I talk to God about you and I ask Him what you’re doing.  I hope He hears me. I hope you do, too.

I imagine you walking through fields of flowers, flowers I’ve never seen, but I try to cling to the colors of what might be.  I wonder if your hair is still red, do you still have freckles, and if your hazel brown eyes are still the same. I hope I would recognize you if I saw you, but I can’t be sure..  You’ve visited me in dreams, just like you were on this Earth, and in those dreams you look the same, but I know you’re different, too.

Is your house beautiful?  Is it a cottage like you dreamed?  Are Sawyer and Sally there? How close do you live to Mamaw and Papaw?  Granny and Papaw? I have so many questions, six months worth of what ifs and what could I have done differently and every variant thereof.  I sleep under a blanket of your pictures and it was supposed to just be for a while, but now it’s comforting. Sometimes I lay my face against your picture and cry.  Sometimes I just whisper, “Oh, Mommy” and sometimes, I don’t say anything at all.

I think Heaven is real and you are there.  I think about it a lot. I think about what it would be like to hug you again and feel you embrace me with both arms wrapped around me.  I want to ask what it’s like to have full use of that left arm, to feel no nerve pain, to be whole. I never wished for more time or prayed for it.  I just prayed that you wouldn’t suffer because I knew I could handle thinking about what you have gained easier than I could watching you deteriorate.  I told you that in 2016. I said, “Mommy, I can do this. I can put you on the point [family cemetery]. I can do this life without you before I can watch you suffer on this Earth” and we both teared up, eyes big, staring at each other.  Your eyes told me you didn’t want to leave me as much as I never wanted you to.

I wish for more time now.  I have a lot of trouble with the last two and a half months of your life and coming to terms with not seeing you enough.  We talked everyday, but I didn’t visit enough and I didn’t change my routine. I remember lamenting over not wanting you to feel like I thought you were dying.  I can’t explain it; I knew you were dying, but I didn’t think you really would, which I realize sounds insane. After you died, 3 books about healing scriptures came in the mail to you.  You ordered them at the beginning of October, so I don’t think you thought you were dying, either. You didn’t plan to leave me here. You didn’t plan to leave on my birthday.

My life is measured in who I was before 10/24/17 and who I am after; Those two people are not the same.  In some ways, I am much better. The kindness and softness you offered people is something I aspire to have and be and something I could never quite reach prior to losing you.  Maybe it’s part of my call to fill that gap, though I will never be as kind and inviting as you, I imagine. I feel like I have aged in dog years in the last 183 days. I feel like it’s been one million years and one day all at the same time.



Everything I have written since October has been some form of a letter to my Mom.  It’s gut-wrenching to read anything I wrote just after her passing and relive that initial loss and pain.  I try to go there as little as possible. I thought I would shift gears in this particular blog and change the voice and stop writing as if I am speaking to her.  I am always speaking to her. I carry her with me in my heart everywhere, but life requires me to be present and I have to keep pressing and pushing myself forward.

I could probably teach a masterclass in loss and grief.  If you’re reading this, you might know me personally or you just follow on social media. You’ve likely watched as my posts veered away from my Mom and back to real life.  Life continued and that is still the craziest thing to me. I had to go on. At some point I realized that moving forward was not forgetting my Mom because of course I could never do that.  Moving forward was healthy, it was living, it was part of the process. The long, never ending, arduous process of grief.

For several months after she passed, time stood still.  I went through the motions of holidays but I don’t remember much about any of those particular days.  On New Year’s Eve, Chad and I went to a friend’s house and I had to heavily self medicate because I was so worried someone would ask me how I was doing.  Spoiler — absolutely awful was the answer. I hardly remember anything about that night other than being in a room full of people I love but feeling like I wasn’t there at all.  I was different, but I knew I had to find my way back to myself.

More often than not, tears sting my eyes at the mention of her name.  When I see pictures of her, I cry and smile at the same time. The joy my Mom brought to my life was unspeakable and everything since her passing has been marked with tangible sadness, but still, we move forward.  She would want it that way. Mom would want her legacy to go on exactly how she lived; full of hope, kindness, and love for people and the Lord. She would want nothing more than for all things concerning her homegoing to be worked together for her children and grandchildren’s good.  She placed her entire life firmly upon that word found in Romans.

I miss my Mom.  Every second of every single day.  I’m not lying when I tell you that a single hour does not pass without her crossing my mind.  I was her clingy child, I held her hand as an adult when we were in public together, I rested my head on her shoulder in church, I was very affectionate with her to the point that I probably annoyed the life out of her.  Never did I truly envision my life without her, without her voice, her laugh, the hilarious faces she would make during conversations, her sometimes too close talking, and how she would bug her eyes out and just peer right at you.  I just didn’t know how this would be. The answer is hard. It’s very hard.

My love for her transcends time and space.  No matter where she is in the universe, she is with me in my heart.  I hold on to that when things get hard, when I feel like I can’t go on without her.  My sweet little Mommy, the most beautiful person I have or will ever know.


light bulb moments & other ramblings

Hi, my name is Alena, and I love pizza. And ice cream. And Doritos. And wine. And cheese! And… and… and…

The list, it goes on and on and on and on.  I freakin’ love food, y’all.  People who are all ‘Nothing tastes as good as being skinny feels’ are lying to you and themselves and just no.  No, guys.  Coupled right there with folks who say, ‘Oh, I forgot to eat’ — LOL!  What?!  I literally plan my whole day around food.  Seriously, the night before, I plug all my food into my macros app and I’m like OH THANK GOD I GET TO EAT PIZZA TOMORROW or HOLY COW I CAN’T WAIT TO HAVE ICE CREAM and that is just me and that is who I am.

I love food.  But, I’m writing today to talk about my relationship with food and how it used to dominate my self worth through a number.  I want to be honest with y’all about how much I used to not like myself and how much I still struggle with what I see in the mirror every single day.

Okay, so the first thing I do when I wake up is obviously pee, and then weigh myself.  Every. Single. Morning.  I weigh myself and it is literally never the same as the day before.  Then, I go to the mirror in my bedroom and lift my shirt up and look at how ‘bloated’ my stomach looks that day.  On January 1st, I promised my husband that I would stop talking poorly about myself and I would stop my negative thought processes.  So, I still do my morning routine, it’s my thing, whatever.  When I used to roll my eyes and sigh heavily, I now literally laugh at myself (because this routine is honestly kind of silly) and pat my stomach and say something nice about it.

Does that sound crazy? Hear me out!

Back in the fall my therapist told me to start talking to myself in the mirror every day and saying positive things.  I laughed and never did it.  Because how silly, right?  Around the same time, I was starting my journey in an online fitness community and I really started to get into feeling strong and good about myself.  Then Christmas came and I ate 234234023478234 cookies and you know, I did the ol typical reset on January 1 deal.  But, I meant it this time.  ESPECIALLY with positive self talk.  Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had setbacks, but with the encouragement of my trainer and the people in that group, I feel like I am finally getting somewhere.

I do not have a perfect body.  For several years I took Wellbutrin and I lost about 20 pounds easily because it is a stimulant and yay for me.  When Wellbutrin stopped working and made me an absolutely unbearable human being, I started taking an SNRI and may God himself please bless my metabolism.  It’s awful, and here we are.  Where I used to be able to eat Wendy’s a couple of times a week and run every once in a while and weigh 140, I now workout 5/6 times a week and consistently weigh about 150/155.

Let’s take a quick timeout: I’m being honest about numbers here in the spirit of complete and total transparency and I am not attempting to trigger anyone.  Listen to me, everyone’s battle is different.  Just because you think I look great, doesn’t mean I think it, and you have no way to gauge with is going on with me psychologically.  One of the most hurtful things is belittling someone’s struggle because it doesn’t mirror yours.  Don’t do that!  Don’t be that guy!

So back to loving food, etc.  While I am really working hard on self love, I’m also really working hard on getting stronger physically.  My body isn’t perfect, but it’s pretty freakin’ awesome if you ask me.  I can squat heavy weight, I can run a couple solid miles, I can walk for days, I can lift heavy things, I have SO MUCH endurance and you know what doesn’t measure those gains?  A scale.

Stop right now and say it out loud, say it to yourself, look at your significant other, look at your cat and/or dog and say it — A. SCALE. DOES. NOT. MEASURE. MY. SELF. WORTH.

Your body does awesome things.  If you are reading this, your body might be something you don’t love and I am here for you, I get that on a spiritual level.  But, you are strong, beautiful, intelligent, and so worth the love that you undoubtedly give others!  Just take a second and look in the mirror and find something you love about you.  You being you is an awesome thing.

A couple days ago I was talking to my friend Jenn and I showed her a picture of a woman I follow on Instagram who is recovering from an eating disorder and is a body positivity activist (I don’t really know if that’s the right word for it).  I seriously adore her and her posts. I capped a post and said, “I think her body is beautiful” and Jenn said, “It is, but I don’t understand how you can see her and think she is beautiful and not think the same of yourself.” and dude, that resonated with me.  I stared at that picture and I thought, why on this Earth do I hate myself so much for just being me?  It was like a light bulb went off in my head.

For the entirety of my life, I have tied my self worth to a number — either the number on a scale, or the number on a label.  I claimed that I conquered that demon when those numbers were what I thought were ‘acceptable’ and then, poof, I was back to real life and hating myself more than ever. The bucks stops right here.

I am here to tell you that I struggle every single day.  I love food, I want to eat every minute of every day, I eat when I get bored, I eat when I’m happy, I eat when I’m sad, I just like to eat.  A restrictive diet is not an option for me.  I never plan to diet again, honestly.  Ever. My goals are to be healthy and enjoy life.  So, when I say I plug my food into my macro app, I am telling you that choose whole foods and sometimes I choose pizza.  My life has been so deeply devoid of balance, and finding that balance has given me a new lease.  A new outlook.  A new appreciation for loving myself and most importantly, what my story can do for you if you’re reading this and feel like I feel or have felt.

You are not alone!  I am a 30 year old woman with major depressive disorder and generalized anxiety disorder who is not scared to admit it. Not every day is great.  Honestly, the last 4/6 weeks have been hell.  But, sometimes, you have these moments of clarity and you decide you’re going to do the damn thing, whatever the ‘thing’ may be.

Whatever it is, you’ve got this.

**not proofread, don’t judge me**


sunday evening coffee break

Evenin’ y’all.

Last week, I said I was going to start a weekly reflection series and I’m totally trying to stick with that.  However, last week, I called it Sunday Morning Coffee Break, and I’m gonna be real — I’ve barely gotten out of bed until this evening.  Not because of depression (as outlined in my last update), but because I decided to take the day for lazy.  There’s nothing like doing literally nothing, and even though I’ve cooked two meals and been to Walmart, I’ve still had a solid reset which I desperately needed.

On Friday I started bi-weekly therapy and I feel really good about it.  One of my biggest fears in talking to someone about my ‘problems’ is them thinking that my problems aren’t real or they are stupid.  I hate feeling stupid.  Ask Chad, ask anyone that knows me really well, I will NOT do anything that makes me feel dumb.  It’s a huge complex that I have and it correlates with not being good at something (whatever the task may be).  If I am not good at something, I will literally never try it again.  It’s maddening.  And silly.

Anyway, I can’t tell you how many times I said to my therapist, “I feel so stupid” and she would gently assure me that whatever I feel is valid, and it is certainly not stupid.  I told her how difficult it is for me to be honest with people about what I struggle with because outwardly, I seem very together, and people often dismiss me and move on.  That’s one of the most painful things you can ever deal with in mental illness and insecurities, someone saying, “What do you have to be so upset about?” — it feels like a knife in the chest, especially if you REALLY love that person.  You honestly have no real idea what someone is struggling with internally, and a gentle, “I’m here for you” is far more beneficial than criticism and harsh words.  Ahem.

I think therapy is going to be a really good thing.  I am really trying to pull out of this awful depression place and for the last 3 days, I have felt more like myself.  I have often thought that I struggle with Seasonal Affective Disorder, because around the same time every year, when the sun sets earlier and the days get shorter (even slightly so), I tend to struggle.  Hence the the reset today.

On September 1st, I started a bootcamp challenge with Jamison and Emma and I’m super pumped about it.  I desperately want to master my macros, eat better more consistently, and learn some new workouts.  The best news is, I haven’t blown it this weekend with my eating.  I can work out and kill it, but my eating is an atrocity.  Y’all.  I absolutely love to eat, I can never tell you how much.  Eating brings me so much happiness, especially when I am going through depression issues.  It’s the only thing that clicks and even though I can make myself workout, I can’t make myself dial in my eating.  So, making it through this whole weekend and staying within my guidelines has been super inspiring for me.  I’m excited to wake up and destroy a workout in the morning.  I also bought Oreos at the store, so what am I really even talking about?!

Honestly, I hope September is a touch more kind to me than August was.  I struggled with a pulled muscle, depression, and just over all a bad month.  So, I’m excited to see the calendar change and get another shot at the next 30 days.  The first 4 days have been pretty stellar, so here’s hoping.  Well.  Other than Kentucky football.  That’s enough to shove you into depression and make you drink, guys.

Happy Labor Day, everybody.  Enjoy your Monday off.  🙂

credits to you if you made this and I stole it from you

I want to break up with depression.

I often wonder what it’s like to love someone through depression.  I thank my husband almost daily for sticking with me and never flinching at my darkest moments, my most graphic breakdowns, or when I just can’t participate in life.  Still, I feel extremely selfish.  I know that he loves me and even though I have always been clear about how unwell I can be, I feel selfish that such a good, kind-hearted person is stuck with me.  He chose me, sure, but could he have really known how deep my depression can run?  How debilitating my anxiety can be?  There’s no way to understand the emotional cave that I back myself into, and most of the time, all he can do is watch it happen.

This might scare you, but I haven’t wanted to be alive for the last two weeks.  I’ve tried, I’ve counted the reasons to stay on this Earth, and it always ends with me begging God to just take me.  No, I don’t have a plan to commit suicide, I just don’t want to be here.  I don’t want to wake up and go to my job, I don’t want to participate in social functions, I don’t want to do anything but lie in my bed and wait, knowing that if I didn’t wake up, I would be in a much better place.  Still, it’s extremely scary to feel that way.  I’m getting help, I’m praying, I’m adjusting medications.  This is the truth of a chemical imbalance.  Like it or not, you don’t have to believe in it and you can think I’m crazy, but this is my real life from time to time.

Still, it genuinely tugs on me when I think about what Chad sees.  I’ve spent the majority of my teenage and adult life struggling with these feelings, but only for the last few years have I really considered how it impacts someone else.  I’ve never thought about what it feels like for your spouse to look at you and admit that sometimes they don’t want to be alive.  Chad knows me, he knows that if it went too far, I would reach out and ask him to help me, or to intervene.  But, still.  What a horrible blow to the stomach when someone you love is in so much pain and you can’t just fix it.

And really, that’s the thing.  You can’t just fix it.  You can only be patient and love someone through it.  You can only be present, and say I love you, I’m here for you.  The worst thing you can say is, “you’ll get over it” or “what do you even have to be sad about” — that doesn’t help.  That makes it worse.  For all the times someone has said that to me, it only makes my guilt dig a little deeper for being so broken.  I will not ever feel like I deserve the unconditional love of someone as good as Chad, but I also very clearly realize he is mine because he can handle this.  And I thank God for it.

For today, I am on the upswing.  I don’t feel that vacant, empty feeling in my chest.  I don’t feel the weight bearing down on me like a load of bricks stacked tall on my shoulders.  I’m excited about the long weekend, I can’t wait to unwind and enjoy some time at home, and I’m hopeful this downward pattern will not continue. You must know that I don’t choose this.  I would never wish these feelings on anyone, not even my worst enemy.  If you are reading this and someone you love is suffering with depression, don’t give up on them.  Speak gently, love fiercely, and know what they are going through bears no reflection on you or your relationship with them.

sunday morning coffee break

So, I wanna start a weekly blog that I write to recap the ridiculousness of life in a normal week.  I was thinking about this last night before I came home to find that my dog had destroyed another door way in my house, and I came up with “sunday morning coffee break” because I love drinking coffee early on Sunday mornings and kind of reflecting on what happened in the previous week and thinking about the week ahead.  Typically it causes me great anxiety and this is week is no different.  So, this should be fun!

literally me this entire week

Let’s start with…. Things That Made Me Feel Like A Huge Failure This Week

  1. (I have no idea how many of these there will be) Not being able to work because anxiety destroyed my life on Monday.  Not being able to do the job you’ve been doing for 10 years because you have a mental breakdown at your desk (not even work related!) and realizing that you need to go home and get in bed — that’ll make you feel like you suck.  Using your own paid time off that you’re trying your best to save up for having a baby (thanks no federally mandated paid parental leave, America.  Only first world nation to have this issue) a couple of years from now will make you feel like you suck.  Knowing over all that you seriously just suck at adulting will make you feel like a huge failure.  Thanks, anxiety.  Go jump out of a moving vehicle.
  2. Your dog eating through not ONE but TWO doorways in your house, through the drywall, down to the studs because he apparently has more anxiety than you do will make you feel like you suck. Feeling like a horrible pet parent because you want to get rid of said dog will make you feel like you suck.  Having no answers makes you feel like you suck.  Not wanting to get rid of your dog because you really love him, but you really love your house that you’re paying for for the next 29 years will make you feel like you suck. So, we’ve had Trevor for 2 years.  We have no real grasp of what he went through the 2 years before we adopted him, so I don’t think he can help whatever triggers his anxiety (NEWSFLASH: NEITHER CAN I! I feel you, Trevs).  Needless to say, ol Trev will be crated when we leave the house.  It’s frustrating because we’ve been in this house for almost a year, and suddenly after being perfectly fine, he’s like LET’S KILL EVERYTHING.  I’m not a bad pet Mom, so don’t pet Mom shame me.  I can’t handle SanctiMommy Pet Mommying — I’ll get enough of that if I ever have a kid.
  3. Your period will make you feel like a failure.  Not because I want to be pregnant, but because periods are just horrible.  Enough said.
  4. Breaking down to your psychologist because your SSRI has made you gain weight and thusly triggered body image issues quite literally from the pits of hell.  I can’t tell you all how much I hate myself and how I look.  How much I don’t love myself.  It’s disgusting and embarrassing to discuss.  So, you aren’t alone.  Whoever you are reading this.
  5. Starting to “sell” something because I seriously ADORE the products but I’ve always poo pooed selling stuff.  But, whatever.  Perfectly Posh is amazing and not having huge cystic acne on my chin proves it.  I’m serious.  I don’t “sell” stuff.  I used these products and tripped out because they are so good and so affordable.  So, do this pathetic anxiety ridden wonder a solid and go to https://alenachughes.po.sh/ and look around.  You wont be sad about ANYTHING you buy.  I haven’t used one product that I’m not flipping out over how great it makes my skin feel.
  6. I don’t have a 6.

THIS BLOG HAS BEEN SO NEGATIVE!  But, I had to get it out there.  I had to get it off my chest.  It’s not all bad!  The drywall can be fixed, Trevor is a great dog, my period will go away, my anxiety is manageable (HAHAHAHA), and I’m working on loving myself with hopefully the help of Jesus, a therapist, and exercise.  Not every week is great, that’s my point.  Not every week will be good, and that’s just real life.

I’m gonna get up and get my house cleaned up, listen to some Christian music, take my Effexor, and get this new week started. Can y’all relate that sometimes it just all goes bad and all you can do is sit back and let your husband MJ cry face your picture and go on with life?  I’m sure you can.  And you are not alone!  Well, we are not alone.  This little collection of folks who comes here to read what I have to say, get a laugh, and go on, thank you.

Lets make it through this next week together.  Or with alcohol if it’s anything like last week, okay.

If you see something, say something.

My sister in law sent me a text a couple of months ago and used the phrase ‘if you see something, say something’ and that really stuck with me.  I’d never really heard that phrase used in such a context.  Anxiety has always taught me that nobody really wants my opinion, my compliments aren’t valuable nor are they wanted, and it’s better that I just keep my mouth shut than put myself out on a limb and reach out to someone.

I’m saying…. to heck with that.

When you reach out to another person, your ego is on the line.  That’s why it’s easier to sit silently and let words go unsaid.  Rejection is a lot bigger and a lot more all encompassing than being turned down for a date.  Rejection in friendships hurt.  Reaching out and getting little in return is an anxiety suffers nightmare, which is why when folks lose touch (a natural part of life) people like me tend to never reach out again after an incident of being shut out.  Personally, my nightmare is passive aggressive behavior.  Something I have worked on, at length, in the last 8 months is ridding that behavior from my life.  I’m certainly not perfect, but I find it to be infinitely more productive to mean exactly what I say and to not lay out a code and hope others find some sort of inference in my shade. [If you are reading this and thinking ‘well, this whole post is micro-aggression’, you’re wrong. I am speaking strictly to my own intentions with words and my own behavior.]

But seriously, why are we silent when we have something to say that could brighten someone’s day?  A genuine smile and a compliment to your cashier at the grocery store, a comment on a picture of an old friend, reaching out to someone and asking how life is, these are all easy things.  For me, now, it’s less about what response I get in return and more about knowing that I made the effort to put positivity out there.  I didn’t let words hang in the air and go unsaid out of fear of rejection.  Learning to navigate life since addressing my struggles with anxiety has been all about casting fear out and letting kindness and love in.

Human interaction is difficult.  Heck, guys.  Being a person in this world is hard.  It’s not easy taking on the task of different personalities, someone’s deeply felt hurt, and coming out on the positive side.  In my mind, the best thing we can all do is continually extend kindness to one another.  Granted, in so many cases, some folks are just deeply nasty and maybe don’t deserve it, but it’s not about them.  It’s about you.  It’s about how soundly you can sleep at night knowing that you projected kindness and positivity as much as possible that day.  The sooner we all stop giving people the interaction they ‘deserve’ and start giving them the interaction that is best for our own mental and emotional well being, we will plainly see how positivity shapes things.

In the spirit of full disclosure, for the entirety of writing this, anxiety has told me that I am a joke, a fraud, a liar.  That I am not truly a kind person because I have a sarcastic personality and I struggle with various issues including my own pride.  That people will roll their eyes and talk about how fake I am and I shouldn’t even post this blog.  That is okay.  Every single day is a struggle, every interaction will not always be positive, and that’s just part of life.  Nothing is perfect.  But, I feel like there’s at least one person reading this who agrees that they feel uplifted when someone simply offers them kindness.

So, today, if you see something, say something.  If you’re scrolling through your social media feeds and a friend looks beautiful, tell them.  If their child made you smile, tell them.  If you miss someone, say it.  If you love someone, say it.  There’s no good reason in this world to hold onto those words today or any other day.

Happy Sunday, everybody.

Alena, why are you the way that you are? Idk.

So, I’m gonna try to shine up this turd a little bit.  My Mama and I had a big long talk yesterday about my writing wherein she really encouraged me to do this thing.  I mean, how many freakin’ times have I said I am gonna do this thing?  Who knows.  I looked back in my archives and I’ve got blogs dating back to 2012, so I’ve been trying to turn over a cold engine for four years.  But, this time, I feel like I might be onto something.

While I can’t really tell you if I will ever ‘make it’ as a writer or a blogger or whatever, it’s seriously the only thing I have ever been good at other than eating and sleeping.  I’m the Michael Phelps of naps and snacks, for sure, but not really anything else.   I’ve never really been able to come up with a sleek title to this blog, the dang hyperlink is just my name, and that’s always really annoyed me.  There has to be something that sets me a part, right?  I have thought that to myself approximately 3024823094823904823490823490 times and typically come to the conclusion that no, there’s really not, and my grammar isn’t even that great, so I go on with my day.  But, here I am again with a new title/look, and a new approach.  Kind of.

I always get the best ideas when I’m running and by the time I get back to my house, I forget them.  A couple of weeks ago, I had the beginning of a beautiful blog about growing up in Appalachia planned, and literally forgot every single word by the time I sat down at my laptop.  Still don’t remember it.  I just know I really like being from a small, Appalachian town, even if every single human in this whole place fundamentally and vehemently disagrees with me.  I drive around in my little old lady Rav 4 with my Hillary Clinton bumper sticker just to make people uncomfortable.  Guys, I love it.  It cracks me up when people speed up on 23 to pass me and stare me down.  I mean, I flat out cackle.  Sometimes I even smile and wave.  I physically cannot help myself.

Anyway, my point (that previous paragraph wasn’t even a point) is, I don’t have an angle.  My sister told me last night, “your angle is your honesty” and that’s true.  I’m honest about being a big ol feminist, a big ol liberal, and a big ol Christian and I get those things don’t go together for some of y’all.  I don’t have the chops for a lifestyle or design blog, I don’t want to just talk about politics because ew, I don’t want to just talk about Kentucky Basketball even though I love it pert near sinfully, I can’t Mommy blog because I don’t have kids, I don’t want to Christian Wife blog because I’m not cut out (nor do I want to) tell you what you are doing wrong (and all I am doing sooooo right!), the list goes on, and on, and on, and on.  So, why not write about everything?  Right?

Truth is, I grew up in a holler in eastern Kentucky.  I have a bachelor’s degree that I don’t use, but still consider myself a student of history.  On any given day, I answer an estimated gazillion phone calls and people get my name wrong at least once.  Alena isn’t an easy name to say with a thick drawl anyhow.  I’m not country, but I am country.  I say stuff like pert near and anyhow to be funny, but don’t regularly use them in every day language.  I do sometimes use really colorful language and that’s hard for people to reconcile with my Jesus loving and I’m sorta sorry for it, but y’know, you aren’t me so don’t worry about it.  If you are reading this, I have probably hurt your feelings, but little do you know that I have probably worried myself to death thinking about how I hurt you.  I cope daily with major depressive disorder and generalized anxiety disorder.   Facebook politics drives me absolutely insane, I hate ill researched political memes, and Lord, I dislike Donald Trump even more than all of that.

Y’all know this stuff.  If you’re new here (oh my gosh, hi!!!!), you’re learning it.  So, maybe I’ll cover a little bit of everything.  Maybe one blog will be for you and the next one wont be.  Regardless, I promise you it’ll be the most sincere thing you’ll read today or that day or whatever day you stumble across this hot mess.  I’m gonna talk about marriage and fitness and macros and stuff you hate, but maybe stuff you love like pizza, Doritos, sour beers, and cats.  Wait, that’s just stuff I love.  Maybe you just wanna pop in here and creep, or maybe you just wanna feel better about your own life.  That’s fine, too.  I’m good for it. I don’t know how to really get this thing off the ground, but scouts honor, I’m giving it an honest go this time.