My new psychiatrist asked how I get my needs met when I'm busy meeting everyone else's. The answer: At sunrise, every day. I meet God there. For a year now, I've approached dawn like an altar. I can't set my watch by people anymore – their consistency wavers. But the sun rises because God commands it. Every morning, without fail, He proves His faithfulness.
Game Over: What Zelda Taught Me About Learning Curves at Forty
Kids die in video games a hundred times and laugh. Adults see one 'Game Over' screen and think we're stupid. Sick with a cold and struggling with Zelda's complicated controller, I realized I hadn't challenged myself mentally in years. Maybe growth requires being terrible at something first, even when you're forty and can't remember which button makes Link jump.
Trading Heroes for Mentors
As a child, my mom was my hero. Now, teaching sixth graders about heroism while navigating my own struggles, I've realized something: I don't have heroes anymore. I collect mentors instead. Heroes stand on pedestals, untouchable and perfect. Mentors sit beside you with their own scars visible, showing you how to navigate the flaws. The real hero's journey? Not an ascent to perfection but a descent from pedestals to walk alongside others.
Partly Cloudy at Sunrise: Finding Faith in the In-Between
Santa Billy handed me a red tumbler emblazoned with 'Believe' just as I'm waiting to hear from agents about my rebranded manuscript. But I've discovered something at sunrise: the partly cloudy days are the most beautiful ones. Not the extremes of brilliant sunshine or impenetrable fog, but the in-between spaces where faith has room to grow. Maybe that's why they call it faith – this willingness to wait for what we cannot guarantee, to find beauty in what isn't perfect.
Anchored at Sunrise: Why Some Routines Are Non-Negotiable
Eight weeks after submitting my manuscript, facing rejections and a complete rebrand of my book, I'm discovering that everyone wants flexibility - my principal, the publishing world, life itself. But I won't skip my sunrise ritual. Because flexibility without foundation isn't resilience; it's just falling.
When the Power Goes Out
My car wouldn't start at the pier, the school had no power, and I faced twenty-five sixth graders in a dark classroom with no lesson plan. But sometimes restoration comes in unexpected ways – through jumper cables from someone who loves us, through teaching children to find peace in uncertainty, through learning that even in the dark, we can still find our own light.
Free to Fall and Fail Again: Finding Your Song in the Chaos
Everything around me changes with the seasons—the sunrise comes later, the routines shift, the household dynamics evolve. But I show up every morning at the water's edge, and the God who orders all of this—the sunrises and the sea glass walks, the students in room 202, and the beautiful chaos of family life—remains constant.
The Mania September Demands: When Routine Becomes Your Lifeline
My brain woke me at 3am with a mental inventory of everything I needed before students arrived. This is September's paradox for educators with mood disorders: the start of school requires hypomania while you're trying to maintain stability. When my carefully constructed accommodations fell apart, I remembered where my real anchor lies.
When Sun and Moon Share the Sky: Faith in an Unequally Yoked Marriage
My husband believes in God but isn't a Christian like I am. A pastor warned us about being “unequally yoked”; I married Tony anyway. Yesterday, watching sunrise, I noticed the sun and moon sharing the sky. When Tony fell from the roof, I saw how different lights can coexist beautifully.
The Last Day of Summer: Preparing to Teach with Mental Illness in the Open
Today was the last day of summer, and it didn't sneak up on me. Despite a packed day ahead, I positioned myself at Fort Monroe to welcome the dawn of my last official day of summer vacation. As I prepare to return to teaching, I'm carrying a different kind of fear: Since I've come out publicly about my mental illness, will there be pushback? I readily own my ADHD because I can model accommodations for my students. But will I ever feel safe admitting I have bipolar disorder? Sometimes the very things we're most afraid to reveal become the bridges that help others feel less alone.
Writer's Growth 