In the desert town of Sunny Scales, a little bearded dragon named Thorn loved to drum. He'd tap his claws on anything he could find, but no one understood his passion. "A good bearded dragon basks and hunts, not bangs on things!" his family would say. The other young dragons just snickered.

One day, a music festival came to town. Thorn, with wobbly legs but a brave heart, climbed onto an empty stage and started to play. He poured all his dreams into the beat, and soon, a crowd gathered. Their feet began to tap, and their heads began to bob.

When he finished, the crowd cheered, and the festival organizer invited him to play in the grand finale. That night, under the stars, Thorn played his heart out. His drumming was amazing! From that day on, he was known as Thorn the Drummer. He learned that the most important thing is to follow your dreams, even if they seem a little different to everyone else.

"The game of 'Would You Rather' used to be fun, filled with silly, low-stakes questions. But living with a chronic illness has turned it into a constant, no-win reality. Would you rather skip a shower because you're too dizzy, or take one and spend two hours recovering? Would you rather honestly answer 'how are you?' and make others uncomfortable, or carry the weight of your struggles alone?

This post is a journey through the impossible choices I face daily and the unhelpful 'shoulds' that can make me feel isolated. It’s an exploration of the crucial difference between trying to fix someone's unfixable problem and simply validating their struggle. Because in a game with no good choices, the real win is finding genuine connection and support."

On what would have been her 91st birthday, I honor my Grandma Mardy – a woman whose strength was as unyielding as her honesty. In this post I reflect on the unexpected bonds forged across generations and the profound lessons learned from family members navigating illness, loss, and the relentless pursuit of living life on their own terms.

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.