Boy! Do I have a story for you!

The Funk, the Tortilla, and the Truth I Didn’t Expect to Find

Yesterday, I discovered that neither Virginia nor Louisiana wants to claim me.

After spending three years and multiple $50 fees trying to get a valid driver’s license—jumping through every hoop, including a legal name change to match the name I was born with—I received a letter from Louisiana Vital Records letting me know they cannot issue my birth certificate.

Why?

Because I changed my name in another state…
to the name that’s already printed on my Louisiana birth certificate.

I wish I were joking.
But apparently, since I changed my name back to Monica Hebert from my married name (which, by the way, Louisiana never even put on my license), they now can’t verify that I’m… me.

So to recap:
Virginia won’t give me a license unless I have a Louisiana birth certificate.
Louisiana won’t give me a birth certificate unless I legally change my name in Louisiana…
to the name they already have on file.

Y’all.
I’m officially a woman without a state.
I’m a soul in a holding pattern.
I’m in the bureaucratic version of limbo, and I didn’t even get to bring snacks.

---

And then the funk hit.

I was trying to meditate. Trying to breathe. Trying to align.
But instead, I ate a cheese tortilla.

Then I stared at the chicken thigh I should eat to stay on my high-protein track and just thought:
I don’t want to do anything.

Not clean.
Not create.
Not sit in spiritual grace.
I didn’t want a breakthrough—I wanted a distraction.

But here's what I realized:

Sometimes the deepest spiritual practice is admitting you’re in a funk and not trying to hustle your way out of it.

So instead of pretending I was fine, I gave myself a funk protocol.
No big energy. No forced gratitude. No fixing.

Just being with myself gently.

---

Here are the low-energy soul distractions I reached for. Maybe they’ll help you, too:

🔹 Rewatch something that softens you.
Downton Abbey, a cozy podcast, Pinky Nel talking about “Exit Strategy.”
Not to escape—just to let your brain stop gripping so hard.

🔹 Write ten “I Remember” lines.
Little soul memories. No pressure.

“I remember standing barefoot in wet grass the day after my divorce.”
“I remember the smell of cheap candles at the dollar store.”
“I remember the peace of nothing being expected of me.”

It grounds you.

🔹 Start a ‘Ha. Whatever.’ list.
It’s like a gratitude list—but sassier and truer.

“Ha. Whatever. I ate a tortilla and the world didn’t end.”
“Ha. Whatever. I’m in a funk, but my soul still works.”
“Ha. Whatever. The DMV doesn’t know me, but I do.”

🔹 Remember a time you just knew.
Like the day I told my friend Q not to worry about my electric bill. I had zero evidence, no plan, and still I said,
“I know it’s going to be paid tomorrow.”

And it was.

---

So maybe this whole tangled mess—the name change, the funk, the tortilla—isn’t a breakdown.
Maybe it’s a holy pause.
A moment to walk away from needing proof, needing structure, needing the system to stamp its approval on my identity.

Because the truth is:
I’m not becoming.
I’m remembering.
And remembering doesn’t require energy.
It just requires presence.

---

If you’re in a funk too, you’re not failing.
You’re just in between the breath and the breakthrough.

Sit down.
Eat the tortilla.
And when you're ready—just write “Ha. Whatever.” and let your soul finish the sentence.

It’s better than a pity party!!