I was the quintessential “pleasure to have in class.” I played the role perfectly, learning to connect through stories, just like my dad. But that very effort to be "good" became my best disguise—a way to hide the things I didn't know how to articulate.

The truth hid in the silent moments: The family rule of "No more stories, Dad," set after a too-revealing card game; the agony of spending four times longer on homework than my brother; the teacher who docked my grade because I “wasn’t reading.” I was struggling, but I was so adept at being the "good kid" that no one—not even me—looked deeper.

My request is simple: Don't miss the subtle signs. My story is a reminder that we must look beyond the easy-to-identify “horses” and be vigilant for the “zebras” and the quietly towering “giraffes.” Listen to your children, listen to your loved ones, and most importantly, listen to your body.

Don’t ignore the discomfort. The struggle you're hiding, or the pain you're dismissing, won't address itself. We are meant to be social creatures; let's slow down and see each other.

My dad always said, 'Life is unfair. Get used to it.' But does that blanket statement truly hold?

Drawing from my work in Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT), I share how Radical Acceptance—fully accepting reality without liking it—can free up energy from fighting the unchangeable. It's about recognizing that what happens to us isn't our fault, but managing it is our responsibility. This isn't about simply 'getting used to it,' but about finding a compassionate path forward when life is unequivocally, and extraordinarily, unfair."

My mom always said, 'I need more spoons.' Now, navigating MS and the healthcare maze, I understand exactly what she meant. This post explores the exhausting reality of chronic illness, from sandbox games to doctor's offices, and my relentless search for more spoons.

Join a unique crew aboard 'The Silver Current' as they embark on a cruise like no other. Each passenger navigates life with Multiple Sclerosis, facing the unpredictable 'unseen waves' of their symptoms—from wobbly steps and sudden fatigue to overwhelming sounds and the constant worry of preparedness. This isn't just a story about managing illness; it's a heartwarming testament to the resilience found in community, shared understanding, and the quiet strength of navigating life's currents, together.

Is there a grand design to our lives, or is it all just chance? The last thirteen months have been a profound lesson in asking that question. When I was working in a nursing home during the early days of the pandemic, I saw devastation and wondered if we were "supposed" to learn something. The answer I got then was simple: "nope, some things just happen."

But looking back, I realize we did learn—not the spiritual lesson I was looking for, but a thousand smaller, more powerful ones. We learned empathy for silent heroes, we learned about ourselves, and we learned just how important our own autonomy is.

Now, as I face my own health challenges with MS, I am seeing connections everywhere. The person I met during my college practicum, the resident I worked with in 2020—their stories feel tied to mine, not by coincidence, but by a shared experience of loss, struggle, and the fierce desire for control.

I don't know if everything happens for a reason, but I do think there are lessons all around us. Maybe the secret isn’t in the reason, but in the willingness to look for them, and the courage to let them teach us.

I have a moment from 7th grade that still echoes in my adult mind. It was a roar of laughter that convinced me my worth was tied to my body.

From that moment on, I spent years believing I just needed to "try harder"—to be more athletic, to lose weight, to fit in. But as a master's-level counselor, and later, after a diagnosis of MS, I learned the hard way that "trying harder" isn't always the answer.

This is my journey of letting go of the need to "should" on myself and embracing a new kind of strength.
This early experience planted a seed of self-consciousness about my body that grew throughout my life. Despite loving sports and coming from an athletic family, I often felt my body couldn't keep up, leading to disappointment and the belief that I just wasn't "trying hard enough." From struggling to run a single lap in high school soccer to feeling inadequate when my physical abilities declined after an MS diagnosis, the insidious "shoulds" of societal and self-imposed expectations haunted me.

But a powerful realization emerged: "Don’t should on yourself. Shoulds are not based in reality." Through the unwavering love and acceptance of my family, and the hard-won wisdom of adulthood, I've learned that my worth is not determined by my pant size, my mile time, or whether I need a cane or wheelchair. Sometimes, "trying harder" isn't the answer; sometimes, we need to adjust our expectations and embrace the beautiful complexity of being human.

Do you ever have those days when nothing seems to work right? My day started with hair in the bathtub and a forgotten coffee, quickly escalating to a computer taking an unexpected bath and a near-miss with a German Shepherd on the highway. This isn't just about bad luck; it's about navigating the ordinary chaos of life when your body has its own unpredictable agenda. Join me as I share a very real day, filled with unexpected hurdles, moments of humor, and the surprising path to finding mindfulness amidst the madness. Because sometimes, the biggest lessons come from the days when everything goes wrong. 

From a young age, a natural inclination to connect and assist others felt like an intrinsic part of me. This drive, often more pronounced than those around me, was a defining characteristic through college and beyond. I recall the vibrant nights in Fort Collins, where my social energy thrived amidst the buzz of the town, leading to unexpected encounters—from de-escalating a street fight with a simple hug and a plea, to charming police officers during a college party with a game of beer pong and a promise of grilled cheese. My confidence in navigating social situations, a sense of being able to “talk my way out of anything,” seemed boundless.

However, an MS diagnosis brought an unforeseen shift. The effortless ease of connection and the inherent feeling of capability began to wane. Simple actions, like turning my head, now risked disorienting dizziness, and the self-consciousness of using a cane added new layers of anxiety to social interactions. This profound change culminated in a disquieting experience in a shared office bathroom—a moment where my usual “management skills” failed, leaving me feeling vulnerable and questioning my ability to protect myself. This unsettling event became a catalyst, prompting a re-evaluation of my independence and a reluctant acceptance of mobility aids. MS has, in a way, removed my shield, compelling me to embrace a more sustainable way of living that includes asking for help and sharing my evolving story. My journey continues, marked by both challenge and a growing acceptance of this new path.