I haven't met the new "me" yet.

Note: I began writing this in April 2024. I’m finishing it in September 2025/March 2026. My grief has taken a different shape over that time, but I wanted to honor each snapshot.

Hi friends.

Words have been hard.

Those close to me know that I like to find the perfect word to describe a feeling. As an introverted peacekeeper and #5 in a family of 6, I grew up waiting for permission and room to speak. For others to let me speak or invite me to speak. So, I would mostly listen - listen to all of the stories, nuances, and ways that people could explain things. Listened and watched how the same story and words would shift and change depending on the audience. I was fascinated by words and how feelings and descriptors could be as general as “sad” or as detailed as “tormented”. I collected words in my mental library and used them intently.

My mom and I would always compliment each other on word choice in our conversations and share delight in discovering the perfect words to describe our feelings. This is one of the many things I miss.

Ever since mom died, I haven’t quite been able to find the “perfect words” to describe how I’m feeling. My communication with others not in my immediate vicinity has all but dropped off. “Fever dream”, “numb”, “fucking terrible”, and “varied” have all been descriptors these last couple of months. But still, none of those can accurately describe it. The absence. The hollowness. The otherness.

And in the disbelief, I can't face reinvention

I haven't met the new me yet

There'll be happiness after you

But there was happiness because of you

I'm taking these Taylor Swift lyrics out of context, but they speak to me. The line "I haven't met the new me yet" has stuck in my mind like glue, playing over and over again. I've felt like a stranger to myself.

September 2025

Below are some thoughts that are a bit jumbled, with a mix of what I had started writing last year and finished this year...my perfectionist self is angry that I can't put grief into something neat and comprehensive. But my perfectionism is what keeps me from posting, and I want to break out of that where I can.

I may not be able to fully describe how I’m feeling, but I can describe how Mom made me feel by sharing some of the things she’s done for me.

The Daily Ledge. There was a period during a rough relationship that I would call mom crying, and she would proceed to help “talk me off of the ledge”. She was always able to help ground me in love and provide insightful advice. By the end I always felt better and more like myself.

I miss her advice, encouragement, and validation.

Kickball coaching. I decided to play cup-in-hand kickball one year and was EXTREMELY anxious about it. You'd think it was an Olympic tryout. I did not grow up playing sports, and I actually grew up with a story that I could never be good at sports. In our conversation she encouraged me and made me laugh with comments like "just kick it towards the weak ones, honey".

I miss her laughter and amazing sense of humor.

Gifts. Whether it was a birthday, holiday, or a Tuesday, my mom loved to give gifts. It was her love language, and she was amazing at it. She also recommended great songs and books, and would pick up things from the library for me when it spoke to her. She also got me my favorite candy on Valentine's Day and Easter.

I miss the ways she made me feel seen, known, and deeply loved.

Those are only a few of many, many things. I wish everyone could've known my mom. And she would've wished the same. The more that she loved...well, the more love she had to give. It was truly incredible to witness her spin up genuine connections in the grocery store line, Hallmark store, at the mailbox, and basically everywhere she went. In a conversation that inspired my "joie de vivre" tattoo, she shared that this is a great life and she didn't want to miss it. She didn't want to miss people just because of judgements. That was mom.

Even in the hospital, mom connected with others for as long as she could. She quickly became a favorite patient of the nurses and doctors, and maintained her upbeat optimism for as long as she could be herself. There are beautiful moments from that time...treasured conversations with hope and humor and love...and other moments with so much pain that every time I relive them, it feels like my heart is exploding and shattering at the same time.

One of those moments was watching mom’s beautiful hair that she always had styled get tied up in a big knot, no matter how we tried to keep it brushed. Being bedridden for three months will do that, “shampoo shower caps” be damned. I made it my mission to unravel mom’s now-impossible hair. I was going to try a new method the week she took a sudden downturn. Brushing mom’s hair was a way I could connect with and care for her, and in the end it breaks my heart that she passed with that goddamn knot still there.

The anniversary of her death is September 20th...18 days. It will be two years, and I'm starting to meet the new me. I'll try to introduce her at some point. Maybe through a polaroid picture challenge.

March 2026

I decided to hop into my blog, and saw that I still didn't post this. I finally decided to, even though it's not "perfect" and I'm not sure how to describe the new me. But we'll see about that polaroid challenge...

Be well, friends.

I am the Lone Ranger: pt. 2

I published the previous post because that was a pivotal conversation with my brother. And yet, 4 years later, I still sometimes find myself falling short on imaginary scorecards. So I want to take this post to stand in what I love about myself.

1. I am an emotional human. Although I have felt this as a weakness almost my entire life, I now know that it fuels the immense empathy that I have. I feel "vibes", I "read" rooms and people, and I'm pretty damn accurate. It has helped me excel at work, and make surprising connections with near-strangers. Unfortunately this can also lead me to overthink and read into things that aren't there. It's a balance, but I am grateful.

2. I love and need words. I love finding the perfect word for how I'm feeling, and if someone can't find the word they're looking for, I love helping them. In my romantic relationships I feel most loved when my partner is expressing their love/feelings/appreciation for me through words. But obviously a relationship cannot exist on words alone, so words combined with action make me feel the most safe and secure.

3. I am an observer. I am highly aware of how I spend my energy. I cultivate that energy from solo time, and I spend it wisely. With my empathy and my propensity to go too deep too fast with information about my life, I can quickly become depleted. In middle school Language Arts class I remembered taking a personality quiz where we got "roles" based on how we answered the questions. There were roles that everyone wanted like "Adventurer". A girl at the table told me "I bet you'll be an Observer". And I was, and I resented that because it wasn't the popular option and it rolled off of her tongue with such distaste. But now I realize that I very much am an observer, and it's helped me to be a kind, empathetic human and preserve my energy when needed.

4. I love connection. I know, hot take! But connection and harmony are two of my values. It's always important for me to seek connection in every interaction that I have...and make sure it's genuine. For example, if I'm asking "how are you doing" to anyone I see, I want to remain present and listen to the answer. And if they ask how I'm doing, I try to provide a genuine answer in return before the automatic "Good! You?" comes out. I strive to be present and not distracted. With people close to me I want that comfort of depth and the feeling that I can say anything and be understood and loved (even in spite of what I say). Alternatively, in those relationships I can say nothing at all and feel comfortable. It's as easy as breathing. I love connection so much that I want it to happen quickly, and I get FOMO when I miss out on potential moments of connection. So I need to take a deep breath, realize that connection may not always happen as quickly as I want to (and not with everyone!), and embrace the progression, value and weight of time.

There are more things, but those things are the core things that I've felt insecure about at many points in my life. Always learning, always trying to understand myself a bit better. Thank you for reading, friends.

I am the Lone Ranger.

 2017:

I broke down to my oldest brother on the phone the other day.

I had been on the edge, feeling like I was going to burst but didn't have a release. The timing was better than I could've asked for. We don't normally talk, but he and I had been meaning to catch up for a couple of weeks. Conversation started simple enough...what are you up to, how's the day...and then a simple question asked with a simple and genuine tenderness ripped me wide open. "So how are you doing?"

I was silent for a few seconds, debating on how surface-level I wanted to keep this. But I felt a comfort in saying the words I was about to say to someone I trusted and admired. "I'm struggling." I said, and it was as if those two words were the key to the floodgates. I broke.

Things spilled out of me, a mix of worries and poison and sadness. I didn't feel like a worthy human being, either in work or in life. I set standards for myself that were vague and unreachable, my position felt vague and unreachable, and it drove me down into dark places. People have this opinion of me, that I am good, I am worthy. They feel like just words, because I do not share that opinion...people who say that don't know that I am not good. I am broken. No one is acknowledging that, and in my mind they are mutually exclusive. I can either be good and worthy, or broken and not good enough. My brother gently reminded me that they are not mutually exclusive; we are all broken, no one is perfect. And that there are many rays of sunshine. His listening and measured and thoughtful advice was the quiet strength and safe space I needed to spit out these thoughts that I had not been able to form words for out loud before.

Feelings I wanted grace for continued to tumble out of me. I apologized for being a distant aunt. Not good enough. Not worthy to be a godmother to one of his daughters, because I have also felt so distant in my faith. He listened and said something that went like lightening straight to my heart.

"Katie, you are not falling short on anyone's scorecard."

9 words that addressed how I felt about my life. Falling short on everyone's scorecard. 9 words that both named and began to dismantle that lie I had believed for so long.

I wanted to completely let go and wrap myself in the grace, truth and love that my brother was speaking to me. I wish I had let out more, but I felt like I was losing control of myself and my emotions in front of someone else, and I have a long-standing wall against that. Don't be too much, don't be too vulnerable. Crying is weakness, crying is shame. I'm sorry for being too emotional. I'm sorry for being less than convenient. I'm sorry for sharing the crap that I carry, because your load is probably heavy enough. I'm sorry I'm not strong enough to carry it alone.

I have tried to make myself fit into other people's lives, to make it easy for them to like me because I could adapt to be like them. I would always make the effort if I could, even if they were less than kind. I'd be flexible and tolerant at the expense of my opinions, my values, or my well-being. And I would come to the end of those efforts feeling like a shadow, barely existing.

I'm working on building myself back up, with help. Realizing my worthiness, and that it's not a zero sum game. I am worthy, and you are worthy. I want to cultivate a group of belonging...people who inspire me to be myself, and celebrate that. And vice versa. A true vulnerable community that is there for each other where I don't feel alone in the midst of it. No judgement. I don't really have that now, but I realize that it is built on first recognizing that I am worthy of one.

I want to be done hiding.

Memories.

I've been thinking a lot about memories lately. They've always been fascinating to me...seemingly vivid and rich yet also fickle and fragile. Sights, sounds, and smells can reactivate memories in an instant, whether recent or further back.

The sound of my mom's wedding ring sliding on the laminate countertop as she wipes it clean transports me to childhood.

I see french bread and brie at Sprouts, and I'm back in college with Lindsey as she introduced me to the perfect meal.

Every time I look at my "fancy hipster hats", as I like to call them, I think of Larry who managed the Goorin Bros hat shop. He was also randomly the guy who organized the open mic nights at the bar where I played and sang at my first one. He was incredibly kind when I was so extremely nervous.

I think of Heather, my best friend from high school and part of college. Our friendship is still woven into some phrases I randomly say ("aw look, he's happy!"), or some bands from our high school days that we used to blast from her car windows. I remember her laugh and the way she'd prop up her left foot on the window while driving. I see something that reminds me of her and I wish her well in my thoughts.

Or every time I play shuffleboard, I think of that random, lovely girl at the dive bar in Boulder. She took the time to come in and give me a drunken hug (remember hugs?) and tell me that I was beautiful and she just had to tell me that.

So many memories, so many people leaving an imprint. Some memories constrict my heart with pain or squeeze my insides with awkwardness, some memories light up my face with joy, and most others are well-worn enough to be soft to the touch. All of which give me a chance to recreate and expand on what I love and leave what I don't. We are made up of our experiences. The layers are endless. We can appreciate the people who started the thread and we can continue to weave in new thoughts, experiences, and dreams for our life.

Paralysis.

Hi, friends. I have a confession.

I thought that if I was just not racist, things would be ok. I thought that I took myself out of the racism equation.

Man, was I wrong. I've seen dialogue on social media and in articles that say that a lot of white people have been sleeping and have now woken up. I feel that in a way that I have never felt before. The recent horrific murder of George Floyd has made me realize just how hard I've tried to live my life under the radar. As a child I learned that being agreeable and peaceful was a way to avoid bad attention. Follow the rules, they're there for a reason. I let people with strong opinions take the lead, because I wanted them to be comfortable and I was used to being directed or redirected by the strong personalities in my family. I lived in fear of saying the wrong thing that could make someone mad at me, because having someone mad at me was a devastating feeling for my sensitive soul. The unpredictability of people's reactions left me anxious to please.

I'm tired of living like that. All of those beliefs made it easy for me to keep following the rules, and the system. Don't make waves. Don't make other people uncomfortable. I've been asleep, focused only on my world and what was in front of me. Out of sight, out of mind. I thought that I was out of the equation when I've been part of the problem, and benefitting from a system built to hold others down.

So as protests go on around the nation, and Blackout Tuesday happens, and people are amplifying black voices and art and content on social media, I find myself paralyzed. What is an authentic way that I can contribute to change? And not just for a Tuesday, but every day, so that I can stop being asleep? Everyone has a different answer to these questions. I only know that posting a black square or going to a protest is not nearly enough.

I'm starting with conversations with people closest to me. Getting ok with feeling uncomfortable. Reading and reading some more. Listening. Learning as much as I can so that I can have open and honest discussions with family and friends. It's a drop in the bucket, but it's a start. I never want to fall asleep again. If you want to talk about what you're doing, how you're feeling, or want someone to process things with, I'm here for that too. Love to you all.

Untitled.

She heaved a heavy sigh as the bubbles from the bath curled around her back. She would often sigh like that without even realizing it, as if everything happening in life was built into that sound and that was her only way of releasing the pressure. If anyone was within ear shot, she would usually get a "hey, you ok?" or "yeah, ditto". The heavy, relatable sigh.

It had been an anxiety-filled day. Each hour that she worked was an hour that she wasn't getting paid for, because she had passed her contracted allocation for the week. But things still had to get done. "I'll just take it off of next week, or month," she told herself. But the tightness had already made a home within her chest, and it was not budging. As the clock hit five, she knew she had to force a stop. She closed her laptop, unfolded herself from her position on the couch, and stood up to stretch her unforgiving limbs. She had to do something to ease this tightness.

"Maybe I'll take a bath and journal," she said aloud. In living alone for 6 years she had become used to talking to herself and no one. Oddly enough, this presumed insane behavior actually kept her sane. She wandered into her bedroom and picked up her beautiful floral journal that she had recently gotten at Target. She loves journaling, and picking a new one out for herself after finishing a previous journal is one of her favorite things. It was a big deal; she was going to have this journal for at least a year, maybe more. And all it took was standing in the journal section and waiting for the right one to jump out at her.

Journal in hand, she made her way to the bathroom and turned the water on. Next to the tub was an essential oil labeled "Balance". She unscrewed the cap and smelled it, silently willing the scent to settle her soul. She poured some drops into the tub along with some bubble bath and hoped for the best. She checked her phone: no texts. She had been waiting for a certain name to show up on her screen, but it had apparently been a busy day at work. She set her phone back down on the top of the toilet and stepped gingerly into the tub. As she sank slowly down, she let the shock of the hot water occupy her thoughts for a blessed few minutes. The tightness loosened slightly. She turned to her open journal on the side and began to write.

She stopped after a few minutes, distracted by a buzz from her phone. Her heart jumped, hoping to see his name. She tapped the screen and her heart sank. It was not him. Her anxiety fueled her thoughts: was she texting too often? Did he need a break from talking to her? Was he sick of dating her? Then she took a deep breath and sat back, thinking of all of the reasons why those thoughts are not true. She thought about all of the times that she had anxiously waited for names of certain guys to appear on her phone screen, thinking that she had done wrong or was too much or not enough. And all of a sudden she got incredibly tired. The exhaustion ran bone-deep, revealing the brittleness of these thought patterns and actions that had made up her dating life for so long. She scribbled furiously in her journal, riding the wave of these memories that no longer served her and getting the poisonous thoughts out of her head. When momentum slowed, there was only one word left: enough. Both a command and a statement. She had had enough. She was enough. It was time to create new thought patterns that were rooted in worthiness.

The tightness began to unravel into the water, and she smiled to herself as she breathed in the faint scent of balance.

Light and levity.

My friend is doing writing workshops. One was this morning, and one is this upcoming Thursday night at 6:30pm. It was wonderful and you should all sign up! It is welcoming and accessible; it's for anyone looking to express themselves through words whether you write regularly or not. Below is what I put together from this morning. I was honestly blown away by what everyone was able to come up with so quickly just by revisiting the basic concept of joining nouns and verbs. One of my favorite phrases someone had was "tea breathes". I feel so grateful that they shared their creativity with me.

It was a lovely reminder to look for the moments of ease during this time of great stress.

Hope all is well, friends.