How Not to Die in Public: A Totally Unqualified Survival Guide

Because nothing says “main character energy” like getting benched at cardiac rehab.

There are moments in life when you feel powerful, radiant, unstoppable.

And then there are moments when your body says “Sit down, sweetheart” — and you end up slumped in what can only be described as the Big Ole Time-Out Recliner, pale as printer paper, desperately trying to pretend you’re fine while contemplating your entire existence.

Hi. It’s me. I’m the drama.

Let’s set the scene: I showed up to cardiac rehab like the responsible adult I am. Water bottle in hand. Positive attitude loaded. Stretchy pants on point.

Ten minutes in? I’m yeeted from the treadmill and gently deposited into the recliner of shame, holding back vomit while silently negotiating with the universe not to let me die in public.

Joint pain? Unholy. Blood pressure? Missing in action. My will to power through it? Hanging on by a thread and a poorly secured ponytail.

So in case you, too, find yourself unexpectedly starring in a low-budget medical episode, here’s my completely unqualified, moderately sarcastic guide to surviving it with your pride mostly intact.

Step 1: Always Pretend You Meant to Do That

Get wheeled to the corner? Slump into the recliner of defeat?

Just nod and say, “Ah yes, my throne awaits.”

Step 2: Glamour is a State of Mind

You may be pale, clammy, and one involuntary gag away from chaos — but with dry shampoo and lip gloss, you’re still out here serving “medical mystery with a touch of glam.”

Step 3: Nail the Exit Line

When the nurse asks how you’re doing, resist the urge to cry.

Instead, flash a weak smile and say, “Just vibing in my recliner. Living the dream.”

Step 4: Process Through Humor, Not Shame

Yes, I cried in the car. But first, I turned it into content.

Because if you don’t laugh about it, you’ll just sit there spiraling — and spiraling is cardio, which we’ve clearly had enough of.

Step 5: Journal the Chaos

Today’s prompt:

“What’s the most ridiculous moment that made you realize you’re stronger than you think?”

Bonus points if it involves medical-grade recliners and stubborn joints.

Step 6: Laugh Anyway

Even when your knees sound like bubble wrap.

Even when you feel like a human Jenga tower.

Even when the nurse hands you a puke bag like it’s a party favor.

Because humor might not fix it, but it sure as hell makes it feel less like a punishment.

So here’s to the ones who keep showing up — dizzy, sore, sidelined, and still making people laugh.

You’re not weak. You’re not dramatic.

You’re just navigating a body that didn’t read the manual.

And babe, that takes guts — and a recliner with lumbar support.

From the cardiac rehab time-out chair with love,

Jonesy

Box Creatures, Hibachi Fires, and the Beautiful Mess in Between

This morning, my three-year-old looked his big sister dead in the eyes and called her a “box creature.”

No context. No explanation.

Just pure threenager energy before I even finished my first cup of coffee. Honestly? I aspire to that level of chaotic confidence.

Meanwhile, my low blood pressure is putting on its own little circus act — falling asleep while sitting straight up, moving in slow motion (unless I’m falling), and riding mood swings big enough to make me side-eye my own sanity. Good times.

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Life Isn’t Pinterest Perfect

My kids are 21, 8, and 3 — three totally different seasons of life under one (very lived-in) roof.

The days are long — filled with snack demands, courtroom-style sibling arguments, and mountains of laundry that have officially claimed squatter’s rights.

And honestly? I’m a crap housekeeper. I hate cleaning with a passion usually reserved for bad drivers and telemarketers.

I’m also a mega procrastinator. “I’ll get to it later” might as well be stitched onto a throw pillow around here.

But somehow, in the middle of the chaos, the magic sneaks in.

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First Hibachi Magic

This week, we took the littles to their first hibachi restaurant.

Watching their faces light up (and slightly panic) when the chef lit a fire right in front of them was pure gold.

Screams. Laughter. Tiny hands clapping.

Memories locked in forever.

Kids are wild little shapeshifters.

One minute they’re curled in your lap smelling like syrup and sunshine.

The next, they’re battling over a blue crayon like it’s the last life raft on the Titanic.

They’re chaotic. They’re hilarious. They’re heartbreakingly fragile.

And every ridiculous moment — every box creature insult and every sleepy hug — is another stitch in who they’re becoming.

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Mother’s Day at the Table

Mother’s Day this year wasn’t about flowers or gifts.

It was about the pure, simple gift of having all three of my babies — even my oldest, who’s off doing real superhero things — sitting around the same dinner table.

Talking, laughing, roasting each other like only siblings can.

That moment? That’s the good stuff.

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Midnight Kisses Are the Payoff

Co-sleeping with a three-year-old should honestly be an Olympic sport.

I wake up with feet in my ribs and elbows in my face most nights.

But last night?

At 2 a.m., I woke up to a tiny, sleepy kiss on my cheek.

No demands. No tantrums.

Just pure, simple love.

That’s the stuff nobody warns you about.

That’s what makes it all worth it.

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In closing:

Life isn’t neat.

It isn’t tidy.

It’s messy and loud and smells vaguely like peanut butter and that weird “outside kid” smell after a big day.

But it’s ours.

And tucked between the box creature wars, the hibachi fires, and the midnight kisses — there’s a kind of magic you can’t bottle or buy.

If today feels heavy, messy, or like you’re living inside a laundry basket — just know you’re not alone.

You’re doing better than you think.

And if you’ve been called a box creature today?

Honestly? You’re thriving.

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Here’s to the messy magic we’re all stitching together, one box creature at a time.

Xo~ Jonesy

Life Looks Different Now

I used to think I was invincible. That if I just pushed hard enough, hustled long enough, and kept showing up, everything would work out.

But lately? Life has handed me a plot twist I didn’t see coming—and suddenly, the things I used to stress over feel laughably small. Or maybe just…misplaced.

I almost died. Like, actually almost didn’t make it—and that’s not something I say for dramatic flair. It’s something I say because it’s still echoing in the back of my mind every single day.

I have a husband I love. Kids who need me. A whole life I love—but one I’ve been too busy to fully live in. And for what?

A job I care about, surrounded by people I genuinely like, doing work that often fulfills me—but still pulls me away from the people and moments I’ll never get back.

I need the salary. I need the insurance (believe me, my heart literally depends on it). But it’s clearer than ever that what I really need… is time. Presence. Purpose. A life that doesn’t just function, but feels meaningful.

Why are we trading our most precious moments—our mornings, our energy, our presence—for places and people who don’t know our favorite snacks or how we take our coffee?

I don’t have all the answers. I still show up to work. I still feel overwhelmed. But I also feel changed.

I want more quiet moments and real laughter. More family dinners and fewer unread emails. More life—not just survival.

So no, I’m not here to be an inspiration. I’m just trying to live like I mean it. And maybe remind someone else they can, too.

If you’ve been feeling it too—tired, overwhelmed, or just craving something real—I see you. And I’m so glad you’re here.

Thanks for reading.

Thanks for being part of this space.

And if this resonated, I’d love for you to leave a comment, share it, or just send it to a friend who might need it, too.

~Jonesy

Three Weeks Later: Cardiac Rehab, Comebacks & My New Grandpa Squad

It’s officially been three weeks since my heart decided to throw a surprise plot twist into my life—and I’m still here, still healing, and still trying to figure out what this “new normal” is supposed to look like.

The short version?

I’m doing good. Still tired, still adjusting, but making slow, steady progress. And yes—despite the exhaustion, I even started easing back into work this week. (Big shoutout to caffeine, comfy shoes, and coworkers who don’t judge the “just surviving” energy I’m bringing to the table.)

But the real MVP of this recovery season?

Cardiac rehab.

Not just because it’s helping me get stronger—but because it introduced me to some of the most unexpectedly delightful people. My new friends are all old enough to be my grandparents, and honestly? I might like it that way. We cheer each other on, trade tips about blood pressure, and throw around phrases like “remember to breathe through it” and “don’t forget your nitro.” It’s giving Golden Girls meets gym class, and I’m kind of obsessed.

I never expected to find so much connection in a place filled with beeping monitors and exercise bikes, but here we are. There’s something comforting about healing alongside people who’ve seen some stuff—and still show up every day with a smile and a blood pressure cuff.

Healing hasn’t been linear. Some days I feel strong. Other days I’m just proud I remembered to take my meds and show up on time. But I’m learning to give myself grace in the in-between. To rest when I need to. To move when I can. And to find joy in the weird, slow magic of starting over.

So that’s where I’m at: rebuilding, reconnecting, and relearning how to be a slightly slower, but still sparkly version of me.

Thanks for cheering me on from afar. Every comment, text, prayer, and meme has mattered more than you know. I may be healing—but I’m not doing it alone. And that makes all the difference.

xo,

Jonesy

Oatmeal: The Heart-Healthy Hug I Didn’t Know I Needed

Two weeks post-heart attack, and here I am—still kicking… mostly because I’m not cleared to run.

These days, “self-care” looks a little different. Less chaos, more naps. Less iced lattes on-the-go, more heart-healthy slow mornings (with coffee… obviously). And in my newfound oat era, I’ve discovered something beautiful: oatmeal actually slaps—especially when you dress it up like it’s heading to brunch.

Turns out, it’s also good for your heart, packed with soluble fiber that helps lower cholesterol and keep things movin’ (if you know, you know). Plus, it gives big “main character energy” when you top it just right.

So here it is—my go-to cozy breakfast bowl, now officially Jonesy-approved.

Jonesy’s Heart-Happy Oatmeal Bowl

Serves: 1 fabulously chaotic but health-conscious queen

Ingredients:

• 1 cup water

• ½ cup Bob’s Red Mill Organic Rolled Oats

• Pinch of salt

• Splash of Nielsen-Massey Pure Vanilla Extract

• Dash of McCormick Ground Cinnamon

• A splash of Califia Farms Barista Blend Oat Milk

Toppings:

• Sliced banana

• A spoonful of Jif Creamy Peanut Butter

• Drizzle of Nature Nate’s Raw & Unfiltered Honey

• Extra sprinkle of cinnamon

• Berry compote made from frozen mixed berries (I used what I had in the freezer—grab yours wherever you shop!)

Instructions:

1. Bring water and a pinch of salt to a boil.

2. Stir in the oats, reduce heat, and simmer for about 10 minutes.

3. Once thickened, stir in vanilla, cinnamon, and oat milk until it’s your perfect consistency (I like it creamy but still hearty).

4. Pour into your prettiest bowl. Yes, the one you save for special occasions. Life is short—use the pretty plates.

5. Add your toppings, give it a dramatic drizzle, and eat it like you’re the coziest version of yourself.

Shop the Ingredients

Want to recreate this cozy little heart-hug of a breakfast? Here are the staples I used—pretty plates optional (but highly encouraged):

• Bob’s Red Mill Organic Rolled Oats

• Nielsen-Massey Pure Vanilla Extract

• Califia Farms Barista Blend Oat Milk

• Jif Creamy Peanut Butter

• Nature Nate’s Raw & Unfiltered Honey

• McCormick Ground Cinnamon

• Frozen mixed berries from Costco, Target, or wherever you grab your grocery staples—anything you love will work.

Affiliate Disclosure:

As an Amazon Associate, I may earn a small commission if you make a purchase through these links—at no extra cost to you. Thanks for supporting Jonesy In Real Life and helping me keep the coffee flowing and the chaos mildly contained.

Your Turn:

Have a go-to breakfast that makes you feel like a main character in a cozy rom-com? Tell me in the comments. And if you try this recipe, tag me on IG (@jonesyinreallife) so I can hype you up and pretend we’re having brunch together.

Did Not See That Coming

Monday, March 31, 2025.

Just another morning. I was driving my daughter to school, sipping coffee, going over the mental checklist of mom life. You know—lunches packed, homework turned in, field trip form signed. Everything felt normal… until it didn’t.

Out of nowhere, I started to feel off. Not “I didn’t get enough sleep” off—something deeper. I couldn’t catch my breath. My chest felt tight, like I had swallowed water wrong and it was stuck in a bubble behind my breastbone. It wasn’t pain, just this uncomfortable pressure that wouldn’t go away.

So I called the one person I always call when I feel weird—my mom.

“Hey,” I said. “I think I’m dying… or having the worst panic attack of my life.”

And in classic mom fashion, without skipping a beat, she said,

“Well, only the good die young—and you’re not that good. So tell me how you’re feeling.”

God love her.

But after I explained more—about the breathlessness, the pressure, the sense of doom—she didn’t joke anymore. She told me to hang up right then and call 911. And for once, I listened.

Good thing I did.

Because I wasn’t having a panic attack. I was having a heart attack.

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Healthy on Paper Doesn’t Mean Safe in Real Life

Let me say this louder for the people in the back: I am 41. I don’t smoke. I don’t have high blood pressure. My cholesterol’s decent. I chase three kids around and eat vegetables on purpose. By all accounts, I’m “healthy.” But heart disease doesn’t care.

There were no chest-clutching, movie-style dramatics. No shooting pain down my arm. Just a vague uneasiness, shortness of breath, and a feeling in my chest like something was stuck. Honestly, I almost powered through and dropped my daughter off anyway.

But I didn’t. And that’s why I’m still here.

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Why I’m Sharing This

Because women die from heart disease every day—many because they didn’t recognize the signs. Or worse, they were dismissed. By themselves. By others. By doctors.

We need to talk about it more. We need to normalize women listening to their bodies, trusting their intuition, and seeking care even when they’re “not sure” it’s serious.

Your body whispers before it screams. Don’t wait until it’s yelling.

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Today, I’m Just Grateful.

Grateful that I knew something was wrong.

Grateful that my mom answered the phone.

Grateful that I’m still here to write this.

If you take anything away from this post, let it be this:

Trust your gut. Take your health seriously. And never apologize for making noise when something doesn’t feel right.

Hug your people a little tighter tonight. I know I will.

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