Midwest Mimi

  • When Thereā€™s No Cushion Left

    When you live with no cushion left, one small problem never stays small. A power outage, a broken washer, a missed deposit, and an empty tank can turn an ordinary day into something much heavier.

  • Taking Out the Trash

    We threw out what we didnā€™t need when we moved. Not just things. People too. It wasnā€™t dramatic or loud. Just a quiet decision to stop carrying what was making our life heavier, and start building something more peaceful for our family.

  • I Havenā€™t Had a Good Day in a While

    I havenā€™t had a good day in a while. Not because I stopped trying, but because my body hasnā€™t caught up. This is what it looks like to keep showing up when even small things hurt.

  • Why I Still Call Him Father

    My abuser went to church. For years I wrestled with what that meant about God. This is the story of why I still call Him Father, and how protecting my children became the clearest expression of my faith.

  • The Survivable Option

    When you are poor, calling for help is never just about help. It is about what follows. In a crisis, parenting becomes a calculation between different kinds of risk. This is the story of the day I chose what looked indefensible from the outside and necessary from the inside.

  • The Life Iā€™m Writing Into Existence

    I donā€™t have the money to build the life I want yetā€¦ so Iā€™m writing it first. This is the story of how Iā€™m creating a safer, slower, more intentional life for my familyā€”starting with imagination and turning it into something real.

  • Grief That Grows

    Healing did not mean letting my mother go. It meant learning how to keep loving her in a way that did not cost me my own lifeā€”and allowing grief to change shape into something quieter, steadier, and still full of love.

  • Grief That Grows

    After my mother died, my family did not grieve in the same way. My dad withdrew, my brother went quiet, and I had to learn that different expressions of grief do not mean abandonmentā€”but they do change how we love each other.

  • Grief That Grows

    After eight years of anticipatory grief and the loss of my mother to early onset Alzheimerā€™s, I learned that grief doesnā€™t just take who you loveā€”it takes the shape of the world you built around them.

  • No Neat Justice

    When powerful men are accused, the internet debates. The women who survived are not debating. Their bodies are remembering. I do not control federal prosecutions. But I control my boundaries. Hope does not live in headlines. It lives in what we enforce in our own lives.

  • Refusing Erasure: When Silence Protects Harm

    When headlines about abuse surface, my first reaction isnā€™t political. Itā€™s physical. My body remembers before my mind can catch up. This is about silence ā€” and what happens when harm is named but comfort is protected instead of truth.

  • The Rules Trauma Wrote

    Sexual assault does not only leave memories. It installs rules ā€” rules about safety, blame, and ownership of your own body. Those rules are written under duress by a nervous system trying to survive, and they can outlive the danger that created them. In this essay, I explore how trauma embeds itself quietly in the…

  • You Are What You Consume

    The world asks us to witness everything, all the time. But constant exposure comes at a cost. This essay explores why discernment matters, how what we consume shapes our nervous systems, and how we can model healthier boundaries for our kids without turning away from truth.

  • What Chronic Illness Actually Costs Families (Not Just the Person Who Is Sick)

    Chronic illness does not just cost pain. It costs childhood ease, canceled plans, and quiet adaptations no one sees. When a parent becomes ill, families adjust in ways that are loving and necessary, but not without impact. This is a reflection on the invisible ripple effects and the children who step up long before they…

  • The Guilt Comes Before the Rest

    I woke up already feeling behind. The guilt came before the rest, whispering that if I stopped I was failing my family. But living with chronic illness and parenting a neurodivergent child has taught me something different. Guilt is not a verdict. It is a signal that capacity has been reached, and rest is what…