Hey all! I am Katy Ursta married to my college sweetheart for 12 years, a mom of two boys, and a stage four cancer survivor. I started writing as a way of coping with my diagnosis, but found the more I shared about cancer, the more universal cancer became, and the more connected I felt to others and the less isolated I felt through the struggle. I own a virtual health and wellness company and commit to helping my clients find a deeper motivation to fight for their own health.
When I am not in the stands of my sons' hockey games, I am usually found folding the never ending piles of laundry, looking for the matching sock, breaking up hockey fights, or (let's just be honest) with my hand buried in the bag of chocolate, asking the question, "what do you want for dinner?" You can find more of my work on instagram @katy_ursta or on my website, katyursta.com
Recently, a friend gave me a sweatshirt displaying the words “Nineteen 83 Original.” I slipped the soft fabric over my head and pushed my arms through; the cozy sweatshirt fit perfectly. I looked down at the retro print, loudly and proudly displaying the year: ’83. I contemplated whether to wear it out that night. It was comfortable, I liked the way it felt and looked, and it was honest—I was literally wearing my age. Was that okay? Would my mom have ever worn a shirt that so boldly proclaimed her age? My aunts? My grandma? Never ask a woman her...
I can’t tell the story of paramedics from the angle from which they see things, but I can tell it from the angle of the person looking up at them—the one lying in the medically-equipped vehicle with lights flashing and siren audible. There are some lessons in life we learn by blindside—we are thrust into them. That was me that May day in the ambulance. I had known about migraines; I had decades of first-hand experience with them. I knew vision could be temporarily taken. I have operated countless days with an invisible hammer continuously beating one side of my...
Of all the places I will roam, home is forever part of me. I can see the bright, orange poppies coming out to grace the springtime hills. I can hear the classic hymns being played on the familiar piano—its notes drifting God’s praise throughout the house. I can smell the fragrant aroma of brown sugar, butter, cinnamon, and oats mixing together to make the cookies of my childhood. I can touch your warm embrace—the firm hug that has always communicated that it will all be okay, that God has us held in the palm of his hands. I can taste...
I have a girlfriend who has a lake house just over an hour away. It’s in a small town that has a local Mexican restaurant with a fun, easy-going staff that feels like they have to be family. There have been times over the last few years that something about that casual, bright restaurant with its rowdy waiters and surprisingly outstanding, cheap food makes me feel so content. The small lake town is not that far from home, but it feels far enough away to be unavailable to my responsibilities and have a tiny piece of that vacation vibe (without...
Growing up a teacher’s daughter has given me a lifetime of appreciation for educators. Of course, it’s true; I may be biased. I’ve been fortunate to have learned and been guided by many outstanding teachers, including my mother and grandmother, who passed those legacy skills onto my daughter, who strongly feels teaching is her calling. But if you’ve had your eyes and ears open in recent years, you, too, probably feel deep gratitude for the angels among us who work in the school system. So, as the school year ends, and on behalf of parents, grandparents, and anyone who loves...
We’ve been through this before, so we know the waves of emotions that roll through us. When our kids graduate—be it from preschool, elementary school, middle school, high school, or college—we moms come to terms with one season ending and a new one beginning. RELATED: I Blinked and You Went From Kindergarten to College When it’s your last child who is graduating from college, this can feel like uncharted territory. Yes, we know that we find new rhythms to our relationship from having gone through this with our other child(ren). But we as moms have not yet left the college...
If I were to do an inventory of my home of 42 years, I would get a grip on what should be thrown out, given away, or kept. The older I become, the more difficult it is for me to make these decisions. I attempted making a list of personal items I would like each of my sons to have (not that they wouldn’t get rid of them after I am gone) and have started thinking about items to bequeath to grandchildren. I believe I know which son would be happy to acquire books, which son would gladly be the...
Trigger warning: self-harm and suicide mentioned Today, I did one of the hardest things I’ve ever done: I started anxiety medication. I’ve struggled with anxiety as far back as I can remember. At age eight and on, I remember having crowd and social anxiety and being forced into situations where I felt so unstable. Church functions, stage freight, crowds of people I didn’t feel safe around. At age 15, I experienced my first panic attack. I remember thinking I was having a heart attack, wondering why I’d be dying from a heart attack so young. It wasn’t until I was...
Packing up several years’ worth of supplies purchased with my own money, I heave a deep exhale. The room looks so bare now. It’s less colorful and joyful. It’s lost its magic. I kind of feel the same way about myself. After months of contemplation and decision-making, I won’t be unpacking these boxes when school returns in August. I won’t be returning to the classroom at all. Somewhere along the way, I seem to have lost some of that teacher magic that once sparkled so brilliantly. But if I’ve spent so much time making this choice, why am I overcome...
As we strolled the neighborhood last night, it seemed like almost everyone was out mowing their lawns. It was one of those early summer evenings that was almost perfect—70s, calm, not too many bugs—just right for tackling some yard work. When we got home, I noticed a friend had shared a post on Facebook that made me stop in my tracks—because I’d just seen the very thing it was warning about, and I hadn’t considered the danger. Buddy Shoemaker, a father of three in New Hampshire, shared a sobering post about his youngest son, Grady, and the accident that nearly...
By Katy Ursta 
by Kelsey Scism 
by Joy A. Mead 
by Sydnei Kaplan 
by Brianna Baranowski 
by Her View From Home 
