• I'm the youngest of three siblings — and the only Gen Zer.
• When I graduated this year, I faced the realities of job-hunting and adulthood.
• I learned lessons from observing my sisters and other millennials navigate their 20s.

After 16 years in the education system, my time as a student ended on a random Wednesday afternoon in April. I was finally free from lectures, tests, and group projects — but thrust into the realities of a scarier world: adulthood.

In this world, there were no set milestones to tell me I was on the right track. Everyone seemed to be on a path to something greater, but I felt directionless.

I know I'm not alone. Every 20-something has probably felt at least a little bit lost in life. But amid mass layoffs and the threat of AI replacing jobs, stepping into the job market as a fresh graduate in 2024 felt like diving head-first into an abyss.

An August report by an early careers platform, Handshake, surveyed 1,925 graduating students. They found that 57% of the students felt pessimistic about starting their careers — an increase from 49% of graduating students last year. Of the 57%, 63% said the competitive job market contributed to their pessimism.

The stress of not knowing whether I could secure a job was compounded by uncertainty about my career. I had studied journalism but wasn't sure if it was the right fit. I had the irrational fear that if my first job turned out to be the "wrong" choice, I'd be relegated back to the start line of the rat race.

Amid a brewing quarter-life crisis, I looked to my sisters, aged 28 and 31. They do many things that people of my generation may scoff at, like watching Instagram reels exclusively and using the laughing emoji. But they seem to have figured out one thing: life after college.

Here's what I've learned from watching them conquer the Roaring Twenties.

Life doesn't end when school ends

Toward the end of college, I mentally prepared myself for the fast-approaching expiration of youth.

"You must treasure your university days," relatives constantly reminded me at yearly Lunar New Year gatherings. They painted adulthood as a bleak portrait of bills, mundanity, and loneliness. So, when the time came, I was reluctant to let go of my identity as a student.

But as the youngest sibling, I also watched my sisters graduate from college, get married, and build their own homes. I saw them achieve promotions at work, find new hobbies, and start a life outside the one I knew of us growing up together.

Adulting isn't easy — I now know that. But there are also so many new milestones and freedoms that come with it, and there is so much to be excited about.

A job is just a job

My elder sister works in communications and the other in architecture. Even when their hours stretched into the night and weekends, they built a whole life outside work.

One started a sticker side business, and the other is now an avid runner.

It wasn't always smooth. My second-oldest sister burned out after working too much in her first job and took a career break. She prioritized work-life balance at her next job.

In that way, millennials and Gen Zers are alike. A 2024 report by Deloitte found that work-life balance topped the priorities for both generations when choosing an employer. When asked which areas of life were most important to their sense of identity, both generations agreed that jobs came second only to friends and family.

Distancing myself from the idea that my job had to be my one true passion lifted a weight off my shoulders. As much as I still want a job that gives me purpose, I also make time for other aspects of life that fulfill me, like working out and spending time with friends.

Just give it time

As with most worries, the fear that I'd never find a job was unfounded. In July, I started my first job as a junior reporter. But when the first day at work finally ended, I trudged home in a daze.

"I have to do this every day for the next 40 years?" I asked my second-oldest sister, who laughed. It wasn't that I didn't like the job. It was the change in routine from school life to a 9-to-5 that unsettled me.

"You'll get used to it," my sister said. Six months in, I still don't know if I will. But seeing my millennial counterparts thrive has encouraged me.

It's not just my siblings who have set an example. At work, my millennial colleagues are a constant source of guidance to the Gen Zers in the office. On social media, millennial influencers brand themselves as "internet big sisters" and give advice on navigating the complex years of their 20s.

Older millennials are now turning 40, but they were once in the position of Gen Zers, being scoffed at by the older generations for being "lazy" and changing work culture.

Now, they've drawn the map for Gen Zers' entry into the strange world of adulthood. It's made adulting just a little less scary.

• My birthday falls in the week between Christmas and New Year.
• Other celebrations always overshadowed my special day.
• My twins were born on December 23rd, and I often can't make their birth as special as I'd like.

Growing up, I often gave my parents low-key guilt trips about my birthday. Being born in the week between Christmas and New Year's meant I never got to have a celebration at school and rarely had parties since my friends were usually out of town.

While I understood at some level that my parents hadn't chosen that particular day on purpose, I carried a lingering resentment that I'd been born at the worst time of year.

My day was overshadowed by other celebrations

My "special" day always seemed to be overshadowed by the rest of the holiday season.

I got over it eventually. As a young adult, I threw parties for myself in late January or spent the day hitting post-Christmas sales with friends. Sometimes, when days of nonstop family time had drained all my energy, it was a treat to gift myself a trip to the movies — alone.

While I eventually made peace with the situation, a holiday birthday was one family tradition I had no intention of handing down. After I got married and my new husband and I started talking about children, I was careful to make the nine-month calculations and ensure I didn't get pregnant in March.

My first child, Clara, was born in early September, a date that came with its own issues but was well ahead of the holidays. But things weren't as straightforward when we started trying for a sibling. Eventually, I started IVF, and any attempts to time my next pregnancy went out the window. I was at the mercy of shots and cycles that were very much out of my control.

My due date was in February

The first attempt at IVF didn't take, but a few months later, the second one did. Soon I found out I would be having twins in early February. Crisis averted! Or so I thought.

Pregnancy being pregnancy and twins being twins, I should have known the due date was an estimate, not a guarantee. Throughout that fall, as I started coming to my doctor for more frequent checkups, she reminded me that twins tend to arrive early. After some signs of possible early labor, I was put on bedrest in early December. A few weeks later, I was moved to the hospital.

And early on the morning of December 23, James and Alan arrived.

My first emotion was overwhelming relief that they were healthy, and my second reaction was an overwhelming sense of guilt.

"I'm so sorry, little guys," I thought to myself. "I never wanted you to get stuck with a December birthday."

The one consolation, I hoped, was the fact that they had a mother who could commiserate and help them make the best of it.

I made sure their birthday was celebrated

From their very first birthday, I made sure the day was its own distinct occasion, with balloons and streamers and cake. I discreetly suggested to well-meaning family members that it was better to buy the boys two separate, smaller gifts rather than a single, combined "Christmas/birthday" present.

No matter what other holiday events were planned during that week, my boys got to choose whatever activity they wanted on their birthday and whatever kind of food. Christmas cheer would take a 24-hour pause.

That doesn't mean my boys are any happier about their birthday timing than I used to be. They've missed birthday-at-school shoutouts; birthday sleepovers with friends have had to be pushed into January; and despite my best efforts, I'm often so busy doing last-minute shopping and baking that I don't always make the day as special as it could be.

But I like to think this experience has taught my boys a lesson it took me a long time to learn. In a culture where people are constantly curating versions of themselves online, it's easy for children to think that anything they don't like about themselves can be airbrushed or exercised away.

But there are certain things about your life you can't control. Getting pregnant is one of them. Having a healthy child is another. And if you've ever worried about either of those things, you quickly realize how little an actual birth date matters.

The whole point of a birthday celebration is to make a person feel appreciated and special, to let them know they're loved. And you can do that any day of the year.

• My children have lied to me ever since they were young.
• This is a normal part of development as kids test the waters and try to avoid punishment.
• I've struggled to deal with the lying and tried to remain a positive role model for them.

It never ceases to amaze me how effortlessly my children lie. My 18-month-old, whose face was covered with crumbs, swore up and down that she hadn't been near the cookie jar. My preschooler looked me in the eye and denied breaking the window with his plastic bat that was still in his hand. It didn't seem to get better as they got older.

After I handed my ATM card to my two oldest sons so they had money for lunch, I asked for the change, and they said, "We only took out $5, so there is no change."

We all know you can't just withdraw $5.00. How could they tell me such a bald-faced lie with a straight face?

Dealing with my children's lies has been one of the most challenging aspects of parenting.

Lying is natural in childhood

Here's the problem: Lying is easy. What I find especially distressing is that no one has to teach children how to lie.

"Lying is developmentally appropriate," Ailen Arreaza, the executive director of Parents Together, a national nonprofit parent and family advocacy group, told me. "When a toddler or a 4-year-old lies, it's frustrating for the parent, but it's perfectly normal. It means that your kid's brain is developing in the way that it should be."

Arreaza also told me kids tell three kinds of lies: attention-seeking ones, careless ones, and serious ones that happen when they're older.

For example, one of my sons told me he missed curfew because he lost track of time when, in fact, he was at his girlfriend's house and just didn't want to leave.

"Often teenagers tell lies because they're afraid of the consequences or they're embarrassed," Arreaza said.

I struggled with how I should handle lying

Confronting my children in search of the truth is never comfortable. In fact, it can be exhausting — a round-robin of questions and denials before they finally break and admit what they've done.

There have been times when I was so eager to know the truth that I promised to refrain from any form of punishment. I want to hear a confession to satisfy my suspicion and feel vindicated, but then I face the sticky situation of what happens next time they lie.

"It's important to address the lie, but not in a way that shames the child and labels them as liars," Arreaza said. "This is about changing a behavior, not who the child is. Create a safe environment where truth-telling is encouraged. If they think they're disappointing you or they're going to get in trouble, they're going to continue to lie to please you."

I try to be a role model for my kids

I want nothing more than for my children to tell the truth, and often they do.

When he was 12, one of my boys came to me and, unprompted, confessed to a more serious lie he'd told previously. I had no clue, but it was eating him up inside. My son expressed his remorse and asked for forgiveness. I imagined the guilt was gnawing at him for betraying my trust.

I'm glad he admitted that he lied. In modeling the truth for my children, I hope they understand they can always come clean to me. My son felt safe and supported to do just that.

In that way, I have to believe that the truth will always win out in the end.

When my son was little, his father and I went through a custody trial and agreed on a holiday-sharing schedule. It outlined that if my son spent a holiday with me, the following year, he would spend that same holiday with his dad. So if I got Christmas Eve and Day with him one year, the next, his father would spend those days with him.

Initially, my son's father and I stuck to the original holiday-sharing schedule. I observed that while my son never had a preference for who he spent the holidays with, he did miss the parent he didn't get to see. After a few years of splitting holidays up, I was compelled to work with his father on a better arrangement. While it doesn't always work out perfectly, we have found that it's best for our son to spend time with each of his parents on any given holiday.

We do our best to come up with a plan that works for the whole family

Our new arrangement is informal, and I think we each try to work with each other based on what's going on with our respective families that year and how we divided up the holidays the year prior. While initially we had every holiday divided up until my son turns 18, I think the way we work with each other now is far more realistic.

One downside to co-parenting around the holidays is that I always have to tell other people that I need to talk to my son's father before we make any definite plans. Sometimes, I've wished I could just book a vacation over the winter break. However, I've realized that not only does his father deserve to spend time with his son on the holiday as much as I do, I know our son prefers it that way, too.

My immediate family understands that I may not have my son for certain traditions, so they factor this in when they're making their plans. They will ask me ahead of time on which days or times I'll have my son; not only are his father and I working together to make sure my son gets to see most of his extended family, but our families do their best to work with us, too.

It doesn't always work perfectly, so there have been exceptions

There are certain holidays where the division is an easy decision, such as Thanksgiving. Growing up, I always liked watching the parade in the morning. Every year, I had an aunt who would suggest we just eat our pie for breakfast, but no one ever went through with it.

When I had my son, I had the opportunity to make our own traditions. So now, he and I make pumpkin and apple pies the night before Thanksgiving and then have some for breakfast the next morning while we watch the parade. Since his father's family has a big dinner in the afternoon, we usually just split the day in half so that my son is with me in the morning and with his dad in the afternoon.

It might not be a perfect system, as my son is missed at our family's dinner on Thanksgiving, but after co-parenting for a decade, I've come to accept that his father and I always need to work together to come up with a plan that works best for our son, even if that means dividing up every holiday. Sometimes it doesn't work out, so we've learned to address every holiday individually.

Last year, my son's father wanted to take him up to New England to spend a week with his family that lives up there, and I was hesitant. My son and I had never spent a Thanksgiving apart before. When I asked my son if he wanted to go, he was excited. Not only does he rarely get to visit with those family members, but we live in Florida, so he had never seen snow before. I made sure he understood that he and I would spend Thanksgiving apart, and while he was sad about that part, we agreed that because it was a special opportunity for him, he should go.

Our new agreement feels right

This year, his father asked for Christmas Eve since I had my son for Christmas Eve last year. Then, my son will come home Christmas morning and spend the rest of the holiday with me, which is what he did with his dad last year. While I love to have my son on Christmas Eve, it's nice when I have him on Christmas Day, too. After spending alternate years without him on either of those days, I think our way of dividing up the holidays works out so much better.

Not only do we each get to share our traditions with our son every year instead of every other year, but my son can count on spending the holidays with both of his parents. It's always a little sad for him when he is separated from one of us, and that emotion is amplified on holidays. But I think it comforts him to know that his father and I will always work together to make sure he doesn't have to spend the holidays without seeing one of his parents.

• I knew I didn't want my four kids to graduate from college with student loan debt.
• I started saving for college when my oldest was in the first grade, and it's not enough.
• With three more kids heading to college, I'm overwhelmed financially.

I was with my four kids on the playground one day, talking with the other moms. We were chatting about school, work, and tiptoeing around the subject of finances.

One of the moms mentioned saving for college, and it felt like cold water was poured on me. I had a vague idea about tax-advantaged college savings plans; our diligent financial advisor had surely discussed them in one of our meetings. But the numbers — the 529s, 401ks, and 403bs — all swam together in my head.

However, I was confronted by the fact that someone else with small children was already planning for college. I felt like we had just started saving for retirement, and now I had to start thinking about another future — four of them.

Did I have to start worrying about this already? If I wanted to be anywhere close to ready when they graduated from high school, I did.

That was years ago, and now that college is here, I'm worried we'll never have enough.

We knew college was going to be difficult for my large family

My parents remortgaged their house to pay for my college. While I hope it doesn't come to that, my family is in a difficult situation. My husband and I make too much money for grants. I am a freelance writer, picking up as many gigs as I can, and my husband is a small-business owner.

After the pandemic and online school, all of my kids' grades plummeted while their anxiety skyrocketed, so scholarships are not an option for them.

I also knew that I wanted my kids to leave college without any student loan debt that they'd be paying off for the next 20 years.

That meant college tuition fell on my husband and me. In two years, we'll have two college tuitions to pay. In the next seven years, we will be paying for all four of my kids to go to college.

We started saving years ago, and it's not enough

Shortly after that mom's group, I called my advisor, and we started college savings plans for each kid. We have been saving since my college freshman was in first grade.

We automatically withdraw $100 a month for each kid, which is $400 a month out of the budget. That's no chump change, but it's not even close to enough.

We saved $1,200 a year per kid for nearly 12 years. That's not even enough for one year of tuition, books, and room and board.

My oldest son started school in September. We saved $14,400 for him and used our state's 529 plan, so it was invested and grew to a little over $20,000. He attends an in-state public school, and those savings still weren't enough.

He works in the summer and on breaks to help with costs. For the remaining amount, my husband and I squeeze it out of our budget. We're on a payment plan, so it's broken up — $3,300 a month rather than $13,200 all at once at the beginning of the semester.

Getting a good education is still worth it

Education is a core value in my family. Going to college will afford my kids so many opportunities. Thankfully, my son is thriving at school. Despite the expense, despite my feelings of overwhelm, I still think it's worth going. He's happy, and he's learning a lot — both in his classes and about himself.

The finances aren't his concern right now. My husband's business is doing great, and I'm taking on more writing gigs and a couple of side hustles. There will be vacations closer to home, and the new bathroom that I've wanted for a while won't happen.

We will get through these next 10 years; we will just keep our heads down and pay the bills as they come in.

When the overwhelm starts to kick in again, I check my son's texts. The smiling photos with his college roommates and the video of his rugby club remind me all this is worth it.

• I've planned girls' trips with friends for years, but it's been harder to coordinate them over time.
• We all have a lot going on, and many of us have kids who can be especially tough to plan around.
• Our adults-only trips aren't going anywhere, but we now plan group trips with our daughters, too.

Since college, I've been fortunate to have a big, close-knit group of girlfriends — and I've prioritized nurturing those friendships.

I especially love strengthening our bonds during getaways, and in my group, I handle planning and coordinating the girls' trips.

Since the '90s, I've spearheaded countless getaways for our group — from raging college spring breaks (New Orleans) to bachelorette parties and divorce parties (both Vegas), to milestone birthdays (my 21st in NYC and 30th in Jamaica), to healing retreats after illness and loss.

These trips have been a great source of joy, laughter, healing, and countless memories — one that sustains us through distance and life's tribulations.

I'm determined to keep up the girls' trip tradition, especially as life looks different for all of us.

There are more factors to consider now that we're adults with full lives

In our teens and early 20s, finding time and space for bonding was easy because many of us lived together and had few distractions.

As life has gone on, those opportunities for connection have become fewer and more difficult to coordinate. We no longer live under one roof, and many of us aren't even in the same city.

In our group, there are big jobs, spouses or partners, ailing and elderly parents, a wide range of disposable incomes, and home projects.

For many of us, there are also kids. This element, in particular, makes it harder for people to commit to dates and make a trip happen: There's homework to do, drop-off and pick-up schedules to coordinate, and sometimes no partner who can help.

It can be hard to prioritize time for yourself as a parent, let alone make time for a trip with friends.

A recent change of plans helped me approach girls' trips in a new way

My last girls' trip to Palm Springs was an impulsive overnight stay at an Airbnb oasis with a jewel box of a pool amid a historic heat wave.

My friend had intended to celebrate her anniversary with her husband and daughter there — but when he got sick, she invited my daughter and I to join for a two-generation girls-only sleepover instead.

While we hung out, our daughters (ages 7 and 10) had fun among themselves. When we all came together, we did pedicures and facials, had cannonball contests, and shared a huge tray of nachos by the pool.

This arrangement was fun and rewarding, plus it eased some of the logistical burdens involved in coordinating childcare. It also helped me realize how nice it could be to incorporate our daughters into some of our trips.

Mom-daughter trips won't replace our old format entirely. Importantly, some friends in our group have no kids (and no interest in spending leisure time with them), and some have only sons.

Still, I'm hoping the two-generation girls' trip flourishes as one extension of a cherished tradition in our expanded circle as life goes on.

Most of all, I'm thrilled to expose the next generation to the soul-satisfying joy of girls' trips, a travel style that I believe nurtures friendships and supports sanity across all stages of life.

• My wife and I got married earlier this year, and planning the wedding was stressful.
• Leading up to the holiday season, I felt pressure to make our first Christmas together special.
• After talking to her, I realized that just creating memories together was enough.

After a stressful year of planning our perfect September wedding, I wasn't prepared to face additional pressure now that the holidays are approaching. This wasn't an ordinary Christmas filled with relaxation, eggnog, and just a sprinkle of family drama; this was the Christmas that would mark our first milestone as a married couple and set the tone for years to come.

During our first year planning the holidays as a married couple, we learned that navigating the season as a twosome is more stressful than we thought. Whose side of the family will we see? What traditions do we want to create or partake in? There were so many choices to make, and people pulling us in different directions, even with good intentions. Since we'd only get one shot at our first Christmas as a married couple, I worried that if we didn't create the perfect holiday, we would ruin this special moment.

I felt pressure to make our first Christmas together special

We live in New York City, and when we decided that visiting my family in Texas was too far this year (weddings are expensive!), we offered to host my wife's family, who were only a few-hour drive away. Foregoing travel would mitigate some of the holiday stress. However, marrying into a big family like I did, I was still worried our celebration as a newlywed couple would get lost in the holiday chaos. This is without any fault to my amazing new family; it simply can't be helped.

Many of their family traditions are also different from my own. For example, they like to celebrate on Christmas Day, while I love the magic of a sparkling Christmas Eve. I can still bring traditions to their family, like decorating gingerbread houses, which I've done every year. Part of the original excitement toward the holiday was thinking about all the family traditions we would create together.

It took me a long time to voice my concerns to my wife, worried I was overthinking it or wanting too much attention to still be on us. After all, we got married four months ago. However, my fears ended up being unfounded because, like the loving wife she is, Taryn listened and asked me what would make our holiday feel special. The truth was, I didn't know. Though I had all these expectations that this Christmas was supposed to feel different, I had no idea how to make that happen.

I had to get real with myself and understand that, just like when planning a wedding, putting too much pressure on yourself is the fastest way to steal the joy out of the process. Letting go of the idea of making things perfect allows me to focus on what truly matters: creating memories with my wife.

My wife and I decided to focus on creating memories together

So how do you go about making a newlywed Christmas as memorable as possible? We started with Christmas cards. Since we had a small wedding, not everyone in our life got to celebrate with us. Sending out Christmas cards we made together to those who are important to us helped us share our love — and our wedding photos. Speaking of wedding photos, there's no better Christmas gift for our family than a photo album to remember the special day.

We got an ornament with our wedding date on it for the tree, started planning out a festive dinner for our family, and, most importantly, we decided to prioritize spending time together. Little things like these helped me reclaim the excitement of our first Christmas. I realized I didn't have to put pressure on myself — or my wife — to do big things each day to have a special holiday season. We could do simple things, like share quiet moments or cook new holiday dishes as a couple.

I'm most excited to wake up on Christmas and have a private gift exchange (and not just because I love presents). Seeing Taryn open her gift will bring me irreplaceable joy, which I'm excited to share with her as a married couple. We made our mission simple: pick out a new winter scarf we think the other will love.

Our Christmas as newlyweds won't be the only one we spend together, no matter how special it feels. Romanticizing our first holiday was great in theory until it became a pressure cooker for perfection — decidedly unromantic. But in the process of reframing my mindset, I found that there was still magic and romance for the taking.

• I had a crush on my coworker and decided to tell him when my contract was up.
• He told me he was flattered but that he had a girlfriend.
• I wonder if the timing was off, but I'm glad I put myself out there.

I remember noticing him early on at my former job. He was funny and had a sunny smile, but he also struck me as confident and competent. A wave of excitement filled my heart every time he was around me, and I felt like a teenager with her first crush — even though I was in my mid-20s.

Maybe you don't like spoilers, but I do, so I will tell the truth right now. This is not a love story. This is a story of rejection after declaring my feelings to my former coworker when my contract ended.

I waited until my last day of work to finally confess my feelings for him, but I'm not sure it was the best decision.

I finally asked my coworker out

I didn't take the decision to tell him lightly. I debated with myself for a long time if I should tell him while we still worked together.

On one hand, I thought it would be heartbreaking for me if he politely declined and I had to see him every day. On the other hand, if he accepted my invitations and we began going out together, an awkward situation would arise. Even if we were working in different departments, being in a small company where we met every day surely didn't help my dilemma.

So, ultimately, I decided to come clean when my contract was finally up. When my six months ran out, I said goodbye to all my coworkers and devised a plan. I decided to finally confess my feelings as he stepped out of the office. Unfortunately, he didn't leave the office alone, so my plan was foiled. But I couldn't keep my romantic feelings to myself anymore.

When I got home, I wrote him a message, finally revealing that I had a crush on him and wanted to tell him in person, but there hadn't been an appropriate occasion. A few minutes afterward, I added that we could have a coffee together one day — if he wanted to.

My hands were sweating as I stared at the three dreaded bubbles showing he was typing. A long text message appeared; he was incredibly kind, even when rejecting me.

He said that he knows how difficult it is to declare your feelings, so he thanked me. Still, he was already seeing another girl.

Being rejected is painful. It can easily affect our self-worth and make us feel like failures. Even though I expected this rejection, I wasn't prepared for that intrusive emptiness that left me feeling lost and thinking that no one would ever want me.

Telling my friend what happened made things slightly more tolerable, but I needed a way to cleanse this intoxicating mixture of emotions from my body and mind.

Summer meant a lot of exercise classes in parks and on the beach. I decided to trade emotional pain for physical strain, and I went to a total-body class in July's heat. Moving my body and sweating felt amazing. It made me temporarily forget this situation.

I'm ultimately proud of myself

One question kept nagging me: Was it even worth telling him the truth?

But now that some months have passed, I don't have any regrets about how things went. Sometimes, I think if I had told him earlier, things could have gone differently, but anguishing over how something could have been is never sensible.

Regardless of the timing, I am proud of stepping out of my comfort zone and declaring my feelings. As an introvert, this can be incredibly challenging.

Even if it was painful at the moment, being rejected was better than remaining in doubt about his feelings.

Rejection is like a period at the end of a sentence. It can feel like an abrupt close, but endings often turn into new beginnings.

• Stanford University recruited my son to be a college athlete.
• He feared he wouldn't fit academically at the school.
• My son decided to drop out and transfer, but at the last minute, he found friends and stayed.

My son has always been an athlete, and sports have always come easily to him. However, he has had a problem with confidence ever since he was 8. That was when he lost the use of most of his body due to Guillain Barre, an autoimmune condition that left him paralyzed and forced him to take almost a year out of his life to re-learn to walk.

That was a huge setback, both physically and mentally, and it left him with doubts about his ability. Still, Fabian has persevered and exceeded all expectations. Not only has he become an incredible athlete, but he became the state discus champion as a sophomore in high school. He went on to claim fourth place at the National Championships in Eugene, OR, in 2021. Still, that was just the beginning of his journey.

Following Nationals, we received our first recruiting call. It was from the coach at Stanford University, and while I could not contain my excitement, my son paled.

He felt like he hadn't earned the right to be a Stanford student.

My son had doubts from the onset

I encouraged Fabian to go with the process. It was still early. I told him to just talk to the coach and that no decisions needed to be made just yet. We scheduled the first recruiting call. As we sat on the couch, side by side, my son sweating profusely through the hour-and-a-half phone call, we heard about all the exciting things that Stanford could offer and watched videos of the incredibly beautiful college campus.

When we got off the call, I couldn't wait to talk to my son about this incredible opportunity. This is what he has worked so hard for. As I turned to him, he said, "I am not going there," with a note of finality in his voice. He walked into his room and shut the door.

As we talked, it became obvious that the old feelings of inferiority that started as an 8-year-old surfaced. He wasn't sure he could cut it at Stanford academically. He didn't think he belonged as a student; he thought the school only wanted him for his athletic ability.

We continued talking about his accomplishments, amazing grades, and growing accolades in his sport. He agreed to give it a chance, especially after we visited campus on a recruiting visit. The chill campus atmosphere seemed perfect for my laid-back son.

His imposter syndrome made his freshman year difficult

As we moved Fabian into the dorms at the start of his freshman year at Stanford, he seemed excited to begin his journey. I left California to return home to the East Coast feeling excited and hopeful for him. This lasted all of two weeks.

In our daily phone calls, I heard sadness in his voice as he told me how homesick he felt. I tried to hear and understand his feelings. Over and over, the theme of not feeling like he belonged there echoed in our conversations.

When Fabian came home for Thanksgiving, he sprained his ankle and tore a ligament in his foot. When he returned to school after the break, he became outright depressed as he sat in his room alone while his teammates traveled to competitions.

Already feeling like he didn't belong academically, he felt even more lost because the only reason he was at Stanford was to be a recruited athlete; now, he could not even participate in his sport.

When Fabian came home for Christmas, I received the message loud and clear: He was not interested in returning. He was done with Stanford.

Without the pressure, he's now thriving at Stanford

I was torn on how to support my son through this. I wanted him to understand he should not give up on this amazing opportunity that would open doors for his future.

We finally discussed options and settled on finishing the trimester and then transferring colleges. As the end of the trimester approached and I became increasingly anxious about my son's future, I noticed a change in him. The closer it came to him being able to come home, the more relaxed he became. It was as if the pressure was off. He excelled in his classes. He had a solid group of friends, and they were inseparable.

As my husband and I planned to leave for our cross-country trip to pick Fabian up from Stanford for the last time, he decided to stay. When the pressure was off, he could finally experience the sense of belonging that was missing all along.

He finally found his place at Standford and on his team. Fabian now has the chance to compete as a college athlete this year.

• My fourth-grade teacher showed up to school with painting materials one day.
• She told me she wanted me to paint something for her and my mom for the holidays.
• My teacher made me feel seen and included, and I still remember her.

There's a moment when you receive a compliment, and you shrug it off immediately as though an insect had just landed on your shoulder. That happened to me when I was sitting on the floor of my fourth-grade classroom, painting a poster for a school project.

The poster-maker job fell into my lap after I lost a game of "Not it." Truthfully, I was happy to sit quietly and draw instead of fussing with my classmates about how to do our book report.

When my teacher came over to check on our progress, she leaned in and told me how much she liked my painting. I felt a mix of embarrassment and disbelief at being singled out for such praise.

I was even more surprised when Miss J, as we called her, showed up at school one day with a large shopping bag. Inside were paint brushes, watercolor paints, and two sheets of paper rolled up and held together with an elastic.

She said she wanted me to paint her something and that the second canvas was meant for my mom so I could make her a Christmas present.

Deciding what to paint

A blank canvas can be anything you want. It's a scary thought for someone like me who overthinks everything, but that's precisely what Miss J wanted me to do: paint anything of my choice.

At 9 years old, I had dozens of paintings under my belt, but never this size and not on paper that didn't buckle and warp as soon as you touched it with a wet paintbrush. The paints seemed too nice and new to use on something other than a school project.

I thought of the books my mom would read to me and decided to paint something from "Winnie the Pooh." I chose the original version of the character for my teacher and the Disney version for my mom since she had a certain fondness for the Pooh Bear look, as you can tell from baby photos of me wearing a top with no bottoms.

I had a VHS tape of a Winnie the Pooh movie and set out to recreate the cover for my mom's painting. I sketched the design in pencil first.

Then, I began the daunting task of trying to fill this oversized canvas using my once pristine tubes of paint, now squished and dented.

What my teacher's gift meant to me

When you're from a different cultural background, sometimes people overlook what you have in common. For example, a colleague asked me what my family does this time of year despite encouraging everyone else to share their Christmas plans. Remarks like these single you out, and not in the caring way of a teacher who pays you a genuine compliment.

As one of a few kids in my fourth-grade class from an immigrant family and a single-parent household, everywhere I looked, there was someone whose life looked different from mine. But instead of assuming I didn't celebrate Christmas, which I did, my teacher just wanted me to feel included.

Her generous gift showed me I had a talent worth buying and actually using quality art supplies. She even had my painting professionally framed like my mom did.

I saw it once when we drove by her house in the sixth grade. It was, just as she said, right in the middle of her living room, surrounded by custom matting.

Memories fade, but colors endure

The teacher I saw every day, who introduced me to Maya Angelou and Jane Goodall, took a leave of absence when she found out she was having a baby. I moved on, too, starting high school a year early.

As an undergraduate student, I bumped into Miss J one evening. She was sitting in her car like she was waiting for someone, and I felt hesitant to approach her.

Maybe she wouldn't recognize me until she pointed at me and smiled. Her son came out of a nearby building, and she pointed at me a second time and told him, "That's the girl who painted the Winnie the Pooh picture in your room."

In grade six, I gave her a second painting as a baby gift. Thirty years later, I can't remember exactly what these paintings look like.

I just know that I wanted to capture the feeling of playing in the Hundred Acre Wood, the fictional place where Pooh Bear and his friends would gather.

My teacher's gift reminds me of something we all want: someone to acknowledge and remember us. I'll never forget her.

• My kids are teenagers now, but they believed in Elf on the Shelf for more than a decade.
• When I was deep in my elf years, I complained about the work, and now I miss it.
• These days, my elves are literally sitting on a shelf, and the holidays aren't quite the same.

My kids are 14 and 16 now, but they held onto their belief in Elf on the Shelf for over a decade. When they were preschoolers, I'd set up elaborate displays showing Jingle and Garland (each kid had their own elf, naturally) pulling all sorts of pranks. Over the years, the elves toilet-papered the bathroom, hung everyone's underwear on the Christmas tree, and made snow angels in flour on my kitchen counter.

I have always been, if nothing else, organized. Each year I'd make a spreadsheet with the elves' activities for the entire month of December. December 3? Fishing in the kitchen sink with Goldfish crackers. December 18? Stealing Baby Jesus from the nativity set. The ideas varied from maximum mom effort to simple. Like Christmas gifts, I'd buy the supplies in advance and store them away so I had what I needed for a month of elfin shenanigans.

Now that my kids have outgrown Elf on the Shelf, I miss it

I'll never forget times when, as we sat at dinner, my 6-year-old daughter would dreamily say, "I wonder what the elves will do tomorrow?" or the moments I'd hear my 8-year-old son exchanging stories with his friends at school about what everyone's elves did the night before.

We were an all-in elf family: We watched the "Elf on the Shelf" holiday cartoon special, we owned EOTS pajamas, we added Elf Pets — like a reindeer and a St. Bernard — to the fold, and I … well, I was exhausted keeping up with it all.

"I forgot to move the elves," I'd sometimes groan, warm under the covers and ready for bed. More times than I care to admit, I was up at midnight sneaking around the house, setting up scenes to make my kids think the elves drew mustaches on our family photos or were taken hostage by their Lego minifigures. Later, on bleary-eyed coffee dates with mom friends, we'd commiserate over our hatred of the elf, which always seemed strange to me, considering it was an evil we willingly brought on ourselves.

I don't regret telling my kids the elves weren't real, but it's still bittersweet

My kids' disbelief in Santa Claus and all the magic that comes with him came later than other kids. In fact, after a particular Christmas of wearing myself out with the magic-making, I told my husband, "I am so sick of an imaginary man getting credit for all the hard work I do as their mom." Tired of the Santa-run patriarchy, I decided if they were still living in the world of make-believe by Easter, I'd spill the beans.

When Easter rolled around, I had to sit my 11 and 13-year-old kids down and tell them the truth. They admitted they'd suspected it for a while and, of their own accord, asked my husband if they could make me an Easter basket that year. Inside were all my favorites: lottery scratch-offs, lip gloss, Hot Tamales, and a copy of "The Velveteen Rabbit," my favorite children's book. Inside, they'd written, "Mom, thank you for all of the magical holidays."

These days, the elves are, quite literally, on the shelf

For the first few elf-free Christmases, we jokingly moved Jingle and Garland from room to room. I'd slide the elves behind the mirror of my daughter's dresser then, the next day, find the creepy little felt creatures staring up at me from my office desk. These days, however, the elves are stationary. They are quite literally on the shelf, sitting on a bookshelf with some other holiday decorations as a relic of Christmases past. And, hear me out: I miss them.

Raising two teenagers is wildly fun and I'm not the mom who often laments how "fast it all goes" and pine for the toddler years. Still, there's a bit of magic missing from my home during the holidays — magic that left with my kids' belief that Jingle and Garland, two scout elves from the North Pole, returned to Santa nightly to report on their behavior and came back to pull silly pranks each morning while they slept.

Making holiday magic is a lot of work, but it's worth it

I'll never be the parent who tells younger moms and dads to "enjoy every moment," because parenting is stressful and hard. But I will tell you this: Enjoy those late nights waiting for your kids to fall asleep so you can move your Elf on the Shelf to its next destination. Relish in those little voices shrieking in delight about elves found having sack races with stuffed animals or tea parties with Barbie dolls. Memorize the faces and the giggles and the joy that Elf on the Shelf brings because, believe it or not, you will miss it one day.

And pro tip? Set a reminder on your phone to move that darn elf before you get snuggled into bed for the night.

• As the eldest sibling, I felt pressure to spend money on my family during past holidays.
• It made me happy, and I wanted to be seen as successful. This year, I'm not making as much money.
• My financial position gave me anxiety, and I needed to find a solution.

I take the role of being the "eldest sibling" seriously. As the oldest sibling, I want to be a good example for my younger brother, look out for my family's needs, and be reliable and responsible.

For me, financial success is the best way to fulfill this role. In 2023, I stayed true to my role while making a decent monthly income. After monthly expenses, I could save some part of my salary. I'd spend that on my family when I visited over the holidays. But in July 2024, I turned to freelancing. My income wasn't stable, and I felt more financial pressure than ever.

As the holidays neared, I grew more anxious about money. I was still finding my footing in the freelancing world, and my savings were drying up. If I wasn't earning well, I couldn't spend well, either.

I worried about whether I could afford holiday expenses this year. I wanted to live up to what I expected of myself and what I felt my family expected of me. I also wanted to avoid the mistakes I'd made during the holiday season last year.

This year, I'm not in the same financial position as I was last year

When I went home for the holidays last year, thanks to my stable income, I wasn't worried about spending or having a holiday budget. However, I realized I should have set a spending limit when I returned. I had gone overboard.

My "eldest daughter syndrome" had kicked in several times. Treating my family to dinners, arranging celebrations for cousins, buying last-minute gifts — I wanted to take care of everything. I wanted to be reliable.

This year, my heartbeat quickened at the thought of going home. Whenever my brother called me to plan a dinner or a trip with the cousins, I would instantly check my account and wonder how I would afford it.

I didn't have the same financial privileges I'd had the year prior. Freelancing seemed promising, but I hadn't yet gotten in the groove of onboarding regular clients and earning a consistent income. I wouldn't get paid for 1-2 months after submitting one-off assignments and had to rely on my savings for expenses.

The whole month before I went home to see my family, my anxiety was through the roof. I needed a plan to navigate my financial anxiety. But first, I had to understand why it exists.

I had to look at why I felt so much pressure to pay for everything

I had a few fears. I was afraid I'd run out of money because of last-minute expenses, like dinners and gifts. I was afraid that my family would have to cover me if that happened. Lastly, I feared they would judge me if they had to cover me. I also didn't want anyone paying my way; after all, I felt like I was supposed to look out for my family, not the other way around.

I realized that spending money on my loved ones wasn't just a way to fulfill my role as the eldest sibling. It also gave me immense pleasure and was important to me. Whether it was a small gesture or a cozy dinner, I wanted to offer it.

As I explored further, I thought about how I spent every holiday since I'd started earning my own money. My parents, my cousins, everyone would offer to pay for things or contribute, but I'd insist on taking care of it. I'd go to great lengths to make sure I was the one paying. Once, I argued with my mom to let me pay for her new sweater, in front of the cashier.

When I thought back, I realized that though I enjoyed paying for things in the past, no one else expected it from me. I wanted to do it because I wanted to be perceived as responsible. In reality, I realized that I was adding unnecessary pressure on myself, especially when I was struggling to earn well.

Once I identified the problems, it was easier to look for solutions.

I figured out ways to alleviate pressure on myself

First, I allotted money to a holiday budget and decided to take on a couple of extra freelance projects to make sure sticking to it wouldn't strain me financially. I also installed a savings app that automatically transferred a fixed amount from my bank account daily. I could withdraw those savings if I went over my predetermined budget.

I noticed that the idea of unplanned holiday expenses like last-minute gifts was freaking me out. I started looking for gifts a month in advance so I'd have time to choose things that fit my budget.

Next, I examined the pressure I always felt to pay for outings with my family. I realized that I didn't have to pay for everything while struggling to build a career — and, further, no one expected me to.

Once I gained control of my holiday budget, I started to feel more confident. I also realized that I don't — and can't — always have it all together as the eldest sibling. I had to come to terms with the fact that I can't pay for everything this year. I can foot the bill for a couple of dinners with my family and cousins, but not all of them.

Letting someone else pay might challenge how I thought of myself in my role as the older sister, but keeping up that perception for myself just isn't worth it. I decided to be open to others contributing or offering to pay. I'm trying to make my peace with it.

I also reassure myself that my budget is restricted only for this holiday and that there are many more lavish holidays to come.

• Our home is within walking distance of a good school, but it wasn't the best fit for my daughter.
• To get to her school, we learned she would have to rely on Washington, DC's public transit system.
• She was just 10 at the time, but the experience taught her independence and confidence.

Just before my daughter was born, our family purchased a house in a quaint neighborhood in Washington, DC. We stretched our budget to buy a home on a quiet, tree-lined street in a "good" school district. Like many families, schools were the driving force behind our decision.

Our house is within walking distance of what were then well-regarded elementary, middle, and high schools. We thought we had created a perfect lifestyle, one that included our children walking to and from school until they graduated from high school. I was grateful for the privilege to be able to do so. The plan worked brilliantly for my daughter's elementary school years. We made the seven-minute walk to school and back together until she was in fourth grade. Then, she preferred walking with a friend. No one batted an eye in our nearly crime-free neighborhood.

The middle school in our neighborhood wasn't a good fit

Everything changed when my daughter started middle school. Although we originally intended to send her to our neighborhood school, we found a charter school that was a much better fit for her. I rejoiced when she got in. However, my joy was quickly replaced by despair when I realized there was no good way for her to get there and back. For the first time in my daughter's life, she wouldn't be able to walk to school.

Our school district doesn't provide transportation to students. Because my four kids attended four different schools, each in different parts of the city, driving her wasn't realistic either. Nevertheless, I wasn't willing to let this logistical nightmare get in the way of sending her to a dream school.

I realized putting my daughter on the city bus was the only feasible option

Washington, DC, is a city with a robust and reliable public transportation system. As I frantically searched for a solution, it became clear that taking the city bus was the best, and perhaps only, solution. My daughter, who has a late summer birthday, was only 10 when she started middle school. I worried about sending a child so young on the bus alone but decided we would have to give it a try.

My daughter has taken public transportation around the city since birth, but never without an adult. Even though she is a born-and-bred city kid, I still worried about her navigating public transportation alone at such a young age. Although she had already been walking to school without supervision for two years, she had done so safely enclosed in a familiar neighborhood, surrounded by families I knew would have treated her like their own if she ever needed help. Now, I was thrusting her alone into a big city. I worried but took a deep breath and committed to the plan.

We taught her the ins and outs of public transportation

My husband and I did our best to prepare our daughter for her new responsibility. We took her on a few practice runs, not telling her when she made mistakes like missing her stop and guiding her as she course-corrected on her own. We taught her lessons about safety, like always keeping her backpack on her lap to avoid theft, sitting near the driver so she could ask for help if anyone bothered her, and never wearing flashy jewelry. We made sure she understood how to use our transit system's app so she could check what time she needed to catch her bus and plan her route.

The first day of school arrived, and she was on her way. She had a couple of mishaps during the first few weeks. Once, she got distracted and rode right past her stop. Another time, she got on a bus going the wrong way. When these mistakes happened, as I knew they would, she called and we talked her through a solution. She always found her way home, more confident in her navigation skills and ability to adapt if something went wrong.

My daughter loves her independence

Some other parents thought I was being irresponsible by allowing my 10-year-old to ride the bus alone. However, my daughter rose to the challenge and thrived. Now, she is 14 and in 9th grade. She not only takes the bus to get home from school, but deftly navigates all forms of public transportation around the city. She loves her independence, and so do I.

When we travel, my daughter is adept at navigating new public transportation systems with ease. College, and even more independence, is approaching faster than I would like. Seeing my daughter find her way in vast, unfamiliar places gives me confidence that she will be okay on her own when she eventually launches.

If I had listened to those who thought my daughter was too young to handle this type of independence, she would not be at the fantastic school she goes to today. She would not be able to zip around the city, go shopping, see movies, or visit friends with such ease and without her Mom's help. She wouldn't have as much confidence as I see daily, confidence that spills over into other areas of her life. It's bittersweet to see my daughter so deft at a skill that takes her one step closer to complete independence, but it's one she needs. I'm glad she developed it early.

• In 2019, after relapsing multiple times, I stopped drinking.
• I was discharged and decided to treat Christmas Day as any other day, not to be pressured.
• I didn't have the urge to drink, and it was exactly what I needed.

November 10th, 2019, could have been my gravestone date, but it became my sobriety date instead.

It was my fourth and final detox from alcohol addiction; I had been caught in a cycle of repeated relapse for several years — this time, I had to make it work.

During my hospital admission, I naturally thought about the future and the next steps in my recovery. At that moment, the thought of Christmas filled me with dread.

The reality is that alcoholism makes you more and more insular, and I was desperately clinging on to the few people I had left. Knowing I was going to be spending Christmas alone for the first time felt like a punishment. It was the opposite.

The previous year, I blacked out

The previous Christmas Eve, I had been in the same hospital for a mental health crisis. While there's no question my drinking significantly exacerbated my mental state, at the time, I wasn't thinking about sobriety.

When I had been discharged earlier on Christmas Day, I went home and slept through the day. It had become routine: I would be kept overnight and discharged the following day after being seen by a psychiatric nurse. I woke up at about 7 p.m. to drink just enough to prevent having withdrawals and went back to bed. Truth be told, I don't remember anything between Christmas and New Year's Day, and it was the longest I'd ever blacked out.

This time around, I was discharged after an eight-day admission for detox, and my first priority was getting through my coming holiday without any alcohol.

I treated the day like a normal one

Two days before Christmas Day, I decided to treat it like any other day but make it extra special. I bought a chicken to roast, vegetables, and an extra nice dessert.

Because I was no longer drinking alcohol, my biggest dilemma was what I should drink. So I bought fizzy grape juice — like wine but without the alcohol. Every time I felt my anxieties rise about the big day, I told myself: "It's only a day, and it will be over before you know it."

What surprised me was that no one really asked me what I was doing for Christmas, which actually made it easier. In previous years, before my epic relapse, I was invited to my friend's house. His mother would come over from Paris; he'd cook pheasant and all the trimmings. However, this year, he and his mother were going to Switzerland for a skiing trip, leaving me out in the cold.

In my teens and 20s, I would go to my dad's place, which often involved him being drunk and passing out in the afternoon. This was not something I wanted to do, and it only served as a reminder of why I needed to stay sober.

Christmas can be anything you want

I realized that there was no "right way" to do Christmas. That was where a lot of the pressure came from — the traditions, the presents, the goodwill, and the expectations that come with it.

On the big day itself, I decided to do exactly what I wanted to do. I'd earned it after all the work I'd put into my sobriety the previous few weeks. I cooked my roast chicken with unconventional herbs and spices and had my gluten-free dessert and sparkling grape juice. I allowed myself to watch trash TV, which reminded me why I never habitually watched anything.

Unlike Christmases gone by, I didn't have to get up to go anywhere or even get dressed. Knowing there were no people involved eased my anxieties. There were no awkward conversations around the dinner table with relatives I only see at Christmas, big birthdays, or funerals. Nor did I have to down a bottle of wine to ensure there was enough alcohol in my system to get me through the day. This was my Christmas, and I did it my way. It turned out to be bliss.

Many people think the idea of spending Christmas on their own sounds lonely and unappealing. For me, spending Christmas alone is about taking responsibility. The alternative is that I would re-expose myself to triggers that contributed to my complex PTSD, which underpinned my alcohol addiction.

Now approaching my sixth sober solo Christmas, I'm looking forward to it.

• I am a single mom and allowed my son a lot of independence growing up.
• I was leaving him home alone when he was 7. By his tweens, he was navigating the city on his own.
• My parenting may be unconventional but it worked because of how I raised him at a young age.

I wanted my kid to have many of the same freedoms I had growing up in the '80s in the country — full of tree climbing, go-cart driving, and playing outside until the lights came on. My parents were relatively carefree and let us roam with minimal supervision, as long as our chores were done.

By the time my baby boy was 18 months old, I was a working single mother in the city and his sole provider, which meant my approach to parenting was going to take a different direction than I had imagined.

I didn't have the luxury of a partner for help, so I was constantly on duty. In order to coexist peacefully, I needed my son's cooperation, especially since he had a fierce need for independence at a young age.

I let him problem-solve, which sometimes led to a skinned knee

Cooperation required clear, age-appropriate communication of my expectations for him and his capabilities.

When he was 2, he was one of the youngest in our local park to climb the Jacob's Ladder. When he would get stuck at the top, I would explain to him that if he could get to the top by himself, he had to be able to get down by himself, too.

He soon became aware of his limitations and strengths. He would occasionally fall and skin his knee or the palm of his hand, but this never deterred him from going back for another climbing round.

Just because he got scuffed up a bit didn't mean I wasn't diligent about paying attention to him — I just let him problem-solve on his own through gentle encouragement and minimal interference.

With this approach, I successfully kept him out of the ER despite multiple spills off his skateboard and jumping from the top of the jungle gym.

The day I'll never forget

While I encouraged him to be independent and self-confident, I still felt the need to keep him close when he was a child.

That's why I'll never forget the day when he was 7 and ventured to his friend's home alone without telling me.

He scootered down one of the busiest streets in the city and crossed a huge intersection to get there.

I thought he was in our condo complex riding his scooter. When he called me 30 minutes later to tell me he was at his friend's house, I asked him why he hadn't told me where he was going.

He said it was because he knew I wouldn't have let him go alone. He was right.

Then he added that I'd taught him how to push the crosswalk button and he knew what he was doing. It dawned on me that he was also right about that.

That day, my trust in his abilities grew exponentially. I began letting him stay home while I ran errands.

By his tween years, he was confidently navigating the city bus system and biking across town — activities none of his friends were doing.

Other parents often questioned my free-range parenting approach, but I wasn't concerned. We had a reliable check-in system, and I trusted him completely.

I set clear boundaries and delivered consequences if he broke the rules, like if he didn't call me as soon as he arrived somewhere, he wasn't allowed to go again.

I don't regret how I raised my son

My style might have been unconventional, but now, at 19, he's still marching to the beat of his own drum and we have a strong and trusting relationship.

Watching him fly the coop with the tools and confidence I instilled is one of the greatest achievements of my life, and I can't wait to see where the next 20 years will take him.

• After 10 years in elementary education, I decided I no longer wanted to be a teacher.
• I wanted a more flexible job that allowed me to stay at home with my kids.
• When time allows, I'm able to make more money than I did as a teacher and have a better work-life balance.

When I went into education, I did so with the best intentions. Being a male elementary school teacher was sort of like being a unicorn. It is extremely rare for a man to be teaching early elementary. There were plenty of single-mom families in the area where I lived, and I knew many students didn't have a male role model at home to inspire them, so I thought I could fill this void. I took the responsibility seriously.

But after ten years in the field, I had to tap out for a few reasons. None of the reasons really had to do with the students themselves. The pay wasn't great (after 10 years of teaching I was still taking home just around $3,000 a month) and I didn't enjoy the politics of teaching. But, the most important reason was probably that my wife and I were ready to start a family. She often works long hours and I didn't want someone else to raise my children. I thought I could find a way to contribute financially and still be home with the children.

Becoming a freelance writer

Before I went into education, I had been a journalist for a few years. It wasn't something I really enjoyed at the time and I didn't see myself wanting to cover mundane board meetings forever. If you ever suffer from insomnia, just drop in on these meetings occasionally. It's like an instant sleeping pill.

Still, I thought I was a decent writer. I've certainly read worse over the years from people who made their living as professional writers. So while I was still teaching, I joined Upwork, a website that connects freelancers with those looking to hire contract workers. Upwork allows people or companies to search for a specific type of writer they are looking for to complete their project at hand. You are competing against other writers who are also applying, but Upwork is a great tool to use when you are first attempting a freelance career.

To begin, I set my fees low to get my foot in the door. Then it wasn't long before I had clients who were asking me to write for them on either a weekly or monthly basis. As an unexpected bonus, most of the topics I covered genuinely interested me. Health and fitness, education, and even ghostwriting children's books were all things I enjoyed writing — and I was getting paid to do it.

Fast forward four months

As I was wrapping up my last weeks in the classroom before the school year ended, I realized I could go give my notice that I would not be coming back to teach the following August.

I had just made $6,000 in one month from freelancing — and that was while I was still teaching. I would definitely miss my students and all the friends I had made, but being able to set my own schedule, work from home, and raise my kids was something I could not pass up. My wife and I were having children later on in life, and the math showed me I would probably not get the chance to spend as much time with my kids as other fathers, so I switched careers.

My plan is mostly working well

I'll admit, I underestimated how much time I would have to write while taking care of two babies at home. I've really had to narrow down my client list over the last five years, picking the ones that are truly worthwhile. Now I only accept writing assignments I can get excited about.

Though I only have about 15 hours of free time at home a week where I can focus on writing, I have made the most of it. In fact, you can find my two children's books "Ellie and Jack: Third Grade Ghost Hunters," and "Ellie and Jack: Third Grade Vampire Hunters," on Amazon and other sites. I always wanted to write children's books, and after helping thousands of children become better readers over the years, I think I have a pretty good idea on the types of stories they love to read. Weaving my teaching past into my current career has been a joy.

With one child getting ready for kindergarten and the other just a couple of years away, it won't be long before I will have more time to write once again.

• Early on in our marriage, my husband and I decided to split the house chores evenly.
• He takes care of all the outdoor chores while I focus on the inside ones.
• We are more than happy to help each other out, but we have the final say over our domains.

Very early on in our marriage, my spouse coined the phrase "Outside mine, inside yours."

It has been our guiding principle. The saying meant he took care of all the outdoor work, and I handled all the indoor chores.

In other words, I could decorate however I wanted, and he didn't want any gruff about how short he was cutting the grass.

This mantra has worked for us for 10 years, and I think it's the key to happiness in marriage.

We separate our chores evenly

My husband tills the garden, plants, and schedules watering. He also cleans the chicken coop and fills their food and water containers. He chops wood, mows, mulches leaves, and does anything else that needs to be done. In winter, that includes salting and shoveling snow.

The "outside" part of our mantra also includes vehicle and camper maintenance.

We were gifted an antique metal set of monkey bars that he'll soon install in the backyard. Between that and his garage projects, it's more than enough to keep him busy. Our two young boys also enjoy helping with the outdoor chores.

As the trio tromps happily outside, I fold laundry and scrub dishes in peace — usually with an audiobook playing in my ear.

It helps us take ownership of our domains

We will ask for the other's opinion about a planned project, but ultimately, we have the final say in our own areas.

For example, we had a small rustic fence that my husband wanted to remove. I wanted to paint it and decorate it with antiques, but because the task was technically in his domain, he ultimately decided to remove it. I stepped back and let him handle it.

Indoors, I have often rearranged and ordered rugs, chair covers, etc., and he lets me without comment.

But we also help each other out when needed

Just because the indoors is my lane doesn't mean he's immune to inside tasks — or vice versa. I'm regularly asked to feed pets or help with the birds. Meanwhile, my husband helps with laundry and often cleans the bathroom.

Our arrangement is less about "I'm only doing this" and more about "You are the manager of this area." It removes the mental workload from the other's list and allows us to focus on one area. While I don't mind helping in the duck pond, it's nice that I don't have to remember when it needs to be done. In the same way, I'll often ask if he can clean the counters or fold the towels because it's on my list of what needs to be completed and not his.

My more flexible work schedule also affects what chores I complete and when. As I'm home more, it's simply easier for me to run laundry. However, he folds and puts his own away.

Winter also means fewer outside chores that need to be completed. Meanwhile, with four of us helping inside, the indoor workload is lowered for all.

This division helps us stay united

We end up with a fairly even set of tasks that also highlight our individual skills. By dividing and conquering the mental load of outdoor vs. indoor chores, we're able to get everything done with less stress and planning in advance.

It also shows our sons that gender-specific chores don't exist; it's about working as a team and putting your abilities where you're most talented. To really send this home, we rotate the chores that they are in charge of completing, whether it be putting dishes away, vacuuming, stacking wood, sorting laundry, or cleaning the garage. We focus on the fact that we all live under one roof, and a part of that is helping take care of the space, whether it's inside or out.

This setup helps my husband and I avoid arguments about one doing more work than the other. In this way, we are a team and happier for it.

• I didn't understand how to set boundaries for myself and my son when he was born.
• He'd make excuses why he couldn't complete age-appropriate tasks, and I'd do them for him.
• When he was nearly 8, I was still unwillingly co-sleeping with him. I felt haggard and resentful.

I grew up on gold stars and participation trophies as an unwitting member of the self-esteem generation. When I entered motherhood in 2011, I took it even further.

My Bay Area enclave of well-to-do hippies was all about attachment parenting, which advocates baby-wearing and bodily closeness, high empathy and responding to baby's cries, and co-sleeping to keep baby nearby.

I don't disagree with these ideas. The problem was that I didn't understand how to honor my boundaries while I went about doing everything for my son.

I didn't know how to disentangle a need from a want, especially in the stressed-out throes of early, unplanned motherhood.

By the time my son was entering grade school, it felt as if he had me wrapped around his little finger. Luckily, I've learned to flex my boundary muscle so I no longer bow to his every whim.

Every moment revolved around my son's satisfaction, and I resented it

When he was nearing 8, I was still cutting up his meat, tying his shoes, and co-sleeping. He was scared to sleep alone, and I couldn't stomach his discomfort.

He'd make excuses for why he couldn't complete age-appropriate tasks like opening water bottles (it hurt his hands) or washing the dishes (the dirty sink gave him the ick). So, I'd open the bottle for him and remove dishwashing from his agenda.

Every moment revolved around keeping him satisfied to avoid arousing my own motherly anxiety at his displeasure and emotional pain.

Meanwhile, I felt haggard and resentful. I finally decided things needed to change, recognizing that if my son didn't learn how to cope now, he wouldn't be able to do it as an adult without me.

I turned things around for me and my son

When my son was 8, I started the slow, but essential, process of making him sleep alone in his room.

We started with extra goodnight hugs and keeping his bedroom lights on and progressed to a quick cuddle and single nightlight.

After months of trial and error, he was finally putting himself to bed and not creeping into my room in the middle of the night to wake me for comfort.

As I started to set more boundaries, I also learned to love the sound of my own voice saying "No." It's a slow process, though.

My son is now 12, and he still asks me to do the simplest things for him like refill his water bottle or bring him pants first thing in the morning while he stays in bed. My answer is no.

We're now working on repairing my son's sense of self

As a preteen, my son has little self-agency. We're working to repair his sense of self, his confidence in his own decision-making, and his ability to persevere.

I've learned that baby steps are key to breaking harmful patterns. I teach him to break down each task into digestible chunks that don't feel daunting or overwhelming. In the past, I'd take it off his agenda completely, but not anymore.

I've found this strategy is essential for me, too. It helps me pace myself while keeping a mostly harmonious household.

We celebrate the little wins like learning to make the school bus on time each morning with some well-placed praise, a hot chocolate, or a sushi dinner.

I frame our work as a cooperative venture that's preparing him for adulthood, and he understands — though often begrudgingly — that we're on the same team.

We used to operate under the false idea that permission equals love. I've rewritten our script to emphasize that boundaries and expectations equal love.

I now respect my son and myself. I know he's capable, and my behavior reflects this back to him so he can believe it, too.

• Every year, our list of holiday traditions grows.
• We get a Christmas tree from the same farm every year, do an advent calendar, and more.
• It takes a lot of effort to stay organized, but it's worth it.

My childhood was a little tumultuous. Because of how often we moved, we didn't have many traditions that continued year after year. So, once I became settled, I began creating traditions for myself. One of my favorites has been making a celebration out of the entire month of December.

From "bad" holiday romcom-watching parties to a habit of collecting tree ornaments every place I travel, I go all in on Christmas. Since becoming a mother, I've embraced this tendency, which has made the list of our holiday traditions get longer and longer. While it's chaotic, I love everything about the experience.

We start our Christmas traditions the day after Thanksgiving

Our traditions start the day after Thanksgiving when we trade our gratitude tree for a Christmas tree. Our family has gotten a tree from the same farm for over a decade, and once we get it home, we put on holiday songs while we decorate. At this point, so many of our ornaments come from places we've visited together that it's a fun walk down memory lane, too.

We also have a family advent calendar that I fill with small candies, new board games, and Christmas pajamas for the kids. I also add notes to the calendar that take us on outings throughout the month of December, including outdoor ice skating, trips to see Christmas light displays around town, and a holiday movie marathon. Finally, the final day of the advent calendar holds the first clue of a scavenger hunt for our kids on Christmas morning that leads to a shared present for them.

We also look for ways to give within our community, like sponsoring families or elders for the holidays, participating in toy and clothes drives, and creating bags with socks, hand warmers, water, and snacks to hand out to homeless people throughout the month.

Our traditions take a lot of effort but I work to keep it manageable

Just the act of listing what we do throughout the season makes me feel a little extra. But by now, I've created a system that helps keep all the magic-making manageable for me. I'm a self-proclaimed organization nerd who loves using Asana to keep tasks organized.

I have created a "Holiday" project board that outlines everything we do each year, along with deadlines, a budget, and ideas we did in previous years that I can pull from. In mid-November, I sit down to look at my board and our budget to create our advent activities schedule, figure out if I'm missing anything, and plan from there.

Our kids love our traditions and getting in the holiday spirit really

The traditions we're creating as a family take a lot of effort on my end, but now that our kids are getting older, I'm seeing the benefits of the work. Last year, my youngest asked "Santa" to bring him an advent calendar. This year, he filled it with leftover Halloween candy and notes about board games to play as a family each night. Then he set it out for all of us.

My oldest recently started a business selling handmade goods, and she gives a portion of her earnings to a local nonprofit. And my middle tackles gingerbread house-making, holiday decorating, and Christmas caroling with the zeal of Clark Griswald.

Our kids seem to embrace the spirit of Christmas continuously rather than focus on one big day or presents alone. We manage to avoid the holiday hangover feeling so often associated with December 26. Our family genuinely looks forward to holiday activities all year long. And our kids are learning the joy of giving to others during the holidays and beyond. Even though the experience demands a steady supply of holiday magic and more than a little organizational effort, I wouldn't trade it for anything.

• Coming together over food has always been a core part of my family's holiday celebrations.
• In my 20s, an eating disorder took the joy out of gathering with family and friends.
• Now, my family gatherings — and the food at them — are enjoyable once again.

Food is a core part of holiday traditions for most families — especially mine. "Some people eat to live, but we live to eat," my grandfather would always say. Every year, I looked forward to the over-the-top spread at Thanksgiving, and the countless decadent desserts on display at Christmas. It was wonderful — until I developed an eating disorder at 21.

How it started

I spent my last semester of college interning in Los Angeles — about two months in, after a devastating and blindsiding breakup with my boyfriend, my mother began losing our home back on the East Coast. I felt like I had lost control of the wheel. The one thing in my life I could control? What I ate.

It started with a food journal. I carried it everywhere, jotting down every single thing I put in my mouth. Even a couple of grapes or a small handful of granola had to be tracked and recorded. Then I began following several nutrition blogs and reading those oh-so-problematic "what I eat in a day" posts. Now I know that those bloggers' meals didn't provide enough calories for me, but at the time they were something I looked to for inspiration.

The false sense of control I gained from tracking calories and counting almonds was intoxicating — and my habits gradually spiraled. Soon I had to measure every tablespoon of peanut butter I spread on a sandwich or the oil I drizzled on a salad. It became impossible to enjoy a meal out with friends, because I knew I'd lie awake later that night riddled with anxiety about not knowing exactly what I'd consumed.

It's funny. At the time, I felt so in control when in reality, the disorder had begun controlling me. It had the final say on where, what, and how much I could eat, and the joy I could derive from enjoying food with loved ones.

Needless to say, when the holidays rolled around that year, the emphasis on food no longer felt like a perk. Instead, it was agonizing. In the days leading up to Thanksgiving, I spent hours plotting how I could fool my family into thinking I'd feasted along with them while hiding food in a napkin. And then I spent countless sleepless nights after Christmas simultaneously shaming myself for my choices and wrestling with regret that I hadn't allowed myself to indulge in my favorite treats.

A turning point

This December marks 13 years since I hit rock bottom. And from this vantage point, it's hard to believe that my eating disorder almost ruined all of my favorite holidays for me. Although my mom and other family members had urged me to get help, only I could make that decision for myself and put in the work it takes to recover. When I realized that my eating disorder was impairing my social life, dating life, and ability to travel while also holding me back from achieving my career goals and sapping all the joy out of fun celebratory occasions, I decided to seek professional help.

It took extensive therapy for me to get here — to unpack the fears and feelings at the root of my disordered thoughts and habits — but I finally reached what I consider to be a full recovery from my eating disorder at age 23. I feel so fortunate to have worked with Dr. Jennifer Thomas, a psychologist who has since become the co-director of the Eating Disorders Clinical and Research Program at Massachusetts General Hospital. During our weekly sessions, she gave me challenges to try at home that often felt uncomfortable — eating at different times than my usual schedule, incorporating "fear foods" back into my routine one by one, and offered invaluable support as I dug into the desperation for control that was driving my eating disorder.

Now, I make a choice to be healthy every day

Since then, I've given several speeches at my local chapter of the National Eating Disorders Association to offer hope for people on their own recovery journey. During these speeches, I've made it a point to give people a realistic idea of what life looks like post-recovery. In setting those expectations, I've told them: "It's not like your disorder disappears. It's just so much easier to squash that toxic inner dialogue."

Mindfulness has played a key role in my recovery — and the way I cope at food-focused holidays and other occasions. For so many years, I ignored what my body was trying to tell me. It got to the point where I didn't even notice hunger cues or cravings anymore. Practicing mindfulness has helped me to tune back into those signals so that when disordered thoughts arise, I can check in internally and make decisions based on my body's actual needs.

When surveying the family-style feast on Thanksgiving, my mind is sometimes quick to whisper: "You should load up on carrots rather than mashed potatoes," or "You already had sugar-laden cranberry sauce, you should skip the pie." The difference now is that it's become easier to dismiss that voice, like an old frenemy whose advice and opinions I just don't value any longer. And every time I opt to pay no attention to it, it gets a little bit quieter. Nowadays, I often reach the end of a holiday celebration realizing that I didn't hear my eating disorder's unhelpful input at all.

Research shows that only around 21% of people make a full recovery from an eating disorder. I'm very grateful to count myself among that minority because as the holidays fast approach again this year, I'm not worrying about how to "get through" while depriving myself of all the foods that bring me joy and pleasure. I'm far more focused on how grateful I am to even have access to these foods — something so many Americans lack.

My memories of those holidays during the peak of my disorder feel so hazy, like a photograph that's faded beyond perceptibility. This year, rather than being distracted by my own anxious thoughts, I'm focused on being present with my family and friends. I want to remember every conversation — and every bite.