I’ve been in recovery for over 10 years, and one of the biggest parts of my story is being a parent. I have three kids, and let me be honest—parenting is hard. It’s beautiful and full of love, but it can also be exhausting and overwhelming. One thing I’ve learned along the way is that taking care of myself is just as important as taking care of my kids. When I make my recovery and my well-being a priority, I’m able to show up for them with more patience, presence, and love. It’s not about being perfect—it’s about being real, and doing the best we can one day at a time. I want to share my experience because I know how much it helps to hear from others who are walking a similar path. You’re not alone in the challenges, and you’re not alone in the victories either.

My parents had me when they were in their 40s, so I became a primary caregiver and decision-maker much earlier than most of my peers. Since my parents' passing, my husband and I have started living with his mother, anticipating caregiver duties which are coming soon. Moving from child to a more, well, "parental" role is one of the most challenging changes in family dynamics anyone will face, and one of the least talked about. Whether they stay in their own home, move in with you (or you with them) or they transition to an adult care or nursing home, facing their aging, changing health, and needs can be beyond overwhelming. How do you talk to them about driving, about their budget, about end-of-life? How do you balance your own personal and professional responsibilities while taking on a more active role in your parents' care? And, for many of us, how do we negotiate difficult relationships with our parents now that they need so much of our attention and energy?

Life has thrown me more than my fair share of obstacles! Illness from childhood. Broken home. GenX childhood- so I basically raised myself AND my younger brother. Teen pregnancy... so married at 17. Abusive home, eventually into a single parent home. Latchkey kid. Yet.... I am still married, yes, to the same man, over 35 years later. We raised 3 kids into adulthood to be independent, and all college educated. I owned my own business and then ran a multi-level beauty company that I grew over 10 fold in 10 years, eventually having to leave due to my declining health, but I was very successful at what I did. I found successes and happiness in spite of a lot life has thrown at me. Resilience, creativity, resourcefulness, and the ability to get up and dust myself off to keep going even when I feel awful... all things I value, but I also value kindness, honesty, caring and friendship even more.

A year and a half ago, everything in my life flipped upside down. I had made the decision to step away from a high-level executive role because the stress was taking a toll, and I wanted to prioritize my marriage. But right after we returned from vacation, while packing up for a new move just days before Christmas, my husband told me he wanted a divorce. I was completely blindsided and heartbroken. Therapy didn’t quite hit the mark for me, and I struggled to find support groups that truly resonated. So, I made my own path. I leaned on the strength I didn’t even know I had, found clarity through my pain, and gradually rebuilt. I got a new executive role, one that aligns more with who I am now. And despite everything, I’ve even found a sense of peace with my ex we’re friends, and though he’s expressed regret, I know my worth and won’t go back.

Being an adult child of divorce, i fully understand what divorce does not to the family, but to the children involved. I know what it is like to experience parental alienation in the eyes of children, and i know what it feels like to feel torn between households once the divorce is completed.

For a long time, I struggled with parenting. After giving birth to my children, I no longer recognized who I had become. It took me a while to realize that motherhood/parenthood, are not my whole identity. I had to decide for myself what parenting after divorce looked like, not what society or family told me it should be. That journey meant being vulnerable enough to admit I carried resentment and anger. Two phrases changed everything for me: “You were someone before you were a parent, and she is still there” and “You can hate motherhood and still love your children.” For the first time, I felt truly seen and heard. Once I addressed my own mental health around parenting, I realized there was very little support for parents navigating their child’s tough behaviors or mental health needs. After healing some of my own traumas, I knew I could step into that gap and offer the kind of support I once needed.

I have sat in family court rooms feeling unheard, judged, and exhausted, I understand the emotional heartache this process can bring. I have listened to the courts say they want what is in the best interest of my children, yet watched decisions that felt like the complete opposite. I have seen favoritism in the justice system. I've had to stand there as my child held onto my leg crying and begging not to go. I have gone from representing myself to paying thousands of dollars for legal support, only to still feel lost in a system that does not always make sense. I know the confusion, fear, frustration, and constant emotional roller coaster of trying to protect your child while trying to protect your sanity. I also know what it feels like to keep pushing, even when it feels like rolling a boulder uphill. Recently, I served on a committee that helped pass a new law requiring family court judges to receive trauma informed training. Change is happening and no one should navigate this alone.

For the parents doing double-duty and still wondering if it’s enough. When you’re raising kids on your own, it’s easy to feel like there needs to be more—more time, more opportunities, more money for the extras that other families seem to have. You pour yourself into providing the best you can, but carrying the weight of two people can make even your best feel like it falls short. Do you feel like no matter what you do, it never measures up? If you’re a solo parent exhausted from giving it all and still questioning if you’re failing, let’s talk. Maybe you just need space to admit the guilt and pressure you’ve been holding. Maybe you want to release the shame of not having a partner, or talk about the fear that you’ll never feel “whole” enough for love again. However you show up, I get it—I’ve had those same doubts as a solo mom, and we can work through them together.

Healing didn’t stop just because I became a mom. In fact, parenting exposed my deepest wounds. There were days when I wondered: How do I heal myself and still show up for them? The truth is, I didn’t have to be perfect, but I did have to make the decision to be present. My daughters became both my reason to heal and do better for myself in all aspects. Parenting while healing is messy, but it’s also a chance to break generational cycles in real time. I'm glad you're here. Let's talk about it.

Becoming a parent for the first time changed me in ways I never expected. It cracked me open—emotionally, mentally, spiritually. I felt love so big it scared me. I also felt grief, fear, rage, and loneliness that no one warned me about. The world expects new parents to feel nothing but joy, but the truth is far more layered—especially if you carry trauma, mental health challenges, or didn’t grow up feeling safe or fully loved yourself. When I had my first living child, I was still healing from the devastating loss of my firstborn. That made parenthood even more emotional and sacred—but also incredibly hard. I was navigating grief while changing diapers. Trying to reparent myself while learning how to raise someone else. All while sleep-deprived, overwhelmed, and unsure if I was doing it "right." I’ve learned that parenting isn’t just about raising a child—it’s about becoming someone new. Shedding old identities. Confronting triggers. Stretching your heart beyond what you thought possible. And sometimes, it’s about quietly surviving the day and trying again tomorrow. If you’re in the thick of it—tired, unsure, deeply in love but also overwhelmed—I see you. You're not alone.

I knew long before I met my husband or became pregnant that I wanted a homebirth experience with my firstborn. In addition to wanting to explore an alternative to western medicine and the current medical model for childbirth in hospitals, I was deeply desiring an experience that was intimate, comfortable, freeing, and natural. While my labor and birth experience was long and challenging, I am so grateful I had the opportunity to birth at home under the care of an experienced midwife, midwifery assistant, and doula who coached both myself and my husband through my pregnancy, labor, birth, and postpartum. It was a true blessing to feel both so connected to my body and comfortable transitioning into the role I knew I was made for— being a mom! Having a homebirth was a blessing I look forward to experiencing with future pregnancies. If you had a homebirth and just need to talk out the experience with someone, it would be an honor to share that journey with you.

I’m a mom of a 2 . I’ve been through birth trauma and postpartum struggles, and I know how lonely it can feel. I’m here to listen, share my story, remind you that you don’t have to go through this alone.

While I never looked up to my parents’ relationship as an ideal, I didn’t realize there were serious problems until fairly recently. After more than 30 years of marriage, they decided to get divorced (a decision that came after my dad suffered a stroke and began experiencing noticeable personality changes). Unfortunately, he refuses to acknowledge those changes, which caused increasing tension between him and my mom and eventually led to him moving out. At the beginning of their separation, both of my parents involved me heavily, often trying to pit me against the other. It was emotionally exhausting and put a strain not only on my relationship with each of them but also on the broader family. Many of us didn’t know how to handle the shifting dynamics, and it led to confusion, discomfort, and conflict. Ultimately, I’ve gone very low contact with my dad and relatively low contact with my mom. But the situation is fluid. I’ve left room for things to change if and when I feel they’re making meaningful efforts. It’s been painful, but it’s also helped me grow into a deeper acceptance of the reality of adult family dynamics. One unexpected positive is that my brother (who’s 10 years older) and I have started comparing notes about our childhoods and discovered some shared experiences we hadn’t talked about before. If you're navigating the breakup of your parents’ long-term marriage (especially as an adult), I want you to know that it’s okay to feel grief, anger, confusion, and even relief all at once. I can help you make sense of the shifting relationships, set boundaries, and find peace in the messiness.

Talk to me about surviving domestic violence. I understand what it’s like to live through and parent through fear, confusion, and rebuilding. We can talk about safety, grief, and rediscovering yourself at your own pace. I want you to walk away knowing you're truly heard without judgment.

After my divorce, I found myself thrown into the deep end of single parenting. At first, I felt completely overwhelmed. My son was young, and I was trying to balance working, managing the household, and figuring out how to provide emotional stability for both of us. I didn’t always have the answers and often felt exhausted. One of the hardest things was adjusting to the silence in the house after the divorce—no more shared responsibilities or support. It was up to me to create the structure and calm that we needed. Over time, I learned how to communicate my needs more clearly, set boundaries, and prioritize self-care. I realized that I couldn’t pour from an empty cup, and that it was okay to ask for help and lean on my friends and family when I needed it. Now, after five years, I’ve become much more grounded in my role as a single mom. I’m no longer just surviving; I’m thriving, and I want to help others who are walking the same path.

When I had my first child at 21, my world shifted in two opposite directions at once. Just two months later, my mother passed away unexpectedly. The joy of becoming a parent and the heartbreak of losing one collided in a way I wasn’t prepared for. Those early days felt overwhelming. I was caring for a newborn while grieving, and I often asked myself how I could possibly raise my child without my mother’s guidance. The advice, support, and simple presence I thought I’d always have were suddenly gone. What helped me find my footing was holding onto everything she left behind—the memories we shared, the lessons she taught me, and even the moments I once thought were mistakes. Slowly, I realized those pieces could come together into a kind of roadmap, guiding me in raising my child the way I believe she would have encouraged me to. It wasn’t easy, but it gave me a way to honor her and still feel her presence in my parenting journey.

I grew up in a conservative Baptist Christian family, where my siblings and I were always under a microscope. My mother was self-centered and egotistical, a trait she still carries to this day. This environment shaped my views on relationships, especially how I navigate family connections. Despite the challenges with my parents, I’ve always tried to teach my children the importance of love and acceptance. I encourage them to be the bigger person, even when faced with difficult behavior from family members, including their grandparents. My journey hasn’t been easy, but through navigating a single-parent household, becoming part of a stepfamily, and experiencing three significant relationships, I’ve learned invaluable lessons about love, commitment, and communication. These experiences have shaped my ability to set healthy boundaries, manage expectations, and cultivate meaningful connections. I firmly believe in the power of love and acceptance for all, regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity, and I strive to instill these values in my family and relationships.

I got married at a young age to someone who was nine years my senior. The person I married was someone who was a privileged individual who couldn't see eye to eye with me on many issues, topics, and ways of being. After the divorce, I realized that a great portion of my life had slipped through my fingers, and I lost myself. Before marriage, I was involved in numerous creative activities where I felt free. When my ex moved out, every emotion imaginable welled up in me. I felt like I could breathe while grieving the absence of items that I had become accustomed to seeing every day. Once I moved past the grieving stage, I found myself engaging in hobbies and activities that lifted my spirit. I also grieved the person I was before marriage. She is still in me, but she is older, wiser, and more resilient.

Life threw me a curveball more than once growing up with an alcoholic parent, then marrying someone who struggled with the same thing. The divorce was the final blow, but it didn’t break me. It was messy, it was painful, but it was also the beginning of a new chapter. Soon after, I found love again (yes, before the ink was even dry on the divorce papers), and suddenly, I was the proud dad of four kids: one biological, one adopted, and two stepchildren. Welcome to the world of co-parenting and blending families! I’ve leaned on a lot of things to get here, support groups like Al-Anon, therapy, and an unwavering belief in mental health (especially for men). I’ve walked the line between emotional chaos and clarity, and I know exactly what it’s like to feel overwhelmed, stuck, or uncertain about what comes next. I’ve helped other guys who are struggling with addiction, messy breakups, and the madness of co-parenting—and I’m here to tell you: you can rebuild. It might not be easy, but it is worth it.

Life threw me a curveball more than once growing up with an alcoholic parent, then marrying someone who struggled with the same thing. The divorce was the final blow, but it didn’t break me. It was messy, it was painful, but it was also the beginning of a new chapter. Soon after, I found love again (yes, before the ink was even dry on the divorce papers), and suddenly, I was the proud dad of four kids: one biological, one adopted, and two stepchildren. Welcome to the world of co-parenting and blending families! I’ve leaned on a lot of things to get here, support groups like Al-Anon, therapy, and an unwavering belief in mental health (especially for men). I’ve walked the line between emotional chaos and clarity, and I know exactly what it’s like to feel overwhelmed, stuck, or uncertain about what comes next. I’ve helped other guys who are struggling with addiction, messy breakups, and the madness of co-parenting—and I’m here to tell you: you can rebuild. It might not be easy, but it is worth it.