Debby Montgomery Johnson, #1 Best Selling Author, International businesswoman, is a woman on a mission. In her book, “The Woman Behind the Smile” she shares her personal experience with a love that turned into betrayal and financial disaster and she removes the mask of shame and shows others Most of my days are a blur of work and caregiving. I’m the only one of four siblings who live close enough to help my 96-year- old father, so the daily tasks, doctor’s appointments, medication schedules, groceries, and laundry, fall mostly to me. I don’t say that with resentment; I love my dad dearly. But I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t exhausting. There are days I feel like I’m trying to carry the weight of two lives—his and mine—while keeping the pieces of my own in place, There’s a rhythm to our days. Some are calm and predictable; others are riddled with phone calls, unexpected needs, and the kind of worry that hums in the background even when nothing is wrong.
It’s in that constant rhythm that I’ve learned the necessity of small, sacred pauses— moments that are mine and mine alone.
And one of the most cherished of those moments comes late at night, in the form of Once the house has quieted I make my final phone call to my dad before he goes to bed. I remind him to take his nightly meds and one more time tell him who will be coming to “visit” in the morning – usually his assistant, the physical therapist, and the wound-care nurse make daily appearances around 10:30 am and then after his afternoon nap, I’ll be there. The daily routine doesn’t change much but the small changes can make or break the routine. The reminders calm him down.
Before my nightly ritual begins in the kitchen, I take the tin of cocoa powder from the cupboard, set my favorite saucepan on the stove, and pour in the milk. As it warms, I whisk in the cocoa and sugar, watching the powder bloom into rich, deep swirls. Steam begins to curl into the air, carrying that warm, chocolatey scent that makes my shoulders relax before I’ve even taken a sip.
There’s a little trick I’ve come to love. Once the cocoa is perfectly hot, I pour in a splash of cold chocolate milk—not plain milk, because I don’t want to dilute the richness I’ve just created. That small addition cools the drink to the perfect temperature for sipping right away, while adding an extra layer of creaminess that feels almost decadent.
up the night’s movie. Sometimes we pick something new, sometimes an old favorite that we’ve practically memorized. I curl into the couch with my blanket, and he smiles when he sees me cradling that steaming mug—it’s as much a part of our nightly ritual as the movie itself.
The first sip is everything. Warmth spreads through me, not just in my hands but deep in my chest, easing away the knots of the day. The cocoa is rich but balanced, sweet but not excessively so, smooth from the blend of hot milk and that also one of the most meaningful parts of my life. And the cocoa helps me hold onto that truth.
It’s amazing how something so small can shift my perspective. If I never paused, if I rushed from task to task until I collapsed into bed each night, I might only see the fatigue, the obligations, the relentlessness of it all. But sitting here, warm mug in hand, I can see the love threaded through my days. I can notice the small victories: my dad’s smile when I bring him his favorite cookies and cream milkshake, the relief in his eyes when I show up for yet another appointment, the quiet trust he has that I’ll be there.
As the movie plays, I lean against my husband’s shoulder, blanket tucked around me, cocoa still sending up gentle swirls of steam. This isn’t an escape from my life; it’s a way of tending to it. These small pauses make me better, more patient, more grounded, more able to give without resentment.
And that, I’ve learned is the quiet magic of a cup of cocoa. It’s not just a drink—it’s a reminder that even in a life built around caring for others, I am allowed to care for myself too.
People often think of self-care as something grand or rare like a weekend getaway, a day at the spa, or an escape from regular life. But for me, it’s here, in this cocoa.
It’s in the care I take to make it exactly how I like it, in the deliberate act of slowing down to savor it, and in the way it marks the transition from the busy part of my day to the peaceful part.
When the mug is finally empty, I set it down on the coffee table and tuck myself in closer to my husband. The movie will keep playing, and the night will drift on toward sleep, but I’ll carry that cocoa warmth with me, inside and out. It’s a reminder that taking time for myself doesn’t have to be complicated. It just has to be intentional.