Landing Gently After Letting Go
I’m Joan—a writer, recovering special educator, and woman in her second act. After spending decades following the rules and trying to get it all right, I’ve finally decided to just… live. Slowly. Honestly. On my own terms.
If you’re tired too—soul-tired, world-weary, done-hustling-and-done-pretending tired—pull up a chair. There’s room.
From the Journal
- Forgotten Grace
My son is graduating from high school this Saturday. We had a video chat last night, talking about our dumb Autistic looping thoughts and how hard they are to explain. How lonely it is when no one else seems to get it. Every word he said felt like it had… Read more: Forgotten Grace - The Gift of Being Tired
I woke up with a creak this morning. Almost a groan. I’d slept enough—actually, I’d slept for a very long time—but I could feel my age. For the first time, I felt old. I apologized to the dogs I’m sitting while making their breakfast, told them we wouldn’t be walking… Read more: The Gift of Being Tired - The Quiet Is Not Empty
I don’t have an address right now. But I did have halfhearted mole enchiladas delivered a few hours ago. I’m back in the United States. I don’t want to be here—reentry felt like whiplash. Immediately after crossing the border into upstate New York, a rented delivery van rode my ass… Read more: The Quiet Is Not Empty - There’s Nothing Wrong With Your Kid—Even Now
It’s hard right now.I’m out of the country, but yesterday I heard about a list being compiled by the U.S. government—people diagnosed, in their medical records, as being on the Autism Spectrum. My son is on that list. The realization carved out a hollow space in my chest. People are… Read more: There’s Nothing Wrong With Your Kid—Even Now - You Do Not Get to Name My Shit: Decolonizing the Narrative of Harm
Yesterday, I was given the gift of perspective. Some friends have been kind enough to let me stay at their cabin for the month of April. It’s beautiful—on a lake, in the mountains, in the middle of nowhere. I don’t know if I’ve ever known such peace. The ice on… Read more: You Do Not Get to Name My Shit: Decolonizing the Narrative of Harm