So this is the page where I’m supposed to summarize forty years of personhood and shit. Right?
Ha. Sorry to disappoint—but if I had a neat answer to “Who am I?”, I wouldn’t need to build this community.
The truth is, my identity has been a long, tangled evolution. I spent the first twenty years tightly wound, hiding the parts of myself that felt unacceptable, crafting a persona that betrayed my truth. The next twenty? I spent trapped in depression and anxiety while chasing an image of who I thought I was supposed to be.
Now I’m forty, and I’ll be the first to admit: I don’t know myself. Not fully. Not yet.
But I’m learning. I’m learning what makes my heart sing. I’m learning the difference between a glimmer of excitement and a flicker of anxiety. I’m learning to trust my intuition, to read the signs, to listen to the quiet voice inside that says, “This is who you are.”
I can’t give you a polished identity. But I can offer you a few truths I’m growing into—if you’ll allow me the space to evolve what they mean.
First, I’m a mother and a wife. Cliché? Yeah, but clichés exist because they’re true. Being a mother to Ar, and Jay’s stepmom, has been both my greatest blessing, and it has challenged me deeply. My husband – Mr. Wonderful in this space – is my anchor and, well, my everything.
Still, I’m also a complete being with needs and desires that exist external to the realm to motherhood. I crave connection outside the walls of my nuclear family. I crave a village, and sisterhood, and gathering.
I am also a daughter navigating the legacy of emotionally immature parents. I’m a cycle-breaker who is rewriting my trauma through my own parenting.
I am also a late-to-the-party, last-one-to-know, obvious neurodivergent who was recently diagnosed with ADHD. I am still navigating the deep identity shift that comes with.
Maybe I’m also a writer. And maybe I can craft community.
I think too much, feel deeply, and constantly struggle to understand big parts of society. I am disabled – by society’s standards, anyway – and appalled at the way disabled people are treated. Actually, I just dislike the way most people are treated in society.
Obviously, I’m very justice oriented. I’m someone who sees what’s broken and aches to fix it. I have always carried a conflated sense of justice, but I buried it under the pressure to “grow up” and “stop being so naive.
Well, I say fuck that.
In a world that reduces us to dollar signs, productivity metrics, and attention algorithms, I choose different.
I choose whimsy. I choose naivety. I choose justice. These aren’t flaws—they’re gifts. And I will use them to resist the lie that we must earn our worth through hustle, performance, or productivity.
I want this to be a space where we can gather, rest, heal, and grow together. Even if I am being naive, others aren’t lonely too, and no one wants to be in community with me, I will keep sharing from a place informed by fierce kindness and deepening my capacity for compassion.
Because fierce kindness is resistance.
Healing yourself is resistance.
Gathering is resistance.
Come gather with me. This is your heartfelt invitation to join my community.
You are so welcome here. I saved you a seat.