YouAreEnough

It’s been a heavy weekend. The kind that seeps into you even if you try to look away. And honestly, it’s been really hard to look away.

When the world feels like this, my mental health takes a hit. My thoughts get darker. Harder to manage. I overthink. I spiral.

Hiking usually helps. Nature is my therapy. The steady rhythm of one foot in front of the other quiets my brain and reminds me that forward is forward — even if it’s slow.

But winter isn’t my jam. The snow. The cold. The lack of greenery. When I can’t reach for my usual coping tool, I feel untethered.

So instead, I found other ways to distract myself this weekend. Getting into character for tomorrow evening’s Wicked-themed Purim spiel and Megillah reading at the synagogue where I work was one such way. Green nails and all. A little dramatic. A little bold. A little “thrillifying.”

And maybe that’s the point.

Because if there was ever a time when the world feels uncertain and heavy… it’s now. And Purim meets us there.

The story of Purim, told in the Book of Esther, is about hidden strength. Esther doesn’t begin fearless. She becomes brave in uncertainty. There are no guarantees. The risks are real. And still, she steps forward.

Purim reminds us that in moments of crisis, we can tap into deeper courage — even when the outcome is unclear.

Tomorrow evening, I’ll be in costume. Laughing. Eating hamantashen. Leaning into the drama.

Because resilience doesn’t always look serious. Sometimes it looks theatrical. Sometimes it looks like painting your nails green when your mind feels heavy. Sometimes it looks like choosing to show up anyway.

Managing mental health isn’t about fixing the world.

It’s about disrupting the darkness long enough to breathe.

For now, courage can be worn like a costume.

And sometimes, that is enough.



#purim #bookofesther #istandwithisrael #heaviness #strength #paintednails #spiel #wicked #thrillifying #costumes #megillareading #hamantashen

*Trigger warning, mention of s*icide

I’ve been feeling really overwhelmed lately and struggling a lot this week. It’s a heaviness I can’t quite name.

This week there were two high-profile suicides in the media. And I won’t lie — every time I hear about a suicide, something in me shifts. It lingers. It settles in my chest. It’s hard to shake, especially when I’m feeling so vulnerable.

When someone well-known dies this way, the news spreads quickly. There are headlines, tributes, speculation, shock. But underneath all of that is something quieter and more important: a reminder again that mental health struggles do not discriminate. Fame doesn’t shield you. Success doesn’t make you immune or quiet your inner pain.

Every time a public figure dies by suicide, we are given an opportunity — painful as it is — to talk.

To talk about depression without whispering.
To talk about anxiety without minimizing it.
To talk about hopelessness without shame.

I’ve struggled with suicidal thoughts and ideations for the better part of twelve years.

There have also been several times I didn’t just think about it — I acted on those thoughts. That’s not easy to admit. It still feels vulnerable to put into words. But I’ve learned that silence feeds shame, and shame feeds isolation.

So I chose openness.

Not because it’s comfortable.
Not because I have it all figured out now.
But because the more we speak honestly about suicidal thoughts, the less power they have in the dark.

When I hear about a celebrity suicide, it doesn’t feel distant to me. It feels personal. It reminds me of the last 12 years I’ve spent battling my own mind. It reminds me how convincing hopelessness can sound. It reminds me how someone can look functional, successful, even joyful — and still be fighting.

Living with suicidal ideation isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it’s quiet. Sometimes it’s a background hum. Sometimes it flares up when life feels heavy — like it has for the past week or so— and I have to consciously steady myself again.

But here’s what I know now that I didn’t know twelve years ago:

Thoughts are not commands and asking for help is not weakness.

Every time we talk about suicide openly — responsibly, compassionately — we loosen the grip of stigma. We make it safer for someone to say, “Me too.” We make it safer for someone to reach out before their thoughts turn into plans.

This week has felt heavy. The headlines stirred things I work hard to keep steady. They reminded me that the line between coping and unraveling can feel thinner than we admit. But they also reminded me of something else: I have lived through twelve years of thoughts that told me not to. I have survived moments that feel unsurvivable.

And I am still here even though it’s not always easy.

If my honesty makes it even slightly easier for someone else to ask for help, then the vulnerability is worth it. Stigma can only be erased by conversations like this. In truth-telling. In refusing to stay silent.

Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is to keep talking. Keep reaching. Keep choosing you.

If you’re struggling, please don’t stay alone with it. Support is available. Text or call 9-8-8 in Canada or US.

And if you’re not struggling right now, be the person who makes it easier for others to speak. Listen without fixing. Stay without judging. Check in again.

Rest easy, Katherine Short and Robert Carridine

#celebrities #suicidalideations #overwhelm #vulnerable #itsoktonotbeok #endthestigmatogether #askforhelp #mentalhealth #depression #anxiety #youareenough

Today is Pink Shirt Day, and I’m wearing pink 💕

Pink Shirt Day began as a movement against bullying — when students chose to wear pink in support of a classmate who was bullied for wearing a pink shirt. What started as one simple act of solidarity has become a powerful symbol of inclusion, courage, and standing up for one another.

This year’s theme, “Sprinkle Kindness,” feels especially meaningful. Kindness doesn’t have to be grand or loud. Sometimes it’s a smile. An inclusive gesture. A message to check in.

A sprinkle may seem small — but enough sprinkles can change everything.

Let’s choose words that lift.
Let’s notice the quiet ones.
Let’s stand up gently but firmly.
Let’s create spaces where everyone feels safe, seen, and valued.

I’m wearing pink today as a reminder that kindness is powerful — and that we all have the ability to spread it.

Who’s sprinkling kindness with me? 💗✨

#pinkshirtday #sprinklekindness #standuptobullying #kindnessispowerful #feelingseen #lifteachotherup #youareenough #mentalhealth

My patience is thin.
My tolerance is low.
My anxiety is high. Severely high.


And ordinary, everyday life…
I can’t seem to manage any of it.

Maybe it’s just a Monday thing—
Though I’ve felt this way all weekend too.


I feel like I’m failing.
At everything.


I am vulnerable.
Withdrawn.
Overthinking everything.


My brain won’t quiet.
It whispers—no, it shouts—
“You’re not enough.
You’re failing.
Get it together.”


I am alone.
Alone in the noise of my own mind.
Alone in the heaviness.
Alone in the gaps.



I don’t need a silver lining.
I don’t need lessons or growth.
I just need to name it:


I am overwhelmed.
I am anxious.
I am exhausted.


And today…
just surviving
might be enough.



#mentalhealth #survivalmode #overwhelmed #vulnerable #anxiety #stress #depression #exhaustion #ordinarylife #alone #mondays #youareenough

Grief can feel heavy, but sometimes the memories and music we hold onto light the way forward.

Grieving isn’t only about sorrow—it’s also about remembering the moments that made life bright. Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the good memories with my mom, and how revisiting them can feel both comforting and tender all at once.

Over the weekend, Rich and I watched the movie “Song Sung Blue”, the story of a couple who started a Neil Diamond cover band in the 1980s til the early 2000s and found themselves performing to sold-out crowds. It was released in theatres on Christmas Day, but with my mom palliative over the holidays, I just wasn’t in the headspace to see it then. Watching it at home gave me the space to sit quietly with my thoughts and let the music wash over me.

The film was heavier than I expected—way heavier—especially knowing it was based on a true story. It agitated a three day long flare up of my nervous system but it was worth it!! I had a good cry. I was moved by its portrayal of resilient love, joy, hardship, and sorrow. And beneath my tears, I felt gratitude for the memories it stirred in me.

One memory in particular surfaced: the first concert I ever attended. I was ten years old when my mom took me to see Neil Diamond. I remember feeling so grown-up sitting beside her. I remember the music swelling through the arena. And I vividly remember leaning over to ask her about the “funky smell” in the air—my very first (unknowing) introduction to marijuana. I’ve been a fan of Neil Diamond ever since. That night planted a love for music that has stayed with me all these years. His music brings me joy. It steadies me. Sometimes it even helps me access the tears I’m holding back. Truthfully, I often have a hard time listening to music since my illness began almost twelve years ago—it can feel too raw, too close to the surface. But when I need a good cry or a gentle release, music often becomes a doorway. A way to feel what needs to be felt.

Grief, I’m learning, isn’t only about what we lose—it’s also about what we carry forward. The songs, the laughter, the shared experiences—they live on in us. They shape who we are and how we move through the world.

When I look back at those moments with my mom, I see us laughing, learning, loving. And I’m reminded that grieving isn’t just about letting go; it’s about holding on—to the music, to the memories, to the love and light that never truly leave us.

Do you remember the first concert you went to?

#GriefAndHealing #MusicAndMemories #Remembering #NeilDiamond #ForeverInBlueJeans #release #firstconcert #mentalhealth #wellbeing

Over the past couple of weeks, Rich and I have attended Saturday morning services and the congregational luncheon afterwards at the synagogue where I’ve been working now for close to a year (yup, time really does fly!). My purpose was simple: to say the mourner’s Kaddish (prayer) for my mom and find some grounding in my grief.

I’ve never been particularly religious and for much of my life, I have kept walls up from God— uncertain if a higher power even existed. And yet, in stepping into this community, I’ve discovered something unexpected. As Trent Shelton writes in his book, Protect Your Peace, “Boundaries aren’t walls to keep things out, they are bridges to let the right things in.”

Letting myself be present, allowing the warmth of others to reach me, has been quietly transformative. Hugs, smiles, small acts of kindness—they’ve welcomed me not as a visitor, but as someone who belongs. In that openness, I’ve found not only connection to my mom, but also a sense of peace, belonging, and shared humanity I didn’t know I was missing.

Grief has taught me that growth often comes through opening doors we thought should stay closed—and that the bridges we build can be stronger than the walls we once relied on. I may still wrestle with belief, but I do know that something spiritual has been unfolding in me, for some time now.

Maybe faith, for me, isn’t about having all the answers or certainty about God. Maybe it’s about showing up anyway. About standing in community, whispering an ancient prayer, and allowing myself to be held—by memory, by love, and by something greater than my doubts.

#mournerskaddish #prayer #faith #community #walls #bridges #memory #kindness #spirituality #uncertainty #synagogue #grief #mentalhealth #belonging #sharedhumanity #connection #believeinyourself #youareenough

Today is Galentine’s Day; which takes place on the day before Valentine’s Day.

Galentine’s Day is a day for women to come together and celebrate friendship. This pseudo made up holiday was first invented back in 2010 by the creative team of writers on the hit TV series Parks and Recreation and has since gained international attention and popularity and been embraced by women everywhere.

Friendship should never feel complicated. 

Filters should never be needed.

Scores should never be kept. 

Our past grievances should never be held against us.

Friends should let you walk in the front door just as you are.

Friends should always make room at the table for one more.

Friends should want to see you happy. 

Friends don’t need to have the perfect words or try and fix you. 

Friends should want to listen, not silence you.

Friends should want to see you thrive.

Friends should make you laugh even through the tears. 

Friends should FIGHT for you, RESPECT you, INCLUDE you, ENCOURAGE you, NEED you, DESERVE you and STAND by you (acronym for F.R.I.E.N.D.S) even when life gets messy sometimes; and God knows it does.

As someone who battles with depression and anxiety, I know that sometimes even the simplest connections can feel so out of reach. When struggling with your mental health, it can easily convince you that you are a burden to others, or not worthy of love, but my journey has opened my eyes to what true friendship and connection look like and has quietly given me the courage to “break up” with friendships that were no longer serving me. Breaking up with a friend is hard and there is a grieving process that comes along with it; a very painful one at that but a necessary part of my healing. I’ve since learned that sometimes some people are just not good for me no matter how much I love or care about them. I’ve also come to the realization that the only people I deserve in my life are the ones that need me in theirs even when I have nothing else to offer them but myself. 

And from speaking to so many other women over the past many years, I know that I am not alone. Friendship breakups have sadly become all too commonplace for many people, especially since the Pandemic. The Pandemic really made so many of us super vigilant as to the kind of people we want in our lives. It shined a light on the true colours of so many and trust me, when people show you who they really are you not only believe them but you begin to quickly re-evaluate many of your priorities and values too. 

I will no longer squeeze myself into places I don’t fit or force myself to sit at a table with people and pretend I am someone who they prefer I be or want me to be. I will no longer share a cup of coffee (not that I even drink coffee but you get the idea) with people who I know that as soon as I walk away the gossip and judgement begins. 

I deserve people in my life who are in it for the long haul. We all do. 

No judgement, nor hurtful words. No endless gossip behind your back. Friendships should be as real to your face as they are loyal behind your back.

Cherish those who lift you up not those who bring you down and be the one who always makes room at the table for one more.

Happy Galentine’s Day to all the “Gals” out there who are blessed to be able to celebrate the meaning of true, authentic, everlasting friendships today, tomorrow and every day in between. 

**Tag (in comments) a special “Gal” or “Gals” in your life who you know that no matter what, they will always have a seat at their table for you.🥰❤💚💛

**for more on my journey please go to youareenough712.wordpress.com

#galentinesday #celebratefriendship #makeroomatyourtableforonemore #gals #friends #mentalhealth #mentalwellness #friendship #blessed #youarenotalone #youareenough #womencelebratingwomen #selfcare

Yesterday was a hard day. It marked one month since my mom passed. I don’t understand how it has already been a month, and I don’t understand how it has only been a month. Some moments feel frozen in early January. Other moments feel like I’ve been carrying this loss forever.

I woke up already feeling fragile and triggered by the date. Then I spent part of my day helping welcome more than 300 mourners to a funeral for a beloved wife, mother, buby, and cherished member of the synagogue where I work. It was sacred to be there. It was meaningful to help hold space for a grieving family and community. And it was also deeply hard. Every tear, every hug, every ritual brushed up against my own grief. By the end of the day, I felt emotionally drained and my heart and mind felt heavy and tired.

Last night, a friend had asked me to join her at an aqua fit class. My first instinct was not to go, to just stay home, curl up, and not move. That would have been the easier choice. Moving felt like too much effort, but I also knew, somewhere deep inside, that my mind and my nervous system needed something more.

So I went.

Aqua fit is one of my favourite ways to move (right up there with hiking), and once I was in the water, I felt something gently begin to settle. My thoughts slowed. My body started to release some of the tension it had been holding all day. For the first time, I felt a small sense of calm return.

Judaism teaches us that our bodies and souls are deeply connected — that caring for our physical selves is also a form of caring for our spiritual selves. Tending to our wellbeing is not indulgent. It is sacred.

Water is often a symbol of renewal, transformation and healing in Jewish tradition. As I moved through the water, I found myself starting to breath a little easier. There was a moment when the weight shifted just enough to notice the gentle waves, quiet breaths, and unexpected pockets of calm.

Last night, I was reminded how important it is to listen to what our bodies and minds are asking for. Sometimes they need rest. Sometimes they need movement. Sometimes they just need us to take one small, caring step for ourselves.

Sometimes healing simply means allowing ourselves moments to breathe, to float, and to be gently held — by water, by friendship, and by whatever quiet strength is still inside, even when you’re not sure you can feel it.

#grief #onemonth #healing #judaism #water #movement #physicalhealth #strength #aquafit #mentalhealth #youareenough #sacred #selfcare

January is finally ending, though it feels like it took half a year to get here. It’s a month I want to forget, but never will. If I could ask for a do-over, I would.

Four days into the new year, my mom passed away. The world didn’t pause, and almost immediately after, I got really sick. Then came the bone-chilling cold and record-breaking snowfall. Grief had to squeeze itself into whatever space was left. It kept moving while I was just trying to stay upright.

It still doesn’t feel real most days, and I often catch myself wondering if I’m grieving the “right” way—if surviving the day should count as enough. Grief, like my relationship with my mom, is complicated. It’s not neat or predictable. There’s no roadmap. No manual. And even knowing that, I still find myself shaming myself for how this looks. I’m learning, though, that grief doesn’t ask for performance. It asks for tenderness. For compassion. For permission. For honesty.

It allows numbness, laughter, exhaustion, and tears to exist side by side without having to prove myself to anyone.

Some days I manage it. Some days I don’t. All of it is part of grieving.

What I didn’t expect was how often I’d need my mom in the smallest moments. The silly things. The instinct to call her without thinking. Grief lives in those pauses—when your hand reaches for your phone and your heart remembers before your head does.

This week, I kept catching myself half-expecting for my phone to ring, knowing she’d be calling to make sure I wasn’t going outside in the dangerously cold temperatures. I’d be rolling my eyes, reassuring her, “I’m bundled up—and so are Rich and the kids.”

The other night, though, I think it all caught up with me. And something in me broke.

At 1:30 a.m., our house was jolted awake by a fire alarm beeping incessantly after the power went out briefly. Chaos followed— all of us half-asleep, and nerves frayed until we realized it was just a smoke detector that needed a new battery.

Once the house was quiet again, my mind became louder than any fire alarm imaginable.

As I crawled back into bed, sometime after 2 a.m. everything I’d been holding in poured out—grief, anger, exhaustion, denial, bargaining, longing. It wasn’t graceful or calm, but it was necessary. Silent tears quickly erupted into several hours of uncontrollable sobbing.

Rich held me until I could breathe again. No fixing. No answers. Just being there.

I’m still very much in this. But after such a long, heavy month, that night felt like the beginning of allowing myself to grieve instead of pushing it aside. Allowing the messiness. Allowing the truth—even when it doesn’t look like what I thought grief was supposed to look like.

There is no one way to grieve.
There is no timeline.

As January finally comes to an end, I’m not leaving it stronger or wiser. I’m leaving it softer. More honest. More aware of how deeply my mom is still part of my everyday life.

I’m doing my best.
And yes mom, I promise, I’m all bundled up.

January, I’m ready to let you go.
And slowly, gently, I’m ready to begin healing.

I’m reminding myself that I’m not failing at grief.
I’m inside it.
And that’s what matters. 💛

#grief #norightwaytogrieve #permission #gently #honesty #grievingprocess #complicated #youmatter #youareenough #family #motherdaughterrelationships #mentalhealth

“I don’t need a perfect relationship. I just need someone who won’t give up on me.” — Unknown

That quote has been sitting with me lately because it tells the truth. Real love isn’t about perfection. It’s about staying. And that is who Rich has been to me for more than thirty years.

Today is “National Spouses Day”, and I want to honour the man who has stood beside me—not just in the easy chapters, but in the ones that have required endurance, patience, and quiet strength.

Rich has been my constant for over three decades—through the ordinary rhythms of life, through growth and change. But over the last almost twelve years, since my mental health journey began, his steadiness has mattered in ways I could never have predicted. Loving someone through anxiety, fear, depression, setbacks, and vulnerability isn’t romantic or impressive. It’s work. Hard work. It’s showing up day after day without applause—and Rich has done that without hesitation and without condition.

People often say, “everyone needs a Rich.” Someone who doesn’t flinch when it’s time to step up for his family. Someone who doesn’t retreat when life becomes inconvenient or uncomfortable. Someone whose default is responsibility, presence, and care—even on the days when he himself is tired, stretched thin, or not feeling his best. That saying exists for a reason—and Rich has lived it, and continues to, each and every day.

And then there’s this past month—navigating the exhaustion and grief of losing my mom. Rich didn’t try to fix what couldn’t be fixed. He simply took care of us. Even while carrying his own weight, he carried mine too. He showed up steadily, quietly, without being asked—just like he always does.

Our relationship has never been about getting it right all the time. It’s been about choosing each other.

Commitment over comfort.
Staying when staying matters most.

So today, on National Spouses Day, I celebrate Rich—my partner, my safe place, the man who never gave up and never stops taking care of his family.

And for that, I am eternally grateful 💙

I love you to the moon and back, forever and a day.

#nationalspousesday #eternallygrateful #relationships #summerofrich #marriage #imperfectlyperfect #mentalhealth #everyoneneedsarich #family #iloveyoutothemoonandback #foreverandaday