Climbing Out, One Step at a Time

I recently spent a day volunteering at a school event. It was fun, fulfilling, and honestly, a little emotionally exhausting. The kids were the easy part—loud, chaotic, joyful. The grown-ups? A little trickier. Everyone was nice. Smiling. Chatty. Inclusive, even. But still, I caught myself wondering, "Do they actually like me?" It’s a strange feeling—being surrounded by friendly people and still feeling unsure of where you fit. And the truth is, I’ve been here before. I’ve navigated cliques. I was in a sorority. I know how to read a room, hold my own, and fake confidence when I need to. But even now, even as an adult—I still get insecure. I still worry if someone doesn’t talk to me. I still overanalyze small moments. I still feel like an outsider sometimes, even when I know I’ve been invited in. And I guess that’s the part no one really talks about: That even the most seemingly put-together people are often just quietly wondering if they belong. So if you’ve ever stood in a c...

I recently spent six hours volunteering at a school event. There was music, games, popsicles, and the kind of laughter that only happens when kids are truly in the moment. It was loud. It was chaotic. It was beautiful. There’s something really special about watching young children play without hesitation—cheering for each other, running without a care, giving out high-fives like confetti. And then, as the day goes on, you see the shift. The older the kids, the more self-aware they become. Still fun, still sweet—but layered. You can feel the changes coming, the growing-up part. It's subtle but powerful. Mm mm The grown-ups? Well, let’s just say I got a peek behind the curtain too. There are always little dynamics at play— It’s not good or bad. It just is. And even when everyone is nice, it’s easy to feel like the new kid walking into a scene that started before you arrived. But here’s what stuck with me: Even when I felt a little out of place, I knew I was part of something that mat...

 Why I Think the Yellow Card System Could Change School Dances I haven’t tried this yet, but hear me out—I think it might be brilliant. School dances are supposed to be fun. A chance for kids to let loose, laugh with their friends, and create core memories. But they can also turn into a bit of a behavioral free-for-all if boundaries aren’t clear. As someone who helps plan events, I started thinking: How can we keep things fun and fair… without turning into the dance police? Enter my idea: The Yellow Card System. Just like in soccer, a student who crosses a line—whether it’s inappropriate dancing, disrespectful behavior, or pushing limits—gets a yellow card. It’s a warning. A heads-up that this isn’t okay. If they get a second? They're out. No arguing. No long speeches. Just clear, consistent consequences. Here’s why I think this could work: ✅ It sets expectations: Everyone knows the rules ahead of time and what happens if they break them. ✅ It gives a second chance: A yellow card i...

 On June 8, 2020, I checked into the hospital for what was supposed to be a routine procedure. It was a simple D&C, a way to close the chapter on a miscarriage that had already left me feeling hollow. But as I lay in that cold, sterile room, things went terribly wrong. I lost a massive amount of blood—two liters, they later told me—and for a brief, terrifying moment, my heart stopped. They had to bring me back. I don’t remember all the details. I remember the cold of the table, the panic in my chest as I couldn’t breathe, and the voices around me turning frantic. I remember waking up in the ICU, still pale and shaken, realizing just how close I’d come to not going home to my son. Two days later, I was discharged with an iron prescription and a deep ache in my bones—a reminder of how fragile life really is. Even now, years later, I still feel the weight of that day. It’s something I carry with me, quietly woven into my story. I’m sharing this not to dwell on the medical details,...

Today was Bring Your Kids to Work Day, and like many well-meaning parents, I had a plan. Sort of. I told my kids they were going to see a movie. I even believed it myself, until I realized I had never actually signed up for the event. Instead, we ended up at my company’s event—the one I should have planned for—but by then, the wheels were already wobbling. My son had started to spiral the moment I broke the news. He was running around, overstimulated, and I tried to keep my cool. I told myself (and everyone around me) that he was fine, that I was fine. But inside, I was embarrassed. Mortified, even. I turned to a coworker and quietly admitted it: “I’m so sorry—he’s just really off today.” And you know what they said? “Don’t let it bother you. It’s totally normal.” That tiny sentence gave me permission to breathe. Still, the day had other surprises. I got called out at work for not sending an invoice last week. It was my fault—I’d missed it in the chaos of everything. But it wasn’t cata...

Here’s the truth about being an adult: the awkwardness never really goes away. It just shifts into new forms—like sending out invites and not knowing if anyone will respond. Like almost canceling your own event because you're afraid no one will come. Like worrying you’ve put yourself out there too much. But I didn’t cancel. And this is what came out of it. A group of amazing women—moms, just like me—gathered in my backyard around the fire pit. We shared stories, snacks, laughs, and the kind of honest connection that fills your cup. I almost let insecurity talk me out of this. But I didn’t. And I’m so proud. Because I’ve been making moves lately—hard ones, brave ones. And not everyone supported them. But the ones who did? They showed up. And they reminded me what really matters. So here’s to this memory, to this version of me: still figuring it out, still rebuilding, but showing up anyway—and deeply thankful for those who do the same.