Tag Archives: Sex and the City

About Me, Multiple Sclerosis

I Thought MS Would Take My Legs

Five years ago today, I had a conversation with my partner in crime.

I had been having extreme difficulty walking for a few days. She called me and said she was coming to get me and take me to the emergency room.

I told her, “Not today. Let’s go in the morning.”

She said okay.

That night, I lay in bed wondering what could possibly be causing me to have so much trouble walking for so long. I remember it was a Friday. Looking back now, I wonder: What was I thinking?

I had already been to urgent care that day. They had no idea what was going on, and I could barely get myself there.

The next morning, we went to the emergency room. After several MRIs and other tests, I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis.

I couldn’t believe it.

I thought MS wasn’t genetic. My sister already had Multiple Sclerosis, so surely what was happening to me had to be something else.

But no.

Although MS allegedly isn’t directly inherited, somehow we BOTH have MS.

I thought my life was over.

I thought I was destined to be in a wheelchair. Disabled. Dependent on other people.

Because that was the image of MS I had seen.

I remember meeting Dr. Dyke, the neurologist on duty in the emergency room. He was such a nice guy. He ended up becoming my neurologist and remained my doctor until I moved away from DFW.

My BFF came to the emergency room and was there when I received the diagnosis. After that, she came to every appointment with me for years.

I don’t think I fully appreciated then how much care that required. She took time off work to attend those appointments with me. Other than my son, I had no family in DFW.

Without my BFF, I would have been alone.

I received steroids in the emergency room. It took a few hours, but eventually I was able to walk out without incident.

And then, just a few days later, my partner in crime, 18 friends, and I went to Tulum, Mexico, for a friend’s birthday trip to paradise.

Because apparently a life-changing diagnosis wasn’t going to stop the itinerary.

I told my friend Ivy, the birthday girl, about my diagnosis. She and everyone else on that trip watched over me with such kindness.

Before leaving, I bought a packable cane just in case I needed it.

Five years later, I still keep that cane in my car.

I remember calling my mom the day after my diagnosis to tell her. I didn’t want to tell her on August 21 because that was her birthday, and I didn’t want to tell my Daddy over the phone.

Some time later, my parents came to visit, and I told my Daddy that I had MS too.

He cried.

Not just a tear.

His initial reaction was deeply emotional.

And somehow, I found myself comforting him about my diagnosis.

The diagnosis also made other things in my life make sense.

For years, I had issues with my bladder. I couldn’t always hold it. I had accidents. I have memories of running desperately to bathrooms and even peeing on the side of the car.

It was just something I laughed about.

My friends knew that if I said I had to go, everyone needed to stop what they were doing and make sure I got to a restroom.

Over the years, I remember searching bladder incontinence online and seeing very clearly that one possible cause was Multiple Sclerosis.

But it never clicked.

Not until I ended up in that emergency room.

Today, I wear incontinence underwear every day.

Actually, I wear two.

Just in case.

And then there are the changes people can’t see.

The mild cognitive impairment.

Words don’t come to me the way they used to.

I used to be quick. I could pull something someone said earlier in a conversation and turn it into a funny callback. I could jump into conversations naturally. I could think of questions. I could keep the conversation going.

Now, I often sit quietly while other people are talking.

I listen.

I observe.

But sometimes I can’t figure out how to break into the conversation. I don’t have anything to add because the words simply aren’t there. Questions don’t pop into my brain the way they once did.

I go to ChatGPT for conversation starters more often than I’d like to admit.

When I was diagnosed, I thought the worst thing MS could take from me was my ability to walk.

Five years later, I realize I was wrong.

It took some of my words.

And that is an invisible pain I never knew to fear.

Not having the words has created a different kind of loneliness.

I am here.

People are around me.

I want to connect with them. I want to join the conversation. I want to explain what is happening inside of me.

But sometimes I simply can’t find the words to do it.

And losing my words hurts because it feels like I lost a piece of myself.

If MS only affected my walking, people could see me struggling.

They might slow down.

Offer me an arm.

Find me somewhere to sit.

Understand why I’m tired.

But nobody can see me searching for a word.

Nobody can see the thought that was there a second ago disappear before I could grab it.

Nobody can see how lonely it can feel to have something to say and not be able to find the words to say it.

Five years ago, I lay in bed wondering why I couldn’t walk.

I had no idea that five years later, I would be grieving something I didn’t even know I could lose.

My words.

DDC

Standard
About Me, Mental Health, Multiple Sclerosis

What Happened To Me?!?!

If DDC 2021 met DDC 2026, she probably wouldn’t recognize her.

She’d spend the first few minutes asking questions.

What happened to your spark?

Why don’t you laugh as much anymore?

When did you stop planning girls’ nights and random Tuesday adventures?

Why do you stay home so much?

When did you stop blogging?

Why are you so quiet?

And then she’d ask the question that hurts the most.

“What happened to me?”

I wish I had a simple answer.

I could tell her that Multiple Sclerosis happened.

Depression happened.

ADHD happened.

Stress happened.

Perimenopause happened.

Maybe even years of carrying more than I realized happened.

But none of those answers would fully explain why she no longer recognizes herself in me.

The hardest part hasn’t been learning to live with MS.

The hardest part has been grieving the woman I used to be while trying to become someone I never expected to meet.

I miss the way my brain used to work.

I miss finding the perfect word without searching for it.

I miss making people laugh with a callback to something they said an hour earlier.

I miss walking into a room already thinking about how to bring people together.

I miss blogging because the words used to arrive faster than I could type them.

Now they often feel trapped somewhere just beyond my reach.

People say Multiple Sclerosis is an invisible disease.

Sometimes that’s true.

Most people don’t see the battle happening inside my mind.

They don’t see me searching for a word that used to come effortlessly.

They don’t see the grief that comes from feeling like a stranger inside your own life.

I used to describe myself as outgoing.

Effervescent.

Now I spend many evenings at home with an audiobook.

I’ve noticed something strange about that.

I can almost measure my isolation by the number of books I read.

The higher the number climbs, the quieter my life has become.

It’s only July, and I’ve already finished 28 books.

Books haven’t replaced people.

They’ve simply kept me company.

I’ve stopped blogging.

I’ve stayed in a job I’m afraid to leave because I no longer trust my own abilities the way I once did.

Little by little, fear has made my world smaller.

Last week I met another woman with MS at physical therapy.

She was using a walker.

I only said hello.

Later, I wondered if I wasn’t avoiding her at all.

Maybe I was avoiding the fear she represented.

Or maybe I was avoiding the grief we would’ve recognized in each other without saying a word.

Today, though, I decided to write.

Not because the words suddenly came back.

They didn’t.

I wrote because I was tired of waiting until everything felt normal again.

Maybe this is what hope looks like now.

Not pretending I’m the woman I was in 2021.

Not believing I’ve lost her forever either.

Just trusting that somewhere underneath the grief, the doctor’s appointments, the diagnoses, and the fear…

I’m still here.

Maybe DDC 2021 wouldn’t recognize me right away.

But I hope if she stayed awhile, she’d still recognize my heart.

And maybe…

she’d remind me that it’s okay to keep becoming.

DDC

Lesson: Grief isn’t limited to losing people. Sometimes the hardest grief is mourning the version of yourself you thought you’d always be. Healing begins when you stop waiting to become your old self and start giving your present self permission to have a voice.

Question: Have you ever grieved a version of yourself that no longer exists? What helped you begin accepting—and even appreciating—the person you’re becoming?

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, Chapter 2, Mental Health, Where to?

Beige

Lately, I’ve been wrestling with a strange feeling. I feel like I left my sparkle in DFW. Back then, I shined bright—bold, vibrant, effervescent. I was the type of person who lit up rooms, who carried a certain energy, a certain extra that made me feel alive.

Now? I feel beige. Neutral. Faded. Completely… blah.

It makes me wonder: is this what growing up is supposed to feel like? Trading in sparkle for steadiness, vibrancy for responsibility, joy for a “just get through the day” kind of existence? If it is—then I don’t want to grow up.

Moving, transitioning, and starting over later in life are not small things. Sometimes the sparkle isn’t lost—it’s buried under the weight of change. We juggle work, family, bills, routines, expectations. And slowly, the parts of us that once danced so freely get quiet. They’re still there, just muted.

But here’s the thing I’m starting to realize: sparkle doesn’t expire. It doesn’t vanish when you turn 30, 40, or even 70. It doesn’t disappear when you relocate or reinvent yourself. Sparkle is a state of being, a choice, a return to what lights you up.

Maybe the question isn’t, “Did I lose my sparkle?” Maybe it’s, “Where can I find it again?”

Finding My Sparkle Again

For me, sparkle looks like:

  • Being around people who energize me, not drain me.
  • Doing things that bring me joy simply because they make me smile.
  • Saying yes to experiences that scare me a little but also make me feel alive.
  • Dressing up just because, blasting music in the car, laughing loudly at all times.

In other words—sparkle is about choosing vibrancy in a world that often feels dull.

A Note to Myself (and Maybe to You Too)

Growing up doesn’t have to mean giving up my sparkle. Adulthood doesn’t have to equal beige. Yes, life changes. Yes, I carry more responsibilities. But that doesn’t mean I can’t sparkle again. Maybe the grown-up version of sparkle just looks different: less about wild nights out, more about being fully alive in the little things.

And if I’m really honest, maybe the fact that I even miss my sparkle is proof that it’s still in me somewhere—waiting for me to bring it back to life.

Here’s to sequins in the everyday, laughter in the ordinary, and sparkle— always sparkle— no matter the season.

DDC

Question: Have you ever felt beige? Is “beige” a phase we all go through, or a warning sign that I need to recalibrate? And maybe most importantly—what’s your go-to move when you feel beige? What do you do as your personal “anti-beige” to bring the sparkle back?

Lesson: Growing up doesn’t have to mean dimming down. Adulthood doesn’t have to equal beige. It’s possible to carry responsibility and still keep joy, spontaneity, and vibrancy alive.

Standard
About Me, Chapter 2, Where to?

My Kitchen

I was ingredient prepping this weekend—chopping sweet bell peppers, steaming spinach, blending eggs with cottage cheese—when an uninvited guest made an appearance. A fly started buzzing around my ingredients. Instinctively, I yelled, “Get out of my kitchen!”

That’s when it hit me.

I yelled at a fly to get out of my kitchen.

This wasn’t just any moment. This was Friday, May 16th—the one-year mark of my move back to Louisiana after nearly two decades in Dallas.

One year ago, when I returned home, I was riding a rollercoaster of emotions—hopeful, yet often deeply sad. Starting over in your 40s isn’t as simple as packing a U-Haul and driving across state lines. It’s raw. It’s humbling. It’s layered.

And the kitchen? The kitchen was my mom’s. Her space. Her rhythm. Her routines.

Sure, I scrambled eggs most mornings, but for the longest time, I had no desire to truly cook. I had spent 19 years cooking dinner almost daily for my son and me. But when I got here, something changed. I was in survival mode. I didn’t want to try new recipes or meal prep or bake for the joy of it. I tiptoed in and out of the kitchen like a respectful guest. It wasn’t mine.

But on this ordinary Friday, 365 days later, while speaking to a fly, I unknowingly claimed ownership of a space that once felt foreign.

“My kitchen.”

And when I realized what I had said, I shed a tear.

A single, grateful tear.

Because in that small moment, I realized something big:


I am home.

—DDC 🩷

Question: What’s one unexpected moment that made you realize you were exactly where you were meant to be?

Lesson: Home doesn’t always feel like home at first. Sometimes it takes time, healing, and even yelling at a fly. It feels good to be home. 

Standard
About Me, Career, Chapter 2, Mental Health, Where to?

One Year Later: A U-Haul, a New Chapter, and the Fragile Gift of Starting Over

A year ago today, I loaded up a 15-foot U-Haul with my memories, my belongings, and a heart full of hope (and fear) and drove away from the life I had built in Dallas over nearly two decades.

I didn’t know what would meet me on the other side of that drive to Gonzales, Louisiana. I just knew it was time. Time to be closer to family. Time to listen to that quiet inner nudge that kept whispering, “It’s okay to begin again.”

Today, I find myself in my feelings. Raw. Reflective. Fragile.
I’m struggling to concentrate on my HR duties, so I decided to pause and write. It’s been a while since I’ve posted—my last entry was on my birthday, November 23, 2024. I had just turned 43. A lot can happen in a year.

Since that post, life has unfolded in unexpected and beautiful ways.

I landed the job I once dreamed about—an HR Coordinator role that truly fits me. For years, I worked in recruiting and longed for something broader. I wanted to expand beyond interviews and resumes into a more holistic HR space, and I did it. My current role allows me to support employees more fully, contribute to engagement, and still flex my recruiting muscles—without it consuming my entire day. It feels like purpose and alignment found their way back to me.

Slowly but surely, I’m settling into life in Gonzales.
I have a church home that pours into my spirit.
I’ve joined a local Toastmasters club that’s helping me grow in courage and connection.
I’m meeting new people.
I’m rekindling old friendships.
I’m rebuilding a life from the ground up—and letting it look different this time.

But even with all the progress, there are days like today—quiet, emotional, and a bit heavy.
Days where I miss the familiar. Days where the cost of the move feels loud.
Where the memories from Dallas tug on my heartstrings, reminding me of what was.
Starting over is brave… and it’s also tender.

I’m learning that success and sadness can coexist. That growth often walks hand-in-hand with grief. That joy doesn’t erase the ache—it simply reminds us why we keep going.

So today, I’m giving myself grace.
To feel it all.
To celebrate the milestones.
To mourn the losses.
To rest in the middle of the journey.

If you’re reading this and you’ve started over recently—know that you’re not alone.
It’s okay to feel everything.
It’s okay to still be finding your footing.
It’s okay to be proud and sad all at once.

This isn’t the end. It’s just the one-year mark.
And I have a feeling year two will be even more powerful.

All Good Things,
DDC

Lesson: Starting over is both brave and tender—and it’s okay to feel everything that comes with it.

Question: Have you ever made a big life change — like moving, changing careers, or starting over? What helped you get through the transition?

You can leave your response on IG.

Standard
Chapter 2, Love Life

Am I the Problem?

Lately, I’ve been on a rollercoaster with Facebook Dating. It’s been a cycle of joining, swiping, chatting, and leaving—only to come back and try again. A few meet-and-greets have come from it, and while some were genuinely pleasant, none have led to the connection I’m looking for. Either the spark wasn’t there for me, or it wasn’t reciprocated.  

I’ve met some nice people, but I’ve also found myself matching with individuals I wasn’t initially attracted to. I told myself it was about being open-minded, giving people a chance to grow on me, and stepping out of my comfort zone. But time and again, those efforts have proven unsuccessful. Attraction, as it turns out, can’t be forced—and neither can chemistry.  

Here’s the thing: I know I’m the prize. I know my worth, my value, and all the amazing things I bring to the table. So why is it so hard for me to truly live in that truth? Why do I keep finding myself settling for less than I deserve, hoping that somehow the situation will rise to meet me?  

The hard truth is, I’m the common denominator in all these experiences. It’s not easy to admit, but if I keep falling into the same patterns, I have to ask myself: Am I the problem? Am I the one blocking my own blessings by settling, doubting, or compromising on what I truly want and need?  

Recognizing this isn’t about self-blame; it’s about self-awareness. It’s about understanding that I can’t expect to find a deep, meaningful connection if I’m not fully aligned with what I deserve and willing to hold out for it.  

The truth is, being the prize means more than just knowing it—it means living it. It means refusing to settle, trusting the process, and having faith that the right connection will come when it’s meant to. It means being patient with myself, being okay with being single for a little longer, and focusing on my own growth and happiness.  

So no, I don’t think I’m “the problem” in the traditional sense. But I do think I have work to do. Work to ensure that my actions align with my self-worth. Work to break free from patterns of settling. Work to remember that I am worthy of a love that’s reciprocal, passionate, and authentic.  

DDC

Lesson: Yes. I may be the problem, but I’m also the prize—and it’s time I start living like it.  

Question: Are you the problem? 

Standard
Chapter 2, Mental Health, Where to?

Adjusting

I’ve been in Louisiana for 70 days now, and I’m just about settled into my space. I have one moving box left to unpack—shoes. It’s amazing how many shoes I have, considering I wear the same pink flip-flops on a regular basis.

I know to clean the guest bathroom every Friday and take the trash out on Tuesday evenings.

I’ve got a couple of churches on my radar and have selected a local Toastmasters club to join.

I know of two taco spots with great deals. Mi Padres has a Taco Tuesday special: three tacos and a margarita for $15.

I started working as a bartender at a daiquiri shop three miles away and had an interview with PJ’s Coffee today, which went well.

Mom and I have developed a good rhythm. I enjoy quality time with my mom and Mason. We saw Inside Out 2 together. Great movie. I’ve made a few connections with old friends.

I was introduced to a very nice cigar bar in town. Good vibes. Great music. Perhaps I enjoyed the venue more because of who I was with than because of the venue itself. Perhaps.

How long does it take to start over? I am starting over in my forties. I have the opportunity to choose my identity. I am trying to figure it out as I go.

Lesson: It is starting to feel like home.

Question: Daiquiris or coffee?

DDC

Standard
Chapter 2, Mason

All Things Jazmine

Hey Siri!

Mmmm.

Play “All Things Jazmine” on shuffle.

‘All Things Jazmine’ now shuffling on Apple Music.

“All Things Jazmine” is my playlist where I have compiled three hours and two minutes of Jazmine Sullivan. There is a song or five for every mood and I love it when Siri starts playing exactly the vibe I intended. Jazmine Sullivan’s discography consists of a variety of R&B and soulful tracks, showcasing her powerful vocals and storytelling abilities.

“I may not have a reason to think so I know, but today I think I’m gone win the lottery.”

Jazmine Sullivan. Silver Linings. Reality Show Album.

Silver Linings sparks feelings of positivity in me. Feelings of instant hope. Immediate excitement while considering a limitless future.

Another excellent start is Dream Big. The legendary Missy Elliot starts with the kind of energy where you immediately know a banger is beginning.

“This is a Jazmine exclusive SUCKERS! Oh, we gonna take ’em to the club like this.”

Jazmine Sullivan. Dream Big. Love Me Back Album.

Jazmine will do her thing encouraging very high energy in me. A catalyst where I cannot contain my energy to sing . . . well . . yell along with her.

“Packin’ up my shh and I’m going real far. Going off to Hollywood to be a big star. There’s nothing here for me so I gotta move fast. And I’m getting on the road and won’t never look back (hey)”

Jazmine Sullivan. Dream Big. Fearless Album.

It is obvious I literally love all things Jazmine Sullivan. I love listening to her music collection more than any other artist. I frequently use her lyrics as captions on my social media posts. I can instantly identify the specific song I need to hear in the specific moment I need to hear. Her words have inspired previous blog posts. My post entitled, “Stanley,” was birthed from listening to her song of the same name.

My favorite of all time from Jazmine Sullivan and possibly of all music is Masterpiece.

Masterpiece has a way of touching my soul on a deep level.

“I’m a work of art, a Mona Lisa. I’ll share my picture with the world. Not afraid to let it show anymore”

Jazmine Sullivan. Masterpiece. Reality Show Album.

Masterpiece is an empowering song about self-acceptance and recognizing your inner beauty. The lyrics convey a message of embracing your flaws and realizing that every part of you is a work of art. This song encourages me to let go of self-doubt and all negative self-perception. It highlights the importance of believing in one’s own worth and sharing that unique beauty with the world. Overall, Masterpiece is a celebration of self-love and self-expression.

I love this song so much that for my 42nd birthday, my favorite person, my SONshine, gifted me the most thoughtful gift I have possibly ever. Wall art with song lyrics of Masterpiece in the shape of an album with the caption, “To My Amazing Mother” and the date. 11/23/23.

It has to be the most perfect, most thoughtful, most tailored to who I am gift that I could have ever imagined.

I love Jazmine Sullivan’s music more than any other artist.

I love Mason Riley more than any other person. He’s my baby. My greatest accomplishment. So thoughtful. A good human being.

DDC

Lesson: I send Mason a few links to exactly what I want for my birthday every year. I include options at different price points. I’m very hard to buy a gift for. If I want something, then I’ll treat myself to it with little to no hesitation. This year Mason wanted to get me something on his own. No link required. He declared he wanted to put thought into it like I do.

Mason Riley exceeded my expectations on every level with this one.

Question: What song resonates with you? A song that inspires you to be better? Take some time today and actively listen to it. Then comment on my Instagram @DDCandthecity telling me the feelings inspired from listening.

Note: Mason Riley is in his junior year of Howard University studying Film & Television Production. Very soon, January 26, my SONshine will be 21 years old. Time flies when you are having fun.

Standard
Chapter 2

IRL

I miss being held at night. It felt like home. I miss his consideration. He could be very thoughtful. I miss end of the day conversations. I miss feeling appreciated while preparing Hello Fresh. I miss someone else cleaning up afterwards. I miss having a handyman. I miss being in a couple. I miss having someone to do life with. I miss being an “us.”

What am I doing about it? I joined Hinge, an online dating site, a couple weeks ago. Potential matches are fewer than Tinder but more than Coffee Meets Bagel. Hinge advertises they are designed for you to get off the app with a match. I’d honestly rather meet someone in real life. IRL. Does that happen anymore? Why does dating have to be so complicated?

I’m ready for a life partner.

At least I’m ready to try.

XOXO

Lesson: I’m accepting life partner applications.

Question: Who do you know?

Standard