• Lawayne Dacosta is a 36-year-old mom to eight-year-old Londyn White, living in Atlanta.
• The mom and daughter recently scrolled through baby photos and realized they all had filters.
• While Lawayne regrets that she didn't take more unfiltered pictures.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Lawayne Dacosta. It has been edited for length and clarity.

My 8-year-old daughter, Londyn, recently had a school project for which she needed a baby photo. They were going to play a guess-that-baby game in class.

We sat down to flick through photos on my phone from when she was a baby and toddler, and there were so many photos that had been filtered on Snapchat — more than the number of unfiltered photos I had of her.

She thought they were funny

The app had been around for a few years, and everyone loved taking funny pictures with it. The flower headband was very in at the time. But I had never used the app much before Londyn was born.

I saved all the photos we had taken, and as we scrolled through them, Londyn particularly loved the one with a "for sale" sign.

"You were trying to sell me?" she asked, joking.

She also thought the one of her with a mustache was hilarious.

There wasn't any part of her that disliked all the filtered photos. She is quite familiar with filters now. It's part of her culture — the funny filters, cutesy ones, colored and monster ones. She and all her friends like to use them for fun.

The one thing she did ask was why there were so many baby pictures.

I used the filters to keep her entertained

During those baby days, we had endless time together. Playing around with the filters gave me something to do with her on what could sometimes be long days. Many photos were clearly taken on the same day, in the same clothes, having fun with all the different filters.

As she got older, I used interactive filters — like she would stick her tongue out, then you'd get a rainbow. It was like a game for us to play together.

The filters were also a way to hide myself and protect her. When I first had her, I wanted people to see her but I didn't want to send her picture out to everyone. Instead, I sent people photos of her with a cute little filter on it.

I rarely did my hair or makeup when she was just born, so the filtered photos gave me a chance to be in photos but cover up a bit. I could mask what I had going on.

I've mainly worked from home while Londyn has been little. She never went to day care, so I entertained her and found fun things to do together. We became so close.

We create content together now that she's older

As my daughter grew older, we continued using technology and apps to have fun and be creative together. We're digital creators together on Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube now. I learn so much from her, and she learns so much from me as we are creative together. She knows what she wants to make and leads the way. These are moments of her life I love getting to be part of.

I don't regret taking filtered photos — I had a lot of fun with them and so did my daughter as she got older. It laid a foundation for the fun we'd continue to have with each other.

But I have to admit, I do wish I had taken pictures without filters. Sometimes, I go back through photos and think how cute she looked at a certain stage, but I realize I don't have any photos of her in that stage without filters. It's only a tiny bit of regret.

• Mekela Watt is a 29-year-old in Bermuda Dunes, California, who was laid off in April 2024.
• For 300 days, she was unemployed, worried about how she would pay for food, rent, and bills.
• She has just started a new job and shares what she most looks forward to.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Mekela Watt. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I worked as a temp client services associate at a global music company for nearly two years when I got laid off. Since I was a temp, I didn't get any severance or benefits, but in California, temp workers qualify for six months of unemployment.

That first month of unemployment was a huge relief. I had hated that job — just logging on was triggering. But by the second month, although I was glad not to work a job I hated, I started worrying about how I would pay my bills.

I was unemployed for 300 days before finally securing a job in February 2025 as an Administrative Coordinator. I'm looking forward to these things with my new job.

Not worrying about bills

I have multiple health issues and payments for those issues I've had to ignore over the past 10 months. For example, right before I was laid off, I had an MRI that cost $500, and I haven't been able to pay that bill yet.

Rent was another expense we had to worry about. I thought we would be evicted from our house several times, especially when my husband wasn't working. Living with this fear kept me up at night. If we were evicted, we would have no housing options.

Not having to rely on GoFundMe to stay afloat

In August 2024, after months of unemployment, I set up a GoFundMe. I started it after we received a notice that our rent was going up, and I wasn't sure how we would manage.

It was embarrassing and a little defeating to set it up, but we had to survive. We received a little over $9,000, which significantly helped us from August to November.

I've never lived paycheck to paycheck, so taking out most of my savings to pay for bills has been worrying. Our financial padding kept getting thinner and thinner. I knew that we were close to having nothing to fall back on.

Not applying to jobs

Even though I had done everything people told me to do when applying for jobs, spending hours tailoring my résumé for applications and trying to form a personal connection, I was still getting endless rejection letters.

It made me question my worth and ability. I remember thinking if I was any good and asking myself if I was fired because of my quality of work.

I can keep my side hustle, and my husband doesn't have to work overtime

For years prior, I had resold pre-loved clothing. It was a fun little side hustle. When I tried to scale it to full time work while I was off a job, I realized it wasn't sustainable. It was no longer fun. I can keep doing it for fun now that I have a paycheck.

I'm also excited that my husband doesn't have to work overtime for weeks on end. When our GoFundMe money ran out, my husband worked constantly to pay our bills and was always exhausted.

I'm looking forward to being able to sleep again. For so long, I've fallen asleep, waking through the night worried about money.

During my unemployment, I received many well-meaning platitudes from people, such as, "This is God's plan. He'll provide." None of it helped.

I would have loved someone to tell me my worth wasn't tied to employment status and that surviving unemployment was proof of my resilience.

I cannot wait to be thriving rather than just surviving.

• Katie Zicarelli Gesell is a 34-year-old grief therapist who lives in Phoenix
• Her late wife unexpectedly died in 2018 after less than a year of marriage.
• When Katie was sick, her new spouse brought her the blanket of her late wife for comfort.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Katie Zicarelli Gesell. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I met Melissa, my first wife, when she contacted me online about my blog on long-distance relationships. When we met for the first time in 2015 our connection was instant. Conversation flowed and it felt like we had known each other forever. We started dating, and by 2017, we were married.

We decided on November 11 as our wedding date because we'd always text "I love you" when the clock read 11:11. It was a beautiful wedding at an outdoor nature center in Michigan. I was in my final year of grad school, and we were excited to spend time together without the added pressure of school. I loved Melissa so much, but it was shorter-lived than I would have hoped for.

She died shortly after

Only 10 months after we married, on September 3rd, 2018, Melissa suddenly died of cardiac arrest at only 27 years old. It was completely unexpected. Time just seemed frozen.

I lived in this complete fog, unable to fully understand what had happened. Even now, I don't have many memories from the first three months after she died. I'd show up to work and stare at my computer screen, unable to function.

Melissa and I had a mutual friend, Emily, who checked up on me after Melissa's death. She was always there and became a huge source of support for me through my grief.

I remember when we were in college, Emily and I had unsaid feelings for one another. Those feelings returned when we started spending more time together after Melissa's death. We started dating in June 2019 and were married in October 2022.

My new wife never tried to erase my memories with my late wife

Throughout our relationship, Emily has never tried to erase my memories or love for Melissa.

In January 2025, I was really sick in bed with nausea. Emily came into the room and told me she had something for me. I thought it would be our cat. But then I saw it was Melissa's Mexican-style blanket. "I brought this for you because this always gives you comfort when you're not feeling good," Emily told me as she covered me with it, tucking me in. It was no different than if she would have brought me any other comfort object. Such a sweet, simple gesture.

Melissa loved that blanket. After she died, I slept with it every night, eventually putting it away so the cats wouldn't chew at it. I often get it out and wrap myself in it through the autumn when I'm reminded of Melissa's birthday, her death, and our wedding anniversary.

I also often wear Melissa's ring. In fact, I wore the ring when Emily and I had engagement and wedding photos taken. I now use "Zicarelli" as my middle name — previously my last name when married to Melissa.

Emily has never been threatened by the comfort I find in that blanket, ring, my name change, or any memories of Melissa.

I love her more for that

When I wrote about Emily's lack of jealousy of my late spouse on Threads, I was surprised by the positive responses. In the past, I've been told it was disrespectful to my current partner to remember my past partner with such fondness — that I needed to move on. But not one person on Threads had a negative comment to say. It was really refreshing.

Nora McInerny, an author and widow I love, once said, "Love is not a competition, and a dead person is not much of a competitor." That's the way it should be in a new relationship with someone who has lost a spouse or partner. Emily often jokes, asking what she has to be jealous of — she knows I can't leave her for my dead wife.

I believe that if you are going to be with someone who has been widowed, then you've got to know you are signing up to love someone who will always also love someone else. You must embrace that part of them, just as you'd embrace any other part of who they are.

Emily has let me love and remember Melissa without letting it threaten my love for her. And I love her all the more for it.

• Juliet Stebbings walks a marathon every weekend with her son Harry, a prominent VC in London.
• She said she has always been close with her two sons thanks to learning about their interests.
• Stebbings shares the lessons she's learned raising two successful children.

This as-told-to essay is based on a transcribed conversation with Juliet Stebbings, the mother of Harry Stebbings, a prominent VC based in London and Charlie Stebbings, the host of "Business of Sport" podcast. The following has been edited for length and clarity

When I found out I was pregnant with my oldest, Charlie, I gave up my full-time job to be a mother. It wasn't a moral decision. I just adored children and adored being a mother. It wasn't a difficult choice for me.

Now that Harry and Charlie are adults, Charlie with a family of his own, I still work to connect with both the boys. Harry is a founder and managing partner of 20VC, a successful venture capital firm, and Charlie hosts the podcast "Business of Sport."

We still have a family holiday on the Essex coast each year, and I often make Sunday roasts for everyone to come enjoy. I'll talk to them on the phone throughout the week.

In lockdown, Harry and I were in the same bubble and started walking together. I was diagnosed with MS in 2009. I'd always been fit, but the doctors told me I had to rest. I wasn't able to run anymore, but I could walk, and I did it often with Harry.

These walks continued past lockdown. Every Saturday, Harry and I walk around London. In 2024, we walked 34 marathons together. In 2025, we will walk 52 — one a week. The time commitment is great, but it's never been a question.

Having a close relationship with my sons that involves lots of communication has impacted their development. It has given them grounding, security, and confidence.

I've tried to make a habit of quality time with my kids from an early age

I had Charlie when I was 28 and Harry two and a half years later.

As a girly girl with two boys, I had two options: either get left out or join in. I learned football, rugby, and cricket. I took them to watch airplanes take off at Heathrow. I'd collect them from school, and we'd have dinner around the table most evenings. These were precious times to hear them download about their days.

Charlie went to boarding school at 13, followed by Harry. I started working three days a week, making sure I still had time to see them on weekends. It was difficult to let them go.

Being a big part of their lives and listening to what they had to say has always been a priority. Parents are busy, but I always had 10 minutes to sit down, go for a walk, or have a cup of coffee together — just to listen. I think it's had a positive effect on their development as adults.

I learn my children's interests so I can have useful conversations with them

Though the boys are very close, they have always been different. Harry has been finance-oriented since he was 14, while Charlie wanted to have a career in sports.

I've never tried to make them into something they aren't. Instead, I embraced who they were and supported them in doing what they wanted. I don't think I shaped their career paths, I just tried to build their confidence.

When they were kids, I tried to expose them to what they were interested in. Whatever they were interested in, I learned about, so I could discuss with them.

When they were doing English exams at school, I would read the books they were studying so I could talk about them in the car. When Charlie showed an interest in sports, I learned all about Ronaldo.

I do the same now — learning about banking systems so I can talk to Harry about it on a walk. Sometimes it sounds like he is speaking a different language it's so technical. But now I've learned more about venture capital, I can ask him better questions and give him a different perspective. I listen to cricket on the radio, so that I can talk to Charlie about it. It's fantastic and gives us much more to talk about.

They also make an effort to show interest in what I love. Harry knows so much about Chanel and fashion. It's my passion. I think it's really important that they learn to listen as well as be heard.

Giving my kids space meant they came back to me

Although our bond was and is close, I've never been a helicopter parent. I knew if I wanted them to come back, I had to let them go. Although I had boundaries as a parent, I also trusted my kids.

After Harry's first term studying law, he told me university wasn't working for him. He told me he'd be wasting three years if he stayed in school. Instead, he planned a self-funded trip to San Francisco at 19, knowing he had a few contacts in venture capital out there.

I told him I would help him get back to London if he needed me. Kids need to know that you're always their mum and that you're always there for them. Security is important for them.

I trusted him when he left university for San Francisco. This opportunity helped him fulfill his dreams of working in VC. The trip introduced him to another level of working. He came home adopting the mindset, "Be so good they can't ignore you."

I've tried to strike a balance between being protective and supportive as my kids grow. We've always been close, but our relationship has evolved with age.

No matter what my children did with their lives, they knew I would be proud of them if they were happy, doing what they wanted, and working their hardest.

• LaVina Hawkins is a 45-year-old who lives in Gaithersburg, Maryland.
• When she was 9, she went to her first sleepover and was teased by the other girls.
• She called her mom and asked if she'd come pick her up.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with LaVina Hawkins. It has been edited for length and clarity.

When I was 9, I got my first invitation to a sleepover. We had just moved from the Bronx to Virginia Beach. The birthday girl gave cute invitations to the girls in my class. I knew my mom wouldn't let me — that I would be the only one who wouldn't be allowed to go.

My mom had always been very strict about sleepovers. All my siblings knew it wasn't a question — we were never allowed to stay at someone else's house. My mom had experienced things as a child, and she wanted to protect us from the same happening to us.

When I told the birthday girl I knew I wouldn't be allowed to go, she said she could ask her mom to call my mom. The mom called my mom and said there would be no men or boys at the house for the sleepover. My mom conceded — I could go. I was ecstatic. The invitation had a little list of what we would need, including a sleeping bag. Since I didn't have one, we bought one ready.

I was so excited. I'd only heard about sleepovers and seen them on TV, and they looked really fun.

Before I went, my mom told me I could call her if I didn't feel safe or just didn't want to be at the sleepover anymore. She'd be there right away to pick me up.

I called her, and she came as promised

When I arrived, I knew most of the girls there, besides a few of the girl's family members. The mother ordered pizza, which was shaping up to be a good time.

After the pizza, we went upstairs, and as I got to the top, the birthday girl's cousin pushed me into the wall. Then, she started talking about how my braids were ugly, asking me why I had them in my hair. Everyone else started following the cousin's lead in making fun of my hair.

I didn't fight back but I did run downstairs and told the mother. She called all the girls downstairs and tried to handle it, but when I returned upstairs, it was radio silence. No one would speak to me. I'd become an outsider. It felt awful to be excluded after having been invited.

All I could think to do was phone my mom.

I went downstairs and used the home phone to call her.

"Mom, come get me," I said.

"I'm on my way," she replied.

She didn't ask what happened — she just said she was coming. I felt so safe.

Minutes later, she knocked on the door, and I got my things and left with her.

Once we were in the car, she asked what happened. She told me sometimes people are afraid of what they don't know. She said everything was OK — that I was safe. We went out for ice cream and then watched movies together.

She reminded me that she would always show up for me when needed

Throughout our childhood, my mom kept saying the same thing to myself and my siblings — that she would come to pick us up if ever we felt unsafe and needed her.

I remember when I was in high school, I had been out with friends of friends and everyone had been drinking. One person said they would drive us. I said I would call my mom to come get me. The friend I was with didn't want me to, but I told her that it didn't matter where we were or what we were doing; my mom would come get us without asking a single question.

Mom came and got me. The friends whose car I refused to get in ended up getting in a car accident that night. The driver died.

Years later, when my second child was just a few months old, I was struggling with postpartum depression. I woke up one morning and felt awful, like checking out. I didn't want to feed my child.

But I wasn't ashamed to call my mom. She wouldn't judge me. She would just come. "Mom, come get me," I told her over the phone. She knew from my voice something was off.

"I'm on the way," she said. She kept me on the phone until she got to my house.

With my own five children, I've told them the same thing my mom used to tell me. They can always call me, and I will come get them, no matter where they are.

• Lori Meo is a 56-year-old mom of young adult children in Rhode Island.
• Her children still live in the family home, and she does not charge them rent.
• Since her kids turned 18, they could have boyfriends and girlfriends sleep over.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Lori Meo. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I was raised in a super liberal, open home, but my husband was raised in a much more conservative, traditional family. He and his siblings felt they had to conform to their parents' expectations, and it didn't serve any of them. I always felt I would never raise my kids that way. The choices we've made in parenting were, in part, a reaction to the type of childhood my husband had.

Now that my children are adults, we have made three parenting choices that might be controversial.

We haven't made them leave the house

When both of my children turned 18, I didn't want them to feel like I was pushing them out the door. I've always had the mentality that I don't care when they leave or if they never leave. Some people tell their kids that when they turn 18, they need to find a place to live and make their own lives. That seems crazy to me.

Neither of my kids has ever left home. My rule was that they would either have to work or go to school. I would never allow them to stay home all day playing video games. They started working full-time as soon as they left high school, so I was happy for them to live at home.

What's the rush to get them out? The economy is terrible, and we get along great.

Three years ago, we moved to a bigger house on a farm because we didn't want the kids to feel they needed to quickly move out.

We live as a group of adults in the house now. My mom also lives with us. Every night, we have a family dinner together, which also functions as a family meeting where we discuss what is happening in our lives and get feedback on decisions that need to be made.

I don't treat them like children by giving them unsolicited advice.

We'll all let each other know if we're going out and when we'll be back, but I don't monitor them. It's just living as adults with mutual respect.

I don't make them pay rent

When my first child turned 18, I told my husband I didn't think we should make him pay rent.

We briefly discussed whether we would make him pay rent and then give it back. But when he was first working, making so little money, we struggled to think of a reasonable amount we'd charge.

It would have been a different conversation if we needed the money from rent, but as we could cover everything, my husband and I were happy with the decision not to charge rent.

While the kids don't pay the mortgage, food bills, or house bills, we did have a discussion and arrived at the conclusion that they would pay for their portion of car insurance and phone bills on our family plan and save a portion of their income.

I don't want to demand anything from them, but they are considerate people and find their own ways to contribute to the household.

Because we openly communicate with each other, I know that both children are saving part of their salaries, but I don't demand to see their accounts. If they aren't saving at the rate I think it appropriate — that's on them. It's going to cost them in the long run.

We talk a lot about money at our house — they aren't shielded from the realities of the real world. They're well-educated about finances. My son has actually already been pre-approved for a mortgage and hopes to buy a house in the next couple of years.

They can bring girlfriends and boyfriends to stay overnight

When my son was 18, he started dating a girl who lived 45 minutes away from us. They would drive back and forth between houses in the early morning hours, sometimes on snowy nights. My son finally said he was just going to have his girlfriend stay overnight.

I can't say my husband and I were immediately thrilled. We talked about if we'd be OK with it. We arrived at the conclusion that it made sense to let his girlfriend stay over — they were adults.

We went on to maintain this decision. Since they both turned 18, they can have their boyfriend or girlfriend stay over whenever they want as long as it is a long-term committed relationship. This is their home, too.

Some people have asked how I know if it's a long-term relationship. While I can't know for sure, my kids know I don't want them having a date here and there staying over. They know that wouldn't fly.

I think this means they don't feel pressured to get an apartment while testing out a relationship. I hope that when they build a life with someone, it will be for the right reasons — not because they needed to get an apartment to get out of the house.

• Kate Curtis is a 46-year-old mom of two who lives in London.
• In 2022, her mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, and Kate quickly became her carer.
• Juggling her role as an employee, wife, mother, and carer has been a struggle.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Kate Curtis. It has been edited for length and clarity.

Just under three years ago, in June 2021, my mom, who lives next door, came to my house and told me she thought something was wrong with her memory. She couldn't think of the word she needed. We called the doctor together, and he did a simple memory test over the phone, which she passed.

But in the days and weeks after, we noticed she would do things like cook dinner and not put it on the plate, forget to turn the oven off, or how to use the washing machine. My dad called me and told me he was worried — it had to be something more.

She was diagnosed with Alzheimer's at 71

In February 2022, I took my mom to a memory clinic, and the results of her memory test were bad. She couldn't draw a clock face or tell the doctor three words beginning with the letter "p." The doctor initially diagnosed mild cognitive impairment, but after an ECG, CT scan, and consultant appointment, Mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. She was only 71.

I think she knew she had it for years and had been masking it. She was calm when diagnosed. I was devastated.

To prepare myself for what was ahead, I had eight counseling sessions and prepared coping mechanisms to help me as her illness progressed, like imagining a cloak of protection over me when I stepped into her house or standing in a room alone to breathe slowly.

When she was first diagnosed, I continued to work full time. I'd go in to help her get ready in the morning, be at work at 9 a.m., and then come home to take care of my own kids and then my mom.

Initially, she could still take the bus places and even volunteer. But her independence declined quickly. My dad was also diagnosed with Parkinson's.

I had to quit my job

By the end of 2023, I knew I needed to reduce my work hours to two days. I was hopeful that this would allow me to meet the needs of my parents, my family, and my work.

However, after only a month of working part-time, I was mentally unstable, exhausted, and highly stressed. I needed antidepressants to get me through.

I took sick leave and eventually resigned in March 2024 to care for Mom and Dad full time.

Although I don't regret looking after my mom, it has been a sacrifice for my family. It's taken a huge financial toll — we can only afford to pay for our basic necessities, but not the extras. We can't afford a family holiday, and I can't get my kids the things or experiences all their friends have.

My husband sometimes gets frustrated by the restraints of our situation, but he understands and is completely supportive.

My two children, ages 13 and 15, have become incredibly strong human beings. Their emotional intelligence has surpassed what I had ever imagined. Communication with them has been key. I've never sugar-coated what's happening, but have always explained why I'm doing what I do for my mom — why I am making sacrifices for her.

I've also drilled it into them that they are my priority. I would drop everything to take care of them. Recently my dad rang and said that my mom was having a bad day and could use some help. I told him my daughter really needed me — I couldn't come over.

I had to set boundaries

Over the last year, I've established boundaries to protect time with my family. By 4:30 p.m., I've taken my mom back to her house and am in the house for my kids — to make and eat dinner with them and chat with them about things other than their grandmother.

For a while, I was going over to put my mom to bed around 8:30 p.m. — I've now moved that to around 6:30 p.m., so I have the evening with my husband.

Increasingly, I realize that the whole ship goes down if I go down. I've got to protect myself, but don't have much time to do so. Just little things like having a cup of tea in the garden, walking for 10 minutes around the park, asking a friend to help with Mom, or watching mindless TV, make a huge difference to my mental health and give me the fortitude to carry on.

These last few years haven't been easy, but I know this season won't last forever. Things have changed, and I am sure they will change again. I've evolved in the past, and I'll continue to do so in the future. This won't be forever.

• Christine Cole is a 50-year-old in Maryland who met her now husband on an airplane 10 years ago.
• She and her husband Jesse were married nine months after meeting.
• They recently reflected on their relationship as they walked through the same airport where they met.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Christine Cole. It has been edited for length and clarity.

Following the Christmas of 2014, I was heading back to Washington, D.C., after visiting my family in Idaho. I remember wanting to look cute for no particular reason for the trip home. I sat on the plane in my assigned seat, and this guy put his backpack in the overhead bin. He fumbled as he sat down next to me, accidentally elbowing me. He was overly apologetic, which turned into a conversation that lasted until my layover in Denver.

My first impression of him was what a good smile he had.

He openly shared about a lot that was going on in his life at the time, including finalizing a divorce. It seemed like a relief for him to have someone to talk to, to ask him questions.

A little voice inside me said that this was a good guy. Turns out I wasn't wrong.

I gave him my business card

Before we got off the plane, I gave him my business card because I thought he could use a friend. As we waited to get off the plane, he asked where my next gate was, offering to walk with me through the airport to my gate. That's what he did, and it didn't feel at all weird to walk with this stranger through an airport.

Before going to our separate gates, I gave him a quick hug. He said he would reach out.

A couple of days later, I had an email from him reintroducing himself to make sure I had remembered him. I knew exactly who he was. He told me how he appreciated our conversation and how I had treated him with respect. He felt I had really listened to him. He wrote that he wanted to talk to me more but didn't want to disrupt my life.

I remember thinking: "Oh you silly man. Don't you know that I want my life to be disrupted?"

The first time we talked on the phone, we were on for 11 hours

I emailed him back, and we scheduled a time to talk on New Year's evening. We talked for 11 hours, never running out of things to discuss. We decided to continue to get to know one another through texting, emailing, and messaging — that we wouldn't talk on the phone again or flirt until his divorce was finalized. We wanted to build a friendship.

After his divorce was finalized in February 2014, he asked if we could video chat. When we did, he was at one of his favorite places on the Idaho Falls River. He asked me to be his girlfriend. I said yes.

Over the next weeks, we continued to get to know one another long-distance. I had fallen in love with him and wanted to marry him, something we were discussing at the time.

He proposed and I proposed back

When he visited me in March 2014, the first time seeing him since we'd first met, I introduced him to friends and family — everyone liked him. He just kept showing me who he was. By the end of that trip, we were engaged.

Not only did he propose to me, but I proposed back to him with a ring. That turned out to be really important to both of us. We both had an equal say in the relationship. It was the first time I felt on equal ground in a relationship.

He went back to his job, which involved lots of travel.

Three weeks later, he phoned to say he had been laid off — par for the course in contracted work. He could either stay where he was or visit me in between jobs. I told him to come to me.

While he was still with me, I got pneumonia. I was in hospital for nearly two weeks. Jesse rarely left the hospital, became a caretaker, and communicated with my parents twice daily. He showed his true colors.

I left the hospital with a PICC line, unable to walk on my own. If he hadn't been there, I would have had to go into a rehabilitation center.

During this time, we started planning a life together. He looked for jobs and found one in Maryland. We got an apartment in Calvert County. I was still weak, so Jesse organized everything with the house move. I only had energy for work and getting healthy again.

We got married 9 months after meeting

We were married in September 2015, about nine months after meeting.

Ten years after meeting, we are still married. Everything he said about who he was in those early days was true. He had been totally honest.

We were just visiting my parents in Utah for Christmas. He was going on to work in Texas for a job while I headed back to Maryland. We were back at Denver airport again, 10 years later, walking through the same concourse together and remembering how special it felt when we first met and fell in love.

No marriage is perfect. We all have our ups and downs. We work hard to treat each other with respect and have discussions instead of fights. I know some people say you shouldn't have to work on relationships. You absolutely should have to work at it, but I guess it doesn't necessarily have to feel like work if it's something you want to do.

• Amelia Samson is a 31-year-old content creator in Seattle.
• She briefly spoke with a good-looking firefighter during an emergency at her house.
• She wanted to find him, so she drew a stick figure of him and posted it online.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Amelia Samson. It has been edited for length and clarity.

In October 2022, I hosted a little party at my house to celebrate the 100th episode of the podcast I co-hosted. Early in the evening, 10 of my friends and I were on the roof having drinks.

My friend had brought a date that none of us knew. Although she seemed fine when she first showed up, someone asked her if she was OK minutes after she arrived. She was swaying and falling over. We were trying to figure out what was happening. All of a sudden, she flopped over and started vomiting, her eyes rolling back. Multiple people jumped to hold her up and turn her on her side so she didn't choke.

We called 911. Shortly after, firefighters turned up at the house. I guess emergency services were really busy that night, so firefighters were all they had to send. These men were stunning. To guests who were showing up during the mayhem, it actually looked like we had ordered strippers.

There was one firefighter that stood out

Last to come out of the truck was a firefighter who looked like he was 6ft3, built, and had the standard firefighter mustache and the kindest eyes. Everyone at the party was whispering to each other about how handsome he was.

He was the one who went up to check on the clearly unwell girl. He gently talked to her and asked her some questions. As the other firefighters prepared to leave, he asked me about our podcast. I saw his wedding finger and he didn't have a ring.

Once they left, everyone talked about what had happened and the attractive man who came to the rescue.

I drew a stick figure to find him

In the following days, my friends made jokes about the firefighter. Kicking myself for not talking to him more, I briefly flicked through fire department rosters. After a few minutes, I decided to let the internet do its thing: I drew a stick figure of him and posted a video of it on TikTok. Almost immediately, a friend of the guy's wife got in touch to say she knew exactly who it was but that he was married and a new dad.

I made a quick, funny video response of being sad about the revelation but then moved on.

A month later, I was tagged in a video that showed a mug with my drawing on it in front of the fire station. I thought it was the best thing ever. Apparently, one of the firefighters' wives had seen the drawing and put it on mugs to give to the fire department.

I was glad they could laugh about it — it was so lighthearted.

Just a few weeks later, I was tagged in another video, but I didn't see the tag until a few months later, in February 2023. The firefighter's niece had posted a video of everyone in his family posing with T-shirts they had all received for Christmas with the stick figure drawing on them, with his relation to them underneath the drawing. His dad's T-shirt read "son," and his niece's T-shirt said "uncle."

I got to experience the best of the internet

I just loved this outcome. I'm assuming that his wife had filmed the video because she wasn't in it, and the voice laughing behind the camera was a woman. How great that she could laugh about it and not be offended that other people think her husband is hot.

But every single time I see a fire truck, I try very hard not to make eye contact with the guys in the truck. I'd be mortified if one of them recognized me.

When I shared this on social media, most people told me they loved this story — it was so much fun. This was the very best of the internet. It connected people and made people laugh.

Lauren Crosby Medlicott speaks to those inside Goma about dead bodies on the streets and overwhelmed hospitals

• Eliane Boucher is a 43-year-old mother of two living in Cranston, Rhode Island.
• She took a part time, seasonal job in retail after being made redundant from her remote senior position.
• She said it has been refreshing to see coworkers in person.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Eliane Boucher. It has been edited for length and clarity.

After my company's acquisition, I was laid off from my senior director role. I had watched much of my team already impacted by the layoffs, so I could see my own layoff coming. It was tough to find out when it became official, but at least I had time to prepare for what was next.

Since my job would be phased out starting in August 2024, I started looking for other jobs similar to the one I'd had. When I saw that there weren't many being advertised, I widened my search to include the types of job responsibilities I enjoyed, even if they were in different industries. The problem is that there aren't many jobs right now to apply for in my niche area — especially as the tech industry has been hit so hard.

I needed a job to provide for my family

As a single parent to two children, the financial impact of not having a job was looming from the moment I found out my job was being phased out. I set aside some money, but facing a long period of not having income and chipping away at my savings was scary.

I knew unemployment alone wouldn't provide enough for a single-income household to survive.

But it wasn't only the money I was thinking about. In fact, I was more worried about the mental health impact of sitting at home every day, all day, looking for jobs, and waiting for people to respond to my applications. It's demoralizing and a recipe for depression. I do better when I'm over-scheduled — probably related to my ADHD.

In October 2024, I had an email from an outdoor retail shop I have shopped at, respect, and love asking people to apply for part time, seasonal work over the holidays.

I found out through research that in Rhode Island, I could earn a certain percentage of money from a part time job and still collect unemployment. It would be a way to boost my income without sacrificing unemployment payments.

Since taking on shifts while continuing to look for another full-time job, I have loved seeing coworkers in person and getting dressed up to leave the house.

I love helping people

One thing I know about myself is that I need meaning and purpose in my work. If I'm going to get out of bed and spend hours working, I want to feel that what I'm doing has value.

When working in digital health, the purpose was found in macro level things where I was focused on the greater food and micro level things where I helped my colleagues push projects along.

In the retail setting, meaning and purpose can be found, too. Like in helping a customer get what they need — perhaps someone who has lost a lot of weight and doesn't know what size they are or a woman whose husband has just been diagnosed with cancer and needs a new pair of shoes. These seem like small problems to help people fix, but I can help ease their stress and feel I am doing something good. That feeling makes me excited to go back the next day — to see who I'd meet and what problems I could solve.

I've learned important skills

I've also learned that people working in retail have to be very quick to identify the customer's type and what level of help they need from me and then actually help them.

In my previous role, I dealt with customers and supported sales teams. I had to think about who my stakeholders were and how to pitch a message and change things for them. It's the same in retail but in hyperdrive.

You'll have multiple customers in a single day. They all have different personalities, needs, and price points. You have to work quickly with each one, adjusting your communication style and tactics on the fly. It's a really strong skill set. We probably under-appreciate it as a lower-end, less desirable type of job generally, but the skills you get in sales and people management are huge.

I'll probably still work shifts after I find a full-time job

I'm not trying to glamorize retail work — I know there are a lot of downsides to it. It can be very hard work, is often underpaid, and you might get difficult customers.

Even though I worked in retail when I was much younger, already appreciative of how hard the job can be, my recent retail work has made me sympathetic and empathetic. I can joke with the person who is the grocery store clerk about how difficult it has been because I'm in their shoes.

Even once I get another full-time job, I hope to continue taking shifts here and there to continue working in the retail setting.

• Todd Fox founded Close Protection Corps and provides protective services, assessments, and training.
• The Marine veteran started the business in the 1990s doing ad hoc bodyguard trips to Mexico.
• Fox shares what it takes to protect C-suite execs and reflects on the UnitedHealthcare shooting.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Todd Fox, the 50-year-old CEO of Close Protection Corps about his work as a bodyguard for high-profile clients. He has no affiliation or direct involvement with UnitedHealthcare's security operation. The following has been edited for length and clarity.

In the late '90s, I came out of active duty in the Marine Corps to start my own private security business, Close Protection Corps, specializing in working with celebrities, dignitaries, and C-suite executives.

I did the bulk of my "on-ground" close protection of C-suite individuals from 1999 up until the COVID-19 pandemic while also managing my company. Now, I primarily spend my time consulting and training.

I've followed the news about the UnitedHealthcare CEO shooting. Since the event, representatives from corporations have contacted us to assess their security programs. It's been a wake-up call for companies.

I started my own company after doing stints as a bodyguard

I joined the Marine Corps in 1992. I was based in California and trained in combat, riflery, and fitness, as well as general orders relative to security, like learning to protect a convoy or individual and plan for advanced military operations.

While a Marine, I was also a professional MMA fighter in LA. I would meet actors, producers, and directors in the gym or while working on sets as an advisor.

These people in the industry knew about my fighting skills, military background and that I could speak Spanish. They would sometimes ask me to work as their bodyguard and accompany them to Mexico on their vacations or work trips.

In 1999, Guy Ritchie was training at my gym in LA. He was dating Madonna at the time and asked if I'd join her security team so he could keep training with me while she was on tour. It was around this time that I started my company, Close Protection Corps. We provide protective services, assessments, and training.

Protecting a C-suite executive looks different from protecting a celebrity

When I start working with a close protection client, I initially collected information about the principal, or client: what is important to them, what sways them to make decisions, and what might make them vulnerable.

I then built a plan or structure of protection. It would cover their home, office, and vehicles, especially considering spaces that are exposed — such as the walk from the car to the office. I'd think about where their weaknesses were and try to "harden the target" by limiting exposure to risks.

On the job, I would be constantly aware of what is not normal compared to what is normal.

If I noticed something out of the ordinary — an anomaly — I'd evaluate whether it was benign or critical. If it was critical, then I'd make a choice. Maybe we'd change or modify our initial plan or behavior, cancel operations, or evacuate.

I'd wake up before the principal and meet them at the start of their day with a driver. In most cases, there'd be a second man, the advance guy, who'd go before us to check the environment we were heading into. I'd spend the rest of my day going wherever the principal went.

When the principal went to bed, I'd plan for the next day. I typically only got between four and six hours of sleep and worked 16 to 18 hours each day. It was very busy, and you see a lot of burnout.

C-suite individuals are extremely wealthy and will ultimately do what they want to do. They may not stick to the plan I set, so I'd put measures in place if things didn't go as planned.

When I was protecting a C-suite individual, my life became their life. I saw what they saw and heard what they heard. It's why NDAs and discretion are so important with bodyguards — we have access to things we shouldn't have access to, but there's no way around it.

C-suite individuals tend to be on the go, on private jets, in hotels and restaurants, and at speaking engagements. There's a lot of movement, and we move with them.

Protecting a celebrity requires even more fluidity. They don't have the same structured world that a business leader does and change plans on a whim. It can be challenging to create order. As a broad stroke, it's easier to find the baseline and anomalies for C-suite executives than it is for celebrities.

The UnitedHealthcare CEO shooting should be a wake-up call

When Brian Thompson arrived at that building, which was an expected plan, there appeared to be no one to advance the site he'd be arriving at, to receive him, or to look out for people who were acting weird or doing odd things that would have been concerning indicators.

Since the shooting, we've had large corporations' executive assistants and operations managers contact us to assess their existing in-house security programs.

I think the shooting was a wake-up call for companies. They need to protect their chief assets — their people — and if there's any known or documented threat or risk, it's overwhelmingly worth it to have security in place. The knowledge someone like a CEO has is worth the cost of a security protection team.

Editor's note: In response to a request for comment from Business Insider, a UnitedHealth Group spokesperson shared the following:

"We appreciate the media's interest in the real security threat that sensationalist media coverage can pose, but publishing an interview with a security expert lacking actual knowledge of the facts is simply another example of just that."

• Alisha Pasha is a 26-year-old from Pakistan, and is now living in Dubai.
• She had her first baby in March 2021 and stayed at her mom's house for 30 days after giving birth.
• Each time she visits her mom, or her mom visits her, Alisha feels she can rest.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Alisha Pasha. It has been edited for length and clarity.

When I first found out I was pregnant, I was shocked. I had been planning to move with my partner to the UK to study for my Master's, but with my pregnancy, we decided to stay in Pakistan.

The thought of becoming a mother was both exciting and overwhelming. I was confused about how I would manage to care for a baby while working and studying.

When my son was born in March 2021, I immediately drove from where I was living to stay with my mom. In Pakistani and Indian culture, it's tradition that a woman who gives birth stays at her parents' house for 30 to 40 days before returning home.

I was eager to keep this tradition, so my son and I moved in with my parents, with my partner coming back and forth for visits.

My mom took care of me

For 30 days, I lived with my parents and was cared for by my mom.

She went out of her way to care for me, her child. She'd sleep with me, waking whenever I woke to feed the baby, letting me sleep while she held him.

During the day, my son often slept, so I would sleep then, too, knowing my mom was sorting everything else that needed doing in the house.

My mom cooked every single meal for me during those early weeks. I never set foot in the kitchen. All the meals she made me were cooked with ingredients aiding in recovery after birth.

I remember drinking a lot of chicken and beef broth and having turmeric milk every night.

She was taking care of me so I could take care of my baby and rest after labor. I was both a mother and a child during those 30 days.

I feel taken care of when I'm with my mom

When I returned home after being at my mom's house, life felt difficult. It was a huge adjustment to learn how to juggle my work and the baby. My partner is a very hands-on dad, but his job required him to work long hours, so most of the caring responsibility was left to me.

While we lived in Pakistan, I would drive four hours with my son every two months to stay with my parents. As soon as I got close to their house, I could feel the 'mother' in me leave my body. It was like a child would come into my soul — I knew both myself and my baby were about to be taken care of by my mom.

I'd often save a lot of my work for these trips, as my parents could have the baby, and take care of all the household duties.

In October, my partner and I moved to Dubai, a three-and-a-half-hour plane ride from my mom. Recently, my mom and dad visited us. It was the first time I had ever hosted them in my house. I wanted to take care of them while they were here, as they have always been the ones taking care of me and my baby.

But my mom, being my mom, constantly helped out around the house. She mended clothes, cooked food, mopped floors, and cleaned dishes. I tried so hard to stop her, but I suppose it's in her nature to help her own child as much as she could. She wanted me to rest, and I did. Just her being around gave me the license to relax.

My parents' visits have been good for me and my son. He loves his grandparents so much. I love their bond and seeing how the little child in them bursts out when they're around him.

One day, I know I'll be the kind of mom to my son that my mom has been to me.

• Andrew Jernigan, 51, has moved with his family between the US and Brazil multiple times.
• The last time he lived in Brazil, his children were teenagers and found the move difficult.
• He says that when moving with kids older than 12, parents need to think about safety and college.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Andrew Jernigan, CEO of Insured Nomads. It has been edited for length and clarity.

The first time I moved to Brazil was in 2000 to marry a Brazilian woman I had been introduced to by a friend and had been writing to for quite some time. We were engaged on my first visit and married the following year after I moved there.

My family has moved four times between the US and Brazil. We learned that there are more things to consider when moving with teenagers than when moving with little kids.

We moved to Brazil, so our kids could connect with their mom's culture

After getting married, my wife and I moved back to the US and then to Ghana for a time for her work. In 2008, we decided to take some time to live back in Brazil with our three young children. We wanted our children, who were half Brazilian, to learn Portuguese and be exposed to different cultures. We also wanted to live somewhere for a while with a low cost of living to enjoy the benefits of the dollar's value.

We moved back to the US when I had a job opportunity in Northern California. It was an adventure with fun times in the Bay Area, hiking in the mountains, and a community of diverse nationalities that the kids thrived in as well. My wife pursued further education while there, then her MBA and MPH at the University of Alabama. A company in Brazil hired her, so we made another move to Brazil in 2019.

When we lived in Brazil without children or with young children, there was nothing but good about living abroad. The cost of living was cheaper, and the children could attend local schools, pick up the language, and experience Brazilian culture. As a family, we'd escape to the mountains and seaside for days out. We felt that we could have lived there forever.

During the last stint of living in Brazil, from 2019 to 2021, our children were all over the age of 12, and we had to consider their futures and their safety.

We had to budget for private schools

My kids wanted the opportunity to attend universities outside Brazil. This meant that we couldn't put them in the local Brazilian schools because they wouldn't allow them to work toward SATs or A-levels to get into American or British universities.

Instead, we budgeted to place them in the American School of Rio de Janeiro. They got a great education and were exposed to expats from all around the world, but it was very expensive.

The school didn't have the same level of sports clubs as in the US. My daughter had played lacrosse, and my son wanted to row for the crew — neither of those sports was available to them in Brazil.

We moved back to the US for many reasons

As teenagers, they wanted to be independent of us, but we had to be very watchful of them due to safety concerns. They could be targets of theft and even kidnapping. We know it happens, and were very protective of them going around the city on their own.

Whereas in the US, we wouldn't think twice about leaving them at parties or going to a friend's house, we were always on alert for their whereabouts and who they were with if they were out of the house while we were in Brazil.

There were little things they missed, too. They missed comfort foods like peanut butter and American candy. And we all missed our extended family.

But the main reason we came back to the US in 2021 was my kids' trajectory in school. Reintegrating back into American schools as teenagers had its challenges. Their friends had been in school together, going to birthday parties together, and attending summer camps together for three years.

My kids had missed all of it and had to figure out how to insert themselves back into their old world.

We miss life in Brazil

Even though we knew moving back to the US was the right thing to do while our children were still teens, we still remember the incredible beaches, forests, and mountains of Brazil. We all miss being able to quickly access the rugged, wild outdoors. There were always cultural activities we could go to as a family, and we spent hours eating together at restaurants with some of the best food I've ever tasted.

Even though we haven't ruled out living in Brazil in the future, we'll wait to move back until our kids are out of the house. But we'll be sure to visit often until we return to live again.

• Courtney Ellis is a 42-year-old mom of three in Mission Viejo, California.
• She found a used train set online and agreed to buy a quarter of the set.
• When she went to collect the set, the seller gave her the entire set for no extra cost.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Courtney Ellis, author of Looking Up. It has been edited for length and clarity.

Ten years ago, my husband and I moved with our 2-year-old son from Wisconsin to California to work at a church. My husband was finishing a Ph.D., and our only source of income was a pastoral position at the church, which we split between the two of us.

We were eating through our savings just to make ends meet, living in a tiny condo, and hoping that in time, we'd both be able to take on more hours at the church.

Our first Christmas in California, I wanted to make our son's Christmas special despite the stress of money and budgeting. Retrospectively, I can now see he would have been just as happy with a cardboard box, but at the time, as his mom, I wanted to be able to give him the world.

I couldn't afford the train set

I'd recently found a train table at a garage sale for $5. Whoever had it previously had colored all over it with crayons, hence the price.

Knowing I needed trains to accompany the table, I looked online and found a beautiful Thomas the Tank Engine set just a mile away. It had all the character trains and accessories. When I saw the price, I knew I couldn't afford the full set, so I asked the seller if I could just buy a quarter of it. I knew she might say no — that she might want to sell it as a package — but I asked, and she agreed.

She asked what part of the set I wanted, and I requested enough tracks to make a circle and a few trains.

I was completely thrilled that we would be able to give him a gift I knew he would love on Christmas morning.

When my son fell asleep, I left him with my husband, and I drove my 20-year-old car a mile to get the train set, expecting I might arrive at a huge house. But I arrived at a small condo, much like my own. I assumed she was probably selling this train track to pay for her own kids' Christmas presents.

When she opened the door, she held out a clear Ziploc bag of train tracks and trains. I thanked her and explained that we had just moved to the area. I was so thankful she was willing to sell me just a portion of the track — it was exactly what I had been looking for.

She gave me the entire train set

In that moment, we connected as frazzled, busy moms.

I got out the money to pay her, and she told me to wait, leaving me waiting at the front door with my money and train set in hand. I thought maybe she had forgotten one of the pieces.

She came back with three more bags of train sets. I was afraid there was a misunderstanding but I didn't want to say that I couldn't afford the rest of the set.

"Oh, I think we had just agreed on the one part of the set," I told her.

"I know," she responded. "Merry Christmas."

She handed me the bags, took my money, and closed the door behind her, leaving me on the front steps, trying to compose myself after experiencing such unexpected kindness.

I still cry thinking about that moment

I still tear up thinking about that moment. We were so financially strapped and really stressed about our budget, and she treated me with tenderness. It was life-changing, in a small way, and has stayed with me all these years later.

Recently, one of my sons told me a neighbor boy really liked these big trucks we have.

"I think I'm ready to say goodbye to my big trucks," he told me. "Can we take them over to the neighbor's house?"

Maybe at one time, I would have thought I could have gotten money for the trucks, but then I think back to how that woman gave me that extra train track. Since then, we have always tried to give as we have been given to, to pass on the gift of generosity, even in small ways. We decided to give as we have been given.

When I wrote about the train tracks on Threads, so many people commented about their own personal experiences of kindness. When we perform acts of generosity or share about how someone has been generous to us, I think it helps us and others begin to develop eyes to look for all the light around us in the middle of what can feel like darkness.

• Katharine Horgan is a 30-year-old who recently lost her mother's locket on her way to work.
• The locket had been given to her by her mom, who died when Katharine was 7.
• After retracing her steps in London, Katharine found her mom's locket.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Katharine Horgan. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I was nearly at my office in London when I looked down and couldn't see the locket I had been wearing around my neck.

I panicked, lifting up my top in the middle of the street, thinking it had dropped into my bra. Tears were running down my face as I saw people looking at me, wondering what was going on.

It wasn't just any locket that I'd lost. My mom, who died of cancer when I was 7, had left the locket for me.

She left me beautiful memories

Mom was diagnosed with cancer when I was 18 months old. They gave her five years to live.

For the years she had left, she made beautiful memories with me. I remember getting my ears pierced when I was 5. It was one of the few girly things she'd be able to do with me. She knew she would miss me starting my period and all the other things that come with becoming a woman. She got some slack for it from my aunties, with them saying I was too young to have my ears pierced. But it was purposeful — she knew she wanted me to remember doing it with her.

She'd written cards for me to be delivered on each birthday until I turned 21. There was a memory box for me too, with a special message from her.

During her time at home, while I was in school, she'd work on tapestries and paintings that she'd later pass on to me.

Without my knowing, she'd curated a jewelry box for me to be given to me by my dad when I was 18. Some of the jewelry had labels. There was a ring that was clearly never worn, which she said was an anniversary gift from Dad that she hadn't had the chance to wear, and she hoped I was able to wear it.

The locket was among the jewelry. It wasn't labeled, and I don't know where she got it. But it has been precious to me since I had it.

I feel connected to her

She imprinted herself on me so strongly that there has never been a single day that I haven't tangibly had a mother. Even though she's not been alive for 23 years, I still feel her with me because of the way she so strategically left parts of her with me.

I've chosen to live in London, where I can walk along streets her feet have touched. The cards, the jewelry, the memory box, the art — all of it makes me feel connected to Mom, even though she isn't here.

And then I lost her locket. Inside the locket, there were chocolate wrappers she'd crunched up, not photos of her beloved family, which makes me laugh. She had once touched and worn that locket, and the thought of not having it at that moment when I realized it was gone was incredibly upsetting.

The idea of losing more of her when I had already lost her was incredibly upsetting.

I retraced my steps in hopes of finding it

While I was walking to work, I remember hearing something "clink" on the ground. It sounded like a bottle cap, but perhaps it was the locket?

Even though I was nearly at work, I decided to retrace my steps. I asked a friend to meet me to help me look for it, and I posted a message on social media, hoping someone would find it and return it to me.

As I walked, I glared at the ground, desperately looking for it. My friend and I couldn't find it on the ground anywhere.

I thought I would go to a café near where I had heard that clinking sound. I asked one of the guys working if someone had handed a locket in. He said no. But then another guy who worked there came in. When we asked him if he had seen it, he pulled it out of his pocket and said something had been handed in.

It was my locket. My mom's locket.

I burst into tears and completely freaked the two workers out. I just kept telling them, "Thank you!"

The whole thing reminded me that there are nice people around, people who want to do the right thing.

I've bought a new chain for the locket now and will keep it close to me forever, especially after this incident.

I don't have her yearly cards anymore, but putting on her locket and spraying my neck with her perfume grounds me, reminds me of her, and connects me to her.

• Jack Sheard is a 46-year-old empty nester in Grand Island, Nebraska.
• When the kids were young, he and his wife worked up to five jobs to support their family.
• Once the kids moved out, the couple enjoyed the freedom of an empty nester.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Jack Sheard. It has been edited for length and clarity.

My now-wife and I started dating toward the end of my senior year in college. She had just turned 21, and I was just shy of 22. After graduation, I got an internship in a different town. We would travel back and forth to see each other.

On one visit, I asked her if she could be pregnant — she had a lot of the symptoms. The next day, she went for a pregnancy test, and it was positive.

Even though it was three months into the relationship, we knew we wanted to be together and have a family.

We got married quickly and had more kids

In order for her and the baby to be covered by my work insurance, we needed to get married, which we did while she was still pregnant. We then moved to Indiana for my first job.

Both of us knew we wanted to have our kids close together, hopeful that one day they would be close friends. So, 20 months after our first was born, our second came along.

During those early years, we hustled to pay for our necessities. At one time between us, we were working five jobs to put food on the table. Both our parents lived too far away to help.

I remember being distracted and very tired. The downside of having kids when you're that young is that you aren't financially stable, so you don't have lots of headspace to play and explore because you're thinking about how to provide for your family.

We didn't know how to parent

None of our close friends had young kids. There was no one to get advice from or bounce ideas off because no one had done it before. We often didn't know what we were doing.

One of my biggest regrets is not letting my kids fail. I wanted to protect them from failure so much that I would give them Lego kits but build them myself. Even though I regret that part of my parenting, I also had no one to suggest there was another way.

Pixar movies and video games were often on, just so my wife and I could catch our breath.

As the kids grew into teenagers, our parenting changed, but it remained hands-on. My wife and I were really involved in whatever activities they took on, and we were constant taxi drivers taking them where they needed to go.

We became young empty nesters

My eldest entered the military in 2019, my youngest went to college a few years after.

Before my youngest moved out, people asked me if I was scared to be an empty nester. Maybe the right answer would have included talking about how sad I was going to be, but actually, my wife and I were looking forward to it.

We had only been together a little over a year before becoming parents. There was so much that we were looking forward to doing without the daily responsibilities that come with parenting children.

My wife was looking forward to training for ultra marathons, and I couldn't wait to play golf. We were excited to finally get the chance to travel together, but we also loved the idea of chilling, of doing absolutely nothing but relaxing.

Our youngest moved back with us for a bit

After about a year of being just the two of us, my youngest son moved back home for over a year. I had to remember to close the doors and get dressed again.

When he moved back in, we didn't revert to the parents we were when he was a child. He was independent, living in the basement and paying rent. While we told him he could always live with us when he needed to, we also told him he needed to have a plan to move out. We were hospitable, but not overly hospitable because we want both our kids to make their own way in the world.

Even though I tried to protect them from failure as children, I've backed off a lot as they have become adults. I think they're better off without constant guidance from a parent. They know that if they fail, we're here to help and support them. It takes the fear out of failure, I think.

Somehow, my wife and I made it all work. We raised pretty good humans. After all our hustling at such a young age, we're now just enjoying life. We have a nice house in a nice neighborhood, with a nice car. We have nice things and go on nice trips.

The greatest thing about being an empty nester in your 40s is that we're not even retired, and we're already enjoying life. We put in our time, and now we have so many options of how to spend our time, free from the responsibility of raising little kids.

• Olivia Rubin is a 43-year-old fashion designer who created her own rainbow-inspired brand in 2017.
• In 2014, she purposefully dressed in black to blend when she was struggling with postpartum anxiety.
• A rainbow skirt she designed in 2017 was the start of her personal and business reawakening.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Olivia Rubin. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I've been in fashion for more than 20 years. After studying for a Bachelor's in fashion print at Central St Martin's, I worked in the industry without a break until 2012, when I found out I was pregnant with my first child.

I felt run down and burnt out, so it was a good time to wind down.

After the birth of my daughter in 2014, I felt depressed, anxious, and alienated. At this time, postpartum depression wasn't something talked about, so I hadn't known to expect it and didn't understand that it was happening to me. I didn't verbalize this to anyone because I didn't know it was a thing.

It even affected the way I dressed for years.

I wanted to blend in

For as long as I can remember, I always loved wearing lots of color. But those post-baby months and years were full of black. The decision to dress in the dark color wasn't because I was too tired to decide what to wear. It was a purposeful decision that reflected my inner anxiety at the time.

All I wanted to do was blend in. Black was a way to blend in.

In 2015, a year after my daughter was born, I was still wearing black, but there was this one outfit I wore — I dressed up the black with brilliant red lipstick and red boots. It was the start of me starting to feel like me again.

A year later, I gave birth to my second daughter, but I also picked up a freelance contract for a high street company. Working again felt right. I've always been the kind of person who needs something besides just family life, and I feel like this was it. My oldest was in p,reschool and I just worked around the baby. For the first time in years, I also wanted to make clothes for myself. I made a skirt, a gray printed skirt, and was so proud of myself.

I couldn't find anything I liked, so I made my own

I continued making my own clothes, for my own personal use, in 2017. I wanted to add some color back in, after years of black. I went shopping to find something that caught my eye, and I couldn't find what I was looking for. I wanted a piece no one else had, something unusual.

I found a printing company in the UK to print my surface design onto wool and found a seamstress close by to make the skirt I had designed. It was unique, and I loved it. It was a rainbow skirt.

When I posted it on Instagram, my feed absolutely blew up. The skirt went viral, and so many people wanted it. It was a huge turning point and the start of my own brand.

I had never intended to have my own brand — I just wanted to make clothes that made me feel good. But a brand is what it all became.

I started wearing color again

After that rainbow skirt, I found myself again. I started wearing color again and helping others do the same.

I was contacted by shops that wanted to sell my clothes to their customers, and I was traveling all around the world showing my collections. It happened in the blink of an eye.

It just kept snowballing. I was making a million pounds at one point.

Everything I created, I wore. It was all bright or pastels, inspired by the rainbow.

During the pandemic, I created a loungewear collection. By day, I was homeschooling my two girls, and in every spare moment, I was packaging for customers.

I enjoyed growing my business during this time and connecting with my community on social media, but I remember it being a lot to handle.

I'm focused on sustainability

At the end of 2023, I decided to start slowing everything down. I had recently turned 40 and didn't want to be traveling all the time, leaving my kids behind. I didn't want to be rushing around constantly, without any time to just enjoy designing without a deadline.

Since then, I've been thinking more about sustainability — no one needs this much retail. I've stopped my big collections, and I'm not producing hundreds of wasted samples and production that contribute to landfills.

In hindsight, I know I wasn't happy during my black clothing phase, but I wouldn't change it. It was a part of my journey. If I hadn't been through it, I might not have had the idea to create a rainbow skirt, and none of this would have ever happened.

• Tamesha Morris's dad told her he had AIDS in October 1989, when she was 11.
• She and her older sister cared for their dad every day after school for nearly two months.
• She wishes a stable and trustworthy family member or friend had stepped in to help.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Tamesha Morris. It has been edited for length and clarity.

In 1983, my dad got full custody of me and my sister. It was just the three of us — we never saw our mom after the divorce.

I loved my dad so much. He was funny and loved to sing. My sister and I used to pretend we were his backup singers. His favorite colors were gray, black, and white. He wore a lot of matching shirts and short outfits. He could cook — he kept a bulletin board in the kitchen that outlined the meals we'd have each day.

In 1989, he chose Colorado to retire and the three of us settled in a spacious home in the suburbs. I was the first to notice the big container on the counter filled with different colored pills. Dad would get up every day and take a mountain of those pills. One day, I cornered him and asked if he was sick, and he said he would tell us when the time was right.

On October 31, 1989, he sat us down and told us he had AIDS. He said he got it while stationed in Germany shooting heroin with a buddy.

He was dying and had taken the necessary steps to protect us. We would inherit his entire estate, plus individual trust funds, the house, car, stocks, and Army and Social Security benefits. We just wouldn't have him. He apologized for having to leave us.

His health deteriorated quickly

I was really confused, and I didn't understand what AIDS was, nor did I realize the impact his death would have on my life.

After he told us, his health went downhill fast. It was almost as if he lost the will to live like he was waiting to tell us so that he could die. He lost 50 pounds, his memory, and the ability to feed and bathe himself.

A younger sister of his came to live with us with the intention of taking care of him, my sister, and myself. Although she sat with him while we were in school, the moment we arrived home, she was out the door, leaving my sister and me as his sole caregivers. I remember changing his diapers, bathing, and feeding him. But mostly, I remember sitting with him and keeping him company.

We would occasionally overhear my dad and aunt arguing. He was saying we shouldn't be taking care of him — that she should be doing that or that they should hire someone to come in. But he didn't have any power at that point.

He was taken to the hospital on Christmas Day

The weeks between him telling us he had AIDS and his death were a bit of a blur. I can't remember a lot of details, but I remember two moments vividly.

Dad would always hold a towel up to his private area as we bathed him, and one evening, as we did so, it fell. I'll never forget the defeated, soul-crushing look on his face. He was horrified despite me and my sister quickly looking away.

The last time I saw my dad was on Christmas Day, 1989. We opened our gifts — hundreds of them, as he happily watched. Later that evening, he lapsed into a coma. We called 911, who dispatched an ambulance, and after they loaded him onto the stretcher, they bent down and washed their hands in the snow — as if to "remove" the AIDS. I am still haunted by it.

I never saw my dad again after that day. He died December 27^th, one day before his 34^th birthday.

My aunt must have told my school because, upon my return, I was presented with a life-size sympathy card that the entire school had signed.

The immediate years after my father's death were terrible. The money he'd worked so hard for was mismanaged. By 17, I was flat broke, the house was foreclosed on, and the stocks were sold. Since then, there have been times I've been hungry, homeless, and hopeless.

I can't think of anything that would have made those years after my dad's death more tolerable. He was the only parent I knew, and he was suddenly gone. Nothing would have softened that blow, but maybe if there had been a safe adult to care for my sister and me, things would have turned out differently.

When I shared my story on social media, I was struck by how many other people have also experienced the loss of a parent due to AIDS. For the first time, I've found a community of people who know exactly what it was like.

• Kelly Andrews-Denney is a 44-year-old mother near Portland, Oregon.
• She taught high school math for 17 years and loved her job until 2020.
• In 2024, she started working at Costco, and her husband says she looks "lighter" coming home.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Kelly Andrews-Denney. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I started working as a high school math teacher in 2007. It was an urban school in Portland with a lot of lower-income kids, and I absolutely loved it.

Those early years weren't without hard times. The day before I started, a student in the school died by suicide. In the first seven years I worked there, we lost at least one student every year, and several of them were suicides.

It wasn't easy, but I felt resilient. I could cope with the emotions, and I managed the heavy workload. Eventually, it was too much and I decided to leave my job at the school and go work at Costco instead.

Things changed when I became a mom

When I started having my own kids in 2013, that began changing. I noticed how much the job took out of me, but I still loved it and looked forward to work each day.

I remember always thinking that if a teacher doesn't want to teach, they shouldn't — it does too much damage to the students. However, I still wanted to teach.

But in 2020, when the pandemic hit, my love for teaching dwindled.

I taught my students over a screen. Kids rarely put their video on, so my lessons were taught to a blank screen. It was difficult to maintain enthusiasm for this kind of teaching.

In the spring of 2020, a few months after we went online, I started getting migraines. I felt really dizzy and couldn't walk normally. My doctor did a lot of testing but couldn't find anything wrong and said the headaches were vestibular migraines. At first, they didn't happen often, but when they did, I'd be out of action for up to four days.

The following spring, in 2021, a student I used to teach, who I'd kept up with after he graduated, was shot and killed. The impact that had on me was immense.

My physical issues would go away over the summer break

Around this time, I started taking an antidepressant — both to help with my depression and also to manage the migraines. I also started using an herbal supplement any time I felt a headache coming on. Both of these seemed to help the migraines but didn't make them go away.

Once summer break started, I didn't get any headaches.

When we all got back in the classroom during the 2021/2022 school year, there was a lot of adjusting. The kids were different. They were unsocialized. Many of them didn't have access to resources during the year we were online. A lot of them were taking care of family members. And loads of them were traumatized and scared.

But teachers were traumatized, too. We were instructed to focus on the social and emotional well-being of the kids as if we were trained counselors. But we weren't trained to do that job, and many of us needed help ourselves after the pandemic.

That first year back, I didn't have many behavioral issues in the class — just kids with low energy levels, fear about getting COVID-19, and poor socialization.

But the next school year — the 2022/2023 school year — I had a class of ninth graders with the most challenging behavioral problems I'd ever had in a class. This class hadn't been in a normal classroom for an entire school year since the fifth grade.

Prior to this, I'd been given difficult classes on purpose. The administration knew I could handle them, but I couldn't deal with this class.

I resigned in 2024

I remember coming home without one ounce of emotional or physical energy for my own children.

I decided to go part-time for the 2023/2024 school year. Even though this relieved some pressure, I had checked out. I wasn't enjoying work, and I knew I couldn't carry on teaching if I didn't love it. It wasn't fair to the kids.

I resigned, committing to work until September 30^th, 2024.

My plan was to substitute teach while I looked for another job with a comparable salary, but I couldn't find anything.

I decided to apply at Costco and got a job stocking shelves on the early shift, starting around 4 a.m. Initially, I questioned my decision as I was taking a huge pay cut. My hourly pay was a third of what I was making as a teacher.

Equally, I was looking forward to working a job and then leaving it at work — not taking anything home with me.

I started in October. It's been so much less stressful than working as a teacher. My physical body is exhausted after every shift — it's a lot of manual labor — but I feel total relief in not having to make a thousand decisions each day, not being responsible for the academic and emotional well-being of up to 180 teens, and not carrying their trauma home with me.

After one recent shift, my husband told me I looked different. He said I looked lighter. I agree, I feel it.

I may return to teaching one day once I have had a chance to heal, but not for now.