Permission to Mourn the Things We’re “Supposed” to Be Over

It’s not the door…

The other day I couldn’t do a very basic handyman task.

Nothing dramatic. A door. A bracket. A nail.
Something that, in my head, should have been easy.

Instead, I lost it.

I was smashing the door with a hammer.
I was yelling.
I was furious — not just annoyed, but that hot, tunnel-vision kind of rage where everything else disappears.

And at some point, I caught myself and thought:

This feels bigger than a door.

So I stopped.
And I asked myself why.

What surprised me wasn’t how quickly the answer came — it was what the answer was.

I realized I wasn’t really mad at the door.

I was mad at my dad.

Mad that he didn’t teach me how to do this.
Mad that he wasn’t there.
Mad that I still feel that absence in moments where it “shouldn’t” matter anymore.

That part stopped me cold.

On paper, this grief doesn’t make sense.
I’m an adult.
I’m capable.
I’ve built a good life.

And yet — there it was.

Why We Need Permission to Mourn the “Old Stuff”

We don’t often give ourselves permission to mourn things that feel outdated or socially awkward to grieve.

We’re supposed to be past them.
We’re supposed to have moved on.

But grief doesn’t care about timelines or logic.

Sometimes it hides in a doorframe.
Sometimes it comes out sideways as rage.
Sometimes it waits until you feel small, stuck, incompetent —
and then it shows up loud.

What I’ve learned (and keep relearning) is that anger is often a messenger.
It’s pointing to something that never got space.
Something that never got named.

When we don’t allow ourselves to mourn what should have been —
a parent who showed up, a skill we wish we had learned,
a version of ourselves that felt supported —
it leaks out anyway.

Usually at the worst possible time.

The Science (Why This Happens)

When we suddenly feel overwhelmed or incompetent, the brain often drops out of logical, problem-solving mode and into threat mode.

Our emotional brain takes over before we’ve had time to think.

Our brains are also incredible at association.
They link now with then.

A stuck screw isn’t just a stuck screw —
it taps into earlier experiences of feeling unsupported, alone, or expected to “figure it out.”

Research on emotional regulation shows:

Emotions that aren’t processed don’t disappear —
they get stored.
And later, when something familiar pokes them,
they come back as anger, shame, or sudden intensity.

This is emotional displacement —
the feelings belong to one situation…
but they show up in another.

Which means:

You’re not overreacting.
You’re reacting to something that never got acknowledged.

This Isn’t About Blame

This isn’t about rewriting the past or blaming parents.

It’s about honesty.

It’s about saying:

Yes — this still hurts.
Yes — this mattered.
Yes — I’m allowed to feel this… even now.

The door eventually got fixed.
The rage passed.

But the grief —
that needed a moment.

Maybe the permission we really need
is simply to notice it
when it shows up…

even if it shows up holding a hammer.

Homework (Gentle. Optional. Real-Life.)

If this resonates, here are small invitations — not fixes.

1️⃣ Name the “This Isn’t About the Door” Moment

Next time you feel a big reaction to a small problem, pause and ask:

What else might this be about?

You don’t need an answer.
Just ask.

2️⃣ Finish the Sentence

Say or write:

“I’m really upset about ___, but I think part of this is about ___.”

No judging. No editing.

3️⃣ A 60-Second Grief Window

Give the feeling one minute.
No solutions.
Just acknowledgment.

Grief often softens once it’s witnessed.

4️⃣ Remind Yourself

Say (out loud if you can):

“It makes sense that this showed up.”

Because most of the time —
it does.

Final Line

Sometimes mourning what should have been
is the most honest form of healing.

And sometimes…
that’s enough for now.

Instead of a New Year’s Resolution, I’m Choosing a Direction

Every January, there’s a pressure to reinvent yourself.

New habits.
New routines.
A cleaner, calmer, more “together” version of you.

And look — I like growth. I like reflection. I really like a good fresh-start feeling.

But I’ve learned something about myself:

The moment my goals start sounding like rules,
I stop enjoying them.

And when I stop enjoying them?
I either rebel… or burn out.

So this year, I’m not doing strict resolutions.
I’m choosing a direction.

Not a checklist.
Not a streak.
Just a general way I want my life to lean.

The Direction I’m Aiming For

This year, I want to move toward what feels good — not in a reckless way, but in a listening way.

That looks like:

More time with people who make me feel like myself.
The ones I don’t perform for.
The ones I laugh easier around.
The ones I leave feeling grounded instead of drained.

Eating healthier — without turning food into a morality test.
More meals that actually fuel me.
More awareness of how food makes me feel.
And also…
yes — getting the milkshake sometimes.
Because joy is not a dietary failure.

Being on my phone less.
Not because phones are evil —
but because I don’t want my life to be something I scroll past.
I want more moments I’m in,
not just documenting
or distracting myself from.

None of these are rules.
They’re nudges.

Why Direction Works Better Than Resolutions

Resolutions tend to ask:

“Did you do it perfectly?”

Direction asks:

“Are you generally heading the way you want to go?”

If I eat well most days but get ice cream with a friend —
that still counts.

If I catch myself scrolling and put the phone down —
that counts.

If I choose connection over productivity once in a while —
that really counts.

A direction leaves room for being human.

How This Shows Up in Real Life

I’m not aiming for a perfectly balanced year.
I’m aiming for a year where I notice how I feel more often.

Where I ask myself:

• “Do I want to be doing this right now?”

• “Who do I want to share this with?”

• “Is this helping — or just filling space?”

Sometimes the answer will be:

This is good.

Sometimes:

This can wait.

And sometimes:

Yes. Absolutely. Get the milkshake.

A Small Invitation (No Pressure)

If you want to try this instead of resolutions, ask yourself:

“What do I want more of this year — and what do I want a little less of?”

Not forever.
Not perfectly.
Just… more and less.

You can write it down.
Or don’t.
You’re allowed to adjust as you go.

Final Line

I’m heading into this year aiming for good people, decent food, fewer scrolls, and a little more ease.

No big promises.
Just a direction.

See you next week.

You’re Allowed to Outgrow Things

There is a strange feeling that comes from rereading the same chapter of a book again and again. At first it feels comforting. You know the lines. You know where the story is going. But eventually you start to feel it: there is nothing new to discover. The story is stuck. You are stuck. And the more you sit with it, the more you realize you are ready for the next page, even if you are nervous to turn it.

Life has chapters like that too. Seasons you have loved. Roles that once felt perfect. People or routines that helped you grow. But after a while, something shifts inside you. You learn less. You feel inspired less. You can sense yourself stretching past the edges of what used to fit. These shifts are quiet at first, but they always get louder.

That is usually the moment people freeze. We assume the familiar is supposed to last forever, even when our spirit has already begun to move on.

The Band That I Outgrew

I felt this most clearly with a band I used to be in. At one point in my life, it meant everything. It gave me belonging and direction. It helped shape who I was becoming. But as time went on, I started to feel the disconnect. The people in it wanted different things. The energy was not the same. And the part of me that used to leave rehearsals feeling alive started leaving feeling drained.

It was confusing. It was sad. It was uncomfortable to admit that something I cared about so deeply was no longer a fit for who I was becoming. It did not end in a dramatic way. There was no fight or explosion. It was simply the truth that the chapter had stopped growing with me.

Did I regret leaving in the moment? Yes. Do I still think about it sometimes? Of course. Every meaningful chapter leaves a mark. But staying would have been like rereading a page I already knew by heart. The only way forward was to let myself turn the page.

Outgrowing Something Does Not Mean It Failed

People often treat outgrowing as abandoning, but they are not the same. You can appreciate something and still recognize that it no longer fits. You can love the memories and still choose a new direction. You can be grateful for what something gave you and still give yourself permission to grow past it.

Growth looks like:
• realizing something that once filled your bucket now leaves it empty
• wanting different things than you used to
• feeling restless in a place that used to feel safe
• noticing your energy pulling you somewhere new

None of those signs mean something is wrong. They simply mean you are changing.

The Psychology of Turning the Page

Identity is not something you choose once. It is something you revise throughout your life. Your brain continuously updates based on experiences, relationships, and the values you uncover as you move forward. So when a chapter stops matching those internal shifts, you feel it.

Restlessness.
Boredom.
A tightness in your chest you cannot quite name.
A sense of living a life that used to be yours but is not anymore.

These feelings are not failures. They are invitations.

You Are Allowed to Move Forward

You do not owe the world the older version of you. You do not have to stay inside chapters that no longer feel alive. There is no award for holding onto something past its time. There is only the cost of shrinking yourself to make the past comfortable.

You are allowed to grow.
You are allowed to want something else.
You are allowed to choose the next version of yourself.
You are allowed to change the shell you have been living in.

You do not need permission, but if you want it, here it is:
You are allowed to outgrow things, even good things.

A Small Challenge

Think about one part of your life that feels like rereading the same chapter. A habit, a routine, a relationship, a commitment, or an identity you have carried for years. Ask yourself if it still matches who you are now.

Then ask the next question:

If you met yourself today for the first time, would you choose this chapter again?

If the answer is no, maybe it is time to turn the page.

Self Talk Superhero

Adam Parker, school psychologist and musician, shares his newest song “Self-Talk Superhero.” This uplifting, Emo Mr. Rogers–style short encourages kids and adults alike to use positive self-talk and remind themselves that they are strong, capable, and resilient. Watch, sing along, and become your own self-talk superhero today!

What do you say to yourself when something is hard?

Do you hear, “I can do it”? Or does your mind slip into “I should just give up”? Maybe it’s “I’m strong and powerful!” … or sometimes, just “What if…?”

Self-talk—the words and tone we use with ourselves—matters more than we realize. It’s like a hidden soundtrack playing all day, guiding how we act, how we feel, and how we bounce back from challenges.

Everyday Superpowers

Think about your daily routine. You’ve already been a superhero today:

• You defeated the villain of the snooze button and got out of bed.

• You conquered the challenge of showing up—at school, at work, or at home—ready to tackle the day.

• You’ve already navigated social interactions, chores, and responsibilities.

Yet, most of us forget to give ourselves credit for these victories. We brush them off as “normal life,” but they’re proof that you’re capable, resilient, and stronger than you think.

Why Self-Talk Is So Important

Our brains are wired to hold onto negative thoughts more tightly than positive ones. It’s called the negativity bias. That’s why one unkind comment can echo in our minds longer than five compliments. When we pile on our own negative self-talk, it’s like handing the villain extra weapons.

Positive self-talk doesn’t mean ignoring struggles, it means reminding yourself that you’ve overcome hard things before and you can do it again. It builds confidence, reduces stress, and helps you recover more quickly from mistakes. In other words, it’s your superhero cape: invisible to others, but powerful enough to help you soar.

My Morning Practice

Lately, I’ve been trying to start my day with kind words in the mirror. For example:

“Ok Mr. Parker, it’s Monday. You are capable, you are fun, you get to connect with students today, and you’re good at it. Let’s go!”

It feels silly sometimes, but superheroes talk to themselves too. They remind themselves of their mission before heading into battle. Why shouldn’t we?

Try This: The Self-Talk Superhero Activity

1. Name Your Superhero Persona. Give yourself a fun title. (Maybe Captain Confidence or The Amazing Optimist.)

2. Write Your Catchphrase. Create one short, powerful line you can say when things get tough. (“I’ve got this.” “One step at a time.” “I’m stronger than I think.”)

3. Do the Mirror Test. Tomorrow morning, look at yourself in the mirror and say your catchphrase out loud. Notice how it feels.

4. Catch the Villain. When a negative thought sneaks in during the day, imagine it as the “villain” and replace it with your superhero line.

Final Reminder

Negative thoughts are sticky—they cling like gum to your shoes. But your superhero words are stronger. Every mistake is an opportunity to learn, every new situation a chance to try. You’ve been amazing all along, and your self-talk can remind you of that truth.

So, put on your invisible cape, call yourself by your superhero name, and go face the day.

Because you already are a self-talk superhero.

Finding Yourself in Alone Time

Adam Parker Colorado School Psychologist sings about taking time for yourself

I struggled with this week’s blog and which lens to write from. Do I write as Adam the school psychologist, sharing the lessons I see children practicing each week in schools? Or do I write as someone who also needs those same skills in his own life? Maybe the truth is that they intersect, because I am not only teaching these skills, I am practicing them too.

This week is all about alone time.

For adult me, that looks like getting in my car after work with the backseat filled with snacks, layered clothing, and my guitar, and heading straight for the mountains. For you, it might look like curling up in a hammock with headphones, burying your head in a good book, or walking through the park. The point is not where you are, it’s the act of stepping away from the things that demand your attention and rediscovering who you are when nobody is asking anything of you.

In a previous blog, I wrote about recharging. While alone time certainly recharges us, it also helps us find ourselves. Alone time gives our brains space to process all we take in during the day. When we are always surrounded by people, devices, and responsibilities, it’s easy to lose track of our own voice. Quiet moments give us clarity, lower our stress, and build resilience. Alone time is not about shutting the world out, it’s about strengthening yourself so you can show up better when you step back into it.

Growing up as an only child, my alone time was vast. I would sing and dance in the mirror, ride my bike to faraway lands (okay, really just the park two blocks away, but to me it felt like an epic adventure), and sit in my room drawing quirky characters with even quirkier backstories. That space gave me permission to be uniquely me, to get comfortable with my own oddness. And when we feel comfortable in our own skin, we grow. Who better to build that relationship with than the face you wake up to each morning?

Think about what you like to do when you’re taking space: long walks, zoning out to your favorite playlist, doodling in a notebook, building Legos, playing with your pet, or even lying in the grass staring at the sky. Try carving out time each week for one of those things. If it helps, schedule it, maybe every Friday from 3:00 to 3:30 is “hang out with myself” time. For some, it’s a solo weekend getaway; for others, it’s ten quiet minutes before bed.

Every big singer on stage, every teacher in front of a class, every player on the field, at some point, they built themselves up during quiet, unseen moments. Alone time is where confidence grows its roots. Build that confidence in the safety of your own space, and then carry it into the world.

Take the time. You are worth it.