Tag Archives: love

About Me, Mental Health

Cloudy With a Chance of Heavy Rain

If my emotional state had a weather forecast today, it would read:

Cloudy with a chance of heavy rain.

From the outside, the clouds don’t always look threatening. Most people see me at work. They see me smile. They see me answer emails. They see me show up.

What they don’t see is that it takes me nearly an hour after waking up just to convince myself to get out of bed.

The hardest part of my day isn’t work.

It’s preparing myself to face it.

People assume I’m okay.

I’m not.

Lately, I’ve been grieving someone who is still alive—myself.

I miss the version of me who woke up excited about life. The woman who was optimistic about the future. The one who believed there was always something to look forward to.

I don’t know exactly when she became so hard to find.

Living with multiple sclerosis has changed me in ways that are obvious and in ways that are invisible. Most people notice when my body is tired.

They don’t notice when MS steals my words.

When I know exactly what I want to say but can’t find it.

When a conversation becomes a search party for vocabulary that used to come effortlessly.

Depression has its own voice.

It whispers that I’m doomed.

It tells me this is as good as life will ever get.

It makes me question whether I’ll ever feel like myself again.

Sometimes I wonder if people understand that this isn’t just sadness.

It’s disconnection.

It’s looking in the mirror and feeling like you’re staring at someone you recognize but don’t quite know anymore.

If my body could speak, I think it would say only one word:

Help.

And yet…

There are still moments.

The sound of Mason laughing.

Showing up for work, even when every part of me wants to stay in bed.

Holding on to the smallest hope that my future self is waiting somewhere ahead, ready to tell me:

Everything is going to be alright.

I don’t know when this season will end.

Right now, everything feels hard.

Everything.

But maybe healing doesn’t begin when the clouds disappear.

Maybe it begins when we finally tell the truth about the weather.

Today, my forecast is cloudy with a chance of heavy rain.

And for today, telling the truth about that is enough.

DDC

Lesson: Some days the goal isn’t to find the sunshine. Some days the goal is simply to stop pretending it’s sunny. There is courage in naming the storm, and sometimes that’s the first step toward seeing the clouds begin to part. 

Question: What keeps you going when you can’t see the sun? 

Standard
Chapter 2

44

On Sunday, November 23, 2025, I turned 44 years old. And if I’m being straight with you—this past year has been… heavy.

Coming home as an adult is complicated. You return to familiar streets and familiar people, but life doesn’t rewind just because you did. Rebuilding isn’t automatic. It takes intention, self-awareness, and the courage to face the parts of your life that feel empty.

I walked back into Louisiana with a loose plan:

  • find a stable income 
  • find a church home 
  • find a Toastmasters meeting.

 A decent start, but not nearly enough for the life I need.

Even though I know I’m a person who thrives on community, laughter, conversation, and shared space, I didn’t create a plan to nurture connection. I didn’t set expectations for maintaining old relationships or building new ones. In the back of my mind, I kept imagining friendships just falling into place—like they used to. People popping in, inviting me out, recreating the same spontaneous warmth I once felt in Texas.

But life doesn’t recreate the past. Not without effort. Not without intention.

I declared 2025 my “Year of Connection,” but looking back, it wasn’t a year of connection. It was the year that revealed how deeply I craved connection—how much I missed feeling woven into a community. A year that showed me the difference between wanting connection and actually building it. That realization forced me to get honest about my lack of action.

Craving connection without specific action leads nowhere. And the truth is, my cravings don’t matter if my actions don’t match them. I’ve been in a self-induced isolation for so long that I almost forgot how to be a friend and how to connect. Realizing that made me see just how much I’ve been missing real closeness.

I want connection. Real connection. The kind that looks like weekly calls, occasional brunches, random Tuesday hangouts, sitting in someone’s living room talking about life. I’m not craving quick, empty check-ins. I’m craving meaningful relationships that naturally include those small moments — the shared posts, the random texts, the tiny touchpoints that make life feel lighter and more human.

As I step into 44, I know exactly what I want this year to mean:
The year I walk out of isolation.
The year I choose connection with intention.
The year I return to spiritual grounding and reconnect with the church in a real, committed way.
I’m naturally a dramatic person. I don’t need 44 to be dramatic. I just need it to be deliberate.
A quiet turning toward community. A gentle re-entry into belonging. A reflective acknowledgment that I’m ready to live again—not just exist.

And this year, I’m choosing connection on purpose.

DDC

Lesson: Oh yes it’s time. Connection time! I’m coming out of isolation and into my connected era. Ready or not. Here I come! 

Question: So . . .  where do I start? 

Standard
About Me, Humor, Love Life

The Speech I Should Have Given

My BFF got married this weekend at a beautiful, love-filled wedding — the kind of day that feels like a movie, where everything and everyone is glowing, and you can feel love in the air like confetti.

I told her that I wanted to be on program at her wedding. Her response? “There’s no program, but you can speak at the reception.” Somehow, I heard that as a maybe. Not exactly the guaranteed microphone moment I envisioned.

Still, I prepared — because that’s what best friends do. I spent the weeks leading up to the wedding studying YouTube speeches, jotting down notes, and even consulting ChatGPT (yes, I had AI assist with my emotions — don’t judge). I wrote a few sentences that I thought might capture our friendship — just in case the opportunity came up.

Then came the reception. The music was perfect, the love was loud, and the energy was everything. At one point, Sharecker walked over to me and said, “It’s almost time for speeches.”

And I froze. Like a deer in headlights.

She must’ve noticed because she immediately offered, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

But of course I wanted to.

I reached for my phone to review the notes I’d so carefully prepared — and right then, my phone screen went black. Dead. No charger in sight.

So I did what best friends do when life doesn’t go according to plan — I spoke from the heart.

I stood up, nerves shaking, voice cracking, and said what I could remember: that I loved her deeply, that I was proud of her, and that seeing her so happy filled me with joy. There were laughs, there were tears, and it felt like the right kind of imperfect — the kind that’s real.

But now, with my 27” monitor, full battery, and all the words that escaped me that night — here’s the speech I should have given:

The Speech 

Good evening, everyone. I’m Danielle Denise Clark, and I have the honor of being best friends with the beautiful bride, Sharecker.

We met riding bikes in middle school, and from the very first moment, I knew I needed her in my life for the rest of my life.

Over the past 30 years, Sharecker has always been love in motion. With acts of service as her love language, she has shown up for me in every way imaginable — physically, emotionally, spiritually, and wholeheartedly.

We’re quite the opposites, too. I can be loud, over the top, and a little extra — while she’s calm, reserved, and effortlessly cool. But that balance has always been the heartbeat of our friendship.

Sharecker is generous with her spirit, steady in her presence, and intentional with her words. She doesn’t just talk about love — she lives it.

And today, watching her marry Charles — the man who makes her feel safe, seen, and protected — felt like witnessing love find its home.

So here’s to Sharecker and Charles:
May your marriage be filled with joy, understanding, forgiveness, and friendship.
May you continue to choose each other everyday, again and again, in both the ordinary and extraordinary moments that make up your life together.

And in the words of a great poet, Nicki Minaj:
 “It’s a celebration every time we link up. Greatness is what we are on the brink of. I wish I could have this moment for life”

Cheers to the Sellers — to love, laughter, and a lifetime of togetherness. 

DDC

Standard
About Me, Daddy, Mental Health, Personal Finances, Where to?

Starburst

A change of address is coming and I am experiencing a multitude of emotions. Excited. Sad. Nervous. Eager. Nostalgic. Regretful. Joyful. Curious. Grateful. 

Excited. I moved to Texas two weeks after my college graduation in May 2005. I have visited throughout the years but never longer than 2 weeks. I am excited to experience the 2024 version of Louisiana. Excited to establish a life of intention. Excited for a chance for a new beginning. A life reset:)

Sad. 

Nervous. Being in my parent’s home without my Daddy has saddened me every visit. Sometimes just for a moment. Sometimes for a few hours that include wailing tears. I am nervous about my ability to maintain a positive, happy, hopeful disposition. Nervous that my sparkle will dwindle in my new environment. Nervous that the grief stricken energy which permeates the walls of my parent’s home will transfer to me. Nervous that my pop of pink starburst energy will become beige. 

Eager. Moving home is the ultimate reset. A metamorphosis. During metamorphosis, the caterpillar undergoes significant changes in its body structure and physiology, eventually emerging as a completely different creature with adaptations suited for its adult life. I am eager to undergo significant changes. Change in body structure. Change in environment. Change in mindset. 

Nostalgic. A time was had in the DFW metroplex these last 19 years. I have been reflecting over the people and places that made an impact on who I am today. I spent many a Friday night happy hours at the Pappadeaux’s on Frankford then would let the night take us where it may. Hey Kelly*. I remember the night that a semi famous comedian gave me the dollars out of his pocket after I performed Mary J. Blidge’s ‘Not Gon Cry’ at Maxwell’s on a Tuesday. Karaoke was, is, and will forever be my love. Thankfully, I stumbled upon a Thursday night karaoke only 3 miles away.

Regretful. Are you familiar with the butterfly effect? A concept which suggests that small changes in initial conditions can lead to vastly different outcomes. New discoveries of productivity and attention strategies that I have been learning recently make me wonder who I could have been if I knew then what I know now. I am currently using a pomodoro technique to write this blog. It is a time management method designed to improve focus and productivity by breaking work into manageable chunks and incorporating regular breaks to maintain mental freshness. It involves breaking work into intervals, traditionally 25 minutes in length, separated by short breaks. I wonder who would I be if I knew the pomodoro technique in 2005. What could I have done with that one simple technique? We will never know and it does no good to ponder over the what ifs.

Joyful. I am moving home to live with my Mom. Last year my Mom suggested the idea of my moving home. I am still in shock that this move was her idea. I am joyful to have the opportunity to build a meaningful relationship with her at this stage of our lives. Joyful for the front row seat to her potential metamorphosis. EXTREMELY joyful for having a significant reduction in monthly living expenses. 

Curious. What lies ahead? Will I shine bright like a diamond? Will I be a neutral beige? Will my Mom and I become buddies and have a made for television relationship? Hallmark not Tubi.

Grateful. I am grateful that my Mom has welcomed me into her home. 

DDC

Lesson: A passenger called me Starburst as a nickname this week and I liked it. 

Question: Any tips on starting over in your 40s? 

Standard