Hi, sweet people 🤍
I’ve added a new course called Lessons Along the Way—because some of the most important learning happens outside the classroom, usually while we’re living, parenting, leading, messing up, and figuring things out as we go. The first post, The Cost of Being Right, is live, and I wanted to share it here, too.
A loving but clear reminder: this is a safe, inclusive space. We don’t do shaming, bullying, or drive-by cruelty here. Growth requires curiosity, not perfection. And real learning asks us to loosen our grip on the idea that we’re “supposed to” already know everything (spoiler: none of us do).
The more we learn, the more we realize how much we don’t know—and honestly, that’s part of the fun.
The 2016 election shifted the trajectory of my mom’s life.
My family was shocked and saddened by the results, though different members of my tribe chose to cope in different ways. Some of us took it as a difficult learning experience and allowed it to highlight our own ignorance. “Everyone we knew voted for…” became an admission to the fact that our circles were filled with mainly like-minded individuals who rarely challenged our beliefs or made us feel uncomfortable. Our false sense of safety during the Obama presidency was shattered, and we realized that everything women and civil rights groups had fought for over centuries was once again up for debate. Some of us chose to gain fresh perspectives, try to understand “why”, and build connections over resentment.
My mom chose a different path. She would yell at the news every day and allow herself to get sucked into the endless loop of anger and alcohol. Her feelings were understandable, even justified, though extremely misplaced. It eventually led to other issues and, ultimately, her death.
I don’t talk about my mom often, but the parallels between the end of her life and what we are currently witnessing collectively are too similar not to address.
My mom was a bright, beautiful, and hardworking woman with poor emotional regulation. Before that election, she lived a full life—imperfect, generous, and deeply human—marked more by laughter than rage. In the years that followed, however, she allowed herself to get so far down the road of playing the victim and shifting blame that to reverse course would’ve meant admitting, even to herself, that her entire identity and narrative had become protective mechanisms rather than a true reflection of reality. She had to be right. So right, in fact, that she would rather be gone than admit she caused harm.
Back to today.
What humanity is currently experiencing is the illusion of safety and systems being ripped off like a dirty, old bandaid– exposing the dark, colluded, infected shadows underneath. Uncovering the deep-rooted bigotry, racism, and misogyny of a broken world that requires obedience, not belief.
And those who have benefited from those systems are watching their hatred and bigotry be challenged by the masses– a societal gut punch they never expected due to a lifetime of artificial protection.
One thing about humans, though, it’s really hard to admit when we’re wrong or caused harm. Taking accountability for your own contributions to your suffering is ego-crushing, heart-wrenching work. In the coming months and years, many will grapple with that conundrum.
Do I admit that I was wrong and take steps towards reparation?
Or, do I refuse? Do I insist that I’m right until I lose family, friends, and the life I hold dear?
I think we must prepare for both.
I am grateful that my mom does not have to witness the injustices our world is currently facing. She can rest easy knowing that the baton has been passed; we are raising kind warriors, gentle protectors, and critical thinkers. And through that work, we heal her, too.
For now, her story is one of caution and pause. And a reminder that being human is messy, and that learning and growth are choices, not guarantees.
Stay safe. Protect each other.
God bless us all. Mwah, mwah, mwah.