Search

The year 2024 is about to come to an end and I am excited to close it by celebrating my many highs and acknowledging the many lows. As the days creep closer to the new year, I am taking the time to assess the year's events. It is truly amazing how time moves so quickly, yet so slowly, because we then have to acknowledge if progress was made or not. I try to see my glass as half full always, so even when goals aren't met, I do my very best to show myself grace ; the kind that would be extended to me from a loving and caring friend. You see, I am that friend, and for that reason, I am looking back from the lens of gratitude . Grateful for Career Changes . An unfortunate incident occurred on October 7th, 2023 where the trunk of my car dropped onto the left side of my temple on a rainy night, leaving me with post-concussion syndrome and multiple fibromyalgia flares that made performing day-to-day tasks extremely difficult. I quit the position I was in at the end of January 2024 and began working as a substitute teacher, primarily because the schedule and the time off work perfectly for me as the primary caretaker of my two children, in a city where I have no dependable family. I believe this concussion was the catalyst for making a series of necessary changes, particularly those that involved the trajectory of my career. So many times acquaintances and random strangers would ask why I never considered teaching, especially since I am so great with children. I would sarcastically and with great humor retort that there are only a few kids that I like and that I do not like other people's kids, despite having worked with people's kids since I was nineteen and loving it. I was used to working with a younger demographic from babies to eight-year-olds. The idea of working with teenagers terrified me, because all I had to go by was the horror stories I had either heard of being reported on the news or the extremely inaccurate American films that I saw about American schools. Well to my shock, I have grown to love working as a high school substitute teacher, a far cry from the work of being a human resources specialist. I can't tell you the number of times students have called me the cool sub, the best sub, or will come to talk to me , because they haven't seen me in a while . It warms my heart to no end, because seeing them happy makes me happy. With every class I walk into, I set very clear expectations from the beginning, I find a way through small gestures to empower them with a sense of autonomy, I find something to connect on so they know they're in a safe space and allow myself to be a sounding board for their concerns. As someone with lots of experience working with kids, I can honestly say, not a lot changes from how you treat a toddler to a young adult. You treat them with respect, you allow them to feel seen and heard, and remind them that you are on their side. As much as I know this is temporary, I am loving every minute of it. In many ways, I feel like I have gotten my life back. Mental Health Check, Renata Poleon, 2024 Grateful for my Sisters . I can't talk about 2024 without talking about my girlfriends . I think of them and I want to sob from the profound gratitude I have for them, This is where almost thirty years of friendship takes you to . I am an only child, and my three best friends since I was twelve years old are the closest people I have to sisters on this planet. Though we are all in different parts of the world or cities, we make it a point to talk to each other regularly. Not a single week goes by without a text, a voice note or a funny meme—and there are so many—to each other. Our WhatsApp group is where all the fun happens and where we navigate love, joy, loss , laughter, grief, and motherhood that is just so much easier to bear with my sisters. We lay it all at the altar of our friendship, vulnerable and ready to receive the healing and nurturing words from our sisterhood in solidarity with each other. Oh, how we have all grown this year. It feels like we have hit another level in our friendship, We're talking about compounds and living out our latter years like the Golden Girls . I am ready for whatever life throws at me, because I know that they will be there to keep me afloat. Grateful for Love Renewed . Being in a long term relationship has so many highs and lows. Two lives combined alone can have its challenges and then you add the ones you create together; it can be met with intentional growth or parties checking out at one point or another. Loving isn't hard, but it is all the other factors that come into play whether internal or external. Most of us come into marriages with the best intention whether we had amazing examples or not of what a healthy relationship looks like. With both of us never having seen what a healthy marriage looks like and being taught the recipe for a good one, my partner and I were going with the flow and making so many mistakes along the way. This year, especially over the last few months, we have seen such a shift in how we show up for each other . There has always been love, but the missing pieces began coming together. There is so much beauty in relearning each other unlike we have never done before. We also have a stronger bond that allows us to keep showing up for our children, but also give them an example of what a healthy relationship looks like, something that we both never experienced. Love and Marriage, Renata Poleon, 2012 Grateful for Therapy . Seeing a therapist for the last couple of years has been a lifesaver for me. I sought help at a point in time when life was honestly drop-kicking me. As much as I am so grateful to have my girlfriends, I needed to deposit a lot and I could not see myself dropping that much of a load on them. I also needed a much more objective perspective, so I reached for help. I've had the same therapist for the last four years and not only do we share a similar cultural upbringing, talking to her feels like talking to one of my girlfriends without her being a girlfriend. It is indeed the best of both worlds. Having her as a sounding board has allowed me to preserve myself, my relationship and my friendships. As a child of an absentee father, who has become more present in my life this year, I struggled reconciling my feelings. I realized that a lot of struggles throughout my life stemmed from feeling abandoned. For a long time, I felt like the three most important men in my life were emotionally unavailable, and having to sit in those feelings was painful but healing. I realized more and more that my responsibility is to hold space for myself and they do not need full access to me. I am in control of how I want to show up in these relationships and if I want to show up at all. At some point, choosing to decenter them was the bet thing I could do. Standing firmly, 2024, Renata Poleon Grateful for Perspective . Not having it all figured out and accepting that I may never have it all figured out is sobering and contrary to what we have been taught. This year, I realized I doubled down on not participating in grind culture. I realized for a long time that part of the reason that I could not create and was limited in my creative abilities was because, I was exhausted, burnt out, sleep-deprived, and deeply disconnected from my purpose . I am still trying to find my way through it, and one of the ways I began to combat this rather robotic existence was to leave NYC and make upstate NY my new home. Change is not particularly scary for me. As someone who left their home country at the age of nineteen with nothing but two suitcases, I know what starting over feels like. I will do it as many times as I need to, to find what gives me purpose and brings me joy. I realized that I have such a spirit of adventure that keeps me going, but also teaches me to appreciate every moment. I mean, I survived another year of motherhood, still intact and the children doing well. I have to say, I think I crushed 2024. Adventure, 2024, Renata Poleon I am walking intentionally into 2025 and grateful for what 2024 taught me. (Top photo After the Snow, Renata Poleon, 2024)

Going into the new year, I thought I would have one word to guide me through the year, but I have now come to two words to be my light. The words are clarity and latibulate. I have to give Plantkween credit for the latter, because when I heard her say the word, it spoke directly to my soul. It is the word I had been looking for that encapsulates my desire in the coming year as a woman, a partner, a mother, and everything in between. I once heard someone say that so many mental health issues are rooted in a lack of clarity. I have to say, I never thought about it that way. Then I looked into my own life to see how that has impacted me. I can say for sure that one of the things I have always prioritized is knowing where I stand, whether it be personally, professionally, relationally, and in every other aspect of my life. There is nothing worse than being in limbo that will wreak havoc on your mind. I will continue to seek clarity in ways that enrich my life and preserve my mental health and well-being. The next word is truly a gem right here as I said before. It seems like I have been latibulating for about two decades based on the definition, which is “to hide or seek refuge, often as a way of protecting oneself from external threats or finding solace in a safe space. ” Latibulating is a priority for sanity and peace. Seeking refuge in safe spaces is important for all of us to grow. We find rest and safety in calm spaces ; we thrive in safe spaces. Because the way our society is hell-bent on making sure we burn out on both ends is endless. With the year we have all had as a country, those of us who prioritize our well-being can continue to latibulate . Some may take your actions as ostracizing yourself, and to that, I say let them, because only you know what you need . As I latibulate, I also recognize it as an element of preparation for what is to come . By preserving myself and my energy, I can create and respond to the call of my divine purpose. Being pulled from every direction can make a soul grow weary and lose the zeal for pursuing our passions. Latibulate for restoration and refocus, and in the process, seek clarity. Now go forth into 2025 with a purpose. Have you chosen your word for the year?

The only resolution I’m making this year is to return my library books on time. It’s not groundbreaking, but let’s be honest: that’s a level of consistency I can aspire to. As for the broader concept of New Year’s resolutions? Meh. They’re like gym memberships in January—aspirational, overhyped, and often abandoned by February. Instead, I’m embracing a delulu mindset this year—living boldly in my own universe of creativity and audacity. I’ve spent decades watching the greatest show on Earth, America , and if there’s one takeaway, it’s this: audacity is the key to survival. Forget imposter syndrome; success requires confidence so unshakable it borders on absurdity. For me, the New Year isn’t a clean slate; it’s a chance to recycle last year’s unfinished goals and reframe my so-called “overambitious” ideas. This time, though, I’m leaning into the audacity of creativity in a world that often asks for proof before it believes in dreams. Creativity, by definition, is unconventional. You’re building something out of nothing—a book, a painting, a movement. It takes nerve to believe in your ideas when the world demands pragmatism. But here’s the truth: I’m tired of running from my creative pursuits. I’ve let the myth of the starving artist hold me back, but that ends now. This year is about birthing those bold ideas and moving toward the things that scare me the most. For far too long, I’ve felt like a dry autumn leaf, carried whichever way the wind blew. No more. This year, I’m grounding myself in discipline—not the joyless, rigid kind, but the kind where intention meets consistent action. Let’s be real: the last few years have been sprinkled with mild chaos. I kept pretending I had it together, but… I didn’t. Now it’s time to call myself out, reset, and move forward. Here’s my vision: I want my life to feel like Björk’s discography—quirky, unapologetic, and uniquely mine. I imagine a future where I sit across from someone who genuinely gets my vision, someone who sees the light a younger, more self-critical version of me couldn’t recognize. Being a creative person means juggling a thousand ideas and interests, trying to weave them into a coherent story of who you are and why you exist. It’s messy, exhilarating, and deeply personal. But that’s the beauty of it—choosing to live out loud, in full color, without asking for permission. The other day, while sledding with my daughters, my eldest looked up at the sky and asked, “Mom, what if there was peace everywhere in the world?” I told her the truth: “I wish there could be, but too many people profit from chaos. What you can do is create peace in your heart and your life.” She nodded, satisfied with the answer. And I realized that’s exactly what I’m aiming for this year: a heart full of peace and a life full of audacity. So this year, I plan on living my most delusional life. The one where my identity, abilities, and all the other labels society throws at me doesn’t define my possibilities. I’m dreaming big, being bold and taking up space. Scratch that—demand space. Because life is short, and when all is said and done, I don’t want to leave this world knowing I played it safe. I want to leave knowing I lived creatively, authentically, and unapologetically. Let’s create, dream, and live in a way that proves we were here—not by conventional standards, but by our own wild, untamed visions. This year, delusion isn’t a flaw. It’s the plan. (Photo of Björk/Tim Walker/W Magazine )

If you had told me a decade ago that my greatest cheerleader would be a tiny human I helped bring into the world, I’d have laughed. But here I am, a proud mom, blessed with a nine-year-old daughter whose unshakable belief in my talents leaves me speechless. She thinks I’m capable of anything—and I mean anything. To her, I’m an artist, a chef, a comedian, and, apparently, an untapped entrepreneurial powerhouse. This post is dedicated to her, my pint-sized motivator, who thinks I can conquer the world one business venture at a time. Kids have a way of seeing the world that adults sometimes forget. They see possibilities instead of obstacles, magic in the mundane, and strength in the people they love. My nine-year-old daughter is no exception. She’s the kind of girl who watches me create art for my bedroom and thinks my art needs to be in museums. She thinks my cake decorating could rival the professionals on TV. And don’t even get me started on her opinion of my cooking—every dish I make is “the best thing ever!” To be honest, it really is. To her, I’m a walking, talking bundle of untapped potential, and she’s determined to make sure I realize it. Every time I mention a new idea—whether it’s a fleeting thought or a half-baked plan—she’s the first to light up. “You should totally do that, Mom!” she says with so much enthusiasm it makes me pause. She’ll grab her younger sister and turn our kitchen into a cheering section, clapping her hands and declaring, “You’re the best! You can do anything!” In quiet moments. She will ask how is my idea coming along. Her words are so pure and so confident that, I believe her. But then the doubt sometimes creeps in, as it so often does for us grown-ups. What if I fail? What if it’s not good enough? And that’s when my nine-year-old steps in with her signature wisdom far beyond her years: “Mom, you won’t know until you try. And you’re awesome, so it will be amazing.” Mini cakes for my daughter's 9th birthday made by me, Renata Poleon, 2024 Let me tell you, this girl has ideas . She’s convinced I could turn any one of my hobbies into a thriving business. After tasting one of my chocolate chip cookies, she declared, “You should open a bakery! People would line up to buy these.” She’s obsessed with the little paintings and sketches I make for fun. “Mom, you could sell these. They’re so pretty." When I told her I was starting a home organizing business, The Tidy Habit she was extremely excited. She would show me her organizing skills and talk about being part of the business when she gets older. Unfortunately, after moving to Upstate NY, I decided to abandon ship. Even then she asks, "Mom, will you start the business again?" Every time she pitches a new idea, I am amazed at her belief in me. Deep down, I’m touched. She truly believes I can do anything. In addition to her endless encouragement, my daughter has a knack for delivering pep talks that rival anything you’d hear from a professional life coach. One of the most profound things about having a child who believes in you is that it forces you to reconsider your own self-perception. I sometimes find myself wondering: If only I can see myself the way she sees me. To her, I’m not just “Mom.” I’m a creator, a dreamer, and someone who can accomplish anything I set my mind to. Her belief in me is so steadfast that it’s rubbing off. If my daughter has taught me anything, it’s that no dream is too big—or too small. Whether it’s starting a business or trying a new recipe, every effort matters. Her fearless attitude reminds me that failure isn’t the end of the world. It’s just a step on the path to success. One of her favorite sayings is, “It doesn’t have to be perfect; it just has to be fun.” That’s advice I try to carry with me every day. Trip to Washington D.C, 2024 It wouldn’t be fair to leave out my younger daughter, who is just as enthusiastic about my talents as her big sister. Together, they’re like a little fan club, always ready with compliments, encouragement, and maybe a few giggles at my sillier moments. The two of them have a way of boosting my confidence in a way no one else can. They think I’m talented and capable of anything—so why shouldn’t I think that too? If my daughters can see all this potential in me, then maybe it’s time I start seeing it too. It’s so easy to let self-doubt take over, to downplay your talents and dismiss your ideas before they even have a chance to grow. But my nine-year-old’s belief in me has taught me an important lesson: The only thing standing in the way of my dreams is me. So maybe it’s time to take a leap of faith, to start that business venture or pursue that passion project. Because if my biggest cheerleader thinks I can do it, then who am I to argue? I don’t know exactly what the future holds, but I do know one thing: whatever I decide to do, my daughters will be right there cheering me on. And that’s all the motivation I need to take that first step. To my nine-year-old cheerleader, thank you for believing in me. Your faith in me means more than you’ll ever know. And to all the moms out there reading this: if your kids believe in you, maybe it’s time to believe in yourself too.

This week has been a challenging one, to say the least. One of my girls got severely sick with a troublesome one hundred and four degree temperature. And guess what that meant? I was home for all three days with my sick, sweet baby girl. My younger daughter on the other hand thought she could be absent by proxy until she realized, that’s not how this works. She had an epic meltdown while declaring her concern and love for her sick sister’s wellbeing. As much as I appreciated her strategic thoughtfulness, I didn’t budge and she still had to make it to school on time. Yay me! I deserve a prize and a snack. While at home, I started thinking about how much—primarily mothers— sacrifice for our children’s wellbeing. Many may argue that once you become a mother, you’re relegated to the automatic responsibility of childcare, but I am so happy that my generation and those behind us are pushing back against this ideal. In our home, we go based based on who is available to work from home. If that person is needed in the office, then we go based on who makes less. With the way the cost of living is snatching us all by the jugular, whoever has less to lose takes over the childcare at that time. We send the other to slay the corporate America dragon. Dragon breathing fire Thankfully, I survived those three days and now I am back to my day job— working with teenagers . Who would have thought that working with teenagers would be one of the least stressful parts of my day? As I sit here, one jumps into my class to say “Hi,” just because. Because of them, my fears of the teenage years with my two daughters have subsided. I know it’s not the same, but I am realizing the strategies that work with them. As someone who has been working with kids since I was nineteen years old in all age groups, I think I am cracking the code. A good balance of giving them a sense of autonomy, respect, and a healthy sense of humor goes a long way. Most value authority in a way that isn’t constricting or overbearing, because it gives the feeling of being heard. They’ve now started coming to me to talk and complain about the teachers and subs they think are being difficult. It’s quite funny the way they sometimes arrive out of breath, but leave being able to get a different perspective and a clearer picture of what it takes to adapt to different personalities in an academic setting. I hope that my words stay with them even as they move into their professions after graduation. My experience as a mother and someone in the field of education takes me back to my roots. I think of the fundamental values that were instilled in me by the people in my life, and one particular person comes to mind. She is the OG dragon slayer, a woman who committed decades of her life to service as an educator leaving quite an impression on the lives of many young girls and women. Saint Joseph's Convent, St. Lucia, W.I Who could have imagined that Sister Claire, a petite and stern nun who once served as the long-time principal of my high school, St. Joseph’s Convent  in St. Lucia, would leave such a profound mark on my life? I am not sure if the quietest shoes known to mankind were handed out upon becoming a nun, but she built a reputation among us for just appearing out of thin air. She possessed a witty sense of humor and a painful ruler that we all affectionately called “ Tickler. ” On a rare occasion or two, Tickler made contact with my body at a time when it was and still may be legal for an educator to hit your child in St. Lucia. It was quite a time and a generation. If you reported to your parents, you received little to no comfort. You were better off consoling yourself through internal dialogue, rather than dealing with the possibility of another spanking from parents who followed a philosophy of spank now and ask questions later . I don’t think they even bothered to ask questions, because no explanation could suffice for making your teacher or principal have to spank you. In the minds of most parents, your teacher was right, you were wrong, and it was your fault, no questions asked. I was quite lucky that my mother was the anomaly in that I barely ever got spanked—not that I can remember—but she would ask and lean into the belief that I probably did something to deserve it. Thankfully, that too was also a rare occurrence. Sister Claire led a group of hormonal, teenage girls like the champ that she was. She humbly ushered us from girlhood into womanhood by simultaneously displaying exemplary strength and gentleness. It was her leadership that helped many of us come into our identity, overcome difficulties, and encouraged us to forge our paths. St. Joseph’s Convent was where I learned the value of sisterhood, education, acts of service, good manners, and etiquette. To this day, I still believe that good manners and acts of service are social currency that help us all navigate the world with grace and consideration for others. Here, in some small way, I am one of thousands fulfilling the legacy of a woman who played a pivotal role in my life. Her values and the values of my alma mater built a resilience in me that connects to who I am today as a mother, an educator, and a human being. Who in your life has left a beautiful legacy in you?

Originally posted: January 18, 2021 Edited: January 19, 2025 “The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” Martin Luther King Jr. (Strength to Love, 1963) Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day. This day is a powerful reminder of our collective struggle for equality and justice. For many, it is a moment to reflect on Dr. King's profound legacy and recommit ourselves to the principles he championed. It is also a time to celebrate the unwavering determination of Black women, who have always been at the center of the movement for progress. As we honor Dr. King’s memory, we must also recognize that the fight for justice is far from over. Recent events—both triumphant and challenging—underscore the necessity of showing up for Black women. The 2024 election served as a powerful reminder of the significance of the Black vote, especially the impact on Black women. Once again, Black women united with a remarkable 92% strength in their collective efforts to help reshape the nation's future. Unfortunately, we had to come to terms with the harsh reality that, aside from Black men, we were nearly alone in this struggle. This pattern of Black women bearing the burden of democracy is finally being recognized, albeit at a critical moment, as we collectively choose to prioritize rest. Tricia Hersey, founder of the Nap Ministry, argues that rest could be a form of resistance. In a recent interview with NPR, Tricia states " ... right now rest is critical because it's counterintuitive and counter-narrative to see slowing down, napping and rest as a key to our movement for black liberation. But it really is so important because rest disrupts and pushes back and allows space for healing, for invention, for us to be more human. It'll allow us to imagine this new world that we want, this new world that's liberated, that's full of justice, that's a foundation for us to really, truly live our lives. " Michelle Obama is now being villainized for not attending the presidential inauguration happening today. Her decision, whether made by choice or due to a scheduling conflict, represents a significant act of protest—a refusal to normalize a political climate that often feels hostile to the values she embodies. As a former First Lady, Michelle Obama has exemplified grace, resilience, and strength. Her absence from the inauguration sent a powerful message: silence is not an option, and complicity is not acceptable. For many Black women, her choice resonated deeply, reminding us that we have the right to prioritize our well-being and stand firm in our beliefs—especially when the world expects our labor without offering anything in return. Michelle Obama , First Lady of the United States of America 2009-2017 Michelle Obama's choice underscores a broader reality: Black women are frequently expected to support others without hesitation. We serve as the backbone of movements, the caretakers of our communities, and the driving force behind progress. However, we are often not given the same care and consideration that we provide to others. If all Michelle does is lie in bed today, I am proud of her. On this Martin Luther King Jr. Day, let us recognize and celebrate the powerful force that Black women represent. We must also acknowledge the allies who stand with us—not just during moments of triumph but also in times of challenge and controversy. Dr. King’s words remind us that it is easy to remain on the sidelines during comfortable times. True allyship requires stepping up when it matters most. Supporting Black women goes beyond empty words. It entails advocating for policies that tackle systemic inequalities, such as maternal health disparities and the gender pay gap. It means investing in Black-owned businesses, backing Black women-led initiatives, and amplifying our voices in spaces where we are underrepresented. Additionally, it involves challenging the stereotypes and biases that undermine our contributions and deny us the humanity we deserve. Black women are not saviors or superheroes. We are human beings who deserve love, respect, and rest. As we honor Dr. King’s legacy today, let us also honor the countless Black women who have carried the torch of justice through generations. From the Civil Rights Movement to now, but after all this hard work we are now choosing to rest. Others need to pick up the spear and fight the battles. To those who call themselves allies: continue to do the work. Speak up when it matters. Advocate for our rights and recognize our worth—not just when it is convenient but always. But for now and possibly into the foreseeable future, Black women are choosing to rest. It’s time for the world to show up for us. We deserve it. (Photo of Michelle Obama , First Lady of the United States of America 2009-2017)

There’s a particular kind of heartbreak that comes with a love story that lingers in the "what-if" realm. It doesn’t belong entirely to the past or the future; it exists in a liminal space between hope and closure. It felt warm and nourishing, other times, it was a ghost—haunting me with whispers of what could have been, pulling me back into memories I should have left in the past. My story lasted much longer than I would like to admit. Our love did not disturb the progression of our lives in different parts of the world, but there was always a void, much like the one a child experiences when they lose a parent. I do not wish for anyone to exist in this space, because I believe we all deserve two things: clarity  and commitment . It’s a love story I thought would have a second act, but it ultimately ended, not in a fiery burst of anger or betrayal, but in the quiet realization that our reunion would never happen. Here are some of the lessons I learned moving forward into a space of reconciling with the truth and healing. If he Wanted to, he Would . This principle became an anchor as I slowly began to crawl out of my disappointment. I had to face the reality that his words were meaningless because there was no action —just a hollow echo of what love should be. Genuine love transcends many obstacles and people make time for who or what is important to them. This wasn't someone who didn't have the means to, but rather someone who chose not to . His verbal declarations of love were all a mirage—it looked real from a distance but evaporated when I reached for it. When there is nothing to hold on to, you have to let go. Hope can be a Trap . Hope can be beautiful, but it can also blind you. For years, I clung to the hope that he would act on his words, but he didn't. My desire to see him again and maybe continue where we left off became a trap, tethering me to a cycle of hurt and disappointment. It came to a point where I felt I was being gaslit at times, because my desires and expectations were not being met. This is when hope does not serve you; it keeps you stuck . Letting go felt like I lost a dream, but it also freed me to see reality for what it is, not what I wished it could be. Healing Requires Clarity . Healing began when I stopped asking "What if?" and started accepting "What is." Clarity wasn’t something he gave me—it was something I found for myself. I had been walking in circles, chasing a love that left me adrift. His words said one thing, but his actions told a different story. That realization was the clarity I needed. The familiar tightness in my chest, the ache of confusion, was my body’s way of saying: Enough. For once, I chose me . Self-worth Comes First . During the times we spoke, I showed him I was intentional about us being together and so did he for some time. I am not sure what happened, but things changed. I knew I deserved far more than what was being given to me. Walking away felt like stepping into a desert—barren, lonely, and uncomfortable. In many ways, that desert with its raw honesty, was better than the illusion of love I had been clinging to. In solitude, I rediscovered myself. I realized that clarity isn’t just about understanding someone else’s actions; it’s about honoring my values. Finding Strength in Solitude . The hardest part of walking away was the silence that followed. It’s in that silence that I confront all the things I had been avoiding: the pain, the doubt, and possibly the fear of being alone. But the silence also brought strength. It forces me to rely on myself, to build a foundation that no one else can shake. I found resilience and clarity. And most importantly, I found the courage to choose myself over a false hope. Letting go of my “what-if” love  wasn’t just an ending—it was a beginning. Remember: you deserve a love that is steady, intentional, and authentic. (Artwork by Natalie Hirschman/Tutt'Art )

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)

Love is Blind Season 8 had me tearing up with Virginia and her mother as they shared a beautiful moment during the cast’s wedding dress fitting. I am happy I hung in there to get to this special moment, because this season was challenging and sometimes so frustrating to watch. First, there was Taylor who thought Daniel followed and unfollowed her on Instagram, giving the audience the impression that he may have known who she was the entire time. I am just glad that she did not let her mistake get in the way, because after seeing their parents and how they get along, I am happy they continued with the process. The absolute saddest was watching Lauren who supposedly had a "boyfriend" before coming on the show, fight to keep a relationship with a man who was never ready in the first place. I understood Dave's concerns, but he beat that dead horse to the point of a breakup. His heart wasn’t there yet, and with all that talk of his sister, I was starting to get tired. Oh well! But there I was sobbing with Virginia. The Netflix reality series, hosted by Vanessa and Nick Lachey was set in Minneapolis, Minnesota this season. The show follows a group of singles who go from dating in pods without seeing each other to a proposal and then a big reveal of their prospective partner. Four weeks later, they're walking down the aisle with each other and deciding the next steps in their future. These are high-stakes arranged marriages with a few tweaks to the not-so-novel concept. The show has had quite a few successful marriages and that keeps me watching. It also goes to show that when you're the right person for someone, they do not need five years of your life to figure out they want to marry you if that's what you both want. Well, after that beautiful moment, Virginia handed Devin the prenuptial agreement that I am so glad she was adamant about. To me, that seems like a very logical step for anyone who is going into marriage. No one plans for things to go awry, but if they do, each party has protections. The fact that people still have such negative views of prenuptial agreements in a society where fifty percent end in divorce and even higher in certain groups is baffling. So I say kudos to Virginia for standing on business and not allowing herself to be railroaded into backing out of requesting a prenuptial agreement. Her mama did not raise a fool. In true reality TV fashion, Netflix is leaving us in suspense for another week right at the point where the first couple is at the alter and the bride is asked if love is truly blind. I guess we all have to tune in on Friday to see how it all plays out, especially for Virginia and Devin. I can't wait. Are you looking forward to the season finale of Love is Blind ? (Photos from Netflix)