Been having trouble writing lately. I guess trouble isn’t fair to say. I haven’t even been trying. I do go so far as to write in my planner to “Start a writing practice…at least 30 min/day!!”
Pretty cute, I know.
Too bad I don’t do a damn thing with it.
And yet, here I am today. I’m choosing to be compassionate with myself, rather than hateful and critical. It’s hard. It’s much easier for me to keep talking shit to myself the way I have been for the last few months…
Continue reading self-compassion and punishment.
So, kids. Being a parent. That whole thing.
I’ve been working with kids for a good portion of my life, been around them my whole life as an auntie to kids related and otherwise. Think they are great. In fact, you could bet good money that if there is a child in my general vicinity, I’m on the floor interacting with them (adjust my location if child is older and not necessarily on the floor; e.g., running around with a school aged mutt or deep in a conversation with a teenager about their social life) but when it comes to my sentiments about raising one of those things myself, you may want to hedge your bets (I looked that one up. I think I used it correctly).
Continue reading the uncertainty of being a parent.
When I was younger, and by younger I mean any time before this exact moment, I thought the 20s were “it.” It is obviously a bit vague and dodgy, hence the italics. They seemed glamorous and more importantly full of having your shit together. Does that sound like your 20s? If so, nice work. High five! Write a book, tell us your secrets. If not, you’ve got company.
Continue reading your 20s probably blew (or are still blowing) and why no one bothered to tell you.