It’s Christmas Eve and I’m crying.

 

I had planned on hiding it, but my aunt Vicki ruined it.

 

Before I can explain why I was crying, here’s what you need to know:

It all started when I woke up at 9:45 a.m. that morning.

 

Guess what time I wanted to leave the house?

 

11 a.m.
 

 

Basically, I had 1 hour to:

As I'm, prying fudge from the bottom of non-stick (ha!) pan and shoveling pecan tossies out of the cupcake tin wondering when baking became a full contact sport, Zack was competing in his own race: 

 

How slowly can I pack an overnight bag?
 

Meanwhile, my phone is lighting up with my mom asking me if my aunt Vicki is still going to her best friend's house? and “hey, Vicki said you’re going to stop by her house to pick up the pies and ham?," followed by “can you grab your dad’s gift while you’re there?”
 

 

But then it’s 11 a.m. and I’m loading up the car with my freshly pried goodies, my overnight bag, Lady’s food, and a coffee roadie— and I’m feeling pretty good about myself.

 

We still need to stop by Vicki’s to get the food and my dad’s gift, but I'm thinkin' we’ll get to my parent's place in Cape Coral by 1:30 pm instead of one.
 

My boyfriend wins his How Slow Can I Go? competition (okay, to be fair, he did only have an hour to get ready) so it’s 11:19 a.m. when I text my mom to say:
 

Montage time:
 

We’re cruising over the Skyway bridge.
 

Lady is in my lap in the backseat shedding so much fur my black leggings are turning white.
 

Zack is driving onto the bumpy side road, carefully slowing down as we pull into my aunt's driveway.
 

 

Vicki is in the kitchen, and when she looks up at me, it’s like I’m pulling the final Jenga block from her own Tower of Stress.

 

You see, Vicki is a people-pleaser. 

 

I'm sure she was up all night working (literally no boundaries there— but I'm a pot and she's a kettle). She tells me she's still needs go to her best friend's house (1.5 hours north of her house) to help wrap before she heads to my parent's house (1.5 hours south of her house). 

 

There's a half-baked Turkey on the stove, candy strewn across the counter, and a giant Christmas coffee mug on the corner.

 

“Oooh, what's this for?” I ask picking up the mug.

 

“Oh! Here, put some candy you want in it.”

 

She grabs for a fresh bag of mini chocolates and starts yanking at the plastic with her teeth. 😬

 

“Do you want me to…?” I start.

 

Pop! The bag is open.

 

She reaches over the the other side of the counter, grabs another bag, and starts the teeth-tearing process again.

 

“C'mon c'mon c'mon c'mooooon," she mutters.

 

Just when I think I'm about to spend Christmas Eve at the emergency dentist, the plastic spilts in half and she's off to start putting the rest of the food I'm bringing to my parents in a gigantic transparent green container. 

 

“Do you need help?” I ask.

 

“No, no. Don't worry about it. I'm just tired.” 

 

And I can tell because her southern accent comes out just a little bit harsher on that last word.

 

By now, it's close past noon and I know my mom is going to be texting me any minute because we were supposed to be at her house at 1 pm, remember?! 

 

And we still need to drive 1.5 hours!

 

So, Vicki and I carry the tub of food out to my boyfriend's car and we leave with me having about 3 extra Jenga blocks piled up because I hate that Vicki is stressed and that I can't help because I'm on a time crunch.

 

I probably get my people-pleasing from her. 

 

Zack and I stop at the Racetrack gas station 10 minutes down the road (because we're HUNGRY AF), when I get the text from my mom:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why You Need To Be Vulnerable in Your Marketing
 

If you told me I would me in my 20s that I would be telling a thousand people that I was crying on Christmas Eve, I would’ve said,

 

“Hmmmm that doesn’t sound like something I would do.”
 

Because, until this year, it wasn’t something I would do.

 

I’m Not a Cryer and I wear that like a badge of honor.

 

Crying during movies? lol… why?

 

Crying at funerals? Never shed a tear in the 15+ I’ve been to.

 

Crying over my first B in school? Okay, it was ONE time.

 

I’ve always hated stereotypes because I’m a walking one.
 

5’4”, blonde hair, blue eyes, average weight.
 

So when it comes to every other stereotype about a woman, I’ve been adamant about proving them wrong.

Then, this year I thought… who is THEM?
 

WHO am I trying to prove wrong?

 

Society? My friends? Family? Everyone?

 

And then I realized… this is probably why I haven't made a new friend in over 10 years. 😅 (that's a story for another day).

 

I've always been a closed book. 

 

Like a diary with a lock and that diary is in a safe with a code and that safe is buried in concrete.

 

So when I started this business, I called it Your Creative Content because I did NOT want to make it about me.

 

But here's what I've realized this year.

 

Being so closed off and guarded isn't just costing me friendships— it's costing me money.

 

Vulnerability is what makes a good story. And storytelling is how you make sales in your business.

 

But! You don't HAVE to be overly vulnerable to make your content or copy work.

 

You may be getting this email because you're already on my email list. 

 

Which means you maaaay have missed the news that 2025 is my Storytelling Era which is why I've started this weekly newsletter, Plot Twists & Tips!

 

Every Tuesday, you'll be getting ONE storytime (everything from almost dying on a mountain to doing the Walk of Shame in France) and ONE tip on SEO, Storytelling, or Sales Copywriting!

 

 

Last year, my newsletter plan looked like this:

While I liked these newsletter formats, I realized the more I switch things up, the more inconsistent I am. 

 

So we're keeping it simple.

 

 

If you're struggling with consistency because you're trying to post on every social media platform while trying to switch up your content pillars every other day, you miiiight wanna do the same.

 

 

But I still want to give you a round up, so here ya go!