Sunday Scaries: The Beauty of Being Out of Place

I'm writing this week's Sunday Scaries from somewhere a little different. I'm sitting in the mountains of Colombia, surrounded by jungle, listening to birds I've never heard before, watching clouds roll through the valleys and the sun disappear behind the mountains. It's pretty incredible. It's also a reminder of how different the world can feel when we step outside the places and routines we're used to.

There's something interesting about being somewhere unfamiliar. Different languages, different foods, different people, and a completely different way of doing things. It's exciting, but it can also be uncomfortable. And I've been thinking about how much of our growth happens in those moments when we aren't entirely sure what we're doing.

Our brains actually prefer familiarity. Predictability helps us feel safe, and our routines allow us to move through the day without having to think about every little decision. But when we encounter something new, our brains have to adapt. Neuroplasticity, the brain's ability to create and strengthen neural connections, is influenced by new experiences and learning. When we challenge ourselves, we give our brains opportunities to develop new skills, perspectives, and ways of thinking.

There's also an interesting relationship between stress and performance, often described by the Yerkes-Dodson law. A little stress or challenge can help motivate us, sharpen our attention, and encourage learning. Too much stress, however, can overwhelm us and make those things more difficult. The goal isn't to constantly push ourselves into uncomfortable situations, but to find opportunities to stretch ourselves without becoming overwhelmed.

I see this all the time working with kids. Think about a student walking into a new classroom, trying a sport for the first time, or approaching a group of kids on the playground. Those experiences might seem small to an adult, but for a child, they can feel enormous. There's uncertainty, fear of rejection, and the possibility that things won't go as planned. But there's also the possibility of making a new friend, discovering a new interest, or realizing they're capable of something they didn't think they could do.

And I think adults need those reminders just as much as kids do. We get pretty comfortable with our routines and the things we know we're good at. It's easy to avoid situations where we might feel awkward, uncertain, or inexperienced. But if we only stick with what feels comfortable, we might miss out on some pretty incredible experiences.

One of the things I try to remind kids is that two feelings can exist at the same time. You can be scared and brave at the same time. You can feel out of place and still belong. Being nervous about trying something doesn't mean you're not ready to try it. Sometimes courage is simply being willing to give something a chance, even when you're not sure how it's going to turn out.

And growth isn't always about succeeding; sometimes it's simply discovering that you were capable of trying.

So this week, I want to encourage you to find one small opportunity to step outside your comfort zone. Maybe that's talking to someone new, trying a different activity, asking a question, or taking a chance on something you've been putting off. It doesn't have to involve traveling to another country or doing something dramatic. Sometimes all it takes is a few steps across the playground.

Because sometimes the most beautiful things happen when we're willing to feel a little out of place.

Happy Sunday, everyone!

Go Play!

This weekend, I found myself behind our school on a Saturday evening at a little community event. It was one of those beautiful fall nights where the weather was perfect, the sun was starting to set, and kids were just everywhere playing. They were running around, making up games, laughing, chasing each other, falling down, getting back up, and becoming best friends with another kid for twenty minutes.

Standing there watching it, my heart felt huge. I spend a lot of my life around kids, so obviously I see kids play all the time, but there was something different about watching it outside of the structure of a school day. There was no bell coming, nobody was trying to squeeze in one more lesson, and nobody cared if what they were doing was productive. They were just playing, and it reminded me that play is not what kids do when the important stuff is finished. Play is important stuff.

When kids make up a game, change the rules, disagree, compromise, lose, try again, and figure out how to keep playing together, they are practicing problem-solving, communication, flexibility, self-control, creativity, and how to handle frustration. A huge amount of social and emotional learning happens in moments that, from the outside, just look like kids messing around.

And honestly, I don't think we outgrow the need for that. Adults just stop calling it play. We call it hiking, playing music, cooking, skiing, games, hobbies, laughing with friends, throwing a ball around, or doing something ridiculous simply because it is fun. Somewhere along the way, though, we get very serious, and even our hobbies can become things we are supposed to improve at, track, optimize, or be good at.

Saturday night was a nice reminder that not everything has to accomplish something. The sun was going down, kids were running everywhere, people were laughing, and I kept thinking how good it felt to just be part of it and watch it happen.

So this week's Sunday Scaries assignment is simple: go play. Let your kids play, and find something this week that you do for no reason other than it makes you happy. Maybe play is not the opposite of all the serious things in life. Maybe it is one of the things that makes all the serious stuff worth it.

What’s Underneath the Anger?

For the last few weeks at school, I’ve been teaching fifth graders about anger. We started with anger thermometers, then talked about body clues, and this week we moved into anger icebergs: the idea that anger is often the part everyone sees, while underneath it might be worry, embarrassment, disappointment, sadness, fear, or feeling overwhelmed.

One student shared a great example. They talked about getting really mad at a sibling one morning because the sibling kept asking them for something while they were trying to get ready for school. At first, it sounded pretty simple: My sibling was annoying me, so I got mad.

But when we started looking underneath the iceberg, there was a lot more going on. They were worried about being late. They were thinking about what was happening at school that day. They felt rushed. And then there were all the other little worries that come with being an elementary school kid: friends, teachers, assignments, recess, fitting in, remembering everything you’re supposed to remember.

The sibling just happened to ask for something when the thermometer was already at about a seven.

There’s actually a reason anger can work like this. Anger can serve a protective function. When our brain perceives a threat, frustration, unfairness, or loss of control, our body prepares us to do something about it. Our heart rate can increase, our muscles tense, and our attention narrows toward whatever seems to be the problem. Anger gives us energy to act.

That can be incredibly useful. It’s also why the person asking you a completely innocent question at the wrong time can suddenly feel like Public Enemy No. 1.

And that’s why we spent time learning body clues before we ever got to the iceberg. Our bodies can tell us the temperature is rising before we understand what’s underneath it. Maybe your jaw tightens. Maybe your stomach feels weird. Maybe you start talking faster or louder. Maybe you get really quiet. Learning your own clues gives you a chance to catch yourself before the anger takes over the whole story.

The goal isn’t to get rid of anger. Anger is normal, and sometimes it’s telling us something important. The goal is to get a little better at understanding what it’s trying to protect.

So, homework for this week: the next time you notice yourself getting irritated, check your thermometer. Notice what your body is doing. Then take a look underneath the iceberg and ask yourself: What else am I feeling right now? What was happening before I got angry?

Maybe you really are just mad.

But maybe your sibling, partner, coworker, friend, or random person driving 12 miles under the speed limit—is just standing in front of something much bigger.

Asking for Help is OK!

I work with a lot of different people, kids, adults, interns, coworkers, students—and one thing I’ve noticed is that we are all pretty good at pretending we know what we’re doing.

There’s something difficult about admitting that we don’t know something. Maybe we’re embarrassed. Maybe we think people will see us as less capable or less intelligent. Maybe we’ve convinced ourselves that we should be able to figure it out on our own. So instead of asking for help, we struggle, make mistakes, waste a bunch of time, and occasionally make things way harder than they ever needed to be.

I learned this lesson while trying to fix something electrical at my house. I didn’t really know what I was doing, but instead of calling someone who did, I kept messing with it. I tried things. I got frustrated. I made mistakes. I even shocked myself, which probably should have been a pretty strong indication that perhaps I was no longer qualified for the job.

Eventually, I called a friend and asked for help. She showed me what I was doing wrong, explained what I needed to do, and we figured it out in about five minutes. Five minutes! I had probably spent twenty times that long trying to fake my way through it because that was easier than saying, “Hey, I don’t know how to do this.”

The funny thing is, research suggests that asking for help is actually an important part of learning. When we ask someone to explain something, show us what we’re missing, or help us work through a problem, we aren’t avoiding learning—we’re doing it. We also tend to underestimate how willing other people are to help us. That person you’re worried about bothering might actually be perfectly happy that you asked.

Of course, asking for help doesn’t mean handing somebody your problem and saying, “You do it.” Sometimes it’s simply saying, “Can you show me?” or “I’m stuck here. What am I missing?” The goal isn’t to have someone else do the hard thing for you. It’s to learn enough that maybe next time, you can do a little more of it yourself.

And pretending we know what we’re doing can have real consequences. Sometimes we waste an hour. Sometimes we make a mistake at work or school. Sometimes we make a bad decision because we were too afraid to ask a question.

So maybe the better question isn’t, “Why don’t I know how to do this?” Maybe it’s, “Who can help me learn how to do this?” Not knowing something isn’t the problem. Staying stuck because we’re afraid to admit we don’t know is.

This week, if you’re confused, overwhelmed, stuck, or just have absolutely no idea what you’re doing, try saying it. Ask the question. Call the friend. Raise your hand. Because asking for help isn’t proof that you aren’t capable. Sometimes it’s one of the smartest things you can do.

You don’t have to know everything. You just have to be willing to ask.

The Sunday Scaries: Maybe Take the Chance

I started going to a book club this month.

Which, honestly, is probably a small example of what I want to talk about this week. Going somewhere new, sitting in a room with people I didn’t really know, and then somehow ending up in a conversation about some of our deepest fears.

You know, casual book club stuff.

We talked about letting people down, looking stupid, failing, not being open enough, putting yourself out there and having it not work out. And as I sat there listening, I kept hearing a common theme underneath a lot of it: taking a chance is freaking hard.

Because the alternative is really, really comfortable.

There is a reason we stay in our comfort zones. They work. We know what happens there. We know the routine, we know the people, and we know what we are good at. Maybe more importantly, we know how to avoid the things we aren't good at. It’s the path of least resistance, and honestly, there is something pretty nice about that.

And I don't even think comfort is necessarily a bad thing. Routine can be good. I love a routine. There is something great about knowing what your day looks like and feeling like you have some control over it. But I think the problem comes when comfortable quietly turns into stuck, and we don't even really notice it happening.

Sitting in that room of strangers talking about fear, I started thinking about what it actually means to face one. I think sometimes we picture facing a fear as this giant, dramatic moment where we suddenly decide we aren't scared anymore. Quit the job. Get on the plane. Tell the person how you feel. Sign up for the thing. Jump straight into the deep end and hope you figure out how to swim.

But maybe it doesn't have to work like that.

Maybe facing something you're afraid of is a lot more boring than that. Maybe you just put your feet in the water for a while. Then next time you go a little deeper. You don't have to cannonball into the damn pool just because you finally decided you wanted to get in.

I think that's where taking chances can feel a little more manageable. It doesn't have to mean blowing up your entire life or becoming some wildly adventurous new version of yourself overnight. It might just mean sending an email you've been thinking about, going somewhere by yourself, trying something you've always wondered about, saying yes when your first instinct is to come up with an excuse, or finally having a conversation you've been avoiding.

And sure, some of those things might not work out. You might look a little silly. Someone might say no. You might try something new and discover that you absolutely freaking hate it. But that's also kind of the deal, right? If we want the possibility of something new happening, we have to accept at least a little bit of the possibility that it doesn't go the way we hoped.

The funny thing is, I don't think most of us need to completely reinvent our lives. We probably just need to get a little more comfortable being uncomfortable every once in a while. Because every time we do something that scares us a little bit and survive it—which, spoiler alert, we usually do—the scary thing gets just a tiny bit smaller.

So that's the homework this week. Think about something you've been avoiding, putting off, or talking yourself out of simply because it feels uncomfortable. You don't have to conquer it this week, and you definitely don't need to jump into the deep end. Just ask yourself what putting your feet in the water would look like.

Maybe it's sending the text. Maybe it's showing up somewhere new. Maybe it's asking the question, signing up for something, or finally telling somebody what you've been thinking. Whatever it is, make it small enough that you can actually do it.

Because your comfort zone isn't the enemy. It's comfortable for a reason, and sometimes it's a pretty great place to be. I just don't know if we're supposed to spend all of our time there.

So this week, maybe wander a few steps outside of it and see what happens.

You can always come back.

But you might find something out there worth staying for.

How Do You Find Your Peace?

This week, I woke up at 5:00 a.m. to go for a walk, a practice I’ve been trying to add to my days since returning to school. This particular morning was different. There was a lightning storm in the distance, and I found myself completely in awe watching the sky light up while everything around me was still dark and quiet.

Then it started pouring. For about 45 seconds, the rain came down HARD, and admittedly, I was a little annoyed. Here I was, awake at 5:00 in the morning trying to do something healthy and peaceful, and now I was soaking wet. But almost as quickly as it started, it stopped, and the storm gave way to an incredible sunrise filled with pinks and reds. Somewhere in the middle of all of it, I found myself hysterically laughing. How amazing is it to be awake, basically dancing through a rainstorm, and watching another day begin?

Life can be a lot of things. It can be stressful, sad, overwhelming, busy, exciting, lonely, full, or sometimes strangely empty. We’re really good at noticing all of those things, especially the difficult ones. But peaceful? Peace seems to be one of those things that gets pushed aside.

I think part of the problem is that we expect peace to be bigger than it actually is. We imagine a vacation, an empty calendar, a weekend in the mountains, or some magical day where nobody needs anything from us. But maybe peace isn’t the absence of stress, responsibility, or difficult things. Maybe it’s just the little moments we find in the middle of them.

What brings you peace? Is it a late-night concert on a school night with your partner? Sitting outside watching the bugs, stars, sunsets, or people having fun? Walking your dog? Playing music? Spending time with the people you care about most? Peace can feel so difficult to find, yet somehow it’s also all around us. Sometimes we’re just moving too fast to recognize it.

Your Peace Homework

This week, find one peaceful moment every day. You don’t have to change anything about your routine or go searching for some perfect moment. Just notice it when it happens. Stay there for a few extra seconds and actually take it in.

Life is going to keep being stressful, weird, beautiful, frustrating, funny, and hard—sometimes all within about 45 seconds.

But peace is there too.

This week, let’s make sure we notice it.

Sometimes You Miss Your Train by Two Minutes

This summer my mom and I traveled through Europe. If you’ve ever traveled by train, you know they’re kind of amazing… until they’re not.

Sometimes we’d make our connection with minutes to spare. Other times we’d watch the train pull away just as we got to the platform. Once, because of the heat, trains were delayed for hours. Plans changed. Routes moved. We ended up hopping on trains we never planned to take and visiting places we never expected to see.

At the time, those moments felt frustrating. It’s easy to get caught up thinking, “This isn’t how today was supposed to go.”

But looking back, I don’t really remember the delays.

I remember wandering through train stations with my mom, laughing while trying to figure out announcements in languages we didn’t understand, stumbling across beautiful little towns, and realizing that somehow we always got where we needed to be.

It made me think about how often life works the same way.

As we head back to school, there will be days that don’t go according to plan. Maybe your child doesn’t get the teacher they were hoping for. Maybe they forget their lunch, have a hard test, don’t make the team they wanted, or have a friendship that feels different than expected.

Our first instinct is often to focus on everything that’s gone wrong. We replay it. We worry about what might happen next. Before we know it, one difficult moment has taken over an entire day.

The truth is, we spend a lot of time trying to control things that were never ours to control.

We can’t control train delays. We can’t control traffic. We can’t control other people’s choices. We can’t control every challenge our kids will face this year.

What we can control is how we respond.

We can choose patience over panic. Curiosity over frustration. Gratitude over resentment. We can remind ourselves, and our kids, that a change in plans doesn’t have to become a bad day.

Years from now, I won’t remember what time our train was supposed to leave.

I’ll remember taking that trip with my mom.

And I have a feeling that years from now, our kids won’t remember every worksheet, every quiz, or every schedule change either. They’ll remember the people who made them feel safe, encouraged them when things didn’t go as planned, and reminded them that sometimes the unexpected parts of the journey end up being the best stories.

Here’s to a new school year.

I hope we all remember that missing the train isn’t always the end of the adventure. Sometimes it’s just the beginning of a different one.

How to Make the Most of the Upcoming Summer Break

Summer is starting, and I think a lot of us hit this time of year expecting ourselves to magically feel relaxed and happy the second life slows down.

And at first, it does feel good.

The alarms ease up.
The calendar opens up.
There’s finally room to breathe again.

But something weird also happens with too much unstructured time: days start disappearing.

You wake up, scroll a little, run an errand, watch something, maybe tell yourself you’ll do something “tomorrow,” and suddenly it’s somehow mid-July.

None of that is bad, by the way. Rest matters. A lazy day is not a wasted day. I think people forget that sometimes.... especially me !

But I do think summer feels better when at least some of it is intentional.

Not packed.
Not over-scheduled.
Just… a bit... purposeful.

The summers people remember usually aren’t the ones where they optimized every second. They’re the ones where they were actually present for parts of it.

A random concert.
Late-night talks on a patio.
Learning something for no reason other than curiosity.
Reading outside.
Road trips.
Morning walks.
Starting a project you may or may not finish.
Actually texting the friend you keep saying you miss.

Small things, but real things.

I’ve been thinking lately that a pretty good framework for summer is probably just:

Rest a little.
Connect a little.
Grow a little.

Sleep in sometimes.... I mean I'm going to try for 6:30
See people you care about.
Try something new.
Get outside more.
Let your brain breathe for a minute.

You don’t need to “win” summer.

You also don’t need to accidentally sleepwalk through it either.

Because time is strange like that. The older you get, the faster it seems to move. And I think part of that is because routines make weeks blur together.

Presence slows things down.

Attention slows things down.

So this is probably my reminder to myself as much as anybody else:

Don’t let the whole summer happen in the background.

Why We Think Everyone Is Judging Us…And why they usually aren’t

Most of us are walking around stuck on a thought…

People are watching me.

They notice when I say something awkward.
They notice when I stumble over my words.
They notice when I do something a little off.

It feels like there’s a spotlight on us at all times, just highlighting every tiny mistake.

There’s actually a name for this: the spotlight effect.

It’s the tendency to wildly overestimate how much other people are paying attention to us.

But here’s the reality that’s both humbling and freeing:

Most people are way too busy thinking about themselves.

They’re replaying their own conversations.
Thinking about their own stress.
Wondering if they sounded weird five minutes ago.

Everyone else is standing in their own spotlight.

Think about the last time someone said something a little awkward around you.

You probably noticed… for like two seconds.

Then your brain moved on.

Back to your life. Your thoughts. Your stuff.

But when it’s you?

That same moment becomes a full-blown highlight reel.

Why did I say that?
Did that sound dumb?
I shouldn’t have said that…

And suddenly a 10-second moment turns into a 10-hour mental loop.

What’s interesting is… that loop usually has way more to do with us than the situation.

When anxiety is high, the spotlight gets brighter.
When confidence is low, everything feels more exposed.

But when people start to feel a little more grounded in themselves, something shifts.

They stop performing.

They stop monitoring every word.

They just… exist in the moment.

And ironically, that’s when they become easier to connect with.

Not because they suddenly got better socially.

But because they stopped trying so hard.

So how do you actually push through the spotlight effect?

Not by trying to “be perfect.” That just feeds it.

Instead:

1. Shrink the audience in your head
Remind yourself: No one is analyzing me the way I’m analyzing me.
Literally say it if you need to.

2. Let the moment be awkward
Don’t fix it. Don’t over-explain.
Most of the time, the recovery is worse than the moment.

3. Shift your focus outward
Ask a question. Get curious about the other person.
Attention is like a flashlight—you can aim it away from yourself.

4. Stop the replay early
Catch it when your brain starts looping:
“Yep, that happened. Moving on.”
You don’t need a full post-game breakdown.

5. Practice being seen imperfectly
This is the real work.
Say something slightly messy. Be a little off. And… survive it.
That’s how the spotlight loses power.

The weird truth is this:

When you stop worrying so much about how you’re coming across…

You actually come across better.

More relaxed.
More natural.
More you.

And that’s what people connect with anyway.

Not perfection.

Just presence.

Why We Overthink Text Messages

Few modern experiences trigger anxiety quite like a short text message.

You send something thoughtful.

Then the response comes back.

“Okay.”

“Sure.”

“Sounds good.”

Four words or fewer.

And suddenly your brain starts spinning.

Are they annoyed?
Did I say something wrong?
Why was that response so short?
Are they upset with me?

Within seconds, a simple exchange can turn into a full psychological investigation.

The strange thing about texting is that it removes almost everything our brains normally rely on to understand communication.

When people talk face to face, we get information from dozens of signals.

Tone of voice.
Facial expressions.
Body language.
Timing.

Those signals help our brain interpret meaning.

But texting removes most of those clues.

All that’s left are words on a screen.

And when the brain encounters missing information, it does what it always does.

It fills in the gaps.

Unfortunately, anxious brains tend to fill those gaps with negative interpretations.

A short reply becomes a sign of irritation.

A delayed reply becomes a sign of rejection.

A missing emoji becomes a sign of emotional distance.

But most of the time, the explanation is far less dramatic.

They were walking somewhere.
They were busy at work.
They responded quickly between meetings.

Sometimes a short message is just… a short message.

One of the challenges of modern communication is that we often read emotional meaning into messages that were never meant to carry that much weight.

And once the brain starts spinning a story, it becomes hard to stop.

This is why many therapists encourage people to pause when they notice themselves analyzing texts too deeply.

Instead of asking:

What does this mean?

It can be helpful to ask:

Do I actually have enough information to know what this means?

Most of the time, the answer is no.

And when we allow for that uncertainty, something interesting happens.

The anxiety often fades.

Because the story our brain was writing never had much evidence in the first place.

Why We Feel Like Giving Up…And what that feeling is actually trying to tell us

Everyone reaches a moment where they want to quit.

A project.
A relationship.
A goal.
A plan that once felt exciting but now just feels heavy.

Sometimes the thought shows up quietly.

What’s the point?

Other times it’s louder.

Maybe I should just give up.

Most people assume that feeling means something has gone wrong.

But often it means something else.

It means you’ve reached the middle.

And the middle is where motivation almost always disappears.

The beginning is fueled by hope

When we start something new, our brain is full of energy.

We imagine the outcome.

The new job.
The healthier routine.
The stronger relationship.
The finished project.

Hope carries us through the beginning.

The middle is fueled by friction

Then reality arrives.

Things take longer than expected.
Progress feels slow.
Effort starts to outweigh excitement.

This is the point where people start wondering if they should quit.

But the feeling of wanting to give up isn’t always a sign you’re failing.

Often it’s just a sign that the easy energy has run out.

Now the work becomes something different.

Not excitement.

Commitment.

Why the feeling gets so strong

Our brains are built to conserve energy.

When something becomes difficult, the brain starts asking questions like:

Is this worth it?
Is there an easier option?
Would stopping feel better?

Those thoughts aren’t weakness.

They’re just the brain doing its job.

The problem is that the brain is very good at detecting discomfort, but not very good at predicting long-term reward.

So when the middle gets hard, the brain starts trying to escape.

The question that helps

When the urge to quit shows up, most people ask the wrong question.

They ask:

“Should I give up?”

But that question usually leads to panic thinking.

A better question is:

“What kind of tired am I?”

Sometimes we are:

• physically tired and need rest
• emotionally tired and need support
• mentally tired and need a break

But sometimes we’re just experiencing the normal discomfort of doing something that matters.

Learning the difference is important.

Because quitting something that matters often creates a different kind of pain later.

Regret.

What actually helps in those moments

When people push through the “giving up” phase, they rarely do it through sheer motivation.

Instead they do something much simpler.

They make the next step smaller.

Instead of finishing the project…

Work on it for 20 minutes.

Instead of fixing the whole relationship…

Start one honest conversation.

Instead of changing everything…

Change one small habit today.

Momentum doesn’t return through huge effort.

It returns through tiny forward movement.

One quiet truth

Most meaningful things in life pass through a phase where quitting feels reasonable.

Friendships.
Careers.
Creative projects.
Personal growth.

The feeling of wanting to give up doesn’t mean you chose the wrong path.

Sometimes it just means you’ve reached the point where the path becomes real.

And that’s the part most people don’t talk about.

How We Actually Make Friends

It’s not charisma. It’s something much simpler.

People often think friendship happens through some kind of natural social magic.

Like some people just have it.

They’re funny.
Outgoing.
Effortlessly social.

And the rest of us are left wondering how it works.

But most friendships don’t actually form that way.

They form through something much simpler.

Repeated small moments.

Most friendships begin with three ingredients.

1. Proximity

We become friends with people we simply see often.

Classmates.
Coworkers.
Neighbors.
People at the gym.
Parents standing next to us at a soccer game.

Psychologists call this the propinquity effect.

But really it just means this:

Friendship grows where life overlaps.

The more often two people share space, the more chances they have for small interactions.

And small interactions are where friendships start.

2. Low-stakes conversations

Friendships rarely begin with deep conversations.

They begin with things like:

“Cold today.”
“Did you see that game?”
“Your dog is really friendly.”

These small conversations might seem meaningless.

But they do something important.

They signal safety.

They tell the other person:

This is someone easy to talk to.

Over time those tiny conversations slowly become longer ones.

3. Gradual vulnerability

Eventually something shifts.

Someone shares a little more.

Maybe a small frustration.
A story about their weekend.
Something personal but not too personal.

The other person shares something back.

And little by little, trust grows.

Friendship doesn’t appear all at once.

It builds in layers.

The mistake people make

A lot of adults struggle with making friends for one simple reason.

They think friendship requires effortful social performance.

But friendship actually grows from something much quieter.

Showing up repeatedly.

Same coffee shop.
Same climbing gym.
Same running group.
Same neighborhood walk.

When people see each other often enough, familiarity slowly turns into connection.

And connection slowly turns into friendship.

The surprising truth

Most friendships don’t start with chemistry.

They start with consistency.

Which means if you’re hoping to make friends, the question isn’t:

“How do I become more interesting?”

The better question is:

“Where can I show up regularly around the same people?”

Because friendship usually grows from shared space and small conversations, not social brilliance.

And once you know that, making friends becomes much less mysterious.

Control vs. Influence

Why trying to control everything might be the thing making you anxious

There’s a quiet trap most of us fall into without noticing.

We start trying to control things that were never actually ours to control.

Other people’s reactions.
How quickly a problem resolves.
Whether someone understands us.
How an event turns out.
Whether our plans go exactly right.

The strange part is that the more we try to control those things, the more anxious we become.

Because deep down we know something our brains don’t want to admit:

Control is mostly an illusion.

Very little in life is truly under our control.

Weather.
Traffic.
Other people’s feelings.
How a conversation lands.
Whether someone changes their mind.

But there is something else available to us.

Something much quieter.

Influence.

Influence is different.

Influence says:

I can’t control the outcome…
but I can shape the conditions.

A teacher can’t control whether a student tries hard in class.

But they can create a room where trying feels safe.

A parent can’t control whether their child makes the perfect choice.

But they can influence the kind of person their child becomes.

A musician can’t control whether a crowd loves a song.

But they can influence the moment by showing up fully and playing it well.

Influence works slowly.
Control tries to work immediately.

That’s why control fuels anxiety.

When we believe we must control the outcome, every uncertainty feels dangerous.

But when we shift to influence, the pressure changes.

Instead of:

“I have to make this go perfectly.”

It becomes:

“What small thing can I do to move this in a better direction?”

Influence is lighter.

It leaves room for other people’s freedom.
It leaves room for mistakes.
It leaves room for life to unfold.

Ironically, people who stop trying to control everything often end up having more real impact.

Because people don’t respond well to control.

But they respond to presence, patience, and consistency.

And that’s where influence lives.

So the next time anxiety creeps in, it might be worth asking one simple question:

Am I trying to control this…

or

am I trying to influence it?

One of those will exhaust you.

The other one will set you free.

When Kids Look Fine at School but Fall Apart at Home

There’s a pattern I see over and over again.

A child is “great” at school.
Listens. Behaves. Holds it together.
Then they get home… and everything falls apart.

Big feelings.
Tears.
Anger.
Refusal.
Meltdowns over socks, snacks, or nothing at all.

Parents often ask, “Why does this only happen with me?”
And underneath that question is usually something heavier:
“Am I doing something wrong?”

You’re not.

What you’re seeing isn’t bad behavior.
It’s biology.

Holding It Together Costs Something

School asks a lot of kids.

Sit still.
Follow directions.
Read the room.
Manage disappointment.
Be flexible.
Use your words.
Wait your turn.
Try again.

For some kids, that effort takes everything they have.

So they mask.
They comply.
They keep it together.

And then they come home.

Home is safe.
Home is where the nervous system finally says,

“Okay. I don’t have to hold this anymore.”

And the feelings spill out.

Not because you’re permissive.
Not because they’re manipulative.
But because their body finally has permission to unload.

The Meltdown Is the Release, Not the Problem

We often try to fix after-school meltdowns.

We reason.
We correct.
We lecture.
We threaten consequences.

But what kids usually need in that moment isn’t logic — it’s regulation.

Their nervous system isn’t asking,

“What should I do differently?”

It’s asking,

“Am I safe enough to let go?”

What Actually Helps

Here’s what helps more than lectures ever will:

• Fewer questions right after school

• Predictable routines

• Snacks without conditions

• Movement or quiet (not both)

• A calm adult nervous system nearby

And sometimes just this sentence:

“You worked really hard today.”

Not “Why are you acting like this?”
Not “You were fine at school.”

Just recognition.

The Reframe That Changes Everything

If your child melts down at home, it often means:

• They trusted school enough to try

• They trusted you enough to fall apart

• They used every ounce of regulation they had

That’s not failure.

That’s effort.

And effort needs a soft place to land.

Why Emotional Regulation Is Harder After Screens

Hello, World!

If you’ve ever noticed that your child is more irritable, impulsive, tearful, or explosive after screen time, you’re not imagining it, and you’re not failing as a parent.

This is one of the most common patterns I see as a school psychologist.
It’s also one of the most misunderstood.

Let’s talk about why emotional regulation is harder after screens, and, more importantly, what actually helps.

What’s Really Happening in the Brain

Screens aren’t inherently bad. They’re engaging, stimulating, and often genuinely enjoyable.

The issue isn’t morality.
It’s nervous system load.

Most screen-based activities:

• Provide rapid rewards

• Require very little effort

• Offer constant novelty

• Bypass frustration and waiting

For a developing brain, especially one still building executive functioning skills, this creates high stimulation with very low regulation demand.

When the screen turns off, the brain doesn’t gently shift gears.
It slams on the brakes.

That’s when you might see:

• Explosive reactions to small problems

• Difficulty transitioning

• Increased defiance or emotional outbursts

• “Zombie-like” behavior followed by dysregulation

This isn’t manipulation.
It’s withdrawal from stimulation.

Why Some Kids Struggle More Than Others

Not all children respond to screens the same way

Kids who tend to struggle more after screens often have:

• ADHD or executive functioning challenges

• Anxiety (especially fear of getting in trouble or doing things “wrong”)

• Sensory sensitivities

• A nervous system that already runs “hot”

For these kids, screens don’t just entertain—they temporarily regulate.

When that regulation disappears, their internal system doesn’t yet know how to recalibrate on its own.

The Biggest Myth: “They Just Need Less Screens”

Reducing screen time can help, but it’s rarely the full solution.

I often see families remove screens entirely, only to find that:

• Meltdowns still happen

• Emotional regulation doesn’t magically improve

• Everyone feels more exhausted

Why?

Because regulation is a skill, not an on/off switch.

If screens are the only thing helping a child regulate, removing them without teaching replacement strategies just leaves a gap.

What Actually Helps

1. Build a Transition Buffer

Don’t go straight from screen → expectation.

Try:

• A 5–10 minute warning

• A predictable routine (“screens off → snack → movement”)

• A visual timer or countdown

Transitions are regulation opportunities, not inconveniences.

2. Add Movement Before Demands

Movement helps the nervous system reset.

This doesn’t need to be fancy:

• Jumping jacks

• A short walk

• Carrying something heavy

• Climbing, stretching, or roughhousing

Think body first, behavior second.

3. Lower Expectations Temporarily

Right after screens is not the time for:

• Homework battles

• Big conversations

• High-level problem solving

This isn’t “giving in.”
It’s understanding that timing matters.

4. Narrate, Don’t Lecture

Instead of:

“You need to calm down.”

Try:

“Your brain is still coming down from screen mode. Let’s help it reset.”

This builds awareness without shame.

5. Teach Regulation Outside the Moment

Skills don’t stick during meltdowns.

Practice regulation when your child is calm:

• Naming feelings

• Noticing body cues

• Trying calming strategies before they’re needed

Meltdowns are not teaching moments.
They’re support moments.

A Reframe That Helps Parents

If screen time is followed by dysregulation, the takeaway isn’t:

“Screens are ruining my child.”

It’s:

“My child needs more help transitioning and regulating.”

That’s a solvable problem.

And it gets better with understanding—not punishment.

Final Thought

Screens aren’t the enemy.
They’re powerful tools, and powerful tools require support.

When we shift from controlling behavior to supporting nervous systems, kids don’t just behave better.

They feel better.

And honestly?
So do parents.

When Something You Love Goes Away

Sometimes, something really important goes away.

It might be a person you love.
A pet.
A teacher.
A friend.
A home.
A routine.
Even a version of life that felt safe.

And when that happens, it can feel confusing, heavy, or unfair—especially for kids, who don’t always have the words yet.

Here’s something important to know first:

If you feel sad, mad, quiet, weird, or nothing at all—you’re not doing it wrong.

Loss doesn’t come with instructions.

Loss Can Look Like a Lot of Things

Grown-ups sometimes think “loss” only means when someone passes away. But kids lose things in lots of ways:

• A best friend who moves away

• A pet that doesn’t come home

• Parents who separate

• A favorite teacher changing schools

• A grandparent who gets very sick

• A life that suddenly feels different

Your brain notices when something meaningful disappears.
Your heart notices too.

Feelings Don’t Follow Rules

Some days you might cry.
Some days you might laugh and feel fine.
Some days you might feel mad at everyone.
Some days you might not feel much at all.

All of that is allowed.

Feelings don’t line up neatly. They show up when they want to.

Missing Means It Mattered

Here’s a gentle truth I tell kids all the time:

If it hurts to miss someone or something, that means it was important.

The pain isn’t proof that you’re weak.
It’s proof that you cared.

And caring is a good thing, even when it hurts.

You Don’t Have to “Be Over It”

Sometimes people say things like:

• “You’re so strong.”

• “At least you still have…”

• “It’s time to move on.”

But healing doesn’t mean forgetting.
It doesn’t mean pretending nothing happened.

It means learning how to carry the memory without it hurting quite as much.

That takes time. And time looks different for everyone.

A Small Thing That Can Help

If you’re a kid (or helping one), try this:

Name it.
You can say:

• “I miss ___.”

• “I’m sad because ___.”

• “I don’t like that this changed.”

Saying it out loud helps your brain and heart work together.

You’re Not Broken

If you’re hurting, nothing is wrong with you.
If you’re not hurting yet, nothing is wrong with you either.

Loss is part of being human.
And humans heal best when they’re allowed to feel, ask questions, and be honest.

One Last Thing

Even when something goes away,
what it gave you doesn’t disappear.

The love stays.
The memories stay.
The way it changed you stays.

And you don’t have to carry it alone.

Who’s Driving in Therapy?

A client once asked me a question I still think about all the time:
“Am I the driver in therapy? Or am I the passenger?”

My answer surprised them.
“You’re both.”

That question gets at something really important about counseling — and something people often misunderstand before they start.

Therapy Isn’t Something That’s Done to You

A common myth about therapy is that you show up, sit down, and someone fixes you. Like a tune-up. Or a repair shop. Or a place where you drop off your problems and pick them up solved.

That’s not how it works.

Therapy only works when you participate in it.

Not perfectly. Not confidently. Not even willingly all the time.
But actively.

You bring your thoughts, your fears, your patterns, your resistance, your honesty (even when it’s messy). That’s the fuel. Without it, we’re just sitting in a parked car talking about where we might go someday.

So What’s the Therapist’s Role?

If you’re the driver, the therapist isn’t a backseat driver barking orders.

Think of your therapist more like:

• A navigation system helping you notice where you are and where you keep ending up

• A mechanic pointing out patterns that keep breaking down

• A passenger with a map who can say, “Hey — we’ve been on this road before. Want to talk about why?”

We help you slow down, take turns you’ve avoided, and sometimes stop altogether when you’ve been white-knuckling life for too long.

But we don’t grab the wheel.

Why Your Role Matters So Much

Growth doesn’t happen during the hour alone.
It happens in the spaces between sessions.

Therapy asks you to:

• Notice patterns instead of ignoring them

• Practice skills when it’s uncomfortable

• Sit with feelings instead of outrunning them

• Try new responses even when old ones feel safer

That’s hard. And it’s why therapy can feel exhausting, frustrating, or even pointless at times.

But that’s also why it works.

You’re not just learning about yourself — you’re practicing being yourself differently.

Why We Do Therapy at All

We do therapy because most of us are driving with:

• Old maps

• Faulty warning lights

• Habits that once protected us but now keep us stuck

Therapy isn’t about becoming someone new.
It’s about understanding why you do what you do — and giving yourself more choice moving forward.

Sometimes that means speeding up.
Sometimes it means pulling over.
Sometimes it means realizing you’ve been driving on empty for years.

And sometimes it means finally asking for directions.

The Bottom Line

Therapy works best when you show up as both driver and passenger:

• Willing to steer

• Willing to observe

• Willing to be honest about where you are

Your therapist can help guide the journey…. but you’re the one living it.

And that’s exactly why it matters.

What to Do When Your Feelings Are Too Big for Your Body Written for kids — and the grown-ups who care about them.

Have you ever felt like your body was suddenly a volcano?

Your heart beats fast.
Your throat feels tight.
Your hands squeeze — or maybe you want to yell, hide, or cry…
even when nothing huge happened on the outside.

I saw this just the other night.

I was at a friend’s house.
Adults were talking in the kitchen — loud laughter, clanking dishes — and I noticed their child slip quietly into the hallway and sit on the floor.

No one else saw it — but I did.

Their knees were pulled in tight.
Eyes glued to one spot on the wall.
Shoulders shaking a little.

Nothing “bad” had happened.
No one was upset with them.
And yet — their body looked full — full of a feeling that was too big to hold alone.

When I sat down nearby and asked softly what it felt like, they whispered:

“It’s like my body is panicking even though I’m not.”

And honestly?
That might be one of the smartest explanations I’ve ever heard.

🧠 Why Big Feelings Happen (Brain Science — Kid Language)

Inside your brain is a little alarm system called the amygdala.
Its job? Keep you safe.

When it thinks something might be scary or too much, it sends signals:

🚨 fast heartbeat
🚨 tight chest
🚨 urge to run, freeze, yell, or hide

Sometimes the alarm is right.
Sometimes it goes off even when you’re actually safe — like when a room is too loud, you make a mistake, or you suddenly feel small around a crowd.

That doesn’t mean you’re “too sensitive.”
It means your brain is trying to help — but it needs tools to calm down and reset.

🎒 Tools You Can Use Anywhere

🎢 1️⃣ Roller-Coaster Breathing

Hold up your hand like a mountain range.

⬆️ Slide up a finger – breathe in
⬇️ Slide down the finger – breathe out

Do it slowly.
Your brain hears:
“We’re okay.”

✏️ 2️⃣ Draw the Feeling Outside of You

Grab a pencil or the back of a napkin.

Draw what the feeling looks like.

A storm?
A scribble?
Something spiky or tiny?

Once it’s on paper, you can look at it instead of feeling trapped inside it.

❄️ 3️⃣ The Cold Switch

Cold things help your body calm faster than words sometimes.

Try:
• holding a cold water bottle
• ice cube between your fingers
• splash of water on cheeks

Your nervous system goes from:
“ALERT!” → “We’re safe.”

🗣️ 4️⃣ Say This Sentence

“This feeling is big — but I am bigger.”

Say it softly.
Say it in your mind.
Say it until you feel even a tiny shift.

🌱 A Story Ending — and a Beginning

Back in that hallway at my friend’s house —
the child tried roller-coaster breathing.

They didn’t speak.
They just traced their fingers… slow.

And after a minute, their body softened.
They stood up, walked back into the living room, and rejoined the world — not because the feeling disappeared…
but because they remembered they weren’t stuck.

Big feelings don’t make you weak.
Knowing what to do with them makes you powerful.

🧡 Try This Together (Kids + Adults)

Next time a feeling fills your whole body, you can both try:

Hand on chest.
Slow breath.
And a whisper:

“I’m allowed to feel this. And I can help myself through it.”

That’s strength.
And that’s growing.

When Schools Feel Too Loud for Quiet Kids

Last month, while visiting another school outside our district, I noticed a student sitting alone at the end of a cafeteria bench.

The room was loud — the kind of everyday school noise that blends together:
trays clatter, sneakers squeak, excited voices compete, announcements crackle overhead.

He wasn’t crying.
He wasn’t acting out.
He wasn’t asking to leave.

He was just making himself very small — shoulders curled, head down, hands lightly over his ears — as if shrinking would make the world quieter.

When I sat near him, he whispered:
“It’s too loud in my head.”

And that sentence hasn’t left me since.

🧠 Schools Run Loud — But Not Every Child Does

Many children thrive in busy, buzzing energy.
Group work lights them up.
They make friends in seconds.
Noise feels like life.

Other children — especially those who are:

• introverted

• anxious

• sensory-sensitive

• gifted deep-thinkers

• or who simply take longer to warm up socially

…may not show overwhelm externally.
Instead, they absorb it.

Their coping strategy is often:
be quieter
be smaller
take up less space

They don’t disrupt the room —
so they’re easy to miss.

But silence is not the same thing as regulation.
Sometimes silence is protection.

🧬 Why “Normal” Noise Can Feel Big

From a brain-science perspective:

When sensory input becomes too much to process comfortably, the nervous system shifts into survival mode — even if no one around notices.

That can look like:

• zoning out

• daydreaming

• avoiding eye contact

• refusing to join a group

• perfectionism (“If I can control this, I can breathe.”)

It’s easy to assume:

“If nothing is wrong, everything must be fine.”

But many quiet children aren’t disengaged —
they’re simply overstimulated and trying to cope.

🌱 The Goal Isn’t To Change Who They Are

Quietness is not a deficit.

It is a temperament.
A nervous system preference.
A beautiful way of being in the world.

Our job — as adults — isn’t to make kids louder.

It’s to make sure they don’t feel like they have to be louder in order to belong.

🏫 What Adults Can Do — At School and At Home

Supporting quiet children doesn’t require big programs or major changes.

Small moments send powerful messages.

🏫 In Schools

1️⃣ Offer Predictability Before Participation
“Today we’ll share in pairs.”
“You can choose how you participate.”

2️⃣ Give Multiple Ways to Contribute
Talking is not the only form of engagement.
Writing, drawing, typing, or whisper-sharing count.

3️⃣ Create Micro-Spaces for Regulation
A window seat, beanbag, quiet table —
a 60-second pause can reset a whole nervous system.

🏠 For Parents — Support at Home

Quiet children often feel most themselves where they feel most safe.

Here’s what helps at home:

1️⃣ Protect a Daily Quiet Pocket
It doesn’t need to be long —
10 minutes of calm is enough to signal safety.
Reading, Legos, coloring, sitting together on the couch.

2️⃣ Narrate Their Strengths Out Loud
Say what you see — without trying to change it.
“You notice details others miss.”
“You take your time, and that’s a strength.”

3️⃣ Practice Consent-Based Socializing
Instead of:
“Go say hi — don’t be shy!”
Try:
“Would you like me to go with you first?”
or
“You can join when you’re ready.”

4️⃣ Ask the Smallest Question
At night, instead of:
“How was school?”
Try:
“What moment felt big today?”
Quiet kids answer better when questions get smaller.

👂 What Quiet Kids Long For Most

When I asked that student if he wanted to move to a quieter spot, he said:

“No… I just want someone to notice.”

Quiet kids don’t always need escape.
They don’t always need fixing.
Sometimes — they just need someone to see them.

🧩 A Gentle Invitation

This week, notice the child who:

• lingers at the back of the line

• packs slowly

• listens more than they speak

• folds into themselves when spaces get loud

And offer one supportive sentence:

“It’s okay to take your time.”

Because quiet is not the absence of strength —
it’s often where strength begins.

A Season of Fewer Tabs

A Season of Fewer Tabs

I’m bad at this.

Let’s just start there.

I am not naturally good at slowing down, doing less, or deciding that something is finished. My brain is always quietly… and loudly… asking:

“Okay… but what’s next?”

Even when things are good.
Especially when things are good.

And honestly? I see the same thing happening in schools all the time.

More programs.
More data.
More emails.
More interventions.
More enrichment.
More clubs.
More reminders to “just push through a little longer.”

Somewhere along the way, “doing enough” stopped feeling like enough.

The Tab Problem

Recently I realized my brain feels like my laptop when I have too many tabs open.

Nothing is technically broken —
but everything is slower.
A little glitchy.
Slightly overheating.
Constantly humming in the background.

That’s what happens when we keep adding… without ever closing.

And here’s the part I don’t love admitting:

I often confuse being busy with being responsible.

If I’m doing more → I must be trying hard.
If I’m tired → it must mean I care.
If I can’t sleep → it’s probably because I haven’t figured it all out yet.

Spoiler: that’s not how sleep works.

What This Does to Sleep

When we don’t give ourselves permission to stop,
our brain never gets the signal that it’s safe to power down.

So at night, instead of rest, we get:

• Mental replay

• To-do list reruns

• Conversations that already happened

• Conversations that might happen

• A strong urge to solve everything at 11:47 PM

It’s not because we’re bad at sleeping.
It’s because our nervous system still thinks we’re… on.

The Science (Friendly Version)

There’s a reason we stay busy — and it’s not because we love exhaustion.

From a psychological lens:

• Being busy gives us predictability

• Productivity provides short-term relief

• Constant motion keeps us from sitting with discomfort

Our brains are wired to avoid uncertainty.
Stillness removes distraction — which means we suddenly hear the thoughts we’ve been dodging:

• Am I doing enough?

• What if I disappoint someone?

• What if I stop and realize I’m overwhelmed?

• What if… I don’t like how this feels?

Busyness becomes a coping strategy —
a socially approved one.

And in schools, this shows up as:

• Over-programming

• Overscheduling

• Adults modeling exhaustion as commitment

• Kids learning early that rest is something you earn, not something you need

When Enough Is… Enough

The hard question is never:

“What else should we add?”

The harder one is:

“What could we stop doing and still be okay?”

Or even scarier:

“What if we stopped… and nothing bad happened?”

A season of fewer tabs doesn’t mean giving up.
It means choosing intentionally.

Capacity is not unlimited — for adults or kids.

Sometimes the healthiest move
is closing something gently and saying:

“This is enough for now.”

Homework (Gentle, I Promise)

1️⃣ The Tab Audit

Write down 5 things currently taking up mental space.
Ask:
• Does this still matter?
• Is this mine to carry?
• Could this wait?

Close one tab. Just one.

2️⃣ The “Enough” Sentence

Once a day, finish:

“Today, enough looked like ______.”

No fixing.
No improving.
Just noticing.

3️⃣ The Nighttime Test

If sleep has been hard, ask:

“What am I afraid will happen if I stop thinking about this tonight?”

You don’t have to answer it.
Simply naming it is powerful.

🤍 Final Thought

I don’t have this figured out.
I’m practicing it alongside everyone else.

But I’m learning that:

• Rest isn’t laziness

• Slowing down isn’t quitting

• And fewer tabs doesn’t mean fewer things matter

Sometimes it just means
we’re finally giving our brain — and our body —
permission to breathe.

And honestly?
That feels like enough for now.