Peculiar Sister

I came here because my thoughts don’t stay quiet. They pile up, they circle, they replay, and my brain starts to feel like a room with too many open tabs. Writing is how I close a few of them, or at least line them up long enough to see what I’m actually thinking.

That’s how I process my life. If I don’t put the thoughts on a page, they just ricochet around in the dark and pretend they’re facts. So, this space exists for that, a place where the words can land, and where I can make sense of what I’m carrying without rushing past it.

I’m a retired woman. A Nana. A lifelong noticer. I’ve lived long enough to know that the most confusing parts of life aren’t the dramatic ones, they’re the quiet realizations that show up when you finally have time to sit still. Writing is what I do with those realizations. It’s how I listen to myself. It’s how I check to see if I’m alone in what I’m feeling, or if maybe someone else has been walking around with the same thoughts, wondering if they’re the only one.

All my life I’ve been told, in a hundred different ways, that I wasn’t quite normal, that I felt things too hard, that I took everything too personally. I got labeled as sensitive, dramatic, very weird, the one who couldn’t just brush it off and move on. So yes, I’m the Peculiar Sister. I’m owning it. Not as an insult, but as a kind of truth. Peculiar doesn’t mean broken. It means I notice. It means I feel. It means I refuse to go numb just to make other people comfortable.

Peculiar Sister is where I put the things I notice, the things that don’t fit neatly anywhere else, the thoughts that linger and ask to be named.

I don’t offer advice. I don’t have a system. I’m not interested in fixing anyone. What I do offer is honesty, perspective, and language, sometimes raw, sometimes gentle, always real. I write about aging, family, grief, identity, politics, and the strange, often unspoken moments that shape us more than we expect.

This is a personal space. A living archive. You can read quietly, wander around, come back later, or just sit with a sentence that feels familiar. If something here helps you feel seen, or helps you realize you’re not imagining things, then it’s doing its job.

Mostly, this is me checking in with the world and saying, “Is anyone else feeling this too?” And if you are, I’m glad you’re here.