Blog
Thoughts, reflections, and letters for people at a crossroads in work and life.
Why Don’t I Feel Good Enough
I felt my rage.
We were halfway through our walk, and there it was — my breath gone, my muscles pulled tight.
I am thinking: Why am I still friends with this person?
By the time we hug goodbye, I am already rehearsing the call to my partner. Everything my friend said. How superior she is. How ungrateful. I have the whole story ready, wrapped tight and righteous.
And then something stops me.
She is my mirror.
When Your Life Looks Right But Feels Wrong.
I was stuck on the Bay Bridge and sobbing.
My body had been trying to tell me something for years. That night, it stopped asking.
Traffic wasn't moving. My phone was dead. My son was at daycare waiting for me. Again.
And somewhere back in a conference room in the city I had just spent three days smiling in, there was a version of me still playing along.
The conference had gone well.
I said the right things. I laughed at the right moments. I was good at this. The salary said so. The stock options said so.
I was living the dream.
Except I wasn't.
When Someone Finally Says What They Want
The bees in the flower pear trees were buzzing.
Tiny insects moved through the blossoms, the branches trembling with life. Behind us, the scent of jasmine drifted through the warm air. In the grass, sky-blue crocus pushed through the ground.
Danielle and I were sitting on a bench in Piedmont Park.
Spring had just begun.
Living From Love
I was working on my new website when I felt it.
A tightening in my chest.
My breath went shallow.
Fear
The fear of not getting it right.
The fear of being judged.
The fear of wasting my time.
As if there is a right.
As if love needs permission.
Why Do Certain People Always Trigger Me? Understanding the Mirror Effect.
He was standing in front of me, yelling. My chest tightened. I wanted to disappear. For years, I called him abusive. I said he made me small. But the truth I couldn't see then? I was already small—long before he ever raised his voice.
I used to collect evidence against certain people—my first husband, a demanding boss, a client who questioned everything. Each one seemed to have power over me. My stomach would twist. My voice would go tight. I'd replay their words for days, building an airtight case for why they were the problem.