Hi there.
Welcome. I’m here, and I’m glad you are, too. I’m Tricia Joy, lover of all things real: kindness, humor, story-telling, creativity, imperfection, God, honesty, cuss words, and a heck of a lot of and silliness.
Welcome. I’m here, and I’m glad you are, too. I’m Tricia Joy, lover of all things real: kindness, humor, story-telling, creativity, imperfection, God, honesty, cuss words, and a heck of a lot of and silliness.
“My open, messy heart spills onto this page, and even though my voice may shake I’m unashamed to share it with you.”
-Tricia Joy
What started out as a keep-out-of-town-family-updated blog has transformed me into a writer. WHAT? A writer! So… I write. The blog here is a sacred place for me, where you’ll find I process the world through word. I also look forward to building a life coaching business, just as soon as I learn how to be a life coach :) And I’d be pretty excited to marry you, because I can, if you’re in the business of getting married.
Again, welcome!
““Perhaps stories are just data with a soul.””
My kids were seated on either side of me, not because I like to split my attention equally among them but because their bickering required it.
Am I blessed? Maybe. Am I lucky? Maybe? Am I a product of my own hard work? Maybe.
Am I grateful? You bet your socks off.
“I had no idea I was holding all of these expectations for my kids and my mother’s relationship until I realized there’d not be one.”
I hate it when the stuff of my exterior life does not match the stuff of my interior life, and visa versa. When one is not communicating to the other very well, getting all the words wrong in a botched game of telephone, it’s confusing and disorienting.
I slashed through the cardboard with a serrated knife, because, like everything else in my life, my kitchen shears were misplaced.
You’ve seen the marriage books that speak on how important it is to choose one another ab…
Examples of when I have a tendency to behave somewhat nuts: Anytime after 11:00 pm. Anytime before 6:00 am. The days I am ho…
Let me tell you, if you wonder how sure of yourself you are, attempting to monetize yourself and your gifts after being out of the game for a bit will bring the mirror right up to your scraggly face and say, “Not so sure of yourself after all, huh?”
Me: WTF. Did that just happen? Did I just downplay a deeply traumatic experience that occurred 17 minutes from my house and terrorized thousands directly (and millions indirectly) by rationalizing it?
My kids were seated on either side of me, not because I like to split my attention equally among them but because their bickering required it.
I slashed through the cardboard with a serrated knife, because, like everything else in my life, my kitchen shears were misplaced.
Buried so deeply beneath life’s mountain of sippy cups and Legos and socks with no matches, I found myself doubting that what they said could be true…
Conversation 2.0, both the platonic and nonplatonic-oriented kind, is sometimes hard to make the leap to, especially in a world where the niceties of shallow small talk sometimes feel like the only space that is safe.
I don’t particularly like the experience of shopping at the grocery store.
Although I am a complete maniac for a good deal, clothes shopping from store to store for longer than the length of two Mickey Mouse Clubhouse episodes exhausts my thinker.
Don't get me started on tourist shacks set up to bait you into agonizing over which trinket, as a parent who occasionally says yes to fun, to get ripped off by: a beanie baby horseshoe crab, an hour glass key chain, or a flimsy mood ring.
Amazon’s fine, I guess, but honestly I’m not sure my credit card can handle much more of it.
I hate it when the stuff of my exterior life does not match the stuff of my interior life, and visa versa. When one is not communicating to the other very well, getting all the words wrong in a botched game of telephone, it’s confusing and disorienting.
My kids were seated on either side of me, not because I like to split my attention equally among them but because their bickering required it.
It’s OK is what we say to people when we’re holding their hands, rubbing their backs, holding back their hair. Why can’t we offer ourselves that same comfort all the time?
Am I blessed? Maybe. Am I lucky? Maybe? Am I a product of my own hard work? Maybe.
Am I grateful? You bet your socks off.
“Be curious, not judgmental.”
- Walt Whitman
I don’t particularly like the experience of shopping at the grocery store.
Although I am a complete maniac for a good deal, clothes shopping from store to store for longer than the length of two Mickey Mouse Clubhouse episodes exhausts my thinker.
Don't get me started on tourist shacks set up to bait you into agonizing over which trinket, as a parent who occasionally says yes to fun, to get ripped off by: a beanie baby horseshoe crab, an hour glass key chain, or a flimsy mood ring.
Amazon’s fine, I guess, but honestly I’m not sure my credit card can handle much more of it.
I hate it when the stuff of my exterior life does not match the stuff of my interior life, and visa versa. When one is not communicating to the other very well, getting all the words wrong in a botched game of telephone, it’s confusing and disorienting.
I don’t particularly like the experience of shopping at the grocery store.
Although I am a complete maniac for a good deal, clothes shopping from store to store for longer than the length of two Mickey Mouse Clubhouse episodes exhausts my thinker.
Don't get me started on tourist shacks set up to bait you into agonizing over which trinket, as a parent who occasionally says yes to fun, to get ripped off by: a beanie baby horseshoe crab, an hour glass key chain, or a flimsy mood ring.
Amazon’s fine, I guess, but honestly I’m not sure my credit card can handle much more of it.
Facilitator of
“ADHD & Anxiety Mom Society”
