I have always loved my female friendships. Growing up as the middle of two sisters prepped me in a million different ways to forge strong friendships with women. I took my high school and college friendships very seriously, they were my lifelines. I had never been burned by women, never dealt with real “mean girl” energy, and if I did, they were swiftly abandoned. I devoured every show about messy, intimate girl groups in their twenties: Sex and the City, Broad City, Girlfriends. Those stories mirrored my own friendships. It all seemed both complicated and easy, tangled and straightforward, but mostly there was a powerful intimacy only shared between women struggling to figure it all out…together.

But as the years pass, boyfriends come around, priorities change, life happens and the friendships wobble. Sometimes it is no one’s fault. More often than not, these friendships go through crises of their own. Sometimes it even got to a point where I would wonder “if I met this person today, would I still be friends with them?” The answers to that scared me.

There’s nothing like the loyalty that forms when you grow up alongside someone and witness them becoming themselves. But we have all been on the flip side of that change where it feels…off. There were two or three years where it felt like all my long-nurtured friendships were slipping away. One was dying because the boyfriend was terrible and I couldn’t listen to it anymore. Another because I was very gay and they were very religious (in the anti-gay way). Some loved being the “girl boss” climbing the corporate ladder while I thought being a cog in a machine was soul crushing. People truly grow in different directions and that’s okay. Sometimes it feels okay and other times it reminds me of that quote.. “Everything I let go of has claw marks on it.”

What I didn’t expect were the friendships that would emerge at the crossroads - ones that felt almost fated.

One of my closest friendships today began during a mutual falling-out. We both sensed that her friend group was cliquey and bizarre, and we were both very much on the outskirts. They posted their nights out on Instagram, never inviting us. I felt like I was in high school again, how had I misjudged this whole situation? Finding my friend in the rubble of that was the greatest gift and brought me back to reality. Losing my people-pleaser friend stung, but when they all unfollowed me one night I knew I was over it. It’s still one of my favorite origin stories, and my new-friend-turned-bestie and I toast to it at every happy hour.

Another friendship started as nothing more than college acquaintanceship. Social media kept us in orbit, lightly, but over the years we found ourselves rooting for each other. We both started businesses, and now we have monthly check-ins. She knows more about my life than my so-called college best friends do. The best part is that I didn’t even like her that much in college. When she texted me the other day that she is going to have the most “Steph” day i.e. seeing Renee Rapp on the same day as the Australian Women’s tennis final, my heart melted. These are the people that know me now.

And then there’s the friend I met through a Bible study…stay with me. This was before I realized I was queer, and many of my closest friends led the group. When I eventually came out, those same friends gave me the “love the sinner, hate the sin” line. It shattered me. But with all the endings of those friendships, that mutual friend in the group also was coming out as queer. We both love tennis, and years later we would go to the US Open in New York City together. We still catch up and we also gawk at how far we have come and the roundabout way we have become free from religious garbage. Happily in love with our girlfriends - no hate to be found!

I think it is important to have and maintain long-term friendships. But as we get older, our values, politics, marriages, religions, and choices become sharper, more defining. I used to grip tightly to the dream of growing up alongside my original circle…kids playing together, wine nights, shared routines. But then I realized I was queer. I realized I didn’t want kids. My imagination changed. Some friendships evolved with me; others didn’t. Now I imagine vacations with my child-free friends while still being the doting auntie to the others.

Friendship breakups, according to nearly every article online, are brutal, and I agree. They can feel as devastating, if not more, as romantic heartbreak. It’s a different kind of loss. Some losses left me disoriented, itching to text someone that no longer exists. Others ended in flames, and I don’t miss them at all. But through all of it, I’ve gained a deep sense of relief and hope: no matter what or who falls away, there will always be people in the room who see me as I am now, and love me for it.

We talk a lot these days about the word community. But what does that actually mean? Every brand now has a slogan, join the community!  As if signing up for a newsletter for a shoe brand makes us all connected. As someone whose entire mission is to create and foster real community, I get annoyed by these faux collectives that capitalize on a buzzword. When community becomes marketing language, it does not feel genuine. Because it’s not. 

The other day my therapist gave me a task: to spend more time in togetherness, wherever I could find it. The instructions were vague, which somehow made it worse. I was both vocally uninterested and quietly hopeful that something, a good feeling maybe, might come from it. 

So first, I cried for half a day…just let myself feel lonely and separate from the world. Then after I moved through that feeling, I knew I needed to seek out togetherness. On purpose. I had community, technically: friends, group chats, my mom on speed dial. But what would it mean to find small moments of unity with other people outside of my small circle? I asked my friends, because I truly didn’t know where to start. They delivered.

First, I bought tickets to the Museum of Us, a local museum in my area I’d been meaning to visit for years. I loved the name for its poetic pull, but didn’t know what to expect. Still, I figured that seeking “togetherness” inside a place literally called the Museum of Us was a good start and I wasn’t wrong. It ended up being one of the softest, most emotional experiences I’ve had recently. I took my time to read people’s stories. I nodded along. I laughed with strangers’ secrets at the PostSecret exhibit. I mourned lives lost to unjust immigration laws and racist policies. I learned that there are a lot of people that want to believe in each other, in a God, in our shared existence on this planet. I walked home swimming in strangers’ handwriting and heartbreak, feeling more connected to humanity than I had in months.

A few days later, I joined a friend to help canvass a nearby neighborhood. I was really nervous and was planning on bailing. In this climate, small talk with strangers about politics was not going to spark the togetherness I was seeking. But when I arrived, I was struck by the sight of so many people that showed up on a Sunday afternoon, unpaid, to canvass together. I got paired with a seasoned canvasser and we took to the streets. I felt like I’d stepped into an eighties TV show, idealistic, a little uncomfortable, and unexpectedly wholesome.

By the end of the day, the canvassers and I hung around to get to know each other over a couple of beers. While we were united over a common goal, we took this down time to laugh about our childhoods, swap stories about moments that changed us, and imagine the kind of world we want to build. There was so much empathy in that space. We cared, even when the issue didn’t touch us directly. I left feeling full. I cannot remember the last time I actually wanted to hang around with a bunch of men in a bar…but these guys were something else. 

Now in reference to the title, someone once said that to be in community is to be inconvenienced. And that line keeps echoing.

My team and I talk often about how to get people to show up, to really participate in building these spaces that they so openly crave. At saymore, we don’t shy away from social pressure or accountability to make it happen. That’s part of the work. It’s taking your friend to the airport at 7 a.m. It’s walking around your neighborhood hanging flyers. It’s sending that text in the group chat, “Can we get together soon?”

I grew up in a religious, fear-based household where shame and guilt were the main motivators. They work incredibly well when you are threatening eternal hell. But I realized that beyond my fear, there was an actual world out there. I could be afraid, angry, and disconnected my whole life. But I wanted to live in my reality and show up because I genuinely cared, without the promise of some arbitrary ledger sheet telling me if I was a good person or not. Caring is inconvenient. Showing up at the gathering is inconvenient. Building your community is inconvenient. But that’s the point.

At saymore, what I’ve always wanted is for people to take these conversations offline -  to build real community, not just digital connection. The internet is just the starting point, the bridge. What matters is what we do after: showing up, reaching out, organizing, gathering. And I know that's the hardest part...but we have to try. 

Let me know about a moment of unexpected togetherness you encountered this week - would love to hear more uplifting stories!

For six weekends my girlfriend and I parked ourselves at a coffee shop and planned our first big international vacation. She hadn’t left the country since high school, so her excitement was contagious. I felt eager to share my love for Europe with a significant other for the first time. This was going to be perfect!!! ....cue the narrator saying "annnd it was not going to be perfect..."

It’s interesting what looking forward to a vacation can do for the mind and spirit, over-planning, telling everyone you know you will be missing for two weeks, and the anticipation leading up to that first flight. I saw my therapist right before leaving and she noted my mood and energy seemed much better the last few weeks - what had changed? My only answer to her was that I had a vacation coming up! That was enough!

Now…I could write a whole think-piece about how “vacation” and “the escape” lead us to unrealistic, idyllic expectations, but let’s skip the over-intellectualizing. The truth is: the trip wasn’t at all what we hoped for.

First stop: Italy. Nothing like a quaint little town on the lake, tourist season dying down, and pasta and espresso as far as the eye can see. The dream! What we quickly learned was that the locals made it painfully clear we weren’t welcome. After weeks of practicing Italian, I expected at least one warm smile to my “Come stai?” We walked every inch of that place, lingering in restaurant doorways, trying not to bother anyone in the town that was already very bothered by our presence. We could not admit to ourselves that the vibes were off until, on our last night, the one kind waitress admitted to us flat-out: they don’t like visitors. Ah yes, of course, salute!

Next up: Spain. Usually one of my happiest places. We boarded what was supposed to be a six-hour train to the northern coast, only to get rerouted on a bus in sweltering September heat with no AC. It was a long day already and after sweating through our clothes for hours, we got misdirected to a random suburb while trying to find our hotel. I started frustrated-crying (of course), my partner took over, and we found our hotel eventually. Ordering room service in our robes helped a bit despite the sign over the ancient air conditioning warning us... “do not touch” …not a great sign.

But the mishaps weren't finished. To catch our 6:15 a.m. train out of the town, we were warned that cabs were “unreliable” and buses didn’t start running until 6 a.m. Translation: be ready to walk at 5 a.m. with your bags. Oh and it was supposed to rain all morning. Our cab driver did show up, but not before adding “sleepless night worrying about making the one train out a day” to our trip full of woes. 

Finally: Madrid. A real city with more food, kinder people, and sunset walks that reminded us why we were excited for vacation in the first place. Hell, we even met a few friendly faces along the way, finally! We booked a massage and shopped around the beautiful neighborhoods, releasing the stress of the last ten days. I remember when we were planning the trip, we were talking about how sad we would be at the end, imagining us not ready to leave our beautiful vacation-land! The reality was, with a martini in my hand, we counted down the hours til our flight home. 

Here’s the thing: I know I am not the only one looking for an escape these days. Whether that be via a plane ride thousands of miles away or a reality tv show I can binge for hours. The idea of escaping this extremely intense world right now is seductive, but also a luxury and a privilege I can’t really enjoy. Life doesn’t take a holiday just because you booked one. People can be really rude, trains and buses can break down, and air conditioning might not be guaranteed. Life is still going to life…and maybe that isn't the worst thing.

Even though our vacation was not the best, my relationship with my girlfriend came out stronger than ever. What we wanted was a break and some days we did get that. The reality was not what we hoped for but it gave us a new appreciation for the city we do live in, communities we are a part of back home, and the air conditioning that exists in every... single... room. 

Now if only I could muster the energy to book those Thanksgiving flights home. Sorry, Mom.

As I revisit our filmed depression event from months ago, I’m struck by how much of me feels the same. No matter the day, I live between highs and lows, especially as an entrepreneur running a mental health organization. I bite my nails, I take myself on walks, I eat my vegetables. I’ll have a week where I feel nothing matters and I do not understand myself. Then another week where I feel so empowered and interested in myself, my work and the incredible conversations I get to call my career. 

Three years ago, I wrote the Our Story section on saymore. To send that personal story to my tech team felt like the beginning of being open—even with strangers on the internet—about my depression.

In one section, I wrote:

“I still believe that my body is missing the air filter, the sliding screen door that helps filter thoughts and feelings before they hit me straight to the core. Every story I heard, every tender moment I experienced, every good or bad thing landed right on my chest, knocking the wind out of me every time.”

Looking back, I realize how long I’ve been circling this question - why I do this work and why I keep going personally and professionally. See below the response I got from my project manager now friend from across the world.

I am seeing friends experience depression who I never thought would. While we exist in our algorithms, our real lives gently mirror that in ways as well. I think my world is stretching into other avenues of joy, other routes of growth and room to be surprised. But I have always been somewhat depressed. And as I recognize that in myself, I do think I can recognize that in others too. So just my small perspective, this is what I am seeing and reading.

Do Antidepressants Help with Depression? My Experience

A friend recommended Lost Connections by Johann Hari, which challenges the “chemical imbalance” explanation for depression. Hari argues that lack of social connection, community, and purpose are often more central to depression than serotonin levels.

When I started antidepressants at twenty-two, they worked for me. I’ve joked that I’m a “placebo girl,” but even if that’s all it was, the relief was real. A friend of mine is starting anti-depressants for the first time and she is very worried about the side effects so she might find different results. It really is everyone’s unique experience so listen to your gut. And also… if your gut thinks you should just “grin and bear it”…maybe check into why you are fine with making your life harder when you might not have to suffer. Break the cycle!!!

Stress vs. Burnout

The word “burnout” is everywhere now. Research suggests stress often leads toward anxiety, while burnout leans more toward depression (Calm Blog). That framing makes sense: many people are tipping over from stress into burnout, especially in today’s climate.

Here’s a quick stress vs. burnout chart that highlights key differences:

This shift - from stress to burnout - may be why so many are experiencing depression who never thought they would. It IS confusing so take the time for compassion to determine what might be the best next step for #selfcare going forward. 

What Depression Looks Like: Different Experiences, Different Symptoms

As I get older, I seek out others whose depression feels like mine. Just like I wouldn’t take skincare advice from someone with a completely different skin type, or fashion advice from someone half my size, I look for people whose experiences mirror my own.

My depression doesn’t always look like the textbook definition I was taught - never getting out of bed, not showering, crying constantly. Very rarely it might, but more often it looks different. The worst days of my depression feel like a heavy dread where every sad story I hear or angry comment I read on the internet makes me feel like we are on a rotting, terrible, irredeemable planet. Other days are just completely grey, where my mind does what it does and we get by with a little sunshine and a good sweat hopefully. 

I think we do each other a disservice when we say this is what you should do, or shouldn’t do. I do think therapy helps, I do think medication can help but it is what works for you. But it’s not the same for everyone, and we should allow for that complexity and nuance.

I once said on TikTok that I wish no one else knew what depression felt like. I hate when people relate to my darkest moments. And yet, when someone can’t relate, my reflex thought is: must be nice.

As an empathetic person, I believe we’re evolving. It makes sense that sometimes we want to hide in a dark room because the noise, online and offline, is too much. It makes sense that inherited pain from past generations, especially women, still weighs on us. Against that backdrop, “seeking joy” every day feels oversimplified and unrealistic.

Soooo... Do I Still Have Depression?

Depression isn’t a one-size-fits-all condition. It doesn’t always look like the stereotypes, and it doesn’t always respond to the same treatments. It shifts over time, in different bodies, in different lives.

For me, it’s an ongoing relationship - sometimes heavy, sometimes quiet, always requiring attention. For others, it may look entirely different. What matters is making space for that range of experiences and staying curious about what works.

So maybe the better question isn’t “Do I still have depression?” but “How do I keep learning to live with it in ways that let me keep going?”

My all time favorite poet passed away this week and I have fifteen years of love for them and their work stored up into all of these formative moments in my life that I wanted to share. 

I was first introduced to Andrea Gibson when I was in high school, catholic high school. I took a creative writing class where my teacher introduced me to Andrea’s work. Andrea is a queer, non binary writer, poet, and speaker. Growing up in a sports-centered family, words held a lot of power but not a lot of responsibility. Early on I loved their poem, the Nutritionist, which helped make me feel so much less alone, struggling with my depression from a young age.

“But knowing as bad as it hurts,

our hearts may have only just skinned their knees

knowing there is a chance the worst day might still be cominglet me say right now for the record, I’m still gonna be hereasking this world to dance, even if it keeps stepping on my holy feet.”

Even when I was actively religious about six years ago, Andrea’s mention of god was a god I really wanted to believe in. With Andrea’s identity, I was surprised that their poems had god in them at all, a god that sounded far kinder than the one everyone else was talking about. I will never forget seeing Andrea perform in North Carolina, I felt so much. I really wanted to talk to them after, and I did while I asked them to sign a poster for me. What do you say to someone who inspired you to read and write for yourself, who made you cry at their words, who felt like you felt? I knew they had probably heard it all from their fans but I was the most star struck I have ever been. It was the closest to feeling holy I had ever felt...in connection with this beautiful person. 

"I said to the sun, 

'Tell me about the big bang.'

The sun said,

'it hurts to become.' "

And on the way home my religious friend said, “Wow that was amazing. Too bad she is probably not going to heaven because she is gay.” Whoa….I did not know I was queer yet myself, but that comment always stuck with me. Watching this incredible person go up there, share their poems, their heart… and you still leave the function condemning them to hell based on their sexuality. 

"Once I found a butterfly’s wing on the sidewalk.

I wanted to keep it but I didn’t.

I knew there were things I should never find beautiful. 

Like death.

And girls."

It is a really weird feeling to have someone that helped you through your darkest moments die from cancer so young. The person that has somehow lit up every other corner of my life and led me to where I am now. What scares me the most is that I will never hear any new poems from Andrea ever again. They are gone, at forty nine years old. And now their life is taken from them when they used to write about wanting to die. I think anyone can relate to that fear. The one where you might not want to be here anymore but then not having the choice. Or the illusion of choice.

"Tonight I’m catching nothing but the lightning bug

My body is a mason jar

transparent as a jellyfish

I wish for a heart you can see straight through

for a voice that glows in the dark"

Andrea Gibson lived a life where their words touched people deeply. They touched me to my core. They kept me alive some nights. Ex friends and lovers of mine will recognize their name. They inspired me to believe in more, to articulate myself better, and to try and be here with all the feeling. I want to leave you with this poem of theirs that has stayed with me the most. 

"The soul misses the unforever of old age, the skin that no longer fits.

The soul misses every single day the body was sick, the now it forced, the here it built from the fever

What else could touch a screen door and taste lemonade?

What else could come back from a war and not come back? But still try to live?

When a human dies the soul moves through the universe trying to describe how a body trembles when it's lost, softens when it's safe

How a wound would heal given nothing but time. 

Do you understand? 

Nothing can fathom the landscape of awe, the heat of shame. 

The fingertips pulling the first grey hair and throwing it away.

I can't imagine it, the stars say.

Tell us again about goosebumps. 

Tell us again about pain."

- Stephanie Kaiser, Founder

One of my favorite parts of this work, aka saymore, is meeting women I might not have crossed paths with otherwise. I was halfway through writing this July post on queer representation, but I scrapped it last minute. One conversation this week kept bouncing around these walls and I wanted to talk about it.

I’ve met a lot of people in my life so far, moving across the country a couple times, changing jobs a couple more times. I used to think ‘networking’ was just part of the deal and what a bummer that was. Shake hands, send the email, smile, repeat. But now, it feels different. Now I get to meet people who lead with something else. People who lead with a little more heart. Who weren’t immediately welcomed. Who kept going anyway. Those were the people I wanted to hear from the most and more often than not, they really do move me to tears (in the best way).

Being a queer woman building something in the mental health space, I knew I was not the majority. I still wanted to find my people - professionally speaking. And oh wow, did I find them. But not without casting a wide net, sitting through conversations that left me drained, navigating feedback I didn’t ask for. In the beginning you have to take every call, every introduction. Now I know better. I don’t need to meet everyone. I take referrals more seriously. I’m protective of my time. And more and more I make it a priority to spend my time with the right people.

So the other day, I met another one of those “right people.” She told me she’d read the “about me” on our  saymore site - something I always forget lives online. She even quoted a line from it back to me and I felt my heart catch. Hearing this woman who lives on the other side of the world identifying with my depression, I just felt so moved. 

But I also felt so sad. I always tell people I hope they can’t relate to the parts of me that write about depression. I wouldn’t wish that kind of knowing on people, though I know they are out there. The irony is not lost on me that I am building a space for connection and I hope no one connects with me and my depression. But she knew this kind of depression well. So we talked. We laughed. We shared stories. She told me she wrote a book of poetry, something I’ve always wanted to do too. She said her mom told her it was full of pain. She said it was full of truth. Before we hung up, she said something I’m still turning over in my mind. She said that even with all the pain of the pages before, she ended the book with this: she is every one of her favorite songs. Every sunset stacked on top of another. She is what she loves and what she hates. Like she’s collecting all these versions of herself, and they all get to live together. 

I ordered her book. I wanted to hear the rest.

So I’ve been thinking about myself, too. About not having to be just one thing. Just last week, I got a friend's old record player and I’ve been running around town collecting Mac Miller vinyls. I propagate my own plants now and I know what that word means! I organized a scavenger hunt for some friends and fed them rice krispy treats after like they were five year olds. You change. You keep changing. And the hard things don’t disappear, but they don’t define the whole picture either. 

Sometimes I think people hear the word mental health and it comes with a big sigh. But as much as my depression lives with me, it is smaller some days. That goes with anything. We’re all a lot of things. Not just strong because we have to be. Not just tired because the world is exhausting. We’re also funny, silly. Loud, quiet. Smart and kinda dumb… that’s great! That is allowed! I want to be all the things! 

In a binary world that only lets you be one or the other, I want it all. And I hope this gives you a little bit of permission today to be whoever the hell fits right this minute.

I will never forget the true swings of depression in my twenties. By the time this goes up I will be freshly thirty years old and I cannot wait. It’s not that I expect life to suddenly get easier, or that depression and disappointment disappear at thirty. But I feel grateful to be moving on from a chapter that felt so dizzying and raw.

I have been excited to turn thirty starting early on in my twenties. I remember coming home for Thanksgiving not long after graduating college. I had moved from a sunny, vibrant city to a colder, more sterile one, chasing a job I hoped would give me some direction. At the dinner table, surrounded by my family, I felt completely numb. I had no interests to speak of, nothing I was excited about. I felt like a shell. My sister made a joke about someone she knew turning thirty—how terrible that must be—and without thinking I said, “I can’t wait to be thirty.” Even at twenty-two, I knew: whatever this is, I don’t want it.

I was suspicious of the twenties in general. People told me college would be the best years of my life—it wasn’t. Then they said real money and promotions would fulfill me—they didn’t. They promised new cities would fix the rest. They hadn’t. So I started wondering: who were all these people, offering these vague, sweeping truths about how life should feel? Whoever they were—I didn’t trust them.

What I meant then, and what I still mean now, is that I wanted a life that felt more…human. I wanted new experiences to shape me. I wanted to change my mind and then change it again. I wanted to be in situations that challenged me and meet people who challenged my way of thinking. What I received was monotonous days, empty hangovers, and the endless shuffling of papers in Corporate America. This felt like the beginning of the rest of my life.  

The twenties moved forward in all their stumbling mediocrity. Every system—work, healthcare, relationships—revealed itself to be far more broken than I’d imagined. I’ll never forget my first “free” preventative doctor’s appointment that cost me $340 because I mentioned having a cold at the time. 

The twenties have a way of teaching you just how much you don’t know, and how fast you’re expected to figure it out anyway.

I hoped that by thirty, I’d stop feeling like every mistake was a public faceplant and every heartbreak meant I’d never be okay again. I’m not saying that won’t ever happen again, but the edges have softened. I’ve grown more comfortable with myself, and less interested in pretending the status quo works well enough for me.

What I will always appreciate about that twenties shine that never fully arrived was I got to make my own world. I got to build my own timelines for what I wanted my life to look like. I ditched the fake luster of being a cog in a corporate machine. I left so many cities and made new friends that reflected the kind of person I was and wanted to be. I realized I was a queer woman who did not want kids and that blew up the rest of what was my ‘ticking biological clock.’ It was the best of times, it was the worst of times! But I was finally and truly free. 

In that same vein, I never planned to build something like saymore. It came from tuning into the parts of myself I used to try to quiet—the parts that craved connection, honesty, and something more meaningful than just checking boxes. I spent so much time chasing safety, doing what was “smart,” trying to follow the five year plan. But eventually I realized: it’s more worthwhile to take risks and lots of them. Saymore is my contribution to the internet, of shaping it into something softer, more reflective, more human.

Whatever this next chapter holds for thirty year old Steph, I know this: I will do it my way. There will still be all of the feelings from the twenties but this time I will have more confidence and self trust. And for whatever is still ahead—for me, for saymore—this space will hold what it needs to and we will be more than okay.

So no, I don’t dread turning thirty. I welcome it. I’m not going away—I’m just getting started.

March and April were a whirlwind for saymore—two live events, two more on-demand events coming soon, and one overwhelmed founder (hi). It was the kind of month that reminds you what you’re capable of—and also humbles you real fast.

It was such a busy time, and an anticipated time that I was so proud of. When we hosted our Women and Miscarriage event in NYC last fall, I felt it in my bones: this is the work I want to do. Real people. Real conversations. In real time. That’s where the magic is.

This spring, we wanted to take that same energy and bring it to our broader community—wherever they are. There was an urgency to it. Every topic we picked felt equally vital, timely, and necessary to tackle. These weren’t just content ideas or marketing themes—they were real conversations that needed a place to land. We leaned into virtual events to meet more people where they are and to capture more nuanced, sensitive, and deeply needed conversations. Topics that don’t often get the attention they deserve in glossy wellness spaces.

What I didn’t fully prepare for—despite all the planning and spreadsheets—was how much these events would impact me on a personal level. I’m an empath by nature, and what that means is that when people open up, I don’t just hear their stories—I feel them. I carry them around with me for a while. And this past month, I carried it all.

Each event was intimate in its own way. People were brave. They showed up with their full selves, sometimes with pain still fresh, sometimes with clarity that only comes from having lived through it. And after every session, whether it was a panelist sharing something deeply personal or someone in the audience speaking up in the live chat, I sat with it all.

I found myself processing long after the screen went dark. I was overwhelmed, yes—but not in a negative way. Overwhelmed by how honest people were willing to be. How much trust they placed in saymore, in each other, in the space we created. It’s no small thing to tell the truth in public. Especially about topics like imperfect parenting and life-long depression. These are things we’re taught to quietly survive, not share.

After every single event, I felt this wave of pride—not just in what we’d pulled off logistically, but in the kind of community we’re attracting. I kept thinking: These are the people I want to build with. People who aren’t pretending to have it all figured out. People who are curious, kind, and deeply human. Whether they were panelists, audience members, or folks just tuning in and holding space quietly from behind their screens—it all mattered.

Each of these conversations was special in its own way:

• The Influencer and Social Media round table—raw, honest, and hilarious with the young influencers themselves speaking about the good that they’ve built from the internet!
• A candid talk on the mental health of young adults and the parents who love them - a real life therapy session that made us laugh and cry!
• Coming soon, ADHD and Women: Relationships edition. We always talk about school and work with regard to ADHD but what about our platonic and romantic relationships, I promise you’ll come away giggling with this group!

After the last couple of months, I’m tired—but also clear. Clear on the importance of this work. Clear on the kind of community we’re building. Clear on how powerful it is to hold space for one another, even when it’s heavy.

May is a time to slow down—not to stop, but to soften. To integrate everything that’s unfolded. To stay grounded in why this matters, and to remind ourselves that creating space for others also means creating space for ourselves. The work continues, but so does the care.

Thanks for being part of this.

If you attended any of our events in March/April, we want to know—did you feel seen? What do you want more of? Let’s keep the momentum and make this space yours as much as it is ours.

Back when I was straight and had only lived in Nebraska, I remember often thinking: I do not see my life past forty years old. I just had no idea what it would look like. Except I knew exactly what it would look like: suburbia, wife and mother of 2.5 kids, and a house on a quiet street counting down the days until the next vacation. There is nothing wrong with that life, but I already found it suffocating. I could feel the weight of those days pressing down on me, and my eyes dulled. I was so afraid of that being the rest of my life and how much I knew I would hate it. What else was there to imagine for myself at that point?

Now I am almost thirty, and life looks fuller and more open and liberating than I could have ever imagined. The questions I had in my early twenties have started to find answers. I love where I live. I have a wonderful girlfriend. A job I am almost too passionate about!!! And still, I feel this long, tiresome to-do list constantly in my mind. I have worked hard and built a life that I really want to be a part of, yet the dullness in my eyes and the weight on my shoulders still feels real. 

People keep telling me to go back to what excites me, and then even that becomes its own chore. Make sure to find joy today! Didn’t find joy on my walk because of all the construction workers? Well, you better find joy somewhere else! It’s exhausting.

When did all the tips and tricks turn into more things to worry about? I shouldn’t have coffee until two hours after I wake up. Oh, and it’s best to go on at least a ten-minute walk after a full meal. What if what brings me joy is having coffee as soon as possible in the morning and then taking a nice, long rest on my couch after a big meal? What if what brings me joy conflicts with all the never ending “wellness tips" we think about every day?

The worst news is I am not present. The other part is my brain is constantly thinking and worrying and calculating to the point that I get so sick of living inside of it. And finally, all tasks now seem joyless.

I know I’m alone in this. It seems like so many of us are working so hard to build a life that we think will bring us fulfillment, only to find that the act of maintaining it strips away that same fulfillment. We read articles, listen to podcasts, watch TikToks about optimizing joy, but the very act of trying so hard to be happy makes happiness feel like another item on the to-do list.

I used to believe that life would eventually settle into something smooth and whole—that if I worked hard enough, built the right relationships, and found the right city, everything would just click into place. But the truth is, fulfillment doesn’t seem to work that way. It’s not a puzzle to be completed; it’s something that fluctuates. Some days, I feel content and full of purpose. Other days, I feel overwhelmed, like I am barely keeping up with my own expectations.

Aren’t we all just making it up as we go? Trying to look like we’re in control while still figuring it out in real time?

So, what do we do? How do we stop turning every piece of advice into a rule, every joy into a goalpost, every moment of rest into a failure of ambition? Maybe it starts with allowing ourselves to just exist. To accept that not every moment has to be productive or fulfilling. To let go of the idea that we need to be constantly optimizing ourselves.

Maybe it’s okay that I still drink my coffee first thing in the morning, even if some study tells me it’s not the best for my cortisol levels. Maybe it’s okay that I take a long nap after a meal instead of walking it off. Maybe it’s okay that I don’t always find joy in the places I’m supposed to. Maybe, just maybe, being present means letting go of the pressure to be present in the ‘right’ way.

I don’t have the answers. But I do know this: the life I have built is one I never could have imagined for myself ten years ago. And while it is a lot different and maybe a little messier than I thought, it is completely full of surprises every single day… in the best way.

If you’re like me and thought it would be a great idea to move back in with your boomer parents during an election year—congrats. You hate yourself. Just kidding!!

It’s hard to talk about moving back home without acknowledging the political climate and the stark generational divide we’re living through. Books are being written about us, as if millennials are some kind of mysterious species—not the generation raised by boomers and the messes they created. At this rate, I think we’ll be dissecting these differences for the rest of my lifetime.

Soooo I’ve been moved out for a couple of months now, and with a little distance, I can finally reflect without being clouded by the intense emotions of that time. I wanted to share the lessons I learned the hard way.

Lesson Number 1: They Aren’t Changing—But I Am

I used to think that if I made the perfect argument, presented the right research, or framed things just so, that generation would finally get it. My friends and I talk a lot about how, if boomers were forced to really examine certain things, they might have to change their entire belief system. And that’s revolutionary.

Take women’s happiness, for example. Studies keep comparing our financial stability and life satisfaction to the "good old days"—when women had no real choices beyond marrying the guy down the street. Now, we do. And the shift is unsettling for people who built their identities around a different set of rules.

I’ve learned to adjust my expectations. If that’s not good enough for you, I get it. But I recommend reading Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents because odds are, this struggle is all too familiar.

Lesson Number 2: Patience Is a Skill, Not a Virtue

I used to think patience was something you either had or didn’t. Now, I see it as something you build—like endurance. If you never practice sitting in discomfort, you’ll never get better at it.

My mom used to tell me to “pick my battles,” and I would huff back, “I pick ALL the battles!” I came out as queer later in life, at 25, and looking back, I realize I was still working through so much shame. Any offhand comment could set me off. Honestly, it still does. But how I handle it has changed. I leave the room. I spend less time at the house. I go to places where I feel like I belong.

You have to keep that patience glass full, or you’ll end up throwing it at the wall.

Lesson Number 3: Love Doesn’t Equal Understanding

This one was tough. I want to believe that if you love someone, you’ll try to understand them. I remember watching Ellen years ago when Portia gave her a gift, and she said, “It’s good to be loved. It’s profound to be understood.”

But that’s not always how it works. My mom loves me. She wants the best for me. And yet, she doesn't always get me. And that has to be okay. Only you can decide if that’s enough for you.

I’ve had what feels like hundreds of conversations with my mom. Some days, she is the only person who truly sees me. Other days, I am gobsmacked that she is the one who raised me. I’m lucky she tries to understand me at all.

Lesson Number 4: Good Intentions Are Not Enough

I can’t believe we’re still having this conversation, but intention versus impact matters.

I’m a hugely action-oriented person. When I worked in corporate, I used to vent to my mom for hours about the problematic systems I saw. She would always ask, “Well, what are you going to do about it?” Not in a dismissive way, but in a let’s get going, let’s do something way.

Now, she doesn’t ask me that because she sees that I’ve built my entire career around the change I want to see. But here’s the thing: certain opinions do matter. Certain jokes aren’t funny. There will be ignorance and it isn’t cute and silly. The purposeful misunderstanding is annoying at best and hateful at worst.

So again, it’s up to each of us to decide what works in our relationships. And this stuff runs deep.

Final Lesson: Preemptive Grief Is Real

Watching the people who raised you get older feels like a million tiny paper cuts. I recently learned about preemptive grief—the mourning that happens before the actual loss. It sneaks up on you in small moments, like noticing how my mom moves a little slower and that I can beat her on the tennis court any day of the week now.

I save every card my mom sends me because one day, they’ll stop coming. I already feel the ache of that future absence, like a shadow that follows me around. And even though I couldn’t wait to move back out, even though I needed space to breathe, I know there will be a time when I’d give anything to sit across from her at the kitchen table again, listening to her tell me, one more time, to pick my battles.

I can love her deeply and still know I can’t live under the same roof as her. Both things are true. And both things break my heart.

These dynamics are messy. There’s no easy way to navigate them. Moving back out has given me space to breathe again. But I also feel the tug of what I left behind. If you’ve just moved back in or are still trying to move out, let me know how you are doing in the comments!

Would I do it again? Absolutely not.

But am I glad I did? Yeah. In a weird, complicated, tangled-up way—I am. 

Moving back to California has been one of the most defining transitions of my life. As January fades and February settles in, the rush of resolutions gives way to quieter reflections. It’s in these moments that I often think about the times I’ve left something behind, only to find my way back to it.

The first time I moved out  west, I was chasing sunshine, adventure, and the promise of freedom. And it delivered! California didn’t just offer beautiful landscapes; it gave me the space to discover who I was. Away from everything and everyone I knew, I had to ask myself: “What do I want?” Not what I’d been told to want, but what genuinely mattered to me. And the answers surprised me.

I realized I didn’t want the traditional life I had always imagined. In California, I met people who questioned the same things I did–women who weren’t sure about having kids, who pushed back against societal expectations, who fully embraced their sexuality and autonomy. It was refreshing, liberating, and necessary. I cannot imagine who I would be today without that shift.

But even as I was finding myself I felt like something was missing. I wanted to build something real, something that felt like mine. And to do that, I needed a reset.

So I made the tough decision to leave. I moved back home to Florida to start my business–the seed that would eventually grow into saymore.

Moving back in with my parents was harder than I expected. I had just started feeling like the most me I'd ever been, and suddenly I was back in a space that brought up old patterns and family dynamics I thought I had outgrown. It felt like rewinding when I was supposed to be moving forward. But I knew it was a necessary step.

Starting a business from scratch wasn’t just a logistical challenge; it was an emotional one. Every day, I had to remind myself that I was planting seeds for something bigger, even if all I could see in the moment was dirt. There were days it felt like nothing was happening, like I had hit pause on my life while everyone else around me was fast-forwarding. But growth isn’t linear, and taking a break sometimes feels like failure when really, it’s all just part of the process.

I always knew I would come back to California. There was never a question about that. But surprisingly, coming back wasn’t as seamless as I imagined. I expected to step back into my old life but instead, I found myself standing in the middle of something familiar that no longer fit me in  the same way.

Nostalgia is tricky like that. It makes you miss versions of yourself that don’t exist anymore. I found myself longing for the person I was when I first arrived on the West Coast years ago: the excitement, the fresh start, the sense of possibility. But I wasn’t that person anymore, and that was both unsettling and empowering.

Coming back has been an adjustment in ways I didn’t expect. It’s been a mix of collision of past and present —a reminder of who I was and proof of how much I’ve changed. I can’t just pick up where I left off, and that’s okay. Maybe that’s the whole point.

Moving west taught me to be honest with myself. Leaving taught me resilience. Returning has taught me how to hold space for every version of myself–the one who was searching, the one who was building, and the one who is still figuring things out.

Maybe you can always come home, but you can’t ever go back. Maybe you’re also not supposed to. Life has a way of bringing us full circle, not so we can relive the past, but so we can see how far we’ve come. I’m proud to say that every part of my journey—the highs, the lows, the moments of doubt, the breakthroughs—has shaped me into the person I am today.

Leaving a place you love and coming back to it can be confusing, but maybe life’s only certainty is that it will rarely look like what we imagined. Personally, that has been revealed to me over and over again.

Have you ever returned to a place that deeply shaped you? What was it like to revisit it as someone who had grown and changed? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

Real talk: I went off social media the day after the election results, both Instagram and TikTok. I didn’t delete my accounts—I just removed the apps from my phone. Still, it felt like a big deal. A cleansing. It’s been over a month now, and my screen time consists only of the NYT Games and texting my friends. Research shows social media can be addictive (here, here, and here, to point to a few), and I honestly feel like I deserve a sobriety chip or something. Without constant stimulation and doomscrolling, I truly feel lighter.

Around election time, I had just finished Kara Swisher’s new book, Burn Book. Swisher is one of the most well-known journalists in tech, and she’s been covering Silicon Valley since before Y2K. She’s seen it all. Most of the digital innovations we rely on today started with idealistic intentions ("we're here to change and connect the world") which, in hindsight, feels pretty ironic.

As a woman in the U.S. in 2025, encountering rage bait on social media doesn’t take much effort. The disgusting language constantly surrounding women, our bodies, and our rights is so inflammatory, it often feels unreal. As a words person, it really gets to me. I’ve always worked hard to be more careful with my words in a world that feels like it’s becoming more callous behind a screen. I understand the power and the danger of language.

But we know all of this already. Countless articles have been written on this topic. What I want to explore here is something different: Finding internet positivity. How can we do more of that? What I miss the most about my social media hiatus is the comment section. Not the angry rants, but the kind, funny, and uplifting comments. I miss the genuine connections I made, both with friends and strangers. The people who share compassion and positivity on the internet, and the comment sections that support them. Even with the peace I feel now, I notice the absence of this part of social media in my life the most.

A few things I did to accomplish this... 

1. Curated my feed - I kept that algorithm on a tight leash and only followed accounts that made me giggle. I recommend muting any and all other profiles that might just make you feel bad about yourself. 
2. This one isn't for everyone, but I love posting more interactive content on my stories…I would ask my followers/friends what new songs they were listening to, or recap my week in a silly way. I had random interactions that made me feel like I was in a community, not isolated. I also engaged more with their stuff too – a fun win-win situation!
3. And of course, I took social media breaks when the above wasn’t working for me. Go outside. See people in real life. Even watching a tv show is better than scrolling through the noise!

In a world where keeping you online is the business model, it incentivizes companies to feed you content that enrages you. The more upset you are, the more you engage. And the more engagement they get, the more ad revenue. The most ridiculous, inflammatory posts get the most attention because they’re so outrageously awful. For a while, I tried to curate my algorithm to showcase the compassionate side of the internet. But I had to keep it on a tight leash, and honestly, that just wasn’t sustainable for me.

After reading Swisher’s book about the men (yes, all men) who shaped the tech industry, I was fired up. One passage that particularly struck me was this:

“A truism began to form in my brain about the lack of women and people of color in the leadership ranks of tech: The innovators and executives ignored issues of safety not because they were necessarily awful, but because they had never felt unsafe a day in their lives. Their personal experiences informed the development of unfettered platforms. And in turn, this inability to understand the consequences of their inventions began to curdle the sunny optimism of tech that had illuminated the sector. Financial success was proof of their talents, which was like the old cliché of starting on third base and thinking you hit a home run.”

The internet is powerful and it matters what we do with it. Certain groups are more impacted than others. I thought the internet was the great equalizer and yet, these days it could not be more manipulative. Financial success is one thing, but there are other measurements of success and failure that outweigh the dollar signs.

Some days, I feel naive for still believing the internet can be good. But I’ve seen it do good so many times—in both my personal and professional life. It keeps connecting me to people who care. It brought me some wonderful mentors. It led me to start saymore. When you put yourself out there, when you ask for support or look for answers, you often find them. Someone else is always searching for the same thing. And in real life, when I talk to people, I still find so many who still feel isolated and alone. 

Like anything, the internet is what you make of it. The tech giants at the top thrive by feeding us the ugly, the upsetting, the divisive. We all miss the harmless dances and puppy videos, the lighter side of the internet. But there’s more to it than that. We can shape this endless digital landscape into something better. The original tech visionaries were right: they changed the world, they connected people. But the next step is about transforming that connection into something deeper, more meaningful. It’s about fostering compassion, offering solutions, and creating a space where people feel connected and supported. That’s the real power of the internet. Wherever possible, let's use the internet for good.

In 2025, I’m committed to keeping this corner of the Internet a space for good. What do you need from me to keep this mission alive? What are some ways you go about finding internet positivity and keeping yourselves sane? I’d love to hear in the comments.

Stephanie

By the time you read this, the election will have been weeks ago. I wish I could say, “No matter your political affiliation…” but I can’t. This is a queer, female-founded company, and the prevailing party has long sought to control and diminish the rights of people like me and many of my loved ones. So I’ll be clear: we at saymore stand firmly on the side of humanity, where people’s rights are valued above any vague notion of the “economy.”

In the past few weeks, I’ve taken a break from social media, finding refuge in simple distractions like new app store games. (If you have any fun ones to recommend, please share them in the comments!) But this period has also been a stark reminder of how some environments can erode one's sense of safety and belonging. Living in a red state, has come with personal costs. As a queer woman, I’ve been harassed for simply holding hands with someone I love, publicly shamed by strangers citing my “sins,” and felt more unwelcome than ever in my own neighborhood. My parents, who see Florida as their own wonderful bubble, are shocked by the “unfortunate situations” I’ve faced here. My therapist suggests I leave, and I will return West soon, but not everyone has the choice to escape environments that harm them. The heartbreaking reality is, they stay in places where laws threaten their lives and where home doesn’t feel safe. 

Since the election, hope has felt distant, and I imagine I’m not the only one in the saymore community who feels this way. Just a week before the election, we hosted a roundtable in New York City to discuss women’s health and miscarriages, a powerful conversation you can watch Friday, December 13th only on saymore. saymore exists to build a space where people connect, share experiences, and find strength together. Our mission is to make a difference in the lives of those who’ve been silenced or marginalized, to foster a sense of humanity when the world seems to lack it. But in times like these, even I feel the urge to withdraw and shut myself away from it all when it feels like too much. It’s ironic, wanting to retreat from a community I built to be a lifeline for others.

Then yesterday, I read a piece by Liz Plank that reminded me of the bigger picture. Liz shared her commitment to keep fighting for others, even those who don’t fight for her, even those who actively oppose our rights. Here’s what she wrote:

“So, my message to the Trump voter is simple: even if you voted against my rights, I will keep fighting for yours. I will keep fighting for the pro-life girl in Texas who was against abortion until she needed one. I’ll stand up for my conservative neighbor who has no idea that one day, after a devastating miscarriage, she’ll face the same choice she once judged. I’ll keep fighting for the man who despises Obamacare, never imagining he’ll need it when the doctor looks him in the eye and says it’s stage four. I’ll keep fighting for gun safety, even for parents who won’t see school shootings as a problem—until they lose their own son to one…”

Her words hit me deeply. They reminded me that, despite my anger and heartbreak, I, too, will keep fighting for humanity. For the 70 million humans who believe in a future that includes all of us. For those who may not yet understand how these policies impact lives. For the women who can’t leave environments that harm them, for the queer individuals who feel unwelcome in their own communities, for everyone who looks to saymore for connection, hope, and resilience.

At saymore, we believe that people—no matter who they are, where they’re from, or whom they love—deserve dignity, safety, and community. We’re here to bridge the gap between differences, to be a voice for those whose voices are marginalized, to foster a sense of belonging even when the world feels hostile. Our mission remains to uplift humanity, to show up for each other, and to fight for those who can’t always fight for themselves.

So, even though I feel scorched by anger and frustration, I will keep showing up. Alongside saymore and this incredible community, I will keep fighting for a world that values humanity over hostility. After all, what’s the infamous quote? “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” Consider me utterly, fiercely scorned, and ready to keep fighting, for all of us.

Like many Americans, I often grapple with feelings of hopelessness. The endless stream of content we consume on TikTok and Instagram in a single day provides way more stimulation than we were ever designed to process. Social media, which often shows us carefully curated supercuts of people's lives, can lead to a pervasive sense of FOMO or never-ending comparison. As we doom scroll into content oblivion, we might forget that our minds weren’t built for such overstimulation. How is it possible to stay hopeful when we’re constantly exposed to thousands of others’ highly-filtered lives from around the world?

We also know, based on numerous studies, that anxiety and depression are on the rise globally, especially among younger generations. These mental health struggles are often exacerbated by our culture of overwork, social isolation, and a lack of community. And yet, in the face of these very real challenges, I want to offer a different perspective: we are going to be okay. 

To stay hopeful, the key is to look beyond the noise and focus on the quiet work being done by those who truly care about making the world better. The kindest people are not the loudest in the room—they are the ones who show up, time and again, in quiet, meaningful ways.

Know this: There are so many people who care.

In my work, I’ve had the privilege of meeting people who are dedicating their lives to making a difference. These individuals don’t often grab the spotlight, but their contributions are profound. People like Tracy Borreson, who is building authentic relationships to create community and support among entrepreneurs at TLB Coaching. Or Kerstin Recker, cofounder of PeliHealth, which provides support and resources for women with pelvic health struggles, a completely overlooked part of women's health. Or the founder of the nonprofit Struggle Is Your Success, Moose Abdel, whose organization is dedicated to helping young people in Canada navigate their difficult life challenges. These people, among countless others, are working tirelessly to make real changes in the systems that have left so many feeling hopeless or unseen. They stay hopeful, they focus on what they can control, and they just keep going.

It’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the constant barrage of negative news: wars, climate disasters, political turmoil, etc. But if you look closely, there are bright spots, stories of people coming together, helping each other, and finding solutions. These aren’t just random acts of kindness. They’re intentional, community-driven efforts led by people who believe in a better future. In other words, they’re beacons of hope just by showing up every day.

Shifting the Narrative of Humanity

One of the books that has left a lasting impact on my thinking is Humankind: A Hopeful History by Rutger Bregman. I’ve been reading it slowly over the last year and a half because it challenges some of our most deeply ingrained ideas about human nature. For centuries, we’ve been told that humans are selfish, competitive, and even cruel at our core. From 1600s philosopher Thomas Hobbes' view of the "nasty, brutish" human condition to modern news outlets’ coverage that focuses on stories of conflict and fear, it’s easy to buy into the idea that humanity is fundamentally broken.

But Bregman flips that narrative on its head. He presents evidence from psychology, history, and sociology that suggests we are, in fact, wired for cooperation and compassion. One of the most striking examples in the book is how communities come together in times of crisis. Contrary to popular belief, during natural disasters or tragedies, people don’t descend into chaos; rather, they collaborate and look out for one another. This is our true nature. We thrive when we support each other, and it’s this capacity for kindness that gives me hope.

In a world where it feels like cruelty is louder and more pervasive, books like Humankind remind us that the goodness of people often works quietly, behind the scenes. The stories of neighbors helping neighbors, of grassroots movements fighting for social justice, or even just individuals showing small acts of kindness, might not always make headlines, but they matter. These moments of compassion are the fabric of a hopeful future.

Hope as a Muscle 

It’s easy to feel hopeless in today’s world when there’s so much out of our control. But hope isn’t about ignoring the problems we face. It’s about choosing to focus on the solutions, the helpers, and the kindness we see around us. It’s about taking a step back from the overwhelming stream of information that makes us feel small and powerless, and instead looking at the ways, big and small, that we can contribute to change.

Another way to look at it is to view hope like a muscle. In my experience, hope is something that must be cultivated and actively nurtured. It doesn’t always come naturally when we’re bombarded with negativity, but it can grow when we intentionally seek out the stories and people working towards a better world. Surrounding yourself with those who are dedicated to making a difference, whether it’s through activism, education, or simple acts of compassion, can radically shift your perspective. When you start to notice the quiet acts of kindness around you, hope becomes a practice, something that can sustain you even in the most challenging times. And like with any activity, the more you practice, the stronger that muscle becomes. The goal is that staying hopeful eventually becomes part of your everyday practice, something that can help you stay grounded when everything around you feels overwhelming.

Ultimately, we are going to be okay. We live in a world where people are still deeply committed to justice, equality, and compassion. The loud voices may grab our attention, but it’s the quieter, consistent work of good people that will shape the future. The path forward is not without its challenges, but the strength and goodness of our collective humanity will see us through.

What do you think? What are some ways you’ve found glimmers of hope in your day-to-day, even when life feels overwhelming? I’d love to hear what works for others out there, and help lift each other up with tips and advice. Stay hopeful at all costs. You’re never alone.

I used to love my fancy corporate job. I felt so important, so proud. Just seeing the silver lettering of this company’s name on my résumé made me feel like I had made it. I was special, part of an elite group of employees who had managed to snag a spot in this globally-respected corporation.

But then, slowly, that feeling started to shift. That initial pride that once filled me began to feel hollow.  There were moments, tiny ones at first, that chipped away at my enthusiasm. And what started as a bunch of "oh no" moments led me to one Wednesday afternoon when I just…quit. Nothing ceremonious. No drama or fireworks. I was just done.

Looking back, it’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment when things started to change. Maybe it was the constant feeling of being on a hamster wheel, always running but never quite getting anywhere. The more I achieved, the more there was to do. Over time, no amount of work or accomplishment seemed like enough.

Then, I began to understand something more insidious. Because I was young, spouse-less, and childless, my time was seen as flexible. To my employer, my “free” time wasn’t mine at all—it was theirs. I became available by default. Sure, I was being paid, but the real currency wasn’t my salary; it was my time, and the boundaries around it seemed to vanish. There was no clock-out time. It was this never-ending loop of availability and output.

If any of this resonates with you, if you’re reading this and thinking, “Wow, I feel that too”-- let’s take a moment to check in. How are you feeling? Do you feel stuck on the wheel, too? Do you think balance is even possible?

Here’s the thing: work wasn’t just work for me anymore. It had become life. And yet, I was supposed to act like I could “balance” the two. It was the subtle, constant expectation that we should love our jobs enough to blur the lines between personal and professional. We’re told we can "have it all"—the perfect job, a thriving social life, time for self-care. But at what cost?

The Illusion of Balance

Here’s the hard truth: the concept of work-life balance is a myth. It’s not about finding equilibrium; it’s about constantly negotiating how much of your personal life you're willing to sacrifice. For the longest time, I used to think I could juggle it all—that if I just managed my time better or worked harder, I could make space for everything. But no matter what I did there was always another email, another deadline, another “quick favor” that turned into hours of work. The lines between my life and my job and personal life became so blurry they practically disappeared, leaving me drained day after day.

Ironically, this constant striving for balance just led to more burnout. The system is designed for perpetual motion, for constant availability. We’re told that if we just manage our time better, work a little smarter, we’ll figure out this mythical balance. But that’s just another burden we carry. 

When I finally quit, I felt guilty. But in the quiet that followed, I felt another shift. I wasn’t fighting for balance anymore; I was fighting for boundaries. I started to ask myself what I wanted my life to feel like. The scary thing? I had no idea. I’d been so wrapped up in the grind that I hadn’t thought about what I truly wanted outside of it.

Redefining Success and Balance

It’s not all doom and gloom and there’s a positive ending to this story, I promise. Now, after stepping away and taking time to reflect, here’s what I’ve learned: success doesn’t look the way we’ve been taught. It’s not about collecting fancy titles, climbing the corporate ladder, or glossy LinkedIn profiles. Success is about how much space you have in your life for the things that matter to you. It’s about the people you spend your time with, the projects that light you up, and yes, even the time you take to rest.

For so long, I believed that my worth was tied to my work. That if I could just push harder and juggle everything, I’d reach some kind of perfect balance. But here’s the thing: balance isn’t about splitting your time evenly between work and life. Sometimes, balance is found in knowing when to let go of the idea that you need to juggle everything in the first place.

So, if you’re reading this and feel trapped, if you’re starting to dread Monday by the time Friday rolls around, I’m here to tell you: it’s okay to step off the wheel. It’s okay to redefine what success means to you.

Take stock of your life. What do you really want? What makes you happy? And most importantly, what are you willing to let go of to get there? Balance might not be about perfectly splitting your time between work and personal matters. It might be about realizing that you don’t need to keep up with someone else’s journey or the traditional definitions of success that have become so deeply-ingrained within our culture. And that’s totally okay. I make a conscious effort to take breaks. Whether it's going for a long walk outside, catching up with friends over a game of pickleball (my current favorite), or sticking to my therapy appointments, these moments are essential for self-care. Stepping away from the screen and getting out of my own head helps remind me that my life is being lived.

Remember, you have the power to create the life you want, one where success is defined by how much joy and fulfillment you have, not how much work you can cram into a day. Don’t be afraid to take that step back, reevaluate what truly matters to you, and chart a new path forward.  

Because sometimes, balance isn’t about finding equilibrium—it’s about choosing to live a life that feels right for you.

 If this post resonated with you, drop a comment below. What are some things you’ve done to reflect, navigate change, and plan for your future? I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Pros and Cons of moving back in with your parents

If you had told me at eighteen, when I first moved out of my parents’ house, that I’d be back home a decade later, I would have guffawed. That would’ve felt like hitting rock bottom. At twenty-eight, I imagined myself winding down with a glass of wine in my small (but charming) apartment, texting my latest crush — not living under the same roof I grew up in.

Besides the usual feelings of shame and failure that comes with moving back in, there are a lot of other dynamics at play. But don’t be too hard on yourself – nearly half of adults aged 18-29 live with their parents. Recent news has highlighted that millennials are the first generation to be worse off financially than our parents were at our age. With rent prices at an all-time high, homeownership increasingly out of reach, growing mountains of student debt, and rising inflation, who can realistically afford to live on their own?

My point is, don’t beat yourself up. But if you are living at home or considering it, I want to give you a heads-up – and share some advice on how to navigate it better than I did.

Pro: Saving $$$

The biggest perk is that  you will save a ton of money – though it might come at the cost of your mental health. Financial reasons are the most common motivation for people to move back home, especially in today’s housing market. After I quit my job and decided to invest my savings into saymore, it just made sense. Saving $15k to $30k a year is no small feat.

Con: Lack of Your Own Space

Depending on how you grew up, prepare for living at home to completely change how you view  your autonomy, especially if you’re used to having your own space. I have lived in various apartment complexes with all kinds of noise, but nothing compares to the irritation of  hearing your parents’ constant footsteps (why are they always loitering?), their groans as they get in and out of the recliner, and the never-ending “what’s new?” questions day and night. You think I’m exaggerating, but just wait.

Pro: Family Time

Living away from my parents had its perks, but it also came with its downsides. During a crisis or a rut, my parents were always just a phone call away, but there’s no substitute for home cooked meals, open arms, and a quiet place to rest my head. Since I moved thousands of miles away at eighteen, I’ve missed out on a lot of time with them. Now, as they get older, I’m grateful for the time we spend together – time I wouldn’t have had otherwise. Knowing they won’t always be around makes these moments even more precious.

Con: Family Time

I don’t think we’re meant to be around our family 24/7 - but that’s just me. Boundaries start to blur, and before you know it, everything becomes a family activity. Every day, it feels like my parents ask me if I closed the garage. Yes, the garage is closed. Why are we still talking about it? Dinners often revolve around the  most depressing news from their aging family and friends. And unsurprisingly, weaponized male incompetence is more apparent than ever, as retired women continue to do most of the cooking and cleaning while retired men still struggle to figure out which laundry setting to use.

Pro: Convenience & Comfort

Whether you’re still in your hometown, or your parents have become snowbirds in Florida or Arizona, there’s a certain convenience and comfort to being in a smaller city. Older folks love strip malls, Publix, and long walks. Life is simple here, and finding a food joint open later than 10 p.m. feels like a miracle. With limited traffic, freshly mowed lawns, and neighbors who wave at you across the street, suburban life has its perks.

Con: Same Town, Different You

The hardest part for me is being somewhere I have outgrown or I no longer belong. Suburbs and communities built for older generations can make it incredibly difficult to connect with old friends or make new ones.  It’s also hard to stay motivated when you know living at home is only temporary. The experience can feel suffocating and isolating – young people need to be around their peers, not explaining the difference between YouTubeTV and cable to their parents.

The truth is, moving is one of the most stressful life events, and moving back in with your parents can feel even more so. But remember, this is only temporary. And also, keep in mind that you’ll probably never get this time back with the people who raised you. Whether you’re saving money or going through a tough time, heading home for a while is not something to be embarrassed about.

I don’t know yet how everything will work out for me, but I’m hoping Future Steph will look back with a laugh and  think, “Hey, that wasn't so bad.” And just like that, my mom is calling me down to help with dinner – tonight’s menu is spaghetti and meatballs. Gotta run!

Feel free to share your own experiences or concerns about living with your parents on saymore. What was the thing you were most nervous about when moving back home? No wrong answers – vent away!

pictured: fresh twenties steph vs twenty-nine yr old entrepreneur steph

I've been saying for years that I cannot wait to be in my thirties. Now, having just entered the last year of my twenties, I find myself still eagerly anticipating this new decade. It's not that my twenties were bad—in fact, they were transformative. But I’m ready for what comes next. In this next decade, the opportunities feel endless… a healthy and committed love, the potential for a family of your own, and the career confidence gained through years of late nights in PowerPoint. Personally, I’m ready to move on to more peace, less struggle.

And that includes finding the courage to do more, experience more, and say more. (See what I did there?) 

That’s what I hope for all of you who’ve come to the saymore community. 

Embracing My Own Journey

As for me, I've never been one to experience life gently. A close friend once told me that I “make my life harder than it needs to be,” and I have to admit, they were right. But it's because I've always wanted to understand myself. I've put myself in many different situations to get to know myself better, whether that meant moving to new cities where no one knew me or exploring my sexuality and discovering that I'm queer.

The big moments like travel and career changes are significant, but it's the little moments in between that truly defined my twenties. They can be beautiful even in their despair. Here are a few core memories from my journey:

• Drinking with my friends–the right people–at a bar, and laughing when a girl I had a crush on asked for my Snapchat. I thought, what is this, 2012? (Or maybe I ditched Snapchat too soon?)
• The body dysmorphia that comes with womanhood…Is it my period? Is it my luteal phase? Or is it just me, and my belly has always been this soft...
• Converting to menstrual cups over tampons even though you are absolutely screwed if you get stuck in a porta potty while needing to change that thing.

These experiences, both the best and the worst, are all part of the natural ebb and flow of life. They’ve taught me that beginnings and endings are a constant, no matter your age. Here are some lessons I've learned along the way that I believe are timeless and relevant whether you're in your twenties, thirties, or beyond.

Disillusionment with the World 

It's normal to become disenchanted with how the world works. Realizing that systems often fail and that equality and justice are still aspirations rather than realities can be disheartening. But this awareness also empowers us to strive for better. A few years back, I remember my landlord keeping most of my security deposit for no good reason and feeling completely robbed. What was I to do - hire a lawyer?! That felt way out of my realm. Ultimately, I just had to cry a bit and cut my losses.

Heartbreak is Inevitable

Heartbreak, both platonic and romantic, often feels like the end of the world. The pain is real and intense, and there’s no set timeline for healing. It’s okay to take your time to move on and to feel deeply about the people in your life. Everyone heals on a different timeline. In my own personal heartbreak journey of lost friends and love, the book Everything I Know About Love by Dolly Alderton made me feel far less alone in the grief.

Existential Dread is Normal

We all experience moments of existential dread. Whether it’s the Sunday scaries or a full-blown anxiety attack, these feelings are part of the human experience. A walk, a good night's rest, a post on saymore, and a chat with a friend can work wonders, even if just temporarily. 

Changing Your Mind is Empowering

It’s powerful to change your mind, your job, your city, or even your perspective. Embrace the ability to evolve and make new choices. This is your life, and you have the agency to shape it. Find your favorite podcasts or books that empower you to try something new. I like the podcast, We Can Do Hard Things with Glennon Doyle. 

You Can’t Do It All

It’s important to recognize your limits. The pressure to do everything can be overwhelming. Allow yourself to rest and reject the productivity culture that leaves you depleted. Do your best and let that be enough. You’ll have some wins, like leading that big meeting with execs. And some losses, like butchering one of the exec’s names and sweating through your blouse. Don’t worry, you’re not the first and you won’t be the last.

Final Reflections

As I prepare to enter my thirties, I realize that I’m still learning and growing. Each decade brings new challenges and opportunities for self-discovery. The beauty in that? We can always start over. 

If you have any twenties fallacies or lessons to share, please let me know in the comments. This journey is something we all go through, and each story adds richness to the collective experience.

Take a look around, join our conversations, and let me know how you’re doing. 

Here’s to embracing imperfections at any age and constantly learning life lessons. Cheers to the next chapter!

Hi everyone,

Welcome to the saymore blog! I'm Stephanie, the founder of saymore, this virtual mental wellness community. When launching saymore, I wanted to create a space where people can engage in nuanced, meaningful conversations and support one another. 

Today, I want to talk about something super important—voting. With November steadily approaching, using our voices to make a difference by voting in the general election is crucial.

You might feel a bit disillusioned or overwhelmed by the current political climate. I get it–it’s a weird time. For many, the American flag might not symbolize the same ideals it once did. But between Millennials and Gen Z, we make up the largest percentage of eligible voters in this general election. Our generations care deeply about social issues and making a positive impact, but it can feel like our efforts are futile when faced with the vastness of the challenges we want to tackle.

​​Just last night, I was talking with my girlfriend and asked her which social cause she felt most passionate about. I listed a few examples: intersectional feminism, queer rights, gun control, healthcare for all, education. She couldn’t choose just one and we ended up passionately discussing each topic! We shared a laugh, realizing how difficult it is to focus on just one issue when so many are important. The vast access to information makes it nearly impossible to ignore these matters, many of which are literally about life and death.

Turns out that in most of my conversations with loved ones, there's a recurring theme of feeling swamped by the volume and variety of issues. Emotions are high; change feels like it takes forever. The gravity and sheer amount of information out there can be paralyzing. It’s easy to feel that as one person, your vote doesn’t matter. Or that maybe, opting out of voting is easier because you don’t feel knowledgeable or affected enough. But your vote does matter.

Voting is one of the most powerful tools we have to shape our future. Even when the system is frustrating, your vote is a way to stand up for what you believe in, to push for progress, and to hold those in power accountable. Every vote counts, and it’s okay if you don’t know much about politics. Let’s have conversations and help each other.

I’ve compiled a list of reasons why your vote in this general election matters, especially now:

Your Vote In the General Election Is Your Voice

We’ve lived through significant events like the Russian hack, the insurrection, and the Supreme Court overturning long-standing policies. These include major policy changes that infringe on marginalized communities’ basic rights and freedoms. Events like these show how much impact a single election can have. It’s scary, but it also means that your vote can be used for good.

Don't Let Apathy Win

Older generations often rely on young voter apathy to maintain the status quo. Prove them wrong! Today’s youth are the ones who will live with the consequences of today's decisions. Everyone’s active participation is essential for creating a future we want to live in. By showing up at the polls and voting in the general election, young people send a powerful message that we’re engaged, informed, and determined to shape a better world. 

Progress Takes Time

Remember, progress isn’t always linear. Former President Obama (side note, I miss him) once said that progress can often feel like steps both forward and backward. That’s why we have to keep going. Every movement in history has faced setbacks, but history shows us that peoples’ persistence and resilience ultimately drive progress forward.

We’re Not Alone In The Fight

In my work to champion wellness, I meet so many dedicated people across industries —law, finance, social work, education, healthcare—who are working tirelessly to make the world a better place. Change is happening, even if it’s not always visible or looks turtle-slow. Every day, countless people are making differences big and small to work toward a fairer, more just society. By voting in the general election, you can contribute to a collective movement for positive change.

As a virtual wellness community, we at saymore believe in representation, freedom, equality, and justice. While no politician may perfectly align with all our ideals, not giving into ignorance and apathy is so important. Many heroes before us have fought for our right to vote, and we owe it to them and to each other to keep exercising that right. Vote for yourself, and if not, then vote for others who can’t.

Empowerment Through Community

One of saymore’s core values is creating a sense of community where we can discuss nuanced topics in a safe space. Voting is another way to empower ourselves and those around us. When we vote, we help ensure that our communities are represented and that our collective voice is heard. So, view saymore as another space to explore these issues together, ask questions, and share your experiences with a like-minded, diverse community. Knowledge is power.

Overcoming Feelings of Hopelessness

It’s easy to feel discouraged or even hopeless at times when the challenges ahead of us seem overwhelming. But remember, every major movement in history has faced similar feelings of despair. But through solidarity and persistence, people have still achieved remarkable changes. By voting, you signal that you still believe in the possibility of a better future. And that is such a beautiful and important thing to keep putting out into the world. 

A Call to Action 

So, I encourage you to please vote this November. Our voices matter. Share your thoughts, your feelings, and your motivations with us in the comments. Why are you voting, or why are you struggling with the decision? Let’s discuss and support each other through this. Use saymore’s virtual mental wellness community as a way to exchange ideas, ask the hard questions, and push for meaningful discussion.

And be sure to join any election threads to share your POV, ask questions, and/or learn more about the issues at stake this November and beyond. 

Your experiences and perspectives matter, and by sharing them, we can continuously learn from one another and grow stronger as a virtual mental wellness community.

Thank you for being part of our community, and for contributing your valuable thoughts, experiences, and questions. Let’s make our voices heard. 

Stephanie

About saymore

saymore is a virtual mental wellness community that helps people with shared curiosities, challenges, and goals find each other. Built on trust, saymore users can build and join supportive communities, discuss nuanced topics in safe spaces, and explore helpful products and services. For more information, visit saymoreco.com or @saymoreco on Instagram.

In the big wide world of the internet, there is no topic untouched. A trend on social media of “I have never had an original experience” is both a relief and a panic. I find myself leaning towards relief at knowing I have had the same experience no matter how specific or how broad it is among people from all over the world. But in times of turmoil, isolation, and social anxiety, I think many of us do not see ourselves reflected in the internet, specifically the current state of social media platforms.

Being on the bottom half of the millennial generation I was over “self care” culture aka schedule a meditation and have a salad. I am what my doctor calls a high functioning depressed person, which I assume means no one would know I had a perpetually low level of serotonin. I took pride in that until I didn’t. I wanted people to know that I didn’t wake up like this, I carefully crafted my days, my routines to make sure I was set up to be on when I needed to be. To keep me out of the dread soaked evenings. That’s when I went looking for people like me. 

One of my most recent ‘unoriginal experiences’ was quitting my job, leaving my city, and moving back in with my parents for a much needed reset.  I only told people on a need to know basis but it quickly became a conversion starter - “Good for you” was the response I got the most, believe it or not. People started opening up to me about their stories, their crises, all backgrounds, and all ages. I felt so silly for ever thinking “No one knows what this feels like” when people kept seeing themselves in my eyes. It was exactly what I needed. 

How saymore came to be is here but the short version is I wanted a digital place where I could go and be curious. I wanted a space that looked like me but held nuance and room for me to ask questions. A space that lived in the gray and strayed from the mainstream. Honest storytelling. Genuine solutions. Questions with different answers. 

If we have never had an original experience and we want to know more, I want saymore to be that online platform, that digital safe space. If we are all connected more than we could ever see on social media, I wanted saymore to be the platform people go to. And maybe, just maybe, if we all remember how alike we are, how human we are, then we can really make this place (gestures vaguely) a better place for everyone.  

What’s an experience you’ve had that you felt like only happened to you? I think you’d be surprised…I encourage you to say more.

A few popular topics on saymore lately…

Just starting therapy? You're not alone here

Struggling being a mom these days? Some people feel that way too here.

Women don’t get to dream like men do… what do you think? Look here.

Want to chat about mental health and social media? Continue the conversation here.