I feel like I'm chasing after my life a lot these days, trying to stay caught up while also trying to stay present with my kids. And often not succeeding at either goal! Truth be told, I think this is what's called "adulting with kids". I know I'm moving too fast or lacking in boundaries when my emotions catch me so off guard I am blindsided and hurt others. As an empathic, creative, intuitive woman I'm often full of all the feelings. If I don't find ways to healthfully express and process them, they tend to run my life and especially drive the bus of my reactions and responses.

You are made for connection. You are deserving of kindness. That thing in your life that’s unnerving you right now? The situation that’s bringing out the worst in you? The relationship that’s gone sideways and feels awkward now? Take some time to sit with it. Acknowledge it. Be curious about it. To look deeply at our feelings and reactions does not have to mean they will overtake us. This was the lesson of a lifetime for me. I thought if I ever stopped and truly experienced my feelings at their deepest, darkest places, if I let the floodgates open the pain would wash me away and I’d never recover. Sometimes it feels that way though, doesn’t it? But here’s the thing: It’s not true. I’ve gone there and lived to tell about it. Heck, I’d go so far as to say I wasn’t living before I learned how to feel my feelings. I certainly wasn’t thriving, and I didn’t know joy.

Some days I wish life's challenges were simple to solve. The way the quarreling of two kids melts into wonder as Mama makes magic from a queen sized flat sheet. Some days I wish I could get lost in the innocence of play just like these two little shadows in the fort here. Some days I wish I could flip a switch and turn heaviness into laughter, listen as it rings out across the afternoon joyful and carefree. What if we could just pretend our way into being?

With the exception of creating my kids, I’ve put in more work on the launch of this record than any creative thing I’ve done in my whole life. Most days I’m not sure how I can sustain the effort or the pace, but I keep keeping on because I believe in the power of music to connect us, to heal us. And like the song we filmed today, to begin the work we so desperately need of rehumanizing one another.

Today my job was easy because all of you reminded me why I’m doing it, and I had the distinct pleasure of sharing the joy of doing it with you. So much love. So much gratitude. ❤️

Is it hard for you to unplug? Can you stop the spinning of your life long enough to be still? When is the last time you put down your to-do list and walked away without guilt or that all too familiar undercurrent of anxiety?

I’m unplugging this week. Looking my kids in the faces for as long as they want to look back. Having spontaneous dance parties and adventures that don’t have a time limit because we’re not rushing to the next thing on our calendar or list. This is real work for me these days.

As a working mom, I straddle the worlds of business and personal all day long, jumping from one planet to the other- not so much with ease, but I have obtained a wee bit of agility in the last seven years. It’s a kind of flexibility, really. We see just how far we can stretch ourselves. What are we made of, really? Sometimes I know I’ve gone too far when I snap. That’s a problem I’m still solving as I go. I learn to adjust the more I learn where my capacities end.

Somewhere in your town this week, women of all ethnicities, sizes, ages and circumstance walked nervously into a waiting room. Some of them have been there before. Many times before. The receptionist knows their names. For others, this is their first visit. All of them share a single desire: to conceive and carry a child to term. To be a mom. These women are in your life, but you probably don’t know their struggle.

What's holding you back? 
From going all in on your dream.
From being present in your life.
From giving your wild idea a chance.
From actualizing your goal instead of beating yourself up for failing.
From believing you have the right to take up space.
From taking off your masks and walking as yourself in the world.

I see you.

You carry audacious hopes for your life that you almost never utter out loud to anyone.

You're a master at keeping it together when your insides feel like they're coming apart.

You live with deep pain, trauma, and wounds that won't heal, no matter how hard you've prayed, or how many hours you've spent in therapy.

I'll never forget being asked to draw an outline of my body as I see myself on white butcher paper spread out on the floor. I thought, "I need wider paper. My body won't fit here." I could feel panic rising in my chest, thoughts racing. I was nowhere near the thinnest girl in the room, and despite my efforts, I would never be thin enough. I could never disappear enough. I didn't need paper proof of how disgusting my body was. My therapist nudged me on in the exercise. Go ahead, her reassuring nod prodded. Marker in hand, I knelt down. Tracing as wide as I could go, the outline of my body as my mind saw her in the mirror slowly appeared. The group leader then told us to lay down on top of our paper, and a fellow patient was tasked with tracing our bodies in real form. When finished, I stood up and averted my eyes, turned my body away from the paper. I didn't want to see what I already knew.

I am a survivor. The unthinkable happened to me. More than once. Statistics say that chances are you survived, too. I see you in the sea of We. I see me there, too.

Here are the things I know about we: Our eyes won’t open until we’re safe enough to see.

Also this: It was not your fault, nor was it mine. No one gets to tell you what did or did not happen to you. Or what happened to me. We are the gatekeepers of our own stories. You did not deserve it, nor did I. Whether or not we told anyone at the time or in the years since has no bearings on the validity or credibility of our experiences. Whether we told or not also has no power to diminish the trauma and unspeakable pain we endured, and continue to endure, even as we seek to heal. Your life matters and you are worth fighting for.

A disappointed Princess Beatrice said with incredulity, “Where’s the Prince?”

Jester Hollis shrugged his shoulders and replied, “He’s washing…