Work In Progress: Ed. May 2026

Work in Progress

Having children is unlike anything else! These dependent, observant little firecrackers find all your worst habits and blast them right back at you, unfiltered and unapologetic. Never have I felt worse about myself than when I’m being nit-picked to within a seam allowance of my sanity by my tween, because I realize, dang, that’s what she’s getting from me? (Okay, arguably, there is some hormonal influence going on at this point.) Perhaps that sounds self-centered, but here’s the thing: even if it wasn’t all me, I have the power to fix it. Because she copies me, and I can change my behavior.

I think parents can agree (and if you aren’t one, sorry to leave you out of the convo for a moment), we will do anything for the well-being of our child. We grow and change as people when we have children. I remember the day my dad changed.

My parents divorced when I was 11, and I alternated houses daily until I was old enough to drive. Then I received my grandmother’s boxy gold Corolla, complete with manual windows and fur-trimmed steering wheel cover, and I got to pick my schedule.

One night, I passed through the kitchen at my dad’s house as he was prepping dinner. Right as he discovered that a wooden cooking spoon was not in the drawer where it was supposed to be. The next moment, I’m under fire, accused of never putting things away properly. Yelling was not uncommon for me growing up, and I knew it wasn’t my fault. I would never put the spoon in the wrong place! (I’m actually fairly OCD about this.) But I stood there as he ranted, my own anger rising, and realized I had the freedom to leave.

So, I said, “I know you’re not really mad at me, but it’s not okay to yell at me like this. So, I’m going to Mom’s.”

That was the last day he yelled at me. Ever.

Maybe you have a picture in your head about my dad now. Here’s the thing: my dad was an amazing man. He worked harder than anyone should, sacrificing extra hours to get the task done right in an industry that, to this day, has an abundance of mediocrity. And he hated it. Because the industry is a machine, but humans aren’t. He couldn’t get ahead no matter what he did. He had no control over the deadlines and demands. Or worse, when his computer crashed, resulting in hours, sometimes days of lost work. So, he didn’t want to hunt through his kitchen for a wooden spoon. He had a drawer where it lived, and that’s where it should always be. A small reprieve. One thing that wasn’t supposed to be hard.

He wasn’t mad at me. It wasn’t about the spoon. He was devastated at the lifecycle he was stuck in.

Writing this, I’m actually tearing up because it occurs to me how he must’ve felt when I left that night. How it probably hurt worse than his shitty day at work. He probably pulled a lowball glass from the China cabinet and poured two fingers of Jack Daniel’s over ice. The me today never would have left. But I was sixteen. And we’re all just works in progress.

If you’re still with me, thank you for powering through, because that’s what I write about: People who struggle, who earnestly want to be better, but sometimes don’t know how. People who feel stuck. And coming out June 29 (my dad’s birthday) is my newest book baby, True to Your Boots! A story about growth, parenting, overcoming grief, and being brave enough to follow your heart. And also, horses and stable shenanigans. Help me celebrate my dad and buy the book, or request it from your local library, ask for it in your local indie bookstore, or share this newsletter with someone who might relate.

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