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I’ve been thinking about disability advocacy lately, which is an unfortunately necessary calling. I’ll admit my own advocacy style sometimes looks less like a polished campaign and more like a toddler trying to carry too many juice boxes at once. I care deeply, I really do, but I also have a knack for tripping over my own metaphors and accidentally giving a whole lecture on accessibility when someone simply asked where the bathroom was. Still, I keep showing up, because the a

My daydreams, for years, indulged the fantasy of being granted the superpower of invisibility. That power [invisibility] would bring me safety, control, protection, rest. All in one moment, struggles would be obsolete.  One day, recently, a passing internal question changed the dream. Why had I determined invisibility to be the solution for fear, insecurity, and the need for boundaries? Beliefs began to unravel and reassemble. Dramatically and with some overwhelm. If I get to

I love reading about mindfulness more than I love practicing it. Even when I try to notice without judgment, I often end up judging the noticing itself. So I decided to spend a day paying attention to the awkward moments instead — traffic missteps, poorly timed metaphors, and a regrettable gum incident included. What surprised me wasn’t enlightenment, but a gentler relationship with parts of myself I usually critique. Mindfulness, it turns out, doesn’t require grace. It just

I’ve been wrestling with the word resolution and the way it asks for closure before the body is ready. Healing rarely moves in straight lines or on a calendar. What we call progress is often a softening, a deeper layer asking to be seen. Rather than resolving myself, I’m choosing to stay in conversation with what’s still unfolding. This year, I’m honoring becoming over conclusion, and letting the unfinished remain sacred.