A Childhood Full of Love, Laughter, Lessons, and Leotards

I grew up in a wholesome home overflowing with love. My parents were the ultimate dynamic duo—we called them Batman and Robin. They supported each other through everything, and no decisions were made without the other’s input. The bond they shared was inspiring and something I’ve always dreamed of having in my own life.

Family time was the heartbeat of our home. Whether we were playing games, watching movies, or sitting on my parents’ bed talking about life, those moments are etched in my heart. One phrase I heard often growing up was, "Secrets have no friends." This simple idea resonated deeply in our family; we shared everything with one another.

My parents weren’t shy about showing their affection, which sometimes grossed me out as a kid—I’d roll my eyes and tell them to “get a room!” Looking back now, though, I see how beautiful their connection truly was. My dad’s unexpected passing in January 2015, just shy of their 41st wedding anniversary, was heartbreaking. Even so, the love they shared and the example they set continue to inspire me.

Life on Eisenhower, in our small three-bedroom, one-bathroom home, was modest but rich in love, imagination, and support. We didn’t have a lot of material things, but we never lacked what truly mattered. My mom ran a small in-home daycare so she could stay home with my brother and me, while my dad worked full-time during the day. As we got older, my parents shifted their schedules—my dad worked days, and my mom worked nights—so that one of them was always home with us.

When I was little, my quirks made life fun and memorable. Clothes? Overrated. I lived in bathing suits and leotards, and there are plenty of incriminating photos to prove it! I’ll never forget the time a tornado touched down near our house. My mom told me to grab everything I needed to stay safe, so I grabbed my two favorite bathing suits (one was a neon ombre with a fishnet overlay), my boombox, and a bag of marshmallows. Needless to say, I wasn’t exactly prepared for a disaster—but hey, I was in second grade!

Growing up, I had many nicknames, but one of the classics was Louise Lane. I was (and still am) incredibly nosey. I had to know everything—every detail, every story, every happening. One time, I remember my mom casually saying, “Who’s that out there with Dad?”

Well, Miss Louise Lane, reporting for duty, grabbed a notepad and pencil and headed out to do some serious detective work. I thought I was being stealthy (spoiler: I was as subtle as a flashing neon sign), but I managed to gather all the “intel.” I reported back to my mom with a full rundown: the description of the man’s truck, what he looked like, what he was wearing, the conversation they were having, and even how my dad was reacting.

My mom was completely caught off guard. She had no idea why I was suddenly delivering a full investigative report. I just looked at her and said, “Well, you wondered who it was!” Clearly, in my mind, I was just doing my job.

Another keen attribute of mine? I am incredibly graceful! It truly takes talent to trip over air or to fall up the stairs, and I have the record to prove it—six broken arms in total.

Up until I was five, we lived in a home that my dad and grandpa built from scratch, which still stands today on Radium Road. I have plenty of memories from that house, including my very first broken arm. At the age of three, my older brother, who was six at the time, managed to convince me that I could fly if I jumped off the fireplace mantel. Spoiler alert: I couldn’t. Off to the emergency room we went!

Not long after, I had another brilliant idea: I wanted to know what it would feel like to roll down the stairs. Now, the basement stairs were unfinished because in 1980, the Great Bend flood halted my dad’s progress on the house. Being the planner I am, I told my brother, “If I start crying or yelling, go get Mom and Dad.” I barely made it halfway down before the tears started streaming. I landed at the bottom with a broken nose, and it was another trip to the ER. Of course, I was already planning my next stunt by the time we got home!

Throughout my childhood, we lived in three houses. First, there was the home my dad built on Radium Road. Then we moved into town on Eisenhower, and eventually, my parents compromised on a house just outside the city limits. My dad had always dreamed of farm living, but my mom didn’t like the idea of being far from civilization with little kids. Each home we lived in tells a story, holding its own memories, milestones, and adventures—sometimes painful ones, but always unforgettable.

As I moved into my school years, things got more complicated. I was often teased for being taller than my classmates—I was 5’7” by fifth grade—and for blooming earlier than most kids. I was also labeled a “teacher’s pet” or “brown-noser” because I loved helping out. After school, I would stay behind to help my teachers with bulletin boards and other projects. I loved crafting and seeing my work on display in the classroom and hallways.

Reading was another passion of mine during childhood. I devoured books like The Babysitter’s Club, Amelia Bedelia, the Judy Blume Fudge series, and Ramona the Brave. Those stories sparked my imagination and became a big part of my world, though I lost that love for reading during my pre-teen and teen years.

Middle school (7th and 8th grade) was, to put it simply, awkward. These were the years I despised the most. My teachers often paired me with the “weird boys” in group projects. They weren’t motivated, and honestly, they were gross. I remember finally getting the courage to ask my science teacher why she always paired me with them, expecting her to stop doing it. Instead, she told me, “Nicole, I put you in their group because I know you’re the only person who will be kind to them.” That moment was humbling and made me realize that even though I don’t understand the why, people usually have good reason for their decisions.

High School Years—Humbling, Growth, and New Perspectives

High school was a whirlwind of socializing, extracurriculars, and figuring out who I was—more a social playground than a place for educational growth or preparing for my future. I was involved in just about everything, including tennis, soccer, softball, Pep Club, Kayettes, Spanish Club, Prom Committee, and orchestra. I thrived in these environments, using them as outlets to express myself, stay busy, and connect with others. I loved being part of so many groups, but in hindsight, I realize I didn’t truly grasp the significance of these experiences on my life and future at the time.

The early years were marked by arrogance. I was part of a group of girls—my “posse”—and I thought I was too good for everyone else. I reveled in that mindset, believing my place in the social hierarchy was secure.

There was one particular moment that stands out: A guy a grade ahead of me asked me out in the stairwell, and without hesitation, I dismissed him, saying, “Why would I date you?” His response was a sharp “You’re a bitch,” but I didn’t hear it as an insult. In that moment, I somehow thought it was a compliment. I was so absorbed in my own arrogance that I couldn’t understand how my behavior could hurt others.

But then came a humbling experience that truly shaped my outlook on life. A friend invited me on a church retreat to Omaha, Nebraska, and I went, though not for the right reasons. While there, we toured a homeless shelter, and I was confronted with a reality I had never considered. The people at the shelter weren’t just those struggling with addiction or bad decisions—they were everyday people, like me. One family of five had lost their home when it burned down during their vacation at a beach resort. Their entire life was gone in an instant.

The moment that stood out most, though, happened at lunchtime. We were served a simple meal—spaghetti. Growing up, I had always been a picky eater and had my food rituals. My family knew better than to mix the noodles with sauce, and the sauce never touched the meat. But here, at the shelter, I was asked to eat what they were serving. I begrudgingly took my plate, not thinking much of it.

But as I sat there, idly poking at my food, a homeless man sitting nearby noticed me. He was older and had a look of weariness in his eyes, he reminded me a lot of the character Alan from Jumanji when he came through the game after living in the jungle for a number of years, but he wasn’t judgmental. Instead, he quietly said, “If you’re just going to play with your food, I’ll take your plate. I’m starving.”

I was caught off guard by his honesty. He didn’t ask for anything in a harsh way, but it was a reality check for me. I realized how lucky I was, and here was a man, someone who had lost everything, asking for something that I was so casually wasting. It made me feel small in the best way possible—like I had been living with blinders on.

I handed him my plate, no questions asked. It wasn’t just about the food—it was about understanding the gravity of what had just happened. It was a moment that made me realize how deeply privileged I was, and how often I took things for granted. I had never thought about hunger or hardship in such a personal way before. The experience stayed with me for years, and from that point forward, I became much more aware of my actions and the way I looked at the world. It softened my arrogance and helped me approach others with more humility and compassion.

But with this change in perspective came loneliness. Slowly, my friendship with the “posse” began to fade. The appeal of being part of the group started to lose its shine. I realized the impact of my past behavior—the rejection from people who no longer wanted to be my friend because of how poorly I had treated them was painful, and it stung. I was forced to face the consequences of my actions, and I couldn’t ignore them.

By senior year, I was more isolated than ever. My relationship with the “posse” had dwindled, and I was left feeling like an outsider. But in a way, that loneliness became a turning point. I found comfort in being myself, without trying to fit into the mold of who I thought I should be. I was ready for the next chapter of my life. 

I was also able to focus more on my education during my senior year, especially in areas that truly interested me. I’ve always loved writing, and my senior English teacher, Mrs. Seeman, played a huge role in deepening that passion. She was one of those rare teachers who inspired and encouraged her students to push beyond their limits.

It was a tradition that every senior write a major paper. While I don’t remember the topic of mine, I do still have a copy of it. Mrs. Seeman loved my work so much that she asked if she could keep a copy to share with her future students as an example of how to write an exceptional paper. That moment has always stuck with me—it felt like a validation of my voice and potential as a writer.

I started dating a guy my junior year who was a student at the local college. He was on the Barton baseball team and so I spent more time with the college crowd than I did with my high school friends, and as my senior year went on, I couldn’t wait to leave the small confines of high school. I was eager to move on to college and start fresh. High school had been a place of growth and humility, but I was ready to move forward and find out what came next.

Reflecting on my childhood, teenage years, and the experiences that shaped me, I can’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. Life seemed to come naturally and easily to me back then. Even though the obstacles I faced felt big at the time, looking back, I realize just how good I had it. I was surrounded by love, opportunities, and lessons that prepared me for life’s bigger challenges.

I never could have imagined how drastically my life would change in the years to come. Those twists and turns have taught me even more about resilience, humility, and strength. But as I think about the foundation I had—one built on love, family, and the belief that I could overcome anything—I know those early years gave me the tools to keep moving forward, no matter what comes my way…..and boy did I have some dark clouds coming my way.

The Consequences of Not Knowing Your Self-Worth: A Journey Through the Void

We all have moments in life when things fall apart. Sometimes it feels like the foundation of everything you’ve worked for crumbles beneath you. I know this from experience.

Rewind to 2015. It was the year I lost my best friend, my foundation, my leader—my father. The loss shattered my world. Suddenly, everything felt unsteady. The life I had worked so hard to build on my own in the city I loved came crashing down. I moved back home, mostly to support my mom, but also because, deep down, I was waiting for my dad to return. I couldn’t shake the void he left in my life.

That void? I tried to fill it. We all do, right? We try to fill our emptiness with something—anything—that promises to ease the pain. In my case, I thought romantic relationships could fill that void. Spoiler alert: they didn’t.

Then came the worst of it. The most toxic person I had ever met entered my life. He was a master of manipulation, deceit, and control—so skilled at what he did that he could perform the most horrendous actions right in front of my eyes, and I was completely oblivious to it. This is where my real hell began. But that’s a story for another time.

What I can tell you now, looking back, is that I didn’t know my worth. I didn’t understand the power of protecting my own identity, my own peace, and my own value. I wasn’t grounded in who I was, so I let someone else define my worth. I allowed someone to take advantage of my pain, my vulnerability, and my brokenness. I gave him control over a life that wasn’t his to claim.

I didn’t know that the absence of self-worth creates space for toxic people to come in. When you don’t see your own value, you leave yourself open to being manipulated, used, and discarded. This is the risk of neglecting your worth: it opens doors for people who will drain you, take from you, and leave you questioning everything about yourself.

But it’s not just about what happens to you. Not knowing your worth doesn’t just affect your own life—it affects everyone around you, too. When you lose your identity and your self-worth, you lose your goals, your desires, and your purpose in life. You begin to drift, unsure of what you want or what you’re even capable of.

But the impact is far beyond you. Your purpose, the unique gifts that God gave you, are meant to inspire others. When you lose sight of your value, the world loses out. Those people who are waiting to be inspired by you, to be uplifted by your strength and authenticity—they too miss out. Not knowing yourself leads to confusion, uncertainty, and insecurity. It becomes hard to make decisions, form meaningful relationships, and trust yourself.

It elevates anxiety, leads to stress, and can cause panic attacks that hold you back from living the life you were meant to lead. And perhaps one of the most painful effects is that it creates a barrier between you and others, and between you and God. When you can’t connect with your true self, it’s hard to connect deeply with others or feel a real connection to your spiritual purpose.

But the story doesn’t end there. I broke free. I started learning about abuse—about what it looks like, how it feels, and most importantly, how to heal. The journey is ongoing. The pieces of my life that were shattered by that toxic person are still in the process of being put back together. But here’s the beautiful part: they don’t look the same. The pieces I’m finding are stronger. They’re filled with resilience and power.

I’m still working on healing, and some days are harder than others, but I’ve discovered something incredibly important: knowing my worth is the key to my freedom. The more I understand and affirm my own value, the less I tolerate anyone who tries to diminish it. The more I love and care for myself, the more I attract relationships that respect and honor me.

You see, when you don’t know your worth, it’s easy for others to take advantage of that. It’s easy for toxic people to find their way into your life and wreak havoc. But once you begin to see your value—truly understand it—everything changes. You stop attracting the wrong people, and you start building a life filled with those who see you, respect you, and love you for who you are. You become unshakable.

And that, my friends, is how we reclaim our power.

Action Steps for Preventing Toxic People from Entering Your Life:

Get Clear on Your Boundaries:
Take some time to reflect on your values and what behaviors are unacceptable to you. Write down your boundaries—both emotional and physical—and remind yourself of them regularly. This clarity will make it easier to spot toxic behavior early and stop it before it becomes a pattern.

Action: Write down at least three personal boundaries that you are willing to stand firm on. Whether it's how others treat your time, how they speak to you, or your emotional needs, make sure they align with your values.

Trust Your Gut:
Often, our intuition gives us early warning signs about toxic people. If something feels off, don't ignore it. Trust that inner voice telling you that something is wrong. Listening to your gut can save you from investing time and energy into people who aren't good for you.

Action: Start practicing listening to your instincts. When you meet someone new or are around a person who gives you a weird feeling, ask yourself: What is my gut telling me right now? Write down your feelings to analyze later if necessary.

Know Your Worth:
When you know and value yourself, you won’t settle for relationships that diminish you. Toxic people thrive on individuals who feel unsure of themselves. Build your self-esteem daily through positive affirmations, self-care routines, and acknowledging your growth.

Action: Every morning, write down one thing you love about yourself or a strength you’ve recently displayed. By reinforcing your value, you make it less likely for others to undermine your worth.

Set the Tone Early:
Toxic people often sneak in when you allow small disrespectful behaviors to slide. If someone oversteps your boundaries, address it immediately. Setting the tone early on lets people know what is and isn’t acceptable in your space.

Action: Practice assertive communication. The next time someone crosses a boundary, address it calmly but firmly. You don’t need to be rude, but let them know their behavior is not acceptable.

Surround Yourself with Supportive People:
Having a strong support system of friends, family, or mentors who respect you will make it easier to identify toxic individuals. Healthy relationships act as a mirror to remind you of your worth and give you the confidence to walk away from negativity.

Action: Reach out to someone you trust today. Spend time with them to reinforce your positive relationships. The stronger your circle, the less space there is for toxic people.

Don’t Be Afraid to Walk Away:
Sometimes, the best way to protect your peace is to simply walk away from a relationship that no longer serves you. This can be tough, but remember: you don’t owe anyone your time or energy if it’s damaging your well-being.

Action: If you’re currently in a relationship with someone who feels toxic, consider whether it's time to set a hard boundary or even walk away. Ask yourself, "Does this relationship add value to my life, or is it draining me?" Trust your answer.

Encouragement:

It’s not always easy to take these steps, especially if you’re used to putting others’ needs before your own or if you're afraid of confrontation. But taking these actions will help you reclaim your power and ensure you are surrounded by people who uplift and support you.

Remember: Knowing your worth is not just about you—it’s about ensuring you are the best version of yourself for the people who truly matter in your life.

Knowing Your Worth: Why It’s Not Your Job to Prove It to Anyone

You are worthy. Not because of what you do, but because of who you are. For too long, I believed that in order to prove my worth, I needed to jump through hoops—constantly seeking validation from others, molding myself to fit their expectations. But here’s the truth: if someone doesn’t see your worth, that’s their problem, not yours. And it certainly doesn’t mean you have to be a doormat in the process.

1. Step One: Know Yourself—Your Identity is the Foundation

The number one step to knowing your worth, setting boundaries, and living authentically is knowing who you truly are. Take the time to ask yourself:

• Who are you?

• What makes you tick?

• What do you value most in life?

• How do you see yourself at your best—and at your worst?

Understanding your own identity is crucial because it forms the basis of everything else. When you know who you are at your core, it becomes so much easier to set boundaries that align with your values and live a life that reflects your truth. You stop second-guessing yourself, and you begin to act from a place of confidence and authenticity.

2. Your Worth is Inherent, Not Conditional

Once you understand your identity, you’ll realize that your worth is not tied to anything external. From the moment you were born, you were enough. Your value doesn’t fluctuate based on your achievements or what others think of you. It’s constant. When you know this, you’ll stop letting others define your worth or dictate how you should feel about yourself.

Your worth is not up for negotiation. It’s already there—it's intrinsic. And once you internalize this truth, you’ll stop allowing others to treat you like you’re anything less than amazing.

3. Stop Seeking Validation—Affirm Your Own Value

For a long time, I sought validation from someone who didn’t have the capacity to give it. I was friends with an individual who constantly told me what was wrong with me and everyone around us. The negativity was overwhelming—it was as though nothing was ever good enough, and everything was a complaint. I thought at first it was just jealousy, but soon I found myself absorbed in her way of thinking.

I started believing that I needed to change who I was to fit her view of the world. I was constantly searching for validation from her, but it never came. I found myself isolating from others, feeling like I only needed this one “friend.”

I lost myself. I lost my identity.

I became someone I didn’t recognize—someone trapped in a “victim mentality.” One day, I snapped out of it. I realized I could no longer let someone else shape who I was or make me feel small. So, I made the difficult decision to cut ties. It wasn’t easy—there were consequences, and I’m still dealing with them. But the peace I gained from stepping away was far greater than the cost.

And what happened next was beautiful. By letting go of that toxic relationship, I created space for deeper, more meaningful connections. I attracted people who encouraged me to be my true self. I found friendships where I was accepted, celebrated, and supported for who I really am, without any pressure to change.

4. Setting Boundaries: A Reflection of Your Self-Respect

Now that I understand my worth, I’ve learned how to set boundaries that honor my needs. Saying “no” is one of the most powerful ways to protect your energy, and when you know who you are, you can clearly define what you will and won’t accept in your relationships and life. Setting boundaries is not selfish—it’s self-respect.

I’ve realized that the relationships I engage in must be mutual and respectful. If someone doesn’t respect my boundaries, that’s their issue, not mine. Saying “no” isn’t about being mean, it’s about taking care of myself. I protect my energy, my time, and my peace, and I refuse to let anyone take that away from me.

5. No More Playing Small—Embrace Your Full Potential

Many of us play small because we fear rejection, criticism, or discomfort. But when you know your worth, you stop shrinking into the background to make others feel comfortable. You stop second-guessing yourself when you speak up or pursue your dreams. You embrace your unique gifts and unapologetically show up as the person you were meant to be.

When you realize your worth, there’s no need to play small or dim your light for anyone. You step into your full potential, standing tall in your truth. You become the person who isn’t afraid to live boldly, and you inspire others to do the same.

6. Protect Your Time and Energy—They Are Precious

Time and energy are precious commodities, and when you know your worth, you begin to protect both. Don’t waste time and energy on people or situations that drain you or make you feel less than. Invest in yourself. Invest in relationships that support and lift you up. Focus on the things that align with your values and purpose.

When you know your worth, you understand that every moment spent on something that doesn’t serve you is a moment you’ll never get back. Guard your energy fiercely.

Conclusion

Remember: You are worthy—right here, right now. You don’t have to prove it to anyone, and you certainly don’t need to earn it. It’s time to stop settling, stop compromising, and stop shrinking to fit someone else’s idea of who you should be. Embrace your worth. Own it. And let the world see you for who you truly are.

Action Step: Take a moment today to reflect on your identity. Who are you at your core? What makes you tick? Once you understand that, you can begin to live with more confidence, set better boundaries, and affirm your worth every day.

It’s Time to Tell My Story

For a long time, I hesitated. I told myself, “No, I better not.” Fear has been a constant shadow in my life for the last 8 years, whispering that speaking out would only bring pain. I wasn’t just afraid of sharing too much about myself—I was afraid of the potential backlash and retaliation that could be directed at my son as a way to get to me. I also worried about any legal ramifications that might come from publicly discussing my situation.

One day at work, as I stood at the register during a shift at my part-time job, a friend came through my line. This is a friendship that feels complicated, maybe even frowned upon. My ex has worked relentlessly to instill a deep fear in me, convincing me that I can’t have connections with anyone associated with the church I used to attend—the same church he still goes to. And for a long time, I believed him. I avoided people connected to that place, keeping my distance and letting fear dictate my choices.

But when this friend came through my line that day, we were simply catching up on each other’s lives. It was a friendly, casual conversation. As they were walking away, they turned back and said something that caught me completely off guard: “You need to tell your story.”

Those words hit me like a lightning bolt. I knew they were right. It felt like confirmation—like God was speaking directly to my heart through them. I’ve carried this calling for so long, this quiet, persistent nudge from God to share my story. But every time, I’ve pushed it away. “Not now,” I’d say. “It’s too risky. What if it backfires?” And yet, in that moment, I knew: this isn’t about me. It’s about what God wants to do through me.

So here I am, finally taking the step I’ve avoided for so long. I’m starting this blog to tell my story. To be honest, I’m still scared. Sharing my truth feels like walking into a storm with no umbrella. But I’m choosing to trust that God will protect and guide me, even when the winds howl.

This blog is about more than just me. It’s about healing, faith, and finding strength in vulnerability. It’s about shining a light on the shadows that fear casts and reminding anyone who reads this that they’re not alone. My journey has been messy, painful, and complicated, but it’s also been filled with moments of grace and redemption. And I believe there’s power in sharing that.

You can expect to see pieces of my story here—the highs, the lows, and everything in between. I’ll write about what I’ve learned through my struggles, how faith has anchored me, and the small but significant steps I’m taking to build a life filled with hope and purpose. My prayer is that through this blog, God will use my story to encourage and inspire others, just as that friend’s words encouraged me to take this leap of faith.

To anyone reading this: thank you for being here. Thank you for giving me a chance to share my heart. I hope you’ll join me on this journey, wherever it may lead. Together, let’s find strength, hope, and maybe even a little bit of healing in the stories we tell.

It’s time to tell my story. And I’m ready.