I have three pairs of AirPods for different reasons. The Pros for the gym are that I need noise-canceling so I don’t have to hear Kenny Rogers’ “Islands in the Stream,” then I have AirPods 2 for around-the-house use and neighborhood walks. Leaving my old AirPods as a backup because apparently I can’t bear to be without them for the 72 hours it takes Costco to send a new pair.

My obsession with always having something to listen to started in 2020. At first, to tune out the noise of my husband’s Zoom work calls or to find some peace from everyone being around me all of the time. Later, I became addicted to audiobooks and podcasts. Tell me all the things all at once!

My brain was starved for knowledge. This is when I became obsessed with history and government (I know, makes you really want to grab a coffee with me, doesn’t it?)

But last year, after drowning in the unyielding chaos of this administration, I began to pull back and seek balance. I called it my analog reset (if you missed it, you can read it here). Drastically limit social media, try sudoku, and read actual books during the day at a coffee shop, even if people stare in wonder.

Recently, I was forced to find another way to disconnect… my beloved AirPods were starting to get to me. If I wore them too long, I had trouble hearing once I took them out (my volume isn’t high). I think my ears need a minute or two to adjust to ambient noise because, unless someone is seriously in my personal space, they sound a little muffled.

I also felt like the headphones were a barrier. Which, to be fair, is what I want them to be at times. But when my teen is wandering around the living room and not barricaded in his room, I want to be available. Approachable. So I started using a small Bluetooth speaker, carrying it from room to room like a mini boombox.

It’s the strangest thing, but it’s making a difference. Going pseudo-old-school feels good. I feel present and that’s so important for this stage of my mom-life. I want to be grounded and intentional. Who knew a dusty 8-year-old Target speaker would do the trick?

And that brings me to my monthly roundup of what’s keeping me sane or making me laugh.

The evening unwind:

We finished the first season of HBO’s The Pitt and are wrapping up the second season. I still highly recommend it, especially if you want to disengage from the world. It’s so fast-paced that your brain doesn’t get a chance to wander. Reminder: each episode is a real-time hour of a single shift at a Pittsburgh emergency room. I’m fully prepared to rewatch it once we’re done—it’s that good!

We’re also working our way through a Ted Lasso rewatch, gearing up for the 4th season coming in August. This is my third time watching this show, and I’m always amazed by the storytelling. If you haven’t seen it, it’s worth the Apple TV subscription. The most striking thing is that they showcase positive masculinity while highlighting strong female characters—without beating us over the head with it.

For years, I’ve been saying this is one of the biggest problems we face. Shows, commercials, and movies seem to feel the need to highlight their diversity or differences. I don’t know if it’s virtue signaling or merely a marketing tactic, but it always winds up feeling forced, if not completely inauthentic.

Malcolm Gladwell explained that one of the contributing reasons gay marriage became legal in 2015 was a social shift in acceptance. The main factor for the shift? Will & Grace.

Forgive this tangent, but I’m fascinated!

Before Will, gay men on TV were generally shown as very flamboyant and often as a humorous sidekick. Hollywood didn’t have gay main characters or ones with any depth. Will & Grace depicted a gay man as someone you might know or work with. This is where people’s perception began to change… without them realizing it.

This is how culture can quietly reshape what we consider “normal,” which Ted Lasso does beautifully.

What’s entertaining me while I fold laundry:

Libby is still my most-used app. Since my last monthly round-up, I’ve finished the Anthony Horowitz Hawthorne series, and they’re an excellent escape. Last time I mentioned the narrator, Rory Kinnear, and how talented he is. Once I start listening, it’s hard for me to stop. He truly makes the characters come to life.

I’ve been on a podcast kick, too. Currently hooked on anything Kara Swisher. Her Pivot podcast with Scott Galloway makes me feel seen (there’s a lot of tech billionaire calling out, and I’m here for that), but her On podcast is where I spend a lot of time. Recently, she interviewed investigative reporter Jodi Kantor about how college graduates can get jobs in this AI-driven world. Excellent conversation, and yes, I ordered Jodi’s new book, How to Start, for my daughter. If her name sounds familiar, she’s one of the women who broke the Harvey Weinstein story for The New York Times.

Reading experiment continues:

I haven’t had luck with my books this time around, but I’m proud of myself for putting them back on the shelf if it’s not clicking for me.

Their Eyes Are Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston was incredibly hard for me to get into. All of the conversations are written as spoken, and for some reason, I have to sound out every word instead of glancing and getting the gist.

“What dat ole forty year ole ‘oman doin’ wid her hair swingin’.”

I was concentrating so hard on getting the words right that it began to feel like work. So back on the bookshelf it went. I’ll try again later.

One book I won’t be retrying is Raymond Chandler’s The Big Sleep. A detective noir that is written exactly like every gumshoe movie I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t see beyond it. A quiet tough guy outsmarts the crooks while smacking a dame. No, thank you. I literally don’t need more machismo in my life.

How I’m laughing:

We’re headed down to LA to see one of my favorite comedians, Daniel Sloss, at Netflix Is A Joke. I started following him on Instagram in 2020, and we got to see him live last year at a smallish venue—I feel victorious when my husband becomes a fan of someone I found.

Comedy done well isn’t about avoiding certain topics. It’s about understanding them and empathizing. It’s not being an ass and trashing people (lookin’ at you, Matt Rife).

If you want another comedian to follow, Iliza Shlesinger never disappoints. We’ve seen her twice live, and she’s got a few Netflix specials. Her comedy is intelligent, relatable, and often times deep.

If you have anything that’s making you laugh or helping you feel grounded, please let me know in the Substack comments or just reply to this email.

We’re crowdsourcing our sanity!

HOW CAN I HELP?

☕ Need a quick win? Download Empty Nest Prep – free and ready for you.

📅 Want clarity? Schedule a one-on-one session, and we’ll tackle your specific situation.

🗺️ Ready for accountability? Check out the Get It Done challenge.

💬 Just want to talk? Reply here—I read every single one of my emails.

Last month, I started an adult hip hop class, something I’ve been threatening to do for over eight years now.

The class was held in a converted warehouse with flashing purple lights, graffiti-ed walls, and the most random grouping of adults. It was not what I was expecting.

Actually, that’s not quite accurate. The classes are pretty much what I envisioned, but the overall outcome falls short.

I signed up as part of my search for new experiences, and since I desperately miss dancing in my 20s, this felt like the closest thing to wedging my way into a packed dance floor with my girls, shouting over the music, trying not to spill our drinks.

But this class isn’t what I was looking for. It has the lights, music, and people, but something is missing.

Working from home is, at times, a lonely practice. I love the commute and flexible hours, but my coworkers are elderly dogs that aren’t big on gossip.

I’m missing a third place, actually, a second place. My entire life is located within a ¼ acre, and sometimes the whole day can go by without anyone actually speaking to me (my teen insisting we get Chipotle for dinner doesn’t count).

It’s no wonder I chatter like a firehose when my husband sits down at the kitchen island. Hey, babe, what shall we talk about first? The history of gerrymandering, or how Microsoft is undervalued?

When the kids were little, living in my bubble was great. It was the plan. But now that our oldest is creating her life in another part of the state and our youngest is wildly independent and nearly done with high school, my mom’s role has dwindled. They’ve figured out how to apply for internships and airfry sweet potatoes on their own, and I’m needed less and less (again, this was always the plan, but it still stings).

5 years ago, I had a realization about motherhood. We go through stages just like our kids do. Full-Time, Part-Time, and On-Call mom (read more about them here). Identifying these stages helped me deal with the moment I was in as much as help me anticipate what’s coming.

I’ve been preparing for what’s next for some time now, and I assumed naming it would make this final transition easy. It didn’t.

I’m solidly in the Empty Nest Slow burn I’ve talked about before (read it here), and for the most part, I’m satisfied with how I spend my days. My mornings are finally unfolding at whatever pace I choose. Easing into the day with coffee and sudoku, before I hit the gym. Eventually, I’ll plant myself in my home office until it’s time to start thinking about dinner.

Without the outside pressure to be somewhere or do something, I have no real schedule anymore. I can finally breathe, but spending the majority of my time alone feels like the pendulum has swung too far. Somedays, I long for the business and chaos of constantly being needed. I miss how neither of my kids walked softly—thundering from room to room like they’re late for an important meeting.

This is a new revelation, by the way. 6 months ago, it was different. Something shifted. Now I feel a pull, if not a push, toward community.

I didn’t realize how strongly I craved connection until I walked into the first hip-hop class.

Yesterday, I was half-listening to a podcast with Stacey Sims, when she said a key way for us to survive the transition into menopause is to find community—it was like a record scratch.

What did she just say? Immediately replayed it to confirm. And yes, she said community would help with menopause. And after thinking about it for exactly 3 seconds, I agreed. Of course, it can help.

Years ago, I read The Good Life, a book about the longest-running study on well-being and happiness. Starting in 1939, Harvard studied multiple generations to find out what makes for a good life.

The answer might surprise you. It’s so simple.

It’s not about a big bank account or how many grandkids you have.

It all comes down to relationships, but not the superficial kind. Deep connections with friends, family, and community. We’re not talking about coffee shop catch-ups, but real conversations that cut through the veneer and get to the heart of what’s happening. Ask meaningful questions and dig beyond the surface.

You don’t need a large circle of friends. Just two or three people who make you feel safe enough to be yourself.

Here’s the thing, I knew this mattered. I talk about the importance of meaningful friendships all the time. But when Stacey Sims said they can help with the transition into menopause, it became clear that I was forward-thinking: “Build relationships now so you’re happy later.” I completely underestimated how they can impact our lives today. And if they can help with menopause, they can help with all of our midlife transitions. From dealing with aging parents to health issues to the downsift I’m experiencing.

If community is the answer, it helps explain why my dance class doesn’t feel like the winning ticket.

I’m not sure where my people are, but I do know I’m on the right path because this is how hobbies can help. You can let them drive you there, but know that they’re not the final destination.

Now that I have a new perspective, I’m going to go back to what I learned while creating the Passions and Purpose course. Because now I see how that process can help me find more than my next thing… it has the potential to help me find my next good friend. The work is the same, but now I have added an incentive to try even more things (learn a language or try my hand at painting)

If you’re feeling this, too, you’re not alone. I talk to a lot of women who also feel adrift, even if it seems like everything’s going as planned.

Also, if you don’t have a solid group of friends, it’s not too late. Look at the people in your life. Is there anyone you wish you knew better? Does anyone have a quality you value in a friend? Start with them. It might not work, and that’s totally okay. I’ve been ghosted by more than one “could be” friend. It’s part of the process.

Or if you want to bolster existing friendships, try Waffle Wednesday (read about it here), and I swear by it. My girl, Michelle, is in another state, and I can honestly say exchanging voice memos weekly has brought us closer than we were when she lived 2 hours away. I find myself laughing in the kitchen as I listen to her describe her day in great detail. Nothing is out of bounds because it all matters, which is what makes it such a bonding experience. This is one of my favorite friendship tools.

As far as the dance class goes, I’ll continue going, not only to learn something new, but there’s always a chance one of my people will walk through the door (eventually).

P.S. If you want to join me on my connection-and-curiosity quest but don’t know where to start, check out my Passion & Purpose mini course. I walk you through the framework that will get you closer to a passion, and possibly a purpose. And as we’ve just learned, it might just help you find community.

Every few months, I do a quick search to see what tips the experts have for women entering their empty nest era. Crossing fingers there’s a new thought or vision for us.

I don’t know which is worse. The fact that nothing really changed or that I’m never surprised by the results.

While the advice is getting slightly more relevant (finally suggesting we take time to grieve), overall, it still comes down to this: fill your time and reinvent yourself. Which misses the weight of what we actually experience.

I get it. On the surface, this sounds reasonable, but it’s also incomplete.

First, we are absolutely different women on the other side of motherhood—practically unrecognizable from who we were before.

It’s not just that time has passed. It’s those years we spent loving, sacrificing, worrying, and carrying responsibilities that have fundamentally changed us.

We have undergone a major metamorphosis, and “redefine yourself” feels far too small for what the transition to “on-call mom” really asks of us.

And beyond becoming a different person, we are also being gradually phased out of a full-time role that has dictated our daily lives for decades. How we think, act, and feel.

So no, it’s not merely about identity. It’s also about purpose.

Here’s what I see: there’s a connection between empty nest moms and retirement.

When people retire, they often experience the same questions and fears:

Who am I now?
How will I spend my days?
Do I still have value?

But for moms, those questions are layered with something deeper. We aren’t just hanging up our work hats. We’re loosening our grip on a decades-long role that is rooted in emotion. It can’t be compared to a typical job. You can love your work and adore your coworkers, but motherhood is intertwined with purpose, routine, and relationships.

And that is why the usual advice can feel so hollow.

We’re told the answer is to reinvent yourself, find some hobbies, and stay busy.

It’s not that those suggestions aren’t wrong, but on their own, they can feel like a pat on the head.

Here’s what I want you to burn in your brain: hobbies will not save us.

They may distract us for a while, but they can’t answer the deeper question of What gives my life meaning beyond motherhood?

Interestingly, retirement experts understand this well. They talk about purpose, fulfillment, contribution, identity, and meaning.

Maybe it’s because it’s been studied more than motherhood, retirement research repeatedly suggests that a successful transition depends less on staying busy and more on maintaining a sense of purpose.

That’s the conversation I’ve been trying to have with women transitioning into an empty nest.

In a way, we’re retiring too. Not from motherhood itself, but from hands-on mothering.

Because when your youngest enters high school, that shift begins. You’re slowly being released from the constant demands: chauffeur, chef, and general cruise director who has to predict everyone’s needs.

But many of us aren’t taking advantage of this multi-year phase-out because no one really told us about it.

Empty nest is still framed as a moment in time. As recently as 2024, it was defined as “decades of dedicated parenting to the abrupt withdrawal from such activities.”

Abrupt withdrawal? No. Not even close. Did they even talk to moms?

While researchers and psychologists seem to recognize the need for a retirement transition, they don’t seem to recognize that parents have a built-in on-ramp to an empty nest.

And this is where hobbies can play an important role, but not as they’ve been sold to us. Not to “keep busy,” but get us closer to our next thing… a passion, or even another purpose.

So ask yourself, what am I curious about? What fascinates me?

Experiment with different hobbies and see what connects. That connection can bring you closer to fulfillment and begin to ease the fear or worry about the future.

The goal isn’t immediate fulfillment. The goal is the pursuit of new meaning. Otherwise, we drift—existing rather than really living.

We likely have another 30 years ahead of us. How do you want to feel?

P.S. My YouTube channel is live! Please come visit me there for extended conversations about midlife, motherhood and what we’re doing next.

So far, I’ve got videos about preventing boomerang kids, solving the invisible labor problem at home, and the stage of motherhood no one warned you about.

I’m open to suggestions, too. What do you want to learn more about or explore in more depth? Leave a comment or reply with your thoughts. 🥰

Looking back at my archive of emails, I see a theme: habits and happiness

It’s clearly not the only thing I talk about, but it pops up a lot. Some of these older emails have held up, so I’m bringing them back as a reminder to my OG readers and, hopefully, a helpful nudge for my newer SubStack friends.

First up, what a forgotten bowl of oatmeal taught me about parenting teens:

Even if you remember this email, stick around to the end because I want to share my thoughts on how this still applies as our kids get older and prepare to go off on their own—it may actually matter more than it used to.

Why is there still a gross bowl of oatmeal sitting on the kitchen bar at 7:15 pm?

Because at some point, my youngest decided breakfast dishes didn’t need to be cleaned up.

Strangely, snack and dinner plates seemed to find their way to the dishwasher, but those breakfast bowls developed different rules.

When a friend told me how she got her messiest child to pick up after themselves, I realized two things:

1— My youngest developed this annoying habit over time.
2— I had developed a habit of allowing it by cleaning the dish myself.

No kid wants to sweep up spilled cereal before going to school, but you don’t have a choice in Kiran’s home. The rules were clear. You picked up after yourself or risked being dragged away from a video game or, worse, called back when you were already halfway to school.

And that was the trick.

She made doing the task immediately more appealing than waiting. Not fun, but suddenly the better option.

The next day, I began the painful process of undoing a year of habit creation. I started small, made him put the dish in the sink, and worked up to putting it in the dishwasher. There was pushback for sure with not-so “under your breath” commentary and impressive eyerolls.

This really wasn’t about the dish. It was about how powerful habits are (which is why I keep coming back to them).

Habits are being created daily—for our kids and us.

👉 They are the foundation of positive and negative change.
👉 They are quick to develop and slow to break.
👉 They are the difference between doing what you want and settling for less.

REFLECTIVE UPDATE:

The original email was written back in 2022, before I got my hooks into the research around raising teens.

What I’ve learned is this: habit formation in younger kids is the foundation for successful launches into young adulthood.

I’ve written extensively about this topic as it relates to our lives on the other side of motherhood, and while the specifics evolve, the core idea doesn’t. I want to remind you that the hard work up front pays off later (for them and you).

Here’s what I want you to try, for a moment, don’t worry about how your kids feel or how they’ll live their lives in the future. Think ONLY about how YOU want to feel.

I see a lot of parents feeling frustrated or worried about their young adults (myself included), and much of it comes down to whether their kids have life skills and understand the importance of follow-through.

If you don’t want to worry about “will they hold a job or find a partner?” then work on habits and boundaries while they’re still at home.

This is where that oatmeal bowl starts to matter.

And if they’re already 18 or older, it’s not too late. Two weeks ago, I talked about boomerang kids (read here, watch here). The advice is simple. No need to overthink.

 Start with how you want to feel and set expectations that support that. Then you have to hold your boundaries, which is arguably the hardest part because as moms, we wanna help out our kids as much as possible.

But it turns out knowing when to hold back is incredibly important.

And that’s the real work.

P.S.  My YouTube channel is up and running! I hope you join me over there for expanded conversations and exploring older ideas to see how they apply to our next stage of motherhood (much like today’s Substack). ❤️

We didn’t let our kids have social media until they were 14 or 15, and it wasn’t easy.

Not only did it feel like all of their friends had a phone, but during the introduction to middle school, the staff told us that it would be “social suicide” for kids not to have Snapchat. Stunned parents looked to each other for confirmation…“Did I hear what I think I heard”?

Social media was going to be a part of their lives, and it would be up to us to set ground rules and make it as safe as possible.

At the time, I knew it was going to be an exhausting battle, but looking back, it doesn’t feel worth it because it turns out you can keep your kids off phones and social media until they’re 18, and the algorithms will win in a matter of days if not hours.

The content we tried to protect them from was quickly firehosed at them at a rate I can’t even begin to calculate. There was little we could do about it. The battles we previously won felt inconsequential.

This is where I usually hear people say something along the lines of “you’re the parent,” arguing that we can ultimately control what our kids consume. And this is where I get so frustrated, if not furious, because parenting in this digital age is a mess. It’s not the same as having strict TV hours or 11 pm curfews like our parents worried about.

It’s not just addictive phones or harmful content, it’s the legalization of online gambling, wages not keeping up with inflation or home prices, Citizens United, and the unraveling of our democracy… I could go on, but you get it. You’re living it too.

Yes, parents have the bulk of the responsibility for raising our kids, but when we’re going against outside forces, like tech CEOs who know their products are addictive and damaging, there is only so much we can do.

We need support. We need help. And, like many things these days, the people who could make a real difference are actively choosing not to.

So, once again, it’s on us.

We’ve got to educate ourselves on the online manipulation that’s happening to our boys. And if you have girls, it is equally important because they’ll encounter online or, more likely, in person.

Here’s how most of these influencers work: it starts out benignly enough with workout and vitamin tips, and the next thing you know, they’re being shown alpha male content about controlling your girlfriend or how empathy is weak.

You’ve probably heard of the less extreme manosphere influencers like Joe Rogan and Jordan B. Peterson. But there are the more radical ones like Clavicular, HSTikkyTokky, and possibly the worst, Andrew Tate.

There’s a lot to learn, but if I were relatively new to this topic, here’s where I’d start:

1. First, read Kahlil Greene’s article for The Preamble, The Boys Are Being Radicalized as a primer. The piece is well researched, and Kahlil does a phenomenal job of explaining red pilling and the manosphere—better than anything I could put on paper.

2. Inside the Manosphere, a Netflix documentary, is a must-watch. Caveat: Some people have reviewed it, saying it doesn’t expose how bad it really is or that it potentially glamorizes being a horrible person (misogynistic, homophobic, antisemitic, and racist).

3. Listen to Kara Swisher’s podcast interview with Triston Throux, the creator of Inside The Manosphere—Louis Theroux Goes Inside the Manosphere. It’s Worse Than You Think. (watch on YouTube or listen).

4. If you haven’t seen the mini-series, Adolescence (also on Netflix), add that to your list. Get ready to cry. It was brutal to watch, but also enlightening.

5. Last, read Notes on Being A Man by Scott Galloway. He’s been talking about how to combat the male loneliness epidemic for over two years, and I think he’s done an excellent job explaining the problem and trying to solve it. Another caveat: some people think he’s not doing enough to be a “good” feminist, but I think he does a decent job of speaking to other men, which is where real change happens.

While moms will benefit from these resources, it’s more important that the men in your son’s life are also learning. They’re going to have to do the heavy lifting here because, as our boys get older, moms have less impact or influence (especially if they’re already circling the manosphere).

When we understand what’s happening out there, we can spot the cues from our tween and teen boys. We’ve already seen a couple of red flags in our house,  and not just from our kid, but from their friends. This is an important distinction because your kid might not be consuming the content, but they will be influenced by boys at school.

This research will help you navigate the difficult conversations.

This is not the time to hang back, shrug our shoulders, thinking it’s hyperbole. It’s not.

And if we’ve learned anything since November 2024, it’s that the norms no longer apply.

Between AI chatbots (synthetic relationships), red-pill content, and this administration exhibiting the worst behavior, we are fighting on many fronts. I’m sure you’re exhausted. I am.

But knowing what’s going on so we can spot it and talk about it is one of our only tools right now. I would say the next step is pushing for algorithmic legislation, but that feels like a far-off dream. I’m focused on what we can do right now.

We cannot ignore this. It will eventually affect all of us.

P.S. When I say this will eventually affect all of us, Amanda’s Mild Takes gives a great example when she talks about Groypers and Nick Fuentes. Watch this video here.

At first I dreaded the long silence, but once I realized it meant half a day of Dean Martin, Blink 182, and Amy Poehler, I began to look forward to it. Slow semis and charging station weirdos included.

For the past two years, I’ve made several solo trips to drop off or pick up my oldest at college. It’s not always ideal, but when my girl would rather drive than fly, I take the trip. Not because I’m catering to her needs, but rather to mine. Free time one way and the other filled with her music (Laufey and Hozier) and podcasts (Broski Nation)

I need to be with her as much as possible because my time with her has shifted quite a bit since freshman drop-off nearly three years ago.

And when I say shift, what I really mean is it dropped off a cliff.

 It started with her bedroom door being closed for longer periods, then fewer family dinners together, and eventually, weekends were spent almost entirely with her friends.

But she was still there.

Sounds of her knocking around in her room, dishes magically appearing in the sink overnight, and multiple cabinets left open because, apparently, teens don’t know about hinges. If I didn’t know better, I’d think we had a supernatural roommate.

The pull for independence was expected. The summer before she started 6th grade, I devoured Middle School Makeover—the gateway book to educating myself on how to parent teens and ultimately release them into the wild. Learning about the why behind their changing behavior was fascinating.

Michelle Icard’s book taught me about adolescence, brain development, and the need to release control. And, as I’ve learned years later, it’s not just for them.

I’m not saying that watching your baby grow up, pull away, and no longer need you is easy. When I really think about it, a lot of pain and grief come up. I have so many vivid memories of her as a toddler. The way she’d bust into a room, demanding I immediately look at a dead bug she found in her closet. Or how, as a tween, she’d curl up next to me to listen to me read The Prisoner of Azkaban.

These bittersweet memories are accompanied by a knowing that this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

She’s one year away from graduating from college and starting her life fully outside of me, and I’ve been thinking about the transformation we’re going through.

Even if she winds up moving back home to save money, or maybe take some time off, our relationship will never be what it once was. No matter how often we get to stand shoulder to shoulder, slicing tomatoes or chopping peppers while laughing about the last TikTok trend she shared.

This thought was crystallized shortly after I checked into my hotel.

I always get a room with two beds so she can stay with me. We have a tradition of ordering take-out and watching Netflix, and I was really looking forward to snuggling up on one of the beds with my laptop balanced on a stack of pillows.

She had other plans.

We went to dinner, but she said she’d rather stay at her place so she could go to the gym and get coffee with her roommate in the morning.

I suggested plans for the next day, and she asked if we could meet early for a quick lunch and a little shopping because she was going out with her friends that night.

This was not at all what I was expecting.

After I dropped her off, I called my guy, who was completely confused.
“Wait, I thought she wanted you to come down early?”

She had. And I was really looking forward to having her show the latest coffee shop for studying or a new taqueria they discovered on one of their many outings. It’s always so fun to experience her in her element. It reminds me of back-to-school night when I got to go to each of her classes, sit in a small desk, and imagine what her elementary days were like.

And that’s when I realized what was happening.

She didn’t ask me to come down because she wanted to stay in the hotel and sink back into our old routines. She wanted us to hang out like she’d hang out with a friend.

She didn’t need me to build an itinerary. She wanted my company. I can’t imagine a more beautiful evolution to the mother-child relationship.

There was a whole life she had built down there, and she liked it. Asking me down early was an invitation to be a part of it, and I’m grateful, if not honored, because I know not every relationship develops like this.

So much has changed since the summer before freshman drop-off.

Over the years, I’ve been sharing the realities of this motherhood-emotional-rollercoaster, and in a way, it feels like I haven’t said enough. Transitioning into parenting a young adult is a major milestone that’s truly difficult to describe. Maybe that’s why more women don’t talk about it?

For me, this new relationship I have with my young adult is a really lovely place to land temporarily—we don’t know what’s going to happen next. All I know is that the only thing I truly have control over is me.

What kind of on-call mom do I want to be?
What does my new relationship with my first baby now look like?

Writing about it brings up a range of emotions, but I’m trying to focus on the excitement I have for her future and the wide openness of mine. But one thing I know for sure is that I love my kids and, at the same time, I’m really looking forward to finding myself again.

 This is a monumental transition for us, and I really wish more people talked about it. So I’m hoping that whatever you’re feeling, you’re bringing it up with your friends, your partner, and maybe even a therapist (because let’s be real. This is not easy).

Whatever you do, don’t hold things in. Work through your feelings.

Think about how you want your relationship with your kid to be, and always keep in mind who you want to become and what kind of person you want to be. It’s going to shape your relationship with your growing kids, but it’ll also give you a direction to travel and, hopefully, someone you aspire to be.

Before you go, I would really appreciate it if you could head over to YouTube and subscribe to my new channel. I’ll be uploading videos as soon as I get over my imposter syndrome. I’ve been threatening to start a channel for YEARS. I know it’s the ideal space to expand on everything that we’re talking about here.

I adore you. Thank you for being here.   ❤️

LOOKING FOR MORE?

✅ Need a quick win? Join the 6-week Get It Done challenge – Starts 4/13/26.

📅 Want clarity? Schedule a one-on-one session, and we’ll work on your specific situation.

🤩 Ready for the big picture? My Path & Purpose workshop gives you the roadmap you’ve been craving. Get on the waitlist. Next one is in fall 2026

💬 Just want to talk? Reply here—I read every single one of my emails.

You guys! I’m so excited to tell you about a new project I have in the works, and I want you to join me.

Earlier this year, I told you how I realized something: I can do almost anything for 6 weeks (read it here)

It hit me after ankle surgery. If I could survive 6 weeks on a couch and crutches, I could stand anything for that same time frame.

But the idea really clicked after I completed a 6-week challenge with Hailey Happens Fitness. Yes, I loved the results, but it was the short commitment, the structure, and the accountability that stayed with me. That system works.

For years, I’ve studied habits and behavior, and one thing is always true:

Things get done faster when there’s a clear end date.

Without it, the projects, habits, and goals we care about quietly move to the “someday” list  until they’re just a mere memory, and we get to say things in the future like, “I’ve always wanted to paint the living room. Too bad. I never did”.

Imagine that, years spent talking about it without any action. We could have had years of enjoying that thing.

Actually, I don’t have to imagine anything. Just last month, my husband and I finally got around to painting the bedroom.

We spent a Sunday painting and we’re so happy—It looks gorgeous!

Wait, did I say it took one day? Correction. It took over two years and a day.

A year to talk about it, 9 months with the paint chip, and another three months kicking the can down the road (it only took us one day to prep and paint—that’s almost embarrassing).

So here’s the deal:

What if you gave yourself 6 weeks to finally finish something?

🧹 Clean out the garage or refresh the living room
💪 Start (and stick with) a workout or meditation routine
🎨 Learn how to paint or make progress on a personal project

Not everything. Just one focus with structure and support.

This is why I’m launching the Get-It-Done Challenge next month.

It’s a 6-week, small-group accountability challenge designed to help you finally follow through on what you’ve been putting off.

Each week, we’ll meet on Zoom to set priorities, check in, and keep each other moving.

I’ll also be teaching short sessions on habits, goal-setting, and how to actually manage your to-do list.

The waitlist is now open.

There’s no commitment, but if you join, you’ll get:

🌟 Early access before registration opens
🌟 A special VIP price: $97 (save 50!)
🌟 First chance at a limited number of spots

We start Monday, April 13 (9am PT).

If something immediately came to mind while you were reading this… that’s probably your thing.

JOIN THE WAITLIST

I’m telling you, this system is how we can easily push ourselves to finally do the thing. AND it’ll feel so good once you cross it off your list.

I hope you join me!

P.S. I haven’t figured out what I’ll focus on first, but it will probably be something else around the house that’s been bugging me for years now. Honestly, I have so many things to choose from. My “someday” list is longgg.

JOIN THE WAITLIST

What slowly broke me were the increasingly bizarre requests: to photograph a family in a field on a couch, to edit out a scraped knee on a toddler, and—this one still hurts me—to “slim down” an 11-year-old girl because the mom thought she looked “chunky.” I cried inside.

I was a family photographer at the time, trying to build a business.

Nineteen years ago, I started a newsletter with 34 subscribers.

Back then, I mostly wrote about photography, a little about parenting, and whatever else I was trying to figure out.

I was struggling to keep my style: I wanted authentic, chaotic, day-to-day photos of families in their homes.

But people weren’t quite ready for lifestyle photos. They wanted pretty, posed, Pinterest-perfect images for their Christmas cards—basically the opposite of the reality I was trying to capture.

Because I can be annoyingly determined, I pressed on. I got better at vetting my clients and helping them shift their expectations from perfection to something more realistic.

Slowly—and I cannot emphasize the molasses pace enough—I found my people.

The families who wanted to remember how life looked and felt.

Sure, the sessions were wild and a bit out of control, but when I held the camera to my face, the noise faded, and I could see what was important.

Over time, I was able to see the moms, too.

Not just what they were doing, but how they felt.

There was often a quiet tension.

These women loved their kids deeply, but many of them, myself included, felt like something was missing.

It would take me a while to figure out what that was, and then I saw it everywhere.

Part of us had been dimmed or paused.

There was a collective uncertainty, and none of us knew what to do about it. I mean, how could we? We were too busy raising babies and toddlers to notice much else.

About four years in, I knew I would eventually transition out of photography and into helping moms find meaning beyond motherhood. It felt inevitable.

For a long time, writing helped me process what I was seeing and experiencing. Weekly blog posts, newsletters, and daily quips on Twitter (before it became whatever it is now).

I loved the process of thinking something through and shaping it into words.

A philosophy degree will do that to you. Once you start asking big questions, it’s hard to stop.

Then COVID hit, and life stalled. But in the stillness, I began to see things more clearly once again.

The domestic and parenting imbalance was glaring. And being forced to photograph families outside instead of in their homes felt like defeat.

But the most painful (and motivating) realization was seeing my kids.

They were getting older, and this life—the one that felt nonstop—was temporary.

In a few years, I wouldn’t have the noise and chaos of family life surrounding me. Like the women I photographed, my only reminder of these years would live in pictures.

By the end of 2020, I had a new vision and enthusiasm for my business.

It was time to close up my photo shop and double down on mentoring moms.

Our muted selves were about to get permission to get loud again, and I wanted us to be ready.

I’m approaching what I call the “on-call mom” stage of parenting, the technical empty nest.

My oldest is in college, and my youngest is winding down high school. I don’t know what the future holds, but I’m fairly certain it won’t look like the one I imagined when my kids were toddlers.

Most of us were raised to believe it’s 18 and out of the nest, but that’s not necessarily how it works anymore.

So over the past few years, I’ve been researching and making adjustments.

Re-thinking what matters and reimagining what the next phase could look like.

With the future feeling equal parts exciting and frightening, it’s time to give shape to what comes next.

This Substack—this space—is where to start.

A place to explore new ideas, revisit old passions, and imagine what life looks like on the other side of motherhood.

Today, I’m writing to more than 34 subscribers. Some of you have been here since my photography days, and I’m so glad you stayed.

For newer readers, here’s what you should know about me:

First things first, I’m hilarious.

I laugh a lot—dry humor, toddler humor, I’ll take it all. Laughing gives me life. Hard pass on the drama. No thank you. I can find the humor in almost anything. It’s a finely tuned survival skill that gets tested regularly these days.

My husband is one of my favorite people. He may drive me crazy some days, but let me tell you that man is kind, strong, and is genuinely trying his best (which, let’s be honest, is not universal).

And yes, 25+ years later, he still laughs at my jokes and brings me takeout more than he should.

I’d rather clean the toilets than cook another dinner.

I can’t find time to learn Spanish, but I always find time to go to the gym.

Mondays are my favorite day of the week, and the ’90s is my favorite decade.

Parenting has been one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. There are moments when I’m furious at our culture for making motherhood so freaking hard.

I didn’t grow up dreaming about marriage and babies. I wanted a law degree and the option to adopt someday. But it turns out I’m actually pretty good at this mom gig (don’t ask my teenager).

Last year, I realized something important.

If I were to start writing again, I didn’t want to return to quick posts and half-formed thoughts.

I want longer, more thoughtful writing. Where ideas have time to expand, and stories feel honest and complete.

In a way, I want to write about life the same way I photographed it.

I’m looking for the real moments. Not the posed, polished ones.

Some days I want to close up shop and hide from the world. Other days, I feel fired up and ready to create.

Most mornings, I have no idea which version of me will show up when my feet hit the floor. But I do know this: having a plan—even a loose one—helps me feel connected to the future.

And right now, that future includes a lot of things.

Writing.
Thinking.
Deep conversations about parenting and midlife.
And a crap ton of honesty.

It also includes doing what I can, in my small corner of the world, to make sure our democracy doesn’t erode further. I hate that this is part of the conversation, but pretending it isn’t won’t help.

Like so much else in life, the only way to the other side is through.

So whether it’s writing here or making a YouTube video, I’m trying to show up.

And I’m really grateful you’re here with me.

If there’s anything you want to talk about or learn more about, let me know in the comments on the Substack app or by replying to this email. I read and respond to everything… especially the flattery.

P.S. I paused this writing to call my representatives. I use the 5 Calls app. It’s so simple. You give them your zip code, and they tell you who all of your reps are—state and federal. You can call right from the app, and they have a script or at least ideas for things you could call about.

Ab.so.lutely not.

I was horrified at the advice a fictional therapist gave a fictional couple about their boomerang son.

You do not tell a couple to kick their young adult son out of the house without first preparing him.

That’s like being annoyed with your kid for not knowing how to drive when you never taught them. Or getting mad that they can’t do their own laundry when you’ve always done it for them.

Which is precisely where the scene started: a load of dirty laundry sitting on the kitchen counter waiting for Mom to wash, dry, and fold it. Probably put it away, too.

One of our favorite bingey shows lately has been Shrinking on Apple TV+. It’s a sweet comedy about the intertwined lives of therapists trying to manage life.

The final season was recently released, and after watching the second episode, I practically ran to my laptop, ready to right the wrong I had just witnessed.

Before I climb onto my soapbox and explain why the fictional therapist gave some seriously poor advice, let me be very clear about my training in psychology.

I took exactly two courses in college, which does not a therapist make.

The advice Harrison Ford gave a Gen X couple about their young adult was realllllly bad. The concept (encourage independence) was good. The execution (“get out”) could be disastrous.

Here’s the setup:

A young adult moved back in with his midlife parents because he was struggling to keep a job. The parents talked about his difficulties and were genuinely trying to support him.

Since she’s not a client of mine—and I’m not a writer for the show—I’ll never know why the mom did his laundry or why the dad made him snacks as he lounged around playing video games.

My guess? They slipped back into the parenting roles they once held.

When we’ve spent decades doing the same tasks day in and day out, we rewire our brains and create habits.

Imagine exercising every day for 17 years. Those neural pathways would be difficult to change. For exercise, that’s great. For parenting? Not so much.

At some point, we have to start rewiring those pathways.

Aside from slipping into old patterns, the parents may also have felt guilty or responsible for their unmotivated child who lacked direction.

When senior therapist Dr. Rhoades (Harrison Ford) notices the coddling, he calls out the parents. And rightly so. That boy will not learn if his parents keep stepping in.

BUT his solution is the problem.

Kick him out.
Okay… no.

I absolutely agree that coddling kids will not help them in the long run. But if that’s the relationship built for 20+ years, pulling the plug will not magically create responsibility or drive.

The real problem wasn’t that the kid moved back home.
The real problem was that the runway for independence wasn’t built.

Which is why I always urge parents to start letting go sooner.

Middle school is often when kids naturally begin pulling away—and that’s the ideal time for parents to start doing the same.

Again, the advice to stop babying a grown-up is solid.

But jumping straight to kicking him out, without the tools and framework he should have been building over the past decade, could be disastrous—for him and for your relationship.

I’m all for failure. Ideally, though, it starts when they’re younger.

Slowly ramp up expectations and responsibilities before they’re on their own.

But if they do struggle launching and find themselves back in their childhood bedroom, it’s not too late.

Get clear on expectations:

What do you expect from them? And what do you expect from yourself?
Do they need to be up and out of the house by a certain time?
Will there be a curfew?
What about family dinners or food in general?
Is there an expectation of job applications or volunteer work?

Just like when kids were little, there needs to be clear rules that everyone follows.

My heart literally hurt hearing the dad tell the son—who seemed like a good kid—to move out.

Sure, he did it kindly. But it could have been handled better.

Instead of: “Hey son, you need to be responsible and move out.”

How about: “Hey son, we’re glad we can help you get back on your feet. But your mom and I have been living on our own for a while now, and the family dance has changed. If you want to live here, we need to sit down and create new house rules.”

Please know I’m speaking to myself as much as anyone.

It’s incredibly easy to fall back into roles we’ve held for years.

And if we’re being honest, it’s also incredibly hard not to be needed anymore.

Sometimes, doing their laundry becomes one of the only ways we still feel connected to them.

Suddenly, we’re no longer the center of their universe. The days of toddlers wobbling into the kitchen with outstretched arms are long gone.

The void that leaves can be real.

Knowing everything I know, I still struggle to keep my mouth zipped and my hands busy so I don’t accidentally do their dishes.

I’m still trying to ease them into learning more life skills, but it can creep up on you.

Many parents worry when their kids leave home that they didn’t teach them enough.

But if you focus on the basics, they’ll likely be fine.

Imagine they’re living in their first apartment. What skills would make them a good roommate or partner?

Personal hygiene, cleaning up after themselves, and sharing chores.

You can teach them about car maintenance and balancing a bank account later. Focus on what really matters first.

As humans, we default to the path of least resistance, even when we know the easier choice now will create problems later.

Think of it as the Ben & Jerry’s problem: short-term comfort wins over long-term benefit. It’s very hard to say no to a pint of Cherry Garcia after a rough day.

Parenting works the same way.

It’s faster to do the laundry ourselves. And who really wants to argue about undone chores?

Today, it feels easier for me to do all of the laundry. But I know a few years from now I’ll regret my choice.

Taking the time to show them how—even if it’s slow and painful—will pay off.

Hot laundry tip: help them create a simple system for putting clothes away while they’re little and still listen to you. Pajamas on this shelf. Socks in that drawer.

It pays dividends.

Help make their transition into adulthood smoother by training yourself to let them go earlier.

Two things that have helped me:

1. Stop offering help automatically.
   When you hear them banging around the kitchen, leave it alone. If they lose their car keys, offer suggestions only if they ask. Do not start flipping couch cushions unless invited.

2. Create a system for dividing household work.
   I started with Fair Play and expanded it to make it easier for our family to use (read more here)

It was eye-opening to see how much work actually goes into running a household. Easily three times more than I thought.

But it also helped me release control.

As I implemented Eve Rodsky’s ideas, I realized what an opportunity this is to involve our kids in building their own ramp to adulthood.

I expanded the framework to include boundaries, a customizable responsibility spreadsheet, and practical tips for the whole family.

Every family is different.

Many of us are navigating neurodivergence or special needs. You know your child best.

So ask yourself…What else can they manage?

✅ Getting to school on time?
✅ Making their own doctor’s appointments?
✅ Cooking simple meals?

If we want to live a freer and lower-stress life, we have to start preparing our kids sooner rather than later.

Otherwise, you might find yourself sitting at the kitchen island, wondering if your 23-year-old will apply to any jobs this week.

If your kids are in high school, the clock is ticking. It’s time to set boundaries and raise expectations for life skills.

That’s where the habit begins.

Imagine the kitchen island becoming the family's gathering place again… instead of a staging area for unfolded laundry.

That’s it for this week, friends— next week we’ll pick back up our conversation on how to live a more fulfilling life on the other side of motherhood.

❤️

P.S. Failure to Launch is the “read it before you need it” book. Expert advice on what to do if your kid has trouble transitioning into adulthood. The tips given can be slowly implemented while your kids are young.

Sadly, we lost a comedic legend, but her magic lives on via streaming reruns, and right now we’re saving our sanity by rewatching Schitt’s Creek. I’m struck by not only Catherine O’Hara’s talent but also her face. She opted out of plastic surgery and fillers, which is an increasing rarity these days.

So much so that I often wonder if we even know what aging looks like anymore. The spotlight, social media, and capitalism put pressure on us to clutch onto our youth at any cost—financial or physical.

But that wasn’t for Catherine. And it genuinely makes me smile because there she is, looking gorgeous as she delivers some of the best TV comedy in her signature pajama vest with a loose neck, forming jowls, and deep smile lines. No apologies.

A few years ago, at 68, she told The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, “I’m a freak in that I’ve never had anything done to my face… I believe we should embrace and respect age and love ourselves for it.”

Excuse me? What did I just read? *pages back to triple check*

Yes. I read it correctly, and all I can say is, please. I want to see more women like Sarah Jessica Parker and Jamie Lee Curtis stepping out as who they are and countering the push for childlike youth.

Let’s take a moment and think about how difficult it must be for them to push back. Even for us, non-Hollywood women, it’s difficult. When we look in the mirror and see crow’s feet and lip lines. Or worse, pull back our hairline to lift our face, only to let it go, exposing just how much elasticity our skin has lost. And we don’t have millions of people telling us how old we look.

If I had endless pools of money, I can’t say I’d turn down a lid lift or neck tuck. But I want to say I would. I want to live as Cathrine did. Proud of who I am and how I look.

To be super clear, I get Botox and am not anti-aging, but I am anti-pressure, and the youth bar is forever creeping higher. I’m more than ready for decisions about our faces to be based on how we feel, rather than how someone else says we “should” look.

And that brings me to my monthly roundup of what’s keeping me sane or making me laugh, because sanity these days is a group project.

The evening unwind:

HBO’s The Pitt caught me off guard. Sure, I watched ER a bit in the 90s, but I was never sucked in. We just finished the first season, and sweet bébé jesus, Noah Wyle absolutely delivers. This is a fast-paced drama without much comic relief, so buckle up.

What’s so clever, aside from the all-around stellar acting, is that each episode is a real-time hour of a single shift at a Pittsburgh emergency room. I’m already lamenting that there are only two seasons so far.

As mentioned, we’re rewatching Schitt’s Creek for the third time because it’s so well done and always delivers several out-loud, actual laughs. If you haven’t watched it, or tried it and thought it wasn’t for you, I suggest watching the first episode to get the groundwork, then skipping a few while they’re still finding their footing. You can revisit the missed ones later. It won’t take away from the show and might get you over the development hump.

As the seasons progress, David and Alexis find their rhythm and it’s top-tier sibling banter. And by season 4, you’ll witness a complete transformation of Moira Rose. Catherine O’Hara crafted the role to be more eccentric and memorable. Her vocabulary and interpretation of a transatlantic accent are untouchable.

👉 Also, if you have college students, they can get HBO at a student discount. Same with several other streaming services. Worth looking into.

What’s entertaining me while I fold laundry:

The Libby app has changed the way I listen to books. If you’re unfamiliar with Libby, it’s your local library’s app for audiobooks. It’s easy to sign up—even if you don’t have a library card. Download the app and follow the steps, they make it really simple.

We canceled our Audible subscription when we found out about Libby. Not only are we saving a ton of money, but we’re exposed to titles we never would have looked at before—turns out when you’re not paying $17 a book, you’ll try almost anything that sounds slightly interesting.

Last month I listened to A Line to Kill by Anthony Horowitz. Rory Kinnear is a spectacular narrator and made the book come to life. It was very entertaining and clever.

I started The Sisterhood about women in the CIA, and I wish I could just download all of the details to my brain because it’s captivating! I’m two chapters in and have already learned about the boys club (surprise) and how women made exceptional spies because they’re often overlooked (again, surprise).

Because the books are free, I’ve been trying out classics I never got around to. The Maltese Falcon was the latest. Although a standard “hard-boiled detective” noir, I had a hard time with the machismo. If you’ve ever seen the movie, Humphrey Bogart plays it perfectly. Super cool and no time for “dames.” Luckily, the narrator was ridiculously talented, which helped offset the ick.

👉 If you’re new to audiobooks, the hottest tip I can give you: the narrator is as important as the story. If you don’t like their voice, you won’t like the book.

Reading experiment continues:

Last month, I shared that I was collecting small paperback books from thrift stores and used bookshops. I finished The Color Purple (highly recommend) and am now onto The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath.

Reading them back-to-back is an interesting contrast—two very different authors, subjects, and writing styles. The Color Purple sang to me in a way The Bell Jar isn’t. There’s something about Alice Walker’s journal-style writing that drew me in.

Both books are vivid tellings, and while I may not get lost in the pages of Sylvia Plath’s sorrowful novel, she truly was an exquisite writer.

How I’m laughing:

Aside from Schitt’s Creek, I don’t really have shows that are making me laugh, but texting my friends inappropriate things is always worth a chuckle (I’m hilarious). I also regularly check out local comedy clubs to see who’s performing.

👉 One trick we learned a couple of years ago is to find a show you want to see—music, dance, comedy—and check for tickets the day before or the day of. You can get excellent deals if you’re not too concerned about whether or not you go.

We scored tickets to see Harry Connick Jr. for $75 (half the retail price). I still can’t get over how close we were or how gorgeous the venue was.

Here’s to loose necks, library cards, and last-minute tickets—I’ll be back next Thursday!

P.S. Please share your favorite books, shows, and listens… like I said, sanity is a group project. 🤩

Why have I been so angry lately?

Yes, the world seems like it’s crashing, but it’s more than that.

If I hadn’t taken a 3-month social media break, I wouldn’t have noticed the frustration or why it’s happening.

It’s not social media on the whole. Yes, it plays a part, but the real issue is I’ve allowed myself to find fury quickly after watching a reel or reading a headline.

This isn’t new, but my awareness of it is.

When I logged back into Instagram, it felt different. Or maybe I felt different. Within minutes, I noticed how extreme the short-form videos looked and sounded. Jump cuts, urgent voices, and “you won’t believe it” headlines. Somehow this escaped me before—I didn’t realize just how easy it is to absorb someone else’s opinion.

It’s not just that these clips are designed to get us to engage (enrage?) — of course they are, but they’re often stripped of much-needed context or history.

While I was in it (consuming, posting, reacting), I didn’t realize how far I’d drifted from curiosity. I thought I was staying informed. In reality, I was reacting quickly and calling it thinking.

When had I lost my need for more of the story?
Had I become too busy or too jaded?

For a few years, I had loosely been exposed to Scott Galloway’s content on TikTok. Mostly economic analysis with some cultural commentary.

Then, almost overnight, I noticed I would cringe if his name came up.

It wasn’t hard to figure out why. Viral videos about his take on the male loneliness epidemic peppered my For You page.

One upset content creator after another was outraged that Scott blamed women for the struggles of young men. The verdict was clear: he was the worst.

But I had heard him in longer interviews before, and something about the outrage didn’t quite line up. So I listened to the full conversation in a few different places.

In context, he was talking about a decades-long absence of visible, healthy male role models, which created a vacuum for the likes of Andrew Tate to slide into.

I realized I had almost accepted the profitable version of his argument without checking the source (burn it in your brain: views = money, not truth).

That unsettled me more than anything he actually said.

This wasn’t the only place I’d been coasting on secondhand thinking.

For years, I carried around a vague, slightly negative opinion of Gwyneth Paltrow. If you had asked me why, I might have said she seemed out of touch and self-important.

But if you asked for an example, I couldn’t point to a single thing she had said or done that bothered me.

Thanks to Jameela Jamil’s endless efforts to make our world a better place, I learned how easily we’re manipulated. Ages ago, she asked her followers to name a celebrity they disliked but couldn’t clearly explain why. The comment section exploded within minutes.

Beyonce, Taylor Swift, Jennifer Lawrence, and yes, Gwyneth Paltrow.

“It’s just a feeling,” people wrote. We had no proof, but we sure were confident.

Recently, Gwyneth was a guest on Amy Poehler’s podcast (the only reason I pressed play was that I trust Amy), and within a few minutes, I could feel my internal narrative shift. Gwyneth was funny and relaxed. Not at all the flat, slightly ridiculous character I had created.

Changing my opinion was so easy. Like a flip of a switch.

The painful, if not embarrassing part, was realizing how easily I had outsourced my opinion.

My new resolve to slow down was tested recently when I saw the ridiculous clip of the USA men’s hockey team on a call with the president.

My reaction was immediate and intense.

I seethed for hours.

Dinner was made in zombie mode, and I hated how I was feeling.

My hiatus from the social media rage machine had reset my nervous system, and I felt an urgency to fix it.

So I paused to ask myself questions. What exactly upset me? The president? The players? The history around locker-room culture and how women are treated?

None of it? All of it?

Then I imagined being a young athlete in that moment — live, on camera, fueled by adrenaline, surrounded by teammates. I thought about times I’ve stayed quiet because speaking up was risky. And how about the countless times I’ve been stunned into silence?

Was my anger at this moment, at these players, justified?

No. I’m not mad at them in that moment (what they do next matters, and so far I’m not impressed), because there’s context beyond the clip (see this brilliant article from The Humanity Archive).

I shifted from being outraged to feeling simultaneously upset, understanding, and hopeful that some change would come from the spotlight.

This feels bigger than media literacy.

It feels like emotional regulation.

When we restrict our content consumption to fragments, we hand over our autonomy. When we listen longer or even just sit with our own discomfort, we create space to process.

And in that space, we get to decide what’s actually ours.

If something angers or scares me now, I’m trying to pause before I pile on. I ask whether I care enough to investigate further or whether I’m simply being invited into someone else’s outrage.

The other day, I heard someone say that action is the antidote to anxiety.

If that’s true, then maybe research is the antidote to rage?

I don’t want to be this easy to manipulate. And I don’t want my emotions to belong to an algorithm.

I’m still figuring this out in real time. But admitting I might not know enough yet feels less threatening than it used to.

It feels like freedom.

It may or may not surprise you to learn that I grew up with a hippie mom and a very conservative dad. An odd pairing, but surprisingly useful.

While their marriage didn’t last, their unintentional lessons did. Although I didn’t see it at the time, as a full adult (in body, not always in mind), I can appreciate their different approaches to the same life problems.

My dad was pragmatic about everything. Logic and reason were his love language. In my 20s, he gave me a fancy leather CD case for my car, and I ecstatically showed him where it would fit perfectly. Leaning through the car window, without a hint of sarcasm (rare for this man), he said, “A place for everything and everything in its place.” I swear that was the moment I became obsessed with organization.

My mom, on the other hand, taught me to trust my gut, be open to change, and cleanse the house with sage—especially after a breakup or negative houseguest. Around the same time as the organizing gift, she gave me Shakti Gawain’s Creative Visualization. Unlike the CD holder, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with the small book. I knew a little meditation, but hadn’t even heard of visualization before. I was intrigued but skeptical.

Back then, I wasn’t trying to create anything. There were no grand plans or 5-year goals. I was mostly trying to do what was expected of me: go to college, get a job, find a boy. In hindsight, I was checking the “this is what we do” boxes and hoping they would add up to something I wanted. But I never paused long enough to ask myself what that was.

So I tried visualization.

With no practical experience, I did the most hippie thing possible and set up a soft, quiet space with a meditation pillow, a prayer candle, and dried sweetgrass to burn. For months, I earnestly tried to quiet my busy brain long enough to paint a picture of what I wanted, but it felt forced. I had made it too complicated.

Then one day, while standing in the kitchen waiting for the toaster to ding, I realized I was dreaming about the life I wanted.

That was the shift.

I started visualizing casually throughout the week. Nothing formal. After about six months, my life started to take shape. Rather than reacting to the people and events around me, I began making choices. I left a job that made me uncomfortable, and let go of a failed friendship. The change came with relative ease—a new feeling for me.

Now, let’s be clear. The bar was low. I was visualizing some extra money, a decent job, and a boyfriend who didn’t make me question my life choices. “Dream big” had not yet entered the chat.

And yet—it worked. So I raised the bar.

I learned more about how to visualize, which involves deeper imagery and a whole lot of sensory detail (think warm sunshine on your face, feet planted in the grass, and chirping birds overhead). You’ve probably heard how athletes use visualization to help them prepare for races and meets. It’s the same concept. See and feel yourself doing something.

After about a year of elevated visualization, I found myself living in San Francisco. I had always wanted to return to Northern California, but it had been a soft dream floating in the background. The change happened when I slowed down, asked myself what I really wanted, and began to see it clearly.

Once in the Bay Area, I grew content. I stopped thinking about what’s next and settled into the rhythm of daily life—waking up at the same time, taking the same bus to work, and going to the gym during lunch. Lather, rinse, and cry of boredom.

Without realizing it, I put myself back on autopilot.

And that lapse became the lesson.

When I stopped taking time to imagine my future, I stopped shaping it. The choices I was making were default, not deliberate. The guy I was dating was fine enough, but something was missing. My job? Not quite right. Even living in a beautiful but cold city had run its course. I was drifting instead of steering.

Another round of intentional visualization, and I was in sunny Palo Alto, dating my now-husband, and beginning to feel in control again.

Years later, when I began studying goals and goal-setting more formally, I saw the connection. Visualization isn’t separate from goal-setting. It’s the softer front door.

Often overshadowed by our productivity-obsessed culture, my mom’s gentle guidance is forgotten, so I’m here to remind you that daydreaming is necessary.

Before you write a plan, outline next steps, or color-code your calendar, you have to imagine something different. You have to spend time thinking about what you want—and what you don’t. If you skip this step, it’s like hopping in the car for a road trip without entering a destination. Sometimes wandering works, but not when you’re deciding how you want to spend the next phase of your life.

You’ve got to think granular.

Not in vague terms like “I want to be happier.” But in detail. What does a good day look like? Who are you with? How do you feel?

Visualization helped me see the details. And once I could see them, I could act on them.

Most of what we want isn’t the thing itself—it’s the feeling behind it. Not a bigger house or more money in the bank, but the sense of safety, security, love, or freedom those things might bring.

If you’re curious, you can find Creative Visualization on the Libby app or in a used bookstore (I would bet money it’s sitting between a dusty self-help book and Lord of the Flies).

Or you can try a simple version yourself:

1. Find a quiet space where you won’t be interrupted for 5–10 minutes.

2. Get comfortable (no ceremonial pillow required).

3. Start by asking yourself how you want to feel at the end of the day.

4. Then work backward. What would need to happen for that feeling to be true?

5. Fill in the details—sights, sounds, even the small textures of the day.

The more specific the picture, the easier it is to move toward it.

If you want a deeper framework—how to connect vision to traditional goals without losing the magic—I teach this inside Path & Purpose. Because I truly believe the next phase of life doesn’t get built by accident. We can use my dad to help us build the plan, and my mom to help us dare to dream about it.

We don’t drift into purpose.

We imagine it first.

👉 workshop starts soon - registration is now open!

This is a free weekly email, and I plan to keep it that way. If you’d like to support my work beyond liking and sharing, please consider upgrading to paid or buy me a coffee. 🥰Completely optional, always appreciated.

Ready for a slightly shallow story about my youngest brother’s wedding? Or more accurately, the weeks leading up to it.

This has nothing to do with him or the wedding itself. It has everything to do with the low-grade panic I experienced over what to wear to an event where I was—brace yourself—just a guest. No role or responsibilities. Just show up, hug the family, and crack jokes (wait… maybe I did have a role?).

But this is a familiar pattern for me. I like to own plenty of clothes with very little understanding of how to put them together. Don’t get me started on the nightmare that shoes have become… we don’t have time for that today.

After two months of shopping, overthinking, and light bargaining with the universe, I found an outfit I felt fine in. I wasn’t uncomfortable, but I also wasn’t relaxed. The goal, apparently, was survival. Mission accomplished.

If this feels familiar, it’s probably because many of us put our sense of style on ice while raising kids. Leggings were practical and comfort always won (with kids, dogs, and general chaos, who cared?).

Then one day the fog lifts. Skinny jeans are out (no objections here), barrel jeans are in (freaking loving the room), and suddenly you have the time—and mental space—to think about your wardrobe. Feeling a little cute finally moves up the priority list.

Only it turns out you don’t become good at this overnight. There’s an art to buying clothes, and not all of us have that gene. I spent years and far too much time and money trying to “find my style,” when what I really wanted was to open my closet and confidently put together an outfit that didn’t default to jeans and a t-shirt.

Eventually, I realized the issue wasn’t a lack of creativity—it was the lack of a system. Once I stopped winging it and created a simple formula for getting dressed, the stress dropped dramatically. I’m not finished with my closet, and even though my wardrobe isn’t perfect, it’s soooo much better than it was, which is kinda the point.

Here’s where this connects to life after active motherhood.

I always knew my closet wasn’t working. It caused unnecessary stress. And yet I waited for a reason to deal with it (a wedding, a dinner, a school auction). Something external had to force my hand. Doing nothing, or accepting the status quo, is too easy.

Many women do the same thing with their lives.

I’ve been working with moms for years, and I see this pattern over and over. Most don’t realize they’re allowed to plan their futures and think about what they want next. They assume change will happen eventually, without much intention or intervention. After all, previous generations figured it out on the fly, so why can’t we?

But “eventually” is vague, and vague has a sneaky way of stretching into years.

So here’s the real question: how would you like to spend your days when your child no longer occupies the top three lines of your to-do list? How do you want to feel? What do you want more of?

I don’t want to open my closet and muddle through anymore. I want it to be easy. I don’t want to be trendy or impressive. I want my clothes to reflect who I am and help me feel like myself. That confidence won’t come from buying more—it comes from clarity.

The same thing happened when I created a midlife plan in 2021. It felt almost too simple to matter. But once I had a loose framework, my days had shape and I quickly knew what to say yes to (and what was a hard no).

That’s the beauty of a midlife plan. It can be as simple as reading more books or prioritizing friendships, or something more challenging like running for city council. Big or small, it’s yours. But you won’t discover what you truly want if you keep postponing the question.

Your empty nest (or near-empty nest) is an opening. You can drift through it, waiting for life to unfold. Or you can be intentional and give this new phase direction.

Path & Purpose is designed to help you do exactly that—with a simple, flexible framework created specifically for women in this stage of life. The waitlist is open, and registration with special pricing begins tomorrow.

There are so many things I avoided because I thought they’d be hard, only to discover that doing them was always easier than worrying about them. My health. My wardrobe. My future. In hindsight, I wish I had started every single one of them sooner.

I’m here to help you skip the line and start feeling better now—about who you are and how you’re showing up. Especially when things feel uncertain.

This is what I do. My emails, my classes, and my work are all devoted to helping women move from feeling “fine” to feeling fully engaged in their own lives.

Working on our wardrobe and working on our lives aren’t that different. We want both to reflect who we are and to feel effortless.

Neither happens by accident. Both require some honest reflection and a plan.

But the payoff is the same: fewer panicked mornings, more ease, and a life—or a closet—that actually works.

P.S. Not sure what you need yet? Start with my free EMPTY NEST PREP—it’s a quick win. Or hang out here on Substack with me… consider it a staging area for your empty nest.

Some days, the only question I can muster is, “How can I stay afloat?”

Nothing about making progress in life or even the laundry. Just thoughts on keeping my head above water.

Between heavy daily news and the constant firehose of social media disinformation (or information-I-don’t-want), I’ve realized I need a small but reliable survival toolbox.

So I’m starting a monthly check-in where I share what’s currently in mine—in case something here helps you stay above water too. And as always, I’d love to know what’s on your play and watch list.

First and foremost: humor.

Favorite TV show blooper reels on YouTube for a quick laugh and listening to smart, funny podcasts.

Amy Poehler’s Good Hang is consistently a breath of fresh air. She launched it last year to give us a break from the insanity, and she delivers. She’s an excellent interviewer, keeps things moving, and somehow manages to be both comforting and entertaining. She also won a Golden Globe for Best Podcast—watch her acceptance speech if you need a reminder that joy is still legal.

The Office Ladies is my other reliable go-to. Low-pressure pod. It’s perfect for light listening without having to track a plot or remember names. A true public service.

For bedtime reading (because I take my sleep way too seriously):

No phone in my room. Instead, I rely on low-key, Agatha Christie–style murder mysteries to ease me to sleep.

In 2017, I asked a small bookshop owner for “non-stressful fiction,” and she introduced me to Louise Penny’s Inspector Gamache series. They’re beautifully written, calm, and oddly soothing for books about murder. I’ve read 18 of them and am about to crack open her latest. (Start with Still Life if you’re curious)

Analog life, continued:

In a callback to my Analog Life post (read it here), I’ve started carrying pocket-sized books with me when I go out. Thrift stores and used bookstores are goldmines for these.

Yesterday, The Color Purple kept me company during a long wait for bloodwork (yes, more bloodwork…I’ll update you next week). Bonus: Reading in public is literally a conversation starter. I don’t know if it’s because seeing someone read a book is rare or if people are truly interested in the title, but every single time I crack open a book, someone says something.

Live comedy is also doing some heavy lifting.

Last month we saw Chelsea Peretti perform improv with friends in San Francisco—you might know her as Gina Linetti from Brooklyn Nine-Nine. And in May, we’re driving to LA to see Daniel Sloss at Netflix Is A Joke Fest. If you ever get the chance to see him live, do it. He’s smart, aware, ruthless, and absolutely worth it. Five stars.

And finally:

I’ve replaced some social media scrolling with an old-fashioned game of solitaire. With actual cards. I used to play double solitaire with my favorite grandma (who I cleverly called “gram”), so the game is doing double duty. Good memories plus good distraction. But I’ve also been learning how to play Sudoku—apparently it’s good for our aging brains, and I’d like to stay sharp for as long as possible, thank you very much.

I’d genuinely love to hear from you. What’s helping you stay sane (or at least somewhat sane)? What’s making you laugh or giving you an escape lately?

See you next week,

P.S. Waitlist registration opens soon for the Path & Purpose workshop. Get on the list here—zero commitment. If you do enroll, you’ll receive VIP pricing and a 1:1 session with me.

Not a miracle fix. Just direction.

Direction helps me exhale because it reminds me I’m not stuck. And if I can take action? Even better. That feels like taking back control (even if it’s a little bit).

I learned about my need for plans after my daughter missed the same girl’s birthday party twice. Yes. You read that right. The first year was an oversight. The second looked intentional. I had to pull it together fast. So I doubled down on calendars, plans, and clearer communication. It worked.

About five years ago, when my youngest hit middle school, I realized the empty nest was no longer theoretical—it was on its way. I could see how rough that transition was for some women, and I wanted to avoid that, but I wasn’t sure how. It felt far off. Was it even worth thinking about yet?

Around that same time, my best friend Andrea died, and suddenly life felt louder and more urgent. I wanted to know how to make it feel meaningful now, not someday. So I studied. Took workshops. Learned how to build life plans. At first, I thought it was about some distant future version of me. Then I realized something important: a plan isn’t just about later, it’s about today.

Once I got clear on who I wanted to become (the version of me my 80-year-old self would be proud of), I made small, doable shifts. Tiny changes that added up. And it worked. I felt steadier, more focused, and genuinely excited about the direction my life was taking.

Which brings me to my aunt—one of my favoritest people on Earth and someone who has always told me the truth about motherhood, aging, and marriage. Last summer, she told me how she’s really doing in this phase of life.

“I love my life,” she said. And she meant it. The woman practically radiated contentment!

Her life isn’t flashy. She doesn’t need grand vacations or Instagram-worthy milestones to be happy. She loves her horses, walks in nature, family dinners, church with friends, and Big Band music.

Simple. Meaningful. Entirely hers. A life she’s been quietly building for decades.

Here’s what struck me most: she didn’t plan this. She got here the long way—through time, chance, and a lot of quiet accumulation.

I don’t want us to wait decades to feel that kind of contentment.

What would happen if you didn’t leave it to chance—if you gave yourself a direction instead?

That’s why I created Path & Purpose.

It’s a personalized midlife plan, and it’s not complicated or taxing (I’m a realist, after all). I strongly believe that having a path to follow (especially now, when everything feels so heavy) is one of the simplest ways to feel better now, while also building toward a life you actually enjoy.

Here’s what you’ll get:

✨ Clarity: Discover who you are today and who you want to become
✨ A real plan: Practical steps you can take immediately
✨ Tools: Support systems you can adjust as life changes
✨ Extra support: Flexible goal setting, habits, time management, and personal brand work
✨ Hands-on guidance: I won’t hand you a workbook and walk away. I’ll help you brainstorm, discover, and build your ideal Midlife Plan

Workshop details:

• Five 1-hour Zoom calls on Tuesdays at 9am Pacific

• Optional Zoom Q&A + homework review Fridays at 9am Pacific

• First call: Tuesday, Feb 24 (finished before spring break)

• Small group = lots of personalized attention

Find out more and join the waitlist here

Sometimes the most powerful move when life feels chaotic is focusing on what’s within reach. A plan helps with that.

P.S. If you’ve been thinking, “I know I need a plan, I just don’t know where to start,” this is it. I’ll help you build one and show you how to maintain it.

Not forever. Not even a year.
Just six weeks.

After the new year, I suggested trying project-based goals instead of big, sweeping resolutions. I want to expand on that, because I think this approach is one of the most reliable ways to keep living during stressful or inconsistent times—whether the chaos is US politics or an average Tuesday night in your kitchen.

This idea came to me completely by accident (literally).

In November of 2023, I fell and shattered my ankle and wound up on the couch for six weeks. This was clearly not ideal. I am not a sit-down-and-wait person. Perpetual motion is my default setting.

It wasn’t just the forced stillness that frustrated me. It was all of it: crutches, a knee scooter, showering with a giant plastic bag duct-taped to my thigh

Ugh. And having to rely on everyone else for the simplest things… like coffee. It’s incredibly difficult to crutch a cup of hot liquid across the living room (doesn’t work, don’t try).

I did not want to do any of it.

But from the beginning, I kept telling myself: It’s just six weeks.
Not in a toxic positivity way. More like a prisoner of war way.
You can survive six weeks.

And slowly—sloooooowly—something shifted. The time passed. I adapted. While I didn’t love it, I didn’t fall apart either. In the final week before I could put weight on my foot, I had a genuinely life-changing thought:

I can do anything for six weeks.

Six weeks is just time passing. It’s happening whether we want it to or not.

In reality, I was out of commission for closer to three months, but those first six weeks were the hardest. They became my new internal measuring stick. If I could handle that, I could handle other uncomfortable, annoying, or long-avoided things inside the same time container.

And once I noticed that, I started using it on purpose.

Later that year, when I was invited to join a six-week menopause weight-loss challenge, I said yes without stressing about it. (It worked.)

Last year, after yet another summer of standing in front of my stuffed closet saying “I have nothing to wear”, I decided to treat my decades-long wardrobe frustration as a six-week project.

And that worked too.

I’ve studied motivation and habits for years, so this makes sense. A clear goal plus a defined time frame is powerful. What usually doesn’t work is vague promises we keep shoving onto our imaginary “someday” list.

So many things stay undone not because they’re hard, but because they’re unclear. We don’t know where to start, so we don’t.

Turning something into a project is the start.

➡️ Here’s the whole system—intentionally unsexy:

• Give it a name

• Give it a start date and a stop date

• Work on solving the actual problem

That’s it. No identity overhaul required.

Your project can be anything that’s been quietly bothering you or something you keep promising you’ll “get to eventually.” For my closet project, my only rule was 30 minutes, three times a week. No marathons. Just consistent, mildly boring progress.

➡️ If you want to layer in motivation, before you begin, write down:

• Why you want to do it

• How it feels letting it linger unfinished

• How you’ll feel when it’s done

That last part matters more than we admit. The weight of the undone is real. It shows up as background guilt, mental clutter, and that constant low-grade hum of I really need to get to do that.

My next six-week project is finally making our TV room feel like a space I actually want to be in, instead of an afterthought with a remote.

What surprises me every time is how much lighter I feel just knowing there’s a plan. Seriously. We can work with a plan.

I love six-week projects so much that I’ve built a project-based accountability challenge into my spring coaching. This is the exact structure I use, and it works especially well when life feels full or unpredictable.

But even if you do this on your own, imagine the relief of finishing something that’s been a monthly—or daily—mental burden.

Six weeks. That’s the commitment.

And if you don’t finish, but you genuinely try? It still counts. You can reset the timer, or decide it’s not worth doing after all. Or maybe you decide to outsource your project? Changing your mind is 100% okay. Progress and clarity both count.

Before I logged back in, a friend gave me some excellent advice: set hard-and-fast rules. So I did, and it’s working (so far).

Monday is chit‑chat day in my stories. Thursday is content day.

And the big one: no scrolling. None.

Because once I start scrolling, it’s over. But if I’m only looking at the top post and any stories, I lose interest quickly. It turns out Instagram is deeply boring when you’re not allowed to emotionally spiral through it. Who knew?

I didn’t realize it could be this easy—to be fair, we’re in the early stages, but I feel pretty confident.

This naturally has me thinking about how many things in life feel enormous until you set rules and realize, “Oh. That was it?” Instagram wasn’t the problem. The lack of clear, simple boundaries was.

In last week’s Shared Load workshop, we talked about creating one‑liners to hold boundaries at home. Simple statements you can say as fact, not as an invitation to a family debate.

If you don’t want to be making food or cleaning up after your kids late at night, something like “the kitchen closes at 8” or “dishes go in the dishwasher” works surprisingly well. Clear. Calm. No explanation needed.

As my kids get older, and as I continue researching how to adjust to this next stage of parenting, it’s becoming very clear that what we put in place now matters—a lot.

Whatever your household rules are, or whatever your family dynamic is when your kids leave the nest, that’s what they—and you—will most likely revert to when they come back for short visits or longer stays (it’s not pessimistic to plan for boomerang kids. It’s realistic).

That means things like resisting the urge to step in and “help” when your kids create a situation. Waking them up if they forgot to set an alarm. Calling the university to report a lost dorm key. Skip that level of involvement as soon as possible. Sure, guide them, but they need to do the work. Clear, non‑negotiable boundaries act as guardrails for them as much as for you.

One of the most helpful one‑liners I’ve adopted is quietly repeating to myself: not my responsibility.

I internally chant this whenever I feel the pull to solve someone else’s problem. An argument between siblings, lost homework, or even finding an afternoon snack when there’s literally a kitchen full of food. And let’s be honest, always wanting to help, always being available, is part of how many of us became the default parent. Default everything, really.

We don’t just need these invisible lines to create a more equitable balance at home. We need them to make sure the family dynamic we put in place is what we want down the road—we don’t automatically slip back into our old role where we drop everything to cook meals, wash clothes, or wake them up for an 11 a.m. interview.

I am not being hyperbolic.

More and more parents are heavily involved in both high school and college life. If you’ve ever spent time on a university parents’ Facebook page, you already know this. Even Ivy League schools have seen dramatic increases in parent “participation” on campus.

And not to alarm you, but parents are now showing up to job interviews with their children. Sometimes on the Zoom call. Sometimes in the waiting room. Occasionally, recruiters are contacted directly by an applicant’s parent.

I know! But, just in case you don’t believe me because it sounds so wild, a quick Google search brought up a recent Reddit thread and CNBC wrote about it as well.

If we can push through the discomfort of holding the line at home while our kids are still under our roof, we’re not just setting ourselves up for future freedom; we’re setting them up for success, too.

Is what you’re doing now sustainable for the next 3 years? How about 8 or 10? If not, what rules can you put into place now?

The goal is feeling good down the road… not resentful or exhausted.

I so appreciate you being here with me ❤️

A COUPLE OF BOOK RECS:

👉 Raising Young Adults by Julie Lythcott-Haims is an older book, but it is definitely worth the read— if this was the situation ten years ago, we can all imagine how much more intense it is now.

👉 Set Boundaries, Find Peaceby Nedra Glover Tawwab was my first official book on boundaries, and it’s a fantastic resource. You can read it cover to cover or use it as a reference to look up situations as needed.

Time passing feels oddly insignificant right now. I’m in a holding pattern, waiting for my kids to find their footing in adulthood — and for them to return a text I sent roughly sometime last night (is there a rule for how long I have to wait before checking FindMy?)

The premepty nest stage is a very slow burn.

Living in this in-between space can be unsettling. I hear it from friends and clients all the time. There’s this quiet sense of waiting — almost like we’re on standby. Fully in the on-call mom era, or standing right at the edge of it. Once your kid gets their driver’s license, it’s game over (in a good way).

When life feels undefined, long-term plans can actually make things worse. Big visions require clarity. And right now, many of us don’t have that.

Our kids don’t either.

They don’t have five-year plans. They have next steps.

And in a strange way, we’re mirroring their transition. They’re stepping into adulthood without guarantees, working with loose roadmaps and partial information. We’re doing the same — just with more life experience and opinions on throw pillows.

It’s the unknown that gets us.

Which is why the usual New Year pressure doesn’t make sense right now. I mean, I never think they make sense, because who wants to end the year with a dusty planner or unused gym membership?

Resolutions ask us to predict who we’ll be and how we’ll live, and statistically, they don’t work anyway. By March, most of us are steeped in guilt over broken promises. So why pile that on in a season that already feels unsteady?

Instead, what if you approached the year with a focus rather than a resolution?

Not a grand vision. Not a total reinvention.
Just something solid to hold onto.

I think of these as project-based goals. They slip into a shifting schedule more easily because they’re contained, practical, and have a clear outcome. Projects give momentum without pressure.

What’s been quietly bothering you that you’ve learned to live with?

Is it your bedroom that never made it to the design stage and somehow gives off the same vibe as the bedroom from your 1994 apartment?

These projects aren’t trivial. Working on them will bring shape your days.

Choose one. Make it your focus for the year.

What would it feel like to finally move forward on something that’s been bugging you?
How would you spend your time if progress mattered more than ticking a check box?

You don’t need big dreams or dramatic resolutions to create change. Small, intentional projects add up. And as our kids get older and our time slowly frees up, this is an excellent time to choose meaningful projects.

And because they’re “projects” and not resolutions, they feel more realistic. If they don’t get done, and many of mine are still in progress three years later, no pressure.

This is an easy, forgiving way to add a little shape to a year that might otherwise feel like waiting.

I’ve got a lot of things in store for you this year, but I want to hear from you… How can I help? Do you have a problem you’d like help with or a topic you think others would beinterested in? Reply to this email or comment on the Substack app. I really do want to know what you’re thinking. 🥰

Two more things:

1. This is hands down my favorite planner. I don’t use it every day, but when I do, I always have really good days. I appreciate the simplicity of the page layout. Helps me stay organized without feeling overwhelmed. I’m not affiliated. Just a big fan.

   DAY DESIGNER

2. I got sick and had to move the FREE workshop to next week (Jan 8th)

   The Shared Load
   Reclaim Your Time by Doing Less (and Raising Kids Who Can Do More)

   📅 January 8, 2026
   🕥 10:30 AM Pacific Time

   👉 REGISTER HERE

Like pockets. Or piles of money.

Since those are hard to come by, here’s the next best thing: a free short workshop to help solve an ongoing issue in many homes — the workload imbalance.

Somehow, you’re the one managing the schedules, meals, supplies, emotions, and logistics for an entire household (whether you agreed to that role or not).

I know this is a major deal because whenever I talk about reducing the mental, physical, or emotional load, I get a huge response.

Most moms want help, but they don’t know where to start.

Until now.

Next Tuesday, I’m hosting a free live webinar for moms. It’s short, practical, and will help you:

• Lighten your mental load (not by doing more, but by owning less)

• Share household responsibilities without guilt or micromanaging

• Set clearer boundaries around your time

• Involve your kids in age-appropriate ways that actually build life skills
  

After the webinar, the course will be available for purchase on the site, so this is a great chance to join live and get started for free.

If you’ve ever wished for a little more breathing room, this just might be the key. It’s what I wish I knew before having kids or getting married.

Here’s to 2026: the year we solve our problems. Or at least try.

PS: If the idea of “one more thing” feels like too much — good news. This is short, doable, and designed to reduce what’s on your plate, not add to it.

Janelle was getting ready to spend a couple of months in Paris, attending a French immersion cooking school. She said it so casually that I assumed she probably studied French in college, and this has been a lifelong dream.

But no.

She started taking French lessons at the local community college in late 2020. She’d never spoken it before but always wanted to learn. Her kids were in high school, and she finally had more space in her life to try something new.

One semester turned into two. Advanced classes followed. Then informal meet-ups at a French café with other students who were practicing together. Eventually, this small group of overachievers (kidding—I envy them) decided that a trip to Paris was the logical next step.

And just like that, she was booking a flight and saying bon voyage to her family.

I was mesmerized.

This is the kind of thing I talk about all the time, but it’s usually something we’re building toward slowly and locally. Seeing someone who was already out there—on the trail ahead—made it feel real. And it confirmed that yes indeed, we are on the right path.

Here’s the part that really stopped me: it took just five years for her to go from her first French class to actually living in France.

Five years.

Sure it might seem like a long time, but we’ve all experienced how slippery time can be. One minute you’re hunting for the lost baby doll, and the next you’re registering your 17-year-old for college.

Time is passing whether we do something with it or not.

So this is where you pause and ask yourself: what do I want to have done in five years?

We’re not talking about “what’s your 5-year plan.”

No. This is a softer aspiration focused on how you want to spend the next five years. Not what you want to achieve.

What’s the thing you’ve been quietly thinking about since college, or since you had kids? Learning how to ski? Going back for your master’s? Finally redoing the bedroom that’s been an afterthought since you moved in seventeen years ago?

There are so many possibilities. But every one of them starts the same way. By taking the first step.

✅ Enroll in the class.
✅ Research the program.
✅ Choose the wall color.

After that, it’s just a series of smaller steps. One foot in front of the other. Until you find yourself somewhere new, or decide to try something else.

Imagine five years of trying things. Really trying things. Even if you had a series of incomplete attempts, you’d certainly be one of the more interesting people at the table.

We lose sight of the future because we’re so immersed in the present.

I’m right in the middle of this shift. I’ve gone from full-time mom to part-time mom, and now I’m transitioning into an on-call mom. There are equal parts uncertainty and possibility in this pre-empty-nest stage, and hearing Janelle’s story was the flick on the forehead I needed.

Five years will pass no matter what.

So I’m signing up for hip hop dance lessons starting January 12th, with a backup plan of tap. That’s my 2026 experiment. Will it lead to a world tour? Unlikely. But these are both things I’ve wanted to do for ages—hip hop to relive my youth, and tap as a tribute to a nearly lost art and to my gram, who would be absolutely thrilled that I’m trying.

If you’re reading this and thinking, I want that, but I don’t even know where to start, check out my Passions and Purpose 20-minute mini-course. It’s a simple, low-pressure way to sort through what you’re truly curious about and will help you figure out where to focus first. It’s just $15 through the end of the year (goes up to $25 on January 1st).

I hope Janelle’s story inspires you even half as much as it inspired me.

We might as well make the next five years as interesting as we can.

✨ Before you go—The next FREE online workshop is the last week of December.

REGISTER HERE

Reclaim your time by doing less (and raising kids who can do more)

This is the “what I wish I knew sooner” course for moms with kids of any age, but it’s especially powerful if you start when the kids are little — before patterns and habits take hold.

The class will be recorded, so even if you can’t make it, sign up and I’ll send out the link after the New Year. 🎉