It’s been just over 35 years since I turned 10 years old. The memories I have of that year of my life get hazier each year. But I do remember a fair amount.

• The delight of finding honeysuckle blooming on the playground for my friends and me to get that tiny drop of sugar from a couple of blooms.

• Understanding crushes but having no concept of what sex was or how it worked.

• Being fully immersed in childhood other than the times I had to help with chores around the house.

• 5th grade was the first time I remember genuinely challenging the adults in my life, both my parents and my teacher at school.

• I had the sense things were changing, but I didn’t know why or how or what it would mean for me and my future.

• I got my first training bra and hated it.

• I still played with dolls in my room and make-believe with my brothers, especially my younger brother.

• When my parents were upset with me, I wanted to make it right with them (mostly).

• My whole family would annoy me at times because humans can be annoying.

• Mom would make a big Sunday dinner for us to eat after church when she was up to it. Sometimes, she’d accidentally burn the food or a pan—or both.

• We didn’t have a lot of money, but I don’t remember really being conscious of the disparity of our life compared to my friends until I was older.

• For Easter, mom made me a dress from a 1942 pattern my grandmother had, and she embroidered purple daisies on the dress. She made that dress two years in a row. I loved it.

• I read A LOT. I think I read 5 books a week and had so many of those Pizza Hut personal pan pizzas from the Book It program.

• It was my second year in gifted and I think the first time I took a “gifted” computer class (Logo or Logo Writer), though that might have been 4th grade.

When I look at this list and its somewhat abstract lack of detail, I can’t help but see my life at 10 years old was pretty idyllic. On a 1-10 scale of happy (10 being the highest), I was probably around a 7 or 8 most of the time.

I was safe, had clothes for school and church, never worried about whether there would be enough food, and I even had my own bedroom since I was the only girl.

By no means was my childhood perfect. I could probably come up with a list of things to complain about my life at 10 years old, but I honestly don’t remember anything worth mentioning during that particular time.

Essentially, I was allowed to be a kid and do kid things without fear.

As a fairly sheltered white kid who lived in a weirdly isolated neighbourhood:

• No adult ever spoke to or touched me inappropriately.

• I had no reason to doubt every adult around me was trustworthy.

• I didn’t develop curves much at all, let alone early like some of my friends.

• I respected law enforcement and didn’t worry when they set up shop down the street from our house.

• I believed in the idea that good would prevail over bad.

After the reversal of Roe v Wade in the US, news broke that a 10-year-old girl in Ohio was going to Indiana to get an abortion because Ohio made it illegal as soon as the SCOTUS ruling came down.

A 10-year-old child has to deal with the trauma of being raped, getting pregnant, and having to terminate the pregnancy. 10 years old. She’s 10.

I can barely even comprehend that as a 45-year-old adult. How on earth could a child?

But anti-abortion/forced-birth activists would rather risk that girl’s life than permit her the appropriate and understandable step of terminating a pregnancy that never, ever should have happened.

At this point, I just want to scream at every conservative out there who thinks they know better how medical decisions should be made for anyone’s body but their own:

I don’t fucking care about your beliefs. Your religious beliefs are YOURS. If you don’t agree with abortion, don’t get one. It’s just that simple. The rest of us shouldn't be forced to live our lives according to rules we don’t buy into.

After all, this is precisely why the colonization of America happened in the first place - to be able to practice (or NOT practice) religion without input from the government. (The issues of colonialism are an issue for another day.)

The experience of being a 10-year-old should be carefree and innocent for every child. I wish I had a magic wand to wave to make that happen. Because I know a 10-year-old rape victim is far from the only horrific story out there. She’s probably also far from the only 10-year-old whose trauma is made worse by the government's actions.

These are fucked up times, that’s for sure.

I had a close friend in high school who was gay and I didn’t find out until we were in university. He was understandably hesitant to share his sexuality with a lot of people he was around due to living in the Bible Belt, being homeschooled, attending church…you can see why. I took pains - even lied - to make sure I didn’t out him to anyone but our friendship was never the same once I knew. I don’t know if the distance that developed was due to anything I did - we didn’t talk about it. It wasn’t an easy time or place to be an out gay man, though.

This is one of the biggest regrets I still carry about my days of buying in to the religious propaganda on homosexuality: that the people I knew then (and I now know there were quite a few) understandably feared people like me finding out their sexuality.

That one close friend made all the difference for me. It’s incredibly difficult to be close to someone, to genuinely like them, and then turn your back on them over something that has exactly zero impact on your life.

I say that knowing how many devastating stories there are of young people whose families do exactly this because they can’t accept how they were made. Those stories break my heart. As a parent, I can’t fathom turning my back on my child for any reason. (And yes, I believe 100% that people who fit anywhere in the LGBTQIA+ spectrum are absolutely born that way.)

After I realized I needed to dump every last scrap of bigoted bias that I’d ingested most of my life - not an easy task at all - the subject of marriage equality started coming up more and more often.

This part, I’m happy to say, was made pretty easy by my parents’ views on marriage. Essentially, they felt there was a separation between the legal aspects of marriage and the spiritual. Honestly, whether you’re religious or not, I tend to think there’s both. After all, having a piece of paper doesn’t mean you’re committed. And not having that piece of paper doesn’t mean you aren’t committed. Maybe not everyone considers it a spiritual element and that’s fine.

The stories of these couples who have been together for so many decades, despite the world saying their relationship is invalid is inspiring. Especially when you consider the ease with which some heterosexuals change partners. Being in a relationship that long isn’t easy, whether or not you have a piece of paper making it all legal.

That sounds so judgmental, but I don’t say it to disparage. I want to point out the hypocrisy in longstanding arguments against same-sex marriage. Sure, some people aren’t made for monogamy but it’s not like that isn’t a trait across every sexuality that exists.

We all have the common bond of being fabulously flawed humans. There’s no superiority to making a relationship last anymore than there should be shame in having it end.

What’s crazy to me about the whole marriage equality debate is the sanctity of marriage bit. Even in the Bible Belt, there are a lot of religious people filing for divorce, which goes against religious teachings. Don’t get me wrong - those religious teachings need to go away because not every marriage can or should be saved. However, it’s hypocritical to say same-sex marriage threatens the sanctity of marriage when you’re not trying to outlaw divorce. (Let’s definitely not do that.)

It’s interesting what the “religious right” or the “moral majority” will twist itself in knots to uphold in some areas of their beliefs while doing absolutely nothing in other areas. Evangelical voters will vote for a president like 45 in a heartbeat because he was anti-abortion, but not once would they raise concerns about his morality based on his decades of racism, not paying contractors that did work for him, his three wives, and all the cheating he did. Hypocrisy abounds.

I’ve had actual conversations with people who believe homosexuals are sexual deviants and pedophiles. All because that’s the fear religion has embedded in them about people who are different.

But the question of the Bible’s stance on homosexuality was something I struggled to see the way teachers explained it. They seemed so sure, so clear in their convictions about what scripture said. But when I read them, those cited passages never resonated the way church leaders taught them. Probably because I was being fed widely accepted interpretations that supported a narrative rather than substantiated facts or in-depth analysis of the passages.

If homosexuals are born that way and not an abomination (if you’re a believer), then it’s a no-brainer to support marriage equality. If you’re not a believer, perhaps you think the religious parts are all bullshit anyway. That’s where I ended up.

But let’s say you’re a believer and you buy into the rigid interpretation that says homosexuality is wrong and marriage should only be between a man and a woman: I still think you should support marriage equality.

Here’s why:

Whether someone is religious or not, the state of their soul and their marriage has no impact on anyone else - not you, not your kids - no one but the couple who want to be together. If what they do is indeed a sin in some deity’s eyes, let that be between that person and their maker. If all you can dredge up is the kind of tolerance that allows them to live a life on their terms without your interference, that’s a good first step.

What would be even better is to show them love and support as human beings without judgment. To understand that every human desires some form of companionship and support them when they find it. It’s one of the more exciting expressions of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness to be able to choose a partner to share your life with, and same-sex couples have been denied the liberty to pursue a happily coupled life far too long.

The sanctity of religious marriage isn’t threatened by legal marriage. I’ve never once felt threatened by a same-sex couple. I’ve never once worried about my child interacting with anyone who’s a homosexual. I’d be more worried if they weren’t. I want my child to see two men or two women together as a normal part of life every bit as much as I want my child to experience and enjoy other cultures. I want my child to be confident in supporting friends and/or family who may be out in the future. And I want my child to wonder what took us so long to give human beings such a basic right.

In 2019, a Hong Kong judge ruled that religion shouldn’t define marriage. Exactly. Leave legal marriage to the lawmaker types and decide about spiritual marriage for your faithful followers. The two are not and never should be considered the same thing.

The issues of capital punishment and abortion have been intermingled in this big, messy, tangled bucket I label “life” since I was a teenager. Depending on where you stood, both issues were about letting a human being live or ending a human being’s life.

I joined my first and - I believe - only abortion protest when I was around 14 or 15 years old. Though I wasn’t too young to get pregnant, I wasn’t having sex and I hadn’t ever been pregnant and I had no business telling anyone what they should or shouldn’t do with their body or any fetus(es) they have in their body.

I’d been told all my life that babies’ lives were precious. They needed to be protected. But I didn’t make the connection between abortion policies and social assistance policies and the fact that pregnant people (and their partners, if they have one) are pretty much left out to dry if they don’t have the means to care for a child when its born.

This isn’t pro-life. It’s pro-birth, anti-choice, or anti-abortion - those are much more accurate terms. Pro-life means we care for people from the day they’re born to the day they die. Unfortunately, the U.S. is now famous for caring only for those who have the means to care for themselves. And I think that means people who make mistakes - even very big ones. And U.S. prisons are and have been designed for punitive purposes, not rehabilitation.

When I was about 16 years old, I got to see a defense attorney speak about the cost of the death penalty. He made such a compelling, data-driven case for abolishing it that I immediately declared I couldn’t support capital punishment anymore. One of my parents pointed out how rare it is for someone to be “pro-life” and against the death penalty. I think they said I was truly pro-life. But was I? After all, the baby’s life isn’t the only one impacted by the decision to abort.

That distinction stuck with me for the decades since and it forced me to think about both issues more deeply to try to wrap my head around where I stand.

I vividly remember the day Ted Bundy was executed. It felt deeply uncomfortable to celebrate the renewed sense of safety that came from the loss of a life, even someone as heinous as Bundy. But capital punishment was just one of those ugly things that had to happen to keep the world secure and protected. Because the threat of death is a deterrent to violent crimes, right?

At the time, I didn’t recognize the depth of the conflict I would grow to have about these big issues. I had no idea where to begin grappling with them to come to an understanding.

As an adult, I’ve learned pro-choice isn’t anti-life at all though many “pro-lifers” would have you believe it is. It’s simply about giving women bodily autonomy, whether they want a child or not. What’s interesting is that abortions decline when sex education and birth control are provided. But despite what the data says, conservative policies invariably cut programs that provide birth control, limit sex education in schools, and there’s a constant war to protect a woman’s right to choose.

I’ve known women who’ve had abortions who later grieved the loss of their children due to adopting religious beliefs later in life. The religious teachings lead these women to experience deep shame and guilt over decisions they made in another time and another place that they felt were the best path for their life.

But I guess I’m the opposite. Time and perspective have allowed me to fairly confidently say that if I found myself pregnant today, I would likely not keep the baby. Would it be an easy decision? Definitely not. But having a child isn’t what’s best for me, my health or my family at this stage of my life.

And every woman should be able to say that without fear of judgment. Whether her life is at stake, the baby isn’t viable, or timing being wrong - babies don’t have to come into the world where they aren’t wanted and won’t be well cared for in a broken foster system. Yes, even late-term abortions need to be legal across the board.

Because making abortions illegal doesn’t mean abortions won’t happen.

It’s astounding to me that people who so vehemently fight for the birth of children who’ve never taken a breath will fight just as hard to ensure criminals are put to death, no matter the cost.

Apart from the enormous cost of the death penalty, the number of executed death row inmates who are now believed to be innocent is too many (and this is only those since 1976 when the death penalty was affirmed under new statutes by the US Supreme Court). There are 20 on the list so far but there’s no telling for sure since not all cases would have new evidence come to light.

The bottom line? Just one is too many. The list of innocent and freed death row inmates is up to over 180 now and when you look at the data pertaining to race, the bias is glaring. From the data alone, it’s unconscionable to continue supporting capital punishment.

What’s more, if an innocent person is executed, the families of the victims lose the opportunity for true justice for their loved ones. Because the case is closed when the accused perpetrator is killed.

It took me years, a lot of research, and soul-searching to come to these conclusions about abortion and capital punishment. They aren’t easy issues to figure out for those of us whose beliefs were rooted in misguided, long-held beliefs driven mostly by emotion. Because of this, I think it’s best to make decisions based on data rather than instinct. And I believe we’ve been making instinctual decisions about them far too long, ignoring the data that screams there’s a better way.

When I was growing up in a conservative Christian home, with parents who had nothing but the best intentions, I learned how to feel so much guilt and shame for actions and beliefs I accept without hesitation as an adult.

• I believe pregnant people have the right to choose what happens to their body, therefore I support “murdering” babies.

• I believe everyone should be able to marry who they love, which means I fully support homosexuality.

• I believe people can have sex before marriage and it’s no one’s business but the consenting partners who make that choice.

• I believe people can commit their lives to one another without ever marrying and it’s just as legitimate a union as the legal paper.

I don’t know if I believe in the religion of my youth. I’m not sure I ever did. I went through the motions and eventually walked away after deeply upsetting, shame-inducing circumstances. Years later, after trying to go back, I left again and I have no plans to return. Ever.

Religious people aren’t people I trust easily anymore - not the ones who put their rigid beliefs over and above loving people. I know believers who are sincerely loving, kind people. But I have yet to personally encounter a church that runs without judgment and exclusionary practices.

Just as I grew up in a religious household, I grew up thinking conservative-leaning politicians had a monopoly on the right way to do things. They were the leaders god put in place to right the world. So much “right” in there with policies that I now view as egregiously wrong.

The world has changed so much. And I owe a lot of the evolution of my beliefs and views to our current ability to access different perspectives so freely and easily.

I’ve believed a lot of lies in my life. I don’t think all of the people who shared these lies with me had nefarious intentions. They had and have good intentions, doing what they feel is best for themselves and the people they care about.

Now that I’ve reached the conclusion that I’ve been taking in lies and treating them as unimpeachable truth, I want to explore these topics with openness and respect.

• Openness to being wrong in the beliefs and values I currently hold.

• Openness to learning from others.

• Respect for differing values, views, and beliefs.

• Respect for the needs I currently have to confirm the path I’ve chosen.

I’ve lived with shame for years. The shame of what my beliefs as a young person led me to say and do to people I cared about. The shame of thinking I knew better when I hadn’t looked at other perspectives. The shame of failing to live up to the expectations of others when I “fell from grace.”

For me, this is a pivotal journey. I’m exploring the ways I’ve been misled and leaving shame and guilt behind so I can embrace the potential that exists in the world.

I want to:

• challenge the status quo

• open my heart and mind

• make progress for good

• see the world as it can be

It’s all about thinking outside expectations. Throwing off the weight of values, views, and beliefs that no longer fit and working through the discomfort of change. It’s a process and it’s not always pretty. But if it helps even one person to learn they aren’t alone, it’s worth the effort. And if hearts and minds are influenced, that’s even better.

I’ve been writing on this blog since February 2009. In that time, I’ve written about my life, my family (from my perspective), my views from time to time, and I’ve mostly stayed out of both politics and religion. I didn’t have a particular focus when I started, but I’ve enjoyed sharing my life and views, embracing my tagline, “life as I see it.” However, there have been some views I’ve shared that I regret.

One post in particular about Black history month that I wrote early in my blogging days I’ve taken down because I was parroting talking points that I don’t want to be associated with or help spread. I’ve realized those views came from a place of immense privilege and ignorance of a heck of a lot of history that still isn’t being taught enough.

By no means am I trying to hide what I’ve believed or said in the past. That’s why I’m admitting to it here (though without the details). My beliefs were wrong and I have no desire to inadvertently validate others who have similar beliefs. At the time I took it down, I couldn’t decide whether I was doing the right thing or not. I wasn’t blogging regularly anymore, but I finally determined that I didn’t want my blog to be one more place on the internet that was home to harmful beliefs, even with a disclaimer that denounces them.

I haven’t blogged regularly in this space since 2017. I moved my marketing content here temporarily when I shut down my business in 2016, but I moved it all back to my business site when I re-launched in 2017. And that’s where my primary content focus has remained.

But with everything going on over the last few years, and all I’m learning that I wish I’d known growing up, I have a lot to explore. This was the catalyst for taking down that post.

I actually started a separate blog a while back to do my explorations. But I took the whole site down and I’m going to share my thoughts here instead. At first, I wasn’t sure the content would fit with what I’ve been doing here. It seemed to need a home of its own.

The title of this post is why I changed my mind: it’s an exploration of “life as I see it,” which means it’s a perfect fit. And how I see things has evolved throughout my life.

I’ve talked about my childhood from time to time, but not the kind of details I’m sharing here. This will give you a better idea of why I say my views have shifted so drastically as an adult.

I was born and spent most of my childhood in Tallahassee, Florida - a university town that leans liberalish (not progressive), but it’s also in the Bible Belt so there are pretty staunch conservatives and evangelicals. I spent many, many hours in church - Methodist when was under 5 and then Southern Baptist the rest of my childhood and into my late teens.

My parents were strict in some ways compared to my friends, but permissive in other ways. We rarely listened to the radio (that our parents knew about) unless it was country stations. Like most kids, we definitely switched the station to pop when they weren’t around. In the car, though, we usually listened to tapes of hymns and other Christian music as long as it wasn’t Christian rock or rap. We had restrictions on what we could watch, both movies and TV. But like most kids, I watched things that weren’t on the approved list of criteria when I was out with friends or having sleepovers.

When I was in 7th grade, my father decided the school system was not a place he wanted his kids. So, I was homeschooled for my 8th-grade year for reasons - maybe a topic for another day; maybe not. And it was a really terrible experience, mostly because I wanted to be in school with my friends and not feel like I was even more of an outcast than I already was.

Why did I feel like an outcast?

Well, apart from being 13 and not yet realizing my lack of coolness was a good thing, I’ve recently learned I have ADHD and I’ve definitely got many autistic traits as well, though I haven’t done a full assessment yet (one day I will because it’s so fascinating what you learn from them).

My personality as a kid was shy, introverted, and super naive. I was (and still am) a bit of an acquired taste. And I’m fine with that. But 13-year-old me to 19-year-old me really didn’t embrace my individuality the way I wish she had.

My parents (mostly my dad) encouraged me to question what people taught me. And this, above everything else he did, is the thing I’m most grateful for. I believe critical thinking is one of the most important skills you can develop in life. It’s something I’ve been working on with my son in an age-appropriate way since before he could even understand what it is.

Some examples:

• When his school taught the concept of “stranger danger,” I told him why I disagree and encouraged him to never hesitate to ask strangers for help if there are no adults he knows nearby to help him.

• In 2016, when Hillary Clinton was running against that guy who landed in the White House, I made sure he understood that there were valid reasons for people to distrust both of them - and I explained why I felt Clinton would be better for the country and was getting my vote. Those conversations included a lot of talk about racism and misogyny.

For most of my childhood, I buried my critical thinking. I didn’t ask the questions that echoed persistently in my head. I didn’t voice the doubts that never faded. I did things I wasn’t proud of to please my parents and others in my world who had authority over me. I was outspoken (even as a shy kid) because I was passionate in my desire to do what I was told was right, what I thought was the right thing to do.

I adopted views similar to my parents’ conservative leanings and cast my first vote for president for a man who thankfully lost. By the 2000 election (my second chance), I didn’t like Bush or Gore. I cast a protest vote that I also regret. If I had it to do over, I’d probably vote for Al Gore, though Ralph Nader would have been better for the country.

But back then, I never thought about how my views and choices might be hurting people. I never considered that I might be on track to being a closed-minded, judgmental adult who cares more about principles rooted in self-interest than people.

You know that Karen meme? Ya, I was both a literal AND a figurative Karen. Thirty years ago, I would have been really offended by the post I wrote just last year.

Fortunately, life can be a great teacher when you’re open to learning the lessons it has for you.

Moving to Canada was the best thing that’s ever happened to me when it comes to being able to open up my perspectives about the things I was taught growing up. It’s extremely hard to buy into American propaganda when you have lived experiences that prove it to be outright lies and gross exaggerations.

So, while it boggles my mind that there are people living in Canada who do buy into some of the BS I was taught, I also know first-hand the brainwashing around conservative ideals is incredibly effective.

I’m going to share a lot about my views pretty regularly over the coming months. But I’ll give you a short and sweet sneak peek today:

Today, I’m a proud progressive. I care about ensuring every human being has what they need to survive. And I don’t think that happens with the current “pulling yourself up by your bootstraps” or “we’re in a post-racial society” or “cut taxes on the rich, it’ll trickle down to the poor” mentalities.

We have a system built by white men for white men and the pecking order of privilege has led to extreme inequity.

The inequity in the world today is not okay. Here are just some of the values and beliefs that I hold now that have evolved over time.

• Black lives matter. I’ll help amplify Black voices speaking out and I’m going to support black-owned businesses whenever possible. We need to listen to Black people with open ears and open hearts. The defensive “not all white people” is something we can learn to suppress in the interest of gaining a better understanding - it’s so worth it. I’ll happily support politicians who make real monetary reparations a priority.

• Indigenous people deserve true reconciliation. I’ll help amplify Indigenous voices speaking out and I’m going to support Indigenous-owned businesses whenever possible. The horrific things that have been done to Indigenous nations need to be addressed and the repeated use of their land without consent must end, just as we need to be intentional about ensuring they have clean water, access to healthcare, and end policies that leave Indigenous folks in a cycle of poverty.

• Everyone should have a safe place to live and plenty of food and not worry about how to pay for it. I’ll keep supporting policymakers and organizations that support basic universal income, living wages, wealth taxes, universal healthcare, and other policies that reduce the class divide and ensure everyone’s needs are met. This includes disabled people who need so much and get so little support. Charity simply isn’t going to meet the needs of all people.

• There is never a valid reason to discriminate against LGBTQ folks. I’ll be a safe person for marginalized people and do my best to promote and defend safe spaces. Just let them marry, live together, and generally go about their lives without interference or fear. The same goes for disabled folks who avoid marrying because it impacts their benefits. Marriage equality won’t be achieved until everyone can marry the person they want without fear.

• Billionaires should not exist. No one needs the kind of money billionaires have to live comfortably. It’s disgusting that people are being evicted and starving when billionaires and corporations hoard money instead of contributing to making society better through taxes.

• People who can get pregnant deserve bodily autonomy. I used to be staunchly pro-life. But I will never understand why people are so determined to save embryos and fetuses that have zero chance of living out in the world and do so very little to help children in need. The right to safe abortion must be protected. Those who don’t believe in it don’t have to get one.

The bottom line for me is that the world would be a better place if we put people first in policy decisions.

Thanks for sticking with me this long; I know my thoughts on this one were a bit scattered. I hope you’ll join me for this exploration.

As a literal Karen, I’ve had some people wonder over how I feel about my name being used as a pejorative for older White women behaving badly. Specifically, older, so very privileged, White women who think they’re entitled to meddle in the lives of people living while Black.

The name “Karen” was falling out of popularity for 12 years before I came along, so I’m a younger Karen and I don’t know any Karens that aren’t at least 5-10 years older than me. And though I’ve learned that there’s a long(ish) history of calling older, entitled White women “Karen,” it didn’t truly gain traction until more recently.

About 2 years ago, the story of a woman who called the cops on a family having a BBQ was when I first started seeing stories of figurative Karens. “Karens” call managers, call the police, and call out (usually) Black people for simply living. And the “Karens” don’t mind that people are taking video of their actions and sharing it online. Because they know 9 times out of 10 it won’t hurt them.

That’s the entitlement and privilege of being White in a world built by and for the benefit of White people.

But it’s mean to call someone a Karen, right?

Nah, not really.

But what about people named Karen? It’s mean to them!

My personal take: if I feel uncomfortable or attacked because someone else is being called a Karen when that someone else is treating human beings horribly, then I have bigger issues to work out within myself.

The literal Karens of the world don’t need collective rage to stop this from happening. I’d rather people spend their energy building empathy and compassion for people who are being unfairly attacked by the “Karens” of the world.

The reaction to the “Karen” label was called out in this tweet that laid out an important double-standard ( (the original poster, OP, has since deleted the tweet, but it lives on elsewhere):

White women have been calling Black women “Shenaenae”, “La’Quisha”, and “ShaNiqua” in a demeaning manner since the 80’s. Latinas were called “Consuela”, “Guadalupe”, or “Maria” and Asian women were called “Ling-Ling”, but they can’t handle being called Karen for 11 months.

I’m old enough to remember this happening…a lot. And not once did I call out people for the act of racism that it is. I’ve probably even done it myself and I know I laughed along with others. Because I’ve done racist things I’m not proud of.

It would be fair to ask why it’s wrong to do this to Black, Latinx, and Asian women, but not wrong to do it to White women. Totally fair question, but first - another objection to the use of “Karen.”

One brave journalist actually suggested it’s a slur. (Yikes 😬)

The claim that “Karen” is a slur is so bizarre, wildly inappropriate, and just…wrong. Think about every racial slur you know: Which of those words comes even remotely close to being as tame and innocuous as “Karen”?

I refuse to type any racial slurs here but I have no problem talking about “Karens.” Don’t take my word for it, though. Karen Attiah tackled this one already so I can restrict my comments to the following two cents worth of personal info:

In roughly two years of being personally aware of the figurative “Karens,” I haven’t lost a client, a job, been treated poorly while living, been denied appropriate medical care, or any other prejudicial act because of my name. Because other women being labeled “Karens” has zero impact on me. People who don’t know me don’t even know my name is Karen until I tell them.

But BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and people of colour) experience these things daily. The power structure of our society was built by White people to benefit White people and White people still hold greater power. This power imbalance is why it’s not wrong to do this to White women the way it’s wrong for White people to demean women of colour with names chosen to bolster racist stereotypes.

Here’s where I’ll admit that when I first saw this trend, I wasn’t a fan. It felt wrong. I got that little punch to the gut feeling. But I got over myself when I listened to the lived experiences of BIPOC and realized the “Karen” label is never going to be adequate justification for me or anyone else to claim victimhood.

Not when someone like Amy Cooper so swiftly weaponizes her privilege, knowing what happens when police are called on Black men.

No Karen - literal or figurative - who has White skin is being oppressed by BIPOC because the world we live in doesn’t work that way. “Karens” can get their feelings hurt or experience the stress of their actions being called out via viral video. But that isn’t and never will be true oppression. It’s a consequence and there should be consequences for what these women do.

I don’t ever want to be a figurative Karen. I’m also not a victim of the internet mob speaking out against “Karens” any more than the Beckys, Chads, or Kyles. The women who have earned the “Karen” label are actually entitled assholes who intentionally cause unnecessary trauma and hurt in human beings for no reason.

And while I don’t speak for all the literal Karens of the world (and there are probably plenty who don’t agree with me), I’m personally not bothered in the least about my name being used to call out racist, entitled, abusive behaviour.

When I was growing up in Florida, I lived about two hours east of Panama City. So, I made quite a few trips to PC. One of my favorite memories of my visits there was an early morning visit to the beach. I don’t remember why I was alone at the beach or who I was with on that particular trip. I just remember sitting in the sand, staring out at the water softly breaking on shore and feeling total peace. It’s been over 25 years since that day and I vividly remember the smell of the salty air, the sound of the low morning tide, and the clear green-blue water.

I’ve thought about that morning more in the past six months because I went to the beach (an ocean one) for the first time in over 20 years when I visited California last year. I was mesmerized. I took so many pictures and video at Carmel, Santa Cruz, and Monterey. I wanted to remember that feeling, and revisit it every time I need a moment of peace. It was so beautiful.

Like so many people, I feel like I’ve lived years instead of months since those days in California - for many reasons beyond coronavirus.

Back on March 13th, my son went to school for the last time this school year. I didn’t think it would be his last day at the time though it will be, regardless of whether the province chooses to re-open schools. It’s an unfortunate year for this to happen - his final year of elementary school. But I don’t think he was aware of the usual pomp and circumstance of celebrating this big finish. It hasn’t come up once - not before or during this period of physical distancing.

The shift from our old normal routine to our new normal routine was initially pretty smooth. I’ve been working from home for over a year so almost nothing changed for me beyond establishing a routine for B. I don’t have to make arrangements with an employer. My boss prefers I work from my home office. She expects a lot but she mostly gives me work I enjoy (until it’s time for bookkeeping - that part will always and forevermore suck).

When I think about the first few weeks of “the great pause,” there was so much noise. I didn’t even try to control the volume. I watched every press briefing from Prime Minister Trudeau, many of the Canadian cabinet briefings, and most of Premier Ford’s briefings. I read news stories. I had conversations with my friends who own businesses. I wrote my own views about what small business needs to survive this situation.

And then the numbers started to rise in Ontario. And schools were closed until May 4, then May 31. We buckled down on April 6th, the first official day of learn-at-home school after March Break.

It was all going well until it wasn’t.

In my family, we all need time to process information and events. The stress can start long before we notice it’s there, comprehend the impact, or react to it. So, it’s no surprise that it took us a month to arrive at the hard part of the transition. And it’s been really hard. I’m exhausted. I was up before 3am today. I gave up trying to sleep at 5am. It’s almost 7am right now and I’ve had coffee, breakfast and I’ll publish this post before 8:00. I can’t seem to sleep more than 4-5 hours a night—until I get so tired I crash. But even the crash is rarely longer than 7 hours.

This is the impact of this pandemic. No one in my family has any symptoms of COVID-19. But I’m mindful of our mental health.

That’s why I turned down the volume. I stopped watching all the briefings. I can read summaries after the fact if there are announcements relevant to our situation. I’ve never once watched a US briefing. I just…can’t. I’ve learned enough from the news to know that the priority in the US is money over people and that’s terrifying.

Despite the fear and occasional inconveniences, I’m grateful for the forced simplicity of this life. What matters most to me is my family. Our little unit of three has hit some rough patches but we’re figuring it out. I wish I could help our extended family more, but there isn’t much we can do in this situation.

I’m grateful that warmer weather is finally coming so we can enjoy time on the patio together like we did this past weekend.

Last night, after working until nearly 7pm (my boss allows flex time), I went upstairs to get my dinner. Though I was alone, the guys were nearby, each doing their own thing. In the stillness of the evening, I had a moment of total peace as I walked by them. There was no sand, no salty air, no sounds of waves crashing, but that feeling washed over me once again.

I don’t know how this will all play out. But we’ll take it one day at a time, control the noise, and appreciate each other and the moments of stillness when they come.

I decided to try something slightly different on this vacation since I needed to slow down and escape in a major way: I booked a one-day/one-night trip and I bought a bunch of books, with a plan to spend the remainder of my time enjoying my patio with beverages and snacks.

Buying books before I take vacation is nothing new for me. I literally never go anywhere without books since I have my phone with me everywhere I go. However, for the first time in years, I bought physical books. And I wanted fluffy books. That second part I pretty much failed since I bought books that mirrored, in various ways, the tumultuous period I was living through.

Despite my questionable judgment about the suitability of certain books for light, escapist vacation reading, I really enjoyed settling in for a book that requires two hands and a light source to read.

Since last summer, I’ve doubled down on reading physical books, making sure I always have one on the go. I still read on my devices and listen to audio books because this allows me to read more books more quickly and I love to read as much as I can get my hands on.

But I’ve learned to appreciate the calm that descends when I’m surrounded by quiet broken only by the crinkle and swish of a page turning. I’m still a fast reader but sitting down to read a physical book forces you to pay attention and forego other distractions, except some background music to help ward off distractions from ambient noise.

As long as I’m able, I’m not going to stop reading ebooks and audio books but it’s been nice to get back to my old ways of devouring books that aren’t quite as easily mobile.

Back in January, I started blogging again over on my other blog where I talk about marketing, writing and business. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed sitting down to write again over the last couple months. I even managed to publish a post a week, which feels like an enormous accomplishment.

When the year was brand new, I also set a goal to read 70 books this year. I have an ambitious pile of books, but I’ve already managed to get through 23, which puts me 9 books ahead for this time of year. My reading pace in January and February was pretty intense. I’ve already slowed way down, but I’m enjoying reading in a way I haven’t in quite a few years.

I started reading ebooks way before they got popular. I was reading them on my Palm devices in the early 2000s. (In fact, the site I used to buy my books from is totally defunct now.) Last summer, I decided I wanted to really slow down during my vacation and I thought reading physical books was a good way to do that. So I stocked up on 3-4 books to keep me occupied during my week off and I spent as many moments as possible on our brand new patio.

Check it out! 👇 I miss patio weather right now most of all (go away, winter) and since I haven’t blogged about it yet, I can share it now and remember the loveliness of sitting out there on nice summer days.

Matt has some more work he wants to do in the backyard this year, and we’re hoping that we don’t have grubs return for a very long time. This was our second time replacing the grass since we bought our house.

I’ve been trying to be more intentional about taking better care of my physical, mental, and emotional health as well. The biggest change I’ve made is making sure I get in an absolute minimum amount of exercise everyday. For me, that equates to closing the rings on my watch (stand for one minute each hour for 12 hours, 30 minutes of exercise and burn X number of active calories).

This has been really helpful for me in working through some things. I’ve been doing more meditation and trying to ensure I get enough sleep. Though since I’m typing this at 2:47am, I suppose I’m never gonna be great at the getting enough sleep goal. Besides, I haven’t stayed up late writing like this in longer than I can even remember. So, I'm calling it a win. Especially since this is my fourth blog post I’m writing tonight. I’m on a roll and I’m taking advantage.

Outside of reading and writing, I’ve been advocating for children with autism - mine and others - pretty heavily this year. We had some good developments at Brandon’s school and I’m hoping we’ll be able to continue to work through anything that comes up as he moves into his last year of elementary school in September. Now, if we could get the government to roll back their hideous new Ontario Autism Plan. Parents all over the province are protesting in droves, including a 20km walk that’s scheduled for March 31 in support of a National Autism Strategy. If the government finally listens, it’ll be worth it for my kid and all the kids who need support.

It’s hard to believe my little man is turning 11 in a few weeks. He’s my musical partner and we’ve been having a blast going to musicals since last August when we both saw Wicked for the first time. We took a train down to Toronto and stayed overnight at a hotel, making it a little mini-vacation. We had so much fun we decided to go down again to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory during the winter break from school.

I don’t know why I didn’t take more pictures when we were back in Toronto for Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. But Brandon loved that show as well. It was our third musical and we saw Beautiful (The Carole King Story) a few days later back in Ottawa. This weekend, we’re going to see a show I grew up watching many times - The King and I. I don’t know if Brandon will enjoy it like I did as a kid, but that’s okay. I love how interested he is in musicals. And we’ve already got our tickets to go see Hamilton when it comes to Ottawa in 2020. Getting back into watching musicals has been amazing. Having Brandon take an interest too? I feel like I won the lottery.

As usual, the year is flying by so fast. I’ve officially hit double digits as a blogger, so I’m glad I’m still keeping it going even if the posts are few and far between. I think that will probably change now that I have more time to work on some of my hobbies and personal interests. So that’s something for you to look forward to!

I haven’t ever been sexually assaulted, but I’ve been harassed and discriminated against in a variety of ways. I can only say I haven’t been assaulted because I happened to be around decent men in situations where I was vulnerable to the possibility.

I don’t think about these incidents every day, every week, or even every year. They don’t haunt me. But this past week, they washed over me like a tidal wave as I watched Christine Blasey Ford give her testimony.

• I was told numerous times that boys are mean because they like you. Certain males are quick to prove this notion false.

• I was catcalled by construction workers as I walked home from school. I was underage and there’s no way they didn’t know.

• I was stared at for the entire first week of school; I know this because he was facing the opposite direction of the teacher.

• I politely declined going out with various guys I waited on back in my serving days. The tips they left me didn’t make the rent.

• I was asked about my plans for having kids by a guy I worked with who thought it was okay have an opinion. 

• I've lost count of the number of times I’ve had something mansplained to me. 

• I’ve been told to to smile so often. Why isn’t it my choice? Why is the lack of a smile a strike against me and not men?

These are just a sample. I won’t list them all here because, like so many women, it doesn’t feel comfortable to do so. And not everything I put on this list in draft is in the final version you’re reading.

Ever since I was old enough to go out on my own, I’ve taken precautions to avoid being assaulted or harassed. I’ve carried my keys as a stabby weapon, stayed in well-lit areas, constantly checked all around me to see if I’m being followed, and become expert at jumping quickly in my car and locking the doors. These are just a sample of the things I consciously think about to protect myself when I’m out alone.

It makes one wonder:

Women deal with all of this, childbirth, caring for children, and we’re the weak ones?

I’m in absolute awe of Christine Blasey Ford right now. It’s been a week since her courageous testimony before the Senate Judiciary Committee and I’m still in awe. I don’t think I could do what she’s done, but I’m grateful to her for doing it.

Her strength of conviction, composure, and confidence in her answers before a sea of mostly white men who will never, ever fathom what it’s like to be a woman in a world that values men to the level that someone can rise to a U.S. Supreme Court appointment before their past becomes a minor annoyance in getting the job. 

Men like him and others of his ilk will never know what it’s like to be paid less due to the presence of estrogen, breasts and a vagina.

They’ll never understand the impact of losing your job because you decided to have a child. 

They’ll never understand being talked down to because you’re a woman, even when you know more than the man about the subject at hand. 

We have a president in the U.S. who thinks it’s okay to grab women, talk about and to them with no respect, mock survivors of sexual assault, and openly, blatantly discriminate against marginalized groups of every kind. He isn’t capable of being an example of common sense, let alone empathy and compassion.

In 18 years, I’ve never been so grateful to be living in Canada as I am right now. The U.S. has reached an alarming, discouraging, sad state of affairs. I struggle to maintain longstanding relationships with people who support the kind of selfish, self-centred policies that are being put forth by the current administration. And Republicans in the House and Senate have no spine to stand up to the bully in the White House. 

The populist movement that’s taking the U.S. to the far right and far left of center make it increasingly difficult to find common ground. And I get it. My left side feels the strain of carrying the weight of my views. But it’s worth it. I can’t get behind the me-first mentality and that’s after genuinely trying to understand the gap between the pervasive liberal and conservative perspectives.

I left the U.S. thinking I’d never subscribe to the socialist notions of my adopted country. But I was so very wrong. Canada isn’t perfect, but this country values and takes care of its people in ways we can only dream about in the U.S.

This isn’t the world I imagined growing old in.

It’s not the world I wanted to raise my child in. It isn’t the world I want for our future.

So, we have to fix it. And I don’t know where to begin, but I’m going to start with my vote in the mid-terms. 

Because even if the man I want to be the first black governor of my state doesn’t win, my vote will count.

And even if every justice I vote against retains their seat, my vote will count.

Because women aren’t weak and there’s more of us than there are men and we can turn this Titanic-sized problem away from the iceberg.

Don’t believe for a second that your vote isn’t important.

You matter.

Your voice matters.

Go vote and show the world the strength of a woman who knows her own mind.

When Lara and I were running our business together, we started buying Leonie Dawson's journals to help us think about the previous year and plan for the new year. I've stopped buying them now because I never really have time to finish them and that bothers me irrationally. They're great tools to get you thinking about how things went, what you'd change and how you want to move forward. I did best with it the first year we got them. 

But my favorite part was a really short section that asked for a list of five things to do when a break is needed. The concept of identifying a finite list of ways to get out of work mode so I could return to a more productive head space was kind of revolutionary for me.

Since I'm going through my 52 Lists for Happiness in my own little way here on the blog, I immediately thought of that list when I came to the assignment about things that help you get out of your head. So, here goes:

• Stories are the best way for me to turn off all the noise around me. I can escape into a book and let everything else fall away. (I try not to let it fall so far that the laundry doesn't get done.)
• Music is so healing. I can be frustrated or mad and a fun song with a great beat will take me to a whole new space where I can relax and stop stressing.
• Those days when you're hyperventilating and wondering how you're going to manage situations, there's nothing like having a chat or a glass of wine with a good friend. 
• Taking a long walk helps me wake up when I need a jolt of coffee. And it can help me get out of a room so I can get out of my head when I really need to.
• Movies and TV shows that have great storylines can be just as effective as a book for providing a vehicle to another world that doesn't share the same worries.
• Getting immersed in creative writing can get me well and truly lost in another world. Unfortunately, it's not such a great way to pause work for only a short time unless that means hours or days.

I'd love to say I knit or crochet to escape, but I'm not consistent at practicing or even good at either one. I do both on occasion anyway. The jury's still out on whether such crafty activities are true escapism for me. I think I might be entertaining a fruitless idea that I'll one day be somewhat decent and grow to love them. I probably need to embrace my non-crafty status and stop buying yarn.

Please throw your own suggestions for getting out of your head in the comments - anything that works for you might help someone else. (Like moi.)

I've been having conversations with family members over the holidays about life and what's been going on here in Ottawa with the Wilson crew. Some have been a little out of the loop because I've had some big changes that came with big time commitments and I haven't been good about keeping them up to date. (Fortunately, they're forgiving folks.)

The discussions I've had all led to questions about how I'm feeling about my current employment situation. I get accused of having a lot of jobs. If I included every single one on my resume (even the now irrelevant ones), yes, it would be a lengthy list. But I've stayed for as long as 6 years in one position. Also, I'm 40 and I work in tech, so "lifers" aren't that common. That said, I like to think about the future and how I want my career to look 2-5 years down the road. That's my version of pursuing the dream.

My favorite football team (okay, the only one I ever actually pay any attention to) just got a new coach. I found out that he's had some criticism that this is his third job in a year. No doubt, for a football coach, that's unusual. But then I found out that he said FSU has been his dream job. (He even wanted to play at FSU, but they didn't pursue him.)

For me, the narrative of that story changed completely as soon as I found out how much Willie Taggart wanted to be part of the FSU football program. He's been a class act since day one on the job and he led the team to another bowl game victory so they could finish out the season with a winning record - 41 years in a row, baby! He's off to a great start.

I can relate to what he's done. I started a job in August 2016 that I really loved. "Writer" became my professional title, not just a label I applied to myself. The role had potential to grow in ways I was excited about. And I was having a great time doing interesting work and getting valuable experience. When changes happened in that situation this past summer, I really struggled with the loss of all that potential growth - I just didn't see how I could take the next steps in my career in that company.

The struggle eventually led me to shift my thinking and look at my situation objectively. First of all, I couldn't let my discouragement about the changes poison my day-to-day work. So, I let that shiz go as much as possible. Sometimes it was a minute-by-minute choice. Then I had to figure out what I really wanted. A good friend helped me plan how I could take action to find the right next step for me. That was the point when I started seriously opening my mind to possibilities.

The next opportunity came along within weeks. The potential growth I was seeking with the job I took in 2016? That became a reality in 2017, though not at the place or with the people I thought it would happen. But that's okay, because it's so much better to be in the right place at the right time in the right role than to be loyal to something that doesn't work for you.

I'm good at building. I assess, make observations, figure out a plan, and execute. I love the intensity as you figure out what works and what doesn't. I don't even mind occasional late nights putting out fires. But I want to know that the end result of what I'm doing is valuable and appreciated. I want to be challenged and learn as I work. And I found a role that lets me write while I expand into other areas that I'm good at as well. So, I'm ridiculously excited about the future.

Looking back on 2017, it was a year of big changes. For me, for my little world, for all of us. If 2018 goes like 2017 has, it's gonna be a really fantastic year. Bring it on.

Back in 2012, a friend of mine, who happens to be editor of a local magazine, asked me to interview and write a story about a local speech pathologist who's doing some great things in her practice. After talking with her, I realized that a lot of what she does is rooted in one simple phrase:

There's always a reason.

Nearly 5 years later, that's the advice that sticks with me the most out of every little thing I have learned or been told about autism and helping my son learn how to navigate this world. I wish it was so internalized that I never forget it, but I'm not quite there yet. However, I'm starting to plant that seed in Brandon now.

We went to Costco one weekend a while back. My motivation was slightly selfish. I'd been wanting a Costco-sized vat of coconut oil, but Matt kept coming back saying they don't carry it anymore. It didn't seem possible that Costco would drop such a popular product so I made a rare appearance at Costco to check Matt's assertion.

Yes, I totally insisted we go to Costco on a busy Sunday afternoon just because I wanted a vat of coconut oil. Motivation is a funny thing, people.

Turns out I was right about Costco not getting rid of coconut oil. There on the right, just before we entered the gauntlet of people waiting for a cashier to check them out, was the object of my desire. I was tempted to buy two - yanno, just in case Matt's hunt and gather skills weren't the real issue. But I resisted.

With our mission accomplished, Brandon decided he was hungry. I'm pretty sure it's a conditioned response for him. He actually said looking at all the food was making him hungry. But I think at least part of it was knowing that Costco hot dogs are just on the other side of the cash.

Matt braved the line while I took Brandon to get food. 

We sat down after prepping B's hot dog and drink, surrounded by people filling their bellies after the harrowing experience of going through Costco on a Sunday. If they did a study, they'd probably figure out 99% of the people eating at Costco after shopping are stress eating.

It was noisy. However, there was one contributor to the noise that stood out from the rest of the din - a little boy who was around 6 or 7 years old. He was loudly and consistently upset for about 15 minutes. And Brandon noticed. Well, everyone did, but there were no dirty looks at his mother or the little guy that was having a rough time. 

Brandon made a couple of comments about how loud the "baby" was being. (He never actually looked for the source of the noise.) So, I told him that places like Costco and other big stores can be really hard on people - especially kids - because of the fluorescent lights, ambient noise and the sheer volume of people and things to look at. 

I told him about the time several years ago that he himself got tired of walking around and just laid down in the middle of an aisle and refused to move on. He'd had enough and couldn't cope with all the sensory information coming at him anymore. He didn't know how to say he was overwhelmed, so he communicated it in the only way he knew how: He stopped.

As an adult, I still struggle to recognize and stick to my limits. We get caught up in all the things we have to, need to, want to or should do and forget that we also need to stop the constant flow of information and other sensory stimulation in our brains so we can recharge.

Life happens and we keep plugging away because that's what we do. Kids haven't picked up that skill and, in a way, I hope Brandon never does. I'd consider it a great success if I can teach him to respect his own limits. For now, I'm working on teaching him to recognize them.

I've had a lot of extra stress that I've plowed through for months and I'm pretty exhausted. And I know it's impacting me because I have been sick at least once a month this year. But I've done very little to address the real problem. I just keep going.

But there's always a reason.

Whether it's a kid screaming in the middle of a crowded, busy store or an adult experiencing life stress, we all need to be compassionate with each other and ourselves.

I re-learn this lesson pretty regularly the hard way. Don't we all?

I recently changed jobs, and the switch means my 5-minute commute is now 30-40 minutes. That's a big jump, but it's kind of awesome. The only thing I didn't like about my 5-minute commute was that it eliminated my best opportunity for me-time with audiobooks. I've always been a voracious reader, but life happens and it's hard to find the time. For me, the commute is the perfect time to get through non-fiction books, particularly on business topics. 

When I was noodling on how to position a product, I listened to Positioning. When I was struggling with how to explain a complex but important concept, I got inspiration from Made to Stick. And one of Jim Collins' stories in Good to Great reaffirmed my choice to leave my last position. Some days I need something fiction to get lost in because my brain needs a break from absorbing information and generating ideas. Occasionally, I switch on my favorite playlists so I can give a concert in my car.

Having a longer commute creates some logistical challenges, but I try to take advantage of every moment of that time to prep for my day and unwind from it when it's over. The routine - provided I'm not rushed - makes me happy and less stressed. 

Life is too busy not to have routines that inject some amount joy into each day. I love getting my first cup of coffee in the morning. That first sip is the best, too. 

Sometime last winter, my colleagues at my previous job started sitting together regularly at lunch and I looked forward to that routine. It made hard days better and gave us all a break from the grind. This one was good for our whole team, especially since we were dealing with so much change.

It's amazing to see the impact of a simple routine when you're going through change.

One routine I practiced when I was younger, but has fallen away was something I learned from my fifth grade teacher. She once told me that she loved to wake up on Saturday mornings, have a cup of tea, a hot bath and read. I still think that sounds divine, but I haven't done it in years. I might have to revive it before it gets too cold. 

I like having happy routines that are also comforting and calming; they're a safe space in each day, week or month. 

Happiness is one of those things that we're programmed into thinking is a life goal. Do what makes you happy. Don't worry, be happy. Live happily ever after. Happiness is...you fill in the blank.

I like feeling happy, but I also get how fleeting an emotion it is. I've learned to appreciate the depth and breadth of feeling joy - whether I feel happy or not. But happiness isn't something I'm going to turn away when it comes.

There's never going to be a list of things that make me happy that isn't topped by my family. Matt is the most kind, caring, funny, supportive husband. He's the yin to my yang. I'm messy; he's not. I'm a daydreamer; he's not. I drink wine; he doesn't (more for me). I don't like to vacuum; he does. I meticulously sort, fold and hang clothes (when I get to the laundry); he doesn't. I read and sing; he doesn't. I'm not into video games; he is. We also agree on a lot of things - both trivial and critical. 

When Matt walks through the door at the end of the day and smiles, it lights up my world.

Brandon's so much like Matt, it makes me smile. He's got his dad's quick wit and my tendency to tease. It's a combination that keeps us all laughing. But Brandon's also one of the most genuinely sweet children I've ever known. He's still an affectionate cuddler who isn't afraid to tell anyone how much he cares. I hope he hangs onto that as he gets older.

Every time I get a hug from my little guy, my cup of joy gets filled up.

I've spent the last few years focused on writing and stories, so I get immersed in story practically every day. The medium doesn't matter. I love a good story in a song, a book, a TV show or movie, pictures and more. I even make up stories in my head starring strangers around me. Most of those stories get lost in a vault buried deep in some unknown tunnel in my brain. This isn't a bad thing.

Stories help me see new perspectives, explore new ideas, and occasionally escape from the monotony of life.

When I was a kid, I used to think once you finished school there was no more learning. Back then I didn't think this would bother me in the least. "No more pencils. No more books. No more teachers' dirty looks," sounded awfully nice. But somewhere along the way, I realized how much I liked learning and I just kept doing it. There's so much interesting stuff in the world to learn. I want to soak as much of it up as I can.

Learning makes me a better writer and a better human.

I'm also blessed to have so many truly wonderful people in my life, from my family to friends to colleagues. Life is rich in unmeasurable ways when you're surrounded by so much good. Also, coffee. And daisies. Daisies are such a happy flower. :)

One year ago this week I started a new job. It's been an experience I'll never forget. And the best part about this experience?

The people. They're talented, intelligent, and willing to try new things. They're also a diverse crew of fun, funky, lovely, loud, and truly likeable humans. I've had a lot of jobs and it's rarer than it should be to find this. 

Life over the past year - at work and outside of work - has been one big transition period (i.e., things is changin'). And change can be hard. It's uncomfortable. But we all have to figure out how to adjust when change happens. Of course, sometimes the feelings around change need to come out and be acknowledged before we can reset and move on.

It can be tempting to wallow in the muck of wishing this or that had never happened and rail at the world for not being fair. Personally, I don't like muck and I would rather spend my time reading than wallowing.

Victim mindset? No thank you.

Back to what happened. 

I picked up Brandon from his summer program yesterday and when our conversation about dinner didn't go quite the way he wanted (he was craving steak and I wasn't going to make any), it led to a tearful monologue about how bad his day was. Translation: He was tired.

But I was tired, too. My kid is sweet, sensitive, trusting and good-natured, but he has a negative streak that makes me a little nuts. I do not want to raise someone who enjoys being a victim. I actually have a rule that I pull out of my annoying-mom toolbox every now and then when his negativity gets to me: For every single negative incident he shares, he has to tell me two positive things.

I told him it breaks my heart that he defaults to thinking about the negative parts of his day. And you know what he did? He hugged me. He didn't want my heart to be broken. 

That's how I know he's gonna be okay. He actually cares. He'll get it.

My ugly truth

Today I picked Brandon up again and when I asked him about his day, he immediately deflated and I knew what was coming. I got a couple words out of him - not negative, but not particularly positive. 

When he didn't expand on his day, I changed my tactic: Tell me something good that happened! 

He thought about it and he told a story about a kid who wouldn't let him pretend to be a Nintendo character when they were playing a Lego Movie game they made up. He said he snickered at the irony that the kid wouldn't let him choose a creative character.

You know what this means, right? My kid totally gets the point of The Lego Movie AND he gets irony. He's brilliant and you can't convince me otherwise. 

As we were driving home after a trip to pick up some more books for the wee genius, I had some quiet thinking time, remembered the anniversary and began reflecting on everything that's happened in the past year. It's been a doozy for the world, right? As I thought through it, I realized I have been taking on the mantle of victimhood a little bit myself and it's time to let it go. 

Choosing joy 

Someone I know recently started blogging about joy and she's apparently had a good influence on my subconscious. I was at the bookstore and picked up a list journal.

I have a lot of these journals. I use them to get inspiration for my writing. And since I can't seem to stay away from the journals in the bookstore, I doubt there are many I haven't picked up.

As I was driving home, after I picked up the journal, I decided to challenge myself to blog one of the lists each week. 

But check out the cover and note what the inspiration is for:

I can't expect my son to look for the positive if I'm not setting the example - intentionally and consistently. It doesn't mean ignoring the negative because that's not healthy either. But dwelling on the negative is toxic and not productive. I'd much rather be good to myself and bring good things into the world around me.

I got my mom one over twenty years ago and I think she filled out some of it. Then almost 13 years ago, I got a book that we were both supposed to fill out - it was a mother-daughter combo. It wasn't overly long, but it was a Christmas present for her in 2004 when she had just finished over 6 months of copious time spent in the hospital. After I gave it to her, she told me to take it back home and fill out my part first. So, I did. 

That trip was the last time I ever saw her. She died a year and a half later and the still-blank pages of that book make me sad.

Lately, Brandon has been asking me lots of questions about my childhood, so this Mother's Day, I thought I'd answer these as a gift to him. That, and I'll keep working through this book so he doesn't have to stare at blank pages when he's older.

What are your favorite memories of times you spent with your grandparents?

I never knew my grandfather on my dad's side; he died when I was only 8 months old.  And though I was 10 when my grandfather on my mom's side died, I really didn't know him well. He was a very nice man, but for various reasons, I hadn't spent a lot of time with him. However, I spent lots of time with both my grandmothers - they both even lived with my family (at different times). 

My grandmother on my mom's side is responsible for introducing me to Anne of Green Gables. She shared the movies with me and, when I saw they were based on books, I found and devoured them. That series is one of my all-time I-can-read-them-a-thousand-times-and-never-get-bored favorites. And, given that L.M. Montgomery is such a beloved Canadian author, it's interesting that I latched onto her books long before I ever even had a reason to think about moving to Canada.

My grandmother on my dad's side was a storyteller. My younger brother and I used to beg her to tell one particular story about her childhood over and over because it was so funny. And, since you are loving Captain Underpants so much these days, Brandon, you'll like this story, too.

My great-grandfather (my grandma's father) owned a drugstore in south Florida. One day when my grandma was about three or four, my great-grandmother (my grandma's mother) made Grandma a new pair of underwear and she loved them. She was so proud of them, in fact, that she went to her father's drugstore to tell him about it. When she got there, her father was in a meeting with a group of businessmen. But that didn't stop her. She yelled out to her father, "Daddy, daddy! Look at my new panties!" And she lifted up her dress to show him. In front of everyone.

What was your grade school like? What do you remember about your favorite teacher?

My memories of grade school are fading fast these days, but I would say that grade school was mostly uneventful. I attended two different elementary schools because we moved from a small town in central Florida to Tallahassee when I was eight, just before I started third grade. Up until that time, I attended the school where my mom was the special education teacher. Being in the same school as my mom was fine. I was a bit of a goody-two-shoes so the threat of teachers talking to my mom wasn't a big deal since I didn't get in trouble anyway. 

When we moved to Tallahassee, someone decided I should be tested for the gifted program and my mom agreed. I got tested and was put in the program, which meant going to "special" classes that most of my classmates didn't attend. This kept up until I graduated high school.

I have mixed feelings about being in the gifted program. I got a lot out of it, but it had some downsides too. That's a story for another day, though.

Who was your best friend? And what did the two of you like to do?

When I lived in central Florida, I had a best friend, but we lost touch when I moved. From 8 to 13 I didn't really have a best friend. Then Angie moved to town and started attending my school. We became friendly in 8th grade and got really close in ninth grade. We were tight all through high school and a bit of college - distance was hard to overcome back then. We go years now without talking, but she's one of a handful of people that time spent apart doesn't impact our ability to pick right up where we left off.

Angie and I liked to watch sappy movies and write sappy stories. There may be notebooks still in existence that we'd never give up because the memories are important. But we wouldn't want anyone else's eyes on those things.

Angie also happens to be one of the kindest, most amazing women I've ever known. I hope you choose your friends wisely and find good people who try to be as kind as you are, Brandon.

What did you do as a kid that got you into trouble at home or school?

When I was in third grade, I experimented with swearing for the first time. My first big, bad words were "shut up." Those two words seem pretty tame, but we didn't use them in my family. They were as forbidden as any curse word you could name. But one day at daycare, a little boy just would not leave me alone. I was really upset by whatever he was doing.

I remember shaking which means there were probably tears. I finally screamed at him to shut up. And he actually did. But I was terrified. I was sure the teacher was going to tell my mom what I'd said. She didn't, but I did. After hearing what happened, my mom wasn't even mad. She just talked to me about how I could handle the situation a bit differently if it happened again.

Sometime after that - the same year - a girl in my class did something (I don't remember what) that I felt warranted a scathing note from me. In this note, I decided to use every single real curse word I'd learned. Anyone reading that note could see it was my first time using them.

I don't remember what I wrote, but I remember my teacher talking to me about it and she knew I hadn't ever cussed before. I didn't get into major trouble because (once again) there was understanding that I had been provoked. 

However, I did learn very early that writing things down isn't a good idea. I don't know if the teacher told my parents about this, but now my dad will definitely know about it along with a couple of other people who still read my blog.

Growing up, what did you want to be?

For a really brief time, Christa McAuliffe inspired me to want to be an astronaut. And Whitney Houston made me want to be a singer. In truth, I didn't really have a clear idea of what I wanted to do until I was in high school. Up until then, I didn't really think about long-term plans. In high school, I thought I wanted to be a lawyer. Fortunately, I figured out before I went down that path that it wasn't the right career for me.

Outside of the family, what was the very first job you had that you got paid for?

Because I wanted to be a lawyer, my dad helped me get an unpaid internship at a law office as part of a program I was in at school. When school ended, the firm hired me part-time for the summer.

How did you meet Dad? How did he ask you to marry him?

I met your dad online and I've written about it before. As for the proposal, that's kind of a funny story. I was living in Florida until the week of Thanksgiving in 2000. I received my permanent resident visa from the Canadian consulate about three weeks before and I immediately gave notice at work.

Matt and I had planned for him to drive down in a minivan, we'd pack all my stuff into it, and head back to Ottawa. I still had to work two more days at the beginning of that week and I was filling all my free time with saying goodbye to family and friends - and packing, since I didn't get that finished before Matt arrived. 

On my last day at my job, Matt spent the morning running around to every building on the campus to grab empty boxes from the kitchens where the photocopiers were. After he'd collected as many boxes as he could, he came back to my desk to see if I would just leave already.

Of course, I hate leaving anything undone, so I said I couldn't and kept pushing through. Matt was frustrated - rightfully so - that he couldn't seem to get me alone and I was 100% oblivious to his frustration. At one point while I was working, he got down on one knee and asked right there in my cubicle. As he was about to ask, one of my co-workers was walking by and stopped to talk to me, but she saw what was going on and quickly detoured.

After that, Matt finally got my full attention. He asked. I said yes. Then I went around the office showing my ring to all my friends.

I think about that proposal and it's kinda perfect. It was such a stress-filled time and I love that Matt decided not to wait a second longer. He just pushed forward and did it. Because there's no perfect time and place, nor does there need to be.

What is the hardest thing that you ever had to do in your life?

Definitely moving to Canada. I knew I was leaving behind my family and my mom was living with chronic illness. I was going where I would be way too far away to ever help. I was going way too far away for us to be part of each other's day-to-day lives. I don't regret coming to Canada and my mom and family 100% supported my move, but that didn't make it any less difficult.

What is the greatest compliment that you have ever received?

When I auditioned to attend Florida State University's School of Music, I did so with four hurried weeks of vocal coaching on the two songs that I was singing in my audition. I had sung in choir at church all my life, but I'd never been in choir at school or had any real vocal training. My 18-year-old self had the audacity to believe that I was good enough without training. When I got in, no one was more surprised than I was. After my audition was over, it finally hit me that it was an extremely long shot. But I got in. Then I got an A from the faculty in my first jury. That was an amazing moment.

What is one thing you still want to do that you've never done?

Ever since I learned about Holland from my neighbor when I was a kid (he was from Holland), I've always wanted to go and see all the things in person that he shared with me in pictures and stories. When I finally get around to making that trip, I'm sure you and your dad will be with me. :)

Brandon, I hope you've enjoyed reading a little more about me this Mother's Day. You're the best kid a mom could ask for and I love you so much.

This list of questions came from here and I have to give a hat tip and thanks to my bloggy friend/fellow Spin Sucks Crazies buddy, Paula, for sharing it with me.

I have a tendency to react before I think through events that have happened. My mom used to say I was "cutting off my nose to spite my face," and I pretty much ignored what that meant until I was well into the process of adulting my way through life.

I'm trying to remember at least one situation that I made a choice in the heat of the moment that I later regretted. I know it happened - more often than I'd like to admit back in my teens - but I can't seem to dredge up any examples from the depths of my brain. After all, this year, my teens are officially over 20 years ago. (Whoa.)

The thing is, I learned this response from both my parents. My mom and dad both had strong views and reacted with equal strength at times. They weren't hotheads, getting angry at the least little thing. There was usually a good reason, but their reactions weren't as measured as I believe either of them would have preferred to be. It didn't help that my mother had to take steroids as part of her treatment for neurosarcoidosis. I'm pretty sure we're kinda wired to have strong feelings, too. That doesn't mean it has to be the default reaction, though.

Mom eventually mellowed, partly due to a therapist that helped her figure out how to look at things differently so that anger and irritation weren't the default response. (Frankly, when you're chronically ill, is it all that shocking when there are bursts of anger from time to time? Because that's a sucky way to live.) My dad has mellowed, too. I think living just gives you a different perspective in these situations if you're open to it.

Being with Matt for the past 19+ years, I've mellowed too. Matt is ridiculously slow to anger - in fact, I've only seen him get truly angry a couple times and it comes nowhere close to what most people think of as an anger response. It's been humbling to watch how he reacts and compare myself to him. I never went to therapy but watching others in potentially charged situations has helped me learn the value of taking a step back to breathe and think.

My son has been the best possible teacher in this. He does such frustrating things. Try to imagine someone who's more stubborn than my son and you probably won't succeed. (Well, unless you know someone who thinks very literally, black-and-white, wrong-and-right about the world.) Communicating with him about various issues and events can feel like you're driving in circles and can't find a single exit that goes to your destination - or even close to it. 

I've had to remind myself that there's a reason for his response to every situation. When I remember to stop and talk to him about it, I get to understand him better so I can help him navigate similar circumstances when he experiences them in the future. And I've reinforced those ideas for myself in the process. 

One thing I've started to do is go to trusted friends for a gut check. That one step of describing a situation and asking for their input has made an enormous difference. Especially when I'm advocating for my child. 

Report cards came home recently and I have yet to sign and send his back because of one teacher's grades and comments. They're infuriating, particularly since I had no warning, despite meeting with her just a few weeks prior. I've done several gut checks. Described the situation to friends who are removed from it. I've talked to a friend who has two children in classes with this teacher - one is Brandon's best friend. 

My view has been validated, but I haven't gotten to the point where I don't want to swear when I talk about it, so I'm waiting a bit longer to address it. Because I've learned how much anger stresses me out and that it won't help me to get what B needs from school. Instead, I want to use it to drive the right actions to make things better for him. 

Anger's not a bad thing. But I think we have to be careful how we express it and when. You never want anger to undermine your ability to get the right response and you certainly don't want to regret decisions, actions, or words you make, take, or say in anger.

When I started the year, I had every intention of spending a lot of time writing. And I have, but pretty much only for work. Not that I don't love writing for work because I do. It helps that I'm still somewhat ridiculously happy to have the title "writer" in an official capacity instead of being an assumed role. It's not like this is the first time I've ever been paid to write, so it's a little silly that I'm so happy about it. But I am and I'll enjoy it until the shine wears off.

The thing is, I feel so weird about the world right now. My anxiety spikes when I look at the news for very long. So I avoid it. Then I feel guilty for being uninformed. So I go back to looking at the news and I feel scared, sad, disappointed, scared, and anxious. 

Even engaging in conversations with friends about current events feels like a minefield I don't want to go near. Emotions are high. Opinions are strong. People are hurt and scared and so very divided, even where intentions are good.

I have so many thoughts that I'm uncomfortable sharing because of the charged atmosphere we live in today. It took me a while to be okay with that. I think it's important to speak up but if it's going to create even more anxiety than reading the news because of the divisive nature of these discussions then I can't be the one to speak up. And I can live with that. 

Now that I've gotten past the constant tug of war in my head, I feel like I can finally write again. I can't use most of the ideas I've had over the past two months but more will come. Besides, I've had some ideas for bigger projects that I'm excited about in the long-term. The kind of projects that end with many words on many pages surrounded by a cover and secured with binding. 

I need to find and focus on the positive. If I don't, I get blocked and anxious. I love that so many people are speaking up about the wrongs being done, though. We need them. And I appreciate them more than I can say. 

I just can't do what they do.

To be honest, I didn't think that hard about the words for this year. They came to me pretty easily. Then I started second guessing them, so I waited to write about my choices until I was sure they were the right fit. These three words are all about me taking action but in very different ways. The meanings (for me) are also multi-faceted, but you'll see what I mean.

Write.

So, I'm a writer - just in case you weren't aware. That's my actual job title and I was (and still am) pretty excited (read: stupidly giddy) to be able to say that, even if I've been calling myself a writer for years now.

Choosing this word felt like cheating at first - of COURSE, I'm going to write this year and likely every year for the rest of my days on this twirling rock. And, as mentioned above, it's my job. However, in my eagerness to get up to speed at my new job and improve my health, I've let my personal writing projects fall by the wayside. I don't regret this; it was a conscious decision and it was the right decision but only for the short term. The short term is officially over, but I always planned for it to be over with the holidays anyway. I'm right on schedule. :) 

Journaling has been an important part of my life for nearly 30 years. (Oy, 30 years!!! I guess you get to say that phrase more and more often when you hit the year of the big 4-0!) A friend of mine inspired me to get back to the habit of daily journaling over the holidays - or, uh, last week. I had a run of committed daily journaling for several weeks a few months ago, but as I ramped up my self-care, I found it difficult to make time to keep up the amount of journaling I was doing. So, as my coach urged me to do, I'm being kinder to myself by loosening my standards about when and how much I do. I'd rather keep the habit that I find so valuable and do less of it daily than drop it entirely and lose the benefit. 

My fingers have been so restless to fly over my keyboard and get words out on a blank page on the screen. It's the strangest, but most wonderful feeling to have ideas and words piling up in your head so much that your hands practically vibrate with the need to release them. That's a good sign to me that it's time to blog more and spend time writing the books that are in my head. 

Create.

This is closely related to "write" in some ways, but there's a difference. I've got several book ideas that I've been working on at varying stages. There's a lot of creating that needs to happen. The worlds. The characters. But that can only happen as I excavate the story. I need to make time to create these things. It's invigorating. It's not unusual for me to lose massive amounts of sleep when I get deep into the creating process. It's not unlike reading a really good book. 

The other part of this word is an idea that has been germinating for about six months. I don't know if I'm going to take the steps to pursue this idea yet. I only know I have to start taking steps to decide if it addresses a need and if it's the right time to pursue it. I think it could, but I need to know for sure before it starts to move past the idea stage.

Advocate.

The second part of "create"? That idea has a bit to do with this intention. It's going to be up in the air until spring no matter what. 

Generally, advocacy is always going to be important to me. It is for any parent of a child with special needs. But it isn't solely about supporting my son or the charities that support kids with autism. It's also about advocating for myself and my family. It means saying no to the requests that don't move me in the right direction. It means saying yes to those that do when I can make the time. It means considering the whole picture - my family, my work, me, my goals, our goals.

I'm a strong supporter of Ottawa businesswomen in addition to the occasional work I do for autism charities. I love these things and I want to always contribute to them, but my level of commitment will vary over time as my focus changes. This is part of advocating for me and my family and maintaining balance in the work I do for the causes I'm passionate about.

Choosing these words got me excited about 2017 and the possibilities that exist. One of my favorite quotes for the New Year is this from Brad Paisley:

We're down to 361 pages now, but it's never too late to jump in.