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Nothing beats a warm slice of cake, especially one with citrus notes. It has been raining cats and dogs in NY state for months now, so for many weekends, we have been stuck indoors. I feel like the best thing to do in these situations is to bake, and that is exactly what I did this past weekend. Let's get into this recipe. Ingredients 1 1/4 sticks of unsalted butter (10 tbsps), room temperature 3/4 cups of granulated sugar 2 eggs, room temperature 1 tsp vanilla extract 1 1/2 cups of all purpose flour 1 3/4 tsps baking powder 3/4 cups of milk 1 orange zested, leave 1 tsp out for topping 2 tbsps of orange juice Topping 1 tbsp confectioner's sugar 1 tsp lemon zest Directions Preheat the oven to 350°F and grease or line with parchment paper and 8 inch pan. In a large bowl, cream the butter, sugar and lemon zest, leaving 1 tsp out for the topping by hand or a mixer for about 2 mins until well combined. Add in eggs one at a time, mixing well between addition. Follow with milk, vanilla extract and orange juice. Add flour and baking powder to the wet ingredients. Fold the mixture if by hand and if using a mixture, be sure to mix mix just enough for the flour particles to dissolve. Do not over mix. Pour the batter into your pan and bake for 30-35 minutes. Once baked, allow to cool for 10-15 mins in the pan and place on a cooling rack. Sprinkle with confectioners sugar and orange zest. Add halved orange slice to the edge of the serving dish (optional) and enjoy warm or cool. Enjoy!

Being a substitute teacher was not something I planned, but rather a role I fell into. I know this is a temporary stop in my journey, and it is one of the best decisions I have made. Prior to coming into this position, I was recovering from post concussion syndrome due to an encounter with the trunk of my car on a rainy October night. This not only caused the worst pain I ever experienced in my life, but also exacerbated the symptoms of my fibromyalgia . I was having frequent medical appointments not only for myself, but also for one of my daughters who was going through her own health crisis. This caused me to request quite a few late arrivals or early dismissals at my previous job. I was also experiencing bouts of chronic fatigue and brain fog that made concentrating at work difficult. I felt depleted and defeated to the point where I felt I could no longer fulfill the demands of my position. I finally made the decision to hand in my resignation and that was the best decision I made. I had no idea what was going to happen next, except I was tired of feeling unfulfilled. I was ready to start something that gave me true flexibility, autonomy, and where I wasn’t being made to feel that I wasn’t good enough. I was drawn to substitute teaching based on a combination of my life experiences, personal values, and a desire to make a difference in the lives of young people. What better place can I make an impact and feel some semblance of control in my day to day life?! Here are the reasons I have chosen to be a substitute teacher. Familiar Territory When I first moved to the United States, I worked as a nanny/babysitter for about ten years before moving into the corporate world. I still remember the money I made working in that role! That’s a story for another day. When I finally decided to cut the cord in childcare, I had different aspirations. I envisioned a more conventional career path, one that might offer more stability or higher financial rewards. But life has a way of steering us in directions we never anticipated. My journey into education began not with a career plan, but with a series of small, seemingly unrelated experiences that planted the seeds. When I worked in childcare, people frequently stopped to ask if I was a teacher. I quickly quipped no and I have no plans of ever going into such a thankless role. Boy, did the future have a big surprise for me. When my children started school, I always wanted to be actively involved in their school life. I attended all the parent teacher association (PTA) meetings, joined the Equity Committee and the Student Leadership Team (SLT), all of which were meant to empower parents and our school community. At the time, I thought of it as just another way to give back to the community—a way to fill my time with something meaningful. But what I didn’t realize was how much those interactions would impact me. I also showed up to read to my daughters’ classmates, help at breakfast and was even the unofficial face painter at some activities. The way they would be so excited to see me when I came in gave me such joy. These small moments began to add up, and I found myself looking forward to my time with them. A Desire to Make a Difference As I continued to work in the committees and with the kids, I saw the gaps in the education system more clearly. As we discussed subjects of equity and helping in the recruitment of students and staff of a more diverse population, I saw that schools need individuals who genuinely care about the success of their students. This realization sparked something in me. I began to think about how I could play a larger role in the lives of students, how I could help bridge those gaps, and provide the support they so desperately needed. That’s when the idea of substitute teaching came into play. I thought about it, but the timing wasn’t right. I was contemplating a move with my family to another city, so the salary from my job at the time was a necessity. Once I moved to my new city and tested out a new job in Human Resources, I resigned from that role. This was now the perfect time to pursue substitute teaching. This opportunity allowed me to be in the classroom, interact with students, and make an impact, all while giving me the flexibility to explore my options. Flexibility and Freedom One of the biggest appeals of substitute teaching is the flexibility it offers. Unlike a full-time teaching position, which requires a long-term commitment to one classroom and a specific curriculum, substitute teaching allows for a more varied experience. This was particularly appealing to me as someone with an unpredictable chronic illness and the co-parent of young children who does not have a support system around us. As a substitute teacher, I have the freedom to work across different grade levels and subjects, which has given me a broad perspective on the educational system as a whole. One day, I might be teaching elementary school students how to add and subtract, and the next, I could be discussing Shakespeare with high school seniors. This variety keeps the job exciting and allows me to continually learn and grow as an educator. My partner and I were able to coordinated our schedules where he would do morning drop offs and I would do the afternoon pick ups. I appreciate not having to rush out from work to pick up my children. I am able to easily cancel jobs when crises or health matters arise without feeling like I was causing massive disappointment to my colleagues. Additionally, the flexibility of substitute teaching has allowed me to pursue other interests and commitments outside of the classroom. Whether it’s furthering my education, working on personal projects like this blog or spending time with family, substitute teaching provides a work-life balance that is often hard to find in other careers. Building Relationships with Students One of the most rewarding aspects of being a substitute teacher is the relationships I’ve been able to build with students. Though I may be in different classes every day, I’ve found that even in these brief interactions, there’s an opportunity to make a meaningful connection. Amazingly, the group of students I feared the most—high schoolers—have turned out to be the most rewarding. There’s something special about being the “new” teacher in the room. Students are often curious and eager to see how the day will go, and this gives me a unique opportunity to engage with them in a fresh way. I’ve learned that being a good substitute teacher isn’t just about following the lesson plan left by the regular teacher; it’s about bringing your own energy, creativity, and compassion into the classroom. Over time, I’ve developed a knack for quickly reading the room, understanding the dynamics of each class, and finding ways to connect with students. Whether it’s through a shared interest in sports, a love of books, or simply taking the time to listen to their stories, I’ve been able to build rapport with students that often leads to positive learning experiences. I remember one particular instance where I had a particularly difficult third grade class. The disruptions were out of control. There was a group who were amazing, but a few others who were arguing with each other. I was in my second week and completely unprepared for that. By the end of the day I was able to pull everyone together to listen to a story time that they very much enjoyed and participated in. Moments like these remind me of why I chose this path. Facing the Challenges Of course, substitute teaching isn’t without its challenges. There are days when it feels like everything is going wrong. These days can be frustrating and leave you questioning whether you’re making any impact at all. But I’ve come to realize that these challenges are part of what makes the role so important. Being a substitute teacher requires adaptability, patience, and resilience. It’s about being able to walk into a classroom of strangers and quickly establish a sense of order and trust. It’s about being willing to learn on the fly and not being afraid to admit when you don’t have all the answers. Personal Growth and Fulfillment Substitute teaching not only allows me to make a difference in the lives of students but has also been a profound journey of personal growth. It has pushed me out of my comfort zone, challenged my assumptions, and taught me more about myself than I ever could have imagined. It has also made me a more confident public speaker, with a level of assertiveness that I never had before. Through this role, I also have a deeper understanding of the lives of children and teenagers. I’ve come to appreciate the diverse backgrounds and experiences that students bring to the classroom, and how these differences shape their learning. I take pride in trusting my judgment when it comes to my interactions with students, especially when all they need is a little empathy. Moreover, substitute teaching has given me a sense of fulfillment that I hadn’t found in previous jobs. There’s a unique joy in knowing that, even if it's just for a day, you’ve made a positive impact on a child’s life. Whether it’s helping a student grasp a difficult concept, offering a word of encouragement, or simply being a positive presence in their day, these small acts add up to something much greater. I’ve come to appreciate the unique position that substitute teachers hold—we’re not just fill-ins, but integral parts of the educational ecosystem, providing support and stability when it’s needed most. Most importantly, it has shown me that sometimes, the best decisions are the ones that aren’t planned. It has given me my life back in a way that I could not foresee. Even though this may just be a pit stop, I will value the lessons that this profession has taught me. I will continue to make a difference—one classroom at a time.

I will never get tired of the online responses to the question, “What level of adulting have you reached?” They’re funny, wildly accurate, and sometimes hit a little too close to home. Some days I genuinely feel like I’ve arrived at peak responsible human mode—bills paid, dinner cooked, emotional stability intact. On other days, I wonder how I managed to rub my two remaining brain cells together long enough to survive. And still, here I am: responsible for two little ones who think their mom is the biggest clown in the world—and love me even more for it. There was a time I believed adulthood would simply happen , as if it were a magical level unlocked just by piling on the years. But with time (and a healthy dose of reality), I realized this is not how any of it works. A seventeen-year-and-364-day-old doesn’t transform into a full-blown adult the moment the clock strikes midnight on their eighteenth birthday. And yet, it’s surprising how often that exact expectation is projected onto young people. “You’re 18 now, you should know better.” Should they? Really? Adulthood is not a line you cross. It’s an ongoing, full-time, no-days-off apprenticeship. It’s a skillset built by doing life, sometimes well, often messily. The learning doesn’t truly begin until you’re out in the world without the built-in safety net of school, family, and routines that guide you. And even then, it’s a lot of trial and error. So where do you stand in the hierarchy of grown-up life? Let’s take a look at the unofficial (but emotionally accurate) stages of adulting. Level 1: Barely Functioning, But Trying This is where many of us start, and let’s be honest, sometimes return to. It’s the “Wait... I have to cook? Every. Day?”  phase. You forget to defrost the chicken, cereal is dinner (again), and the thought of opening that mail pile by the door feels like a Herculean task. You’re holding on by the grace of your phone calendar and sheer willpower. Laundry only gets done when you’ve completely run out of socks, and budgeting? That’s just hoping your card doesn’t decline. Taxes and health insurance paperwork get stuffed in a drawer, only to be rediscovered in a future archaeological dig of your own home. For those of us with kids: This level hits differently. You spend 45 minutes making a healthy dinner just for your child to look at it like you’ve served them poison. You’re tired before you even open your eyes in the morning. Most days, you're just trying to keep the household running without completely unraveling. If Little Timmy has to make friends with the stuffed animals because Mom is on the brink—so be it. Level 2: Basic Survival Mode At this stage, you’ve figured out the bare bones of functioning. You pay your bills—maybe even on time! You’ve graduated from cereal for dinner to a rotation of three go-to meals. Cleaning happens inconsistently, but it happens. You buy toilet paper before  you run out, and maybe—just maybe—you even separate your laundry sometimes. Burnout is a real part of this level. Adulting doesn’t pause just because you're exhausted. Some days, putting on pants and showing up is the win. And that deserves celebration. Parents in this zone: You are constantly on the verge of being overwhelmed. A quiet moment for yourself is like spotting a rare bird—fleeting and unbelievable. But no matter how depleted you feel, your kids still need water, snacks, and endless attention. You can't break down because someone always needs something from you. So you push forward, even if you’re running on fumes. Level 3: Functional Adult With Glimpses of Maturity This level feels like finding a rhythm, even if you're still missing the beat occasionally. You begin choosing to go to bed at a reasonable hour, not because someone told you to, but because you feel  the difference the next morning. You know that hydration helps and keeps water within reach. There’s a loose budget in place, and while you may stray from it now and then, you understand the importance of keeping one. Meal planning, once an overwhelming task, now feels doable, even enjoyable on a good week. You know where important documents are (or at least where to start looking), and you’re no longer startled by adult things like tax forms and appointment reminders. And when you’re a parent at this level: You’ve figured out a few parenting tricks—like how to throw together a lunchbox in under five minutes or how to keep the kids entertained during errands. You may not have it all together, but you have a routine that mostly works, and you’ve learned to forgive yourself on the days it doesn’t. You recognize when you're nearing burnout and have started building little systems to keep it at bay, whether it’s a chore chart for the kids or a 10-minute breather while hiding in the bathroom. Level 4: Full-Blown Responsible Human This is the point where adulting begins to feel less like treading water and more like swimming laps—maybe not perfectly, but with some grace. You have a real savings account and you contribute to it. You floss regularly (even if only because you’re tired of the dentist guilt-tripping you). You know how to manage a schedule, negotiate bills, and make your own doctor appointments. Surprises like a flat tire or an unexpected bill are met with mild annoyance rather than a full mental breakdown. You’ve accepted that this is your life now—and you’re doing your best to make it a good one. Parenting from this place: It is still hard, but it comes with a clearer sense of confidence. You plan meals that (sometimes) your kids actually eat. You’ve learned how to co-manage your own needs with those of your children, even if it's not perfectly balanced. The calendar is full of school events and sports practices, and somehow, you remember most of them. You’ve gotten good at multitasking, prioritizing, and adjusting when things don’t go according to plan, which, let’s be honest, is most of the time. Level 5: Ultimate Adult Mastery (AKA Mythical Unicorn Status) This level is rarely seen in the wild—and even when it is, those who’ve reached it tend to remind the rest of us that it’s not all that glamorous. You make dentist appointments before  you need them. You know your credit score and understand your insurance policies. You file your taxes early, and you do it with a spreadsheet and color-coded folder system. Meal planning has become your domain of creative expression, and grocery shopping feels less like a chore and more like a curated experience. You’ve stopped reacting in crisis—started anticipating and handling life with a calm, strategic approach. And as a parent in this magical land: You’ve reached the “systems” stage of parenting. You’ve probably got a command center in your kitchen, or at the very least a working routine for school drop-offs, meal prep, and weekend plans. You’ve figured out how to maintain boundaries, enforce screen time rules without constant power struggles, and carve out space for yourself without guilt. You parent with intention, not just a reaction, and your kids are learning from your example even if they still leave their socks everywhere. But Here’s the Secret… Even if you hit Level 5, you’ll still have Level 1 days. You’ll forget to reply to emails. You’ll eat popcorn for dinner. You’ll avoid your to-do list and binge-watch a show while ignoring the growing pile of laundry. That’s life. Adulting isn’t about perfection. It’s about progress. It’s about showing up, day after day, in whatever way you can manage. You don’t have to reach Level 5 to be doing okay. You just have to keep going. So… what level are you  at today? And more importantly, where would you like to be? Let’s talk about it in the comments. No judgment here, just a bunch of us figuring it out, one level at a time. 😉 Photo by Anthony Fomin/Unsplash

I believe recipes should get to the point, the recipe , without the fluff. There is no counting of calories here. So as promised, here is the recipe for the delicious kimchi rolls that can be served as an appetizer or dinner rolls I made last week. Ingredients Rolls 1 parcel of premade pizza dough ¾  - 1 cups of kimchi Mozzarella cheese (any form) Goat cheese Garlic Butter 2/3 tbsps of butter 2 garlic cloves finely grated or diced ⅛-¼ tsp oregano Dash of black pepper Instructions Rolls Dice the kimchi into very small pieces and use a cheesecloth, towel or a strainer to squeeze out the liquid. Place your dough on a different chopping board with a thin layer of flour in a round shape and cut it into 6-8 triangles depending on the size that you would like ( for an appetizer 8, as a dinner roll 6 ) Form each piece into a ball while applying flour to your hands to prevent sticking, then flatten the dough with a rolling pin or widen using your hand (expert level). Add a tablespoon of kimchi in the center of the dough and top with a small amount of mozzarella cheese and goat cheese on top of the kimchi leaving about 1 inch of space from the edge of the filling and the edge of the dough. Pull the edges to the center to cover the filling. Ensure there are no gaps then roll gently in your hands to seal. Place on a liberally floured dish. Brush garlic butter on the rolls, place in the fryer or oven, and bake for 12-15 minutes or till golden brown. * Do Ahead:  Preheat at 350°. If using a conventional oven preheat at the beginning of roll making. If using an air fryer preheat at the same temperature from the fourth step. Garlic Butter Heat the butter on low heat. As it slowly starts to fizzle, add the garlic. Mix and allow to become translucent or brown. Add oregano and black pepper. After they’re baked, brush them with some more garlic butter and enjoy. Feel free to send pictures of your own.

There’s something magical about how the simplest things in life can bring people together. A slice of pizza, a shared passion for art and literature, children, and the warmth of a growing friendship. A few months ago, my girls and I met up with my new acquaintance and her middle school-aged daughter at a local family-owned pizza shop near one of our favorite parks in our neighborhood. We got to indulge in some good pizza and conversation. The girls and I came prepared with our art supplies in tow because, after all, we are serious painters at home. The kids gravitated to each other with such ease and chatted about school and the difficulties of navigating friendships in the way only children can. Meanwhile, the adults navigated the same subject with a little more humor and pessimism. While I sat at that table, I asked myself, " At what point do adults lose their ability to form new friendships as easily as children do? " There’s a bittersweet magic to childhood friendships—the way they form effortlessly over shared art, a love for the same cartoon, or simply sitting next to each other at lunch. Somewhere along the way, though, this natural ease fades. Making new friends as an adult isn’t impossible, but it feels less like a spontaneous spark and more like an awkward slow burn. But at what point does this shift happen? When do we go from forming friendships as easily as breathing to realizing that, suddenly, making new connections requires deliberate effort? By the time we reach our 30s and beyond, friendships require much more intention. The Friendship Curve: A Gradual Shift Friendship researchers (yes, that’s a real thing!) suggest that our ability to make friends doesn’t disappear entirely—it simply evolves with life circumstances. In our late teens and early 20s, we experience a friendship era  where college, first jobs, roommates, and frequent social events create an environment where friendships form naturally, largely due to constant proximity. By our mid-to-late 20s, however, a slow decline begins as people move for jobs, relationships become more serious, and social circles tighten. The idea of “going out just to meet new people” sounds appealing in theory but often loses to the comfort of Netflix and pajamas. By the time we reach our 30s and beyond, friendships require much more intention. With careers, families, and endless responsibilities in the mix, the effortless connections of youth are replaced by meticulously scheduled meetups, where making plans often means finding a rare free weekend six weeks in advance. Deep friendships require openness, but adults tend to build walls. Why does Making Friends get Harder? As children, friendships form naturally through forced proximity—school, sports teams, and neighborhood playdates provide endless opportunities to bond, but as adults, however, there’s no built-in playground for making new connections. Our workplaces can be hit or miss for friendships, and hobbies require time that many don’t have. Even when the opportunity arises, the “effort vs. energy” dilemma comes into play—forming a friendship as an adult often feels like dating without the romance. It requires putting ourselves out there, finding common ground, and nurturing the relationship, but after long days of work, parenting, or managing a household, so many of us simply don’t have the energy to start fresh. Over time, our priorities shift, and friendships that were once central to our lives gradually take a backseat to careers, family, and personal responsibilities. Many of us also experience the social circle lock-in, where we feel our friendship slots are already filled, or at least, our emotional bandwidth is stretched too thin to maintain new connections. Instead of expanding our circles, we focus on maintaining the friendships we already have. Vulnerability becomes even harder—deep friendships require openness, but many adults tend to build walls. There's such irony in the fact that while we tend to gain more confidence in ourselves as we age, we can become more socially self-conscious, causing fear of rejection, and a tendency to stick to small talk rather than sharing dreams and struggles. This makes it difficult to form the deep bonds that once came so easily. How do Adults Actually Make New Friends? Despite these challenges, making new friends as an adult is still possible—it just requires more effort and intention. Here are some ways adults successfully form friendships: One way to maintain connections is by embracing the “scheduled friendship” —spontaneous hangouts may be rare, but prioritizing friendships by planning regular meet-ups, even if it’s just a monthly coffee date, helps keep bonds strong. Another key approach is saying “yes” more often ; while declining invitations is easy, accepting them—whether it’s a coworker’s happy hour, a community event, or a group outing—creates opportunities for new connections. Since childhood friendships often formed through shared environments, adults can find their modern-day playground  by joining book clubs, fitness classes, parent groups, or online communities where natural connections can develop. However, building new friendships isn’t always necessary—sometimes, reconnecting with old friends  can be just as fulfilling. A simple message like “Hey, I was thinking about you—how have you been?” can reopen meaningful relationships. Most importantly, being open and vulnerable  is key to forming deeper bonds. True friendships don’t thrive on small talk alone but on shared experiences, genuine curiosity, and a willingness to be authentic. Taking small risks—whether it’s sharing something personal, offering help, or simply making the effort to connect—can turn acquaintances into lasting friends. The Truth About Adult Friendships There’s no exact age when forming new friendships becomes “hard,” but the shift is real. It happens gradually, as life fills with responsibilities and our social circles stabilize. But while it may not be effortless  anymore, friendship remains just as essential to our well-being as ever. The key isn’t to lament the loss of easy friendships—it’s to embrace the new way they form. With a little intention, a bit of bravery, and a few more scheduled coffee dates, deep and meaningful friendships are still within reach. Photo by @loseyourself /Freepik What about you? Have you found it harder to make friends as you’ve gotten older? Let’s talk in the comments.  😊

There’s something comforting about a warm bowl of spinach rice—simple, nourishing, and packed with flavor. This easy recipe combines tender spinach, fragrant garlic, and perfectly cooked rice to create a wholesome dish that’s as satisfying as it is healthy. Whether you’re looking for a quick weeknight dinner, a nutritious meal prep option, or a flavorful side to complement your main course, this spinach rice recipe has you covered. Best of all, it comes together in one pot with minimal effort, making it a go-to for busy days. Let’s dive into this vibrant, earthy, and delicious dish! Ingredients 2 cups of rice (I used jasmine) ½ of a medium onion 1 packet of frozen spinach/diced fresh ½ tsp ground black pepper 2 garlic cloves 1 tsp smoked paprika 1 packet of Sazon (optional) 1-2 teaspoons of salt ¼-½ cup of tomato sauce 1 tbsp oil (canola, vegetable, sunflower etc) 3 cups of water *If using frozen spinach, be sure to defrost ahead of time. Directions Dice onions and garlic. Add the oil to a pan on medium-high heat and sautee. Lower to medium as they begin to brown a little and cook through until softened. Add black pepper, smoked paprika, Sazon (optional), salt, and tomato sauce making sure it is thoroughly mixed. Add the spinach to the onion and garlic mixture and mix the ingredients. If using frozen spinach, squeeze out as much of the moisture before adding. Finally, add the washed rice to the pot and mix thoroughly. Add the water and mix again. Bring to a boil then bring the heat to low and cover. Allow to cook for 15-20 minutes. Serve. I hope you enjoy this simple recipe. I enjoyed mine with some yellow curry tofu.

Imagine planning a beautiful day with your children. You start by preparing an amazing breakfast of toasted ciabatta and sourdough bread with a light spread of butter, scrambled and sunny-side-up eggs topped with micro greens, and sliced avocados. You all enjoy our meal, get dressed, and head out to the local bowling alley. Shortly after starting your first game, a surging pain radiates from your left sciatic nerve causing sharp shooting pain down your leg. You push through only managing to land gutter balls, but you continue to give your children the fun and memorable day they asked for—the goal of every loving parent. You have lunch, bowl some more, and move the fun to the arcade. As you're heading to the car, your kids start bickering and it all turns to shit. One kid yells to the other, " Keep quiet " out of utter anger and frustration. This was me. Motherhood is not for the weak. It's even harder for those with chronic pain. What I thought was a beautiful time was ending disastrously. Not too long ago we were having fun, and shortly after, I was at my wit's end with two bickering children. For the last two hours, all I could hear and feel outside of my beating heart was the throbbing and unbearable pain on the left side of my lower back. Instead of our usual celebratory talk and high-fives at the end of a three-hour day of fun, I had to be the referee between my two girls. My older daughter opened the door to the back seat and the alarm went off for some reason, sending my younger daughter into a high-pitched screaming frenzy. The mix of noise and pain made me even more frustrated with the whole situation and I yelled from the driver's side, " Please stop it. " My little one began crying immediately, as I expected to. Guilt came over me. This was the last thing I wanted to do. She thought I was telling her to stop crying, which is not something I do. We acknowledge all feelings, as long as it does not violate physical boundaries and become emotionally abusive. Crying isn’t suppressed or dismissed. I had to quickly assure her that I wasn't telling her she had no reason to cry, but rather that they stop the bickering. We all got in the car and started making our way home instead of heading to the thrift store as we had planned earlier. I think we all just needed to rest. The ride back home was all of about seven minutes, but another argument erupted. I can't remember for the life of me what sparked the argument.… Oh, I do remember! I was looking for my glasses, and suspected I may have forgotten it at the bowling alley—I did forget it there. My younger daughter pointed out that she thinks her sister is wearing it since our glasses are the same rose color. I knew it wasn't, because mine is a different shape. I said to her that those belonged to her sister and that it wasn't mine. My older daughter then suddenly screamed out, " Stop pointing at me, " to her sister. I usually try to let them resolve things on their own, but after about the third time she screamed another ear-drum splitting "Stop pointing at me, " I had it up to my eyeballs and with a firmly elevated voice said, " Stop it now. " “The funny thing about children is that they are the reason we lose it and the reason we hold it together!” — Author Unknown At that point, I was simply praying to get to my bed, because of the pain in my lower back and down my left leg was worsening. I imagined my hand reaching between the driver and passenger seats to be the heavy hand I would sometimes feel as a kid on my skin when I did not follow directions. It was fleeting and mildly satisfying, but met with instant regret. I refuse to spank, beat, or inflict intentional pain on my children, so I resorted to what I know how to do best— talk . I instructed everyone to stop talking and to be respectful to each other. We all just needed to get home. They remained silent for only a few seconds before my older daughter began to vent her frustrations about her sister. She talked about how she tries to be a great big sister, but her little sister keeps making her mad. I told her I was sorry that she felt that way. We approached the parking lot and I backed into my spot. She vented some more, because that is one of the ways she processes her emotions. She kept talking on our way to our apartment and I felt every ounce of her frustration. I sympathized with her and let her know that I heard her. I reminded her that she is an awesome big sister and I do see her kindness to her sister. As a parent with a chronic illness, I am more emotionally attuned to the needs of my children as a way to compensate for the times when I am physically incapable of showing up. I simply do the best I can when I can. When we got inside our apartment, I took my coat and shoes off as soon as I stepped in, and walked straight into my bedroom. All I wanted to do was lie down. I had nothing to give at that point. I felt completely depleted, so I asked the girls to help themselves with their snacks . I couldn't be on my feet anymore. My body was not cooperating, so I had to navigate this tough day as I always do—with honesty. On my rough days, my girls are only given small responsibilities that they are capable of doing. They know that some days are better than others. I also try not to feel guilty about asking the girls for space and time to rest when I need it. Alex Padurariu/Unsplash Before I was able to fully retreat, we played one round of UNO on my bed. The game diffused all that tension and we were beginning to enjoy each other's company again. They segued into their assigned one hour of pad time, giving me ample time to rest. They were more than excited and it worked out perfectly. My head hit that pillow with a smile, because we all got what we needed, and we rode that emotional wave the best we all could. It turned out to be a beautiful day after all.

It's 5:20 a.m., and my alarm is ringing with the intensity of a steelpan orchestra. The annoying and brain-rattling sound did the job of waking me up for yet another day of work, mothering, and everything in between. I bring my upper body to a sitting position and place my feet down on the carpeted floor. I walk into my bathroom and turn the lights on. Greeting me was the hyperpigmentation and acne that tell a story of struggle from puberty to a woman in her early 40s. I smile at my sleepy face, from a place deeply rooted in gratitude and radical self-love. This is me accepting where I am and seeing the beauty in the whole person with no desire to pick myself apart. I remember the first time I realized I was competing in a race that I did not sign up for. It wasn't a particular day or instance, but the awareness started shortly after puberty. With my raging hormones came acne, something I am convinced I inherited from my paternal side of the family. There I was, panting, chasing, and adjusting to meet an ideal that never belonged to me in the first place. My starting line was being redrawn by the very same hormones that were preparing me for womanhood. It felt more like a setback that would sometimes send me into a downward spiral of unsafe skin care practices. I began to understand the hierarchy, the unspoken rules of who gets seen, who gets praised, and who gets chosen. I wanted to be chosen, but at what cost? Beauty is Never Just Beauty It is currency, leverage, and identity; it is an ever-expanding checklist of products, treatments, and practices that transformed leisure into labor and self-worth into a transaction. My struggle was acne, and the world dangled a promise before me: if I kept up, if I kept spending, if I stayed vigilant, I could win the ultimate prize of poreless skin—the kind you saw on airbrushed models in beauty magazines. Yours may be something else. But what is the prize? And who was I trying to impress? The moment I quit wasn’t a singular event or a grand gesture of defiance. It was slow, like waking up from a dream and realizing I’d been running for too long without knowing why. I began to see how much of my time, energy, and money was being funneled into an industry designed to capitalize on my doubts. Every step forward was met with a new standard, a new flaw to correct, and a new treatment to undergo. The rules kept changing, the goalposts kept moving, and I was exhausted. I Started Questioning Everything Was I buying this serum because I genuinely enjoyed using it, or because I had internalized the idea that my bare skin wasn’t good enough? The more I questioned, the clearer it became: I was being played. The beauty industry thrives on insecurity. It cultivates doubt and sells the illusion of control. If I could just fix this one thing—this line, this pore, this hair texture—then I would be happy. But happiness was always postponed, always just one more purchase away. Stepping out of this system wasn’t easy. It meant unlearning the deeply ingrained belief that I needed to optimize my appearance to be worthy. It meant facing the discomfort of feeling “unfinished” when I no longer adhered to the latest beauty standard. It meant navigating the subtle (and not-so-subtle) messages from media, advertising, and even friends and family who still played by the old rules. But with every step back, I reclaimed a part of myself. I started to notice how much freer I felt when I wasn’t calculating my value in terms of external validation. I found beauty in ways that had nothing to do with marketable aesthetics—beauty in stillness, in joy, in connection, in the rich complexity of being a human outside the bounds of a consumer-driven identity. And then Came the Financial Clarity When I look back at the small fortune I funneled into this relentless pursuit, I am still in disbelief. The weekends spent in an aesthetician's office having my face poked, steamed, and massaged. As much as I enjoyed being pampered, I realized that I willingly surrendered so much of my money to an industry designed to keep me feeling inadequate. How much of my labor had gone into sustaining a system that commodified my very existence? What struck me most was how beauty culture had entered even the spaces meant for relaxation and self-expression. There was no such thing as a neutral activity anymore—every hobby, every leisure pursuit was now an opportunity for self-optimization. Skincare isn't just about hygiene; it is about achieving a glow that signifies youth, health, and desirability. Even simple acts like reading a book or drinking coffee had been transformed into aesthetic moments, meant to be performed rather than lived. I am not a Project I started to wonder: what would my life look like if I stopped seeing myself as a project? If I allowed myself to simply exist without the pressure to be constantly improving, refining, and presenting? What if I valued my body not as an ornament but as a vessel for experience? What if I spent my money not on perfecting my image, but on things that genuinely enriched my life in ways that didn’t require external validation? For me it was easy, but I can't say that for everyone who feels the pull to put an end to this never-ending cycle. I still feel the occasional pull, to re-enter the race, moments where I second-guess my choices or where I catch myself calculating how I measure up against impossible ideals, but the difference is that I recognize the game for what it is. And I choose not to play. Embracing Authentic Beauty Stepping away from beauty culture hasn’t made me indifferent to aesthetics or self-care. If anything, it has allowed me to engage with them in a way that feels more authentic and less performative. I still enjoy certain rituals, but they are now acts of pleasure, not obligation. I no longer feel the need to mold myself into these fleeting definitions of beauty. I embrace what suits my values and the lifestyle I want to lead. Photo from Natasha Brazil/Unsplash

I landed in New York City in my final year as a teenager. It wasn’t a planned transition, nor was it part of some grand vision I had for my life. My plan was simple: visit my mother, spend time in the city, and return home to my island in the sun. But plans change, and sometimes life has a way of redirecting us before we even realize what’s happening. New York was not unfamiliar to me. I had visited several times since the age of eleven, tagging along on summer trips, soaking in the towering buildings, and the fast-paced streets. But visiting a place and living in it are two vastly different experiences. I never imagined that I would stay, that I would build a life here, that this city of concrete and ambition would become my home. My mother had already made that choice a year before I arrived. She had spent years as part of the invisible labor in one of the more prominent hotels back home in the Caribbean. Then, in an abrupt decision, she left her job without notice and moved permanently to Brooklyn. She sent me the plane ticket she had promised—with the expectation that I would stay. And for a while, I didn’t think I would. I had just completed my A levels. My results weren’t terrible, but they weren’t what I had hoped for either. The idea of starting fresh in New York wasn’t something I had given much thought to, at least not seriously. Four months into my stay, I booked a ticket to return home. But as my departure date approached, my family members encouraged me to stay. New York, they said, had more opportunities. I listened, and I stayed. That decision set me on an unexpected but deeply formative journey—a lengthy career as a domestic worker. Finding My Place in the City The first few years were a blur of short-term jobs. I worked with various families, often in temporary positions. The work was demanding, but it paid the bills. Then, in 2006, I applied for a position that would become my longest and most stable role. The job was with a family living in the Financial District of Manhattan. I remember getting off at the Brooklyn Bridge stop on the 4 train, walking to the building, and nervously announcing myself at the concierge desk. The family, an expectant couple in their third trimester, lived in a cozy one-bedroom apartment. They were warm and welcoming, and the interview went well. But ultimately, they decided to hire someone else—a candidate recommended by another family in the building. I moved on, taking other jobs, but a few months later, I received a call from the family. Their initial hire hadn’t worked out. They needed someone more engaging for their son. Was I still available? Without hesitation, I accepted. Not only did I need the job, but I was ready for something more permanent. I had worked in daycare centers and afterschool programs before, but I was exhausted by the chaotic environment. I longed for a role where I could give a child my undivided attention. The Work of Care My responsibilities were straightforward but significant. I took their son to mommy-and-me programs, arranged playdates, prepared his meals, and did his laundry. I became his world outside of his parents. He was a delightful baby—blonde-haired, blue-eyed, with the chubbiest cheeks I had ever seen. He was always in the high percentile for height and weight, and as he grew, he became more energetic, more curious, and more demanding of my time and attention. About eighteen months later, another son joined the family. They kept me active, strengthened my core (quite literally), and filled my days with laughter and exhaustion in equal measure. While I focused on their care, their mother was building her career. There were days when I arrived at work and had no idea what part of the world she was in. She was ambitious, driven, and successful, and my role as her children's caregiver gave her the freedom to pursue those ambitions. For almost seven years, I was a constant presence in their home, a steady figure in their sons' lives, and an integral part of their daily routine. I was paid well for my work, which was not always the case for many domestic workers. I was fortunate in that regard. One day, I saw her on my television screen. Her career had placed her in the public eye for a long time, but this time, she was aligned with one of the most influential women. It was surreal—this woman whose children I had cared for, whose home I had spent years in, was on my screen. I was proud of her, but it also made me reflect on the unseen labor behind the success stories of so many women like her. The Invisible Workforce I am one of the many Black women and women of color who have, in one way or another, contributed to the careers of women with means and access. We are the nannies, the housekeepers, the caregivers, the ones who ensure that their homes are in order, that their children are well cared for, and that they have the support they need to climb the ladders of success. Every time I see a Hollywood reporter ask a celebrity mom, "How do you do it all?" I cringe. The question itself ignores the reality of the hidden workforce behind the illusion of effortless success. It is a question rooted in privilege and ignorance, a question that disregards the labor of the women who made it possible for these high-achieving women to "do it all." The erasure of domestic workers is not new. It is woven into the fabric of societies that rely on our labor while refusing to acknowledge its value. It is a profession that has long been undervalued, underpaid, and overlooked. And yet, without us, many industries would not function as smoothly as they do. The very women who are celebrated for their achievements need the unseen labor of women like me, because the fact remains, they can't do it all alone . A Life Reimagined When I think about my journey—from a teenager who planned only a brief visit to New York, to a domestic worker who spent years caring for the children of others—I see resilience. I see the sacrifices my mother made, the choices I had to make, and the unexpected paths that led me to where I am today. Would I have imagined this life for myself? No. But life is rarely what we plan. I built something here. I found purpose in the work I did, even if society often failed to recognize its worth. And while my story is my own, it is also the story of so many women who leave their homes, their countries, their dreams behind to build new lives in foreign cities, taking on roles that are essential but rarely acknowledged. We exist. We work. We matter. And our stories deserve to be told. Aubre in Between is a reader-supported publication. If my work has encouraged you, please consider becoming a paid subscriber  🤎

My wedding day was a rainy December morning. For me, rain has always been a symbol of blessings and favor, and it made the day we chose each other even more meaningful. In honor of that moment, we later named one of our daughters Raine . With my mother and his best friend as our witnesses, we stood together, ready to say our I Do’s . I remember feeling a deep sense of hopefulness, excitement, and joy about embarking on what I thought would be a lifelong journey. Just a few days before the wedding, I found myself having a mini-meltdown in the dressing room of the Diane Von Furstenberg store in Soho. Finding my wedding dress was a story in itself that required more effort than I anticipated. We planned a city hall wedding , so it wasn't an elaborate celebration—just exactly what we wanted. But as the day approached, the excitement and nerves started crashing down all at once. After the tears in that fitting room, I found the most beautiful dress with the help of a really special store employee. It was perfect—simple, elegant, and a reflection of me. I couldn't help but think that one day, maybe one of my future daughters might want to wear or incorporate it into their own special day if they choose to get married. I was beyond happy, standing next to the person I believed I would spend the rest of my life with. The Slow Crumbling of a Marriage The signs were already there long before we got married, but I believed that his positive traits far outweighed the negatives. I never turned a blind eye to our issues and would address them as I saw fit, but my concerns were sometimes ignored or met with resistance. He would sometimes acknowledge them, make adjustments, but then regress into old patterns. Like most marriages that end in divorce, our marriage fell apart gradually. It wasn't one catastrophic event, but rather a series of ever-increasing missteps that piled up brick by brick, until it became too high to climb. At the core of it was neglect—emotional and physical neglect that crept in both before and during our marriage. We were two imperfect humans trying to navigate life together, and at the time, my imperfect partner was worth it to me. I married a provider, but he willfully marched into workaholic territory ignoring his responsibility to me as his wife. It led to countless arguments, full of words neither of us could take back. I watched as work became his shield—a coping mechanism to avoid our problems—his own, mine, and ours as a couple. Resentment began to fester inside me like an untreated wound, slowly infecting everything around us. I felt unseen, unheard, and deeply alone in my own marriage. I couldn’t function in that space, let alone offer him or myself any grace. It was a painful, suffocating experience— one that slowly dismantled what we were trying to build , piece by fragile piece. Accepting the End Most people get married with the intention of staying married—certainly, that was my plan. We go into marriage with the hope that our love will withstand whatever life throws at us. I wanted that for us. I wanted our relationship to work and our family to stay whole. But eventually, I had to face the truth that my marriage had reached the end of the road . Before asking for a divorce, I tried. I asked for therapy, I suggested living apart for a while to give us both some space to gain perspective. But he was staunchly opposed to every option I put on the table. Divorce was never my first choice, but it became my only choice when nothing else worked. I had to put myself first and prioritize my well-being. Absent of abuse, infidelity, or severe addiction, I always encourage anyone contemplating divorce to make every effort to salvage their relationship. Divorce is costly—financially and emotionally—and often consumes more energy than the time and effort put into building the marriage in the first place. I didn’t rush into it. I exhausted every option I could think of before I finally decided to call it quits. Choosing divorce wasn’t about giving up—it was about saving myself from a relationship that had become more harmful than healing. I had to make peace with the reality that loving someone sometimes means letting go. The Aftermath: What Divorce Brought to the Surface There were other issues, of course, because relationships don’t crumble over one thing; they unravel because of everything. The act of getting divorced brought up so many unexpected emotions, fears, and realizations that I had never considered before. For Me Becoming a Black Single Mother I went through a period of mourning—not just for my marriage but for the life I had envisioned for my family. I had to grapple with what it meant to be not just a single mother, but a single black mother , who shoulders these responsibilities while navigating societal perceptions. Black single motherhood comes with unique challenges that are deeply rooted in both misogyny and harmful stereotypes. No one other than a Black woman truly understands what it’s like to be villainized for being the one who stayed, who tried, and who ultimately made the painful decision to leave. That awareness terrified me. For a long time, I couldn’t bring myself to stop wearing my wedding band. I feared the judgment of being labeled “ another single Black mother .” As the daughter of a single mother myself, someone I am immensely proud of, my fear wasn’t rooted in disdain for women who had children out of wedlock. Instead, it was about the harsh, nefarious words of people who demonized Black mothers, treating them as symbols of failure rather than women navigating complex lives. I had to process these feelings and come to the realization that the thoughts of others, no matter how loud or judgmental, do not define me. My responsibility is to myself and to the children I share with my ex-husband. Living Alone for the First Time Before my divorce, I had never lived alone. My journey began in the Caribbean, surrounded by an extended family, and when I moved to the United States, I continued living with my mother and her sister's family. Later, my mother and I moved in together, and about a year later, I moved in with my ex-husband. I had never inhabited a space where the four walls were mine and mine alone, and the thought of doing so terrified me. Despite my fears, I knew moving forward with my decision was the right thing to do. I wasn’t alone—I had my girls, who needed me to create an environment where their mother was happy and at peace. That mattered more than anything else, because I wanted to stop that feeling of wanting to run away from my own life. Eventually, I realized that simply removing what was unbearable at the time was a better solution than running away. Once I made that decision, I felt that I could breathe again. The tension that had suffocated our home slowly dissipated, and I found a sense of calm I hadn’t felt in years. Starting Therapy Therapy became a crucial part of my growth. As soon as he moved out, I started therapy. We were in the throes of COVID-19 and I was working from home in a job that was coming to an end.  Grief and loss loomed over me—my partner, family members lost to the pandemic, and the shattering of the life I had imagined. In the beginning, I wasn’t entirely honest with my therapist—I know, who pays for help and decides to hide pertinent information from the person assigned to listen. I had convinced myself that I was managing just fine and didn't realize what I was doing. I was able to keep up the facade for a few months, because my girls needed me and my job kept me distracted. It wasn't until the job ended that reality came crashing down. I described it to my therapist as "... feeling like Superman ascending at the highest speed into the atmosphere, then suddenly feeling the effects of the loss of oxygen, and spiraling into a free fall. " I crashed so hard. Every day felt like my own personal nightmare as every suppressed emotion surfaced, demanding my attenion. It was a breaking point, but also a turning point. When I finally stopped pretending and let the pain flow, the healing began. I allowed myself to be honest about everything that had accumulated over the years, and it was only then that I started to reclaim myself . My Health Improved The stress of my marriage had taken a physical toll on me, manifesting as frequent health flares that made waking up some days feel almost impossible. My body bore the weight of being in constant survival mode—always stuck between fight or flight. Being a single-married mother did that to me. Even though I technically had a partner, I was navigating life alone. I had been functioning like a single parent for so long that admitting it aloud wasn’t the shock I thought it would be. It took time to embrace my new reality, but once I did, I noticed my health improving slowly but significantly. The absence of constant tension brought a lightness back into my life. I slept better. I had more energy. I recognized myself again, feeling more present and capable of caring for my girls without the lingering stress that had once dominated our lives. I knew I made the right choice. The Thought of Dating Again The idea of dating again felt daunting, almost unimaginable. I even considered not dating until my daughters were in high school, mostly out of fear. Even a year later, I still couldn’t wrap my head around the concept of opening myself up to someone new. Dating required a level of vulnerability I wasn’t ready to give. It felt like I’d have to vet any potential partner like the FBI and CIA combined, yet still find a way to let them in. That was a risk I wasn’t prepared to take with two little girls in the picture. I went on just a handful of dates before I realized that I wasn’t ready. My focus needed to stay on myself and my daughters, on rebuilding my life and finding stability before even considering inviting someone else into our world. I chose to embrace the peace that comes with being single. I learned that there is no rush, because love would find its way to me when I’m truly ready. For Us Gaining a New Perspective A separation could have potentially been able to help resolve the issues in our marriage because the time apart gave us both a different perspective. Distance revealed things we couldn’t see when we were in the thick of it. Moving straight into a divorce shocked my system in some unexpected ways. During that time, I found myself replaying memories and reflecting on the choices we made. I couldn’t help but wonder how different things might have been if we had just taken a step back and given ourselves room to breathe and think separately. Sometimes, space allows you to see your partner differently—to understand their struggles from a distance, to feel empathy instead of frustration. I came to realize that our problems weren’t always about what he did or didn’t do, but rather how we both struggled to navigate life together.  In that quiet, reflective time, I started to see both of our flaws more clearly and learned to let go of some of the resentment I’d been holding onto. It wasn’t an easy process, but it was necessary for me to gain clarity and ultimately find a sense of peace . Co-Parenting Challenges and Successes Navigating co-parenting was another hurdle, but we continued to put our children first. In the beginning, it felt almost impossible—figuring out schedules, communicating about the kids without falling into old arguments, and trying to present a united front despite our differences. I worried about how our daughters would adjust to living between two households. We eventually found our rhythm and established routines that kept the girls feeling grounded and secure, even when they struggled to adjust. There were moments when frustration crept in, but I learned to set my feelings aside when it came to co-parenting decisions. As time passed, I was so happy to see him grow as a parent, even though our partnership as spouses didn’t work out. The girls still had both of us, just in a different way. Acknowledging Our Growth Even in the pain of divorce, we both grew. We learned and we found ways to move forward separately, still bound by the family we had created. We both had to confront uncomfortable truths about ourselves and how we contributed to the breakdown of our relationship. There were moments of guilt and regret on both sides, but also moments of understanding and acceptance. In the end, it wasn’t just about letting go of each other, but letting go of the expectations we had carried throughout our marriage. Though the path was painful, we emerged from it with a deeper sense of who we are—both as individuals and as co-parents. The family we built remains intact, just in a new form, and we continue to support each other when it comes to raising our daughters. It’s not perfect, but it’s real, and we’ve made peace with that. Moving Forward With Grace Divorce is not just an ending; it’s a beginning. It’s a chance to rebuild, to redefine love and partnership, to rediscover yourself. My story is not just about the loss of a marriage—it’s about resilience, transformation, and the unexpected blessings that come from life’s storms. After two years of being apart, we decided to give our relationship another chance, and it has been the best decision of our lives. I still look back on my wedding day as a beautiful moment. It was a day of love, of hope, of promises made with the best intentions. And while my marriage didn’t last, I carry forward the lessons, the growth, and the understanding that sometimes, the greatest gift we can give ourselves is the freedom to start anew. Photos by Erneil Johnny Aubre in Between is a reader-supported publication. If my work has encouraged you, please consider becoming a paid subscriber 🤎