STREAMING, SURVIVAL, AND THE SH*T THEY NEVER TOLD US

I finished binge-watching Season 3 of Ginny & Georgia yesterday.

One thing about me—Imma stream some shows and movies. Always have, always will.

I’ve been a film junkie since before it was cool. “Netflix & chill” was my vibe long before the internet was even a thing.

I still remember thinking my childhood bestie and I were the shiznit because her grandfather owned a local video rental spot—think Blockbuster but the small-town, family-run version. They used to get these preview VHS tapes that would play in half-color, half black and white (pretty sure it was to prevent pirating), but we didn’t give two shits. We were watching movies before anyone else had access.

I can still see us in that tiny room, binge-watching She’s All That on repeat. Half color, half black and white. I could quote every damn line after one or two sleepovers.

Those were the days.

I really do believe that growing up as a millennial was the Golden Age of youth. Before the internet blew up. Before social media ruled our lives. We got to live in both worlds—the analog and the digital. And even though technology fascinates me (especially streaming, AI, and social media), there’s still a kind of magic about those simpler days.

Which—welcome to my brain—brings me back to Ginny & Georgia.

THE STORIES THAT HOLD US

Holy shitballs, what a season.

Like the two before it, I couldn’t stop watching. And once again, the ending left me wanting more.

I’m not sure what it is about these kinds of stories—the ones that pull back the curtain on trauma, pain, and survival. Maybe it’s because I’ve lived my own shitshow of a life. Maybe it’s because seeing it on screen makes me feel a little less alone.

Somehow, it comforts me.

Maybe that’s why this season hit so hard. Life feels like it’s coming full circle lately. I became a mother at 19. And now? My kids are that age.

Full circle.

It’s wild. It’s scary. It’s empowering.

SEEING MYSELF IN GEORGIA

My biggest takeaway from Season 3?

I feel Georgia’s pain. Not the murderer part—Lord, no—but the mother part.

I know what it feels like to want to protect your children at all costs. To want to give them what you never had. To operate from fight-or-flight mode because survival is all you’ve ever known.

And here’s one of the most beautiful (and brutal) truths I’ve learned: Even with the best intentions, you’re gonna get it wrong sometimes.

That’s where acceptance and accountability come in. And that’s where so many of my past relationships have fallen apart—romantic and otherwise. The lack of those two things.

But here’s the thing: When you can’t get accountability from someone else, you’ve got to hold yourself accountable for the role you played in your own suffering. Because yes, other people make choices that affect us. But none affect us more than the ones we make for ourselves.

APOLOGIES MATTER

As a mother, I’ve had some raw, gut-wrenching moments.

Times when I thought I was doing what was best for my kids, only to realize later that I had done the exact opposite.

The intentions were good. The results were not.

I was young. Broken. Unaware. And I had no model of accountability. No one had ever shown me the power of saying: I’m sorry. I was wrong. I messed up.

Learning to do that changed everything in my relationship with my kids.

In the hardest moments, when there was nothing else I could give, I gave them that: an apology.

An apology for failing.

For doing it wrong.

For falling short.

Because even when your intentions are pure, actions can still hurt.

PARENTING FROM THE ROOTS

My parents parented me from a place of punishment. They never asked me why I did what I did—just pointed out the mistake, doled out a consequence, and moved on.

I did the same at first. Because it was all I knew.

“My way or the highway.”

“Because I’m the adult.”

But it wasn’t the way—at least not for me and mine.

I’m not here to give parenting advice. Hell, if I’m being honest, I parented on a wing and a prayer.

But if there’s one thing I wish someone had screamed at me from the start, it’s this:

LET YOUR KIDS LEAD.

Let them show you who they are.

Keep the lines of communication wide open.

Give them your time.

Support them through the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Set clear expectations. Be firm, but remember that discipline is love—and it doesn’t require hurting them physically or emotionally.

And for the love of God, when you mess up—because you will—own it.

THE LESSONS THEY GAVE ME

We healed from the hard shit—but not without dredging through the murky swamp of blame and shame first.

It’s important to understand this: no matter the age difference between you and your children, there are things you will know simply because you’ve been here longer, because you’ve earned those lessons through experience. But they don’t give two shits about your experience—they need to go through their own process. And that is OK.

You can’t save your kids from everything. You can’t shelter them from life and what’s out there in the world. Let them explore. Let them experiment. Give them the tools to do so without suffering extreme consequences.

It’s OK.

In the beginning, I focused so much on teaching them how to win, succeed, excel. But I quickly realized it’s far more important to teach them how to fail—and how to do it with grace and integrity.

Society and culture already put so much pressure on us. We don’t need to create that same pressure at home.

Let them be who they are. You will reap the benefits of that, I promise.

Today, my kids are my little besties. The absolute best parts of me and my husband. I love laughing with them, learning with them, being a part of their world and stepping into things that make them happy.

I give them what they need from me when they need it. We cross the bridge when we get there. We take the less stressful, less anxious path.

I don’t put my shit on my kids anymore—though I’m guilty of having done it before. Now, I just show up, fully.

I show them what it’s like to be comfortable and confident in my own skin. And they’ve learned to do the same.

They embrace what makes them different and unique. They chase their happiness without guilt, shame, or fear of judgment.

And I love them with a depth that words will never fully capture—a fierce, unwavering love that humbles me every single day. They are my greatest teachers, my greatest joys, and my greatest purpose.

To witness them becoming who they are meant to be? There is no greater gift.

And if you’re lucky, like me, you’ll get the chance to grow right alongside them.