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It is so easy to see, but so hard to understand the gravity of it all. How can we have so many ways to communicate, but yet move like passing ships in the night? The way we socialize is much like the way toddlers play together—with little intimate interaction, but a strange acknowledgment that someone else is in the room. I responded to Instagram stories, laughed at TikToks my friends send me, liked vacation photos, commented on the milestones of ex classmates, and somehow manage to avoid having a real conversation with another human being for much of the day, outside of my children. How is that even possible? We're more connected than any generation before us. We carry entire social networks in our pockets. We can FaceTime across continents, send memes in seconds, and know what our high school lab partner had for brunch last Sunday. And yet, many of us are feeling increasingly disconnected. The New Face of Isolation When people hear the words social isolation, they often picture older adults living alone or people who are physically separated from family and friends. But social isolation has quietly become a young adult problem, too. Many of us have traded spontaneous coffee dates for reacting with heart emojis, replaced phone calls with voice notes, and convinced ourselves that watching someone's Instagram stories counts as catching up. Sometimes it does. Often, it doesn't. There's an important difference between knowing what someone is doing and actually feeling connected to them. The Friendship Math of Adulthood Making friends as adults should probably come with an instruction manual. In school, friendships tend to happened naturally. You sat next to someone in class, shared snacks, complained about homework or your instructor, and suddenly you had plans for the weekend. Adult friendships are a bit more complicated. There's work schedules, family commitments, and gym classes. Group chats that somehow require twelve people to agree on one restaurant and one date that works for everyone. "Let's grab coffee sometime!" has become the unofficial anthem of adulthood. The challenge isn't usually that people don't want connection. It's that connection takes intention. Why Connection Matters Human beings aren't designed to do life entirely on their own. Community gives us support during difficult seasons, people to celebrate victories with, and someone to text when the recipe says "fold gently" and we have absolutely no idea what that means. Research continues to show that strong social connections are linked to better physical health, improved mental well-being, and even longer life expectancy. Friendship, it turns out, is doing more heavy lifting than we ever realized. Can Social Media Help Solve the Problem It Helped Create? It's easy to blame social media for our growing disconnection, but the truth is more complicated than that. Social media itself isn't the villain. Many of us maintain long-distance friendships because of it. We find communities that share our interests, connect with people we never would have met otherwise, and stay close to family members who live far away. The challenge comes when online connection completely replaces offline connection. What if we used those same platforms to encourage people to step back into real-world relationships? To reduce social isolation we need to take small steps toward meaningful connection. You don’t need to delete apps or swear off technology forever, but create a space for both worlds to exist. What Finding Your Circle Might Look Like Finding your circle doesn't necessarily mean building a huge social life or becoming the person who somehow knows everyone at the farmer's market. Sometimes it looks like: Texting the friend you've been meaning to check in on. Saying yes to the invitation instead of automatically declining. Joining the local book club, running group, or volunteer event. Turning a quick coffee into a monthly tradition. Introducing yourself to someone new even when it feels awkward. Especially when it feels awkward. Most meaningful relationships start with two people being brave enough to risk a slightly uncomfortable conversation. The Small Moments Matter The older I get, the more convinced I become that connection isn't built through grand gestures. It's built through ordinary moments. The coworker who asks how your weekend was and actually waits for the answer. The friend who remembers your big presentation. The neighbor who waves every morning. The person who notices when you've been quiet. Those moments may seem small, but together they create something powerful: belonging. Maybe This Is Your Sign If you've been meaning to reconnect with someone, consider this your gentle reminder. Send the text. Make the call. Accept the invitation. Schedule the coffee date that's been living in your messages for six months. Because while followers, likes, and views all have their place, they aren't the same as community. Existing in a place that often mistakes visibility for connection, finding your circle might be one of the most important things you ever do. Photo from Joel Muniz/Unsplash

Yesterday, we were gifted with a beautiful rainstorm. As the self proclaimed pluviophile that I am, I smiled from ear to ear lying under the covers. I eventually made it out onto the porch to experience this beautiful, natural phenomenon. I was content. It lasted about fifteen minutes and a few minutes later, it was like nothing happened. It was followed by the sunshine and heat that preceded it. But then came the dreaded text message of an outage in my neighborhood. Whyyyy?! Later on, I picked the girls up from the bus stop and shared the news with them. I prepared them for the walk up the dark stairwell. It was was lead by the flashlight from my phone with two timid girls following, one of who also used the light from her phone to guide the way. We made it to our apartment, and the girls let out a huge sigh of relief. They realized the apartment was indeed brighter than the dark stairwell and hallway as I told them it would be. They did their usual routine followed by some painting, reading, having a dance party—primarily my older daughter—followed by a few minutes on their pads. That was followed by dinner and a few complaints of boredom from the older kid. I repeated my favorite saying, “Boredom fosters creativity.” She didn’t want to hear a word of it. Not a single word in this moment, but she had no choice. As we moved from the evening sky, sunset, twilight and then the night sky, we found refuge to the porch. I dragged an extra twin mattress, a bean bag, pillows and blankets, along with some bug spray to stare at the night sky. We discussed a few things and talked about watching a movie. We then settled on the series “Blackish” that the girls have been watching and love so much. “One episode, because I need to conserve my power in case of an emergency,” I warned. They couldn’t care less. They were just excited to do something with me. We huddled, each person protected by their individual blanket in case the mosquitoes wanted to make dinner out of us. I guess the bug repellent I sprayed around us did its job, because we were safe the entire time. During the show, they got distracted by the stars in the sky and the passing airplanes from the airport nearby. The show ended and we walked into the house, bringing everything in with us. We then all went on my queen sized bed. There was no way they were sleeping in their rooms by themselves tonight. My younger daughter lay in the middle and my older to the far left end. They said how much they enjoyed hanging out on the porch under blankets to watch their favorite show. It was perfect. Shortly after my little one fell asleep, I decided to make a mad dash to the car to get the flashlight I kept in my car for emergencies. I reminded my older daughter that she will be just fine. When I returned, I set up the flashlight and turned it on. This tiny flashlight brightened the room to a shocking level. We were both amazed and tested it out in a few other rooms. We returned to the bedroom, placed it on the bedside table nearest to her. I told her if she woke up and the electricity hadn’t come back, she could use it. Shortly after, she fell asleep. In the morning, when my older daughter got up, she walked over and gave me the biggest hug. She said, “Thank you for helping me feel okay in the dark last night. I don’t think I am super afraid of the dark anymore.” I hugged her and smiled. “I’m glad to help you anytime sweetie.”

For a long time, I have always wanted to study abroad. It was appealing to me, because it is meant to be an immersive, educational experience. I applied, got accepted, and joined a group that was primarily future social workers and nurses, mostly in their early twenties and white. I was the only black woman and the oldest student to be part of this cohort. This would intimidate many, but I though, why not take on a new challenge. I could learn so much on a trip with a bunch of twenty-year olds. I was right and wrong. Here are some of the lessons learned during my trip to Finland: They have the energy of bunny rabbits. Watching them go from educational activities in the day to social activities at night almost without breaks exhausted me. Our days were packed by our sister college, who did a great job of hosting us, so I found it amazing how their social battery never seemed to die out. I, on the other handed needed time to recuperate. I learned to stay in my lane, and when I was able to join them, I did. They’re cliquish—which I guess is the norm for young adults. I was part of two group chats, but I later discovered there were many more subchats I wasn’t included in. It became visible when we sometimes had free time before a group dinner and people managed to disperse in what seemed like a well coordinated fashion without informing me. It worked in my favor, because it allowed me to spend time exploring Helsinki on my own without the constant chatter. Someone who will test you. Due to fatigue, chronic illness and simply being more reserved in large groups, I didn’t realize I was becoming more quiet. That frustrated a young woman who expressed feeling confused by my “sudden” quietness. I stated very early on that I need a little more recovery time from our packed and busy days, so yes, sometimes, I will be more quiet. If my quietness can lead to irritation and the need to vocalize that irritation, I do not think that the problem is me. I realized as a black woman, I am damned if I do and damned if I don’t. While being confronted, I realized there is no resolve with people who are hellbent on misunderstanding you. As a black woman, if you’re loud, you’re ghetto, if you’re reserved, you may be deemed stand-offish. I leaned into my wisdom and decided that I will not perform to satisfy anyone’s need for immediate closeness, which seemed to be the issue here. In certain settings, it is best to choose silence. Sometimes, silence is best, because your physical and psychological safety depends on it. I understood my surroundings and chose the safest route of grey rocking—a psychological self defense tactic of emotional detachment and brief communication that is meant for self preservation. At this point, I simply documented the behaviors in the event of and invested my energy into my peace. When they exclude you, stay excluded. If you feel like you’re being excluded, you very likely are. The last thing you should to do is confront the offending parties. Thankfully, I have the superpowers of being unbothered and knowing how to stay in a good mood. I am my own best friend and I enjoy my own company,. This allowed me to happily explore the city, where I met amazing people on my adventures, which made for a more exciting time. When you know who you are, no one can rock your world. I am a migrant, the daughter of a single mother, a divorced mom, friend to many, lover of humanity and staunch advocate for the disadvantaged and marginalized. I have had many experiences, some of which could have destroyed me, but here I am, still standing tall. My self identity is built on what I think of myself, not what others perceive me as. As a Black woman living on this planet, you learn to navigate and survive without completely falling apart. I wish more Black girls and women were able to experience study abroad. Studying abroad can be expensive. Since we are not a monolith, I know some of us are having these experiences while other Black families may not have the resources for this experience. Nonetheless, I would love to see more Black girls and women represented in these spaces. Improving diversity in the study abroad pool can potentially help make for a better experience. I had a wonderful experience despite the small challenges. It just illuminated issues I was initially concerned about, but it was worth every small discomfort. Did I enjoy it? Yes. Will I ever do it again? No. Would you ever study abroad as a woman in your forties?

Do you ever feel like you're living in a sitcom, but instead of laughing, you're just trying to survive your 9-to-5? My life has at many times felt like an episode of "The Office" meets "Survivor." Here's a glimpse into my hilarious (and sometimes tragic) adventures of trying to navigate stressful work environments: Episode 1: Sounds of Hunger Picture this: It's 7:30 a.m, and I clock in to work just in time to grab documents that I prepared for an early new hire onboarding. I'm starving, but I'm on a tight schedule, so I keep driving for an hour to meet with the new hire—sometimes annoyed I am driving one hour to onboard one person in 2023. On cue, my stomach starts growling while I'm sitting in the room, and I'm just praying that the new hire does not hear any of it. Of course she did, so I say something funny to break the ice. Unfortunately, that was only the beginning, because I'm stuck in there for another 30 minutes. We both just pretend nothing is happening at every growl. Yikes. Episode 2: The Email Avalanche Ah, the joys of modern communication. One minute, you're catching up on emails; the next, your inbox resembles a digital avalanche burying you alive. You're now regretting your life choices and seriously considering homesteading as a way of life, because surely, this cannot be what I dreamt of. I also can't help but wonder: who thought it was a good idea to hit "reply all" to share their grievance about not being invited to a team gathering—drama! And why does the universe conspire to send urgent requests the moment I step away from my desk? Episode 3: The Meeting from Hell We've all been there – trapped in a never-ending and sometimes useless work meeting where you try to appear engaged, while secretly plotting your escape. Whether it's the boss's latest obsession with team-building exercises or a PowerPoint presentation that rivals the length of "War and Peace," every minute feels like an eternity. But then, your supervisor gets to the end and says, "Are there any questions?" I'm holding my breathe in pure terror hoping no one says yes, but then marvel at the audacity of someone to ask a question that makes us suffer even more. For the love of .... Episode 4: The Office Drama No workplace would be complete without its fair share of drama. From passive-aggressive emails or Post-It notes to whispered gossip, navigating office politics is like trying to solve a Rubik's Cube blindfolded. Even worse is when you can't help but wonder: is this really what I signed up for? When you're on the receiving end of that behavior, you just have to remind yourself that you're too broke to retire, don't want to be a sugar baby and you have bills to pay, so you report to work as a shy introvert and ignore every one. If it has nothing to do with work, you have nothing to say. Episode 5: The Great Escape I cannot tell you the number of times I have imagined grabbing my purse and jumping from the window with the perfect landing of a superhero, running to my car, and driving off. In the end, sometimes the only solution is to make a break for it. Whether it's sneaking out early on a Friday or taking an extended bathroom break to collect my thoughts (and sanity), finding moments of respite becomes a survival strategy. When I clock out for the day, I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all – because sometimes, laughter truly is the best medicine. So there you have it: my comedic journey through the wild and wacky world of stressful work environments. I have now taken to working remotely, which still provides endless material for a sitcom-worthy blog post. Cheers to surviving another day in the office, one laugh at a time! Hope you enjoyed the humorous take on navigating stressful work environments! Let me know if you'd like to add anything or if there's a specific aspect you'd like to explore further. (Photos: Feature photo by Jess Shoots/Unsplash , Graphic Photo by Aaron Blanco Tejedor/Unsplash)

I’m currently in Finland, and I still can’t believe I get to say that out loud. I’m elated. This vacation feels long overdue, but it’s also so much more than a getaway. It’s an opportunity to explore a new country with intention, curiosity, and purpose beyond leisure for two weeks. As much as I already miss my two beautiful girls, this is something I’ve wanted to experience for a very long time. And there’s something deeply satisfying about being able to say to myself: I made this happen. Our itinerary has been packed with opportunities to explore Helsinki alongside an amazing guide from our sister college. Every day has felt like a mix of learning, adventure, and truly stepping outside of my comfort zone. And if I’m being honest, there’s a part of me that keeps thinking about how unexpected this all feels. Who would’ve thought that a forty-something Master of Social Work student would finally get the chance to study abroad? So many people experience this in their late teens or early twenties, but for some of us, life takes a different route. Sometimes it’s finances. Sometimes it’s family responsibilities. Sometimes the opportunity simply never comes at the “traditional” time, but at the right time. Out of the 17 students on this trip, I’m the oldest student—and also the only Black student. In fact, there were no other people of color on the trip. At first, I won’t lie, that felt a little intimidating. But as someone who has often found herself navigating predominantly white spaces, I’ve learned that there’s usually an adjustment period. There’s discomfort at first, and then slowly, you begin finding your rhythm. From Albany to Toronto, then Reykjavík, and finally Helsinki, I found my sweet spot through lighthearted conversations, humor, and simply allowing myself to be present. This experience has also made me think deeply about study abroad opportunities for mature students. There are so many adults returning to school later in life who never get the chance to participate in programs like this—even when the opportunity exists. Many are balancing careers, parenting, caregiving, finances, or simply trying to rebuild their lives through education. Before leaving, I posted on Threads about being a forty-something student studying abroad, and the response honestly surprised me. Thousands of people liked the post, commented, or reached out privately with questions. And almost every conversation shared a common theme: fear, lack of support, childcare concerns, or financial limitations. I understand all of it. But I also want more mature students to know that they deserve experiences like this too. Even if you’re the oldest student in the group. Even if you feel out of place at first. Even if your path looked different from everyone else’s. You belong there too. Sometimes you may even realize you’re closer in age to your professors than your classmates, but honestly, talk to them. Connect with people anyway. Show up anyway. I waited a long time for this opportunity. And now that it’s here, I’m fully embracing it. So if you’re over 40 and thinking about studying abroad, consider this your sign to look into it. It may feel scary, unconventional, or even unrealistic at first, but sometimes the most meaningful experiences happen when we finally allow ourselves to say yes.

Earlier this year, I was required to do an impostor syndrome test and I scored extremely high. This isn't a good thing. I’ve long been aware of these feelings, but the magnitude of it shocked me. In addition to the general state of feeling like an impostor most of the time, I experience a more niche kind of impostor syndrome that has to do with my mothering. I frequently feel like a phony parent even when I am giving my absolute best . Why, you may ask? There are many reasons, but before we get into that, let’s sort out what impostor syndrome is. The term was first coined by the clinical psychologists Pauline Clance and Suzanne Imes in the 1970s. It is defined as a pervasive feeling of self-doubt, insecurity and incompetence despite evidence that you are skilled and successful. People who exhibit this syndrome frequently feel like frauds, and that they will eventually be found out, even though they are highly competent. This is me overall, regarding not the way I show up for my children, but rather how my shortcomings magnify my small failures as a mother. I am a great mother by all standards—I know that. I am attentive, engaging, loving, nurturing, kind, thoughtful, empathetic and I allow my children to feel like they have a voice, but somehow, I always feel like I am not enough or do not provide enough for them. I frequently have a sense that there is something that I am not hitting the mark on or I can do better. This feeling is most prevalent when I have raised my voice at my children out of frustration. I feel horrible, even though it doesn’t happen frequently. I used to commute daily with my children on NYC subway to get them to school. I was doing my best to hold it together in situations like crowded trains with agitated children or even during a happy conversation with my babies. Random strangers—not that I need their validation— would come up to compliment me on my parenting. My neighbors would frequently compliment me on how involved I am with my children. Having an older West Indian women tell you that they admire your commitment to being a great mother is not easy to come by. Again, I am quiteaware of it, but for some reason, I judge myself harshly in small mistakes and still feel like a fraud. I was a nanny for many years so I am more than capable and competent when it comes to being with children. I was prepared for this, but when it comes to my own, I feel someone may figure that I don’t know what the hell I am doing. But then again, what parent knows what they’re doing all the time? Unfortunately, I have to acknowledge that I have a slightly warped sense of parenting. I feel like I need to remain calm in all situations like some stepford wife. Yelling for me feels out of control and uncomfortable, and for that reason I have placed an enormous amount of pressure on myself to maintain an impossible amount of control. It hasn’t been productive. Ironically a few months ago, someone used the stepford wife analogy to describe me and I took some offense to it. Even though I said nothing in response to that, there was some truth to it. That I have to admit, even though I think the comparison is a bit extreme. I am slowly learning to combat these feelings, by being honest about the severity of my impostor syndrome and how it makes me feel as a parent. I have an amazing sister circle who listen and encourage, and also my therapist who reminds me of how much I do and to show myself compassion. I am learning to stave off self-doubt by trusting my decisions, because I do not take being a parent lightly. I bring the right attitude into my parenting and I am always willing to learn. I remind myself that tomorrow is an opportunity to do better and hopefully not repeat the mistakes of the days past. I am also working on knowing my value as a mother. I am learning to believe that I am enough. My children tell me so much how much they love me daily. They smother me with kisses and hugs daily. I see genuine happiness in them and I know that it is my display of love to them that shows them how to love me. I know that in the early part of the pandemic, these feelings were at an all time high for me. I have found that starting everyday with the words, “Today is a great day and I am a great mother,” have helped me believe in my heart that I am an amazing mother. If you struggle with parental impostor syndrome, I say to you, you are an amazing parent. If you still can’t shake off the feeling, seek out a therapist. You are enough.

About three years ago, I made the decision to move from NYC to Upstate NY. I lived in Brooklyn, surrounded by biological family, some of whom I grew up with in my home country. Their physical presence did not translate into an emotional connection. It remained that way, even into the birth of my first and second child. There was minimal contact. A rare visit after the birth of one of my daughters, one planned play date, and the rest were non-existent. The suburbs had been calling my name for a while. My well being was on the decline as I was developing severe anxiety in the city. I was an overwhelmed mom of two children who just wanted a fresh start and quicker access to nature, much like the surroundings of my childhood on a beautiful Caribbean island. There was nothing was tying me here, so I high tailed it out of there. Recently, I came across a video by therapist and Youth Practitioner Dorcas Opoku talking about low-effort families. I connected immediately and recognized this is what I had been experiencing all those years—I just did not have a word for it. I dug a little deeper and discovered that the term low-effort family was popularized by psychologist Dr. Sherrie Campbell. It is a dysfunctional family system where members make minimal emotional investment by offering the bare minimum in support, interest, and connection. They act out of convenience rather than genuine care. Unfortunately, with that dynamic comes immense disappointment. At some point, you eventually learn to reciprocate the energy you receive. Simply put, it feels like a form of passive-aggressive rejection and the only way to deal with that is to widen and deepen the ocean. With that said, I got to thinking, what does parenting look like for someone who comes from a low effort family? You grieve. Then you accept. The first step with a low-effort family, is to match their energy. There is no way a round it. By doing so, I was able to create distance without an explanation, especially since I tried to create connection. Most of the time, this will naturally occur, because low-effort families may not even notice or care that you no longer communicate with. My efforts came in the form of creating a family group chat and trying to organize a family trip. The chat was quickly ruined and no one bit into my idea, so it was dead on arrival. At some point, you have to be honest with yourself about the lack of reciprocation, because this wasn’t it. The inevitable choice is separation. This is when grief starts, an inevitable part of the whole process. There will be moments when you look at other families—ones that show up, call often, gather easily—and it stings. Not because you don’t understand your reality, but because you do. You work through these feelings and eventually get to a place of acceptance. You make space for the love they refuse to give and allow yourself to be nurtured by people who will show up in a more healthy dynamic. There will no forced peace, no pretending it doesn’t hurt, but rather you choosing not to chase what isn’t choosing you. You parent without the village We were never designed to parent alone as a society. This is the part no one romanticizes. Parenting without a built-in support is a heavy responsibility, one I would wish for no anyone. It challenges you mentally, emotionally and physically when there’s no rotating help and no automatic community to lean on. But there is also clarity. You just show up everyday, because your children are watching how you move in relationships. They are learning what love looks like, not just in what you say, but in what you tolerate. I am having an honest revelation about the way I am. Part of the reason why I have gotten so strong about keeping people out who do not want to actively participate in my life, is because I saw my mother tolerate a lot in the name of maintaining ties with biological family. Experiencing changed me, and I promised myself that I would never allow my children to endure that unnecessary hurt. Staying in low-effort relationships teaches them that love can be inconsistent. Choosing distance, on the other hand, teaches them that love should feel like presence. Like effort. Like care. You become intentional about who gets access Naturally as a parent, you are the center of your children’s life. As a parent who has lost community with your low-effort family, you are pretty much all they have. This may feel daunting, but it is also a space that allows you to choose who becomes part of your children’s lives. I have to admit, I momentarily experience sadness sometimes when I think about the fact that my children do not know their cousins, aunts and other family members are, and do not have the network that I once had. But then you think about the fact that you get to determine who has access to them. As chief of this small village, you get to choose your child(ren)’s village. What you are building is rooted in consistency, safety and love that shows up. This reduces the kind of disappointment that you encountered and serves as fuel for you to parent from a place of actively prioritizing your child(ren)’s emotional needs. You define what family is There is a point where family stops being about who is related to you and more about who shows up. In our home, things are simple. Birthdays don’t come with a house full of relatives. There aren’t calls, cards, or surprise gifts from extended family, but there is love. Because of this, I have placed emphasis on building our own family traditions that belong to our little unit—quiet, intentional, and full. I bake their cakes every year. We have a family dinner with the honoree’s favorite dishes. We respect requests for quiet birthdays and ones celebrated with friends who have become like family. We celebrate in ways that feel meaningful to us. And over time, you realize something. Your children don’t feel like they’re missing anything…because they’re not. You nurture sibling bond One of the most intentional choices I make is helping my children build a strong relationship with each other. I model empathy and fairness and guide them through conflict with the goal of preserving and not damaging their connection. The same care I pour into them individually is the care I encourage them to give one another. You avoid comparison, celebrate individuality and build traditions that strengthen their bond. You praise and encourage their efforts to show each other acts of kindness, both big and small. You reinforce this behavior, because it is those moments that shape how they will love others for the rest of their lives. They won’t exist like passing ships in the night, but develop enough emotional intelligence to be intentional in their relationships starting from their immediate family. Watching their relationship grow is one of the most healing things I’ve experienced. I am encouraged to continue on this path. If not for me, then for them. How do you navigate coming from a low effort family?

Hi everyone, Another Week, Another Crisis: The State of America and Me. If you’re feeling anything like I am, I know you’re experiencing an inexplicable, deep-seated level of fatigue. This is induced by a political climate that is hell-bent on destroying all of us; the worst part is that we just made it through week two. Every day, we’re being body slammed into another political firestorm that none of us asked for, and even though we keep trying to tap out, someone grabs us by the leg and pulls us back in. We’re in a knockdown drag-out fight for our lives, so the fatigue is real, and so many of us are already over it. Unsplash Despite the constant turmoil, communities across the country continue to fight back against those seeking to take away our human rights. Whether through protests, mutual aid networks, or pushing for legislative change, people are resisting the normalization of corruption and incompetence. I am proud of us for building resistance, but resistance can be exhausting. This is where self-care is a requirement.