I want to ask you something before we go any further.

Who was the first woman’s voice you ever heard?

Not the first voice. The first woman’s voice. The one that showed you, before you had words for any of it, what a woman was supposed to look like. How she was supposed to move through the world. How much space she was allowed to take up. How much of herself she was permitted to show.

I have three drawers of socks. Three. And somehow the greatest daily crisis of my life happens right there at the sock drawer.

Because it is never just about the socks.

There is a whole committee in there. Voices I never invited, issuing opinions, holding formal proceedings, asking what happens if you cross your legs in a nine o'clock meeting and someone sees the orange ones and that is just, forever, your whole impression.

You will know when it happens.

Not because something dramatic occurs. Not because the in spite of disappears entirely or because you wake up one morning feeling transformed.

You know the tired I mean. The one you have always known. The one you thought was just how life felt. You are only now noticing it for the first time.

"For a long time, I thought the fuel I was running on was mine.

I was driven. I was focused. I was getting things done. What I did not know was that I was running almost entirely on borrowed energy. Someone else's doubt. Someone else's voice. The quiet need to prove something to people who were not even watching anymore.

Are you doing what you're doing because of something?

Or in spite of someone?

Both will get you moving. But only one is sustainable.

'In spite of' belongs to whoever you're proving wrong. It's exhausting.

'Because of' is yours. It doesn't collapse when they stop paying attention.

What are you doing right now, and why are you really doing it?

Read the full post on the blog (link in bio).

Inward. Onward. Go.

Not everyone celebrates when you grow.

Some people get confused.
Some get uncomfortable.
Some get quieter.
Some push harder.

I tried to be calm after I said no.

It lasted about twelve minutes.

Then I wrote the follow-up.
Deleted it.
Rewrote it.
Deleted it again.

For most of my life, “no” came with a paragraph. I’m sorry. I wish I could. Let me explain. Maybe next time. Here’s why.

For most of my life, “no” came with a paragraph. I’m sorry. I wish I could. Let me explain. Maybe next time. Here’s why.

Weekend plans: talk to no one but my cats.

New on the Path.

I was standing in front of my refrigerator at 11:30 at night, staring at shelves full of food I didn't want. I wasn't hungry. I was looking for something else entirely.

New on the blog: what happens when 'fine' stops being enough."