Midwest Mimi

  • The Life I Want Is Not Fancy. It Is Safe.

    The life I want is not fancy. It has dirt in it, a modest house, a garden, a porch, woods, pasture, and enough safety for my family to breathe. I am not chasing luxury. I am trying to build stability, space, financial security, and a life where safe is not treated like a luxury.

  • I’m Not Trying to Go Viral. I’m Trying to Build My Way Out.

    I’m Not Trying to Go Viral. I’m Trying to Build My Way Out.

    I am not trying to go viral. I am trying to build my way out. A personal essay about building Midwest Mimi, Sunny Day Farm, books, art, and a future from the margins of chronic illness, poverty, motherhood, and stubborn hope.

  • I Am Practicing the Life I Want Before I Can Afford It

    I did not know it was abundance. I thought it was dinner. Homemade bread, canned pears, fresh tomatoes, animals, woods, pasture, and food that came from the work of our own hands. I do not have the land yet, but I can still practice the skills, rhythms, and values of the life I am building…

  • I Am Learning to Build Without Burning Myself Down

    The old me knew how to hustle, but hustle taught me to measure everything by immediate payout. Now I am learning a different kind of discipline: building a life my body can sustain. One that makes room for chronic illness, family, rest, creative purpose, and the stubborn return to the work that still matters.

  • I Promised My Grandma I’d Be the One

    Printing the first draft of my middle-grade book made me realize I am closer than I thought to keeping an old promise. What started as 20,600 words on a screen became a stack of pages in my hands, carrying my grandma’s hope, my mom’s absence, my dad’s bedtime chapters, my daughter’s childhood words, and the…

  • He Sounded Like Home, Even When Home Was Chaos

    When people say they love Jelly Roll, I know what they mean. But when I say it, I mean something different. I mean his music found me when I was still in the middle of my hustle years, back when survival felt like adrenaline and invincibility. This is not just about fandom. It is about…

  • The Bandwidth of Peace

    A rainy spring morning, a numb hand, an unfinished book-tree drawing, and a list of “analog hobbies” got me thinking about disability, creativity, and accommodations. There is no prize for making the process harder. The prize is the peace we feel while making something.

  • Taking Out the Trash

    We threw out what we didn’t need when we moved. Not just things. People too. It wasn’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.

  • Start Where You Are and Grow Something Anyway

    I thought I needed land to start a garden. A yard. The right setup. But all we had was a small porch, a few salvaged pots, and kids willing to get their hands dirty. So we started anyway. This is what it looks like to grow something real in a space that wasn’t built for…

  • Still Walking

    A reflection on faith, covenant, and queerness from inside the tension. I still pray. I still believe. I still love my wife. I do not have every theological answer, but I am still walking.

  • The Life I’m Writing Into Existence

    I don’t have the money to build the life I want yet… so I’m writing it first. This is the story of how I’m creating a safer, slower, more intentional life for my family—starting with imagination and turning it into something real.

  • 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.

  • Parenting Through Presence, Not Perfection: What My Kids Taught Me About Co-Regulation

    There were mornings I could feel myself going offline. Not dramatic. Just done. My patience thin, my nerves shot, my thoughts moving faster than I could hold them. Sometimes I would sit on the bathroom floor just to breathe and let the moment pass. And quietly, my kids would follow. They wouldn’t ask for anything.…

  • The Rules Trauma Wrote

    Sexual assault does not only leave memories. It installs rules — 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…

  • What I Keep Doing Even When Nothing Feels New

    Winter can feel long and heavy. A reflection on endurance, writing, community, and what it means to keep showing up even when nothing feels new.