The Stress is Real. Give Yourself Some Grace.

It could be worse.

Be grateful for what you have.

So many others are facing much more dire situations.

This is what I tell myself periodically throughout the day as I referee another squabble between the kids. Between me and the kids. Between me and the cats (okay, only the asshole cat who seems hellbent on destroying every last shred of my sanity).

But still. I find myself suddenly sighing big sighs with an all too familiar weight on my chest. My heart and mind race, leaving my heavy body tired. The lump that sits in my throat reminds me to stay silent, or else risk tipping my hand that I’m really not okay right now.

I’ve been here before. Twice.

Postpartum depression left me in a cloud for months after both of my kids were born, and the second time around it took an SSRI to help me find my feet again. It wasn’t fun, but I came through it, and now I’m finding myself wandering through familiar territory. Hello, depression. Couldn’t you at least have hung a banner?

But back to the stress part of this equation. Prior to the pandemic, it was hard to think of something more stressful that becoming a parent. Talk about life changing! You’re semi-literally ripped open and handed something that will rely on you to some degree, both physically and emotionally, for the rest of your life. Fully literally, nothing is ever the same. It’s stressful as hell, even if it’s also positive.

The pandemic is not positive, but it also brings with it an incredible amount of stress. Financial, social, emotional, physical – it’s hard to think of one part of our lives this pandemic doesn’t apply stress to. It’s the ultimate stress test.

And if you’re an empath like me, it’s a very confusing time because on top of feeling stressed, you also feel guilty for feeling what you’re feeling because so many others have it so much worse. So you feel more stressed.

I am thankful my kids are home and safe, yet they still annoy me beyond all reason at some point (or many points) throughout the day. And so I feel guilty.

I am thankful for my WFH job, yet it’s mentally exhausting trying to fit it into an outrageously chaotic schedule, so it slips through the cracks each day. And so I feel more guilty.

I am thankful for this time with my family where we get to do something we would otherwise never do (this is like, A LOT of time together), but I crave personal space, my friends, and time to myself. And so I feel extra guilty.

But emotionally I’ve been here.

Oddly enough, I find myself thankful for those agonizing postpartum months. What I’ve learned from that time is that stress and guilt are real feelings. Your mind may understand that what’s causing your stress is different from what’s causing someone else’s stress, but your body reacts the same. And once your body gets rolling, it takes more than a personal scolding to stop the cycle.

Today, instead of feeling upset with myself for failing to be grateful, patient, and unflappable, I will give myself grace. I’m hella flappable right now and that’s okay. I know things could be worse, but I also know that the stress I’m feeling and processing is real.

With time, my body will catch up with my mind, and until then, I’ll go easy on myself. The stress/guilt/stress cycle is only a phase. This too, shall pass.






On Being (Super) Human

I met someone today, and my initial impression was that she is a goddamn Superhero.

Looking at her, I’d say she is very ordinary. She is of average age to have a kid or two, and wears clothes that would allow her to blend in anywhere from a snazzy cafe lunch with coworkers, to the dish soap isle at Target. She plays happily and freely with her kid, but checks her phone enough for me to know we could be friends.

Admittedly, I’ve seen her a number of times before and never did much more than offer a smile. But for whatever reason today is different, and I finally take the time to say, “Hi.”

Our conversation starts normally, with stats exchanged in moments squeezed between acknowledging, encouraging, and parenting our kids as they ping pong around the room. Ages of children are offered, current employment statuses discussed, and of course comments about the weather are made because this is what adults talk about (right?).

And then a bomb is dropped: Her kid is sick. Like, really sick.

An instant weight falls upon my shoulders as I hear her talk openly about almost losing a child. A tightness in my heart, squeezing, squeezing, as she discusses an unknown future. I stumble with my words, an apology, a well wish, a heavy silence while my brain spins with horrible Hallmark-worthy phrases to offer up.

And all the while, she remains standing. Shoulders back, head up, strong as hell, she talks about what might come, and she remains standing.

Driving home from our brief encounter, I find myself wondering how she can be so strong? How can she wake up every day, look down at the tiny broken body of her child, and wonder if today is the day something changes? How can she stomach the rage, stop the questions, or breathe through the panic? How can she live her life normally when something so abnormal and horrible stands in the way?

My initial answer is that she must be a Superhero, as certainly no human is capable of soldiering on with the heavy burden of knowing at any moment, for reasons entirely out of your control, your kid could die.

But then reality sets in, and a string of painful of memories parade across my eyes. Miscarriages, cancers, suicides, sexual abuse, substance abuse, and more – all of these tragedies suffered by people within my immediate circle of friends.

Yet through all of this death, loss, and pain, through all of this suffering and struggling, perhaps the most important memory of all is the one where I remember that like her, these people remain standing.

Just like the woman I met, these people are living their lives as normally as possible not because they have super human powers, but because they they don’t. They have no other choice but to get up each day, put one foot in front of the other, and get through it. So they do. And yet, by surviving by doing exactly what you and I do every day without remark, they appear remarkable. Extraordinary. Super human, even.

By taking a second and recognizing their humanity, their normalcy, I find myself overcome with emotion. The strength, grace and perseverance they show every single day as they carry around their bleeding hearts and half-healed scars is not only inspiring, but a reminder of a very important lesson for even the most normal of everyday people: We are strong.

I am strong. You are strong. We are so capable, but more often than not we forget that until we are blindsided by tragedy, staggering through the darkness of depression and loss. This woman, this lovely, incredibly normal human woman, jolted me awake with what I wrongly attributed to be Superhero strength, but now recognize as something we all carry around in our core. We are strong. Let this be a reminder for anyone who one day wakes up and finds they need it, that incredible super human strength is in you too.




(Originally posted on BLUNT Moms, cover image by Andry Shango)



Why I’m Never Getting My Daughter A Pony

Last week, my daughter and I had the pleasure of spending a week in my beloved home state of Colorado. We were visiting my dad and step-mom, two incredible people who own and operate Ruby Ranch Horse Rescue, a non-profit dedicated to bettering the lives of horses in and around El-Paso county. It’s a beautiful ranch, nestled within the rolling hills of the Eastern Colorado plains, where countless horses have been lovingly cared for and nursed back to health after falling victim to circumstances beyond their control.

Being there I am always amazed by the peaceful resiliency of animal spirit, and it has been a true joy to witness the rehabilitation of so many wonderful creatures over the years. Watching these horses transform from shadows of themselves, to full-bodied, full-spirited, whole animals time and time again is nothing short of miraculous. It is also why I can say with 100% certainty, I will never get my daughter a pony.

Don’t get me wrong, I love horses. They are elegant, engaging, smart and kind. They are personable and powerful, quirky and fun. Looking deep into their glossy brown eyes, their velvety muzzle tickling my palm for cookies, I can’t help but feel grounded by the pull of their serene nature. I want this experience for my daughter, I really do. But I will not facilitate it at the cost of another creature’s wellbeing.


“Give me all the cookies.”

Does that sound dramatic? It should. All too often, horses -and other animals, though that is another soap-box for another time- fall victim to uneducated peoples good intentions. Kid wants a pony? No problem. Until a few years down the road you discover the pony has a ligament problem, or a tooth problem, or an attitude problem. Or maybe the kid goes to school, or decides they like ice skating instead. Then what happens to pony? Does pony sit in a stall, day after day, waiting for someone to let her out? Does pony stay in a paddock somewhere, longing for the company of another horse? Do you give pony to someone who also doesn’t know how to treat pony’s ligament problem, further delaying necessary treatment to keep pony comfortable? Or do you sell pony at auction, where she is shipped to Mexico to spend her last days on the floor of a slaughter-house?

If this seems unrealistic, let me assure you it isn’t. All day, every day, Ruby Ranch receives phone call after phone call from people looking to unload their once treasured pets. Some reasons are understandable- a death in the family, or an illness that has left someone unable to care for their horse. Others seem to fall under what I will kindly call the “accidentally uneducated” category, which is what leads me to this rant.

It is inexcusable to knowingly take on the responsibility of another creatures life, without fully understanding the ins and outs of their day-to-day needs.

It’s that simple. I love horses, but I don’t know how to take care of them. Bringing a horse into our family, regardless of how good our intentions are, would ultimately be terrible for the horse. Love, as it turns out, isn’t enough to keep anything healthy and happy forever.

I’ll be the first to admit, I have a bit of a biased perspective on this. Ruby Ranch, being a horse rescue, more often than not sees the worst of the worst. Horses literally starved to death, or so poorly cared for they require humane euthanasia after a vet visit, and a chance to fill up their empty stomachs. To see this level of abuse with the frequency they do absolutely breaks your heart. But I also know that for every starved, neglected horse out there, there are any number of horses being loved and cared for properly by people of all ages. These people get it. They have made a commitment of their time, money, energy and love, and do their part in creating a proper home for their horse.

Until my daughter can fully grasp this concept and make that commitment, we will remain a horse-free family. In the mean time, to get her horse fix she can volunteer at a stable, or take lessons to learn about how to care for a horse, and use those experiences to decide if she does really want to take on that kind of responsibility further on down the road. And there’s always Papa and Gramma’s ranch, though if she’s anything like me this may just lead her to love them from afar.


We’ve got some time before we really need to have this chat…