communication, health and wellness, lifestyle, Menopause, That girl in the red coat, Women, writing

Dream Weaver

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Have you ever woken up from a dream feeling full of love and empty at the same time? That’s how I woke up this morning. It was an odd night. At 3 a.m. I woke to a sound that sounded like a mixture of tapping and dripping. There was a thunderstorm raging and my first thought was ” Great! A leak in the roof.”. The sound began above my head, then began to travel across the ceiling towards the window, then it stopped. I peeked under the blind, it was still raining outside, yet the sound stopped. Weird. I got back into bed, silenced my mind by repeating “No words. Sleep” silently to myself. – side note – try it, it works. Before I knew it, I was back to sleep and in my Gramma Leah’s house. She lost her sight at the end of her life, so it wasn’t a surprise to me that she was reading braille. I asked what she was reading. She told me “my prayers for you.”, then asked to take my arm and we walked through her front door, smiling and giggling with each other. The sun hitting our faces as I heard the tune of my alarm and then I woke up. I woke up smiling, then I remembered she’s gone. It’s been almost 20 years and here I am crying as I write.

Grief never leaves us, we just become bigger than our grief, or at least, that’s what I think. My tears have become more of a release than those of despair. I feel lighter as I cry, like I’m letting my Gramma know I feel her. I’d like to think the sound that woke me up at 3 a.m. was her, trying to get my attention and that she visited me in my dreams to make sure she was getting through to me. Letting me know I am being watched over, and that I am surrounded by light, even if I can’t always see it. That connection and love never ends.

The point of today’s tale you ask? To remind you we are more the same than we are different. We all feel grief, fear, anxiety, you name it. To give you permission to feel what it is you need to feel. Many of us feel we are not deserving of feeling our pain because “others have it worse” – I call bullshit. Pain is pain. Trauma is trauma and needs to be respected as such. For yours truly, the past 6 years, every Spring/Summer season has brought either angst, pain, illness, recovery and being pulled in what felt like 10 different directions and still there were dishes to be done, family to be fed and laundry to be folded. This year, knock wood, my Spring /Summer season has been calm, and with the calm, has brought up my angst and my shoulders along with it. My mind knows everything is okay, my body is suiting up. I have to keep reminding myself that this is not then, this is now. Everything worked out. Everything happened as it should. I’m still standing. I literally just had to put my shoulders down – you should too.

As I’m writing this, I realized I’m entering a seventh year. There are theories that our bodies change every 7 years, that we are a new person at a cellular level. I’m not a scientist or an M.D., but I do like the sound of that. I have been feeling a shift as of late. I’m noticing more moments of levity, finding myself smiling as I’m doing ordinary things like driving, doing the dishes. I find myself humming or doing a little dance as I’m ironing – yes, I still iron – nothing better than a crisp linen. Some may say it’s my HRT kicking in. Some may say it’s the work I’ve been doing on myself. Those sentiments may be true. I’d like to think that my Gramma Leah’s prayers for me have something to do with it.

My Gramma Leah could crochet, knit and cross stitch the most beautiful creations. Who knew? She is also a dream weaver.

communication, health and wellness, lifestyle, That girl in the red coat, Uncategorized, Women, writing

Once in a blue moon

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For anyone on any social media platform, you are well aware that yesterday was a blue full moon. I’m not usually someone who directs their life and decisions by my astrological sign and horoscope – unless it’s good news, then I’m all for it. That being said, something happened yesterday.

It was a usual slow and easy Sunday morning and I was lounging in my favorite chair. I looked over at my hubby with his bedhead – still cute after 32 years and said “I think I’ll go for a walk today or do something new, I need more whimsy in my life.”. Whimsy. Not a word I usually use, I think I’ve said it twice in my life. Yesterday, and when I framed our new thermostat with a vintage frame because it was a cute idea and also covered up the hole left by the old thermostat cover – two birds my friends, two birds. Back to the tale at hand. Hubby says he’ll come with me. We start to get ourselves together to venture out, I check my Insta as I’m waiting and there it was. A post about the effect of the blue moon for Leo’s – brings attention to joy, creativity and whimsy. Whimsy. Ok universe, message received.

My Sunday afternoon consisted of blue skies, cool breezes, sunlight, laughing with my hubby, and venturing into new stores looking for a new chair for me at my writing desk. I’ve been sitting on a circa 1930’s chair and quite frankly, my 50 year old ass can’t take it anymore. So, after 13 years, I decided it was time. What is it about us as women that we put ourselves, and as it so happens, our asses last? Another tale for another time. Anywho, I found a chair at a local business – support local when you can my friends. It swivels, it’s on wheels, it has arm rests. It doesn’t look like an office chair. It’s perfect. … and it was on sale which is even better – I love a good deal. We got home, set it up, retired the old chair to it’s original home, if front of the antique fold down desk. I spun around in my new chair a few times, looked out the window, heard the garden calling my name, grabbed my ear pods, and ventured outside.

I found myself humming along and almost dancing to the 90’s country tunes playing in my ear as I cut down the overgrowth of last year. As I stood back to appreciate my efforts, a random playlist brought me a moment of joy. Dwight Yoakam’s “Turn it on, Turn it up, Turn me loose” started to play. What’s the big deal? Well, let me tell you. The year was 1992, I had just moved in with my boyfriend – now husband. I woke up to him smiling at me, telling me to get dressed. He was taking me to Toronto to go shopping. He had $400 to spend. Just so you will know, and one day you’re children will know, $400 in 1992 was ALOT of money – hell, it is today, but I digress. After a day of following me around to all the shops, I spotted a record store. I had heard Dwight Yoakam’s music and loved it. I found his latest cassette tape, “If there was a way” – yes, I said cassette tape – Gen X here people. I looked at soon to be hubby and he smiled and took it to the counter. I listened to “Turn it on, Turn it up, Turn me loose” on repeat the whole 2 hour drive home, with a driver who hated country music. Yep. He isn’t a fan of the ol’ country twang, but he knew I loved it and wanted me to have what I wanted. Joy. Whimsy. Hmmm – even the title of the album, “If there was a way”, kind of ties this all together with a cute little bow, doesn’t it?

The point of today’s tale? Don’t let the fuckers get you down. Find your whimsy. We are being bombarded every damn day with horrific news, opinions being disguised as facts, AI telling us what’s “real”, disgusting behavior from world leaders – yeah sure, the picture was him as a doctor, not Jesus – if you know, you know.

We can’t control any of the above. We can control what we do, what we say, what we create. Be it a garden, watching the birds out your kitchen window, listening to music that fills your soul with joy, or spinning in an office chair.

beauty, health and wellness, lifestyle, Women

Shameless

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shameless – adjective – Feeling no shame, impervious to disgrace

I was scrolling my Instagram last week – no TikTok here – I’d never leave the sofa – I know this about myself – lets be honest, I was scrolling my Insta everyday last week – hence no TikTok, and by days end, I found myself bouncing between feeling dumb to feeling inadequate to feeling left behind. I’m entering the final months of my 53rd year on this earthly realm and I’m done feeling this way. Seriously, I have been feeling this way as long as I can remember. Some days it’s for a minute or two, some days, it lasts all day and seeps into the next.

We are bombarded every day, all day, with these ugly opinions cleverly disguised as facts on all social media platforms and internet ads, and don’t get me started on the AI fashion/skin care models. Even podcasts and podcast hosts telling us because we don’t drink enough greens that is the reason our life is falling apart and not using AI in your everyday life and everyday tasks will leave you alone floating on an ice flow. Oh, and protein…for the love of God, stop offering me protein. I’ve heard “You gotta try this protein powder” in my 50’s more than “You want a toke” in my teens. Ugh, and ease up on the “do you lift bro?” rhetoric. Yes, being reminded lifting is important to my aging bone health is great, I don’t need to be reminded that I’ll be the “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” lady if I don’t do it everyday.

Here’s the thing I’ve come to realize – most of this shame is not mine. It’s what I think I’m supposed to feel shame about. Shame for being a stay at home Mom. Shame for going back to work. Shame for being too much. Shame for not being enough. Shame for cellulite. Shame for being too strong. Shame for being weak. Well, as I like to say, Fuck. That. Shit.

I’ve got a theory about this shame business. It may seem far fetched and if that’s what it sounds like to you, that’s fine by me, it’s just my theory/opinion. If we are all feeling shame about bodies, our lack of protein and exercise regimes, we’re focusing on those things, not world events, political decisions, what the Cheeto on Pennsylvania Avenue is up to – like I said, just an opinion.

Here’s the deal. You know that saying “before you think you’re depressed, take a look around to be sure you’re not surrounded by assholes”, I’ve got a new one for you. When the shame seeps in, look up from your phone, take a good around, and ask yourself “Who’s trying to sell me something by making me feel like failure?”. To be clear, I’m all for entrepreneurship and building a platform, side hustle or business. I do believe it can be done without the shame.

Be shameless Beauties. You’re doing the best you can today and that’s enough. Plain and simple.

… Oh, and the protein and weights will still be there tomorrow. Trust me, someone will let you know.

communication, health and wellness, Women

Price of admission

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“Discomfort is the price of admission for a good life.”

I came across this quote, I don’t remember where or said by whom. All I know is that it stopped me in my tracks. I found myself thinking of all those who came before me and paid their price of discomfort. In Canada, my great grandmother waiting until 1955 to take her grand daughters to the library to get their library card – the first time a girl or a woman could get a library card without her father’s or husband’s signature. 1955. Women going to the doctor in 1969 – when birth control was decriminalized. 1969. Women walking into a bank in 1974 to get their own credit card, without needing their father’s or husband’s signature. 1974. Two years after I was born.

It got me thinking of what price am I paying? I’ll be 54 this year. In my life, I’ve always been able to vote, have my own bank account, my own credit, my own car. I’ve had the choice to be a mother. I’ve had the choice to work. All because of the discomfort of those who went before me.

I like to believe it’s partly because of them that I speak my mind. Not only because they made sure my voice could be heard, but that they are always with me, surrounding me when my voice starts to shake when I speak my mind. That they were with me when my grade 5 gym teacher said girl’s couldn’t hit a ball that was pitched to them and needed a t-ball stand, to which I kicked it over and shouted “Pitch it!” and as God is my witness, I hit a homerun – they were with me. They were with me when my grade 10 science teacher told me that it was okay that I didn’t understand the experiment because “I was a girl and girl’s don’t need to understand science.” to which I shouted “I need to go to the office and call my parents about what you just said”. – needless to say, I didn’t call my parents, he looked like he shit his pants after I said that – they were there. When I sold cars and a man asked me to sit in his lap on the test drive (happened more than once) and I looked him square in the eye and said “let’s call your wife to see if it’s okay with her” – they were there.

It’s our time to be there for women. All ages. All countries. We’re at a tipping point. Yes, women are making strides on a global scale, in sports, in government, in finance – take your pick, we are rockin’ it. Yet, it’s 2026 and I still walk to my car with my keys between my fingers. At least once a week a man is surprised that I know, well, anything other than how to remove a stain and make a casserole. At least once a week I meet a man who has no problem with, Roe vs Wade getting overturned or the Voting Acts being rescinded. For Christ’s sake, The White House had a press conference for Dr. Oz to tell us that women in the U.S. are “under babied” – a fine example of a man who’s never been told to shut the fuck up. My great grandmother was a fine lady and she would agree with my sentiment.

It’s time, as John Lewis said, to make some good trouble. It’s time for a little discomfort. We need to be there for each other as our mothers, aunts, and grandmothers were there for us.

health and wellness, lifestyle, Menopause, That girl in the red coat, Women

Life Preserver

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I don’t know about you all, I feel like I have been bouncing between treading water to just keeping my head above water. Between the news, the world events, menopause, being a member of the sandwich generation, the patriarchy and fascism rearing it’s ugly head, it is easy to feel like we are drowning. I’m sure you’ve noticed I haven’t written in a while. There are many reasons, mostly because whenever I sat to write I was either overcome with “who gives a shit” or I would just type the word “Fuck” over and over.

Last week I had a meltdown. My poor husband getting to be the soul audience member of my snot nosed, ugly cry temper tantrum/fit/ stomp fest 2026. He sat quietly, let me say what I needed to say ( thanks to 30+ years of marriage, he now knows just to let me go and I will return to myself, I just need a minute.). He asked me if talking to someone would help. I admitted I’d thought about it, therapy saved my spirit in my teens, truly. Then I said something out loud that I’d only been thinking. “I think I need to start writing again.” . So here we are my beauties.

Also, thank you to all who have been continuing to read my past words, somedays this little blog of mine gets 100 views. When I shared this news with certain people who I now know may not be my people, they said that the views are bots or AI reading my words. I realized that I was allowing their words to feed the wrong wolf. I started this blog to help myself and others feel better about themselves, how to use their hair products. It began to morph into something else at the same time. A how to be kind, or not to be an asshole – take your pick. Most of my past posts that have been getting attention as of late are those exact ones – about kindness, about hope, about how not to be an asshole.

So, this little blog of mine is slowly getting a revamp. A life preserver for yours truly and in turn for you, that is my hope. I believe truth is beautiful, and taking the time to tell those you care about when they are awesome and when their assholery is showing. There is still so much good in the world, yet we are bombarded with the ugly. “Look for the helpers” – I’m going to try to take a page from Mr. Rogers play book – although my language is more like Mr. Robinsons – those of us over 40 will get the SNL reference.

Know this. It’s okay to want to scream into the void. It’s okay to be looking around wondering what the actual fuck is happening. It is okay to weep for the world, for the loss of human rights, the overturn of Roe vs Wade, the corruption of government. It is okay to feel rage because this is not the world we wanted for our children – seriously, I apologize to my daughter at least once a week for the state of the world – another tale for another time. It is okay to get down – it is not okay to let those bastards keep you down. The ways we slowly get back up? Give to your local food bank. Check in on your neighbours. Feed the birds. Get outside and stare at the clouds. Share the good news with the not so good. Laugh. Laugh. Laugh. Be silly. Rest.

We truly are in this together. It’s one world. Lets keep each other afloat.

communication, health and wellness, lifestyle, Menopause, parenting, Uncategorized, Women, writing

Chapters

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It’s been hot minute since I last posted, literally. This past summer has been one of the hottest on record and not just because of menopause. Mother Nature must be in her 50’s this go around for it’s 30 degrees Celsius (that’s HOT for my American readers) on the 5th of October. With the change of season, on the calendar at least, I find myself pondering change. These past years have seen more changes for yours truly than my mood before doing some hard internal work and getting some good ol’ hormones. While pondering all the changes, I came across a quote that hit the mark – “Don’t judge me based on the chapter of my life you arrived in.”.

I celebrated my 53rd birthday in this earthly realm this past August. I celebrated with my mother, at a local grocery store, as I was her wheels for most of the summer as my father recovered from open heart surgery. Mom even joked “Isn’t this better than some party?”. Actually, it kind of was. Dad’s heart wasn’t in the best shape and it was a 6 hour surgery with 14 hours on a ventilator and a 2 week hospital stay. Knowing my 53rd birthday very well could have been one person short, I was quite content to be at a grocery store with my momma on my birthday and arriving at their front porch to see Dad smiling as I brought in the groceries.

These past months I’ve found myself looking at strangers wondering what chapter they are in. Are they beginning one? At the end of one? In the thick of one? I find myself being more patient – those who know me well have just fell off their chairs. Recovering from heart surgery is not for the faint of heart – pun intended. Everyday I kept having the same thought – what do people do who are on their own? I found myself wanting to scoop up all the lone patients and bring them home like some kind of stray puppy. Yes – I realize – kind of co-dependent – I’m working on it. Wondering if one could be co-dependent with the Universe? You found your girl, well, at least I used to be your girl, slowly closing that chapter and trying to begin the next one. Back to the tale at hand. While passing the patients, the families, the hospital staff, I found myself wondering who they were? What was their day like? Were they scared? Were they at peace? Which chapter was this for them? Was it their last? Are they wondering the same thing about me? I found myself hoping they were, because if they’re wondering about others, there is hope for us all after all.

If this past chapter has taught me anything it’s this, we have no say, no control of anything except ourselves, there’s been a few days I’ve forgotten that. Also, you cannot rewrite or edit yourself into or out of anyone else’s chapter, no matter how hard you try – trust me, I know of what I speak. Being a recovering co-dependent menopausal GenXer is such fun.

I’m not even going to go into what’s happening in the world. We are all very well aware and that is another chapter for another day. That being said, taking a moment to remind yourself that the chapter you are arriving in may not be the best chapter to judge others right now may be the best thing you can do for yourself and others.

communication, lifestyle, parenting, Sunday Confessions, writing

Sunday Confessions

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Here we are again, Sunday morning. I’ve felt a tug, a yearning for months now. Whenever it’s quiet, or I’ve slowed down for a minute, it’s there. A voice? A knowing? A nudge? Some call it your knowing. Everyday, at least once a day, it’s there. As I was mixing my instant caramel iced coffee this morning, …my latest obsession, thank you Maxwell House, I stopped stirring and listened to my knowing. Write. That’s all it said. That’s all I felt, that’s all I heard. So beauties, here I am, writing. Fitting it’s a Sunday, because this gal has some confessing to do.

I’ve had this blog for over 12 years. I used to write everyday. Then I stopped. I would say it was because of the shop closing, job changes, life stresses, you name it, I would use any and all reasons as an excuse for why I wasn’t writing. It’s all bullshit. It is. I stopped writing because I stopped writing. No one else to blame – easy to do, but not the truth. I’ve come to realize I was playing the blame game. Blaming job changes, job losses, family struggles for the reason why I couldn’t write. I stopped writing because I chose to. I stopped writing because I listened to the naysayers. There was a time I wrote about speaking your truth and being your own beautiful, and there I was not practicing what I preached. Well, fuck that shit.

It’s been a time for us all. These last 5 years have melted together, time doesn’t seem real some days. The past 2 years have been a journey for yours truly. It began in October of 2023, when I was fired from a job I was recruited for. Long story short – I wouldn’t accept corporate funds to my personal account – a tale for another time. They say things happen for a reason, and usually my response to that is with my middle finger, but it worked out. I was able to be home to help my family. Hubby had emergency cataract surgery, both my parents had some health issues, I was able to be home for my child who is in need of support. My hubby is out of the house at least 12 hours a day, so I was home for home repairs, like ridding our home of mice – I wanted to live near the river didn’t I? Shout out to Ontario Wildlife Removal – humane treatments and no more mice. I also had time to slow down and complete a thought, which isn’t always as great as one would think. I had time to look at my part and my actions, or non actions for that matter, in my life – and anyone who knows me knows how much I LOVE admitting a short coming or realizing where I’ve screwed up. My child has had many a knock on their door from me just to hear me say “I have another thing to apologize for” upon opening their door. If I can offer any advice on parenting, it’s this. Listen to your kids and apologize to them. It doesn’t matter how you feel about what they are saying, trust me, it can really suck. As parents, we have to acknowledge our kids feelings and recollections of what transpired. There will be time later to excavate the past, but the dig cannot begin until you let them talk, and I’ll say it again, it can really suck, BUT! the connection after is so worth it. All that to say, yes, I was “busy”, but still wasn’t writing, still making excuses why I couldn’t, still not listening to my knowing.

Tomorrow my father goes in for heart surgery. He is in good health, his ol’ ticker needs some help, which he will be receiving tomorrow, triple by pass and valve repair – and because we’re in Canada, all we have to worry about is paying for parking and my Dad’s recovery. Over the past few days, many dear friends have been struggling, aging parents, loss of a child, divorce. Maybe that’s why I decided to listen to my knowing today. Maybe today’s tale will make someone smile, feel seen, feel less alone. I know I feel less alone when I write. I feel the hug of my Gramma Leah when I write, I feel as though her hands are on my shoulders and she’s looking over my shoulder waiting to see what words will appear next. (I do know she isn’t fond of my curse words.). I can’t explain it, nor do I wish to. It’s magical.

Listen to your knowing. I know it’s scary, trust me. I know it seems easier to push it away. It’s telling you who you are, what will help you, where the answers you’re looking for are. It’s your magic waiting for you to be magical.

beauty, Hair Care, health and wellness, That girl in the red coat, writing

Seven Year Itch

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Yesterday as I plopped into my favorite chair with my morning cup of Joe I heard the all too familiar bottle cap notification coming from my phone. It was an email alerting me of my 7 year anniversary as a blogger. 7 years. Within seconds my mind was flooded with images from the past 7 years. Nervously circling the table, staring at the computer, deciding to just go for it and write. Coming home from work to find a laptop waiting for me, given to me by my hubby with a “Happy Birthday” screensaver (which is still my screensaver by the way). Kristen Johnston reading my blog and retweeting it. Wynonna Judd sharing my “Kindness 101” blog that ended up getting over 700 views within hours. https://thatgirlintheredcoat.com/2012/07/21/kindness-101/    Major hair companies following my tales. Magazine editor’s and Hollywood stars following my blog. Writing opportunities coming my way. Strangers thanking me for my hair advice. Strangers laughing at my “Tales of Truth” series. My blog being read across the globe. The list of memories is endless.

Fast forward to today. For those of you familiar with my blog, you are well aware of the struggles I have been having trying to decide which direction my blog and I should take. I began this blog while managing a Salon/retail shop and once the shop closed I felt I didn’t have a platform of which to write. Every single fear and anxiety reared it’s ugly head and I am sad to say, more often than not, they won the battle, not me. I was having coffee with a dear friend yesterday and when I told her of my blogging anniversary I received a high five. During our conversation I came to the realization that I started this blog to spread information and to educate and enlighten, not only for hair care, but for all aspects of daily life, from business to self care to parenting, speaking my truth in hopes that it may give others the courage to do the same. As a reminder that a little kindness goes a long way.

When I woke up this morning, I found myself wondering if my blog related trepidation was due to the 7 year mark. We’ve all heard of the 7 year itch where relationships/marriage is concerned. Maybe it’s the same with goals. It’s all nerves and excitement at the beginning. Lots of new and exciting things happen. Milestones are reached. Celebrations seem to be every other month. Then things slow down, hit a plateau. It doesn’t seem to be as exciting, the shine is off the diamond if you will. It begins to feel like a chore. Other avenues are catching your eye. You feel like throwing in the towel. At least that’s how it felt for me. What I have come to realize and accept is that things change. Who I was when I began this blog I will never be again, and that’s okay. 7 years have passed and I have more experience, in work and in life. I have more of an understanding of who I was, who I am and who I intend to be. I feel I am a good writer. I enjoy it. It’s cathartic. I came to realize my lack of posts for the past 12 months was due to one thing – I was trying to be something and someone I am not. Writing blogs with others opinions in mind, not my own. I began this blog without any thought of what people would think, just the hope that someone would enjoy it and get something out of it. It’s time to get back to that.

Thank you to all my readers, my followers, my family, my friends and those who have shared my tales. More are on the way… hope you enjoy them.