knew, somewhere deep within yourself, that it was now or never – something had to give? A choice. A crossroads. And, one single revelation that would change it all. If this sounds like you, at one time or another in your life, we’d love to hear your comments and include them in our discussion!

Real women, just like you, revealing the authentic and hard core truths on everything from overcoming abusive relationships to bi-polar disorder and a lot of everything in between – with a purpose to seek out that united hope we have each lived with that compels us to stand up and speak out our truth. Are you ready to find your catalyst? Join in now!

**Note: We started talking and then did our intro…we decided to leave it real and unedited!**

How Do I Save My Relationship?

SL2056        I am responding to her facebook messages and crying through the key strokes.  I weep openly for a friend who struggles in a marriage that faces the ultimate challenge of growth and in it, her weariness to continue to seek the truth in what will bring the solution of healing.  My dearest friend whose marriage stands in the gap between all things being said but not heard.

I watch my daughter sitting, heavy as stone, in the rocker in my office and her tears are rivers rained down over a hopeless heart.  I ache for her, and try to hide my mother’s grief for a child who cannot see what her mother sees.  Will this be the time she actually leaves him?  I must chose my words wisely, and as my eyes scan her sprained ankle and her swollen red eyes I nearly break.

Across the expanse of hundreds of miles a stranger reaches out in the night.  “Do you have time for another friend?” She asks, after having known of me from an online group study on enlightenment.  I always have the time, but as the night moves and her heart pours out, I want to cry and scream and grieve for the woman she is deep inside without the toxic fears and insecurities that are choking the life from her spirit.  I want to hold a mirror up for her, and show her the beauty within that cannot be stolen in the performance of needing and wanting to be loved.

I cradle my best friend in my heart as I listen to her weary words over the telephone, the fight ensues after leaving an abusive marriage.  Doubt, loneliness, fear and the overwhelming task of picking up all the broken pieces leaves her weary.   I check on her every day, pray for her in all moments of silence, and yet I know; nothing I can say will be the fuel she needs to survive just one more day.  She treads on heavy waters and I can only be a life jacket when she has the strength to reach.

And I sit here, in my office, into the late night hours against the precious hum of my ceiling fan and stare at a blank screen against the breaking hearts of so many in my spirit.  Resonating questions from so many of my dearest one’s, “How did you survive your divorce to come fighting back and have the relationship you have now with him?”

I scan my bookshelf, heaving and swollen with self-help books, and wonder if the advice lay in wait among the worn pages of trying.  I close my eyes and think about the counseling and hear the words of family through those painful years of separation.  Where was the answer?  When did I find it?

My heart takes me back to the day the divorce was final and the ride I got to a friend’s home where a mattress lay in wait for me in a cold, dark basement.  My duffel bag was light but heavy in my hand, and I recall standing alone faced with what had just happened.  I’d lost my marriage.  I’d lost my children.  I had given it all away and stood with nothing to my name but this black duffel bag.  Fifteen years of marriage … and I’d blown it.

I remember the tornado, the day he left for Iraq, our having to move to a new town, and my choice to pretend that I was fine.  I didn’t take my medication because I needed the manic high of my bipolar disorder to get me out of bed in the morning.  I separated into two people.  One that went completely insane and lived in a fantasy land of survival who chatted late into the hours with men online to feed my need for attention and the other who led Bible Studies in her kitchen.  I’d needed help.  I had asked for help – maybe not nearly enough.  A suicide attempt, a hospital stay, and a husband called back from a war to give me divorce papers.   I had lost everything.

I struck a deal with God that late night in the basement in 2009 as I laid on a flat mattress praying for death to come.  I would give God six months of my life, and if I couldn’t come up and out of my destruction and misery; would He take me to Heaven?  It was the only answer I had to get out of the hell I’d created for myself.

I hear the cries of my dearest friends and see the tragic pain in my daughter’s eyes, I hear my key strokes late into the night as I try to reach out to women who trust me enough to lean on me; I see their hell.  I feel it up and around me, the fires that burn in a heart that just wants to be loved and needed, accepted and purposeful.  I hear their weeping and their spirits mourn for the answer to that desperate question …. Can this relationship be saved, and how do I do it?

I watch myself in my mind’s eye, all those years ago, making that choice to do the one thing I’d never done before.  Give up and let God.  I see now … that was when I had the answer.  That was the moment that changed it all.

Everything had always been about me.  The way I felt, what I said, what I needed, and what I could be if I performed to the expectation of others and especially the validation I received in the performance.  For fifteen years my marriage had solely been, ‘Show me I’m good enough, all the time.’

Me. Me. Me.  Listen to me, dance my dance, and shower me with the art of everything being painted around me and my needs as the centerpiece for our relationship.  If I am feeling something, you should feel it.  If I want something, you should want it.  It was over a decade of my living in a relationship that served one single truth:  I hate myself but you should fill the gap with proving you love me despite all my failures, needs, and mistakes.

I remember those years when I forced that deep down and away from me.  Parts of me went numb; that part that screamed pay attention to me!  I stuck in my heels and got a job, bought a car, rented a little house, started a college degree and slowly in my outward love for others rather than my inner need for love in return …. began to get my family back.  Every time and every moment that I wanted to scream out my own pain I replaced it with, “I love YOU.”  I shut my mouth and started listening.  I gave when I didn’t have anything to give.  I set aside my own demons of unrest and insecurity and chose, every day, to operate in the one value I knew I had …. to give all that I could to those that I loved regardless of what I got in return.

I had six months to do it.  Six months turned to eight and then a year.

And I realized slowly, the hell I’d been living in was my hell.  The harder I worked on increasing my own value by the love I had to give … the less that hell I once knew had control over me.  I began to see the rewards of letting go … and letting God.   Countless moments through those years my prayers were, “Let them know how much I love them … it is my last gift to them.”

What I didn’t realize during those years was that not only was I letting go of my own desires to be good enough for the people I loved … I was letting God change my heart.  In my journey to rising again from the ashes my focus wasn’t on what the world could do for me, but what I could do in it for others.  In my letting go of self, I didn’t realize … I was discovering my value through Love.

Woman-raising-arms    I found a new rock to stand on, and over time it grew higher and stronger.  The demons in the night began to quiet themselves because I had something new to hold onto.  I had loved today.  I had loved yesterday.  I had engaged in something that had infinite and limitless possibilities to change the world.  I did something for someone I loved.  I said a word that held the power of hope.  I sacrificed my time in giving to someone in need.  I worked harder not because I wanted praise but because I wanted to bless someone.  I took my medication because without it, the illness took over.  Instead of being online in the night hours, I opened my Bible and found stories of women just like me who survived. The bricks began to build a new foundation and the old wall began to crumble.

I discovered … I was worthy of love.

God’s love.  He loved me enough to protect me from the masterful hands of death and fill into me the ultimate desire to set aside my demons and seek to serve love instead of pain.  In my giving up of giving up … He’d shown me life.   As the new threads of that life began to take hold, I looked around one day years later back in my own home of fifteen years, with my children laughing nearby and my ex-husband reaching out for my hand without fear in his eyes … and I was thankful for the first time in my life.   From the hands of death and destruction I had been delivered from being a victim of my own pain, and set up on a platform of infinite purpose and love.  I had my family back.  I knew who I was.

Without love, there is nothing … we are empty shells of victim’s to our pain and the toxic insecurities that haunt our relationships and our choices.  When we seek to find the love within us, and have the courage to give it away to others – we heal our hearts and embrace our ultimate value.

I once thought that in order to fix my marriage I had to make the marriage right.  In my performance I was trying to control what he said, what he thought, and the actions he took to serve my own needs and ideas on what it should look like.  If you do this, I’ll do this.  If you don’t stop doing that, I’ll keep doing this.  The long list of items we would set on paper as goals to change our relationship, the countless late night hours he’d spend up listening to me cry about how unhappy I was … and the way it all fell on eventual deaf ears.   I’d wait all day in my pain for him to come home so I could unleash on him how sad and hard my life was.   Why don’t you … how come you … don’t you see … why aren’t you listening to me?

I look back at those years and mourn for him.  I am grieved that I hurt him with my hurt.  It wasn’t about him all along … it wasn’t about our relationship either.  It was about me and my responsibility to know and believe that I had value and that if I was going to fight any good fight at all … I was going to finally be courageous enough to get to the roots of my pain and yank them up.  It wasn’t his fault that I’d dealt with childhood abuse, rejection, and abandonment.  It wasn’t his responsibility to heal me.

He says to me, as we talk about marriage and relationship advice, “You don’t want me giving advice to anyone.”  I ask him why and he responds, “Because divorcing you was the best thing I ever did.”  We laugh together, but in the joy of that reality we know its truth.  It took me standing alone, on my own two feet, to finally have the guts to discover the real reasons I was so unhappy and couldn’t love or be loved.    I had to heal.  He couldn’t do that for me, although he had certainly tried like a true hero for far too many years.

I lean back in my black office chair and stare at the Facebook messages from friends, glance over at my last missed calls, and see that my recliner now sits empty.  I watch, out the window as the sun comes up over the old broken fence that we haven’t replaced since the tornado, and I whisper into it all, ‘Thank you … for being the answer.’



No More Excuses!

Choose to Change!

Excuses are pesky beasts that steal our will to accept our responsibility to change.  Excuses come in to our thoughts because we allow fear to open the door.  Our feelings of inadequacy and lack of self-confidence house our fears.

Is it time to clean house?

She’s been in an abusive relationship for the past ten years, and as she cries in my office while re-living those big red flag signs of torture, I ask her … do you want the situation to change?

Nodding her head, she says, “Of course I do.  But …”

No matter the tremendous what if’s, no matter the perceived reasons that change isn’t going to happen, the first step is looking within to the house of her Spirit.  Her own responsibility.  Her fears.  Her inadequacies.  She was a victim … but because she feels without choice to change she has locked herself in the house of fear.

b_is_for_bipolar_disorder_by_tashythemushroom-d2zfysr“I am abusing myself.”  Responsibility.  She tells me, “I am in a relationship with me, and I don’t treat myself with anything but condemnation.  When did I start to feel this way, and why can’t I change it?”

Suggestions of counseling are met with excuses.  There is no health insurance, it is too expensive.  I can’t drive.  It’s too far.  My counselor won’t see me every week.  I hate therapy.  It doesn’t work.  No one can really help me.

Others try to get her out of her house more often, friends who call to keep her from isolating.  Yet, she tells them, “I don’t feel good.  I don’t have any money.  I can’t leave, I don’t have a babysitter.  I just want to be alone.”

Another beautiful woman, miles away, sits in her bedroom with her laptop and tells her online friends that she doesn’t ever see how things are going to get better.  She reads through all of the inspirational post cards and cries, not because they empower her, but because it’s not that easy.  The chat room fills with good hearted and well intentioned people across the expanse of the country who cheer her on, and give bits and pieces of lack luster validation that will not last past her shut down key.  She will be alone tonight when she cries.

In a tiny office another woman dons a mask of resilience, and puts on air’s that she is so well put together that she is unbreakable.  During the day she feels pity for the other women who talk about issues better kept quiet and to themselves, and she wonders why people just can’t get over crap.  Hours later after her high heel stiletto’s are kicked onto the plush entry way carpet, she sits in her living room with a glass of wine and promises to herself, “Just one drink won’t hurt.”  Just when she tells herself, “I’m fine.  I’m absolutely fine,” she finishes the second bottle of wine and rushes to the cabinet to see if she actually did throw out the Vodka she meant to the last time she binged.  No one must ever know.

Excuses clutter our ability to take responsibility for our own change.  How do we get rid of the excuses?  We face the fear.  We admit our vulnerability, and we get to the root of our feelings of inadequacies.  Map them out, put them down on paper – take away their power and admit to yourself that you’ve had enough.  It’s time to clean house. Time to really reach out, in your truth.  Without excuse.

9867418Tell your story a new way; to yourself.  Face yourself in the mirror and tell yourself that you are beautiful.  That you can succeed.  That you can be real.  That you have value.  When you’re tempted to tell someone about all of the terrible things you are going through; STOP.  Take a deep breath, and Change your Words.

“I am not happy or fulfilled in my life right now, yet I am STRONG and I CAN change.  I’ve survived this much, this far, and I haven’t caved.  No more excuses.  I deserve MORE.”

You’re not alone.  We are all these women.  What we’re doing hasn’t been working so far … so let’s tear down the house of isolation and expose the lies we’ve been telling ourselves.  Let’s take back our power.


Choose to Change.  It starts within.  No more excuses!

Are you ready to Choose to Change?  Do you want to EMPOWER yourself and get rid of the Excuses?  If you live in the Tennessee area, there is a LIVE EVENT on June 6th that WILL ROCK YOUR WORLD!  If you aren’t in the area, contact Jen TODAY for life coaching that will completely change your direction and motivate you to discover the BEST you that you can be!

Check it out:



Live Interview Scheduled for June 6th!



Our Guest: Courtney Frey is the author of, ‘One Birth mother’s Emotional Truth on Healing, Recovery and Success,” (Adoption Press, 2002, discontinued) and is the proud mother of three teenager’s.  She lives in Iowa with her children, holds a Bachelor of Science in Psychology, and is Editor in Chief of  She has bi-polar disorder and as a mental health advocate, has spoken across the country on issues relating to mental health and adoption.  Her novel, Restitution, will be available for purchase this coming June, 2013. Visit her website at http:///

Blog at

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: