Hi. Come sit for a minute.
I’m the Peculiar Sister, and this is where my writing lives, because the desk got crowded, the papers started migrating to the floor, and at some point my own thoughts became a mild safety issue.
If you’ve ever stared at the ceiling at 2 a.m. trying to untangle a feeling with no name, you’re in the right place.
I write because I spent a lot of years carrying things I couldn’t explain. I thought I was “too much,” or too sensitive, or just plain wrong, when really I was just human, and tired, and trying to make sense of my own life like everyone else. I’m retired now, a Nana with more time than I ever had before, which means I finally have room to tell the truth without rushing past it. Writing is how I sort the noise from the truth. It’s how I name what hurts. It’s how I find the sentence that makes me exhale.
I’m not here to fix you. I don’t offer solutions. What I offer is truth, perspective, and language, sometimes raw, always real, the honest version you can’t always say out loud at the grocery store. You’ll find essays and reflections from lived experience, written for the days when you want to feel seen, and for the days when you need a little clarity about what you’re carrying.
There will be tender days here, and sharp ones. There may be the occasional political fire, because I’m alive and paying attention. And yes, sometimes there will be a little whimsy, because I refuse to let the world take all the light. Consider it a small jar of glitter on the shelf, not to make things pretty, but to remind us we still exist.
And if you’ve been walking around with that quiet thought, “Is it just me?”
It isn’t.
Peculiar Sister 