Alaska, our beautiful Mini Schnauzer, is so much more than a pet — she is family. She is loyalty wrapped in fur, intuition with four paws, and a constant source of comfort.
Alaska is trained to alert to glucose spikes and drops, seizures, and even CPTSD episodes. Before symptoms fully surface, she knows. She nudges. She stays close. She anchors. In moments when my body or nervous system feels unpredictable, she is steady.
That kind of support changes everything.
But beyond her important work, she is also the princess of our family — adored, a little spoiled, and fully aware that she runs this house. She brings laughter, protection, and a quiet kind of peace that only a deeply bonded dog can bring.
On National Pet Day, we celebrate the companions who love without condition and serve without hesitation.
Living with Parkinson’s is already a daily act of courage. Add Complex PTSD (CPTSD) into the mix, and you’re not just managing tremors or stiffness — you’re navigating a nervous system that has been on high alert for years.
This is a conversation we don’t have often enough.
What Is Parkinson’s?
Parkinson’s disease is a progressive neurological disorder that affects movement, coordination, mood, sleep, and cognition. It’s commonly associated with tremors and rigidity, but those visible symptoms are only part of the story.
Parkinson’s also impacts:
Anxiety and depression Sleep disturbances Cognitive processing Autonomic nervous system function
It is a full-body condition rooted in the brain.
What Is CPTSD?
Complex post-traumatic stress disorder develops after prolonged or repeated trauma — especially when the trauma occurred in environments where a person felt trapped, powerless, or unsafe.
Unlike single-incident PTSD, CPTSD often includes:
Emotional dysregulation Hypervigilance Chronic shame or negative self-concept Nervous system overactivation Dissociation or shutdown
CPTSD lives in the body. It rewires stress responses. It keeps the nervous system scanning for danger long after the danger is gone.
The Nervous System Connection
Here’s where things intersect.
Both Parkinson’s and CPTSD deeply involve the nervous system.
Parkinson’s is linked to the loss of dopamine-producing neurons. Dopamine doesn’t just control movement — it also influences motivation, reward, and emotional regulation.
CPTSD, on the other hand, keeps the body flooded with stress hormones. Chronic activation of the fight-or-flight response can dysregulate dopamine, cortisol, and inflammatory pathways.
Researchers are increasingly exploring how chronic stress and trauma may:
While trauma does not “cause” Parkinson’s in a simple or direct way, many clinicians recognize that prolonged stress may influence how neurological conditions present and progress.
When Symptoms Overlap
For someone living with both, it can be difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins.
Is the shaking anxiety — or Parkinson’s? Is the freeze response trauma — or motor slowing? Is the exhaustion emotional burnout — or neurological fatigue?
The overlap can feel confusing and isolating.
And too often, one diagnosis overshadows the other.
The Emotional Weight
Living with Parkinson’s can itself be traumatic. The loss of control over your own body can trigger old trauma responses — especially for those who already carry CPTSD.
Hypervigilance may intensify when your body feels unpredictable.
Shame may surface when symptoms are visible.
Grief can compound if independence shifts.
It becomes layered.
Healing Is Not Linear — But It Is Possible
Supporting both conditions requires a whole-person approach:
Trauma-informed therapy Nervous system regulation practices (breathing, grounding, somatic work) Neurological care and medication management Gentle movement like walking or Pilates reformer Community and safe connection
Regulating the nervous system can reduce stress load. Reducing stress may ease symptom intensity. And feeling emotionally safe matters — deeply.
You Are Not “Too Much”
If you live with Parkinson’s and CPTSD, you are not weak. You are not dramatic. You are not imagining the overlap.
You are carrying neurological change and nervous system trauma at the same time.
That is heavy.
But there is strength in awareness. There is power in understanding how the body and brain interact. And there is hope in building support systems that honor both.
Your body is not betraying you.
It is communicating.
And it deserves compassion.
If this resonates with you or someone you love, share this conversation. The more we speak about the intersection of neurological illness and trauma, the more space we create for holistic healing.
Living with Parkinson’s is a lesson in contradiction. Strength and vulnerability coexist. Independence and dependence trade places daily. Some days I feel capable and grounded, and other days my body reminds me—very clearly—that I do not get to be in full control.
Parkinson’s isn’t just tremors. It’s fatigue that seeps into your bones. It’s stiffness that makes simple movements feel like heavy labor. It’s brain fog, slowed thinking, anxiety, sleep disturbances, pain, and a constant internal negotiation with your own nervous system. It’s learning that “I’m fine” can mean a thousand different things depending on the hour.
What makes Parkinson’s especially hard is that much of it is invisible. I can look “okay” while my body is fighting a war underneath the surface. I can smile through symptoms because that’s what you learn to do—adapt, mask, push forward. But invisible does not mean imaginary, and functional does not mean symptom-free.
There is also grief. Grief for the body I once trusted. Grief for spontaneity. Grief for the energy that used to come without calculation. Parkinson’s asks you to plan everything—rest, medication timing, movement, even joy. And yet, somehow, it also teaches you to savor things more deeply. A steady moment. A good morning. A day when symptoms are kind.
Living with Parkinson’s means redefining strength. Strength looks like asking for help. Strength looks like listening to your body instead of pushing past its warnings. Strength looks like showing up anyway, even when your hands shake or your steps slow or your voice feels quieter than it used to.
It also means advocating—for yourself and for others. Educating people when you have the energy. Correcting assumptions when you’re able. And giving yourself permission to step back when you’re not.
Parkinson’s is part of my life, but it is not the sum of me. I am still living, loving, traveling, dreaming, and building a meaningful life—just with more intention and a little more grace. I am learning that peace doesn’t come from the absence of illness, but from acceptance, support, and self-compassion.
If you’re living with Parkinson’s—or loving someone who is—know this: you are not weak, you are not failing, and you are not alone. Your experience is valid, even when others don’t see it. And your life still holds beauty, purpose, and moments worth celebrating.
One step at a time. Always.
Miami lay over Secrets La Romana DRAt sea is where my mind finds peace Hello Jamaica
This is Alaska, my five-year-old white and silver miniature schnauzer with a big job and an even bigger personality. She’s highly trained, focused, and amazing at what she does… but she’s also completely spoiled and she knows it. So how does a spoiled pup still excel as a service dog? Stick around and follow our adventures to find out!
May 2025 we took Alaska to Alaska! She didn’t approve
Alaska is trained to alert for glucose changes, seizures, and CPTSD episodes. Even as the spoiled girl she is, she still alerts faithfully. I’ve read plenty of negative comments online insisting that service dogs must always be “four on the floor,” calm in every situation, and never treated like a “normal dog.” To be blunt—that’s ridiculous. Alaska is a dog. She works hard, she takes care of me, and she absolutely deserves love, respect, playtime, and downtime. Being valued and cherished doesn’t make her less of a service dog; if anything, it makes our partnership stronger.
Alaska during our family photo shoot
Every day is an adventure with Alaska. She goes almost everywhere with us, including when we travel—unless I, as her handler, decide it’s best for her to stay home and rest. Wait, you can leave a service dog behind? Yes. It is the handler’s discretion. The ADA recognizes that the handler chooses what best supports their disability and circumstances. Service dog teams are not one-size-fits-all. Now, let’s talk about some of those so-called “don’ts” people like to throw around.
“Four on the floor all the time”? Maybe for some teams—but not for us. There are days I don’t hold a leash, and days Alaska needs to be right near my face to do her job well. That’s real life with a service dog, not a rule book.
And those bags and strollers people love to argue about? Yes, they’re fine. Small service dogs can be carried. Strollers keep paws off hot pavement, protect them from weather and airport germs, and create a safe bubble when kids rush up. Sometimes it’s about safety, and sometimes it’s simply about making the handler’s day a little easier—and that’s valid.
At the end of the day, Alaska is a working partner and a beloved member of my family. She alerts, she protects, she plays, and she naps in ridiculous positions—and all of that can be true at once. Service dogs don’t come from a single mold, and neither do the people who rely on them. If you’ve ever felt judged or misunderstood as a handler, you’re not alone. I hope sharing our journey helps break some myths and brings a little encouragement. Follow along as Alaska and I keep learning, traveling, advocating, and—of course—enjoying the adventure together.
If my mental health were a portrait hanging in a museum, this would be it.
At first glance, people might see sadness. Maybe overwhelm. Maybe they’d say, “That looks heavy.”
And they wouldn’t be wrong—but they also wouldn’t be seeing the whole story.
In the center of the painting is a woman sitting inward, holding her head, trying to keep herself together. That part is obvious. What’s less obvious is how much strength it takes to sit there and not disappear. That posture isn’t giving up. It’s bracing.
Around her are dark figures—shadows that don’t touch but never leave. They represent the thoughts that circle constantly: the anxiety, the grief, the guilt, the fear of failing people who depend on you, the exhaustion of managing chronic illness, mental load, time, appointments, expectations. They aren’t dramatic villains. They’re familiar. Persistent. Quietly loud.
At her feet is the chaos most people never see: scattered papers, clocks, medications, fragments of daily survival. This is the part of mental health that doesn’t photograph well—the logistics of staying alive and functioning. The reminders. The schedules. The tools. The pressure of time always ticking while your body and mind beg for rest.
And then there’s the light.
It doesn’t erase the darkness. It doesn’t magically heal anything. But it exists. It breaks through anyway. That light represents hope, faith, love, purpose, stubborn resilience—whatever keeps you going even when you don’t feel strong. The fact that the figure is still centered, still present, tells me something important: the darkness hasn’t won.
What makes this image feel like a museum piece is the audience. People stand and look. They observe. They interpret. But they don’t step in. That’s what living with invisible illness and mental health struggles often feels like—being seen, but not fully understood. A life on display without the context.
This portrait isn’t about being broken.
It’s about being overloaded.
It’s about surviving quietly.
It’s about continuing, even when you’re tired of being strong.
If you see yourself in this image, know this: your struggle is valid, even if it’s invisible. Your exhaustion makes sense. And your presence—still here, still trying—is not insignificant.
Some days, just existing is the bravest thing we do.
Not always about what the day will bring — but about how we meet it.
Today, I woke up with very few spoons. If you live with chronic illness, or love someone who does, you understand the spoon theory. Some days you wake up with a full drawer. Other days… maybe three. Today was a three-spoon kind of day.
And yet, life doesn’t pause just because energy is limited.
There was a household to run, children to care for, grandchildren to watch, and two small businesses that don’t slow down — especially with tax season looming. If you know what that means, you know how overwhelming that alone can feel. Paperwork has never been my strong suit, and on low-spoon days it can feel downright daunting.
My day began early, like most do — 5 a.m. Living out in the country means everything is a drive. Doctors, offices, food, errands — all about 45 minutes away. This morning, Fayetteville, Arkansas was the destination, and we needed to be there by 8 a.m. What I expected to be a quick trip stretched into hours. It was after 1 p.m. by the time I finally pulled back into the driveway.
Arkansas weather decided to be kind today. And if you live here, you know that’s never a guarantee. Winter has given us all four seasons in just the past couple of weeks. Add unpredictable weather to chronic illness, and it can make already hard days feel even heavier.
When I finally made it home, I didn’t rush to the next thing. I sat down on my front deck. Just for a moment. I let myself breathe. I took in the air, the sun on my skin, the quiet view in front of me.
And in that stillness, I realized something.
Today was an adventure.
Not the loud, exciting kind. Not the kind you post highlight reels about. But the kind that shows up when you choose to keep going gently. Taking my son to the doctor. Running necessary errands. Making it home. Sitting still long enough to notice the beauty God placed right in front of me.
Sometimes adventure looks like endurance. Sometimes it looks like choosing gratitude when you’re tired. Sometimes it’s simply allowing yourself to rest without guilt.
I believe it’s healthy — necessary, even — to take a moment when we can. Even in the middle of hustle and responsibility. To sit. To breathe. To reflect. Those pauses matter more than we realize.
As I come back to writing slowly, this is the world I want to invite you into — my everyday world. The real one. The one filled with children and grandchildren, adult kids and a husband, faith and chronic illness, responsibilities and rest. The inner workings of being a mom, a wife, a grandma, a friend, a sister, a business owner, a traveler, and a reader — all at once.
This space will hold days like today. Honest days. Low-spoon days. Grace-filled days.
One gentle step.
One small adventure.
One spoon at a time.
You don’t have to come back strong.
You can come back honest. You can come back gently.
That’s enough.
What’s one word you’d use to describe this season of your life? ~until next time
It’s been a couple of years since I last showed up here.
Not because I didn’t care — but because life asked me to stop, listen, and rest in ways I hadn’t before.
During that time, my world stayed full. Full of family, responsibility, love, appointments, quiet days, loud days, and moments when my body made decisions for me whether I liked it or not. I learned — sometimes the hard way — that pushing through everything isn’t strength. Sometimes strength looks like stepping back.
There were seasons when I didn’t have words to give. Seasons when surviving the day felt like enough. And for a long time, it had to be.
But even in the quiet, this space stayed with me. Writing never left my heart — it just waited patiently while I learned how to live more gently. I’ve changed in that waiting. I move slower now. I listen better. I no longer feel the need to explain or apologize for rest.
Coming back doesn’t mean I have it all figured out. It simply means I’ve reached a place where I can hold both truth and hope at the same time.
WanderingGypsy has always been about the in-between — being rooted and restless, loving home yet longing for the road, trusting that beauty still exists even when life is complicated. That hasn’t changed. If anything, it’s become more true.
This space will hold stories from daily life, travel when I’m able, reflections from seasons of illness and healing, and the quiet hope I’ve learned to cling to. Not the loud, shiny kind — but the steady kind that stays when everything else feels uncertain.
If you’ve ever disappeared for a while because life demanded it…
If you’ve needed rest you didn’t plan on…
If you’re finding your way back to yourself slowly…
We had one day in the big city. Now, I am not a city gal. I also cannot lay in bed in a hotel either so, lets make the most of our day. We started out in Queens. From Queens we hopped onto the subway system. Our first stop was Manhattan. A little lunch stop for an easy burger and fries. Well, not so easy apparently our hick accent was hard to understand and why can I not get an ice tea ? Settled for room temp water than off to Central Park! Central Park was okay, I guess we come from the country life and Central Park was just okay. Here at home we have lots of greenery Arkansas is called the natural state. So, off to Times Square, can’t miss that. Again, okay. Maybe lets try shopping in SOHO. I enjoyed the shopping. Bought some shoes and dresses. Now off to see the famous Statue of Liberty! Of course we took the ferry to Statin Island. Upon arrival back from Statin Island we were starving ! Our aimless wandering finally found a nice little Italian place. Noodles! Surely that you cannot mess up. I am truly not a foodie. But we were so pleased with our pasta and wine. In fact we sat there and relaxed a few hours before heading back to Queens.
My personal opinion of the big apple? So glad you ask! It’s not for me. Too many people and the food is priced outrageously, where is the ice cold southern sweet tea? Not enough wide open spaces and natural plant life for me. The shopping was fun. I am thankful that i was blessed with the opportunity to explore Times Square, Central Park, Wall Street and the beautiful Statue of Liberty. I just felt very crowded, rushed and dirty. I’m sure others really enjoy the big city life. Would I visit again? No. Thank you NYC for the experience!
In the summer of 2022 I spent 3 weeks in Africa. What an amazing experience! It took 36 long flight hours to get there from Arkansas. We stayed in Lilongwe where we had guards at night. My first eye opener was the monkeys! Not only were the trees and ground covered by them, but they love cheese crackers and Oreos. Next the nets we had to sleep under? It was not this fine luxury net, no it was just a mosquito net that surrounded cot. The shower was so cold, but at least I could. More on the shower later. Each day we would travel to villages to disperse infant formula, clean bottles, and weigh the infant s to check for starvation. As we approached the villagers we were greeted by song. Absolutely beautiful.
In the village there are so many children. Most are carrying infants on their backs. Here most mothers die giving birth or die early of aids. Which leave the rest of the villagers to raise a lot of babies. We visited several villages, but at one we were visited by a gooliwanku. This we learned is a bad thing. They only come to harm or take children At this point it really sank in that this is real. This is not a movie! I now understand why we needed guards. All of the sudden the men of the village literally appeared out off the fields to defend their home and us..
This trip to Africa was indeed a work filled mission trip. At times very rewarding and at times so very heavy and sad. Some children could not be helped. The lack of health care and nutrition make surviving there almost impossible, most children only get t o see their 10th birthday. After the culture shock and the grief during the village days our team was blessed to take a reflection period.
The reflection period began by catching a tiny puddle jumper plane to Johannesburg. The runway was covered with warthogs and no city in site. As our team deplaned and grabbed luggage we were greeted by a local who is the caretaker of conservation land . Another hour in a safari Jeep we arrived. Here we signed waivers stating if we get hurt or die we and our family cannot sue. We are instructed always use the buddy system to go to our tents after dark! Ok I got it! The tent had a outside, out in the open shower. Did I mention July is Africa’s winter? So, cold and I mean very cold showers out in the open. Why did I complain about the other shower! Because I am a spoiled American that is why.
Reflection time is now activated. As I step out of my tent I am surrounded by elephants, giraffes, and kudu. Now is the time to relax around the campfire. A lot of decompressing can be done around a campfire. The next morning we bundled up and climbed aboard the safari Jeep. First thing, why does he have such a huge gun on the dash! Well he explained how he has needed to put down a black rhino and an elephant or two while on his drives. Ok then. As our drive began he taught us about all the animals there.The black rhino is the deadliest. The big cats tend to mind their own business and the young elephants are like teenage boys just tearing up all the trees. I don’t know if I could count how many animals we seen while on the drives during to morning and evenings. What I can say is book a safari! You will not regret it. Our nights wrapped up with campfires and elephants. A few nights we were visited by hyenas but the elephants were there morning and night.
The day had come to travel home. This was a day of so many emotions. Yes, I was ready to go home to my kids and husband, but South Africa has a piece of my heart now. Honesty I wasn’t ready for 36 hours on a plane and to adjust to the 11 hour time change. The flights to Africa and back to Arkansas should be a blog of its own. I have never boarded a plane in complete darkness with only the flashlight on my phone. Not til switching planes in Kenya. The airport lost all power but allowed us to walk through security and board by cell phone glow. Love that Kenya, thank you for that experience. This mission trip was full of so many new experiences. I am blessed and humbled Africa.
I’m Back! It has been a long time since my last blog, but why? Well, I have been traveling and raising kids. I have a large family, 9 kids and 1 grandbaby. In recent months one daughter left the nest to be on her own, one daughter left to be someone non of us know. My oldest son turned 18 and is struggling with senioritis….. My oldest daughter is starting her last year of school. She wants to be a teacher (maybe she should be checking for spelling errors)……. On top of many changes here at home, I of course have been traveling. I wasn’t sure about blogging. I am not a skilled writer. Quite honestly I am unsure if blogging is a good fit for me, BUT, recently I was told that I should be blogging (thank you Kendra). So! for the few that have read my earlier posts, THANK YOU!!!! I live my life not caring what others think of me, so why do I care if my blogs are being read? I am going to blog about my travel adventures because that is my passion. I love to help others and to explore. I can literally talk anyone’s ear off about travel and history. Yes, I am a travel agent and I have a masters in travel and tourism. If you are interested in travel, travel tips and tricks and anything travel related please follow me and please ask me questions. Love questions! For today I just wanted to post where I have been and that I am back!
WanderingGypsy 