March 15, 2018

A Reason to Stand: FEARless in Las Vegas April 28th, 2018

Guys...good news. I have been given an opportunity to bring my conference to Las Vegas on April 28th. Come see me!!!!! for more details.

A Reason to Stand: FEARless
Las Vegas, Nevada
April 28th
4660 N. Rancho Dr.
Las Vegas, NV 89130

March 6, 2018


Fourteen years ago today. Seven we spent together—the last seven...we spent without you. I didn’t know then that the decision to marry you was going to be full of so many blessings, and so much pain. I didn’t know that the family we dreamed of creating together...I would raise without you. I didn’t know that I could love so much, and hurt so deeply. I didn’t know that as we reached our seven year wedding anniversary—just weeks after giving birth to our fifth baby—that just five days later you would be taken from us. 

I didn’t know. I didn’t know about the affair, I didn’t know about the gun. I didn’t know about nights staring out into the darkness...too afraid to sleep. I didn’t know that I could lose so much in a moment. But I said yes. I took a chance. Some would say I failed...I chose wrong. And that’s ok. All they see now is a man who was an idiot...and lost not only his marriage—but also his life. 

It’s hard to understand the impact a single choice can make. It’s hard to feel the significance every decision we choose will have on the people we love—even effect the ones we barely know. 

Some people don’t get the chance to see the impact of their actions...but seven years ago we did. 

You know, Emmett was a man of many words. As an attorney he was a voice for those who had lost theirs, and as a friend...he was always there with encouragement.

We won’t ever spend an anniversary together, but I can almost hear your voice tonight as I think about all the lessons you would be able to share with those waking along a destructive path. 

“You don’t have to do this all on your own. You are not invisible, but you are incredible. You are worthy of the love all around you. You are capable of greatness. You are worthy of loyalty and kindness. You are magnificent. You can change. Believe in Yourself. Believe in the light. Believe in grace. It is for you too. He hasn’t forgotten you, and He never will. Even you are enough for Him. Go make it great. You only have this one life...don’t lose a moment. Fight for light.” 

Though this last fourteen years has not looked like I pictured as I kneeled across from a man who promised me the world...I am grateful for the decision I made—because it gave me five of the coolest kids I have ever met. It gave me a path that has strengthened everything I know to be true. It gave me a heart that has had to work harder than I ever knew get back up and keep beating. And I love the me—this journey has helped me remember—that I was all along. A daughter of a Heavenly Father, capable of giving and receiving love, light and truth. 

And so are you. Whatever road you are walking, I know if you turn to Him...God will help you find grace in your story. It matters. 

February 14, 2018

Happy Valentines Day

Doing a fun giveaway on my Facebook Standing Beautiful group page. Go check it out. Happy Valentines/Galentines/Independence Day!!!!

Standing Beautiful Group

February 13, 2018

Reclaim You Event

I am going to be a keynote speaker at a fun event in Utah in April. (this is not an event sponsored by me) If anyone wants to come join me use code ASHLEE at checkout and you will receive $50 off.  The site is

February 3, 2018


As I stand at a crossroad in my life— this past month—I have been guided to some really tough choices. Like many times before... leading me to a path I did not choose. But after years of fighting some impossible avoid this reality, I wanted to share with those of you who have followed our healing journey—Shawn and I are officially divorced.

It has not been an easy choice—letting go of the family I thought we had created—and there are parts of our life together I will always be so grateful for. We made it through some impossible days, but as time has gone on, we were both finding strength in two different paths and there came a time when we no longer could support each other on those journeys.

I have—and always will—see Jordyn as one of my own. She and I have always had a strong connection and are a lot a like. My heart hurts not having her apart of our daily lives.

I don’t want to dwell on the “whys” and “what ifs”, I have already asked all of those questions many times. So what I would ask of all of you—moving forward—is that we focus on the positives that life will bring and rally around six children who are hurting and in transition.

Shawn and I shared many good days, many of which I have felt impressed to share on social media, other days...we fought silent battles we didn’t feel the desire to open to the world. We gave each other strength during a hard time of life, and I hope that no one turns this into a reason to be unkind or lose faith in the many blessings we each receive to give us strength on our unique paths.

I am at peace, and I know that— just like in other pivotal moments in my life—God has a plan for me and believes in me as a mother, a woman, a wife, and as a person capable of giving and receiving love. I have faith that I can and will continue to be the woman I have always strived to be.

I don’t know how much time I am going to need to get things figured out for the future, but I pray that this community—of fighters that have held us up so many times before—will stand with us as we continue on a journey we started long ago...with a promise of peace and healing and all the light this world has to offer.

I don’t think anyone plans that one day they will have to choose divorce, but I do know that we can choose to be happy regardless of the circumstances we find ourselves in—in life. And we can choose to move forward. I have so much to be thankful for. And I am grateful for each of you and your continued support and understanding as I—just like you—navigate an unknown future full of valleys and mountains. Continually passing through lessons to help me find courage in myself, and even greater faith in our God.

He is real, and we need His strength through the good times, and the hard. Those crossroads—the days that feel impossible and lonely—they are just moments. Moments that we can still choose to stand.

December 19, 2017

I don't know what to feel

“Rejoice and be exceedingly glad” Matthew 5:12

When someone suffers a great loss—no matter what the circumstances— they go through a grief cycle. Sometimes they follow the cycle just as it is explained in many books, but most people go through these cycles in waves that sometimes feel strange, or make them feel guilty for not being “normal”.

I want to talk about a part of the grief cycle that is always hard to admit. Mainly because it is a defense we want to shun. Relief.

When I sat on the couch the night of Emmett’s death—and those detectives finally finished telling me stories of infidelity and murder—my front door shut. My instincts told me to cry out in sadness, yell out in anger, curl up in humiliation . . . but if I am going to be completely honest with myself, my first wave wasn’t fear or pain or humiliation . . . it was relief—relief that I wasn’t crazy. You see. When your spouse is having an affair, they spend a lot of time in hiding—from you. You feel alone, and you feel abandoned . . . usually never understanding why. All the while blaming yourself for not being enough. Spending most of your time trying to change who you think it is your spouse no longer desires.

So my first moment of peace was relief that I wasn’t crazy. In that moment, I felt grateful to know that there was something really wrong . . . that all those months I had spent feeling—and being told—I was crazy . . . were part of his hiding. All those months I began to hate myself for not being someone else. All those months I had searched—like any normal crazy person—for answers that I never found. There really had been something wrong. I wasn't crazy!!!

I can’t say that wave of relief lasted long—or didn’t haunt me for years as evidence as a reason I should hate the girl he left that night. But it did come. And it was real. And what I wish I could go back and tell that girl—who felt relieved in a moment where the world would tell her she should feel sad—is. . . it’s ok. It was real, because the pain of the affair had hurt for a long time, even though she had no clue. And it’s ok that for that first split second—she felt grateful to know the truth. The truth can set you free—and in that moment, it set me free from a version of crazy I had believed I had become.

So sometimes—especially when a moment of trauma is so complex—we have to give ourselves a break, and allow grief to find a voice. Sadness isn’t always the first wave to come. And that has to be ok. If we want to heal, we cannot shun the real feelings . . . even if they feel very strange.

Maybe your child has suffered since the day they born, and you have carried the emotional, financial, and psychological toll of raising a child with special needs through years of heart ache and tears. Maybe your loved one has been stuck in the chains of addiction and you are finally given an answer to divorce. Maybe you spent the last four years taking care of a spouse with cancer—and as they took that last breath—you felt the weight of the burden lift . . . and for a split second felt relieved to have such a taxing calling end.

Whatever your journey was or is . . . there are going to be a lot of emotions that come when you suffer a loss. Don’t give up on the girl or boy who doesn’t feel them in the order the grief books told you—you would. Your timetable isn’t something anyone has written in a book . . . it is yours.

It is a course that you get to navigate with God. So whatever you are grieving . . . a loss that ended with death, a marriage that ended in divorce—or something else that has come to a point that you have to say goodbye. Grief is real.

Sometimes after a traumatic event—or a major loss—when the holidays or special occasions come around, we feel like we don’t know how to enjoy them. We get stuck between what we think we should be feeling and what we want to feel. So this year . . . if you are scared to find joy this Christmas because your story has felt broken and you find yourself trying to shun any emotion that isn’t utter despair—how about you give yourself a day off from grieving and just let light surround you. Not because you don’t have a million reasons to hurt, but because you might still have some reasons to feel excitement, happiness, peace . . . and even little glimmers of joy.

You are still here. You are still worthy of grace. You are still capable of feeling love. So smile today. Not because it is easy, but because you are worth it.

Loss does not define you. Yes it does change you, it teaches you, and some days it still hurts. But life keeps moving forward. You deserve happiness. And it is still possible. So today, rejoice and be exceedingly glad for all the things you still have—and simply, just for you.

December 12, 2017

Blessed are those that mourn

“Blessed are they that mourn” Matthew 5:4 #lighttheworld

I remember the morning of Emmett’s viewing sobbing in my mother’s arms. I said, “I can’t do this mom. I can’t have another person walk in here and hug me—I can’t keep pretending I have anything left to give—I can’t even stand it when they touch me. Today I just want to be left alone.”

My wise mother held me close and said, “Ashlee . . . then don’t do it for you—do it for them. Hug them—not because you want to— but because they came to mourn. They lost something too—a brother, a son, a friend. Every person who knew him will never be the same. So let them in. Sometimes it will be for you—but most of the time you will have to do it for them. Comfort them.”

A few things I have learned—since that day— about grief, loss, and mourning. 

1. It is an individual journey . . . but nearly impossible to do alone.

2. Others might have lost similar to you, but they might handle it differently.

3. No one prepares you for how hard it is going to be and that it doesn’t truly ever end.

4. It is a road that never leads you back to who you once were . . . but a path that takes you to a new place—of who you can become. 

5. Faith doesn’t take away the pain—it just helps you remember you are not doing it alone.

6. God will give you more than you can handle—but He will also give you a Savior . . . who will carry you through the days you cannot stand on your own.

Grief is impossible to put into words, and I have failed many times to describe the pain that one experiences in the midst of great loss.  But one thing I do know something about—is that we can mourn with those who mourn...because we all need each other. Through the good times and the bad. You are never ever alone.

December 11, 2017

A new kind of Champion

Since this month I am focusing on the youth, I thought it would be a good time to share this post written by a young woman who has a very unique journey. One of championships and trophies. But in the road that got her where she is now, she has learned to be a different kind of champion. One who has learned to stand. 

A new kind of Champion 
by Olivia Ekberg

I’m lying in the back of an ambulance racing towards the hospital in Walnut Creek, California. The EMT above me is trying to stabilize my seizing body enough to get an IV in my arm, and the oxygen blowing into my nose makes me feel like I’m suffocating. I feel tears roll down my cheeks. I try not to cry. I get kicked out of the pool if I cry. As the cold tears gather by all the tubes and wires attached to me, I feel an overwhelming sense of loneliness. I’m seventeen years old, living alone, two states away from my family, training for the Olympic Games. It is in this moment—with the setting November sky outside the ambulance window—speeding down the highway, that I know. If I continue the way I’m going, I will die in the pool one way or another.

I am a synchronized swimmer on the USA Senior National Team. I made this team when I was sixteen years old and found myself on the 2015 World Championship Stage just a few months later. I’m pretty good at what I do. At eight years old I made my debut at the National Championship, and I represented the U.S. internationally for the first time at twelve. The 2016 Olympic Qualifier is 5 months away. Two years separate me from the next youngest on the team, deeming me the “future” of USA Synchro. I have a point to prove. I have a country to represent. I have people to please, I have family I need to make proud. I have dreams.

I thought I had dreams.

Soon after my trip to the hospital, I booked a one-way flight home to Arizona to run countless tests on my body and be with my mom. I had no idea when I would be back in California, I had no idea what was wrong with my health, and I had no idea what the future held for me in the world of synchronized swimming.

What I did know was that I was miserable. The pursuit of constant perfection every day in the pool, the piercing eyes and vulgar words from my coaches, the disconnect, the inhumanity they represented, and being alone that young—it was killing me. For months I had prayed that God would let me tear my ACL, take me out of the water, save me. I didn’t want to make the choice to step away, that meant weakness. I recoiled at the thought.

I found myself in and out of the hospital in Arizona. My mom constantly holding my hand. My body in constant pain. My mind in constant worry. The worst part wasn’t the results we got, it was the results we didn’t get. All my blood work came back normal. My EKG was perfect. MRI spotless. EEG showed no seizure activity, though I had seizure-like episodes while hooked up to the wires. I was shaking every 30 minutes, up to twelve times a day, yet I was deemed completely healthy. There was no end in sight, no one believed my pain was real.

The ER Attending was the first to diagnose me with “conversion disorder”: a psychological disorder where past emotional trauma and severe stress will manifest itself in physical, neurological symptoms. In my case, seizure-like activity.

The shaking always starts in my right arm and as soon as I lie down, the convulsions take over my entire body and I shake uncontrollably, on average, for about twenty minutes, hitting the ground with the weight of my body and tears streaming down my face. I am fully conscious. I feel absolutely everything.

Because my mind was the cause of so much physical distress, I needed to fix my thinking if I ever wanted my body to stop shaking. That meant walking away from the sport that had shaped my personality, my growth, my faith, my work ethic, my every decision. It meant stepping away from all that I was, all that I hoped to be, and all the worth I thought I possessed. Walking away meant imperfection, in it’s deepest sense. That shook me to the very core.

What would people think of me? How would they view my failure? I was the girl who almost went to the Olympic Games. The girl who just wasn’t strong enough to handle the pressure. The girl who everyone believed made up her pain to get away from it all.

All those questions were ones I vomited onto my counselor the second I sat in our first session. I then proceeded to tell him that there was nothing wrong with me, I was completely fine! Despite what he thought, I could be perfect. I could reach the unattainable. Because I have a work ethic that no one else has. I was on the Olympic Team, for goodness sakes! I know what perfection is, what it looks like, so why can’t I just be perfect? Why can’t I just not ever make any mistakes? Isn’t it that simple? It’s a perfectly reasonable goal, a perfectly attainable goal. The problem, I told him, was with my weakness, my inadequacy, not my pursuit of perfection.

He laughed.

I cried.

For months we toggled with this idea that I could be perfect. I was addicted to the idea that I could reach a point in my life where I would never disappoint anyone, I would never hurt anyone, everyone would like me, and I would never be judged for my mistakes.

This idea came from a little girl who jumped into a perfectionistic sport. A teenager thrust directly into the middle of her parent’s horrific divorce. Watching her angel mother on her knees with rolling tears. Feeling her forever family shatter, leaving everyone empty and heartbroken, clinging to faith that was weakening. Leaving home to train for the Olympic Games to escape it all. Emotional abuse, rejection, disappointment, failure, and utter loneliness followed in a dark shadow. It was anything but an escape.

My spirit was old and tired, trying to fit inside the body of an emotionally depleted seventeen year old.

It took a long time to see that little girl inside me again.

One day my counselor had me look into the mirror he had in his office. He told me to look myself in the eyes. I stood there and looked at myself for a long time, until silent tears poured down my face and I couldn’t stand.

In my eyes, I saw all that I was running away from. I was drowning in those deep pools of brown. But I finally understood.

Behind all the medals, all the National Anthems, all the victory and all the success was a girl that had shame, emptiness, and deep insecurity hiding beneath the heart that drove her to be a champion.  Behind the mask of perfect capability was just a girl who feared imperfection more than anything else in the world. It was hard, admitting that I wasn’t okay. It was even harder to be okay with not being okay.

I spent the next year and a half learning to think again. Starting from square one and learning how to retrain my thought processes and thinking patterns. Learning who God was again, contemplating what I really believed about the nature of God. Learning who I was, where my worth lied, where I was going, and the crucial difference between progress and perfection. It was a constant marathon in my mind day after day. Tears continuously poured down my cheeks. I took every situation that drove me back to the depths of hellish perfectionism and pulled them apart and analyzed every minute, every feeling, every decision, and every improvement. I had to understand the relationship between what my mind was telling me and what my body was feeling, because that natural companionship was one that was robbed from me the second I made the decision to pursue perfection over life.

Like a baby learning to walk, I had to learn to feel. I had to learn to think. I had to learn to live.

The process was far from perfect. Like any addiction, I had relapse and withdrawal. But ultimately, I had to learn to simplify. I had to understand the power behind saying “no,” behind recognizing my limitations, admitting my limitations, and learning that limitations are anything but weaknesses. The more I started saying “no” to the little things in my life, (like working extra hours, making a treat for the next church function, babysitting a neighbors daughter), I was actually saying yes to myself, my family, and my God. Though I disappointed many people in the process of learning to say “yes” to myself, I found that my “no’s” were never a “no” to my love for them, but just me understanding how much I could really give. Giving myself a resounding “yes” mended my soul, brought God back into my life, and taught me how much I am valued. I rediscovered love. I felt love: real, lasting, unconditional love for the first time. I will never go back.

But what do you do when your life is erupting in flames around you? What do you do when you are drowning when you spent your entire life learning to swim? What do you do when you feel your God has abandoned you? Where do you start?

You just live. Day by day, second by second, one moment to the next. You start by waking up every morning, by getting out of bed. You live raw and unfiltered. When you find yourself at the corner of darkness and light, understand that path you desire is illuminated by the other. It is often necessary to walk in darkness before you naturally veer where we all belong—in the light. A journey I have trekked through many times, and found impossible to do without God. Do not rob yourself of the present. Feel the now, do not run from grief. Move forward, especially when it is dark. Perfect has nothing on your soul.

For those of you who are in the thick of drowning in perfectionism, athletic disappointments, breaking families or lost souls, you are not alone. I wish I could reach out and lay with you in your hell. But I promise that God lays on the floor with you, with the same tears. He won’t leave.

To read more about Olivia her blog is: and you can find her on Instagram: _oliviaekberg (

Blog Design By: Sherbet Blossom Designs