A Day in the Mind of Courtney

Sometimes I wish I were a little less imperfect. When I look at my handwriting, for example, it reminds me of my dysgraphia, of the years I spent wishing I could write “neatly” without struggle. Or when I find myself needing help with something as simple as untangling my hair after a long day. These moments once made me feel like I was lacking in some way. But lately, I’ve been realizing that embracing these “imperfections” is part of the journey. Learning to love myself as I am has meant learning to accept the things I can’t quite make go away. It’s about showing myself kindness and letting go of that need to be perfect in every way. One of the most liberating things I’ve learned is that embracing my “imperfections” actually makes me stronger. When I let myself ask for help—whether it’s untangling my hair or navigating a challenging day—I find a deeper connection with those who support me, like my husband, Calvin, who always steps in without a second thought. I used to think that aski...

  I’m back. I took a few days to clear my head. Not much has happened, except I found out my poem will be published in a book—I’m pretty excited about that. I’ve always felt like I need to be transparent, to share the rainbows and the happy moments. But I also think it’s important to share the storm clouds too. Lately, I’ve been struggling mentally, really beating myself up. The thing I’m most ashamed of is my love for gambling. Even when I win, I lose—because I can’t stop. I’m not ready to go into detail about it. Maybe one day, but today isn’t that day. For now, I’m back.

  I feel caught between masks, trapped in a strange in-between. One part of me wants to hide every piece of who I am, while another part aches to just be myself—so badly that it hurts Everyone I know fell for the version of me that’s hidden behind the mask. What if I take it off, and they don’t love me anymore? What if I’m too much or not enough? What if I let my autism show “too much”, and they think I’m making it up? It’s a doubt that’s followed me my whole life. But what if, by shedding this mask, I find my people? What if the weight I’ve been carrying finally lifts? Why is it so hard to let go? Why do I keep everything bottled up? Sometimes, I just want to disappear, to escape all the eyes watching me, judging me. Do they think I do drugs because of the scabs on my face? It’s just anxiety—my face gets the brunt of it. Maybe being myself is the first step to loving myself. Maybe I just need to rip off the mask, like a bandaid, take a deep breath, and dive in. Maybe a part of me ...

Do you ever just marvel at your kids? Just watch them be, and think, “I made that.” Watching their cute little facial expressions, listening to their innocent voices, or even truly hearing what they have to say. There’s nothing like it—when you pause, breathe, and soak in their uniqueness. It’s those little moments that make time stand still. Carson said to me the other day, “Your oldest picture is also your youngest picture.” He’s seven, and yet he says things that make me stop and think, like he’s carrying wisdom far beyond his years. And then there’s Camila, who’s been working so hard to share and reminding herself to “take deep breaths” when the world becomes a bit too much for her little body to handle. She’s only five, but she’s already learning how to navigate those big feelings. In those moments, I see bits of myself in them—their curiosity, their struggles, their wonder—and I find myself in awe. They’re growing, learning, becoming their own little people. And sometimes, amidst...

There’s a sense of relief that comes with finally letting go of the need to change the minds of those who are committed to misunderstanding me. For so long, I felt like I had to explain myself—to justify my choices, my feelings, my very existence to people who seemed determined not to hear me. It was exhausting. It was a never-ending cycle of pouring myself out and receiving only doubt in return. But I’ve realized that some people don’t want to understand me. They’ve already made up their minds, put me in a box, and shut the lid tight. And for a while, I thought I had to pry that box open, prove I didn’t belong there, and make them see me for who I really am. I thought that if I just explained a little better, shared a little more, they’d finally get it. But that day never came. Instead, I was left feeling drained, disappointed, and small. It took time, but I’ve learned that it’s not my job to change how people see me. I can’t make someone understand who isn’t willing to listen. And I ...

Empathy lends a heart opened wide, She's a quiet presence that sits by your side. She listens in silence,    she hears what you can’t say, She reaches out gently when words drift away. She's the warmth in a smile, the pause in the rain, The comfort she brings, is worth all the pain. She's a mirror reflecting what lies deep inside, She’s a bridge that connects us, no need to hide. She carries our burdens that aren’t ours to bear, And offers strength with a simple, “I care.” Empathy grows where judgment lacks, She walks in your shoes, she smooths the cracks. Life should be sewn with empathy’s thread, To mend the broken, to end the dread. So let empathy lead, let it be our guide, In a world that feels lonely, let her walk by our side. For a world woven with compassion and grace, Is a world where empathy finds her true place.

  There’s an unseen thread between all things, Woven from the tender fabric of feeling, Connecting hearts, hands, and whispers, Stretching between the living and the still. It tugs gently in moments of silence— A fridge hums, forgotten in a corner, Old toys gather dust in the attic, And I imagine they’re lonely, waiting, For someone to hear of their old adventures with “their kid.” I carry their weight in my hands, Like the weight of my son’s nervous smile, The way he clings to unspoken fears, Or the knot of sadness I hide behind my back, When he wonders if he’s good enough. And my daughter, with her wide-eyed wonder, Who finds magic in the smallest of things— Like fireflies, and sticks used as magic wands, She shows me how the thread sparkles in the light, a nd how fragile, yet strong it is, Beautiful, and resilient-just like her. Empathy’s thread is sometimes fragile, Thin like silk, yet it holds the world together. It binds me to the memories I carry, To the faces that have come...

  Unravel my heart, uncover my soul, Discover the threads that make me whole. Untwist my mind, prod at my brain, Sort through the chaos, the joy, and the pain. Trace every fiber, each knot that I’ve tied, See where I’m tangled, the parts that I hide. Feel the rough edges, smooth out the seams, Repair what is broken, rebuild my lost dreams. Tie up the loose ends, snip all the frays, and weave in the hope for better days. Stitch in the laughter, the love that remains, Help me forget all the aches and pain. Hold every pattern, each thread that I’ve spun, Feel all that I am, and all I’ll become.