I got bit by a dog this week. Worth saying upfront, it was my fault. I knew better, did the thing anyway, and a dog who was just doing their thing reminded me of the rules. No drama. Just a fair consequence and a bandage situation I brought entirely on myself. Here’s the part I actually want to talk about. That bite is maybe the smallest thing that went sideways this week, and it’s still the thing that cracked something open, because it landed on top of a week that was already too much. Childcare I didn’t plan for. Plans that fell through right when I needed them to hold. The specific flavor of life just life-ing while you’re already running on fumes, where nothing is technically a crisis and yet everything still feels like one. I didn’t sign up for any of this, the dog bite or the extra hours or the week where I can’t do the things that would’ve actually felt good. I’m frustrated, and I’m not going to dress that up for you. This is usually where I’d pivot to the silver lining, the lesson, the gratitude reframe. I’m not doing that today, because that’s not what this place is for. We don’t do toxic positivity here. The hard part doesn’t get smaller just because I found something nice to set next to it. So instead, both/and. It’s been a genuinely rough week, and I’m still here. I’m frustrated, and I haven’t gone anywhere. Both of those are true at the same time, and neither one cancels the other out. It stings a little to take my own medicine, if I’m honest. I write this stuff for you on the easier weeks. Living it on a week like this one is a different exercise entirely. And today is Father’s Day, which I know lands complicated for some of us, whether that’s a dad who isn’t in the picture the way you wished he’d be, or a day where you’re quietly doing both jobs and nobody’s saying thank you for either one. I’m not going to tell you to make peace with that by tonight. I’m just going to say I’m right here with you, on a hard week, on a complicated day, bandaged hand and all.

I am holding a baby right now. Not metaphorically. Actually holding one, at an age and stage of life where I genuinely thought that chapter was behind me. She is warm and heavy and perfect and I am exhausted in a way I did not see coming, which is saying something, because I have been exhausted in approximately every way a parent can be exhausted. Here is what nobody tells you about parenting a high-needs kid: it doesn't stop when they turn 18. It doesn't stop when they move out (if they do). It doesn't stop when they technically become an adult who technically has their own life. The terrain shifts and you think, okay, this is it, I've earned some kind of graduation from the hard parts, and then the hard parts show up wearing a completely different outfit. I'm a grandmother now. Nan, specifically. I am doing midnight bottles and afternoon dance parties and I am so full of love it's a little ridiculous. And I am also learning and relearning and growing in ways I genuinely was not anticipating, because my kid is still my kid, and FASD doesn't pause for any of it. The exhaustion I'm carrying right now is new. Different muscles. Different grief and different joy sitting right next to each other in the same rocking chair at 3am. If you're in a season that doesn't look anything like what you thought it would - no matter what age you've got or where in the journey - I just want you to know you're not behind. You're not failing. You're just doing the next hard thing, which is exactly what we do. We keep growing. Even when we're tired. Even when we didn't sign up for this particular version of the journey. You're not alone in it.

Four DBT-informed tools for when you are about four minutes from losing it completely. No baths. No journaling. Just fast, real stuff that actually works when your nervous system is on fire. Go grab it. It's yours, and you probably needed it yesterday. And while you're here — what's your current go-to when everything goes sideways? The thing you *actually* do, not the thing you tell your therapist you do. Drop it below. I'd love to hear it.

Something new just landed in the classroom, and I want to tell you why I made it. I've been thinking a lot lately about how most affirmations just don't fit our lives. They're beautiful and well-meaning and written for someone whose hardest day looks pretty different from ours. "Good vibes only"? Absolutely lovely. It is also not what I need at 11pm after a school call, a meltdown, and coffee I reheated twice and forgot about - both times. So I wrote some that do fit. 30 affirmation cards built for parents who are in the thick of it, covering everything from why your body deserves rest to why other people's opinions about your parenting are noise, not data. Honest ones. True ones. The kind nobody says out loud but everybody needs to hear. You can find them in the classroom. Download, screenshot, print, do whatever works for you. What hits home for you? And, if you're brave today: what would you add to this deck?