Life is a Journey

Another Letter to Our “Leaders”

August 31st, 2025

I wrote to my senator, Senator Lankford l, after hearing harmful comments made about autism. Yet again. Our children deserve respect, inclusion, and empathy, not stereotypes. Sharing my letter here because this conversation matters. Autism isn’t more biologically prevalent in the U.S., we’re just better at finding and naming it than many countries. Global studies suggest rates are likely similar everywhere, once differences in screening and reporting are accounted for.

Dear Senator Lankford,

I hope this letter finds you well. I’m writing not only as your constituent from Tulsa but as a mother deeply committed to truth, compassion, and the well-being of the autism community. I saw your appearance this morning on Meet the Press discussing autism, specifically referencing remarks by Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. about “following the science.” I’d like to respectfully offer a different perspective. A perspective grounded in current, peer-reviewed science and lived experience.

As referenced in his April 16 press conference, Secretary Kennedy stated:

“Autism destroys families, and more importantly, it destroys our greatest resource, which is our children. … These are kids who will never pay taxes. They’ll never hold a job. They’ll never play baseball. They’ll never write a poem. They’ll never go out on a date. Many of them will never use a toilet unassisted.”

These sweeping, stigmatizing statements were met with widespread condemnation. As People Magazine reported, many pointed out the scientific inaccuracy and the hurtful portrayal of autistic individuals. Experts and advocates, from the Autism Society of America to groups like AuSM, have spoken out, emphasizing that autism is a lifelong neurodevelopmental disability shaped by complex genetic and environmental factors, not a tragedy or epidemic to be cured.

The rise in autism diagnosis’s largely reflects better awareness, broader diagnostic criteria, and earlier screening, not a sudden spike in prevalence. In the past, many children went undiagnosed or were mislabeled with other conditions. Today, pediatricians, schools, and families have more tools and training to recognize autism earlier and more accurately. This means children who might once have been overlooked are now being identified, which allows them to receive services and supports that help them thrive. What we are seeing is not an “epidemic,” but progress in recognizing and supporting neurodiverse individuals.

What I’d like you to consider

1. Language matters: Statements that frame autistic children as burdens or dismiss their potential have real-world consequences, harming self-esteem and access to education, services, and dignity.

2. Science-based leadership: Please encourage leadership that promotes autism research rooted in evidence, transparency, and respect, not sensationalism or debunked theories.

3. Listening to every day people: I’d be honored if you could find time for a brief phone conversation, perhaps 15 minutes so I can share my child’s story, the joys, challenges, and potential unmet by current rhetoric.

My child is a vibrant, curious, and immensely thoughtful little human. He loves to make people laugh, care for animals, create art and care for others. Yes, it takes time and patience, just like any child deserves. Imagining a world where he could “never pay taxes, date, or write poetry” simply erases his existence and value.

Senator, as a father yourself, I’d ask you to imagine how it would feel to hear a person in power declare that your child will never play baseball, never work, never pay taxes, never live a full life. How would you feel knowing your children might overhear those words, and wonder if their futures had already been dismissed? That is what families like mine are carrying today. The words aren’t just rhetoric, they ripple into the self-worth of our children and the way society views them.

Autism isn’t about deficits; it’s about diversity. Autistic individuals, and their families, thrive when embraced, supported, and understood.

Senator, I genuinely believe that when elected leaders show empathy, listen, and elevate scientific understanding, they make stronger, better-informed decisions. There’s a lot of good you can help make happen for autistic families, caregivers, and communities.

Senator Lankford, I feel strongly that we should all be outraged by the recent comments made about autism. Words that dismiss autistic people as burdens are not only inaccurate, but profoundly hurtful. They reflect a lack of empathy and a strain of ableism that has no place in our public discourse. Autistic children and adults deserve to be valued for who they are, not written off as incapable. Leaders set the tone for how our society treats its most vulnerable, and I urge you to use your voice to reject this harmful narrative.

Thank you deeply for your time, your attention and hopefully, for a conversation soon.

With respect, hope, and gratitude,

Sarah

Sources:

• Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), Autism and Developmental Disabilities Monitoring Network, 2023.

• Maenner MJ, et al. “Prevalence and Characteristics of Autism Spectrum Disorder Among Children Aged 8 Years,” MMWR Surveillance Summaries, 2023.

• Hansen SN, et al. “Explaining the increase in the prevalence of autism spectrum disorders: the proportion attributable to changes in reporting practices,” JAMA Pediatrics, 2015
Back to School: Balancing Hopes and Fears as a Parent

August 26th, 2025

There is something about back to school season that always feels like standing on the edge of a cliff. You look to see the new beginnings that a new school year brings. Yet, you can’t quite see the ground you will land on. This year, though, feels especially layered. Public education feels unsteady in ways I don’t remember from earlier years. Funding, resources, even the very values of inclusion and support are being debated. The uncertainty of it all is scary. It makes the normal back to school jitters feel heavier. Knowing the atmosphere my children are walking into every day is shifting under our feet.

My youngest is stepping into kindergarten. He is bright, curious, and full of imagination. But as a child with extra support needs, inclusion weighs heavy on my heart. I worry about whether his teachers and peers will understand him. Whether he will be seen for his strengths, rather than his challenges. My hope is that his joy and creativity shine through. That those around him learn to meet him where he’s at, with patience, compassion and curiosity.

At the same time, my daughter is walking into her senior year of high school. She is preparing to graduate early, but the journey hasn’t been easy. Living with an autoimmune condition means she has had to learn resilience far earlier than most teenagers. As she steps toward adulthood, I can’t help but worry about how she will navigate life beyond high school. Finding her path, her voice, and the confidence to trust in her own abilities.

Then there is my oldest, who will be turning 21 soon. Watching him grow into himself, learning who he is and what he values, fills me with pride. Parenting adult children is it’s own strange transition. You are still a mom, but in a way that requires more stepping back than stepping in. It is a bittersweet pride, knowing your child is carving a life of their own.

Amid all of this, I am a student again myself. In my second year at college, at 40 years old, I recently changed my field of study. I am going to finish a dual license program for special education and elementary education. It is a shift that feels deeply personal to me. With my own lived experiences, I want to be a lifeline for students in public education. I want to be someone who sees them. Advocates for them. And helps them thrive in this unsteady world.

Alongside these personal milestones sits a wider, more unsettling reality. The conversations around education right now are not just about test scores or funding. The conversations are also about who belongs and who doesn’t. I worry about my kindergartner who has autism. I worry about him being in a system where inclusiveness is being chipped away at. I worry about my senior who manages a chronic health condition. She will be entering an employment climate where accommodations are seen as extras instead of essential. The push back against inclusion doesn’t feel abstract when it has your children’s names written all over it.

Life feels full right now, sometimes overwhelmingly. It is scary and exciting. It is heavy and hopeful. Back to school this year is not just about pencils and backpacks this year. For us, it is about stepping into entirely new chapters of life. Each of us carrying our own challenges and victories. Maybe that is what this season is really about. Learning to hold it all together as a family. To celebrate each others growth, to shoulder each others fears. To remind ourselves that even in the hardest seasons of life, we are not walking into them alone. We are together.
Empathy Isn’t an Excuse to Abandon Yourself

August 8th, 2025
I didn’t notice it at first. How my voice got quieter. How my feelings waiting in line behind everyone else. It wasn’t one big betrayal. It was the slow, steady habit of letting myself shrinking so no one else had to feel uncomfortable. I have mastered the art of biting my tongue until it bleeds. Of smiling through the hurt. Of telling myself “It’s not worth the fight.” Even when it is worth every word I never said. I have traded honesty for harmony so many times. I have forgotten what my own voice sounds like without fear.

The Quietest Kind of Sabotage

There is a type of emotional sabotage that does not look like destruction. It doesn’t scream, slam doors or end things abruptly. It whispers : “It’s fine. Let it go.” It looks like swallowing the words you should have said. Excusing the behavior that chipped away at you. I called it “empathy”. For years I thought I was being kind. Understanding. Patient. But really, I was abandoning myself. Over and over again. All in the name of keeping the peace.

When someone hurt me, my mind went straight to the why behind the action. “They didn’t mean it.” “They are going through a hard time.” “It isn’t that big of a deal.” I convinced myself that this was me being compassionate. The truth is, it made me disappear. If I explained why someone’s actions were hurtful, it somehow made them feel less hurtful. Less intentional. That story was easier to hold than the reality that someone I care for crossed a line.

“Empathy without boundaries is not kindness. It is self-abandonment.”

Empathy is beautiful. It is human. But empathy without boundaries is not kindness. It is self-abandonment. It’s me, standing in the ruins of my own peace, saying “But look, I understand why they did this.” It is allowing my understanding of someone’s pain to excuse the pain they caused me. Here is what I learned the hard way. When you habitually rank understanding others over protecting yourself, you are teaching yourself that your own needs don’t matter.

The Cost of Letting Hurt Go Unhealed

I let hurt go unhealed for years because it was easier than confrontation. I told myself I was just “choosing my battles.” What I was actually choosing was avoidance.

The cost?
- I became hyper aware of others’ moods and completely out of touch with my own.
- I learned to ignore my instincts.
- I started believing that my pain was negotiable. That I was negotiable.
Every time I stayed silent. I looked the other way often. Each time, I reinforced the belief that being “easy to love” was more important than being true to myself. I chipped away at my peace little by little. Peace built on silence is not peace. It’s pressure. I was a pressure cooker. Pretending everything is fine until the weight of what was left unspoken cracked me open. I thought avoiding conflict meant safety. I was brought up thinking conflict was the enemy. But conflict is not the enemy here, dishonesty is. Every time I bit my tongue, I was being dishonest with myself and the other person.

“Every time I stayed silent, I taught myself that my pain was negotiable.”

I am slowly learning that boundaries do not make me cold. They make me clear. Not all conflict is danger, and not every hard conversation leads to loss. Do I want to still be kind? Of course. I also want to be honest. I want to be soft, but not at the cost of being seen. I want to extend empathy, but not as an excuse for someone to keep hurting me.

Still Learning to Choose Myself

I wish I can say that I have this all figured out. That I have drawn my lines in the sand and never allow them to be crossed. The truth is, I am still learning.

I am learning to give myself permission to set boundaries without guilt. I am learning to believe that my feelings are not overreactions, but signals. I am learning that protecting my peace does not make me unkind. It makes me whole. It is a process, unlearning years of thoughts that told me silence was safer than truth. I still catch myself slipping back into old habits. Some days I recognize it, pause, and remind myself that empathy is a gift. But it isn’t a debt I owe at the cost of myself.

I am learning to hear my own voice again. At first, it was barely a whisper, unsure if it even deserved space in the room. But each time I speak up, even when my words shake, I am reminded that they still matter. I still matter. After years of silencing myself to protect others. I am slowly unlearning the belief that my truth is too heavy, too inconvenient, too much. My voice is coming back, not loud, not flawless, but honest. And that honesty is worth more than the false peace I used to trade it for.
Small Talk in a World That Needs Big Truths

July 31st, 2025

There are few things more frustrating than trying to talk about something you genuinely care about. You mention education, healthcare, or your values, only to have the conversation derailed by politics. Suddenly you are “too liberal”, “too sensitive” or “part of the problem.” I can’t be the only one who feels this way. There is a specific sadness in feeling incapable of discussing what matters most to you. It arises not because people don’t care, but because your passion gets viewed as political.

Here is the truth. Not every conversation about important issues is political. Sometimes, it is just human. Personal. Necessary. We live in a time where the line between personal values and political identity is razor thin. It is easy to misread passion as partisanship. I have felt it. I have felt it in conversations with the people I love deeply. I finally get the courage and open up about something personal. Suddenly I am not a parent or an advocate, I am a problem. I am just another “political opinion”. An uncomfortable truth that someone did not ask to hear.

What hurts the most is that these conversations are not about politics at all; not in the way people think. They are about survival. About fairness. About the future of someone we love. They are about fighting to make sure people do not fall through the cracks. Standing up to a system that decided that their needs were too expensive or too inconvenient. But when that truth is met with discomfort, silence or push back, we are left to carry it alone. It stings more when you share facts, resources or lived experiences. You share real, tangible evidence and it is still brushed aside. As if your voice weighs less than a soundbite from a news anchor. As if the truth matters less when it comes from someone they know. It is lonely, having to filter your life like this. It is lonely when your passion is mistaken for provocation.

It shuts everything down. And so we stay in the safe zone. We talk about the weather, garden updates, new recipes. Anything but what we are actually feeling. We avoid the topics closest to our hearts. We fear they will explode into something they were never meant to be. We reduce ourselves to small talk, even though we crave real talk. But real talk, these days, often gets interpreted as an attack. So we shrink. We swallow our thoughts whole.

It is exhausting.

I don’t want every conversation to feel like a negotiation, I want to talk about the real stuff. The raw, unfiltered, human parts. I want to talk without being labeled or dismissed. I want to be heard without being debated. I want us all to show up as our full selves, even when it is messy or complicated or challenging.

I don’t want to bite my tongue. I want to speak with honesty and heart, to share what matters without it turning into a fight. But I don’t know how to do that, not really. Not when even a simple truth feels like a spark near dry grass. I keep hoping there is a way to be understood without having to defend every word. But, maybe there isn’t. Maybe, for now, it is just holding it all in. Maybe it is wondering how many versions of myself I’ll have to swallow to keep the peace. I will keep hope alive that someday these conversations won’t feel so risky. I will hope that love will make space for truth, even when it is hard. But, for now, it seems that speaking from the heart comes at too high a cost.
Why Families Need Medicaid: A Mother’s Perspective

July 2nd, 2025

Dear Senator/Representative,

I’m writing to you not just as a voter and taxpayer here in Oklahoma, but as a mother.

My 5-year-old son Charlie is autistic. He also has sensory processing disorder, expressive language delay, ADHD, and retained primitive reflexes. These are big diagnoses for such a little person—but Charlie is so much more than his challenges. He’s joyful, curious, musical, and loving. And like every child, he deserves the chance to thrive.

Charlie’s ability to grow and succeed depends on consistent access to high-quality providers and services through Medicaid—our SoonerCare program. His speech therapy, occupational therapy, and behavioral supports are essential lifelines. They help him communicate, regulate, and engage with the world around him.

I’m deeply concerned about the proposed changes to Medicaid under the “One Big Beautiful Bill.” The increased bureaucracy, re-determination every six months, and looming provider funding cuts seem like small adjustments on paper. Yet, for families like mine, they create barriers. These barriers will lead to devastating service disruptions.

Charlie cannot afford to lose access to care due to paperwork complications or shrinking provider networks. He cannot wait on years-long waitlists because funding dries up or providers shut their doors. His window for early intervention is now, and we cannot waste it fighting red tape.

I respectfully urge you to oppose any legislation that weakens Medicaid coverage or adds burdens that harm children with disabilities. I ask that you stand up for Oklahoma families. They rely on these services not because they want a handout. They use them because they’re working every day to give their kids the support they deserve.

Please protect Medicaid. Please protect Charlie.

With hope,

Sarah English

Mother of Charlie

Tulsa, Oklahoma
Autism Is Not a Disease: A Parent’s Stand

April 17th, 2025

I have been going back and forth on this. I don’t know what to say; I must say something. Anything. Words are being used to describe Autism right now that are incredibly hurtful to my son and to my family. I am not trying to make assumptions about anyone’s beliefs by sharing my feelings and views. I feel the absolute need to stop misinformation in its tracks, no matter who it is spreading it. This is not political. This is personal. This is my family.

Absolute venom is being spewed about people in the autistic community, about my child. Our HHS Secretary, RFK Jr., said that children diagnosed with Autism are “kids who will never pay taxes. They’ll never hold a job. They’ll never play baseball. They’ll never write a poem. They’ll never go out on a date. Many of them will never use a toilet unassisted.” He says, “Autism destroys families, and more importantly, it destroys our greatest resource, which is our children. These are children who should not be suffering like this.” This statement is inherently not true.

Imagine that you hear someone in such a position of power describing you in this way. How would it affect you? Picture yourself being 5 years old and overhearing someone on the news say that you will never hold a job. You will never find love. Say that you have destroyed your family because of something you can’t control. Our family has not been destroyed. Our son is not destroyed by his Autism. He is different, but he is certainly not less than anyone else. Just like everyone, people on the spectrum are human beings. They, just like you, deserve respect, dignity, and compassion. Plenty of autistic people pay taxes and hold jobs. They absolutely can play sports, write poems, and go out on dates. They will find and know love. Autism is not a disease; it is not a chronic illness. It is not some virus spreading through the masses. It is not an epidemic.

“Autism isn’t a single thing; it is a word we use in an attempt to capture a spectrum of behavioral strengths, differences, and vulnerabilities to help optimally support children.” -Zachary Warren.

These generalizations are a disgusting portrayal of the autistic community under the illusion of goodwill. Pretending that there is an effort to find the cause and a cure for Autism.

“Autism isn’t an illness. It’s a different way of being human.” -Barry M. Prizant

No single thing causes Autism. Autism is incredibly complex. It is unrealistic to think we can pinpoint exactly how individual genes interact with countless environmental factors. Tens of thousands of studies have been done on Autism. The rise in diagnoses can be attributed to early detection and better diagnosis criteria. The goal with Autism is not to “cure” it. Instead, it aims to support individuals in identifying and making the most of their strengths. The goal is to help manage any challenges they face.

Treat everyone you meet with respect. Speak love and positivity. Know that your words have power, use that power to uplift and use it to spread truth and kindness.
Promoting Inclusivity in Neurodiversity

April 1st, 2025

Autism Acceptance Month is a time to celebrate neurodiversity, promote positivism and educate with love. It is also a time to educate yourself, share what you know with others and promote inclusion of everyone.

One of my favorite thing to do these days is educate others about Autism. I am no expert, by any means, I have the wish to help others understand my wonderful kid. I can go on and on about my children. Two are basically grown and we have our little Charlie who just turned 5 last week! Charlie had a start in life that can only be described as rough. He had some big twists and turns early on. Eventually, he landed in our home in 2021. His story of how he came to us is his to share, I am sure he will one day.

Lately there has been a lot of changes for Charlie. Transitions are hard for him. Meltdowns have been a constant in our house for the last couple of weeks. When new things happen, his body needs time to adjust. When new skills are acquired, it takes some time for them to be integrated.

I think about it like a pyramid. You and I have a baseline toward the bottom of a pyramid. We can handle quite a lot before we reach peak dysregulation. Charlie starts about halfway up the pyramid on a good day. His little body struggles to keep regulation even when things are predictable and typical. When you add in new skills, transitions, life changes, excitement…his baseline moves up and up depending on what is changing. There are times his baseline is one event away from peaking. Can you imagine how hard that must be? How many extra skills Charlie has to have just to be out in the world? His day to day looks like this, sometimes we go through each of these hills in an hour.

We, as a society, spend so much time teaching those in the Autistic Community how to “fit in.” We teach them how to mask. We show them how to communicate effectively with others. Maybe I am way off base. I think the focus needs to be on teaching the neurotypical community about neurodiversity and inclusive practices. Do some research. Don’t be afraid to ask questions, I love answering them. If you see a parent in public struggling, share a smile. If you have a person in your life who is on the spectrum, ask how you can better accommodate them. Try lowering lights, turning the music down, make sure to have safe foods available. Know that everyone is different. Everyone has different support needs, sensory needs, dietary needs. Don’t laugh. Listen to their words, this teaches people to advocate for their needs. I love hearing Charlie say “I don’t like that” or “That tickles, keep scratching my back like that.” Honestly, you should be doing this for everyone anyway.

Everyone deserves to feel supported. Everyone deserves to feel included. Charlie might be different, but he is not less. This shift in thinking can foster understanding and create a world where everyone feels welcome, accepted, and capable.
Trees, Rocks and Grief

March 13th, 2025

Like many in the world, I am struggling with my mental health right now. Everything is so heavy. I know so many people who are struggling. Some for reasons just like me, some for other reasons. I have learned the importance of letting those around you know how to be there for you. We all have different love languages, I think the same can be said for how we grieve. We all have different grief languages. The way we need to be comforted when we are grieving or struggling is not the same as our partner, our coworker, our friends. Those around us might not know how to best be there for us when we need it.

It is hard for me to articulate how to best be there for me because I don’t know for sure. I was thinking about it last night. What do I need? Do I need a rock? When I think of being someone’s rock I think about being strong, steady and unmoving. Letting all of the waves of grief rush against it but the rock stays in place, unwavering in their support. Being the person that someone can dump all of their grief on. Rocks can take it. There are times that I need a rock. For me, I need a rock during times of utter sadness. Death of a loved one, divorce, loss of friends, jobs, memories. I am sure those things vary person to person. I am sure there are things I haven’t experienced yet that I will need a solid rock for.

This had me thinking about what other kinds of support I might need. I have no idea why, but a tree immediately came to my mind. I know, I know…rocks are what you typically think of when you think of supporting someone. Think about it, rocks are typically thought of because they are strong. Trees are strong. Some might say, stronger than rocks?

When I am overwhelmed with life and feel like I am drowning with the heaviness of the world I want to know that I am not alone. Maybe I am way off base but I want to know that others are overwhelmed too that it is not just me. I want a tree beside me for support. Trees are tall and strong. They have deep roots to help hold them up. I need the extra shade a tree provide when the rain is falling harder than usual, I need the sway of the trunk to move with me through the storm, I need to see the branches break showing me that I am not the only one who can’t weather the storm whole. I need those broken branches to hold me up when the water keeps rising. I need to see the regrowth from storms the trees have weathered before, to know that the pieces of me that feel broken right now won’t be broken forever. That I will heal. I need to know that I am not alone.

Rocks, they survive relatively unscathed. Trees, however, are living beings. They grow, they bleed, they heal and they never stop giving. They adapt to their surroundings, they are undeterred in growing all so Earth can have the oxygen to support life. Trees swallow rocks. When I am at my lowest, I want to be surrounded by people who emulate everything trees stand for.
What if I were you…

November 14th, 2024

A friend shared a song with me the other day, What If by Five for Fighting. The lyrics of this song are…just powerful.

“Threw a line out to pull you to me. If you don’t get it then you don’t get it. You made your mind up before you knew me. If you don’t get it then you don’t get it. Take my hand for a minute, we’re in it. Imagine all the pain that might be forgiven… What if I had your heart? What if you wore my scars? How would we break down? What if you were me, what if I were you?”

I wonder what would happen if we all took a second to think about it. How would our view of the world change? How would we feel about “hot topics” if we put ourselves in others places? Would any of us even be able to last a day as someone else? Last a day as an immigrant? Could you last an hour as someone suffering from homelessness? What about someone who is persecuted because of their skin color, religion, political views? If we made it a full day, would we be the same as we were when we started? I seriously doubt it.

My husband and I were foster parents for several years. We had the honor of caring for 7 children during that time. Each placement that we cared for came from varying circumstances. Domestic violence, neglect, drugs, misunderstandings, etc. Our eyes were opened. Our capacity to empathize grew exponentially. We learned so much. We learned that just because others are different, believe different, parent different does not mean that they are wrong. Different than us does not equal bad. Why is everyone scared of different?

The world right now is unpredictable. Divided. Scary even. There are those who don’t understand why half the country is upset right now. They are wondering why people are scared for their safety, for the safety of their children. They don’t understand why women are speaking out for their right to choose. There is a sense of judgement, they make up their mind about the woman choosing before they know them. Their daughter, sister, friend could have been the one who had to make that choice and they will never know. How would it feel to know that someone so close to you is too scared to talk to you? Imagine wearing their scars. Would it change your heart?

There are neighbors, coworkers, friends who may look different than you, think different than you, speak different than you. They see you every day and walk on eggshells. Not wanting to bring up certain topics out of fear. Fear of being considered “bad” because they are different. Fear of you knowing they are part of the LGBTQ? community, fear of being judged based on their skin color, fear of being catcalled because they are a woman. What if you were them? What if they were you? Would you want them to treat you they way they are treated? I doubt it.

Listen to the song. Listen to it again. Think about the words.

What if I had your heart? What if you wore my scars? How would we breakdown? What if you were me? What if I were you? What if you told my lies? What if I cried with your eyes? Could anyone keep us down? What if you were me? What if I were you? To the ones who make it better find to get out, got to touch the other side. What if all that it took to save our lives together was to RISE UP?
Uncertainty

November 8th, 2024

I have found myself at a loss for words this week. Well, I have a lot of words that I would like to say. A lot of words that I would like to scream right now. Scream at people. Scream into the void. Just scream until I have no more air in my lungs.

I am not sure why I am writing this post. I have deleted most of my social media, I don’t even know who will see this. Maybe I am writing for me, for an outlet. Maybe I am writing to get it out so I can sleep, so the tension in my neck will release. Things are so raw right now that I do not think I can bite my tongue hard enough to keep from saying things I might regret. But will I regret them? Maybe that is why I am making this blog post, so I don’t say things that I might regret.

I have often wondered why I always remain quiet when it comes to, well, everything. Why does the cashier at Target get to talk about how he is ready for Jack Smith to lose his job in January? Why do I get scolded when I call out someone who is blatantly racist? Why am I the one who has to “not let it bother me”?. Why aren’t more people telling them to stop spewing hate? It makes zero sense. It does bother me. It should bother everyone.

When will things not feel so bleak? Will there be a day that hope will return? I have to believe there will be. It has only been 3 days, yet it feels like an absolute eternity. I am scared for my family. I do not feel safe. I do not feel like my physical safety is in jeopardy, at least not right now. But safety is more than physical. Feeling emotionally and mentally safe is so incredibly important and they often get overlooked.

This week has matched the mood, rainy and cold. I want to curl up with a blanket and just sit and be. Thankful it is the weekend and I will be able to do just that.

The sun will rise again tomorrow. I am giving myself time and space to feel.