My life has been full of ups and downs. 

I’ve witnessed divorce as both a young child and an adult. I’ve struggled with debilitating depression and PMDD. I’ve experienced profound loss. I’ve seen cancer take a close friend, and I’ve seen it transform another into one of the strongest women I know. I’ve seen death. I’ve seen addiction. I’ve held a four-hour-old newborn in my arms. I’ve known the deepest love in my marriage, and I’ve brought three breathtakingly beautiful humans into this world. 

I had a busy week. We had our niece and nephew staying with us for six days along with two guest dogs. Definitely a full house! We had a great time doing all the fun things our community has to offer, but by the end of the week I was exhausted.

I went to bed early and set my alarm for my usual time, 6am, to get back to my regular schedule; except I didn't. I couldn't. I had zero motivation to do anything. I needed to work, but my brain wouldn't turn on. I intended to clean, but my body refused to stand up. I wanted to play with my kids, but I was irritated and annoyed over the littlest things.

Every February, my social media fills up with roses and couples and heart-shaped everything. People dressed up. Fancy dinners. Big declarations.

And I don’t know. It’s not that I don’t like it. It just always makes me think about a different kind of love. The kind that doesn’t photograph well.

There’s a moment that happens to me at work more often than I’d like to admit.

Someone says something. A term. A process. A reference everyone else seems to understand immediately. And I don’t.

I feel it right away. That tight feeling in my chest. The split-second calculation. Should I ask? Should I just nod? Will this expose me?

Most of the time, I nod.

Not because I can’t say “I don’t know.”

But because I don’t want people to know that I don’t know.

Plants, in general, like all organisms, detect and respond to stimuli in their environment. We make changes and adjust based on a variety of factors such as the weather, season, time of day, what kind of food and water they are taking in, and the soil in which they are planted. When they feel dry, we give them water. When the leaves start to wilt, we move them to sunlight. Our main job as caretakers of a garden or a greenhouse, or our regular old houseplant is to understand their response, stimulate growth, and change how they grow.  

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. is usually remembered for the big moments. Speeches, marches, and history changing in front of everyone’s eyes. But he was also a person who cared deeply about something much simpler. People being treated like they matter.

That idea still feels important, especially when we talk about mental well-being.

Ever heard the phrase “new year, new me”? Every January 1^st we make a list of the things we want to change in the year ahead. But how many of those goals actually get accomplished? 

For most of my twenties, if someone asked who I was, I answered with my job title before anything else. It did not matter if I was at a family dinner, a birthday party, or standing in a long line for coffee. I led with work because it felt like the safest way to explain myself.

I was not trying to show off. I think I just needed something solid to hold onto. A title felt like proof that I was doing something right.

I used to try so hard to make the holidays perfect. I said yes to everything. Tried to do all the things from my childhood. Make sure everything looked just right. Somewhere along the way, though, I stopped enjoying it. The shopping, the rushing, the back-to-back gatherings—it got to be too much. By the time Christmas came around, I was tired, stressed, and kind of over it. Not exactly the way I wanted to feel.

When you find yourself doom scrolling, every swipe can feel like a reminder that you’re not doing enough. Someone is waking up at 5 a.m. to meditate. Another is starting their third side hustle. Someone else just posted a perfectly curated “productive morning” day-in-the-life reel. 

It’s inspiring — until it’s not. 

I don’t know about you, but autumn always makes me slow down. Maybe it’s the crunch of leaves underfoot, or how the trees suddenly turn these fiery reds and golds, and then… they just let it go. Nature doesn’t fight it. It just happens. And somehow? It’s beautiful.

It’s a Sunday night and you are cozy in your pajamas, reading a book or binge-watching a new show on Netflix when your phone buzzes next to you. You look down to see a text that reads: “call me.” 

Suicide Prevention Month is a time to talk openly about something many people shy away from. I never thought I would be writing about it from this perspective, but here I am. My brother called 911. He was at a point where life felt unbearable.

Summer is winding down. Maybe you’ve spent the past few months soaking up the sun, hitting the farmers market, taking weekend trips, or just enjoying the peace of your home. Whatever your vibe, August has a way of reminding us that change is on the horizon. The days get shorter, the calendar fills with back-to-school energy (even if you’re not in school anymore, the vibe is real), and deadlines you’ve been ignoring suddenly feel a lot louder. Cue the sneaky end-of-summer blues.

It wasn’t until I moved across the county—away from everyone and everything I knew—that I realized how challenging it is without my tribe of friends. I often miss the days when the kids were bored on a weekend or summer day and we could run over to another mom friend’s house, where the kids would play outside or watch a movie while we got some much-needed mom time. 

I’ve done a lot in my 25 years of life.

I say that as an affirmation to myself, not as a brag to you.

I completed my undergraduate degree and my master’s program right in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic. That meant many of my accomplishments—awards, recognitions, and even graduations—happened in isolation. They were experienced over Zoom, with only my roommates and my quarantine kitten by my side.

Last week I called my doctor to finally talk about my PMDD (Pre-Menstrual Dysphoric Disorder) symptoms. Lately, they’ve become harder to manage —yellow flags have turned into red ones. If you’re unfamiliar with PMDD, it’s a severe form of PMS that causes extreme sensitivity to fluctuations in your hormones. Basically, the physical symptoms of PMS become mental and emotional ones. I left a message for my doctor to call me back, and a little over a week went by. When they finally did, they simply scheduled a virtual appointment. After we hung up, I thought, “I guess my message DID warrant an appointment.”

As a daughter of divorced parents who worked full-time during most of my childhood, I did not realize until I, an almost forty-old graduate student, mother, and partner, how much I truly hadn’t learned about the world, and some very basic things that I probably should have learned at a much younger age.  

I’m not part of the LGBTQIA+ community. I have not been rejected for whom I love or how I identify. But I care about people—and I care about mental health. So, every year when Pride Month rolls around, I find myself thinking not just about celebration, it's more than sharing a rainbow or having the right hashtags —but about support, safety, and the emotional well-being of those for whom this month means something deeply personal.

Life is full of transitions—some we choose, and some that choose us. Today, I’m sharing a personal story about moving across the world, becoming a mother, and finding my way back home again. It’s a journey through change, resilience, and redefining what “home” really means. I hope my story resonates with anyone navigating their own season of transition.