Category: General

Women in Male-Dominated Jobs… Can We Really Do It?

August 16th, 2022

I have several obsessions when it comes to history, and one of them is World War II. Not just the war itself (the varying facets of which I could talk about for hours), but also the incredible patriotism of that era that brought the country together, and the way the war changed opportunities for women in the workplace. Since I was a teenager, I’ve loved the image of “Rosie the Riveter,” the iconic symbol for women in the workforce in the 1940’s, taking over factory jobs and helping produce war supplies and munitions while men were off fighting overseas. I still have my Rosie the Riveter lunchbox from junior high school, and the image of a strong, capable, female in blue work coveralls, flexing her bicep, is just as powerful to me now as it was then.

If you’ve read my first blog post on this website, you’ll know that I have spent most of my adult life working in fairly physically demanding male-dominated careers. With that being said, it might be a natural assumption that I’m a huge proponent of gender equality, and most likely a feminist. However, that’s not entirely accurate. While I do believe in gender equality to an extent, I am by no means a feminist, and I don’t support the idea of complete and unequivocal equality. In light of the fact that people seems to be easily offended by anything remotely logic-based these days, I’m sure this admission will alienate and piss off some of my readers, but I’ve been doing that since my first post, so why stop now…?

Before I go any further, I would like to clarify that when I refer to “gender,” I am talking about the two scientific birth genders, male and female. I am not addressing bullshit like the infinite number of made-up gender pronouns and identities that have been concocted to placate people’s delusional feelings (that would be another blog article entirely…). You can identify as a “they/them,” non-binary, transgender, nonconforming, gender neutral, fluid flux, or a fucking giraffe. I honestly don’t care. Biologically, at birth, you are inherently either male or female, unless you were born a hermaphrodite. Enough of this gender confusion crap already.

So going back to the idea of gender equality… I absolutely believe men and women should receive equal pay for doing the same job, be given the same opportunities for advancement in the workplace, have access to the same educational opportunities and resources, and have equal positions of power and decision-making in relationships. However, biologically, each gender typically has inherently different strengths, capabilities, and advantages, and when it comes to physically demanding jobs, men are generally more naturally inclined to be successful and dominate than women are.

Please don’t get me wrong here. I am 100% in support of empowering women to achieve their dreams and goals, especially when those dreams and goals involve having to break down barriers and push past perceived limitations that have been historically placed on women when it comes to certain jobs. But, I am also a realist, and let’s be honest here – there are some things men are just better at than women when it comes to physical skills and abilities. Yes, I am a woman who has not only succeeded, but also excelled, in careers more suitable to male attributes, but I had to work ten times as hard to be successful, and I put my body through incredible stress that has ultimately resulted in years of physical pain and injuries that I know will only continue to haunt me as I get older.

To be clear, I am not complaining whatsoever. I CHOSE to pursue these jobs, knowing full well that I would be required to work my ass off to even be competent, much less successful. I strongly believe that females who want to take part in any traditionally male-dominated career, sport, or hobby, should be able to competently meet the same standards as their male counterparts. I do not believe in lowering standards to give women advantages. You want the job or the position on the team? Do the damn work according to the existing standards, and do it without whining or complaining that things should be made easier for you.

Frankly, I also believe it’s dangerous and irresponsible to lower standards for females or allow them to squeak by with subpar performance just so an organization can be proud to say they have female representation in the workforce. This is especially critical when it comes to jobs requiring women to have a certain level of physical fitness and strength. Ultimately, women who aren’t truly qualified for the job, and who are hired just because they are female, end up putting their coworkers’ lives at risk. They also end up being a liability, unable to actually do the job they were hired to do, because it requires skills and abilities they never mastered in the first place. How can anyone believe this is true gender equality?

I am fully aware that I was given opportunities to pursue so many career advancements because I was a woman in male-dominated fields. Do I think this is fair? No, not really. Did I take advantage of these opportunities anyway? Yes, absolutely. But, I NEVER had expectations of standards being lowered to help me succeed because I was a female, nor did I ever believe I was “owed” a position because of my gender. I find it shameful when women expect or demand gender advantages and then complain or make excuses about how it’s “not fair” when they fail or when they don’t get hired or chosen for the positions they weren’t qualified for in the first place.

As with most of the topics I write and speak about, my beliefs are a product of my true-life experiences, and I am going to share a few of those experiences with you now. Not only were these situations eye-opening and pivotal career points for me, but they were also rather humbling and embarrassing. Regardless, I’m sharing my experiences because I believe they are important to illustrate why I stand so strongly in my views about gender equality. Let’s start with my fire service career…

When I was in the fire academy, I achieved proficiency in about 95% of the skills required to pass the cumulative physical agility test. The one thing I struggled with consistently was the damn ladders. One of the required skills to pass the exam was to remove an extension ladder from its secure position on the side of the fire engine and raise it to its full length, locking out the extension portion at the top and properly leaning the extended ladder against a wall. This was a timed test, and it didn’t leave much room for error. I am 5’3”, and the ladder on a typical fire engine is positioned at a height well above my shoulders. I didn’t have the height advantage, the leverage, or the brute strength to just lift the ladder off its hooks, balance it on one shoulder, and go on my merry way. Instead, I had to compensate with figuring out a technique that would work for me, which involved going through a much more time-consuming process.

First, I would have to carefully lift up one end of the ladder and balance one of the rails precariously on the hook so the ladder would be hanging about an inch lower. I would then walk over to the other end of the ladder and do the same thing, hoping the ladder wouldn’t teeter off the rungs and fall. Then I’d walk towards the middle of the ladder and take a position where I could simultaneously tilt the ladder towards my body, while lifting it off of the rungs with one hand, and then carefully balance the ladder on my shoulder at just the right point where it wouldn’t tip too far forwards or backwards. By this time, the rest of my classmates had already raised and secured their ladders against the wall, and I had just barely gotten it off the engine. Because I am determined, stubborn, and not willing to accept defeat easily, I spent months and months perfecting this tedious and time-consuming modification, until I eventually completed this task within the required timeframe, and successfully passed the fire academy.

However, was that really a win or something to be proud of? Sure, I had met the bare minimum standard for a passing score, and I was technically qualified to be a firefighter. But, was I truly competent in one of the most basic skills necessary for doing the job? Realistically, no, I was not. Would I have wanted to have me as a team member on the engine if I had to be relied upon to quickly get a ladder off the rig and raise it to a second story window to save a life? No, I would not. And if I was the spouse of a firefighter who was working with a female who was not fully competent in executing this task quickly in a life-saving situation, would I feel comfortable with putting my spouse’s life in the hands of a weak partner every day? Definitely fucking not.

If you read my first post, you may recall that I had a successful career as a firefighter with Disney for several years, eventually working my way up to the rank of captain, so at this point, you may be thinking I sound like a total hypocrite. However, Disney was a private fire department with a custom-built fire engine that was smaller than a typical city fire engine and more comparable to the size of a tricked-out ambulance. Yes, it was a legitimate and fully functional fire engine with the same capabilities as a full-size fire engine, but it was like a mini-me version. And fortunately for me, the ladder on this smaller apparatus was placed perfectly in alignment with my shoulder height, so I was able to quickly and competently remove it from the side of the engine whenever I needed to.

When I transitioned from a private fire department to a municipal fire department, I spent the rest of a large portion of my fire service career on the fire prevention side of the field because I was realistic about my stature and my resulting physical limitations. Yes, I met the minimum physical requirements to do the job, but, in all reality, I was not competent enough to be a true asset on a fire engine or truck. How shitty would it have been for me to take a position that someone else was inherently more qualified for just because I was a female and there was a push for diversity? Screw that.

Are there badass Amazonian-built female firefighters out there (and even just normal women!) who are doing the job better than a lot of males could? Absolutely, and I think that is fucking awesome. I just wasn’t one of those women. I had the heart, the drive, and the determination, but the bottom line is I didn’t have the physical stature or strength necessary to competently master one of the most basic skills of the job.

Fast forward to my law enforcement career…

When I first became a cop, I felt fairly confident in myself and my abilities. In terms of physical fitness, the police academy was way easier for me than the fire academy had been, and I breezed through most of it without any problems. When I started my probationary period as a police officer out in the field, I was still working out like I had been in the academy, heavily focused on endurance as opposed to strength. My training regimen consisted mostly of running and cardio-based activities. I thought I was in good shape, until about 6 months into the job, when I had a terrifying experience that changed my perspective on my perceived abilities.

This particular night, I was assigned to a female training officer who was in her late 50’s or early 60’s. She was shorter than I am (which is pretty damn short considering I’m only 5’3”), and she was significantly overweight. I’m sure she must have been a badass early on in her career, because she was old enough to have been on the job during an era when women had to work much harder to prove themselves, but her heyday had long since passed, and she was now barely able to amble down the hallway and sit her fat ass on a chair in the roll call room. She should not have been a training officer, much less even working in the field anymore.

As fate would have it, we were sent on a call to investigate a domestic situation involving a male in his 20’s who was having an escalating argument with his father. By the time we arrived on the scene, the male was outside on the lawn, shirtless with pajama pants on, agitatedly pacing back and forth while muttering to himself. He was about 5’11” and a good 200 lbs of pure muscle, and when he saw us approaching, he quickly went from agitated to downright angry.

I can only imagine what this guy was thinking, watching an old fat lady and a petite female, who was clearly a rookie, walk towards him in police uniforms. I would like to say we swiftly and successfully took him into custody, but that didn’t happen. Before I even had time to react, the guy ran at us with the speed of a cheetah chasing its prey. I think I stupidly attempted to grab his arm to handcuff him, and the next thing I knew, the guy had tossed me off of his arm like the Incredible Hulk. I went flying across the lawn, landing on my ass like a rag doll. And for the first time since becoming a cop, I was literally scared for my life.

Despite thinking I was going to get my ass kicked and probably significantly injured in the process, I wasn’t going down without a fight, so I got up and continued to do my job. Fortunately, my training officer had the good sense to request backup when we had arrived on scene, and between the two of us, we somehow managed to clumsily restrain the guy until other officers showed up. Even more fortunately, nobody got seriously hurt, and the only major injury I sustained was to my ego. Not only was this situation embarrassing for me as a police officer, but it was a wake-up call to the fact that I needed to add some serious strength training back into my workout routine if I wanted to survive in this career.

During the next couple of years, I focused heavily on weight lifting, and I eventually got to the point where I was in great physical shape and confident in my abilities to handle myself out in the field. However, no matter how competent I was, I still had to deal with guys having expectations of me being weak because I was a small female. I had several male partners throughout the years who were initially unhappy about being assigned to be my partner because they assumed I couldn’t handle my shit. After working together for a few shifts, they usually changed their minds because I was pretty damn good at my job, but I definitely had to prove my worth as a cop every time I got a new partner.

Did that bother me? Honestly, no. I believe that just comes with the territory of being a female working in a male-dominated job. I also frequently had to listen to the guys trash talking other female officers, and quite honestly, a lot of the time it was with good reason, so I couldn’t provide a counter argument.

Even in situations where my male partners had faith in me to do my job and have their backs when we were in the suck, I know there were still times they would have preferred to work with another male, and, truthfully, I can’t find fault in that. Again, it comes with the territory, and if you find that offensive, then you’re probably too sensitive to be in this type of job in the first place.

Sad to say, I was also very hesitant to work with a female partner, unless I knew they could kick some ass. I absolutely believe women have a place in law enforcement, and there were countless times during my career that I was able to handle situations better than my male partners were. However, if I was going to be in a physical fight or a situation that I believed could escalate into one, (which was a frequent occurrence on the job), ninety-nine times out of a hundred, I felt significantly more comfortable having a male partner, since most of the guys I worked with were way more physically fit and stronger than most females I knew on the job.

That said, I am in no way bashing capable women in law enforcement. I have had the honor and privilege of working with some seriously badass chicks, several of whom were physically superior to male officers. On the flip side of that coin, I also worked with a few guys who were cowards in the field, and I was ashamed to call them fellow officers. So yes, there are exceptions to every rule, and I would choose to work with a badass, confident female over a weak, soft-spoken male any day of the week.

I have also met and trained with some incredible women who dominated in sports and physical activities. A few years into my law enforcement career, I became part of the CrossFit cult, completely obsessed with lifting heavy shit while wearing expensive deadlifting shoes and knee-high socks. I was somewhat modest and never liked my legs enough to rock a pair of booty shorts in public, but the socks were definitely my thing. I spent several years immersed in CrossFit culture, becoming a coach at two different “boxes” (basically an overpriced warehouse gym), participating in numerous local competitions, and placing 3rd in my age category one year at the Police and Fire Games.

My CrossFit experience taught me that there are some seriously fit and incredibly competitive beast women who can go toe-to-toe with men when it comes to strength, endurance, and stamina, and often surpass men in all of these categories. During the 7 years that I was in the cult, I was at my peak of physical performance, and I accomplished physical feats I never thought I would be able to do. So, as much as people like to talk shit about CrossFit, if you’re doing the movements correctly and safely, it’s an incredible way to make massive performance gains and increase your confidence in the process.

I also spent several years practicing self-defense techniques. Although I did take boxing lessons, I focused primarily on Jiu Jitsu, because I believed this was the most practical fighting skill for a small female to learn. I am able to hold my own in a ground game because I am small, squirmy, quick, and flexible, but when it comes to stand up fighting, I know I don’t have the same advantages. The bottom line is that no matter how strong I am or how much weight I can bench press or deadlift, realistically, all it takes is one punch in the face from a guy (or a woman) who is stronger or more skilled than I am, and I’m going down. Hard.

I realize this article is starting to become rather lengthy, and although I have many more examples from my own life experiences that I could share to support the statements I’ve made regarding gender equality issues, I promised I would keep my posts shorter than my first one, so I will cease rambling about myself. Suffice it to say that yes, I absolutely believe in empowering women, and I believe women are fully capable of being total inspirational badasses and excelling in jobs traditionally reserved for males.

At the same time, generally speaking, women inherently have physical limitations that men don’t. This component of gender inequality is a biological fact. It’s not good or bad – it just is. Rather than pretending like men and women are equal across the board, and that women “deserve” the same job positions as men do, I think it’s important to acknowledge that gender differences and limitations do come into play when women seek positions in male-dominated fields. If women want to be considered truly equal in this regard, the bottom line is they need to be capable of doing the work without special accommodations or a different set of standards.

Before I conclude this post, I want to add one more thing. While reflecting on the experiences I’ve written about in this article, I asked myself, “Would I even want to be completely equal across the board with a man…?” My answer is no. I love being a female and having the unique characteristics and attributes that are inherently part of my gender. Despite the fact that I’ve spent the majority of my life in male-dominated career fields, I completely embrace being feminine (although my daily wardrobe of yoga pants and t-shirts may not necessarily reflect that…).

I’m not ashamed to say I love chivalry! I love when a man treats me like a woman, opens doors for me, pays for dinner, and wants to protect me. I love when a man takes out the trash, handles the barbecue duties, and mows the yard. Even though I’m no longer working in a physically demanding career, in my current job I frequently rely on my male coworkers to do the heavy lifting and get boxes from the tops of pallets. Am I capable of handling these things myself? Fuck yes! But, quite honestly, I don’t always want to. So, unequivocal gender equality be damned!

Now, can one of you guys please help me move this heavy wine rack…?

Unapologetically Outspoken,

Tara
Addressing My Potty Mouth

August 12th, 2022

My post today is spontaneous, and I wasn’t intending on this being my next article, but it’s a topic I feel the need to address. I promise this will not be anywhere near as long as my first post, and neither will future articles. That first post was lengthy because I was setting the stage for what this blog is about. Anyway, now that my first post is out there, I’ve been getting feedback from people, which is really awesome because it means people are actually reading my blog. I am so appreciative and grateful for those of you who are taking the time to reach out and share your opinions with me. It truly means a lot to me, so thank you!

One of the comments that I’ve heard more than once is about my use of the word “fuck.” When I posted my first article, I knew this might be somewhat controversial, especially with my more conservative and religious friends and family. My mom is one of my biggest supporters and cheerleaders, and her direct quote after reading my first blog entry was, “Read your blog. Love it! (Lots of fucking ‘fuckings’ though).”

I will admit I debated on curbing my potty mouth when I decided to start writing publicly, but, obviously, in the end, I decided “fuck that.” My main goal in creating this blog is to be authentic… 100% me. I’ve already written some pretty embarrassing shit in my first post, and I’m putting myself out there in a very personal and raw manner. So, if my intention is to be in alignment with my authentic self and speak my truth, I’m not going to censor myself.

Sure, I can make an attempt to tone down my use of the word “fuck,” and I will take that idea into consideration for future posts. However, I will not be completely eliminating curse words from my writing. This is me. This is how I speak in “real life.” This is how I express myself passionately and authentically. I understand my choice of language may turn off or alienate some of the people in my audience, and I may lose followers. Honestly, that’s okay. This blog isn’t going to be for everyone, and I am totally cool with that.

I’ve had people tell me that cursing makes me sound uneducated, and I completely disagree. If you read my first post, you already know that I am highly educated. I don’t believe education is synonymous with having to conform to speaking or behaving in a specific manner. Do I know how to be professional? Absolutely. There is a time and place for everything. Almost every career field I’ve worked in throughout my life has required me to uphold a high level of professionalism and decorum, and that included how I spoke to people.

When I was a criminal investigator, and I had to give presentations to a room full of high-ranking officials from various jurisdictions, did I throw out F bombs during my PowerPoint? No, because it wasn’t appropriate. When I was an instructor in a college classroom, did I use the word “fuck” when educating my students? Although I’m sure I might have scored brownie points for being more relatable to a classroom of primarily teenagers, the answer is no, because that would have been unprofessional. Do I curse in my current job when I’m talking to customers? Well, admittedly, sometimes yes, so I suppose this probably isn’t the best example. However, that’s only when I’ve been chatting with them long enough to establish a rapport where I know it’s acceptable.

I currently volunteer with a local charitable organization that provides assistance to law enforcement officers and firefighters who are injured or killed in the line of duty. The majority of the members are openly religious, and that’s part of the Christian values that the organization was founded on. I chose to join a pre-existing group comprised of primarily religious individuals, when I am not necessarily religious myself, because I fully believe in and support their cause, and I want to be an active contributing member. Am I going to casually or intentionally throw out the word “fuck” during volunteer meetings? Again, no, because it’s not appropriate for that environment.

However, this blog is not a professional blog, and I’m not representing an outside organization or entity. I am representing ME. This is a personal venture about me sharing my beliefs, my experiences, and my opinions in an effort to inspire others. I love the word “fuck,” so I’m going to use it when I feel called to do so in my writing.

I chose the name of my blog with a specific purpose. It’s called “Unapologetically Outspoken” for a reason. I am outspoken, and I will not apologize for what I choose to say or the manner in which I say it. So, if you choose not to follow my blog because you are offended by my choice of language, I am 100% okay with that. I respect anyone wanting to stay true to their standards and morals, just as I am choosing to remain true to mine.

And that, my friends, is the beauty of freedom, which is one of the main concepts of this blog. Freedom is about choice, and you have the choice of whether or not you want to follow me.

So, with that being said, I am wishing you all a happy Friday. My intention is to update this blog on a weekly or bi-weekly basis, depending on how inspired I am to write and how busy I am with my real job.

If you are enjoying this blog, and you want to receive updates when I post a new article, please follow me and subscribe via email. Click on the menu at the top left and choose the “Blog” section. When you scroll down to the bottom of the “Blog” section, there should be an area stating “Get new posts delivered directly to your inbox.” Type in your email, and click the “Sign Up” button. You should get a confirmation message that the invite has been sent to your email address . If you have trouble finding it, or you are just too lazy to figure it out, send me a message with your email address, and I will add you to the list.

Unapologetically Outspoken,

Tara
How I Ended Up Starting This Blog…

August 10th, 2022

For the past several months, I’ve been writing blog articles for a website run by a guy I’ve come to respect and view as a mentor. His name is Gary Collins, and I stumbled across his podcast (The Simple Life with Gary Collins) a few years ago when I was researching ways to simplify and balance my life. After listening to several episodes, I realized Gary and I had very similar backgrounds, so I was inspired by what he had to say and the path he has taken to create a kick ass life for himself. I ended up doing a coaching session with Gary last year, and it was an instrumental step in me changing the course of my own life path. If you haven’t heard of “The Simple Life,” Gary teaches people how to achieve optimal health, financial freedom, and find their life purpose, so if you’re interested in that kind of stuff, go check out his website at https://thesimplelifenow.com.

Yes, I’m aware that so far this sounds like an infomercial testimonial for Gary Collins, but I promise he has no vested interest in me writing this, and as much as I wish I was getting paid to promote his website and podcast, I’m definitely not. The reason I’m bringing all of this up is because one of other cool things Gary does is support writers like me by giving us a forum to express our opinions and share our “simple life” experiences on his blog page. It was having this opportunity to write website articles that reignited my love of creative writing and gave me the courage to openly express my views and opinions in a public arena.

Writing has always been a passion for me, ever since I won an award at my local library for creating a handwritten bookmark when I was 8 years old. It was a jaunty little poem that read: “You’re never too old to read a book. Open one up and take a look. At the Glendale Public Library.” Towards the bottom of the bookmark, I had drawn a pair of eyes wearing glasses, peering into an open book. Sure, it’s not exactly Shakespeare (or even written in complete sentences), but it was the first contest I’d ever won, and for a shy, nerdy 8-year old girl with very few friends, it was a big fucking deal, and I was pretty damn proud of myself.

By the time I reached high school, I had moved on from designing cute bookmarks and was instead filling notebook after notebook with depressing poetry about death and vampires (I went through a lengthy goth phase…). I also wrote numerous short stories, most of which shared the common themes of being either dark and morose or disturbingly twisted (again, the goth thing…). I recall spending much of AP French class passing wild fictional tales back and forth with my friend, Diana, instead of paying attention to verb conjugations.

In college, I majored in English, thinking it would be the easy road to a degree since I loved to read and write (plus, I really sucked at math). I had always gotten straight A’s on any written assignment during high school, so I naturally assumed I’d immediately excel when I went to university. Not so. On my first college paper, I received a C-, and the entire essay was covered in red ink. I was fucking devastated. How could the professor not see how talented I was?? Welcome to the real world, kid… or, at least as “real world” as college was back in the 1990’s before everyone went completely woke. I’m pretty sure that most of the classic novels which were required reading at the time have since been banned for lack of inclusivity, toxic masculinity, and white privilege. But I digress… I might have gone home and cried about my grade for an hour or so, but I quickly snapped out of it. There was no fucking way I was going to be a C student, so I buckled down and focused on developing and honing my writing skills for the next couple of years. By the time I graduated, I felt ready to take on world with a pen.

However, when I entered the workforce after college, my creativity started to decline. I still indulged in writing little fictional stories on occasion, usually in the form of some kind of anonymous passive aggressive notes I would leave for my coworkers, detailing my disappointment about a lunch being stolen from the communal refrigerator or specialty items missing from the supply room. Stupid? Sure, but I was also bored and easily entertained watching people trying to figure out who was stealing food and supplies that never existed in the first place. After a few years in corporate America, I made the decision to transition from the private sector to a government job, and my creativity basically disappeared altogether. Instead of writing fictional stories and poems, I spent the next 25 years writing very dry investigative and safety inspection reports. Snooze… but hey, it was still writing, and even with boring technical reports, I wrote the shit out of them and made them shine.

My point is, I fucking love to write, and it’s something I’ve been doing most of my life. I’ve just never shared my writing in a public forum until I was given the opportunity to write for “The Simple Life” website. Whenever one of my articles is published, I send the link out to a handful of friends and family, and the feedback I receive is always positive. I’m continually being told I should write a book or start a blog, and although I appreciate the compliments and recognition, I usually blow off these suggestions as nothing more than well-intentioned niceties and ego-stroking. I will admit I’ve tossed around the idea of writing a blog over the past few months, but I always find an excuse to procrastinate on actually doing anything about it. If I’m being honest with myself, that procrastination is largely based in self-doubt about my writing being of any interest to anyone other than my loyal friends and family fan club.

There is a section for comments on Gary’s blog page, but I’ve never seen a single remark posted in relation to any of the articles I’ve written, despite their sensational wit and occasionally charming inflammatory nature. So, I’ve concluded that nobody really gives a shit. Yet, I keep on writing more articles… Why? Because, as I said above, I fucking love to write, and it lights my soul on fire. On an average night, I’ll be yawning and ready for sleep by 8:00 p.m., but when I’m focused on writing an article, I easily lose track of time, and I have to force myself to get up from the computer and go to bed. I lay there, my mind excitedly racing with thoughts I want to put on paper, and I find myself reaching for my phone several times to jot down notes and ideas. This typically goes on for at least an hour or two before I can fall asleep.

Having the opportunity to write website articles has been like a reawakening for me. For years, I believed I had lost my passion and drive for writing anything that wasn’t a sterile investigative report, and I chose to focus solely on professional writing projects. Whenever something creative would come up for me, I’d continually push it down over and over until it finally stopped resurfacing. However, my life has changed drastically over the past year, and I’ve finally woken the fuck up and decided to speak my truth. With each article that I write, I’ve become more and more sure that this is the path I’m meant to be on. I strongly believe my purpose in life is to use my writing as a tool to share my thoughts and experiences as a means to inspire people to stand up for their beliefs and live their best authentic lives.

Before you roll your eyes and think, “Oh geez, another one of those 40-something chicks who’s having a midlife crisis and on a self-reflection journey,” stick with me here while I explain how I arrived at this whole blog thing and why you might be interested in reading my shit.

Throughout my life, I’ve had a multitude of jobs and careers, and I’m about to take you down the path of twists and turns that make up my work history. Yes, I know this might seem like I’m going completely off topic, but like I said, stay with me on this because it’s all relative. The culmination of my work and life experiences is the driving force behind why I’ve developed the beliefs I feel compelled to share, and why I’m choosing to start this blog.

So, buckle up, relax, and enjoy the ride. The journey down this path might seem a bit long-winded (okay, it’s actually really fucking long-winded), but as my mom used to say, our destination is “just around the bend,” even though that was always total bullshit, and it would usually take a fucking hour to get where we were going. Regardless, keep reading. It will all make sense. If you’re really in that much of a hurry to get back to scrolling TikTok or Instagram, I guess you can just skip ahead to the end, but if that’s your priority, you’re probably not the right audience for this blog anyway. So, here we go…

I grew up in sunny Southern California, the land of milk and honey and broken dreams. Like most teenagers in the 1980’s, I worked various gigs at the mall. I sold expensive travel accessories and massage chairs at Brookstone, science kits and educational crap at Natural Wonders, and giant plush stuffed animals to parents with screaming children at Toys International (my most short-lived job ever).

After a couple years, I concluded retail wasn’t for me, and I took a job working the full-service island at a gas station (back in the good old days when those existed), cleaning windows, changing flat tires, and pumping gas. I decided I wanted to be a mechanic, even though I wasn’t remotely mechanically inclined, and I knew jack shit about cars. I started hanging out by the mechanic bay at work, learning what I could, and within a year I had the opportunity to become part of a pit crew for a top alcohol drag racing team. I did that for a few years during college, traveling across the country to various NHRA races, feeling like a badass because I could fix a broken engine block, even though all I really did was turn a few wrenches and look cute flaunting my highly coveted “Restricted Area Access” badge on a lanyard around my neck.

During my college years, I also worked at a sailboat marina, mostly doing grunt work like cleaning boats and repairing cushions, filing paperwork in the office, and helping rescue people with less than stellar sailing skills who ended up stranded in the San Francisco Bay. Oddly enough, I was completely terrified of the ocean and had a very significant fear of sharks. This fear was only further heightened when I learned there are over 11 different species of sharks living in the San Francisco Bay – including great whites, blue sharks and Sevengill sharks, which are reportedly one of the most aggressive and dangerous sharks known to attack humans. Whenever a group of us would go out sailing, I would spend the entire time focused on the boat’s depth meter, panicking every time the numbers changed for more than a few seconds. I was positive there was a huge fucking shark swimming directly under the boat, and it was going to surface and swallow us whole. I literally have no idea how I worked this job for two years.

I also did a short stint as a paralegal intern for a Hopi Indian tribal law office during college. In addition to my English degree, I had decided to pursue a second major in Native American Studies. My original plan was to go to law school after I finished my undergrad, but that never happened.

After college, I got sucked into the world of corporate entertainment, landing a job as one of three office assistants (yes, three…) for a high-level executive in the film marketing division at Walt Disney Studios. One might think it was a dream job, and I suppose if I had aspirations to be a screenwriter, producer, director, or actor, it would have been. But quite honestly, I had no interest in any of those things, and I only got the job as an act of nepotism because my boyfriend’s mom worked there. Sure, it was fun at first to work in the land of fairy dust, in a swanky executive office where everyone kissed your ass because they all wanted a meeting with your boss. However, I really didn’t give a fuck about making movies or catering to the multitude of incredibly high-maintenance famous people who came into our office on the daily, so in terms of dream jobs, this wasn’t mine.

Out of boredom, I joined the company’s Crisis Management Team, volunteering to throw on an orange vest and hard hat, screaming through a bullhorn at people to exit the building in the event of an earthquake or other disaster. That little act of service led to me taking a class on how to use a fire extinguisher, which was when I discovered Disney had a volunteer fire department somewhere on the backlot of the studio, and it was this discovery that changed the trajectory of my life.

Being an executive assistant in the corporate ivory tower, I had no idea where “the backlot” was or what went on there. That was the “other” side of the studio, for the people who did manual labor and blue-collar jobs. Unless one of them was coming to the office to fix a broken screen projector or replace an overhead fluorescent light that had burned out, the upper echelon in my building rarely interacted with the common folk. I, however, found their jobs intriguing and exciting. After taking that fire extinguisher class, I determined the blue-collar life was the one for me, and I instantly decided I was going to become a firefighter. Never mind that I was an overweight, sedentary office assistant who had gained 40 pounds in two years from eating Red Vines and peanut butter crackers at my desk, and I didn’t even know what the inside of a gym looked like. Several years of my soul slowly dying from working in a cutthroat, superficial industry that I hated was apparently enough to make me believe I was cut out for becoming a “hero.”

Despite having zero athletic ability, I was accepted as a fire department volunteer (clearly, they were desperate for help…), and I spent the next year getting in shape and learning the basics of firefighting. I still slaved away at my executive office job, but now I had a really cool pager that alerted me whenever there was a fire or medical crisis on the property, and I would run out of the office yelling “emergency!” and hop on my little red bicycle, racing across the studio lot to the fire station to save the day. As fun as this was, I wanted to become a “real” firefighter, and not just a volunteer, so I put myself through a year-long weekend fire academy to become state certified. About a year later, a full-time fire inspector position opened up at one of the other Disney-owned properties. It paid significantly less than what I was making as an executive assistant, but I didn’t care. I said, “Peace out bitches,” packed up my desk, and left the suit-and-tie executive world to join the ranks of the blue-collar worker bees.

I stayed with the Disney Fire Department for the next six years, working my way up the ranks on both the firefighting and fire prevention sides of the coin, eventually becoming a fire suppression captain and the fire marshal for over 40 different Disney offsite buildings. I was on call 24-hours a day, every day, working 50-60 hours a week, and I was also putting in time working unpaid 24-hour shifts one or two weekends a month as an auxiliary firefighter for a small local municipality. I will also note that I was the first female firefighter this department had ever employed. I was busting my ass, but it felt great to be working in a field that I believed was worthwhile, and I took my jobs seriously.

During this time, I worked closely with several municipal fire departments, and when a full-time fire inspector position opened up in one of their jurisdictions, I was encouraged to apply. At the time, my life revolved around the fire service, so I eagerly welcomed the opportunity to transition out of the private sector and into a government job. Because of the reputation I had built for myself at Disney as an effective leader and a hard worker, I was asked to remain with the studio’s fire department as a contract employee, training firefighters a couple nights a week. Being an overachiever, I decided to simultaneously pursue my master’s degree in Emergency Services Administration because hey, why not?

For the next two years, I worked full-time for the city, part-time for Disney, and attended an accelerated university program on the weekends. I left work on Friday and went directly to class on Friday night until 10:00 pm, spent all day Saturday and Sunday in class from 9:00 am to 6:00 pm, and then went back to work on Monday morning, repeating this 7-days a week cycle of no personal life for two fucking years. You would think I’d want to slow down for a bit after that and enjoy the rewards of my hard work, but nope.

While getting my master’s degree, I decided to knock out the requirements for a vocational teaching credential, and I obtained that certification as well. After graduating, I continued my journey of overachievement by becoming an instructor in the fire academy on weekends, and I also started teaching a night class at my local community college, just for funsies. I quickly realized that creating a brand new 3-hour course curriculum every week took more like 15 or 20 hours per week to plan, so it turned out that gig really wasn’t so fun after all… I guess it was probably no surprise that after a few years, I was completely fucking burned out. I had started to develop a love/hate relationship with the fire service, and I decided it was time for a change.

My master’s program was specifically designed for emergency services personnel, catering mostly to high-ranking administrative staff in the fire service, but there were a few law enforcement officers in the class as well. Three of them, to be exact, and they were all employed with the Los Angeles Police Department. One of the guys was a motor cop, and he was the epitome of a class clown. You know – the guy who always disrupts the room, pisses off the professors, somehow manages to ditch all the work in group projects, and yet still graduates from the program, even though he shows up over an hour late to the final exam (Yes, Chris, I’m talking about you). I was the complete opposite type of student. I showed up early, religiously typed up all the written notes I took during class, used highlighters and colored pens on everything, was the leader of all the group projects, and always worried about failing exams, even though I spent most of my down time studying and got straight A’s.

Despite Chris’ annoying ability to squeak by doing as little work as possible throughout the entire two years, I thought he was a riot, and we became fast friends. Eventually, our conversations sparked my interest in leaving the fire service to join the dark side and become a cop. At this point, I had been working a government job for just over three years, and I was making pretty decent money, so cue the first time I threw away a good salary and the security of earning a city pension to start a new career path.

I applied for a job with the LAPD, and after a very bizarre and intense interrogation process with my background investigator (who was convinced I was covering up gang tattoos and had committed some kind of hidden crime because firefighters don’t give up their cushy jobs to become cops), it was eventually determined I had no illegal skeletons in my closet (or gang tattoos). I was accepted into the police academy and successfully completed 7 months of training. I was now among the ranks of one of the most famous police departments in the world.

As you might have anticipated, while employed with the LAPD, my overachieving personality drove me to pursue as many challenging opportunities as possible, and I was fortunate to have worked some incredible assignments as a cop. I only spent about a year in patrol, and the rest of my career included stints in specialized units, undercover assignments, and highly coveted jobs that I worked my ass off to achieve. During my last five years on the job I was assigned to one of the most elite units in the department, and three of those years were spent working a crime suppression gig on horseback in the mounted unit. It was during this time that I met the love of my life, a beautiful quarter horse named Maverick.

Like most little girls, I dreamed of having a horse when I was a kid. Well, a unicorn to be exact, but a horse would suffice. I loved, loved, loved horses, but I grew up in a small apartment, in the congested smog-filled San Fernando Valley of Southern California, so having a horse of my own was out of the question. I probably went horseback riding a handful of times throughout my youth, but all of those experiences were less than thrilling rides on overworked haggard trail horses who would shuffle painfully slowly down the road, only perking up when it was time to head back to the stables. When I was accepted into the mounted unit at LAPD, it was a fucking dream come true. Not only did I learn how to ride like a boss, but I had the awesome experience of basically having my own horse for three years without any of the financial responsibility for vet bills, boarding, or feeding. Talk about a sweet deal, right?? I believed this was the pinnacle of my career, and I was determined to ride this wave of awesomeness to retirement.

That is, until it wasn’t so awesome anymore. The part where I got to ride a horse every day still totally rocked, but the job itself fucking sucked. As cliché as it sounds, I became a cop because I wanted to make a difference in my community and be a positive influence in people’s lives, but it got to the point where that became next to impossible. I’ll spare you the details of this whole experience because I’ve written about it in depth in a couple of my Simple Life website articles, and you can check those out if you’re interested (links at the bottom of this post!). Suffice it to say that working for a city that didn’t support it’s police department, and having command staff who were too morally weak to stand up for officers who were doing the right thing, was taking a toll on both my mental and physical health, and after 11 years as an LAPD officer, I decided it was time to move on. Cue the second time I gave up my pension and a good paying job to start over. I also took the big leap of leaving my family and friends behind to move to another state.

Although I had done a decent amount of traveling throughout my life, at this point I’d never lived anywhere outside of California, and I had always lived in a large city. When I was assigned to the mounted unit at LAPD, despite the chaos of my job, working with horses allowed me to experience some hints of the “country life,” and I was slowly starting to crave a simpler existence, away from the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles. I still didn’t like country music, even though my work partner often tried to lure me in by constantly playing it in the car on the ride to and from work, but there was something about the peacefulness and tranquility of being at the barn for a couple hours every day that was pulling at my soul, and I still wanted that vibe in my life.

My bestie was living in Washington State at the time, and she took it upon herself to help me find a job. I ended up getting another law enforcement gig, but this time for a small police department in a mid-sized city on the Puget Sound. I bought a house in a small waterfront community in a quaint little town, and I was volunteering at a horse rescue down the road from my house on the weekends. I felt like I had found just the life I was looking for. I was still working in law enforcement, a career that I loved, but this time with supportive command staff and city leaders. Right after my probationary period ended, I was promoted to detective, which was a dream job for me. I got to work in depth on some insanely brutal, but fascinating, homicide cases, and I experienced an entirely different realm of police work and criminal activity than I had during my time with LAPD. I guess it’s true what they say about the weather in the Pacific Northwest causing people to go crazy and lose their shit. Well, that and a fuck ton of recreational drug use.

Similar to my mindset when I landed a position with the mounted unit at LAPD, I thought I would stay in this job until retirement, but my “be all, end all” detective career only lasted a couple years. When I became a cop, I knew I would frequently be placed in tough situations, but I never anticipated having to make a choice between keeping my job or staying true to my personal ethics and the sworn oath I had taken to serve the public and protect people’s constitutional rights. The Covid-19 “pandemic” and the subsequent insanity that followed and divided the country resulted in me having to make that choice. So, for the third time in just under 18 years, I gave up a career I had worked incredibly hard to achieve, financial security, and a government pension. Only this time, I left public service for good.

So, with that said, it’s time to circle back to the original questions of what the fuck is this blog about, and why did I just write the equivalent of a mini novel, detailing the minutia of my education, the places I’ve lived, and the jobs I’ve had since I was 16 years old? Maybe I just really enjoy talking about myself, but I like to think I have a point to make. Here’s the part where I explain why I believe what I have to say is important, and why I’ve decided to share my life path with strangers.

In short, it’s because I fucking can.

Huh…? Yep, that’s a significant part of the point of this whole thing. BECAUSE I CAN. I’m sharing these little glimpses into my work and life experiences because I’ve been fortunate enough to live them. Let that sink in for a minute…

If you still don’t understand what the fuck I’m saying, I’ll try to be a little more clear: The only reason I’ve been able to do all of this awesome, mundane, challenging, exciting, difficult, frustrating, exhilarating, scary, amazing shit is because I grew up in America (Land of the free! Home of the brave!). I’m a female who’s had the ability to not only succeed, but also fucking excel, in primarily male-dominated fields. I’m an example of what it’s possible to achieve in America with hard work and determination. I took advantage of every opportunity afforded to me to pursue my goals. No matter how often I’ve changed course, or how many times I’ve left a successful career to start over again from the bottom up, I’ve had the opportunity to make these decisions for myself, pursue difficult goals, and manifest my best fucking life because I’ve had the FREEDOM to do so.

And that’s what this blog is about. Freedom, pursuing goals, and manifesting your best fucking life.

My story is not unique. I’m not a celebrity. I’m not a social media influencer. I wasn’t born into wealth or a legacy family. I’m not a world-renowned athlete. I’m just a hard-working, middle class, regular American. And there are millions of other Americans who have done the same kind of shit that I have, and so much more. I personally know tons of people who’ve had amazing life journeys and opportunities, and others who have created successful thriving businesses from nothing. Everyone has a story. The only thing that separates me from the masses is that I’m making the choice to share mine publicly, and I’m doing it because I hope my stories, experiences, and thoughts will benefit and inspire others.

This blog is not intended to be about politics, but I’m going to spend a few minutes here on a bit of a political rant because it’s necessary to further my point. I am neither a leftwing liberal nor a rightwing conservative. Like the majority of hard-working Americans, I’m smack in the middle. In my defiant youth, I was an idealist, and I definitely identified as more of a Democrat. After joining the working world and having almost half of every paycheck go to taxes for failed government programs, while watching the majority of people on government assistance just continue to be unproductive and live comfortably off the hard work of others, I became a Republican. Over the past several years, my eyes have been fully opened to the fact that both parties are equally corrupt as fuck, and I don’t identify with either of them. I only continue to vote Republican because it’s the lesser of two evils. Let’s Go Brandon!!

So, what the fuck do I stand for? Freedom, baby. I am a constitutionalist and a patriot. I support the 1^st and 2^nd Amendments that our government is trying to destroy, and I believe in the ideals and values that this great nation was founded upon. And, in case it’s not blatantly obvious, I’m an outspoken female in my late 40’s with a strong belief in living a purposeful, intentional life, and my favorite word is “fuck.”

When it comes to freedom, and particularly the idea of freedom as an American, I am very passionate about protecting the rights and privileges that are only possible in this country because of the sacrifices and passions of those who came before me. Do I think America is perfect? No – far from it, actually. But we sure as fuck have it better here than almost anywhere in the world. The past few generations of Americans have had it so incredibly easy in this country that we’ve forgotten what our ancestors (and for some of us, our current friends and family) have fought for, sacrificed for, and died for. Over the years, we’ve conveniently allowed ourselves to become complacent, and we take our freedoms for granted because they have always been there in our lifetime.

Do we all have hardships in one way or another? Absolutely. That’s just a part of life. But, overall, as a nation, we’ve turned into whiny, privileged, spoiled, entitled fucks who’ve never had to experience what true hardship is. We’ve completely lost perspective on what this country is all about, how great America is, and how truly lucky we are to be living in a country founded on freedom. I’m not excluding myself in the “we” that I’m talking about here. Up until I became a cop, I definitely took my freedom for granted. I wrote an entire article on The Simple Life website about how I didn’t understand the importance of freedom until I was in a position where I felt I no longer had any.

Like many Americans, I don’t know what’s going to happen in the next few months or years in this country, and I don’t know where the actual truth lies with all of the deceptive government propaganda and stories being played out in the media. However, what I do know is that the shit going on in our country is fucking wrong, and I’m intelligent enough to realize that everything happening is purposeful and intentional sabotaging of America from the inside by our current federal administration.

While other countries train their military members to be prepared for war, we weaken our military by placing the focus on teaching woke critical race theory and celebrating gender diversity. We institute school curriculum that teaches kids they are inherently racist, and we promote gender reassignment surgery for 10-year-olds. Our government is forcing us to stop relying on our own natural resources (of which we have plenty in this country), and we are being falsely led to believe that the only answer to climate change is to have electric vehicles, when in truth they are more damaging to our power grid and more of a drain on natural resources than a fucking gasoline powered car. We have been so completely led astray by bullshit disinformation and intentional misdirection that most people have lost touch with reality and have no idea that their rights are literally being taken away piece by piece.

I’m sick of the false narratives being portrayed by the leftist media. I’m sick of the misdirected focus on nonsense like celebrating people for being “brave” by using “they/them” pronouns. I’m sick of virtue signaling, cancel culture, and pandering to ridiculous notions of inclusivity in a country that is already the most inclusive, accepting, and diverse country in the world! So, instead of burying my head in the sand and hoping shit will get better “after the midterms,” or that someone else will come along and be the voice that makes a difference, I’m choosing to join the small percentage of people who are speaking out for American freedom. I’m choosing to use my writing and leadership skills as a means to stand up for what I believe in and be a voice for those who are too afraid to speak up, too busy struggling to make ends meet to take care of their families, or who are equally as frustrated and angry as I am, but they just don’t know how to take action.

I’m not special. I’m not uniquely qualified to speak my truth more than anyone else is. I’m just done with the fucking bullshit, and I’ve reached a point where I refuse to lay down like a beaten dog and quietly accept tyranny and a communist takeover of my beloved country.

When I initially left my law enforcement career, my primary goal was to live a simple rural life, on a couple acres of property, far away from the bullshit. As much as I sound like I just walked off the set of “Braveheart,” I’m actually pretty chill. Like millions of other Americans, I just want to be left alone to do my thing and be a productive, contributing member of society. If the country wasn’t falling apart, I probably wouldn’t be starting this blog and spending what little free time I have furiously typing away on my computer. I’d be working on home projects, spending time with my animals outside (when it’s not too hot out), occasionally indulging in my guilty pleasure of watching “90 Day Fiancé” (Yes, all the seasons and all the spin-off shows…), and focusing on my daily gratitude and manifestation practices.

So, here’s the part where I talk about the second significant reason why I’m starting this blog – the importance of gratitude and feeling high vibe so I can focus on manifesting my best fucking life. What does that have to do with freedom, you ask? Everything.

Up until about 3 years ago, I didn’t give a fuck about gratitude, and I had no idea what manifesting was. Sure, I had heard of the Law of Attraction, but I thought all of that shit was for cultish hippie weirdos, like some of the friends my mom had when I was growing up. I believed the only way to be successful in life was through hard work, determination, and perseverance. I believed the only way to grow was through struggle. Grit and toughness 24-7! This was the mindset I had throughout my fire service and law enforcement careers, and, in truth, these attributes absolutely helped me achieve success. However, something was always missing. Sure, I thrived in all of my careers, but was I ever legitimately happy? No. Was I ever satisfied with my accomplishments? No. Did I take time to appreciate that fact that I was so fucking fortunate and blessed to be living in a country where I had the opportunity to achieve all of these incredible things? No. Did I truly love my life? Again, a resounding no.

For many years, I never felt like I was good enough or doing enough, no matter how successful I was, or how much cool shit I accomplished. As a kid, I was dorky, accident-prone (okay, I can’t lie – this is still a thing), and I had no athletic ability. I was artsy and creative, but I had low self-esteem and very little self-confidence. When I became an adult and decided to pursue career fields involving skills and abilities that didn’t come naturally to me, I overcompensated for my perceived lacking talents by pushing myself so hard that I would not allow myself to fail.

In some ways, this was the best thing I ever could have done for myself because I became a confident, driven, high achiever, and I did shit in my life beyond my wildest dreams. However, my confidence and drive were fueled by underlying fears and limiting beliefs. Having grown up as a shy, nerdy, uncoordinated, quiet, underachiever, I felt the need to constantly prove myself to others in order to feel successful. This was especially true for me being a small female working in high-testosterone male dominated fields. I lived in a constant state of believing my self-worth was tied to acceptance and approval from my peers, supervisors, friends, and family. It wasn’t until my mid-40’s that I realized this was a really shitty way to live.

Discovering the Law of Attraction was a significant part of my journey to achieve freedom because it was like discovering my true power. I realized that I am the only one in control of my thoughts and feelings, and I am the only one who can make the choice to level up my life. To quote the famous words of Eleanor Roosevelt, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” For most of my life, I had been allowing this to happen. When I came to this realization, I began to fully understand what true freedom is and how fucking important freedom is to me. Not just the concept of freedom that America was founded on, but the freedom of fully believing in who I am. Freedom to make my own choices and decisions. Freedom to trust myself and the path I’m choosing to take in my life. Freedom to not be influenced by the limiting beliefs and fears of others. Freedom to not give a shit about disappointing people by not being their version of perfect.

Understanding the power of gratitude and manifestation is what gave me the courage to stand up for my beliefs and decide to quit my law enforcement career. I had no fucking idea where my life was headed, but I had learned to trust in myself and trust in the Universe that things would always somehow work out for me.

My move to Texas was completely unexpected, and it happened before I even had time to process what the fuck I was doing. The whole thing was like a “wing and a prayer” situation, and it was one of the most stressful times of my life. I didn’t have a secure job lined up, my housing situation was up in the air, and the actual move itself was a fucking fiasco. My friends and family thought I was crazy to be taking this kind of risk, especially in my mid-40’s. Who the fuck does that…? Me, that’s who.

Even though at this point I had been practicing manifestation and daily gratitude for about a year, and I knew all signs were pointing to me taking this leap of faith, I was still scared as fuck. I’d never even heard of the city I was moving to until a few weeks beforehand, and I had no idea how I was going to support myself when I got there. Despite my fears, and all of the unknowns, I knew it was all going to work out somehow because this journey was in alignment with my ideals of freedom. And it turned out I was right. Against all odds, my realtor found me the perfect house, I ended up getting a full-time job, and I started down a new and exciting life path.

I spent over 20 years of my life dedicated to public safety because I believed that serving my community was my purpose in life. Even though I trusted the path the Universe was now paving for me, I was still apprehensive to completely leave that life behind. Although I was no longer a police officer, I was still holding onto the belief that in order to fulfill my life purpose, I needed to maintain a connection to that world, and I had plans to start a side business as a professional investigative consultant writer for law enforcement agencies. Once I got settled here, I applied for an LLC and wrote up a business plan. I believed I was on my way to developing a thriving entrepreneurial side gig, but the Universe stepped in once again… this time in the form of Gary Collins.

When I was given the opportunity to write articles for The Simple Life website, I jumped at the chance. After years of having to keep my personal opinions to myself and not being able to openly express my beliefs due to facing repercussions on the job as a police officer, I felt like I was suddenly being given a golden key to unlock my true potential for growth and live my best fucking life. Was I scared to put myself out there? Hell to the motherfucking yes. I don’t even share things about my personal life on social media, except for occasional pictures of animals and sunrises / sunsets, so the idea of speaking out about my experiences in a public forum was terrifying. Sure, I could easily speak with command presence and confidence in front of a room full of high-ranking city officials when talking about a homicide investigation, but writing details about my personal life on the internet? Um, no thank you.

Yet, I took the plunge and did it anyway. I set aside my fears, my limiting beliefs, and my doubts, and said fuck it, let’s do this. I trusted my gut, and all of the annoying little nudges and signs I was continually receiving from the Universe that I needed to do this. I wrote from a place of truth, vulnerability, and integrity, speaking as my authentic self and not as someone who was trying to start a professional writing business. In fact, I ended up totally fucking myself for any possibilities of writing for law enforcement agencies because I was now speaking from a very opinionated place, and not from the impartial and objective perspective that was the foundational platform for my business plan.

I struggled with this contradiction when I first started writing website articles. I had put a lot of time and effort into creating my intended business, and I had also involved several other people who were taking time out of their own busy lives to generously help me create my business plan and write me letters of recommendation. Initially, I felt like I had wasted their time, and mine, and I had a lot of guilt over this. However, that nagging, compelling voice in my head told me to keep writing articles and trust my journey, so I did. Side business be damned.

I’ve come to understand that in order to manifest my best fucking life, I must choose to embrace my journey and welcome all of the shit that comes along with it, including allowing myself to be authentic about my love of manifesting and being in a high vibration with the Universe. I used to be embarrassed about my belief in the Law of Attraction, and it was something I kept hidden from my friends and family. I didn’t want them thinking I’d lost my mind and was doing some weird cult shit. When I first started learning about this stuff, I also didn’t know if I fully believed in the concept of manifestation. I had a fuck ton of doubts, and I felt incredibly ridiculous and uncomfortable walking around my house reciting positive affirmations and visualizing myself living the life I wanted. But, when I started a practice of daily gratitude, my views changed. Gratitude is the shit. When I’m in a high vibration of gratitude, the Universe fucking listens, and amazing things happen in my life.

I’ve also come to understand that in order to be in alignment with my true self and show up the way I believe I am destined to in this life, I need to stop resisting and pushing away my natural talents. I need to let go of the limiting beliefs that whisper in my ear about how nobody is going to care about reading the life experiences and rambling opinions of a middle-aged woman living in rural Texas. I need to stop giving in to my fears that I will be judged for what I am writing. I need to stop fucking procrastinating and just do the damn thing.

Writing and public speaking are my strongest assets, and I now know that everything I’ve done up to this point in my life has been purposefully aligned to help me hone and sharpen these abilities, preparing me for this moment. I recently started working with an incredible manifestation coach, and she has been instrumental in encouraging me to use my passion for writing on a larger and more impactful scale. I took baby steps when I started writing articles for The Simple Life, and now I’m taking the deep dive into creating my own writing platform.

So, what’s going to come of me writing this blog? I literally have no fucking idea. All I know is I’m being supported and encouraged by the Universe and some amazing people in my life to put this shit out into the world, so that’s what I’m doing. I’ll be telling some stories (likely embarrassing ones), sharing some opinions (probably politically incorrect ones), and hopefully relating my life experiences in a way that supports and inspires people to stand up for the values they believe in and take the steps (no matter how small!) to make the changes necessary to manifest their own best fucking lives in the process.

If anything I’ve written resonates with you, bookmark this site and stick around for upcoming posts. I’ve got a lot of shit to talk about. And if you have patriotic friends and family who believe in freedom and common sense, and are looking to hear from a like-minded voice, please share this blog!

Unapologetically Outspoken,

Tara

Links to my Simple Life articles:

https://thesimplelifenow.com/in-search-of-the-simple-life/

https://thesimplelifenow.com/how-the-threat-of-losing-my-freedom-pushed-me-to-find-my-voice/

https://thesimplelifenow.com/policing-in-america-new-and-old-strageties-for-success/

https://thesimplelifenow.com/my-path-to-self-reliance-and-living-the-simple-life/

https://thesimplelifenow.com/the-mental-health-side-to-the-simple-life/

Category: General

Women in Male-Dominated Jobs… Can We Really Do It?

Addressing My Potty Mouth

How I Ended Up Starting This Blog…