Kindness in Disguise

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anonymous, care, Hope, human, intention, Joy, kindness, life, light, love, quiet, relationships, softness, writing

Random acts of kindness are really fun. There’s just something about doing something good for someone and expecting absolutely nothing in return.

I especially like to try to be anonymous when I do them. There’s a kind of magic in that. Like leaving a little hope behind and disappearing before anyone can trace it back to you. Sometimes it’s something small: paying for someone’s coffee, leaving a kind note behind, slipping a few dollars into a coat pocket at the thrift store.

It doesn’t have to be some big, dramatic gesture. The point isn’t the size. It’s the intention. The softness. The quiet reminder that people still care. That goodness still exists in the world. That someone out there is thinking of you, even if you never know who.

It feels good, too. Not in a performative way. It’s not about looking generous. It’s about being kind, from the inside out. That’s why I never really liked the videos of people “doing their good deed” that are prevalent on social media.

Maybe it’s just me, but I think the world could use more of that. More silent kindness. More light left behind without needing credit. More people doing the right thing quietly in the background, where sometimes, it matters most.

What Keeps Me Up: The Mom Version

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children, growth, happiness, Healing, Hope, legacy, life, love, mental health, motherhood, protection, relationships, Truth, worry, writing

What are you most worried about for the future? (Part 2)

My kids. Always, my kids.

I worry about the world they’re growing up in. How loud it is, how fast it moves, how unforgiving it can be. I worry that they’ll forget how to listen to themselves because everyone else is shouting so loud. That they’ll measure their worth by likes or labels instead of who they are.

I worry about how much pressure is put on them to be everything, all the time (smart, kind, strong, successful, perfect). I don’t want them to break under it. I don’t want them to feel like they have to perform in order to be loved. I just want them to know that who they are is enough.

I worry that they’ll inherit more of my wounds than I meant to pass down. That they’ll carry weight that isn’t theirs. That they’ll pick up my silence, my people-pleasing, my self-doubt and not the lessons I’ve worked hard to learn and to teach them.

I want them to grow into a future where they can be soft and strong. Where their boundaries are respected. Where they don’t have to unlearn a lifetime of shame or shrink themselves just to belong. I want them to feel safe in their own skin. To find love that’s kind. To live lives that feel real and rooted and not one that just looks impressive from the outside.

It’s a lot to hope for, I know. But it’s also why I’m doing the work. Because the more I heal, the more space I can make for them to live free from inherited burdens.

Thoughts On My Future

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Courage, enough, fear, future, growth, happiness, honesty, life, living, love, mental health, self, Truth, want, writing

What are you most worried about for the future? (Part 1) Honestly, not being able to live life the way I want to. I don’t mean having a life of ease or having one where I do nothing productive. I mean living life with intention and being safe/free to be truly me.

I’m not afraid of getting older. I’m not even afraid of change. I’ve lived through enough of it to know that I can handle whatever comes. But I am afraid of losing myself again. Of slipping back into a life that looks good on the outside but doesn’t feel good on the inside.

I’m worried about settling. About choosing comfort over truth. About shrinking myself to keep the peace, or silencing what I want because it feels inconvenient to someone else. I’ve done that before, way too many times. I know how easily it can happen.

I’m scared that I’ll keep waiting for the “right time” and miss the one I’m actually in. That I’ll keep putting off joy, or honesty, or love because I don’t feel quite ready. And then one day I’ll look back and realize I was always ready. I was just scared.

Mostly, I’m worried about getting so caught up in the surviving that I forget how to actually live. I don’t want to be numb again. I don’t want to play small. I don’t want to forget who I am when I’m fully awake, fully feeling, fully me.

So, yeah, that’s what keeps me up sometimes. But maybe it’s also what keeps me moving forward. I won’t let fear win.

I want my future to feel like mine. And I’m doing everything I can to build it that way.

Weekend Mode: Activated

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enough, freedom, happiness, Joy, life, love, mental health, pause, recharge, rest, slow, soft, weekend, writing

I don’t have any big plans this weekend. And that feels wonderful. No pressure to be “productive.” No long list of things I have to do. Just me, my yarn, my favorite snacks, definitely some music, and maybe a nap that I absolutely won’t admit to taking.

I might clean something. I might ignore everything and scroll for far longer than I should. I might text everyone back… or I might continue my streak of selective social energy. That’s the magic of the weekend: all the freedom to do nothing and still feel like it matters.

This is your reminder that rest is doing something. That laughing at dumb memes counts as joy. That rewatching a show you’ve already seen three times is not a crime.

So cheers to the weekend!! May it be exactly what we need, even if it is too short sometimes.

Just Give Me My Day Back

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balance, burnout, happiness, health, life, love, mental health, need, presence, productivity, rest, shift, space, time, Truth, work, writing

I support a four-day work week. Fully. No hesitation.

I’d much rather work an hour or two longer each day if it meant getting that extra day off. One whole day to breathe. To rest. To do something that actually fills me up instead of drains me dry.

People talk a lot about balance, work-life balance, emotional balance, mental health, but it’s hard to find any of that when you’re running five full days just to earn two to recover. And let’s be real, most weekends aren’t even rest anymore. They’re for errands and catching up and pretending to relax when you’re already dreading Monday.

That extra day? It could change everything. A little more margin. A little more space to exist as a full human and not just a worker. I could use it for crocheting, writing, for walking, for seeing people I actually want to see instead of the ones in a meeting room. Or maybe I’d use it to just be still, which feels rarer than it should.

I don’t want to be productive all the time. I want to be present. I think we’d all be better (mentally, emotionally, even professionally) if we had more space to just be.

So yeah, give me my day back. I’ll gladly stay late a few days if it means waking up one more morning without an alarm.

How I became a Countess

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belonging, Books, chocolate, community, connection, Countess, foolishness, friendship, happiness, identity, internet, life, love, memories, names, nickname, nicknames, nostalgia, origin, relationships, roots, throwback, Truth, writing

What’s the story behind your nickname? I used to just say it was born out of another nickname someone gave me, because the truth was too long to explain in a simple chat or text message. I’m sorry to those that heard that story and not the more personal truth.

It all started back in 2001 on the Motley Fool message boards (which sadly don’t exist in the same glorious format anymore). If you were there back then, you’ll remember it wasn’t just stocks and finances. There were these vibrant off-topic boards where people built entire communities. I was a regular on several of them, and over time, I made some solid online friendships. Real ones, not just screen names and posts. I’d even met a few in person. Cavegirl, IshtarAstarte, and MissTurtle were some of the closest friends. I hate that life got in the way and we lost touch.

One of my friends from that time was from Germany. We’d talk a lot on the boards, and one day out of the blue, they sent me a massive box full of German chocolate. I’m talking the good stuff. And to this day, twenty-four years later, I still haven’t found chocolate that tastes quite as perfect as that box. It’s probably part quality, part nostalgia, but either way, it left a lasting impression.

But back to the nickname.

One day a few of us were hanging out on one of our favorite boards – the Anarcho-Syndicalist Commune (yes, a nod to Monty Python), and somehow the topic of historical novels came up, and I admitted my love (at the time) for regency and period pieces. I don’t even remember exactly who said it first, but someone started calling me “Countess.” Everyone else picked it up, and before I knew it, it became my name. I wasn’t just *real name* or another screen name. I was Countess. It was silly and fun and oddly fitting. And it stuck.

And even though it’s not some dramatic, mysterious origin story, for me, it’s a reminder of a simpler time. A time when the internet felt smaller, friendships felt real even from afar, and a nickname born from laughter and connection could follow you into the future like a little badge of warmth.

So yeah, Countess. A name gifted to me by a group of people who saw something light and lovely in me. And I’ve kept it ever since.