People flinch when I say how old my kids are, like I’ve got monsters at home. But my kids talk to me. That isn’t luck — it’s intention, born from studying my parents’ mistakes and my own. I made plenty of them when they were little. Their reactions were the mirror that showed me who I didn’t want to be — and where I could choose repair. ✨

I took my kids to Dear Evan Hansen 🎭 and it hit close. Last year, my uncle — in a wheelchair for 20+ years — ended his life. I’m angry I didn’t know, angry his words were dismissed. Suicidal thoughts aren’t selfish. We all carry weights unseen. Check in, listen with your heart. 💙 If you or someone you know is struggling, call your local emergency number or reach out to Befrienders or IASP.

The closer who we are inside matches who we are outside, the happier we are. A simple truth that hit hard after a recent conversation with my son. It reminded me how often the most polished lives can hide the loudest storms — and how costly the gap between appearance and reality can be.

Sometimes reassurance doesn’t come in grand gestures. It comes in a quiet question, a plate of food, and a note from a teacher.

Alice Feeney’s Good Bad Girl caught me off guard. On the surface, it’s a mystery thriller. But in its layers, it’s about mothers and daughters, absence and presence, and how love and hurt often sit side by side. 💭

They rode off into the village night for fries. Got lost. Looped a roundabout four times. Came back laughing — wet nuggets and all.