There’s something about methodically walking through an open field in the wet grass that is incredibly calming to my nervous system.

Something happened this weekend that completely took me out. I didn’t really see it coming (except now, looking back, I kinda did, and my week last week is now making more sense). By Friday night, I was feeling extremely beat.

During the school year, those words can feel like the start of another round in the never-ending dinner battle. What's for dinner? What sounds good? What do we even have in the fridge? I completely understand why the internet has an entire genre of memes devoted to the torture of figuring out dinner seven nights a week. The scrolling, the standing in front of the fridge, the same meals on repeat... it can feel like its own tiny war.

I can judge myself a lot for divorcing their dad and creating a more challenging lifestyle for them. No one likes switching houses. No one likes not having their parents under one roof. No one has liked all the years of holiday juggles, who do I spend my birthday with, where do I wake up this year on Christmas Day. It's terrible for kids, I'm not going to sugar coat that. But we, the three of us, have made it work. Have made our bond stronger.

 This seemingly innocent experience from years ago is still holding my 50 year old self hostage. Rearing its head and reminding me that I am not capable. Maybe somehow this protects me from something and perhaps this coping strategy served me for some time, because most strategies do serve us somehow, even when not in the best ways, but I was ready to absolve this. I was ready to let my teen self off the hook. She didn't need to hold this and protect me anymore. My adult self has got her, and this. My adult self has the capacity to hold this for her, she doesn't need to.

It struck me recently how full of contradictions these moments are.

It’s grief and joy. Excitement and sadness. Pride and nostalgia. A beginning and an ending all at once.

There’s something about watching teenagers begin reaching toward the edges of themselves that requires us as parents to stretch too. To loosen our grip a little. To trust a little more. To let them become.

It fascinates me how much we overcomplicate everything. And honestly, it’s not entirely our fault. Our systems and conditioning are built that way. Filling out a government form can feel confusing even for the savviest native English speakers. Finding a new apartment, applying for a new job, navigating modern life - these things are overwhelming.

I still contemplate when and how to show up for someone who’s not asking for it. Is it my ego wanting to help? My old patterns of overcompensating? Or is it coming from my heart?

In recent years, science has begun confirming what many ancient traditions have long understood: the body processes far more of our experience than the thinking mind alone.

We also now know that the brain has an extraordinary ability called neuroplasticity, the capacity to literally rewire itself through repeated experience.

In recent years, science has begun confirming what many ancient traditions have long understood: the body processes far more of our experience than the thinking mind alone.

We also now know that the brain has an extraordinary ability called neuroplasticity, the capacity to literally rewire itself through repeated experience.

Many parents quietly absorb emotional, logistical, and financial stress to protect their children. This reflective blog explores the nervous system impact of being the steady parent — and the invisible load that comes with loving inside complex family systems

Coming back to the body. Coming back to the breath. Coming back to the simple, ordinary moments that quietly hold us together. If life feels like a lot right now, you’re not alone. For me, the path forward is simple: stay close to what nourishes, stay devoted to what regulates, and trust that even the heaviest seasons eventually soften and pass.

I had been in talk therapy with the most amazing therapist for many years. Over time, we had worked through so much — childhood wounds, money issues, career shifts. She was the perfect therapist for me for so long, and I grew tremendously working with her.

Until this one thing. My marriage.