I overshare. I absolutely do. I share personal things; things others think should remain private. I share things that make people feel uncomfortable. And I've lost friends and followers because of it. I'm okay with that. My "living out loud" is more calculated than it may seem. I'm sure a few of my posts have gotten a "What the heck is she drinking?" response. But the oversharing isn't an accident. It's not reckless or impetuous. I do it for reasons that are important to me.

Puerto Rico changed me. I love that my work has taken me to such incredible places: Spain, Greece, Australia, New Zealand, China, Dubai, and so many amazing cities across the United States. Recently, I had the opportunity to work in Puerto Rico. I returned a different person. I help produce large scale trade events (conventions, mostly) and the work can be tough. Long hours... 12-hour+ days are typical. During move-in, exhibit halls are wide open to the elements so they are o

This one is for all the ladies sitting on their couch- or in bed- early on a Sunday, watching partners and kids and pets sleep, as you’re meal planning and online shopping and requesting dental appointments and ordering a replacement part for the vent hood and thinking about all the meetings you have this week and realizing your meal plan doesn’t have enough protein and ordering birthday cards and gifts for the month and reaching out to that friend whose aunt just passed and

TRIGGER WARNING: This post contains references to sexual assault and may be upsetting. It all ends in healing. But, it isn't an easy read to begin with. It was a hectic Monday afternoon at work when my daughter called. I almost always answer when she rings. It's important to me. She was sobbing so hard that she could barely speak. "Mom, something happened," she said. I think my heart left my body as she started to tell me that she had been sexually assaulted the night before.

A few years ago I was listening to a podcast and the guests talked about the importance of resetting our nervous systems at the end of each work day. As we labor through those 8-12 hours (or more sometimes), we get stressed. We get anxious. We get stretched to our limits. And our bodies hold all of that- keeping us in an unhealthy survival/flight mode- until we trigger a nervous system reset. There's more science to it than that, of course, but you get it. The concept isn't n

Who doesn't love to hear the words, "You look great"? If I'm being honest, sometimes those words make me cringe. Hear me out. My Mom had pancreatic cancer and battled for two hard years. She lost a lot of weight during that time. A lot. I would say she lost somewhere around 50 pounds. She had been overweight prior to her diagnosis. Overweight most of her adult life. She tried all the things available to women in the 1960s through 1990s. I even remember her having one of those

My Instagram feed is full of grief support these days. Right after my Dad died, I saw a reel from a woman who had just lost her father. Seeing her anguish felt like looking in a mirror. I shared that in the comments and added, "I don't know how to do this." A kind stranger replied, "None of us do." I’m one of those weird creatures who dreads the anxiety produced by the unknown and also resents the drudgery of routine. So, as much as it feels uncomfortable, I seek out the new.

I've been more and more withdrawn lately. I've always had a tendency to hunker down inside myself when things get hard. Now, I feel like sheltering within is the best way to survive my sadness. It's also the best way to insulate myself against outside hurts. I'm so tender that almost everything feels ouchy. I'm sure that emotional isolation is not the answer. It just feels like a much safer way to deal with this stress and grief. It's such a paradox, I know, that I have asked

“And the powers that be don’t care if they die.” That was a doctor speaking at a recent medical trade event I helped manage. His topic was heart health. He was referring to those without access to care- primarily black and brown lower income people- who are needlessly dying. Not because the science doesn’t exist to help them. But because healthcare has become out of reach for large swaths of Americans. The trade event was produced by the National Medical Association, an org

I remember preparing for college. I was only 16, but I felt more than ready to move away from home. It wasn't a peaceful childhood. For lots of reasons. And I wanted to carve out a life that suited me. It would take decades to do that, by the way, but I didn't know it at the time. It was the 80s, so all of my correspondence with my chosen university was through snail mail. It's hard to imagine a world without email or smart phones now, but back then we were limited in how we

I had a lot of "why me" moments shortly after being diagnosed with breast cancer several years ago. After the initial shock wore off, I started to think, "Why not me?" Breast cancer is incredibly common. One in eight women are diagnosed with the disease. When I looked around at my circle of girlfriends, I was glad it was me and not one of them who had to go through that battle. Still, I would throw the occasional pity party now and then. I realize now that it is such a privil

"What happened to your faith?" I was taken aback when I saw that question in my inbox a few months ago. "Nothing," I replied. "If anything, it's stronger than ever. I just don't do the church thing anymore." "That's too bad," he wrote. "I used to look up to you so much." "Then you missed the point," I replied. And wished him well. He was someone who attended the inner city church I served for eight years. He was one of many we helped to get off the streets, out of addiction,

I love the United States of America. I do. I love my country and I always have, even when she doesn't act the way I wish she would. Our little town loves a good, homespun celebration. Parades and lights aplenty. Festive decorations everywhere. This time of year our neighborhood is decked in the traditional red, white, and blue that shows up around Memorial Day and carries us through till Labor Day. Our house fits right in with pennants and pinwheels galore. It might just be m

I’ve been working back-to-back trade shows this month. I’ve been doing events for 35 years. There are skills that go into event management. Organization. Knowing how to troubleshoot. Bringing together all kinds of resources to get things done. It’s great work. Stressful, too. Trying to orchestrate the alignment of a thousand moving parts- within the parameters of an inflexible schedule- when there are countless factors out of your control, can make you crazy. I have definitel

For 57 years I was Tom Murphy’s daughter. Then one day, in May, I wasn’t anymore. Thing is, I used the phrase “Tom Murphy’s daughter” often. I mostly said it to my husband when he would lovingly chide me over being ridiculously early, or adherent to the rules, or worrying about safety. Because none of those are bad things- and are all too often rare things- I would explain myself proudly and with a smile: "I am Tom Murphy’s daughter.” It’s Father’s Day and I am no longer Tom

I have grief over my grief. Grieving Briana is my least favorite version of myself. Believe me when I say I’d like to not feel any of this. I know I’m miserable to be around; better than anyone else does. I can’t get away from myself. I’m here all the time and I am an absolute downer. My poor husband (a candidate for sainthood at this point) sees me crying, or going to bed at 7pm, or saying “I don’t care” when everyday life stuff comes up. We tried to go listen to live music

“We’re all terminal. Some of us just have more information.” - Lee Ludwig Meyers Lee was a pink sister (what we call fellow breast cancer warriors) who passed away on Valentine’s day 8 years ago. I actually met her for the first time before we both joined the cancer club. She was a performing arts diva. Hilarious. Charismatic. A force of nature. Truly. I attended a performance of hers and was instantly captivated by her presence. Years later I would meet her again at a charit

I started to text my Dad the other day to tell him we had made it home safely from our trip to California. It felt like a punch to the belly remembering he wouldn’t be there to receive my message. In fact, I have his phone. I call it sometimes to say what’s in my heart. It’s not weird if I’m erasing the messages, right? It mattered to my Dad that he knew where I was. He especially wanted to know that I’d made it home safely from work and road trips. It felt silly checking in

***written Monday night- I knew the moment we were in*** I don’t know when my brother, sister, Dad, and I last spent a night together under the same roof. Probably not since my siblings and I were kids. Tonight we are assembled together under the saddest circumstances. My siblings and I are in Dad’s hospital room, laying on makeshift beds- comprised of chairs turned every which way and whatever pillows we can find- and watching our father as his breaths slow. Sometime soon h

WHAT I STARTED TO WRITE... I have three laptops with me in this hospital room. One for each job I’m doing at the moment. I’d love to have left it all behind so I can focus completely on my Dad and family. But, we still don’t know if we’re in a 5k or a marathon with his health issues. So I have to keep things going. I have a huge event in four weeks. Another in five. And yet another in seven. It’s a crazy load. Even if things were status quo, it would be stupid hard. Now, it f