Honest writing about the messy, beautiful, complicated stuff.
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Why We’re Fighting for the Same Drugs Our Neighbors Have in Canada
My daughter is 15 years old. She keeps rescue medication in her backpack. One dose. Donated to us, because without that generosity, she would have none at all. If she uses it, there is no more.
June is Men's Mental Health Month, a time to talk about something many men struggle with but few feel comfortable discussing openly. For much of my life, I believed that strength meant handling things on my own. As a soldier, I was trained to push through difficult situations, adapt to challenges, and keep moving forward no matter what. During my military career, I completed two overseas deployments, one to Afghanistan and another to Iraq. Those deployments meant leaving behi
I walked down to the Police Station that day… slowly, my head hung the lowest of the low. Feelings of extreme sadness, anger and shame flooded my mind. I was just building my career in Social Work. My professional reputation mattered. But everything was seemingly crumbling behind closed doors. How can this even be my life, I thought. Things like this just don't happen to me. I had been separated from my ex at that time for a substantial amount of time. I had primary care of t
In February 2024, my husband Dallas and I decided we were ready to expand our family. We had no idea that just a month later, on the 20th of March, our quick decision would become a reality. We were pregnant again! I can't begin to describe how excited we were. We told our friends and family immediately. I'm not exaggerating; we told everyone before I was even 6 weeks pregnant. That's how excited we were! Fast forward to June 2024, when we found out our sweet baby was a littl
Do we find something new or just build the garage and accept this is our house now. Every week the answer changes. This week it's the garage. Ask me again Saturday.
My Friends by Hisham Matar and The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. One makes me feel like a serious person. The other has me reading at midnight with my brightness all the way down. Both excellent.
You really do forget. You forget how heavy your arms felt at the end of the day. How the sound of a baby crying could make your chest ache. How long the nights were. How you’d hold your breath, praying the baby would stay asleep just a little longer so you could rest, eat, or simply exist for five quiet minutes. You forget the smell of spit-up on your shoulder, the way the house felt too quiet and too loud at the same time, the tears that came without reason. The days that fe
