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I’ve got five kids, I’m a queer feminist, and I just might be the only life coach in the world who doesn’t believe in the Law of Attraction.

Hi, I'm katherine


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I’m back, and I’m kind of a mess, but I’m also just fine.

*My Story

Beloved kindred spirits, I missed you!

And I missed me.

I have been gone this summer in more ways than one.

We packed and unpacked and repacked, rode on planes and ferries and Disneyland rides, saw beloved family and friends, swam in the ocean, camped in tents for nine days, and ate the most delicious plums. (Both physical and metaphorical plums.)

I have fantastic memories from this summer of my kids screeching with laughter with their friends. I will always treasure the sight of them heading out into the Tofino surf, en masse, seven teenagers and my husband, to take their first surf lesson. I will always grin when I think about my dad, and I balanced on a rickety ladder, drippy paint brushes in hand, while my mother scolded us for not being more careful.

These summer memories are so rich. I am brimming with gratitude for them. I’m grateful for the meals eaten, the card games played, the rare shining dinners out with just my beloved and I, the chance to hug beloved friends and family.

And also? Just between you and me? I am so, so tired.

When I took my sabbatical at the beginning of summer, I imagined slow sun-soaked days, salty and sweet timeless moments that I would savor and luxuriate in. I called this “saturated presence.”

I told you I would be back when the seasons turn, and I imagined that I would be back all filled up and replete from my summer hiatus, all aglow with the summer sun, brimming with ideas and verve and berry red September energy.

If you could see me right now, you would giggle.

I am here, but I am haggard. I am happy, but I am exhausted.

This summer was also twelve million rides to town. Nine thousand loads of laundry. Groceries and meals and dishes and piles of wet stinky towels and carting a camping stove from the car to a campsite then back to the car three times a day until I wanted to scream. Then days of unpacking and cleaning and putting away gross camping gear even after the trip was done. Parenting is kind of gross sometimes. Life is kind of gross sometimes.

I need a manicure and a pedicure and a workout and an actual vacation. My house is a shambles. I planted a winter garden but then the chickens destroyed it. My hair is determined to turn itself into dreads. My inbox has just given up. My to-do list isn’t just growing, it’s doing exponential math.

And heaven help us, soccer practices haven’t even started yet.

I love this life, but it really takes it out of me. (Not to mention the lingering guilt for being anything other than 24×7 grateful for this beautiful family. The worry that something bad will happen because I wasn’t appreciative of what I have. But that’s another missive.)

Anyway, I finally sent my kids back to school this week and it felt like that was the moment that I crawled– barely– over the finish line.

Except that my body was like “oh thank god we can collapse now right?” but my life was like “oh thank goodness you’re here to tackle all the things you got behind on while you were in full mom mode all summer.”

I would like to sleep for a week. This is totally not possible. I have tax returns that are due, a birthday party to throw this weekend, beloved clients to check in with, and creative projects that need my attention NOW if they’re going to come to fruition this season.

So I will sleep for, like, twenty minutes. I will sneak off to bed early most nights and read my novel. I will book a massage at the expensive place, so I will really soak it up instead of making grocery lists in my head. I will talk to my own coach and pull apart what is urgent and important and what can wait. I will breathe for like one whole week, and then we will get the schedule for all the kids’ sports and activities, and we will begin to craft the shape of an entirely new year. Then I will sprint. But then I will also book some solo retreats for myself.

We’re in limbo right now, coming off of one season but not fully in the next one either. This coming school year will probably not look anything like the last one. Every time I think I’ve got a handle on my life, it goes and changes again. My big kids are big now– SO big– and their needs and schedules are wildly morphing, AND it’s all tinged with the poignant sorrow of “we don’t have much time left”– sob. My little kids are bigger too, and I don’t know how many more storytimes and snuggles are left before they pull away and want a different kind of support from me. I both yearn for and dread these changes.

Some of the key members of my team left this summer to go on new adventures, and I’m left wondering what I want to build in this unexpectedly wide open space. My poems are getting rowdy, eager to be put out into the world. My inner art-maker is impatient too, ready to finish this project so she can dream up the next one.

Meanwhile, we are out of groceries, and a dozen teenage boys are coming to my house, and I need to buy 84 sodas and twelve kinds of chips, and there’s a package that needs to be picked up at the post office, and the washing machine is making that funny noise again.

So life, it is just life-ing. It is not going to pause for me to catch my breath.

And I am here in it, a little bemused, a little bewildered, kind of wanting to curl up and cry, but also wanting to throw back my head and LAUGH at the miracle of it.

I’m not going to give you any hacks today. No sage advice, not even any useful tools. I am not even going to tell you to try to rest, because if you could, I’m sure you already would have.

Today I am in your inbox for one sole reason: to tell you that if you are also tired and haggard and entirely daunted by the prospect of gearing up for a bright! spicy! cozy! warm! galvanizing! season… me too.

And that’s okay.


No, truly.

I hope you have a really good book to read. I hope you have a pair of really soft pajamas. Because when life is exhausting, you at least need a soft space to land.

Get some sleep, take five stolen minutes with the sun on your face, and we’ll just get through this week. Next week maybe we’ll be badasses. Probably. Pretty sure.


Just 7 minutes, because you're absurdly busy. 7 minutes to clear your mind and refresh your spirit. 7 minutes to thank your fierce tender holy sacred tired body. 7 minutes that'll leave you centered, grounded, & clear-- like the epic fucking badass you are.

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I’ve got five kids, I’m a queer feminist, and I just might be the only life coach in the world who doesn’t believe in the Law of Attraction.

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I write things for women with big, gorgeous, COMPLICATED lives. I help women become epic fucking badasses… but I still retain my right to cry at every diaper commercial ever made.

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Sustenance for the journey -- notes from a fellow
traveler to remind you of your own magic.