Stephanie

Living life unfiltered, unapologetically, authentic, and completely outside of my comfort zone. Follow my blog, Unsettled

[Stephanie @UnSettledBlog]

My younger son recently said to me after a particularly hard week: “You know Mom… whenever I’m upset, I go outside and look up. The sky is beautiful and I’m reminded how many blessings I have. I have God, my family, and friends, and I know everything will be okay.”
He’s right. Everything is going to be fine.
The next time someone asks, "How are you?" don't feel obligated to give them a performance. If you’re just OK, say so. But keep looking for the light.
Here is the UnSettled secret: Once you stop exhausting yourself by pretending to be perfect, you suddenly have the energy to actually become great.
Take a step back. Look at the landscape of your life. Purposely seek out the one or two things that aren't just "fine," and lean into them. Eventually, the tide will turn. The "fine" will become real. And soon, you’ll be able to look someone in the eye and say, "I’m great"—not because you're living a Pinterest dream, but because you finally stopped faking it and started living it.
Are you "living the dream" today, or are you just floating? What is your "internal panic" mantra? Share the phrases that keep you grounded when things get chaotic below!
#UnSettled #LivingTheDream #ChooseJoy #MindsetShift #ItsOkayToBeOK #RealLife #Gratitude #FlipTheScript #MentalWellness #AuthenticLiving

[Stephanie @UnSettledBlog]

The "Living the Dream" Lie: Why It’s Okay to Just Be "OK"
“Hey! How are you?” “Oh, you know... living the dream.”
We’ve all heard it. Most of us have said it. Usually, it’s delivered with that specific brand of exhausted sarcasm that acts as a mask. What we actually mean is: I’m treading water, my bank account is screaming, I haven't brushed my hair in three days, and I’m one minor inconvenience away from a total meltdown.
I have a friend who has had a particularly brutal couple of years. Every time we talk and I ask how she’s doing, that’s her go-to line. I totally get it. I’ve felt that weight where the world feels like it’s closing in. But recently, I caught myself echoing those same words.
I realized I was projecting a "fine" version of myself because I didn't want to bring anyone down—but I also didn't want to lie. I was falling into a rut of performance.
In a world of curated feeds and "Pinterest-perfect" lifestyles, we feel like we have to put on a production. There’s this unspoken pressure that if we aren't "Awesome!" or "Blessed!" then we are somehow failing.
But let’s be real: Some days—okay, a lot of days—I’m in my oldest sweats, my hair is in a messy bun that definitely isn't "cute," and I’m just... OK.
And I’m here to tell you: It is okay to only be OK.
You aren't great. You aren't bad. You’re just in the middle. That is where you happen to be at this moment, and that is enough.
We’ve all had those "internal panic" moments. Maybe you just hit 'send' on a mountain of bills and your stomach does a somersault. Maybe you’re staring at an overpacked schedule or a home that desperately needs an overhaul. In those moments, I whisper to myself: "It’ll be fine. Everything is fine."
In our house, my daughter and I have a running joke for those moments. No matter the situation, we look at each other and say: "It’ll be fine. Everything is fine." I’ve even started hearing my colleagues repeat it like a mantra. It’s funny because it’s true—things usually are fine. But "fine" and "awesome" are miles apart.
Life is like the ocean. It comes in waves, and the tides don’t care about your schedule. There are days when the depth feels terrifying, and it becomes exhausting to constantly tread water just to keep your nose above the surface.
On those days, you don't need to be an Olympic swimmer. You don't have to break any records. Some days, you just need to float and breathe.
Choosing joy isn’t about pretending the bad stuff doesn't exist. It’s a conscious decision to process the negativity and then let it go. So, give yourself a permission slip ( yes - another one). Allow yourself a few moments, or even a full day, to just be. Don't perform. Don't pretend. If you're treading water, just focus on keeping your head up. It’s temporary. Give yourself grace.
When you stop putting on a show for everyone else, you save all that wasted energy for yourself. When you take a step back and purposely seek out the positive—not because life is perfect, but because you are choosing gratitude—the script flips.

Con’t in the comments

[Stephanie @UnSettledBlog]

@Michaelmarina7 💯 real

[Stephanie @UnSettledBlog]

That woman didn’t know me; she could have just handed me the card and said, "Have a nice day." But she didn't. In that moment, she chose compassion. She chose to see me. That wasn't just professional courtesy—it was a spiritual bond held among females.
I ended up keeping that horrible picture for years. At first, it was because life took over—new babies, playdates, school, and the constant "all of the things" that meant I didn't have two hours to spare at the DMV. But eventually, I kept it out of pure spite.
There were so many times when we’d be out and someone would look at my ID, then look at me, and say, "I don’t think this is really you." Every single time, I would give my husband the ultimate "go-to-hell" look.
It’s a running joke in our house now. We moved again recently, and this time, the experience was different. My husband waited patiently while I applied my makeup and curled my hair. He’s learned that it’s the little things that count.
But looking back, that DMV worker’s compassion is what sticks with me. It represents the very driving force behind UnSettled.
Women need each other. There is a spiritual connection between us that men—as much as we love them—simply don’t understand. It’s an unspoken agreement that we have to have each other’s backs because, frankly, if we aren't looking out for one another, nobody else will.
This sisterhood is one of my greatest inspirations. For the women who haven’t found their tribe yet, or that "person" who just gets them—know that we are here. UnSettled was built on the idea that we shouldn't have to navigate these "little things" (or the big ones) alone.
We are here to be that voice at the counter saying, "I see you, I feel your pain, and I've got your back." Because if we aren't checking the lighting, proofing the photos, and holding space for each other... who will?
Certainly not the guys.
Have you ever kept something out of pure 'marital spite' just to prove a point?
What’s your “DMV” moment?

#UnSettled #driverlicensepicture #DMV #menvswomen #sisterhood #relationships #marriagegoals #lifeunfiltered #compassion

[Stephanie @UnSettledBlog]

The ID Photo Debacle: A Story of Spite, Sisterhood, and the DMV
I was at the grocery store the other day, doing what any self-respecting woman does on a Tuesday: buying a bottle of wine. Okay, in the interest of "UnSettled" transparency, it was two bottles.
As I was checking out, the cashier asked for my ID. After a quick glance, she commented on how lovely my driver’s license picture was. I smiled, thanked her for the compliment—and honestly, thanked her for even asking to see my ID at all!
I’ll be the first to admit it: I’m vain when it comes to pictures, and I am certainly vain when it comes to my driver’s license. Perhaps it’s because, for so many years, I carried around the absolute worst photo ever taken of a human being.
It’s one of those fundamental differences in the "Battle of the Sexes." Men don’t care. To them, a driver’s license is a functional utility. To a woman, it’s a five-to-ten-year commitment to a specific version of ourselves.
Twenty years ago, my husband and I had just moved into a new house. If you’ve ever moved with a baby in tow, you know the vibe. I had spent the entire day in the trenches—unpacking boxes, scrubbing floors, and trying to find where I’d packed the toaster. My hair hadn’t been washed, and I’m fairly certain a shower hadn't even crossed my mind yet.
My husband looked at me and said, "Hey, we have some free time. Let’s go get our new driver’s licenses right now."
I looked at my reflection and said, "Okay, but I need to shower and make myself look presentable first."
He looked at me, genuinely confused, and asked: "Why?"
That "Why?" turned into a full-scale domestic dispute. It was the classic collision of male efficiency versus female standards. Long story short: I lost. I ended up at the DMV, unshowered, unpresentable, and simmering with rage.
I was the last to get my photo taken. Our eldest was a baby then, so once my husband finished his (which, of course, looked perfectly fine despite him putting in zero effort), he took our son out to the car. I stood there alone in front of the blue backdrop, feeling every bit of the grime and the "spite" of the moment.
When the card finally slid across the counter, the woman working the desk didn't just hand it to me. She looked at the photo, looked at my tired eyes, and leaned in. "You know," she whispered, "you can come back in a couple of days and retake this if you want.”
She felt my pain.
Because women know. We get it. We feel it. How many times have we huddled around a phone after a group selfie, checking every face to make sure it’s "post-worthy" before it hits the internet? We worry about these things. They are the "little things" that add up to a lot of unnecessary stress.

Con’t in the comments

[Stephanie @UnSettledBlog]

So, how do we stop the checklist? How do we keep the spark from being extinguished by the "chore" mentality? For me, it starts with communication, even when it’s uncomfortable.
This is the core of being UnSettled. Growth happens when we step out of our comfort zone. If you aren't happy, or if you're feeling like a vending machine, you have to say it. Intimacy shouldn't be an obligation; it should be an expression. But that expression is a lot easier to find when the mental workload is shared.
Another biggie for me? Flirting. I love flirting; it sets the tone and lightens the mood. Why did we stop? We flirted when we were twenty; we should be flirting now. It’s the small connections throughout the day that make the "deed" feel less like a task and more like a release.
Lastly—and this is the big one—sex releases endorphins. It reduces stress. It’s a human need. When you look inward, ask yourself: Are you truly happy if you can’t express joy with the person you love most in the most intimate way?
We all deserve to be happy. We all deserve joy. If things have become monotonous, light the candle anyway. Get a little uncomfortable. Talk about the things you’ve been shy about for a decade.
The goal is for the "uncomfortable" to eventually become "comfortable." Don't make it a mental checklist. Don't make it a chore. Look at it as something you are doing for yourself.
You aren't just a mom, a chef, or a calendar manager. You’re a woman. And you deserve to enjoy every part of that.
Is your sex life just another item on your To-Do list? Let's talk about it.
#UnSettled #RealTalk #MarriageRealities #Intimacy #TruthBomb #MentalChecklist #MentalLoad #OpenBook #MomLife #RelationshipGrowth #BreakTheSilence #CommunicationIsKey #NoMoreChores

[Stephanie @UnSettledBlog]

The To-Do List of Intimacy: When Sex Becomes a Chore
I was out with a group of girlfriends recently, and as it often does when the wine starts flowing and the guards come down, the conversation shifted from general relationship gripes to the bedroom.
If you know me, you know I’m an open book. I’ve never been afraid to broach the subject; I’m comfortable discussing the details—the highs, the lows, and everything in between. But as we kept talking, I realized I was in the minority.
I was actually shocked by how many women—women who have been married for years, who have children, who have clearly "participated in the activity"—were still deeply embarrassed by the subject. Even more surprising? Some of them flat-out admitted they hate it.
One of my friends said something that really stuck with me: "It’s just a chore. It’s one more thing I have to do before I can finally sleep."
That statement got my gears grinding. How does an act of intimacy, an expression of love, become the equivalent of folding laundry or unloading the dishwasher?
I get it. As moms, we carry a massive mental workload. We are professional multitaskers, managing schedules, meals, and emotions 24/7. By 10:00 PM, we aren’t looking for a "performance"—we’re looking for a pillow.
There’s also a major disconnect in how we approach the day. For many women (myself included), intimacy is a slow burn that requires connection. But for a lot of men, it’s one-task-at-a-time. They go to work, come home, wait for dinner, and then expect "dessert."
In the early days, when they were "courting" us, they took on some of that mental load. They planned the date, made the reservation, and built the anticipation. But as relationships settle into monotony, the planning often falls on the woman. We plan the day, we plan the date, and then we’re expected to "perform" at the end of it?
It’s no wonder it feels like work.
In my house, we have an “open mouth” policy; nothing is off the table. My kids know they can ask me anything, and that includes sex. I always warn them, "Don't ask a question you don't want the answer to," but they ask anyway, and we’re honest.
I believe that’s where the shift starts. If we grow up in conservative households where sex is avoided or spoken of in whispers, we carry that shyness into our adult relationships. We stop flirting. We stop communicating our needs. We fall into "Roommate Syndrome," where we’re just two people managing a household together instead of two people in love.

Con’t in comments

[Stephanie @UnSettledBlog]

Con’t……
But we have to be honest with ourselves—not every man wants to be a King, and not every woman is willing to be a Queen. We all have the capacity to become the best version of ourselves, but capacity doesn't equal commitment.
We stay on the emotional seesaw because we crave that partnership—that feeling of being part of a team. We don’t want to be alone, so we wait. We hold the space, we keep our hands off the wheel, and we offer him the crown. But if he refuses to reach for it? If he chooses the safety of his excuses over the responsibility of his throne? Then you have to realize that you are enough on your own.
You can provide the peace, you can stop the criticism, and you can leave the room for him to lead—but you cannot make him walk through the door. At some point, the "Drift" becomes a destination. And a Queen shouldn't have to wait in Purgatory forever for a man who has decided he'd rather stay a victim than become her King.
Let’s be real in the comments: Is it harder for you to let go of the 'steering wheel' or to accept that your partner might not want to drive? Alpha women: Are you actually leaving space for him to lead, or are you just waiting for him to fail so you can take over again?
#AlphaMarriage #KingAndQueen #TakeTheLead #MarriageDynamics #NoVictims #UnSettled #DecisionFatigue #LeadHer #TheDrift #StrongWomenStrongMarriages #UnfilteredMarriage

[Stephanie @UnSettledBlog]

The Crown and the Steering Wheel: Making Room for the King
The other day, I was sitting on my back patio—writing, reflecting, manifesting, and embracing my “Queen” energy—when I got a call from a girlfriend needing a vent session. She’s on the fence about whether to stay or leave her long-term relationship. She feels like she’s on an emotional seesaw; there was no specific climactic event, but rather a sense that they were simply drifting. She was tired of the "excuses" and "rationalizations"—she just wanted harmony, she wanted her partner to step up.
I could totally empathize. I’ve noticed a trend lately among my friends, in the stories I hear, and even in the mirror of my own life: relationships falling apart. It’s "The Drift." People say, "We just grew apart," as if it were some mysterious fog that rolled in overnight.
Let’s be honest: drifting apart isn't an accident. It’s a series of missed initiatives. It’s what happens when the man who once hunted for your heart decides he’s too tired to even hold it. For me personally, I’m a Queen who needs her King... not a victim. It’s a simple choice, but it’s the breaking point for more marriages than we care to admit.
Even in my own marriage—and my husband is great—we hit these walls. It’ll be over something small, trivial. We’ll be home, wanting to watch a movie, and he falls into that "we should" category: "We should pick something."
Then comes Purgatory: an hour of watching movie trailers. By the 45-minute mark, I want to stick a fork in my eye. The decision fatigue is real. I’m an Alpha woman; I make a thousand choices a day. In those moments, I don’t want to "collaborate." I want him to lead—to pick a damn movie, tell me to sit down, and press play.
When he doesn't? I retreat. I get silent, I get annoyed, and I go to bed. That is my "Drift."
But here is the unfiltered truth: a Queen has a responsibility, too. If I want a King, I can’t treat him like a subject. And I’ll admit, I’m inclined to do so.
When I retreat into silence, I’m not helping. My husband has the awareness to call me out on it—and thank God he does. He also checks himself, realizing the initiative has stalled. He will then step up and make a plan. But for that to work, I have to be willing to let go of the reins.
If you are a strong, Alpha female, you have to leave room for his masculine energy to breathe. You can’t bark orders and then wonder why he’s stopped taking the initiative. You have to support the King by trusting his lead, even when it’s not exactly how you would have done it.
I recently told a girlfriend whose partner was using his upbringing as an excuse for his lack of effort: the victim card has an expiration date. We’ve all had pasts. But using your history as a shield against your present responsibility to your partner is a choice. You can’t use "how you grew up" to justify why you’re letting your marriage flicker out.
If you find your significant other slipping away, don't ask "why" with a shrug. Look at your own hands. Gentlemen, are you reaching for her? And ladies, are you keeping your hands off the steering wheel long enough to let him drive?
A King takes up space. He takes initiative. He should make his Queen feel like she is the only woman in the room, even when she’s in her pajamas. The victim makes excuses about why he can’t. So as Queens, we must set a boundary: a man cannot be a victim and a King at the same time. He has to pick one.

Con’t in the comments

[Stephanie @UnSettledBlog]

The One-Second Reset
I was at a dance competition with my daughter recently. She’s a teenager in one of the most high-pressure sports there is—one that demands a thick skin and perfection under a literal spotlight.
She was mid-solo when it happened. A slight "bobble."
It was a tiny mistake, one only she and I would have noticed. She recovered instantly and finished the piece beautifully. But it was what happened after she walked off stage that changed my entire perspective.
When we debriefed, she told me she talks to herself out loud while performing. As she takes her first two steps to start her solo, she whispers: “This will be a clean run. This will be a smooth run.”
But when she hit that bobble? She didn’t spiral. She didn’t let the mistake pull her out of the zone. Instead, she transitioned into the next sequence and whispered to herself:
“That mistake does not define who you are.”
I felt my eyes swell with pride. How does a teenage girl have the presence of mind to forgive herself in a split second, while the rest of us spend years litigating our past failures?
My husband, who played professional sports at the highest level, was just as floored. He pointed out that even as a pro pitcher, if he made a bad pitch, he had several seconds to walk around the mound, take a breath, and reset before the next one.
In dance, there are no breaks. There is no walking off the mound. You have less than a second to decide: Does this mistake end my performance, or do I move past it?
As I digested this over the following days, my mind wandered to my own past blunders—times I was teased and how I let it affect my psyche, or even times when I was the one laughing at someone else’s expense and how hollow it made me feel afterward. We are so quick to judge others and ourselves. Human nature is to ruminate, letting a "slip of words" or a single action color our entire identity. Some never seem to break free of that cycle; it becomes their identity. But is that really their true self?
I’ve made plenty of mistakes. I’ve done things I’m not proud of. My freshman year in college was "colorful," to say the least. Having complete freedom for the first time, I tried to juggle school, dance, and an indomitable social life that—unfortunately—became the priority. I recall waking up late one afternoon after a string of nights out. I had slept the day away and accomplished nothing, despite a long to-do list.
I was upset with the person I was becoming. But in that moment, I decided to get back on track. I didn’t wallow. I chose not to live in regret. Every "bobble" on my own stage has been a learning experience that led me to the person I am today. And the truth is? I like that person.
Hearing my daughter articulate her process was the ultimate mirror. We all need a "One-Second Reset." We need the grace to forgive ourselves and refuse to let outside influences define us.
Our imperfections aren't just hurdles to clear—they are the very things that shape us into unique, resilient individuals. Embrace them. Your mistakes are a moment; they are not your identity.
What was your last “bobble”? Did you give yourself a second to reset, or are you still standing frozen on that stage?
#UnSettled #DanceMomLife #CompetitiveDance #AthleteMindset #MentalToughness #ProAthletePerspective #ResetButton #PerformancePsychology #DanceCompetition #TeenMentalHealth #ParentingTruths #MistakesDontDefineYou #GrowthMindset #InnerDialogue #Resilience #HumanNature #NoRegrets #LiveInThePresent

[Stephanie @UnSettledBlog]

The Beauty of a Difficult Conversation
I finally broke down and joined TikTok. Now, I find myself scrolling through a digital sea of "lotions and potions," all promising the same thing: the preservation of collagen. It’s the Holy Grail of youth, isn’t it? We’re bombarded with ways to achieve the fountain of youth without the "nip and tuck," the chemicals, or going under the knife.
And while I’m a 100% proponent of self-care—I’m religious about my night cream, I (mostly) wear my sunscreen, and I never miss a monthly facial—I’ve realized that the real secret to aging gracefully isn't just found in a bottle. Sometimes, it’s found in a difficult conversation.
I am blessed to have an aesthetician who has become a close friend. She’s British, blunt, and possesses that wonderful ability to tell you the truth without making you want to crawl under the table. She is the professional "mirror" I didn't know I needed.
I remember when I turned 40. She looked at me in her lovely accent and asked, "Love… are you wearing night cream?"
When I admitted I wasn't, she didn't scold me. She simply said, "It’s about time you start," with such warmth that I went out and bought some immediately. Now, I wouldn't dream of hitting the pillow without it.
But a couple of years ago, the conversation got a little more… intimate.
I was lying on her table, having just finished the standard eyebrow and upper lip wax (let’s be real, we all have to do it). She paused and said, "Poppet, we need to have a difficult conversation."
My mind raced. New wrinkles? Is the eye cream failing? Is the Florida sun finally winning?
"No," she said gently. "It’s time to start waxing your face."
I was shocked. I’m blonde; I didn't think I had facial hair. But as she pointed out, in the right light, that soft "peach fuzz" on the jawline can catch the sun. It’s subtle, but as we age, it becomes more noticeable.
"Take it off," I told her, praying I wouldn't end up having to shave like a man the next morning.
The result? I felt like I looked ten years younger. It wasn't just the hair removal; it was a deep exfoliation that left my skin with a glow I hadn't seen in years. It doesn't grow back prickly or thick; it just returns as that same soft fuzz twice a year, ready for another refresh.
Since then, I’ve found myself in a bit of a dilemma. I see my friends—women I love, women who want to look their best—and I notice the peach fuzz catching the light. They don't have a truth-teller in their corner. They don't have someone to pull them aside and say, "Poppet, it's time."
It’s like stepping out of a ladies' room with tissue stuck to your shoe. Do I tell you? Or do I let you walk around all day like that?
I’ve decided the answer is yes. I’m going to be that friend.
Maybe it’s over a second glass of wine, or maybe it’s just quietly handing over my aesthetician's business card, but I’m going to lay it out there. Not because I’m judging, but because I’m rooting for you.
Aging intentionally means more than just buying the right cream. It means having the backs of the women around us. It means being brave enough to have the "uncomfortable" talks so we can all put our best, most glowing faces forward.
So, if I ever bring it up, please don't be offended. Just know that I want you to look as amazing as I know you are. I’ve got your back—and your jawline, too.
Who is the "truth-teller" in your life—the person who tells you the truth even when it’s awkward? And more importantly, are you being that person for someone else?
#UnSettled #TruthTeller #AgingIntentionally #TheUnsettledTruth #MidlifeHonesty #RealTalk#PeachFuzz #Dermaplaning #SkincareOver40 #GlowUp #EstheticianSecrets #SelfCareRoutine #FacialWaxing #BeautyTips #WomensSupportingWomen #GirlTalk #NoTissueOnTheShoe #AuthenticAging #Sisterhood #BoldConversations #FloridaBlogger #BritishHumor #Poppet #AgingGracefully #NightCreamConfessions #TikTokMadeMeDoIt

[Stephanie @UnSettledBlog]

Objects in the Mirror Are Objects in the Mirror Are Irrelevant: The Art of Not Dwelling
I was driving down to South Florida the other day when a truck glued itself to my bumper. Total tailgating. High pressure. Aggressive energy.
I was boxed in behind a wall of cars; there was absolutely nowhere to go. My friend in the passenger seat was getting a little riled up: "I can’t believe this guy! Look at how crazy he's being!"
I looked at the mirror, then back at the road, and said something that surprised even me: "He’s irrelevant to me."
I couldn't speed up. I couldn't get over. So, I just kept driving. I refused to let his "emergency" become my anxiety. I refused to dwell on what was happening behind me when my only responsibility—my only option—was the road in front of me.
Eventually, I found a gap and moved over. My "reward"? He flipped me off as he roared past, only to immediately start tailgating the car that had been in front of me.
It wasn't about me. It was never about me. It was just him being him.
Growing up, whenever I’d get worked up over someone else’s behavior or opinions, my father would say something that has become my North Star: "They have to wake up and be them. That’s on them, not you."
Read that again.
What other people do—their road rage, their judgments, their unsolicited opinions—is outside of your control. Why are we wasting our finite emotional currency on people who have to live with themselves 24/7? If they are miserable, they have to carry that. You don't.
I wasn’t always this centered, I’ll be honest. It has taken me years to get here, and I’m still not 100% there. But my father’s words have always stayed with me, and I often pass that little pearl of wisdom down to my children.
When I first started UnSettled, hitting "Publish" felt like walking into traffic. I was putting my "diary" out for the world to see. I was nervous about what friends might think or if people would drop me because of my truth. In fact, even my husband paused when I published my first post, not really sure what to make of it. He asked me if these were my real thoughts. When I answered yes, it took him a couple of days to digest and process it, but he knows who I am and supports me—whether he completely agrees or not.
Sometimes I do feel like I overstep with my thoughts, but then… I think of the truck in South Florida.
If someone drops me because I’m being honest, that’s on them. They never really knew me in the first place. They are just another car in the rearview mirror, and I’m not going to sweat the small stuff while I’m trying to enjoy the drive.
We get ourselves so riled up, and for what? To match someone else’s chaotic energy?
Sometimes you have to step outside yourself, take a breath, and reflect inward. Leaving what’s behind you (other people’s opinions) and focusing on what’s in front of you (your peace, your truth) is the only thing that matters.
UnSettled has turned my "uncomfortable" into a safe space. I hope it does the same for you.
Next time someone is tailgating your peace of mind… take a breath, focus on the horizon in front of you and remember: They have to wake up and be them tomorrow. You just have to be you.
Are you dwelling on someone else's behavior today? Is it time to let them pass so you can keep your peace? Let's talk about it in the comments.
#UnSettled #ProtectYourPeace #MindsetMatters #PersonalGrowth #LifeLessons #LettingGo #PeaceOfMind #EmotionalCurrency #AuthenticLiving #Boundaries #InternalPeace #FloridaDrive #TheDrive #MentalWellbeing

[Stephanie @UnSettledBlog]

My husband has branded the women in our family as “Woo Girls.” And he’s right. I woo. I cheer. I’m loud, and I am completely unfiltered. I was lucky enough to find a "tribe" of soul sisters—my fellow Woo Girls who also embrace the freeness and live out loud. It’s a bond that connects us, and we are unapologetic about celebrating life.
This UnSettled tribe is about exactly that: not worrying about what the neighbors think or if you’re "too much" for the room. It’s about the courage to speak freely, the grace to be yourself, and the strength to love out loud. This is my core hope for you, my tribe. I want to inspire you to ignore the noise and stop worrying about what others think. Release that stress—all it does is suck away your energy and your light.
Embrace the freedom to let your light shine. Truly feel free.
So, here is my advice: give the 1,000 kisses. Throw the heart hands. Be the "woo" in a world that’s often too quiet.
Live out loud. We’re not settling for anything less.
#UnSettled #LoveOutLoud #LiveUnfiltered #WooGirls #GreekRoots #AuthenticLiving #BoyMom #BaseballMom #SoulSisters #NoFilterNeeded #LivingOutLoud #TribeGoals #TheUnSettledLife #1000Kisses

[Stephanie @UnSettledBlog]

Living and Loving Out Loud: The Unfiltered Life
I remember when my eldest was a baby. He was the first grandchild, the little prince, and we simply couldn’t get enough of him. My mother and aunts would smother him in kisses, declaring that a baby needed at least 1,000 kisses every single day.
That "baby" is now in his twenties, and if you see us today, I’m still smothering his cheeks with those 1,000 kisses as often as I can.
That’s just how I roll. I love out loud.
I grew up in a house where “I love you” was the background noise of our lives. Hugs and kisses were as natural as breathing. Being raised by a mother from an "off the boat" Greek family, I just assumed every household was like mine: loud, joyful, and deeply embedded in each other’s business. As I got older, I realized that not everyone is as "open" as we are—or "free," as I like to call it.
This upbringing is likely the source of my directness. I’ve never been afraid to voice an opinion. While I might not always shout it from the rooftops, everyone knows exactly where they stand with me. I’m direct, I’m to the point, and I’m honest. I’ll answer any question you throw at me—so you’d better be careful what you ask.
I try to be as authentic as I can. I live out loud.
I am now fully aware that not all families operate at this volume. My middle son gave me a reality check recently when I asked him why he doesn’t invite his friends over as often as his siblings do. He looked at me and said, “Mom… not everyone is as unfiltered as you. I don’t always trust what’s going to come out of your mouth.”
I had to laugh because, if I’m being honest, I sometimes don’t know what’s going to come out of my mouth either! But that’s the price of entry for an authentic life. My husband, whose upbringing wasn’t quite as "unfiltered," had a similar culture shock when we started dating. He couldn't believe I was on the phone with my mom or sister multiple times a day, or that I was so candid with my father about my love life. Eventually, he didn't just get used to it—he assimilated.
Recently, I had all three of my “little birds” home for dinner. Nothing makes my heart as full as having them all under the same roof. As I watched them interact, I saw the legacy of those 1,000 kisses.
They are close. They fight, sure, but for the most part, they love each other out loud. Whether it’s the boys ganging up on their sister for a "tickle torture" session (she screams for them to stop, but we all know she instigated it) or them huddling over a funny video, they are connected. They have a sibling group chat that pings daily. They aren’t afraid to hug or kiss us—or each other—in public.
Last week, I was at my son’s college baseball game. As I was leaving, he was still in the dugout with his teammates. I made eye contact to let him know I was heading out, and right there, in front of all "the boys," he flashed me the "heart" hands. He wasn't embarrassed. He’s used to it.
In this family, we love out loud.

Con’t in the comments

[Stephanie @UnSettledBlog]

My daughter does not need an açaí lemonade refresher every single time she asks for one. If saying "no" to her whim means I can say "yes" to the glass of wine that keeps me sane, that isn't being selfish. It’s a leadership decision.
My husband and I rarely go out together. One of us is always heading in the opposite direction for a commitment. And when we finally do carve out time, we’re usually too tired to leave the couch.
But we forget that putting ourselves first isn’t a betrayal of our kids—it’s a requirement for our mental health and our relationship. You can’t be your best self if you never stop to recharge your batteries, especially when you can see the end of the road approaching.
So, here is your permission slip:
Say "no" to the extra Starbucks.
Say "yes" to the glass of wine.
Change the schedule.
Go on the date.
The world isn't going to end because you stopped being the "human garbage disposal" for a night. Life is short, and these seasons—the baseball cleats, the stage makeup, the frantic carpools—pass in the blink of an eye. Take the small moments for yourself while you're still in the thick of it.
You aren't just a driver, a coach, or a checkbook. You’re a person. And you deserve to have something for yourself—no guilt.
#ThePurseHolder #DanceMom #UnSettled #SelfCareForMoms #MomBurnout #NoGuilt #MomSanity #ParentalVortex #PermissionSlip #MentalHealthMatters

[Stephanie @UnSettledBlog]

The Purse Holder’s Manifesto: Refilling the Tank
As a Dance Mom and Travel Baseball Mom, my life appears to be measured in mileage, tournament fees, and hotel points.
If you looked at our bank statement, you’d see a very clear hierarchy of who matters in this house. Any extra funds? They go to the dance floor. The gas money? That’s for the tournament in a city three hours away. We don’t drive fancy cars. We don’t go on "destination" vacations that don't involve a trophy. Our lives revolve around our kids and their passions—which also happen to be our passions as well.
This year feels a little different, though. It was my last year of travel baseball. After seasons of dusty diamonds and weekend double-headers, that chapter is closing. But there is no "slowing down"—I’m still full steam ahead on the dance train. Even as I feel the momentum of the dance season picking up, I have this nagging awareness that it, too, will come to an end before I know it. We are sprinting toward a finish line we aren't sure we're ready for.
And let’s be real: in today’s world, being a "supportive parent" is expensive. Prices are rising every single day, and we find ourselves constantly tightening the reins. This year, I even got a roommate for the dance season to split the hotel and travel costs. We budget. We plan meals. We try to be the "responsible adults."
I know we’ve all done this: You’re at a restaurant, you order a meal for your kid, but you don't order anything for yourself. Why? Because you already know they aren't going to eat the whole thing, and you’re just going to finish their scraps to save $10.
We deny ourselves a fresh meal so they can have the extra side of fries. It’s a cycle. We sacrifice our wants—and often our needs—until we’re running on fumes. It's actually ridiculous because, if we were home for the weekend, we would be getting our own meals!
One evening at a dance competition, my roommate and I decided to break character. We had brought our own screw-top wine for the weekend (the ultimate budget move), but we decided to go down to the bar. We just wanted to sit in a nice chair and have someone bring us a fancy glass of wine.
Well, one glass turned into two. Two turned into three.
When the bill came, I felt that familiar stomach-drop. Shoot. We were trying to be so responsible, and here we were, "completely blowing it" on a few hours of conversation.
The next morning, while checking out, I was still shaking my head at the total. My roommate—who is more conscious of every penny than anyone I know—looked at me and said: "It’s okay. We don’t need to feel guilty for doing a little something for us."
She was right. How many times have we bought the kids a $7 Starbucks refresher without blinking? How many times have we handed over the credit card for their every whim while denying ourselves a single moment of peace?
I realized then that I had been sucked into the "Parental Vortex." It’s the place where you give, give, give, and never stop to refuel your own tank. But running on fumes does nothing for anyone.
I had to remind myself: I am the parent. I am the one in charge. And I am the one who holds the purse.

.
Con’t in the comments

[Stephanie @UnSettledBlog]

#MindsetShift #PersonalGrowth #SocialEmotionalLearning #FamilyValues #SundayMotivation

[Stephanie @UnSettledBlog]

The Unfiltered Life: Why I’m Raising Kids Who Say It to Your Face
I have a rule I live by, and it’s one I’m realizing has become the unofficial manifesto of our household:
I will never say anything behind your back that I won't say to your face.
It sounds simple. In practice? It’s an act of war against the status quo.
I was driving my daughter home from school the other day, and she was in the middle of a classic vent session. This is something I actively encourage in my family. I tell them: Feel free to vent to me anytime. Sometimes you just have to get the negativity out of your body so it doesn't take root.
Someone at school had upset her, and she was letting me have it—loudly. But when she mentioned she’d been relaying the story to another friend, my "Mom Radar" went off.
I cut in: “Slow your roll for a second... you need to be careful what you say to other people about your friends.”
Her response was one of the most adult things I’ve ever heard. She looked at me and said:
“Mom... anything I have to say to anybody, I would say directly to their face. I don’t believe in talking behind people's backs.”
I sat there, momentarily speechless.
I grew up in a world where gossip was the currency of high school. We whispered, we got caught, things blew up, and the drama followed us like a shadow. We were taught that "venting" behind closed doors was just what people did—an excuse to be toxic under the guise of being frustrated.
But hearing my daughter speak with that kind of clarity made me realize how freeing it is to live without that weight. She understands the difference: you can let the steam out without poisoning the well.
How did she get here? I realized it’s not just "the youth today." It’s the atmosphere.
A few nights later, I watched my husband prepping notes for his players. He was getting ready for his one-on-one meetings. Every critique, every bit of praise, every tough observation—he was writing it down to tell them directly. He doesn't vent to the sidelines; he speaks directly to the source.
I see it in my other two children, too. We are raising a generation of kids who are comfortable enough in their own skin to be articulate, kind, and—most importantly—open.
Is it always easy? No. Is it sometimes harsh? Absolutely.
I’ll be the first to admit: I’m 100% guilty of gossiping in the past. And even now, my directness can be a double-edged sword. Sometimes my "unfiltered" delivery doesn't take everyone’s feelings into account as much as it should. I’m working on that—the tone, the approach, the delivery—it’s all a work in progress. But I will never apologize for the honesty itself.
In our house, we live "unsettled."
To me, that means living outside the comfort zone of "polite" lies and backhanded whispers. It means having the "uncomfortable" conversation instead of the "easy" gossip session. It means recognizing that you can vent to get the negativity out of your system without burning the bridge behind you.
It turns out, if you lead by example and push yourself to stay unfiltered, it rubs off.
I’m not a fan of drama unless it’s on a stage. I’m not interested in beating around the bush. I am what I am—take it or leave it. You will always know where you stand with me, and apparently, I’m raising my kids to be exactly as unsettled as I am.
And honestly? I couldn't be prouder.
I want to know: Are you a "say it to their face" person, or do you struggle with the lure of the vent session? Is "polite" honesty a lost art, or are we just afraid of the confrontation? Let’s talk about it in the comments.
#UnfilteredLife #UnSettled #Honesty #Parenting #NoGossip #Venting #FamilyValues #GoddessEnergy #GenerationAlpha #AuthenticLiving
#UnsettledLiving #LiveUnfiltered #UnfilteredAndUnsettled #TheUnsettledLife #ParentingOutLoud #RaisingHumans #LeadByExample #MomMoments#ParentingTruths #RaisingLeaders #LifeWithTeens #IntegrityMatters #NoGossip #SpeakYourTruth #RadicalHonesty #DirectCommunication #CharacterCounts #WalkTheTalk #TruthBombs

[Stephanie @UnSettledBlog]

Embracing the Curve: Changing the Narrative Among the Minnows
I was standing in my closet today, staring at a sea of fabric, and for a moment, the walls felt like they were closing in. Nothing was working. Nothing fit "right."
Living in the era of “The Shot,” in a world where it seems every woman is perpetually fit, thin, and filtered, I suddenly felt like a whale among minnows. I know we compare; it’s human nature and a tough cycle to break. I also know I’m not alone. Whether you’re a supermodel or her polar opposite, we all have that "mirror moment" where we hate the reflection. It is 100% mental, yet for most of us, we remain our own most brutal critics.
For me, the insecurity seed was planted early. My curves decided to sprout well before I knew how to handle them. I grew up in the world of arts and dance—a landscape of "skinny little waifs"—and there I was, a silhouette that simply didn’t fit the mold.
I remember my mother—bless her heart—not quite knowing how to navigate a daughter who wasn't built like a waif. When she dressed me, the goal was always camouflage. “Make sure you cover your butt,” she’d say. I grew up self-conscious of my own architecture. When boys gave me attention, I didn't know how to translate it. Was it mockery? Or did they actually like what they saw?
Later, as I raised two sons who are just as unfiltered as I am, the truth became clear: they liked what they saw. Men generally do. But the damage of the "cover-up" era had already been done.
Life didn’t exactly offer a "grace period" for my self-image as I got older. Entering the sports world and marrying a professional athlete put me under a permanent magnifying glass. And now, living in a beautiful community where the pressure is palpable, I still occasionally feel like "The Curvy One" among the sticks.
But then, I look at my daughter.
She inherited my curves. She also inherited her father’s height, and she is—if I do say so myself—breathtaking. She’s a dancer, too, standing right there among the waifs, but she doesn't hide. She doesn't drape herself in extra fabric (something I’m sure my husband wishes she did.) She puts it all out there. She embraces every inch of herself with a confidence that stops me in my tracks.
I like to think my influence—my daily struggle to stop worrying about the "minnows"—has rubbed off on her. Or maybe it’s just this new generation. On TikTok, they don't hide the booty; they celebrate it. They’ve changed the dialogue while I was still trying to find the words.
Despite the "body positivity" movements, my mother’s voice still rings in the back of my mind when I'm getting dressed: “Make sure you cover your butt.” Now, I shove that thought away. I tell myself: I am going to embrace these curves. I am going to show them off. I am going to feel dominant in this body. Yes, as I get older, the curves get more pronounced. I’m pretty sure I gain five pounds just by walking past the ice cream aisle—I don’t even have to look at the carton! It’s a fact of life. But what we can do is stop the comparison game. We can stand in our closets, look at the array of clothing that "doesn't fit," and realize that the clothes are the problem—not our bodies.
We need to change the narrative in our heads. We are goddesses. It’s not an easy task to unlearn decades of inherited insecurity, but we can do it together.
Stop hiding. Start walking tall. Embrace the booty!
#Curvy #GoddessEnergy #BodyConfidence #RaisingDaughters #UnfilteredLife #UnSettledLiving #UnSettled

[Stephanie @UnSettledBlog]

#DanceMomLife #TravelSports #SportsParentProbems #CompetitionSeason #DanceMom #SidelineMom #TournamentLife #OrlandoBound #ConventionCenterLife #EmptyNestComingSoon #MomGrind #HonestMotherhood #MomTruths #JealousyIsAGPS #Reframing #LifeLessons #GrowthMindset #TheComparisonTrap #LiveVicariously #ChooseYourJoy #RealTalk #SummerVibes #FloridaMoms #OrlandoSummer #SunshineState #FloridianProblems #IHeartFL #LocalTravel #WaitUntilTheEnd #StoryTime #MomLifeUnfiltered #MindsetShift #BurnoutIsReal #UnSettled

[Stephanie @UnSettledBlog]

The Orlando Trap: Why I’m Choosing to Be Jealous This Summer
I’m officially "that mom." The one who is jealous of your summer vacation.
While you're in Europe, I’ll be in an Orlando convention center for the fifth year in a row. We’re halfway through the school year, and "Interrogation Season" has officially begun. You know the one. It starts at the water cooler, in the school pickup line, or over a glass of wine:
"So, what are your summer plans?"
I eavesdrop on the conversations like a spy in enemy territory. One family is heading to the Amalfi Coast. Another is trekking through Japan. Someone else just booked a villa in the South of France.
And me? You’ll find me in Orlando. Again. Surrounded by the smell of hairspray and the muffled thumping of a thousand jazz squares. If you’re waiting for me to say, "And I wouldn't have it any other way!"—hold on. Because the truth is? I’m jealous. And I’ve decided that’s actually a good thing; perhaps one of the healthiest things I’ve done all year.
For a long time, when I saw those parents who "put their foot down" and skipped the tournament for a real family vacation, I had a knee-jerk reaction. I’d think: How could they be so selfish? Their kid is going to miss a week of development! They’re letting the team down!
But if I’m being honest with myself? That wasn't judgment. It was envy disguised as a moral high ground.
I wasn't mad at their "selfishness." I was jealous of their strength. I was jealous that they had the guts to say "no" to the grind and "yes" to themselves. It made me realize that the answer to "Could I skip ten days of rehearsals to go somewhere spectacular?" is actually a very simple Yes.
We’re taught that jealousy is a "green-eyed monster" we should kill. But I’m starting to think jealousy is actually a GPS. It shows you exactly where your heart wants to go.
You have the right to be jealous. It’s a natural human signal. But once you feel it, you have a choice: you can let it turn into bitterness, or you can use it as power. You have the power to change the thing you’re jealous of. Everything is within your own power.
As much as I’m "over" Orlando (and trust me, as a Floridian, I’ve seen enough of the Mouse to last three lifetimes), I realized something while scrolling through those "spectacular" Instagram stories. The power to change my summer also includes the power to re-choose my summer.
My daughter’s passion for dance is a fire we share. My husband’s love for baseball and coaching our sons is a bond they’ll carry forever. Our nest is on the fast track to being empty. Very soon, it will just be my husband and me, and hopefully we will have all the time in the world for Greece (my absolute happy place).
Right now? My "spectacular" is watching my daughter leave it all on the stage, even if that stage is in a Hyatt ballroom.
So, this summer, I’m going to live vicariously through your Instagram pictures. I’m going to "heart" your beach photos and your mountain sunsets. I’m going to be a little bit jealous, and I’m going to be truly, deeply happy for you.
Because I know that while you’re sitting on that fancy beach, you might—just for a second—see a photo of my girl with her trophy and think, “Man, I remember that energy. I miss that grind.” (Okay, probably not, but a girl can dream!)
Jealousy doesn't make you a bad person. It makes you a person with desires.
For now, I’m choosing the convention center. I’m choosing the sweat, the stress, and the Orlando humidity. But I’m keeping that jealousy in my back pocket—not as a burden, but as a reminder that when the time is right, I have the power to book the flight.
I want to hear from you: What’s your "Orlando"? Where are you spending your summer "grind" this year while everyone else is at the beach? Tell me your sport, your hobby, or your convention city in the comments—let’s be jealous and proud together.