THE RUN DOWN WITH ROZ
BLOGS/VLOGS
July 19, 2025
Title: Letting go of what no longer serves me.
January 26, 2026
Title: The Power Of Tears
I cried. Not just tears rolling down my face, I cried out loud. The funny thing is, I didn’t realize how loud I was until the next day. I also didn’t realize how much I needed it. I haven’t even fully mourned my parents yet, but on the night of January 16th, I cried out loud.
Here’s what happened:
I faced one of my monsters. You know the kind…. the one that haunts your dreams, the one that causes your triggers, the one that makes you feel like a little kid again, even though you’re grown. It’s amazing how the brain works. It suppresses so much to protect you, but if you don’t deal with what triggers you, you can’t fully heal. I won’t take credit for that statement; someone shared it with me when I was deciding whether I was ready to face one of my monsters.
I knew I would be triggered and I knew it would be hard, but I was told it was necessary. My husband wanted to go with me, but I told him I had to do this alone. I had to face my monster and let them see that I wasn’t afraid anymore, that I had grown, and that little girl was gone. I put way too much on myself… or did I?
My monster and I came face to face, and I froze. My mind went back to that little teenager who didn’t have an outside voice, the little girl who wanted to be respectful, even in dark times, a part of me went numb, lost for words and scared to show emotion. A feeling I hadn’t felt in so long came rushing over me. I kept seeing that little girl in my head, and honestly, it reminded me of Inside Out 2.
I let the monster disrespect me, get in my head and remind me I was worthless and unworthy. I was called out of my name; names I used to be called all the time. Every feeling I once carried came flooding back. I could barely look my monster in the face. I was just a child then, and in that moment, I felt like one again.
Hours passed, and then something happened. I can’t fully explain it, but I kept looking at my monster, this time through a different lens. My monster was no longer scary; In fact, I felt my inside voice rising. I watched my monster crumble, and relief began to settle in. This was the mastermind and enabler of so much that happened to me, the one who helped make my mental health unravel.
During our stare-down, our eyes locked. Normally, I would have looked down, but not this time. I held eye contact with confidence, and my monster looked away.
What was this feeling?
As we walked out, I walked with authority. My God. I’m 45 now, and the monster I’d carried since I was 15 wasn’t a giant. They had no control over my life or my emotions, they became smaller than an ant, and I became who I had always been.
I thought that was the best part, but it wasn’t.
After a long, triggering, draining day, I cried. I had heard and relived so much that I needed to process it all. Situations from my past were confirmed, and new information was revealed; more importantly, a newfound freedom came over me, that freedom was necessary.
I cried a good, hard, loud, unapologetic freedom cry. I didn’t care who heard me. I said exactly what I was feeling and didn’t worry about anyone else’s feelings, only my own. I was selfish for the first time. I put myself first, and it felt good.
The next morning, I woke up feeling like I had shed pounds of weight. My husband hugged me and said, “I’ve never heard you cry out like that before, how does it feel?”
I told him it felt good, and for once, I felt relief.
I want everyone to feel that kind of relief. I never knew how much power was in a good cry, a cry that allows freedom and healing. I’ve shed many tears over the years, but I suppressed the loud ones out of fear of feeling.
July 19, 2025
Title: Letting go of what no longer serves me.
It’s my shedding season—and I’m shedding more than just pounds.
I’m releasing everything that’s been eating me up inside: the emotions, the self-doubt, the pain I’ve allowed to manifest and break me from the inside out.
There’s no secret: my family is blended. Blended has been the normal for me—since childhood and now in my own home. We hear about celebrities and how they make it work, but let's talk about how I made it work. How Roz did it.
For years, I made it look easy. I was so focused on being the "new normal." The person who wasn’t a celebrity, but still had to navigate mental health struggles, living paycheck to paycheck, and still wanted to show the world something different. And I think I did that—but at what cost? Was it my mental stability? My acceptance? Now, my boys are all grown up. My youngest just graduated high school and is off to college. All three of my boys wrapped up their high school years with honors and a diploma. And I did that. Wow, that felt good to say.
For so many years, I was obsessed with meeting people’s expectations of me. I tried so hard to prove that I was strong, that I could handle it all. I allowed myself to sit in uncomfortable places, places where I wasn’t welcomed. I planned events that included everyone, smiled like everything was fine—and of course, it wasn’t. I kept quiet when lies were spread about me, when I was painted as the bitter baby mama. Bitter? Me? Maybe in the beginning, yes—but that turned into anger, and that anger turned into fuel for my children. I wanted them to see happy, loving parents—regardless of who lived where, regardless of the circumstances. They were all mine, and I would never treat them differently, so why should anyone else? Over the years, those forced family gatherings became easier to smile through, but the pain inside me grew.
The things that were said and done to me, I kept silent about. Evictions, an empty fridge, overdue bills, repossessions, sitting alone at the ER with a sick child… Yet, I smiled, and portrayed this whole blended family thing as figured out. Of course, someone might ask, “Did you get child support?” I laugh at that question. Are you talking about financial? Not all the time and it barely scratched the surface of meeting their needs. Where was my mental and physical support? Where was the reassurance that I wasn’t in this alone? I wanted to be the fun parent sometimes, too. You know, the one who gets to take the kids to events, have a great time, and then send them back home. But I was too busy trying to raise men—teaching them to clean their rooms, do their homework, and understand right from wrong. I rushed from basketball, football, baseball, and track practices. Then came dinner, homework, and laundry. Let's not forget, field trips, parent-teacher conferences, IEP meetings and award ceremonies. Not time for fun. I had to work long hours to pay for and maintain the structure I was building for us. I’m shedding all of that now. All the things that were eating me up inside. Being in a blended family is hard work, but it can be done. Shout out to everyone who’s made it work. I did it, too.
But let’s be clear: I wasn’t strong—I was just in survival mode. Now that I’m standing here, I won’t try to accommodate everyone and leave myself behind anymore. Not invited to the family functions? Cool. I won’t shed another tear. You see me and don’t speak? I won’t take it personally—you might be tired of the forced family dynamic, too. You block me or try to paint me as the villain in your version of the story? That’s fine. Your version might make for a best-selling fiction, but I won’t ask you about it. My boys are all grown up now, and I did that. They know who made it happen every single time, with little to no help most of the time.
No more dimming my light so others can shine. I’m done with that. I never want to hear the phrase “be the bigger person” again—what does that even mean? Let people walk all over you and just sit there and take it? I don’t live there anymore. Being the bigger person to me now means unapologetically being me. Walking with my light shining bright, and only sitting at tables that are made for me.