Yesterday was one of those days where everything I sat down to write felt heavy before I even started.
The TEDx talk I'm working on, and everything it stirs up.
The memory of being told I needed to pay him, like it was already decided before I'd even agreed.
The way there was no phone call, no matter how small, that I was ever allowed to have alone.

I got a few lines into all of it and it just shut me down.
So today I want to write about Jaycee instead.

Last year we rode bikes around Hilton Head for her sixth birthday.
Jaycee sat in a little basket on the front of mine the whole time.
She didn't fuss. She didn't fight it.
She just settled in and let the wind hit her face and trusted me to get us where we were going.

I remember how peaceful that trip was.
I was watching out for her, keeping the ride smooth, making sure she was happy.
And somewhere in doing that for her, I noticed I was steady too.
Not performing steady. Actually steady.
In control of my own emotions, in a way that felt earned instead of forced.

That's what she gives me, if I'm honest.
Not distraction. Not an escape from anything.
Just a reason to be fully where I am.
When I'm taking care of her, I'm not managing anyone else's mood, or bracing for what's coming next.
I'm just a woman on a bike, with a good dog in a basket, having a nice day.

​If you want the fuller version of that day, I wrote about it when she turned six.​

She turns seven in a couple of months.
I'm already thinking about where to take her this time.
Savannah, maybe. Somewhere new for both of us to wander.

I don't know yet what this next trip will teach me.
Last year it turned out to be about trust, and about how good it feels to be the steady one for someone who's counting on you.
I'm curious what this one will be.

Some days the hard stories need telling.
Today wasn't that day.
Today I just wanted to talk about my dog, and what she's taught me about being present, and about taking good care of the ones who trust us.

But I'll be honest about why I needed her this week. My body was telling me something before my mind caught up — that tightness that shows up right before you're past what you can carry, the urge to push through it anyway because stopping feels like giving up. I stopped instead. And this week's Sunday Push is about that exact moment — noticing it, and giving yourself permission to stop and reconsider instead of pushing through. It isn't weakness. It's one of the wisest things you can do for yourself.

This week, I'm giving away a free bundle: this week's Sunday Push (normally $6/month), and the letter I wrote when Jaycee turned six — video, photos, all of it. Just reply to this email and let me know, and I'll send it all your way, at no cost. Since I send these by hand, it might take a few minutes or a few hours to land in your inbox — thank you for your patience.

Until next Sunday,