Category Archives: reduce

Feb 23 2026
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divorcery, reduce

A little bit hurt but a lot more free

From the moment the $150,000 in hidden debt came into the light, I knew our marriage was over. I also didn’t know if our relationship was over. I will continue to let me gut lead the way on that.

We signed the divorce papers this weekend. I retained all of my accounts, he kept his debt and I get the house and mortgage.

Right now, we’ll continue to cohabitate and raise the kids together. After a short grace period, he will be responsible for 50% of our household bills and family expenses.

We won’t exist like this forever — just long enough to have the time and space to determine what’s next for us individually and then explore if there’s a future together.

I’ve been clear that I won’t promise to him anything. However, to concede everything to me so I can feel secure is an act of love and a step in the right direction.

And while the last six weeks have sucked in so many ways, I feel free and optimistic for my future — with or without TB.

Feb 17 2026
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depression, divorcery, reduce

Well, this sucks. Advice needed

That was the subject line of the email sent to three women who’ve divorced.

Treads was married to the poster manchild who married someone who always omitted child molester vibes the first time I met him

KC was married to someone who, in the end, bent her to his will because he promised to fight her tooth and nail.

Autumn said it was such a relief to not be married to someone who couldn’t stop lying.

Then there’s SOS. Her now-ex husband kidnapped their children after a decade of plotting to destroy her — with the means to do it.

I recognize myself in these women. These brilliant, formidable women formed from the strongest elements forged in the fire of adversity.

I’ve watched these women shed the bruised and calloused skins of their marriages.

No matter what I choose to do, I’ll be fine. I know that.

But right now, I am exposed and raw.

Feb 24 2025
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fight, mediocre white men, reduce

The cotton swab that broke the camel’s back

My choices are to buy from spineless megaliths that kiss the ring and do away with fairness policies, buy 10x the amount I need from Costco or pay twice the amount from a drugstore with untenable worker conditions.

In the microcosm, I wield little influence. In the world at large, I am powerless. They only recourse I have against the choices made be the wealthiest MWM leading the Targets and Amazons is to send my money elsewhere.

So, to reward the chutzpah of Costco and Delta, I will buy in bulk and pay more for flights — because fuck you, syncophants.

Mar 06 2024
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flight, mediocre white men, reduce, renew

Hey CEO: It’s 2024, not 1994

When the employer lucky enough to borrow my skillset asked me if I feel stress about return to office in early 2023, below is how I responded.

Said employer then not only ignored the feedback from its nearly 100,000 employees, but they doubled down and reclassified all remote jobs to hybrid recently.

Return to Office (RTO) is going to cause a lot of stress for me personally. Two years ago, I had a nanny with one child in preschool. Today, I have two kids in school without reliable school transportation meaning I need to deliver and pick up my children at 9:10 a.m. and 3:40 p.m. — Not a big deal if I’m at home. BIG problem if I’m downtown without a car. Bigger problem in that we only have one car.

I estimate that a second car — that we don’t otherwise need — will add $50,000 in expenses to do what? Be on conference calls all day with strangers as none of my team are in the same state?

Yeah, RTO is stressing me out. A lot.

In addition to money, RTO is costing me time. It’s taking two hours of seemingly unnecessary time away from me each day — between getting ready, commuting and then repeating in reverse at the end of the day.

The last two years have brought into perspective what is truly important to me. They’ve shown me what is possible when I work from home. Your question seems to be foreshadowing and has left me to contemplate if this company, with a mandated RTO, is the right place for me. I don’t know the answer yet, but in looking at the job market and knowing many of my friends and industry colleagues can work wherever they want to — I know there are remote opportunities for me should I want to pursue them.

My question to the decisionmakers at this company is simply: Why? Is it because you’ve signed multi-year leases on property? Because you don’t trust your employees? Because municipalities are giving you ridiculous tax incentives to bring people back downtown?

To cloak the real reasons under blanket “culture” statements seems to dismiss that all of us have functioned well for two years (not to mention the folks who are remote regardless of the pandemic). It’s causing distrust, discord and the creation of narratives you can’t control amongst the people who are impacted.

It has to be about money, so just be honest.

Last, I’ve been sick ONCE in two years. I’m not worried about COVID, but the flu, colds, and other germs from doorknobs, elevator buttons, faucets, water dispensers, printers, communal items, and so on. I’m not interested in that exposure or bringing that home to my family. It’s a small factor, but certainly one I’m taking into account.

Honestly, this is the first time I’ve spent time really looking at RTO holistically and how it will impact me. I’m not sure what this company could offer to retain me in lieu of a remote option should the scales tip in favor of a remote position.

Mar 05 2024
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abuse, reduce, trauma

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall…Who IS That?

Cleaning out the drafts folder. This one is from 2020.

There is a person who blatantly stares at me.  Usually uncomfortable by such attention, I’m used to her curious eyes now.  She’s really pretty. Her smile is her best feature – it sprouts two dimples when in full bloom. Her eyes are a quiet shade of blue that light up when she laughs.  Her hair is long and shiny and perfect shades of honey and late summer wheat.

I imagine she’s looking at my large pores or the chip in my tooth. I bet she immediately noticed the hint of a double chin and the second-day hair that smells bad underneath the guise of dry shampoo. She probably can’t help but study the hideous ‘skin-colored’ mole thing on my cheek.

I expect my reflection to be plain and disheveled.  I’m rather thankful I don’t recognize this person in the mirror. I’d prefer to only know that I’m beautiful on the inside and remained surprised each time I look in the mirror.

It’s a strange dichotomy to have such a disparate image of oneself.

Mar 05 2024
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abuse, depression, fight, flight, postpartum depression, reduce, trauma

What goes around…

Cleaning out the drafts folder. This one is from 2016.

This is a story about bullies getting some good old-fashioned comeuppance.

Quarterback was born in 2015. I returned to work at Greed Financial three months later. The boss I adored had left the company and I returned to report to Jafar.

Jafar, a heavy-set woman with unnaturally red hair that she curls every day, was the VP of my area. She has the trendy glasses and wardrobe of the ad world from whence she came. She has a great laugh and an approachable nature. A fox in sheep’s clothing.

Soon enough, my role was layered and then layered again underneath Jafar. It wasn’t a problem, except my new boss was a person we’ll call Tiny Tyrant. The Tiny Tyrant was bat shit crazy. Jafar was a grown-ass bully.

Later…

I started the draft in June 2019. I don’t want to relive the details necessary to paint a full picture of how callous these catty women were, so we’ll fast forward to the comeuppance.

I was looking for a new job at the same time I was talking to attorney about Jafar’s interference in my career at Greed Financial. Here’s the series of events:

  1. I started talking to an attorney
  2. I began interviewing internally and externally
  3. A hiring manager at Greed Financial told me that Jafar had interfered with me getting a job in his group.
  4. I asked HR for my file and some poor intern gave me the file they aren’t supposed to show you
  5. I had written proof of their harassment, retaliation and discrimination.
  6. They laid me off the day before I announced I was pregnant with my second child.
  7. I got a lucrative offer from a mom who was nine-months pregnant and didn’t care that I was pregnant.
  8. My attorney went for the jugular.
  9. Greed Financial settled with me.
  10. Greed Financial unceremoniously fired Tiny Tyrant and Jafar.
Feb 13 2024
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flight, mediocre white men, reduce, trauma

How’s it up there in the ivory tower?

I’ve been at this company for nearly a decade. My career with this institution will be marked “before that call” and “after that call.”

Before, I was content. I wanted to work hard. I liked my job. I had utmost respect for the CEO based on personal interactions.

Then there was after.

After the shock, I cried tears of frustration and rage. The return-to-work strategy is damaging to women. Namely mothers.

I’m embarrassed to work here. I’m ashamed that I add value to an organization run by a wealthy, mediocre, white, man in an ivory tower.

Knowing what I know now. The idea of returning to the stress of my life in 2020 is unfathomable. No job is worth that. Fortunately, there are plenty of open roles in my field that are interested in paying for my brain – not for my physical body in a cubicle.

This company will not only lose me as a long-time employee, but also as a customer and shareholder over this.

I don’t do business with companies that don’t support women.

Jan 29 2024
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fight, freeze, reduce, renew, trauma

That’s some 1950s shit right there

The road to women’s rage is lined with mediocre white men.

The women of my grandmother’s generation were meant to graduate from high school, immediately find a husband and produce as many kids as possible (Irish Catholic). She spent all day tending to the needs of her offspring all day only to tend to the needs of her husband after work.

Then their daughters were allowed to go to college with the exception they would find a husband, quit their jobs and rear children.

Men’s lives didn’t change.

Today, my generation is meant to go to college, grind at a job to earn $0.80 on a man’s dollar, get married, crank out kids and return immediately return to work where we need to be an equal earner to our spouses. We’re doing all of that while pumping breastmilk, not sleeping, trying to be promoted, raising wildly successful and enriched children, expected to live a Pinterest lifestyle, doing all the thinking and planning for the family, taking care of elderly parents and watching every calorie and staving off all signs of aging?

And still men’s lives haven’t changed? What. The. Actual. Fuck.

The guys I went to college with — my peers — have turned into their fathers. They idolized mediocre white men (in some cases, wealthy or worse, only generationally wealthy) and have grown up to fill their manchild-sized shoes.

Today, we’re forced to choose between two decrepit mediocre white men to lead the United States. Two men that came of age before JFK was assassinated, Niel Armstrong landed on the moon and Elvis Presley became famous. They grew up watching mothers abide by gender roles and dote on their husbands every whim.

I finished Kristin Hannah’s The Four Winds last week. It’s a historical fiction novel set in the Great Depression and told through the flipping lenses of a mother and daughter. It’s the story of the societal oppression of women; men abandoning their families; and ultimately rich white men getting richer on the backs of people strategically kept in poverty.

I finished this book at the same time my employer declared war on women. Or more palatable to him, the end of remote work. Semantics. A 61yo man on a modern-day throne decided to fuck all the women in one fell swoop.

It was — as my colleague put it so eloquently — as if a tornado was put in a blender with a grenade and the CEO hurdled it at us.

Mediocre white men can fuck right off.

Nov 09 2023
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adventure, mental illness, reduce, renew, wellness

SoloCal

I have loved every second of this trip. From the solitude and art classes to the sound of an uninhibited ocean and an electric car on an open road, I was free (aside from the obligatory call home) for six days in Southern California.

Oddly, the region in which I was conceived is a place of homecoming for me. The genes of two mentally ill people — one diagnosed, one susceptible to cult religion — somehow came together and the crazy DNA canceled itself out. Thankfully.

I’m at the airport and I don’t want to leave. Not a dread, but neither an excitement to get home. Here I am free. Home I am not. In my life I’ve never been free from crushing responsibilities of other peoples’ mental illness, pedophilia, torment, violence, needs.

This week has left me thirsty for freedom. I will take this trip again before I am choking and gasping for it.

Oct 09 2023
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reduce

Tropical Storm Jojo

I was telling my child about “tricky people” recently. My fear has always been that he and his sister will encounter a sexual predator. I never considered the psychologically tricky people.

My Aunt Jojo is one such person. She’s a 5-foot trigger ninja.

I invited this wolf in sheep’s clothing into my home. I fed her dinner and exposed my children to her.

She was here for her 50th high school reunion. Fitting and so very cliche.

In 2.5 hours, she repeatedly poked — Trying to find a spot in my soft underbelly that would what? Make me flinch?

She brought up Pedo and kept bringing him up until I reacted. She pressed on buttons with a flighty laugh or by leveraging my kids with a “Did you know…?”

I mean, I’m actually kind of in awe of her one-woman battery assault. She portrayed herself as a doting grandmother, a beloved mother, a supportive aunt, a victim of common foes and a popular socialite. One humble brag (or woe is me) at a time.

She even used her own grown children as bait. From No. 3, her obvious pride and joy, to No. 1, the utter disappointment. I said more positive things about No.1 than his own mother did.

When her tactics proved fruitless, she changed strategies to elicit a reaction — looking for camaraderie among her perceived shared traumas.

She’s cunning because information is a commodity in this twisted tree branch of a family. So, like a surprise tropical storm, she blew in hoping to wash out as much information as possible.

But the weak foundation that my life was formed upon washed away long ago. Now, my life is built on stilts and the water you’re churning doesn’t impact me.

Tropical Storm Jojo, I now see you for who you are now.

I won’t make the mistake of opening my doors again.

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