Check In

 

https://www.timeshighereducation.com/hub/learning-labs/p/check-yourself-mental-health-awareness-campaign-uk-higher-education

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how easy it is to lose yourself without realizing it. Not in a dramatic way. Not by walking away from your life. Just by doing what needs to be done every day, over and over, until it becomes normal not to ask how you are doing.

For many years, my life revolved around responsibility.
I cooked, cleaned, washed, folded, ironed.
I worked with students.
I took care of my kids and made sure their lives were full — birthday parties, gifts, playdates, fun outings, science projects, art days, baking afternoons, pizza nights, dancing in the rain, volunteering, caring for animals, trying to raise kind humans who notice the world and give back to it.

I tried to hold things together when life became difficult. I focused on keeping things as normal and stable as possible, especially for my children. That felt important. It still does.

I tried to be a good mother.
And somehow, even while trying my best, there was always guilt — the quiet feeling that it was never quite enough.

I tried to be a good wife too. Supportive. Present. Giving. I wasn’t perfect. I was often tired. Sometimes overwhelmed. Sometimes emotionally drained. Life has a way of doing that.

Still, I tried.

I try to be good at my jobs... 

A good teacher.

A good friend.

A good daughter.

A good daughter in law

A good relative.

So much of my life has been shaped by trying to show up well for everyone around me. And somewhere in all of that, I realized I had stopped checking in with myself. Not because I didn’t care — but because there never seemed to be time. And when there was time, it felt almost uncomfortable to use it for myself.

This year, I’m thinking differently.

I am not stepping away from the people I love or the responsibilities that matter to me. I am allowing myself moments — small ones — to think about who I am, what I need, and where I want to grow.

There is something deeply spiritual about giving yourself permission to exist beyond your roles.
To remember that you are more than what you do for others.

My intention for the new year is not to break away, but to expand. To loosen the limits I’ve placed on myself without realizing it. To grow without guilt.

If I take a few moments each day to return to myself, I believe it will make me more present — not less — in the lives of the people I love.

This isn’t about becoming someone else.
It’s about remembering who I already am.

Take A Break: A Hardened Heart Forgets How to Love

Sometimes, it is okay to step away from reality.

Not because reality doesn’t matter—
but because it matters so much.

There are days when the weight of the world presses on the chest like a heavy coat that cannot be taken off. The news feels endless. Suffering echoes from faraway places, even when we don’t name them. War. Loss. Innocent lives caught in forces far bigger than them. Our hearts know, even in silence.

And yet—
we are still human.

We still breathe.
We still laugh unexpectedly.
We still reach for small comforts.

For a long time, I thought stepping away—breathing, giggling, celebrating—meant forgetting. As if joy was betrayal. As if rest meant indifference.

But wisdom whispers something softer: rest is not abandonment—it is renewal.

Life is short. Like steam rising from a cup you meant to drink slowly. Like seasons changing while you’re busy living inside them.

So we choose what we fight for.

Not every battle is loud.
Not every stand is visible.
Some courage looks like staying gentle in a harsh world.
Some resistance looks like choosing love anyway.

We speak when it matters.
We stand where we can.
And sometimes, we step back so our hearts do not harden.

Because a hardened heart forgets how to love.

There is something deeply human about gathering with family. About shared food, soft laughter, familiar traditions. About moments that remind us we are more than headlines and positions—we are people.

Festivities are not distractions.
They are reminders.

They remind us that joy can coexist with grief.
That love does not erase pain—it gives us the strength to carry it.

We are allowed to breathe.
We are allowed to giggle at spilled tea and inside jokes.
Laughter does not deny suffering—it steadies us.