What I’m Learning About Stabilizing My Days

I have begun to notice that if I create a plan sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. When it works it includes space to breathe and rest. When it doesn’t, it’s because there is absolutely no structure — or very little.

For a long time, I thought the problem was over-planning
. I assumed that needing structure meant I was trying to control too much. But what I’m starting to see is the opposite. The plans that fail aren’t the structured ones. They’re the vague ones. The hopeful ones. The ones built on the assumption that I’ll “just manage.”

When I leave my days too open, I drift. I underestimate fatigue. I say yes without checking tomorrow’s cost. I end up reacting instead of choosing.

But when I build in shape — not rigidity, just shape — my days feel steadier.

Shape looks like this:

A recovery hour placed on purpose.
A walk measured in time instead of distance.
Meal components stored in a way that protects future energy.
Evenings that are intentionally simple.

I realized that if recovery is important, it can’t live in my head — it has to live in my phone. Good intentions aren’t enough. Reminders, alarms, and anchors turn intention into something visible. If it isn’t scheduled, I tend to negotiate it away.

This week, that structure showed up in small ways. I went to class on a day I wasn’t sure I could manage it — and instead of collapsing afterward, I had a protein shake ready and a quiet evening planned. I set up medication reminders so I’m not relying on memory. I placed posture resets into my day instead of hoping I’d remember. None of it is impressive. But all of it reduces friction.

None of these are dramatic changes. They’re small design decisions. But I’m noticing something important: when I include space to rest inside the structure, the structure holds. When I leave everything loose, I end up more tired, not less.

That has surprised me.

I used to think freedom meant fewer plans. Now I’m beginning to think freedom might mean thoughtful ones — the kind that assume my energy is limited and fluctuating, not endless and dependable.

I’m also noticing that the plans that work don’t push me to expand. They protect me from collapse. They stabilize.

And stabilization, at this stage of life, may be more valuable than expansion.

I’m not trying to build bigger days. I’m trying to build days that don’t undo me.

As we move toward March, I find myself thinking more about recovery, about endurance that is gentle, about growth that is steady instead of dramatic. I don’t have it fully figured out. I’m simply watching what works and what doesn’t — and adjusting.

As of today, what works includes structure with breathing room.

That feels like something worth continuing.

I don’t know that this is a formula. It’s simply what I’m noticing right now.

When there is no structure, I feel scattered. When there is too much pressure, I feel trapped. But when there is gentle structure — with breathing room built in — my days feel steadier. Not exciting. Not dramatic. Just steadier.

And steady, I’m learning, is not a small thing.

At this stage of life, with chronic illness as a constant companion, I’m less interested in proving what I can still do and more interested in protecting what allows me to keep doing it. That shift feels quiet, but significant.

So as February closes, I’m not setting big goals. I’m paying attention. I’m noticing what holds and what unravels. I’m keeping the pieces that support me and letting the others fall away.

If you’re in a similar season, you may be seeing your own patterns emerging. Not grand resolutions. Just small adjustments that make tomorrow a little more manageable than yesterday.

For now, that feels like enough.

Living Well After 60 With Chronic Illness: Why Energy Is My Real Currency

1. The Currency I Didn’t Know I Was Spending

I used to think time was my most limited resource. Lately I’ve realized it’s energy.

The shift didn’t happen in a doctor’s office or during some dramatic health scare. It happened in the middle of making lunch wraps. I had everything laid out on the counter — tuna mixed with Greek yogurt, sliced turkey, steak, spinach, tortillas. I was assembling them automatically, thinking I was being efficient, when I stopped mid-roll and wondered: Will this still be good in three days? Should I freeze it? Should I store everything separately?

It wasn’t really about food safety.

It was about tomorrow.

If I assemble everything now and it goes soggy, I’ll have wasted both food and effort. If I freeze something that doesn’t thaw well, I’ll feel frustrated and start over. If I store the components separately, I give myself options. I reduce friction for a future day when my energy may be lower than it is right now.

Standing there with a tortilla in my hand, I realized I wasn’t just prepping lunch. I was deciding how much of tomorrow’s energy I was willing to spend today.

That same realization followed me into travel planning. We’re heading to Old Montréal in September. Years ago I would have looked at a map and counted attractions. How many churches? How many museums? How much could we cover in a day?

This time I measured by hours.

One hour of walking. Two fifteen-minute rest stops. Time to sit with coffee without feeling behind. Time to eat lunch without pushing through fatigue. I even built in weather adjustments so a rainy day wouldn’t become a lost day — just a different one.

Planning rest stops on purpose felt almost rebellious. Not rest because I collapsed. Rest because I decided.

That’s when the word intention started to feel less like a slogan and more like a survival skill.

After sixty, and especially with chronic illness, energy is not predictable. It fluctuates. It vanishes without warning. It does not respond well to pressure. And yet most of the advice we’re given still sounds like it’s written for someone with a full tank.

What I’m beginning to understand is this: quality of life isn’t built on how much we can squeeze into a good day. It’s built on how carefully we design our days so the hard ones don’t undo us.

Energy, not time, is the real currency now.

And intention is how I decide where to spend it.

2. The Old Question: “Can I Still Do This?”

For a long time, my measuring stick was the past.

Can I still walk as far as I used to?
Can I still manage a full sightseeing day?
Can I still prep a week’s worth of meals in one afternoon?

It’s a quiet comparison, but it’s constant.

For women managing chronic illness after sixty, that comparison can become exhausting. We remember what a “normal” day felt like. We remember moving through a grocery store without scanning for benches. We remember planning travel without calculating recovery time.

When we ask, Can I still do this? what we’re really asking is, Am I shrinking?

That question carries more weight than we admit. It brushes up against independence. Capability. Identity.

And sometimes the answer is uncomfortable.

No, I can’t walk six hours straight anymore.
No, I can’t stack three big commitments in one day and expect to feel fine tomorrow.
No, I can’t ignore the cost of overextending.

But that question — Can I still do this? — is built on a flawed premise.

It assumes the goal is to replicate the past.

3. The Better Question: “How Do I Design This Differently?”

When I shifted the question, everything softened.

Instead of asking whether I could still manage Old Montréal the way I might have twenty years ago, I asked: How can I design this trip so it works for me now?

That’s how the one-hour walking blocks appeared.
That’s how the scheduled rest stops became intentional instead of accidental.
That’s how café time became part of the plan instead of a guilty delay.

The same thing happened in my kitchen.

Instead of pushing through meal prep in one burst of efficiency, I started thinking in systems. What keeps the ingredients fresh longer? What reduces decision-making on a low-energy day? What protects me from having to start over?

Storing the components separately may not feel impressive. Planning fewer sights per day may not look ambitious. A no-spend evening at home may not look exciting.

But each of those decisions says the same thing:

I am designing around my energy, not pretending it doesn’t matter.

That shift changes everything.

Designing differently doesn’t mean doing less in a defeated way. It means doing things in a structured way that supports tomorrow’s version of me. It means acknowledging that recovery time is real. That inflammation is real. That fatigue is not laziness.

It means building margin on purpose.

4. Intention as a Filter

This is where my word of the year — intention — stopped being abstract.

Intention has become a filter I run things through before I commit.

Does this respect my energy?
Is this worth the cost tomorrow?
Can I structure this so I’m not borrowing from next week?

That filter applies to travel.
It applies to food.
It applies to spending.
It applies to creativity.

It’s not about shrinking life.

It’s about stabilizing it.

For many of us, chronic illness makes energy unpredictable. We can’t always increase it. But we can reduce unnecessary drains. We can build systems that make good days steadier and hard days softer.

That, I’m discovering, is where quality of life quietly improves.

Not in dramatic reinvention.

But in thoughtful design.

5. Quality of Life Isn’t Built on Big Days

I’m not trying to build a bigger life than I had before illness.

I’m trying to build a steadier one.

There’s a difference.

A bigger life chases full calendars, ambitious itineraries, impressive productivity. A steadier life asks quieter questions. It leaves room. It assumes fatigue will visit. It prepares for that reality instead of resenting it.

Planning rest stops in Montréal doesn’t make the trip smaller. It makes it possible.

Storing meal components separately doesn’t make me inefficient. It makes future meals manageable.

Choosing a no-spend evening at home isn’t about restriction. It’s about protecting both my nervous system and my bank account from decisions I’ll regret tomorrow.

None of these choices look dramatic from the outside. But together they form something solid.

They form a life that doesn’t collapse after a good day.

For women over sixty managing chronic illness, quality of life isn’t built on how much we can endure. It’s built on how carefully we allocate what we have. Energy is limited. That’s not pessimism — it’s information.

And information lets us design wisely.

Intention, for me, has become less about goals and more about guardrails. It helps me decide where my energy goes before it leaks away unnoticed. It keeps me from borrowing from tomorrow without consent.

I don’t control my diagnoses.
I don’t control every flare or fatigue wave.
But I can control how I structure my days.

That is not a small thing.

If energy is the currency now, then intention is how I choose to spend it.

And that, more than anything, is how I’m improving my quality of life.

Steady not Spectacular

At 4:50 a.m. on Sunday, I learned something new about my blood pressure

This week was not about transformation.

It was about steadiness.

Which, when you’re managing chronic illness, fluctuating blood pressure, blood sugar, and a nervous system that apparently believes in dramatic entrances, is no small thing.

Clearing Space (and Not Just on My Screen)

It started innocently enough: deleting old chats and managing digital memory.

But while I was clearing out old threads, I found myself wondering how much emotional clutter I carry around the same way. Archived. Saved. Revisited.

Not everything needs to be stored for future reflection. Some thoughts can be acknowledged and gently released. Some seasons don’t need replaying.

There’s a quiet relief in deleting something and realizing the world does not collapse.

Maybe the same is true internally.

Energy Is the Real Currency

I used to think I needed better time management. Now I know I need better energy management.

I can have an entirely free afternoon and still feel like my internal battery is blinking red.

With fibromyalgia, diabetes, and high blood pressure, energy isn’t unlimited. It’s rationed. Carefully. Sometimes grudgingly.

So instead of asking, “How do I fill my time?” I’m asking, “What protects my energy?”

That shift has led to simple rhythms:

No-spend evenings instead of wandering online and spending money out of boredom.
A small, steady writing ritual instead of waiting for inspiration to strike like lightning.
YMCA classes — Aquafit and Chairfit — because moving gently in water or from a chair is movement I can actually sustain.

Not impressive. Not dramatic.

But repeatable.

And repeatable matters more than ambitious.

The One-Page Growth Map (Because Overwhelm Is Not a Strategy)

I created a personal growth map this week. Not a vision board. Not a five-year overhaul.

Just one page.

Stabilize blood sugar and blood pressure
Increase gentle movement
Practice emotional self-kindness
Rebuild curiosity and writing
Re-enter social spaces slowly

Seeing it all in one place didn’t make me feel pressured. It made me feel oriented.

It’s a compass, not a performance review.

At this stage of life, clarity feels far more useful than grand ambition.

Blood Pressure, Blood Sugar, and the 4:50 a.m. Reality

This week my blood pressure crept into hypertensive territory several times. Before this it had been merely elevated.

Naturally, my first thought was, “What did I do wrong?”

Too much tea? Not enough movement? A snack I shouldn’t have had?

Then I remembered how the day had actually started.

At 4:50 a.m. I was jolted awake by loud pounding on my door. Firefighters. Someone had smelled smoke and called it in. I went from deep sleep to upright and disoriented in seconds.

Adrenaline doesn’t ease you into the day.

And it hasn’t just been that one morning. This week has included early wake-ups from loud arguing outside, sometimes inside. Nothing catastrophic. Just enough to keep my nervous system on alert before sunrise.

It’s easy to look at a number — blood pressure or blood sugar — and assume failure.

But maybe my body is simply responding to stress and sleep disruption.

Instead of spiralling, I’m trying (not always perfectly) to look for patterns.

Poor sleep.
Stress spikes.
Caffeine layered on top.

Data over self-blame.

The same goes for blood sugar. One high morning number isn’t proof that I’ve ruined everything. It might be stress hormones. It might be broken sleep. It might just be biology doing what biology does.

I’m learning to ask, “What happened around this number?” instead of “What’s wrong with me?”

That question changes everything.

Intentions That Don’t Require Perfection

I’ve been working with daily intentions. Not dramatic declarations. Just small reminders:

Gentle movement still counts.
Small progress is real progress.
Showing up imperfectly is still showing up.

Between YMCA classes, rebuilding my writing practice, and managing chronic illness one day at a time, I’m not chasing reinvention.

I’m building steadiness.

Steadiness may not look impressive. It does feel sustainable.

And right now, sustainable wins

The Thread Through It All

This week wasn’t about fixing my life.

It was about:

Clearing space.
Protecting energy.
Creating gentle structure.
Managing blood pressure and blood sugar with curiosity instead of panic.
Practicing self-compassion even when I’d rather criticize myself into improvement.

Small shifts. Repeated.

That’s the work for me right now.

If you’re managing your own version of chronic illness, stress, or simply life after 60, what patterns are you noticing? What’s helping? What isn’t?

Sometimes comparing notes is more useful than comparing outcomes.

One month Check-in

Why I Keep Showing Up at the YMCA Even When It Feels Hard

I want to start this honestly
I have already gone

In January I attended one Aquafit class one meditation class and one Chairfit class That matters because trying something once when you live with disabilities takes effort courage and a fair bit of mental negotiation

The YMCA is slowly becoming a place I am willing to return to and that says more than any fitness goal ever could

For about 30 dollars every two weeks the membership feels manageable and realistic especially on a fixed income Pricing can vary by location but the value for choice and accessibility feels solid

Aquafit My First Yes

Aquafit was my first class and it felt like the safest place to begin The water supported my body in ways the floor never does My joints complained less my balance felt steadier and I did not feel rushed

What surprised me most was how normal it felt Nobody was watching Nobody cared if I paused or modified I just moved and that was enough

That alone made it worth showing up

Chair fit Where Effort Meets Reality

Chair fit confirmed something important
I do not need to stand to get stronger

Being able to stay seated while still working on strength flexibility and stability removed a huge barrier Chair fit respected the fact that some days standing is not the win

Leaving that class I felt worked but not wiped out which is the balance I am always chasing

Meditation The Unexpected Bonus

The meditation class was quieter slower and exactly what my nervous system needed Movement is not always physical Sometimes it is learning how to breathe again without rushing yourself

Having this included in the same membership made the YMCA feel less like a gym and more like a wellness space

The Balance Program The One I Am Still Considering

The balance program is the only one I have not attended yet Not because it is not important but because balance is personal When it starts to feel shaky it touches confidence independence and fear

I am watching this one closely Balance training feels less like exercise and more like future proofing I am not there yet but I am closer than I was

Why I Will Likely Keep Going

What keeps me coming back is not motivation
It is permission

Permission to move slowly
Permission to adapt
Permission to show up imperfectly

The YMCA feels like a place where seniors with disabilities are expected not accommodated as an afterthought

That matters

Final Thoughts

This is not a transformation story It is a continuation story

I went
I tried
I survived
I might go again

For now that is enough

I had a good time in the classes. As usual there were more women than men and the chair fit group actually let me sit with them before class.This was enough to encourage me to come back!

I hit a small snag in the third week of January due to some mismanagement of THC, the cartridge I was using was like 65% THC and that sent me into the worst depression I've had in months. A talk with E help me understand that the amount of THC I was using was too much for the sleepy time effect and was triggering me. I switched to one called Nighty Night which only contains CBD & CBN no THC and I am much improved.

My main goal for February is to attend 3 days a week. I am not sure I'm ready for that but I will go at least once a week that is the absolutely the least I will allow myself.

My second goal is to attend a Social Seniors program at the library More than one if I can manage it. The Thursday one is at the Miskin Centre which also has an indoor walking track so if I can't do the social thing for long I can still get some exercise in

My third goal is the reorg of my 5x5 Yeah I know I've tried before but not knowing what I have or where stuff is is driving me a bit batty

I'll see you again on March 1st at least that is the plan.

had a little help from chatgpt with this. It just writes me better than I write myself :)

Looking Ahead: Goals for 2026 and Choosing Intention

Looking toward 2026, I know one thing for sure. I do not want another year to drift by without intention. I am tired of feeling lost and disconnected from my own life. This is not about dramatic reinvention or chasing some ideal version of myself. It is about choosing steadier ground and building something livable, one small decision at a time.

Age has been echoing loudly in my head lately. Sixty five feels heavy, not because it is old, but because it comes with awareness. There is time left, real time, and what I do with it matters. That realization is uncomfortable, but it is also clarifying. I do not want to spend the coming years frozen in place by fear, exhaustion, or habit. If I am going to move forward, I need to do it deliberately.

Health is an unavoidable part of that picture. Not in a perfectionist or punishing way, but in a practical one. I want to walk regularly, in all kinds of weather. I want to use my weights to build strength and practice yoga or gentle stretching to improve flexibility. These are not lofty goals. They are basic acts of care. I do not need to love them. I just need to do them often enough that my body remembers how to move again.

Getting outside matters more than I have been allowing myself to admit. I want more walks in parks, more time in green spaces, and more participation in community events. Things like library classes, park activities, and walks that bring people together. My knees and hips complain, but avoiding movement has not helped them either. Strength might come slowly, but it will not come at all if I stay still.

My home also needs attention, because the way I live inside my space affects how I live inside my head. I want a simpler, more minimal environment. Less clutter. Fewer unused items. A bedroom that feels calm instead of chaotic. That means cleaning out my closet, clearing the floor, and creating room to move. I want dishes done regularly, not sitting in the sink for weeks. I want the top of my stove clear so cooking feels possible instead of overwhelming.

Cooking is something I want to return to gently. Not elaborate meals, just real food prepared ahead of time. Meal prep feels like a form of self respect when done realistically. If I can lower my blood pressure and blood sugar through consistent habits, everything else becomes a little easier. I am not chasing fast results. I am looking for steadiness.

Daily care matters too. Small things that seem insignificant but add up over time. Brushing my teeth every day. Wearing my teeth all day. Showering more than once a month. These are not moral failings. They are signals that structure has slipped away, and structure is something I need to rebuild with kindness rather than shame.

Creativity is another thread I do not want to lose. I want to publish my poetry book. That goal has stayed with me because it matters. Woulf’s story has changed over time, shifting from fantasy into something more educational and grounded, especially around caring for forests. I need to decide what that project truly wants to be now, instead of holding it frozen in an earlier version of myself.

Helping others continues to pull at me, but I need to be honest about what I can give. I have thought about volunteering at places like Trinity and Tiny Village, though I am not sure yet how much time or energy I can commit. At the very least, I want to keep water on my sill and stay connected to the idea that small acts still matter. I want helping to feel meaningful, not draining or obligatory.

Learning is another area where I feel uncertain. I thought I wanted to dive deeper into AI, especially art tools, but I am not sure what I actually want to create right now. That uncertainty is okay. Maybe 2026 is about exploration rather than mastery. Allowing curiosity to lead instead of forcing a plan where one does not yet exist.

Above all, I want to learn how to focus again. Focus feels like a lost skill, but it can be practiced. Slowly. Imperfectly. One habit at a time. If I can build even a small amount of consistency into my days, the rest has a chance to follow.

I am not aiming for a perfect year. I am aiming for a year that belongs to me. One where intention replaces drifting, and care replaces avoidance. That feels like a reasonable place to start.

A Quiet Year in Review: Finding My Way Back

I was going through my blog recently and realized something important: December 2024 came and went without any kind of year in review. At the time, I did not think much of it, but looking back now I can see how much that missing pause mattered. I do not function well without some kind of plan or reflection, and this past year really shows that. Skipping that moment of looking back may be one reason I have felt so lost moving through 2025.

When I reread my posts from early 2025, I noticed something else too. Things are better in some ways, yet emotionally I am still close to where I was in January. Winter has always pulled me inward, and December and January seem to amplify everything. I know this is common and that many people struggle more in the colder, darker months, but it always feels heavier when it is happening to you personally. Awareness does not stop the feeling, but it does help me name it.

This past year carried a lot of emotional weight, especially around family milestones. When the first grandchildren gets married, it stirs something deep, and when it happens within a short span, the emotions can feel overwhelming. Add in significant birthdays and major life markers, and it all stacks up quickly. These are good events, meaningful ones, but even joyful change can be exhausting when there is already a lot sitting under the surface.

Despite how foggy much of the year feels, there were bright moments that stand out clearly now. One of the highlights was visiting Casa Loma in Toronto while they were preparing for their Halloween gala. Seeing that historic place in transition was fascinating and memorable. I also experienced a Christkindl market and a Krampus Nacht event for the first time, which felt both strange and wonderful. Those moments mattered, even if I did not fully appreciate them at the time. They remind me that wonder still shows up, even when I am distracted by my own thoughts.

The truth is, I do not remember large parts of the year very well. I was too lost inside my own head. There was a lot of emotional spinning and not much structure. Looking back, I can see how easily self pity crept in and how little it helped. Laughing at myself helped more than sinking deeper, because tears alone do not create change unless they lead somewhere useful.

This year became less about what happened and more about what it revealed. Reading my own words showed me patterns that have been repeating for decades. Grief, stress, and responsibility have layered themselves one on top of another, and each time I regain my footing, something new seems to knock me sideways. Recognizing that pattern is uncomfortable but necessary. It helps explain why drifting has become my default and why focus feels so difficult to maintain.

What this year really taught me is that reflection is not indulgent, and it is not weakness. When done honestly, it becomes a tool. Without it, I drift. Without some kind of structure, I lose momentum and direction. That realization alone feels like progress, even if it does not come with instant solutions.

This has been more of a review of my inner landscape than a neat list of accomplishments or failures, and that is okay. Maybe this is exactly the kind of review I needed after all. 2025 was good in some ways and hard in others. Helping people in small ways brought meaning. Frustrations also took up more mental space than they deserved. Learning to let go of that mental clutter feels like part of the work ahead.

Looking back now, I can see that this year was not empty or wasted. It was quiet, messy, emotional, and unfinished. It showed me where I get stuck and what I need more of going forward: structure, intention, and gentleness, especially during the winter months. Naming all of this feels like the first solid step toward steadier ground and a more intentional year ahead.

Closing note:
In my next post, I look forward instead of back. I start turning these reflections into simple, practical goals for 2026, focusing on health, creativity, home, and showing up for life with more intention.

Happy Holidays

The last one read like the manifesto of a suicide I know but I am not one of those. I've just been going through a rough patch.

Something else is on my mind today and has been for awhile. Winter gives you nothing but time to think and December especially seems like a month for introspection what with the season of good will towards men turning into the lead up for a brand new year. For years I started this process right after my birthday in October but with all the shit I'm dealing with to get myself set up for the next 20-40 years,(turning 65 is no fun), I have just barely started the process.

A long time ago a doctor told me that obesity is a long slow death so that it what I chose but these days I am actually unhappy with my weight because it has begun to interfere with the thing I like best like travelling to new places and exploring them.

I have become more and more unhappy with myself over the last couple of months. It has got to the point that I order in my groceries rather than go fetch them myself unless I have a ride. I hope that makes sense. Change is so hard though!

I had a program I think it was near the beginning of the year where I did a couple of stretches in bed then got up and did some marching in place before I even got dressed. I had a whole routine for the morning: movement, making my bed, getting dressed, eating breakfast, cleaning up afterwards before I even turned my computer on. That routine and many others are very missing in my life and I miss it/them.

I kept that one up for 6 months I think before something came along and derailed me. That is the longest I've ever stuck to a routine. Now that I think on it it may have been a couple of years.

Since COVID so much has changed and this new political situation has caused prices to soar once again. Its been a long time since you could get a loaf of bread for a buck and even longer since you could get a can a pop and a small bag of chips for a quarter at the Five and Dime these days everything is a buck or two and they are called Dollar Stores.

Yeah I am old enough to remember the five and dime but that is not what I am talking about today. I miss my rut at least then I was doing something. These days all I do is play games, read and watch TV. Most of that on my computer.

I am all over the place today, memories are coming thick and fast but memories is not where I want to go. I want to get myself into a routine one that won't be derailed if I'm sharing my bed or sleeping in a hotel room and that is going to take some thinking and a lot of practice.

Microsoft To-Do is my planner of choice because it can be anywhere there is internet and you have a Microsoft ID which most people these day people do and it can contain a lot of lists that can be time-tabled and shown in one window with check boxes and everything.

I have set up a lot of lists on it but I really need organize them better so that I don't have duplicates. It is easy and though it may not be as complex as one of the pricey ones I like it just fine. That is what I've been working on for the last couple of weeks with a little help from ChatGPT. While it is useful it definitely needs some refining which I'll be working on between now and the new year.

There is a book I have in my collection called Atomic Habits which I highly recommend if you are struggling with keeping a regular routine, it will be one of the books I'll be referring to over the next couple of weeks to help me get organized again. This time I hope more than a couple of things will stick.

Another book I recommend is CHAOS to Clean which is the only book since the Sidetracked Sisters that I have found helpful for getting the house clean and organized. It is also on my reference list for the next couple of weeks because I really love her program 31 Easy Baby Steps.

There are others but these two have helped me the most over the years and they will be the building blocks I will use to create a daily routine I can follow that works for me.

The other thing I need to find is a plan of some sort that will help me with my diabetes and hypertension. I really don't want a heart attack! This part of the planning will not be easy. As of right this minute I have enough to pay my rent and buy a few groceries. If I forgo food I can pay for my internet too but that leaves me no money for anything else. That makes me sad I have become used to living a life where I can afford almost anything I wanted but since my birthday I have found myself going to E for help far more than I am comfortable with.

Diet and Finances those are the two areas that I am having great difficulty with with all the changes that have happened since 2025 began. I will be glad to see the end of it. I hope 2026 is better. Happy holidays and wish me luck changing my life for the better.