Chapter 36

The next night, June finally managed to get a better night's sleep. It wasn’t perfect, but it was so much better than the restless nights she’d been enduring lately. She had installed the Calm app, the newest one sponsored by GeoMetric, and listened to a couple of 30-minute guided meditations. The first one—a narration about riding a luxury train through Norway into the Arctic Circle—nearly lulled her to sleep after 20 minutes, but then, just as she was drifting, a sudden “fall response” jerked her awake. Ugh, she thought. That rarely happens.

Frustrated but determined to rest, June got up, let the dog out, and went to the bathroom one last time, eliminating any potential interruptions. She tried another guided meditation—this one a long, self-love poem. It didn’t resonate with her as much, but it was soothing.

Reflecting on the experience, June realized something: she preferred the strong male voice from the first meditation to the soft female voice from the second. The male voice had felt safe, soothing, and comfortable, while the female voice had irritated her slightly. Maybe it’s because I never had much of a connection with my mother, June mused. My father… he was toxically male, teaching me that a woman’s softness and kindness were weaknesses. He saw a woman’s sexiness as dangerous power, something to be feared and despised.

June remembered how her father had viewed short skirts, makeup, and high heels as tools of a woman’s seductive power. In his mind, women tempted men, and men were powerless to resist. He had instilled in her the belief that a woman’s greatest vulnerability was her sexuality, and that if a woman tempted a man, she bore the responsibility for any harm that followed. His disdain for women’s power—coupled with his attraction to it—had been deeply confusing for June as a child.

But there had been another side to him. Her father could be fun. He took her and her brother to the park, made up games while waiting at the bus stop, and even did the grocery shopping. June recalled how, as a child, she had always won their bus stop races. Her father would berate her brother for losing to a girl, making June his “champion.” She was his "beautiful, smart" girl, helping him navigate the world by reading street signs from the city bus windows and withdrawing money from the new TYME machines.

At night, he would tuck her in and tell stories. She loved his tuck-ins, for the most part. It felt like she was the center of his world, though she rarely remembered her brother being there. In her memories, it was just her and her father. Sometimes, he’d rub lotion on her feet, making her giggle. Mostly, though, he told stories—adventurous, often amusing tales from his past. But there were darker stories too, memories of his time at boarding school for the blind and stories about his old girlfriends. He shared far more than a child should have heard, especially when his stories turned to his current desires and frustrations with his marriage to her mother.

Her mother, however, was a ghost. Sad, depressed, and dependent. She drained any joy from the room, stifling it whenever it emerged. June tolerated her mother’s affections—the wet kisses, the hugs—but only sometimes. She kept her mother at a distance. Her mother, in turn, seemed content to let June’s father lavish all his affection on their oldest daughter, as long as she was left alone. The only thing June’s mother ever showed passion for was football. The intensity with which she watched the games—yelling “Get ‘em, get ‘em, get ‘em!”—was baffling to June, who found the sport utterly boring.

Wow, June thought, where did all of that just come from? She had started off reflecting on guided meditations and her preference for male versus female voices, and suddenly, she was awash with a flood of memories. She was now in her daily team Zoom meeting, where the tech team was talking about an issue with Jira. June was only tangentially listening, as she was an “informed” party on the call and didn’t have much to contribute. She used the time to journal instead.

June felt fortunate to be able to work from home like this. When COVID first hit, the isolation of working in her basement office had left her feeling depressed and anxious. She had filled gaps between meetings with naps, trying to stave off her anxiety. During meetings where she wasn’t an active participant, she had scanned Facebook and LinkedIn, searching for small slices of connection but never posting—only watching. I was really withdrawn back then, June realized. I don’t want to go back to that.

No more. Now, she was dedicated to working on herself. She had stopped drinking daily, and even when she had indulged recently, she had noticed she wasn’t “getting” much from the experience. She had also stopped smoking weed entirely. In my current state, I can’t risk triggering another psychotic break, she reminded herself.

She remembered how Dr. Saeed had warned her about the connection between marijuana and psychosis, but at the time, June had dismissed her advice. I didn’t like Dr. Saeed, June admitted to herself. I didn’t trust her. She needed to find a psychiatrist she could trust, and she hoped that Kevin Jensen, the referral from Solin, would be the right fit. Her goal was to manage whatever condition she had with as few medications as possible. She wanted to keep her wits about her.

I’ll be humble and accept medication if it comes to that, June thought. But it has to be the right meds, and I need the right diagnosis. If it’s bipolar, then so be it. But I own me. She was determined not to let any doctor slap a diagnosis on her without her understanding it fully.

June’s thoughts turned to therapy. She was starting to reconsider her resistance to the idea that talk therapy could change brain structures. Dr. Saeed had mentioned that talk therapy could strengthen areas of the brain, and June was beginning to see how it could work. She had read an analogy that compared it to building new freeways: the old one-lane roads of negative thoughts would remain, but they’d become unused and overgrown as the brain preferred the newer, more positive paths. I’m ready to build those freeways, she thought. I hope the old roads crumble and become covered with beautiful wildflowers.

Her meeting continued in the background, but June remained focused on her journaling. She scrolled through Facebook and came across a post by someone from her grade school who had once bullied her a little. Despite that, her old classmate’s post about consent—both sexual and non-sexual—struck a chord with her, especially the line: The person who told you ‘no’ isn’t responsible for helping you process that disappointment.

June felt the power in that statement and commented on the post, knowing Donna would likely see it. Smallkaska. Her old classmate and Donna had been soccer buddies, and Donna had told June about a horrifying ordeal that her old classmate had confided in her about.  She’d survived an incredibly physically and mentally abusive relationship. But June didn’t care. She was committed to being consistent with her "no" in every part of her life, not just in sexual situations.

This is my path now, June thought. I’m dedicated to being myself, and to never going back into that cage.

While working that afternoon, June found herself reading more about codependency. The more she read, the dizzier and more disoriented she felt. It was like witnessing a car wreck—horrifying, yet impossible to look away. Oh boy, she thought. Relationship addiction, codependency—it’s all the same. And June knew she was right in the middle of it, as were Donna and Hadrian. They all had insecure attachment styles rooted in childhood trauma. The realization left her with a daunting sense of how much work she had ahead of her. But there was hope. The website reassured her that codependency was highly recoverable, and she was ready to start. So. Ready.

She could already see the steps she was taking, even by journaling. June reminded herself to slow down, breathe, and take it one step at a time. She needed to ground herself and stop obsessing over fixing others.

Back to journaling about me, she thought. My life, my happenings. Grounding. Breathe.

But June couldn’t shake the thought of her children and how helping herself also meant helping them. That morning, she had walked with Evelyn and True, and Evelyn had admitted that she felt sad a lot. She even thought she might be depressed. June’s heart broke. She didn’t know how to help her daughter, and the helplessness gnawed at her.

She told Evelyn that sometimes, depression came from not being true to yourself, from not doing things that make you happy or healthy. She had praised her for coming on the walk, pointing out how exercise could help with those feelings of sadness. June also encouraged Evelyn to explore the things she liked, starting with her favorite color. “Indigo, right?” June asked, but Evelyn shook her head. “No, it’s dark purple.”

“Good,” June said, “that’s one thing.” She then asked about her favorite music. When Evelyn didn’t know, June offered to put on some songs, and Evelyn agreed.

June picked Sia’s Chandelier, and as they walked, Evelyn seemed to perk up a little. When Christina Perri’s A Thousand Years—a song Evelyn often played—came on, she smiled. As they returned home, Evelyn joked that she had expected June to play Fight Song, since it had been on repeat lately. June laughed. “No, I wanted to change it up.”

Afterward, June had to switch back to work, leading meetings and closing out her day. As she prepped for her upcoming session with Solin, she reflected on all the things she wanted to discuss. There was so much to cover, yet so little time. Breathe, she reminded herself. Prioritize. I do this every day for work; I can do it here, too.

She began her mental status update:

Physical health: still having trouble sleeping, though everything else seemed mostly regulated. She was still a bit "speedy" and couldn’t find a deep, restful sleep. She had talked to Solin about this, but there wasn’t much advice—just a note made for future conversations.

Rooted Spirit Yoga: June was looking forward to her upcoming trauma yoga consultation with Nia, an instructor who was also an RN. She wasn’t sure if she had mentioned this to Solin during their last session.

Old poems: Revisiting her poem At Arm’s Length had brought insight. It felt like her brain on trauma, similar to the old commercial with the cracked and frying eggs, about your brain on drugs, any questions? Solin had agreed, commenting that as a child, June had built an armor to protect herself.

Codependency: June had shared her realizations with Solin. I’m codependent. A relationship addict. I want to stop. I want to heal. Solin had hesitated, explaining that codependency existed on a spectrum. Attachment styles were deeply ingrained by the time children reached about three years old. Solin had emphasized that few people had a truly secure attachment, but understanding attachment styles could help June on her journey.

Donna: June still hadn’t sent Donna an update. She wanted to explain what had happened in their relationship but knew she needed to feel steady before doing so. Solin had cautioned her to be sure of what she wanted from the relationship before reaching out. She had also pointed out that the dynamic June had with Donna mirrored aspects of June’s relationship with her father, which meant there was a lot of work still to be done. Solin did think it would be “lovely” to send a brief check-in to let Donna know she wasn’t being ghosted and that June was still working on herself.

June chuckled at how fast time flew during her sessions with Solin. They had been running short on time, and she hadn’t even had the chance to ask about homework for the next week. Ugh, June thought. I wanted homework! She mentally noted to put that at the top of her list for the next session.

Back at her desk, June reflected on her day. There was still so much to process—between her own mental health, her codependency realizations, and how to best support her children. But she was on a path, and she wasn’t turning back. It was a continued journey, one step at a time.

June slept well that night. Though she woke up a couple of times, she managed to fall into a deep sleep much more easily than she had in the past week. She had listened to a guided meditation from the Calm app—Lavar Burton talking about the stars—and drifted off before the 45-minute session was over. Even when she did wake up during the night, she felt calm, no longer flushing hot or breaking into sweats like before. Each time, she was able to peacefully drift back to sleep.

Whew, she thought, finally. The relief was palpable. She had been starting to worry that she was on the verge of something more serious, like mania or psychosis. But now, she felt hopeful again. I’m looking forward to starting yoga, she thought, her hopes high for the benefits it might bring to her life.

The morning was relatively uneventful. June took True for a walk with Evelyn, though it felt like winter outside. Sometimes, the unpredictable weather in the Midwest really tested her patience. She had to encourage Evelyn to join her, but she left the decision up to her daughter. Evelyn waffled a few times, but ultimately decided to go. June still struggled with how slow Evelyn walked. She had to constantly remind herself not to pressure her to move faster. Evelyn, in her gentle but firm way, stood up for herself, insisting that this was the pace her body was comfortable with. June respected that and reminded herself that Evelyn’s whole personality and pace were different from hers—and she needed to honor that.

June loved helping Evelyn incorporate exercise into her life, but she realized she needed to carve out time for her own exercise, too—something that was just for her. She was working on it and knew it would help once she found that balance.

The night before, June had promised Emily that she’d help her do her hair before school. Emily had a field trip to the symphony and wanted to look nice, pulling the front of her hair into a ponytail and letting the rest hang loose. June had warned her it would take some time to brush out all the tangles since Emily hadn’t been wearing braids that week, but Emily was fine with it. June had promised to wake up earlier and return from her walk sooner so they’d have enough time. She even offered to skip her shower, working from home as she did, if it would help.

When June got back from her walk, she was pleased to see that Emily had already gotten dressed, taken out her ponytails, and started brushing her hair. “Awesome!” June said. But then Emily asked if she could straighten her hair instead, a process that would take about an hour. June gently told her they didn’t have enough time for that. Emily was disappointed, but June reminded her of their agreement from the night before and apologized, explaining they’d need to stick with what they had planned.

Emily then found a hot comb that Hadrian had bought but never used. “Okay, let’s try that,” June said, hoping it would help speed up the process. As the minutes ticked by, though, Emily was struggling with the tangles, and June started to feel stressed about the time. Gently, she told Emily they only had about 30 minutes left and suggested checking back in 15 minutes to see if they were halfway done.

A few minutes later, Emily asked June to brush her hair for her. “Sure,” June said, but she noticed Emily’s phone was at 17%. When she asked why it hadn’t been charged overnight, Emily’s frustration boiled over. She began to cry, insisting someone had stolen her charger. She crumpled into a ball in the bathtub, crying about her phone dying and not having enough time for her hair.

June took a deep breath, calming herself first. She walked over to the tub and gently put her arm around Emily. “We’ll get through this,” she reassured her. “I’ll find another charger, and we’ll take it step by step.”

She asked Evelyn if they could use her charger, bracing for the possibility of Evelyn being protective over her things. But Evelyn, hearing her sister’s distress, generously said, “Sure.” June felt a wave of relief.

They got to work. June quickly sectioned off Emily’s hair and brushed and straightened each part—not to her usual standards, but it was good enough. Soon enough, they were done, with time to spare for a quick breakfast before heading out the door.

June reflected on the moment. Emily had picked up on her stress, and it had made her break down under the pressure. Kids are so perceptive, June thought, so vulnerable to their parents' emotions. It reminded her why it was so important to take care of herself so she could take care of them. This is why I need to meet their distress with my calm.

I’m learning, she told herself. I’m doing! I will continue on this journey, and I will heal and grow. We will all heal and grow, in time.

June thought back to the previous night, before bed, she’d spent some time talking with Elizabeth about going to see the therapist that Hadrian’s therapist friend from the gym, Adriana, had recommended. It turned into an amazing heart-to-heart conversation, even though Elizabeth was still resisting the idea of therapy. She was convinced it wouldn’t help and would be a waste of money. But during the conversation, Elizabeth opened up, revealing a lot of reflective and heavy thoughts—mostly in defense of her current state, as though nothing was wrong with her. However, June gained valuable insights into what was going on in her daughter's mind.

When June asked Elizabeth if she knew why they wanted her to see a therapist, Elizabeth replied, “Because you want to have a functional family.” June gently corrected her, explaining that while that was true, it was really Hadrian and her responsibility to ensure their family was functional—it wasn’t Elizabeth’s burden to bear. Elizabeth insisted that she had a role in that, and June agreed, but emphasized that as adults, it was fully on them to manage how the family functioned. She explained that they simply wanted to make sure Elizabeth had the tools she needed to be her best self.

Elizabeth then said something that caught June off guard. “I already have all the tools I need. I’m really good at manipulation—to get what I need—and I’m even good at manipulating myself.” She admitted she used to steal a lot and shared how difficult it had been not to steal when they were at Bridal Cave, with all the tempting gems, stones, and crystals in the gift shop. She looked proud of herself for showing restraint, and June told her how glad she was that she hadn’t stolen anything.

Curious, June asked how Elizabeth had managed to resist the temptation. Elizabeth brought up a memory from when they went camping at Moth Lake. She had been punished for stealing something, and as a consequence, she had to stay at Grandma’s house while the rest of the family went on the trip. While at Hadrian’s mother’s house, Elizabeth had gotten hungry, but Dotty told her to wait until dinner. Feeling famished, Elizabeth had snuck some Ritz crackers and eaten them behind the couch. She laughed at the memory now, calling herself a “stupid kid” for forgetting to hide the evidence. Grandma had found the wrapper and crumbs and scolded her for stealing the crackers, reminding her of why she was being punished.

Grandma had said something that still stung Elizabeth. “Do you want to grow up and go to jail?” she had yelled. She even suggested they should hang a sign around her neck that said “thief.” Elizabeth admitted she cried when Grandma said that, recalling how she used to be a “crybaby” back then.

June’s heart ached. She validated Elizabeth’s sadness, acknowledging that what Grandma had said was hurtful. “That would’ve made me cry too,” June said softly.

Internally, June was raging. Her “mama bear” instincts kicked in, and she wanted to protect her daughter from the pain of that memory. She also felt a wave of guilt for punishing Elizabeth by excluding her from family trips as a consequence for stealing. Looking back, June realized that was the wrong approach for a nine-year-old. It had been Hadrian’s idea, and June had gone along with it, but it didn’t sit right with her now. They had even done it again when they went to River Dell for Emily’s birthday. The sadness of it all weighed on her.

June and Hadrian had talked after that last River Dell trip and agreed they wouldn’t exclude Elizabeth from family trips again. It hadn’t worked, and it felt awful for everyone involved. Tender self-compassion is needed here, June thought—for herself, Hadrian, and Grandma. As parents, they had been trying their best, but sometimes they made mistakes. I forgive myself, Hadrian, and Grandma. Tears welled up in her eyes. This is powerful stuff.

Elizabeth said that the memory of those punishments had helped her resist stealing at Bridal Cave. June acknowledged that shame could be a motivator, but it wasn’t the best one. She explained how both she and Hadrian had grown up with parents who used shame to try to make them better, but it wasn’t always the right approach. June assured Elizabeth that Grandma loved her deeply and just didn’t want her to end up in trouble. But, she added, that didn’t make what Grandma had said okay.

Elizabeth then shared something heartbreaking: “I think my brain is broken.” June’s heart ached again, and she did her best to validate her daughter’s feelings while gently reframing them. “I understand why you’d feel that way,” she said. “You’re very special, and it’s not just because Dad and I are your parents. Even when you were born, the doctor commented on your ‘strong survival instincts.’ You’ve always been intense, passionate, with lots of energy and emotion.”

June reminded Elizabeth of when they had her assessed for ADHD because she had been struggling to focus in school. Part of the assessment included an intelligence test, and Elizabeth had scored off the charts. She smiled warily at the memory. June explained that while there were some signs of ADHD, the bigger concern had been her tendency toward depression. Elizabeth grew defensive, dismissing that assessment, saying that she had only answered questions about thinking of death because she found the subject fascinating, not because she wanted to die. June acknowledged that and didn’t push the issue further.

Instead, she focused on the positives. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of with depression,” June said. “I struggle with it too.” She explained that the same traits that made their brains intelligent, creative, and passionate could also take a toll on their mental health if they weren’t careful. “I can relate,” June added. “I’m special too. And it’s not conceited to say that.”

Elizabeth smiled and reassured her, “You’re very smart!” June tucked that sweet affirmation away to savor later.

June decided to be vulnerable and shared with Elizabeth why she had been hospitalized in 2018. When Elizabeth said it was due to stress, June agreed but explained that wasn’t the whole story. She revealed that she had a psychotic break from years of not processing her emotions. “I lost touch with reality for a while,” she said.

Elizabeth asked if she had hallucinated, and June honestly replied, “I don’t think so. I think I just misinterpreted what was happening around me.”

June then explained why she was sharing this: she wanted to do everything in her power to help Elizabeth avoid going through anything similar. “Because you’re so special and have such a special brain, I want to make sure you have the tools to handle everything,” June said. “Tools that I didn’t have.”

Elizabeth listened but was still reluctant about therapy. She asked why she was always so “ang-ee” in her baby voice. June validated her anger, explaining that it wasn’t always bad—it was a protective mechanism. But sometimes, she explained, they felt unsafe when they weren’t actually in danger. “That’s what I’m still learning about,” June said. She asked Elizabeth to give the therapist a chance, promising that if it wasn’t a good fit, she wouldn’t force her to go.

Elizabeth resisted again but finally relented when June explained that they already had the appointment and didn’t want to attend without her there to represent herself. “Fine! I’ll go,” Elizabeth said.

June wished Elizabeth would go willingly, but for now, this was enough. If this is as good as it gets, I’ll take it, June thought.

After her conversation with Solin, June felt reassured about reaching out to Donna. Solin had encouraged her to send a message, letting Donna know that she was still working through things but hadn’t ghosted her. It felt like the right time to put that communication out there, so June sat down and carefully crafted an email to Donna:

---

Subject: Checking In…Still Processing

Hi Donna,

I hope this email finds you well. I just wanted to give you an update since it's been a while since I last reached out to you. I assure you that I am not ghosting you or leaving you without any explanation about what has happened in our relationship over the past six years, or why I’ve needed so much space and time.

I believe that you genuinely want an answer to your question about what was real and what was not in our relationship. While I recognize that you have your own perspective on your reality, I also want to give you mine, from my perspective, when I am ready. I haven’t been able to do that in the past and, honestly, I’ve been so triggered by our in-person conversations when I’ve tried to, that I’ve had to set this boundary (no in-person or phone conversations) to maintain my sanity while I find solid ground.

I don’t have explanations for you yet, but know that I am working on it, and they will come—in time. I am still securing my own oxygen mask, and I am making great progress. I care about you and truly hope you are finding success in doing the same.

When I am ready to have that conversation, I will let you know. I ask that you do the same when you are ready. When we are both in a place where we know, from our deepest and truest hearts, what we want for our relationship, then we can talk. Again, I’m not there yet, but I am working toward it, and it will take some time.

Namaste, my friend,

June

P.S. To alleviate my concerns that you’ll start Googling and guessing what I mean by “Namaste,” I want to offer you some clarity on why I say this to you. I am beginning to practice trauma-sensitive yoga to augment my psychotherapy. Part of the practice is starting and ending with “Namaste,” and I’ve always liked what I understood of the word. Now, it’s becoming much more meaningful to me. While I would offer Namaste to anyone, because all human beings are worthy, I especially offer this to you with a tailored definition: the concept of Namaste reminds me of how I can understand and honor “semantic unification,” something that you often speak about and hold dear to your heart.

I realize that, ironically, I may have misunderstood that concept in the past, and haven’t honored it in the way that it means to you. I’m working on getting to a place where I can.

This is a perfect picture and representation of my personal definition of Namaste. Take care of yourself, my friend.

June pasted a picture of the resonating definition of Namaste and hit “send” on the email, her heart lighter with the knowledge that she had finally communicated her feelings to Donna. She had been carrying the weight of the unresolved situation between them for so long, and while she wasn’t ready for a full conversation yet, she was glad to let Donna know that she was still working through it—and that they’d get there eventually.

Reflecting on the email afterward, June felt a sense of peace. She had taken the first step toward addressing something that had been unresolved for a long time. It wasn’t an immediate fix, but it was a step toward healing—for both of them.

Namaste.

My soul honors your soul

I honor the place in you where

The entire Universe resides

I honor the light, love, truth,

Beauty and peace within you,

Because it is also within me.

In sharing these things

We are united, we are the same

We are one.

June checked back in with herself after writing the email to Donna. She had struggled to put the words together, but this time, she stayed in her head, approaching the situation with compassion and honoring both herself and Donna as separate individuals. She took a couple of breaks when she started to feel dizzy, but it wasn’t the overwhelming task it had been when she’d put Wednesday dinners on hold indefinitely the month before. This time, her thoughts remained clear, and the words flowed naturally. There was no fear of a psychotic break creeping in, no scattered thoughts, just focus.

In the end, June felt satisfied with the result. She felt calm—almost at peace. Not fully, but close enough. She had spoken her truth, remained kind, and even offered Donna some extra kindness in the P.S.—not out of obligation or guilt, but because she genuinely wanted to. It felt good to show compassion, to acknowledge her own misunderstandings and mistakes without assuming all the blame.

For a moment, a small wave of anxiety washed over her after she hit “send.” Her stomach flipped as she realized Donna was now receiving the message. But that feeling passed quickly. June reminded herself that Donna had her own work to do, and how she processed June’s "no" and the boundaries in the email was not June’s responsibility. June had no idea how Donna would reply, but she wasn’t feeling anxious about it. She’d take it as it came, and when the time came to respond, she’d process it safely. The boundary of no in-person or phone calls was one she knew she needed to keep in place for a while.

I’m doing this, June thought. I’m getting better. I can do this. I will do this. She would give herself the time she needed to find solid ground, to know herself, to figure out not just what she could give, but what she wanted to give. No! she corrected herself, what I WANT to give, not just what I CAN give. She knew she was capable of giving far more than she should, but she was determined to learn how to set and keep boundaries. She would decide and discern if Donna could honor those boundaries—and also set and maintain her own.

I’m fixing me, June thought. Is Donna fixing herself? Only time would tell. June took a deep breath. Either outcome would be okay. Donna might be healing, or she might not be ready yet. But June knew that she would be able to decide based on Donna’s actions, not just her words. And whatever path lay ahead, June would be fine. She owned herself.

Then, work drama crept in. Hank, a solution architect June had been working with on a project, was underperforming. June had been forcing herself not to overstep into his responsibilities, even though it would’ve been easy for her. She had worn many hats in her career and knew exactly what he needed to do and how to do it. But during a conversation with her boss, Rachel, June had been instructed not to let Hank turn her into his admin. Rachel had clarified what his role was versus June’s, and June had been sticking to that boundary. It felt wonderful not to over-function. At the same time, June hated the idea of her project failing just because they had to coach up—or possibly coach out—an underperformer. But she accepted that this was part of life and that it wasn’t a reflection on her. She didn’t need to save the world.

June hadn’t mentioned it in previous journal entries, but there was another project manager on the Google Cloud team, Viktor, who was also underperforming. June felt for him, knowing he had recently lost a family member in Ukraine during the war with Russia. Still, it wasn’t her responsibility to pick up the slack. She was giving him a bit more coaching and patience, but she also reached out to his leaders to make sure her expectations for him were clear. They assured her they were.

It feels so liberating, June thought, to put these boundaries in place in my life. Her stress and anxiety had flown the coop. Not completely, of course. She still rolled out her back and neck on the stretch roller multiple times a day and realized how much tension she still held in her body. But things were SO much better.

Just then, Hadrian forwarded an email to her. It was the intake form for Elizabeth’s therapy session tomorrow. He had asked her earlier if it was on her radar, and she had responded, but since then, there had been no dialogue from him—just the forwarded email. Was it just an FYI? Did he want her to take care of it? She wasn’t sure. Curious, she clicked on the link, but it didn’t work. Just then, Hadrian sent her a chat.

Hadrian told June he had sent her an email, which she already knew. She asked him what she was supposed to do with it—was she meant to fill it out? If so, the email would need to come directly to her inbox, as the form wouldn’t work properly unless it came from the original recipient.

They fussed with the email for a while, with Hadrian pushing back on her request to have the email sent directly to her. He didn’t seem to understand what she was explaining about the built-in privacy protection mechanism. After some back-and-forth, Hadrian finally figured it out and had the therapist update the email so June could fill out the forms herself.

June reflected on the whole frustrating interaction. She had been planning to leave work a little early to send her sister, Myra, a Mother’s Day gift. She had picked out a sweet customized t-shirt, featuring baby hands holding a mommy’s hand, with her sister’s kids’ names on it. June couldn’t wait for Myra to receive it. But now, Hadrian had plopped this task in her lap, and it needed to be done before Elizabeth’s therapy session tomorrow.

June glanced at the date Hadrian had received the email—last Friday. Plenty of time for us to have worked through this together earlier, she thought. Last-minute man. Ugh. She considered whether she could still do both if she quickly got through the assessment. But after spending more time than expected trying to get the link to work, her frustration mounted.

As she began filling out the adolescent intake questions, June realized that maybe Elizabeth should be answering the questions—or at least be present to represent her own perspective. But at 11 years old, June wasn’t sure how involved Elizabeth should be in this process. She wanted advice from the therapist on how to proceed, but there was so little time before tomorrow to ask, wait for a response, and ensure Elizabeth was involved if needed. Stressful!

June asked Hadrian for the therapist’s email. He sent her a vcf file, which didn’t work on her laptop. When she asked him how to open it, he told her to “just click on it,” which only added to her frustration. She quickly realized it might only work on her phone and figured it out just as he gave his unhelpful advice. Ugh! Mounting frustration filled her mind. Why is he always so last-minute, expecting me to fix everything? Can’t I depend on him for these things, not just for the occasional handyman tasks?

June took a deep breath. Okay, got the contact info. But there was no email address in the file. Ugh! Time was running out, and she had to pick up the kids. She realized she’d have to send Myra’s package tomorrow.

Finally, June decided to express her frustration to Hadrian. “I really wish you had sent this sooner,” she told him. To her surprise, he apologized. And, almost like magic, her anger dissipated. She knew Hadrian wasn’t the best planner or organizer. She loved him, and in that moment, she forgave him.

June went about the rest of her day, feeling a mix of relief and stress as she balanced everything. The therapist called while she was on her way to pick up the kids, clarifying how to handle the intake questions. That helped ease some of the tension she’d been feeling. During the drive, she listened to part of her new audiobook, The Misfit’s Manifesto, by Lidia Yuknavitch. So far, it was incredibly powerful, full of great, quotable moments. June thought she might have to read it twice just to absorb all those nuggets of wisdom.

When she picked up the kids, they immediately started venting their frustrations about the extension teachers at school. These teachers were authoritarian, harsh, and not at all kind. The kids explained how the teachers publicly shamed them, telling stories of how, back in their day, students were punished in front of their peers, and how kids today had no respect because their parents didn’t raise them right. This was the second time June had heard about this issue, and she knew she needed to reach out to the principal again. Teachers need to treat kids with kindness and respect, she thought. Respect is a two-way street, even if they’re adults. June couldn’t stand the idea of shaming or instilling fear in children just to get them to behave. She resolved not to let her kids be treated that way without taking action.

That evening, June let the kids have pizza while she prepared herself a healthy dinner: salmon, oven-roasted potatoes, and green beans. Evelyn had gone to her room, so June called her out to have dinner. She could tell something was wrong the moment Evelyn appeared—her face was sad, her movements quiet. June gently asked what was bothering her.

Evelyn explained, barely above a whisper, that she felt upset about a conflict she’d had with Elizabeth over who could let True outside or bring him back in. Evelyn believed Elizabeth had told her that True didn’t like her and wouldn’t follow her outside, and that she shouldn’t pull on his collar. Elizabeth had also implied that Evelyn wasn’t even allowed to let True back inside, which made her feel small and left out.

June called Elizabeth in to get her side of the story. Elizabeth explained that True usually followed her outside without needing to be pulled by the collar, but she didn’t mind if Evelyn let him inside. June saw that this was likely a misunderstanding. “I wasn’t there, so I don’t know who said what,” she told them, “but I do know this: Evelyn walks True in the mornings, and he does like her. She’s allowed to help with True.”

After Evelyn had walked away, June turned to Elizabeth and gently asked her to be kind to her sister. Elizabeth, visibly frustrated, said she was trying. June acknowledged her efforts. “I know you’re trying, and what you did over the weekend to help her clean her room was so kind. I’m very proud of you, and I recognize that.” Elizabeth walked away, still a little put out, but seemingly okay with how things had ended.

Afterward, June offered to sit and eat with Evelyn. Elizabeth and Emily were busy in the dining room, absorbed in their own world, as they often were. Evelyn, being younger, was often left out of their circle and ended up spending a lot of time on her own. To keep her company, June sat with her, and they watched Star vs. the Forces of Evil together. At one point, Evelyn assumed June already knew what show she was watching, but when June didn’t recognize it, Evelyn’s face fell. It bothered her that her mom didn’t always remember her shows or seem as interested in them as she hoped. June noticed the disappointment and realized she needed to try harder to connect with Evelyn’s world. She takes it personally, June thought. I want to try harder on that.

June was in the middle of getting everyone ready for bed when she received a response from Donna to the email she had sent earlier. It caught her off guard—she wasn’t sure what to expect, but what she got was short, sweet, and somewhat out of character for Donna.

Hi June,

I have received your email. I am also not ready to reconnect and don’t know if, or when, I will be.

Please take care of yourself.

Namaste,

Donna

For a moment, the response stung. June had to pause and reflect on it while she continued her bedtime routine, trying to process her feelings before deciding how she felt about Donna’s reply.

June finished getting the kids ready for bed and made a stop to check in with Elizabeth about the intake form for her therapy session. During dinner, Elizabeth had expressed that she really wanted to fill it out herself, and June decided to honor that. The process of watching Elizabeth work through the form was interesting, more revealing than June had expected. She resolved to reflect on it in more depth later, in a future journal entry.