We all grew up knowing the saying “when I’m older I’m going to be a ______”.

Well, what if you don’t really know what you want to be? Or even worse, what if you know what you want to be but your too scared to be it?

Here I am at 29 and yes, I’ve held many jobs for more than a year, but I am still wondering, what am I doing with my life?

I’ve always felt a strong sense of purpose like I am meant to do something great in this world, but frankly, I’m running out of ideas.

I keep hitting roadblocks like, maybe I need to go back to school if I want to be in this career, maybe I’m too old for that life path, I don’t feel like I have to resources to pull this off.

At least once a month I am faced with this problem of passion and purpose. My poor Jamie and besties Laura and Elizabeth have endured the heaviness of my life’s sorrows so many more times than I’d even like to admit. Sometimes it requires the support of all three and a bottle of Brut before I can calm down and think clearly.

I was raised in an old fashioned household where you work hard every day, save every penny and build a life with a beautiful family.

I feel if I falter from this path then I will be a failure in the eyes on my family.

I have had this conversation with my parents many times and I know truly that they still will love me and be proud no matter what I choose. I feel this from them.

However, the persona that I want to be may not always be family appropriate.

The woman I want to be may not be socially accepted.

The life I want to live will not be a normal one.

I think to great the people in our history that went out and did the things I wish I could. Lewis and Clark, Gerald Durrell, Rosie the Riveter…. They all did it. They were strong and knew their life’s quest; they went in head-on and never looked back.

I watch Jamie every day working and living his passion. In fact, he exercises many of his passions. Sculpting, watercolor painting, playing music, running a business with his partner and friend Jeff.

I love him for it, but when the truth of why I am not following my own dreams is slapping me in the face every day I get a little flustered.


I am the only reason that I am not living the life I want. But dammit I would really rather blame even just one person for this. I hate admitting that I am my biggest advocate and worst promoter.

I have fears that hold me back.


So many people tell me how strong I am.

I first heard this from my mom when I have a rather bumpy start to my college career at West Virginia University. She told me to go back and face my fears. To push and persevere.

I pushed, and now I feel like I own Morgantown (in my own mind of course).

I was a vaulter, and strong all over. I had so many people tell me how strong I was when I ran around the dorms with a lineman on my back for a good time.

I became a strong rock climber. The best gear I own today is because I won it. My friends told me I was strong.

I opened a bakery and more and more strangers told me how strong and bold I am.

But what if I feel weak sometimes?

What if being strong hurts others?

I am scared to be strong.


I feel this greatness inside me, but what If I can’t face it. What if facing it actually means being in a very simple life? Something that isn’t wonderous or strong or flashy? Am I allowed to be me?


I know exactly the life I want, it hurts so bad that even just writing this brings hot tears of love and hope from inside me.

But its embarrassing. And so simple.

All I want to do is live.

I’m not driven by money, a fact my parents may wish was different about me.

I am fueled by life and its beauty. I just want to live in its rapture and be right alongside it.

I want to make a beautiful world for my husband and our family and friends. I want to live comfortably, but I want to provide from my own hands in a very basic and real way.

Jamie says he’s driven because he feels like he’s got so much more to do with his art.

I’m worried I’ll be chasing a standard career that I’ll never be able to offer what I really have.


We are fascinated by other people’s lives.

That’s why we read blogs, stories, watch movies and TV shows.

We want to see how others live. We want to relate and dream and be heartbroken with them. We want to feel that we aren’t alone, the only one who feels this way.

I’m not claiming that my life is more extraordinary than the next, however, it is rather unique.

As much as I want to be one of those bloggers and Instagram personalities I am terrified.


Writing seems like a romantic idea, and yet, mine has far too much truth about it. The very same truth that is what I think is crucial to the work.

They say “the truth always hurts”, and not because I am saying “That dress looks terrible on you”, I am saying, I have more tattoos than my parents know I have.

Because there are things about Ex’s that I think is funny to write about.

Because opening yourself up means exposing others sometimes. Even if you use a different name, they know it’s them. They know it’s me.

My poor husband… he does love me <3

When do I get to be me?

When is it okay to really open up and share my mind? I’ve already embarrassed my mother and I’m sure a few other confused old DaisyMoon fans.

What I want to share is not PG, even though I deeply care about my family. What I want to write may be more than my friends want me to.

When do I get to be me?

When all my friends are gone? When my parents are gone? Who is there left to share it with?


I grew up in the back of a barbershop and my sisters and I would always put our locks next to the swatch samples of vibrantly colored hair. Dreaming of the day that we would be able to turn our heads into rainbows of color.

As I got older I would ask if I could dye my hair. The answer was always no. My blonde hair was “too pretty to ruin like that”.

It wasn’t until I had almost married a man that was not really right for me did I snag some courage and blue hair dye.

I was momentarily liberated.

Today I have the excuse of a stepdaughter in beauty school to allow me to make my head various shades of blue, teal, purple and grey.

I have never felt like I had a truer hair color till now. I am being me.

When I got my first tattoo at 18 I tried to be as responsible as possible. My parents did not raise a fool.

I had saved a piece of art for 3 years. I carried it around and cherished it. I knew this owl would become part of me.

My bestie Laura and I teased about having it be “our” tattoo, we opted for Sagittarius tattoos instead and my owl would watch my back forevermore, all to my own.

When my parents slowly learned about my tattoos it was hell to pay.

I didn’t mean to hurt them or make them upset. Just like in about 3 hours I have another consult… please, mom and dad, it’s not personal!

I am just trying to be me.


I like to pose nude for artists of all kinds. I like to speak what’s on my mind, curse words included. I like to teach and practice yoga naked. I like to run in the woods barefoot in a dress and go to bed without a shower.

I tried to be popular once in middle school… I have never desired to choose the popular vote since then.

I just want to be me.

What my heart really wants to do is ask every one of my readers’ permission for the words I want to write, for the brash things I do in my life.

If I wait for the approval of you I will be left dead waiting on my hard wooden desk chair.

I learned in therapy that I don’t need to ask permission for the things I want in my life. It’s one of the hardest things for me to remember.

Every day I do small things, say witty things, wear ostentatious clothing because I am dying to break out.

I just want to be me.

When do I get to be me?

As soon as I feel like I am strong enough to be me.