Lynn J. Broderick

Home
United States
Barrington, IL
Lynn J. Broderick

Navy Mom. Former ad exec. One time podcast sidekick. Lifelong over-thinker. Certified health nut. Nature junkie. Substack writer.

Sailor Mom, truth seeker, nut, worrier & warrior, Producer & Co-Host of The Green Divas, lover of , , & .

01/28/2026

Wishing I was back in Cali 🌴but instead I’m in northern Illinois where it feels like one degree Fahrenheit.

Balmy, compared to last Friday’s thirty below wind chill.

I spend my winters counting the days until spring.

You’d think I’d be used to it by now. Lifetime here in Illinois. I’m not.

I prefer being outside with temperatures hovering in the mid-sixties—the warm sun on my face, a floral-infused breeze making my hair dance.

Instead, I get (mostly) gray skies that choke out the light. A polar vortex forever lurking.

My husband seems genetically engineered to love winter. He’s the Tony Robbins of the Midwest—whistling happy tunes as he snow blows. Damn him!

I wrote about how to survive winter when you don’t love it.

Link in bio.

01/25/2026

Baby, it’s cold outside 🥶

But inside, we got filet and all the delicious fixing’s—potatoes and onions, mushrooms/onions/garlic and roasted asparagus. Yum yum. To make things even richer, we’ve got got cab franc. 🍷

01/22/2026

Framed on my parents’ wall for decades…
ancient photos of stern strangers, ghost-like, joyless.

Mom doesn’t remember.
Dad’s gone, so the mystery stays

My aunt is the only one left who might know.
I called her—nope. But apparently the photos have been “in the family” forever.

Which means I’m probably related.
And that’s… a little frightening.

01/18/2026

Bears night 🏈

Perfect time to sort through the boxes of old photographs that have been tormenting me.

01/15/2026

This stuck felt like someone swapped my battery for three cold, wet sandbags and laid them on my chest.

I’m convinced I was abducted by aliens. How else would you explain the missing cross-sections of my funny bone?

If you’ve read my work, you know I’ve had a few years of parental decline (and can still be funny!)—the sort of emotional weather that can gum up anyone’s creative gears. I’ve already written about that, so I’ll leave it there for context only.

Just know the ground keeps shifting and being buried under sandbags is not ideal terrain for creativity.

Hope you’ll read the full post (🔗 in comments).

01/11/2026

Game night. 🏈🏈🏈 Go Bears!

Homemade grilled chicken and shrimp fajitas. Margarita.

Is football season over yet? Because… I really don’t care.

01/08/2026

Excited to be part of a 4-part series on motherhood with three other incredible writers.

Four unique journeys. Four video interviews.

Link in bio!

01/06/2026

This isn’t an old ad photo.

It’s my dad, his English Sheep dog Dizzy and sister Judy.

A high-quality shot—my grandfather was an inventor for Bell & Howell, always had the latest gear. with all the latest technology).

All smiles. On the surface, a perfect life.

They lived quite comfortably—a custom home on Sacramento Avenue in Chicago, nice cars, a cottage on a pristine lake in northern Wisconsin.

Yet beneath the smiles, life was far from perfect.

My grandfather tossed Dad in the lake, laughing—before he could swim. He beat Dad and Ganny, my grandmother. She divorced him in an era when divorce was scandalous.

Photos don’t always capture reality.

I never met my grandfather—he died in his fifties from diabetes from the bottle.

Dad took one sip of daiquiri his whole life. Swore he’d never be that man.

I miss his smile. The real one.

01/03/2026

Last night’s twist on a taco.

Total yum experience.

Keith-sized taco seasoned ground turkey over black rice. Grated mini basque cheese. Fire roasted tomatoes. Avocado. Red leaf lettuce.

12/28/2025

Currently experiencing both joy and sadness on steroids.

Last day visiting my Navy son in CA. Worlds away from my IL home.

This may be our last stretch of real, uninterrupted time for a while. A year? Three?

The unknown is a weight on my heart—
the kind that steals your breath.

And still… having him in my life at all
is a gift that lightens my world.

12/27/2025

As we age, many of us forget how to play that game. The carefreeness of it all.

We curse time: how it flies, how there’s never enough of it, how it disappears without warning. One minute, it’s early June, the next—bam—Fourth of July is in the rearview mirror. Another birthday. In and out, like a ghost.

It feels… unfair!

I’ll admit: I don’t have the healthiest relationship with time. Some might say I’m a little fixated—on how the minutes, hours, days (hell, years) hurtle past at warp speed.

I often feel like a bystander to my own life, frustrated as more time vanishes before I’ve had a chance use it more wisely. I rush around, trying to get more done, hoping to trick time into thinking I don’t notice it’s speeding up.

Time feels… unhinged. There’s no peace in that.

I wrote about it and share a bunch of quotes to help make peace with time.

🔗 in bio.

12/26/2025

Everyone talks about the last moment with someone you love.

No one really prepares you for the firsts that come after.

Wherever you are in your own season of grief, I hope my recent chat with fellow Substackers Jason MacKenzie and Carazas gives you a moment to exhale—and feel a little less alone.

We’re listening. And we’d love to hear your story.

If you want to watch the full video, go to the link in my bio.

Address

Barrington, IL
60047

Website

http://lynnjbroderick.substack.com/

Alerts

Be the first to know and let us send you an email when Lynn J. Broderick posts news and promotions. Your email address will not be used for any other purpose, and you can unsubscribe at any time.

Shortcuts

Want your practice to be the top-listed Clinic in Barrington?