There were two things you couldn’t say in my house growing up. Shut up and I hate you.

My dad’s favorite saying and one he used with his three kids pretty much daily was, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

This was like a roadblock on my throat, stopping me from hurling hurtful words to my brothers that I would probably regret later.

It didn’t always work. When my parents weren’t around, we said nasty things to each other, as siblings do.

Be kind was the undercurrent of these teachings from my folks. Especially when it feels hard.

And it is something I’ve carried with me into my family and the raising of my three children.

Finding Moments of Love in Chaos

Last night I sent a text to my three children—now 20, 19, and 16. I was sitting in a bathroom stall of a restaurant.

I told them how proud I am to be their mom. I told them how much I love them.

They are good people. They have big hearts. They are kind, generous, curious humans.

I wanted them to know that I see them. And that even though the world feels confusing and filled with hate, we have love for each other and therefore we have love to give.

Processing Disbelief After the Election

It has taken me nine days to process what happened last week. I’ve been swimming in a sea of disbelief. I’ve felt numb, overwhelmed, confused by the outcome of the election.

My friend Molly reminded me in a phone call recently of the importance of our work. She is also a coach who helps people find their voices and their power and navigate life. And I often turn to her when I need coaching or when life feels messy.

After our call, I felt a bit better—reconnected to the significance of my work and the power it holds. But even with that spark, I spent days sitting in the darkness of my home, numbing out with sheet pans of focaccia and re-runs of Modern Family. I guess I was still processing.

Throughout my life, my closest friends have told me that they know when something is up with me because I retreat, go dark, ignore all calls and texts. After eight years of deep internal work, I’ve learned enough about myself to know that my emotions have a way of crashing down on me and pulling me under. They move in waves—or maybe more like tsunamis.

I know I will find myself retreating into that dark cave again and again over the next four years. This journey will be a rollercoaster for all of us. For now, I’m choosing to give myself grace, to allow what comes and make room for all of it. Almost two weeks later, this is where I’ve landed.

The Roots of My Disillusionment

I’m a registered independent, and my disillusionment with politics began in 1998 when I learned that President Clinton had used his position and influence to engage in a sexual relationship with Monica Lewinsky, a young intern whose vulnerability made her an easy target for manipulation by one of the most powerful men in the world.

Shortly after the news broke, I found myself at a dining room table with ten family friends. I’ll never forget someone’s comment on the scandal: “This is just how it is. Presidents have always behaved this way—Clinton’s only difference is that he got caught. It doesn’t mean he isn’t great for this country. We have to separate our feelings about him from his policies.”

I remember feeling shaky, my eyes filling with tears and excusing myself to go to the bathroom.

This is a moment I have returned to in therapy—over and over.

For a few years, starting at age 5 in a tent while I was camping and my parents were away on a vacation, I was sexually abused by a man. My body knows what it feels like to be powerless.

Even as I write these words, my body is remembering what it felt like 43 years ago.

The Hope and Disappointment of This Election

I woke up on the morning of November 6th in shock. Despite my disillusionment with politics and my belief that no single president could ever save us—that true power comes from within us as individuals and communities—this felt like a gut punch.

I had believed Harris was the only choice in this election. While my family had concerns about her stance on Palestine, we were still eager to see a woman step into one of the most powerful positions in the world. I was especially hopeful about the possibility of a Black woman leading us—a chance to witness what that kind of leadership could look like, and what it could mean for our country.

But beneath that hope lingered the harsh reality that this election, like so many before it, was ultimately about wielding power over others—a reflection of the same patterns of dominance that have shaped our nation from its inception.

From its inception, our country has been shaped by a ‘power over’ dynamic. Built on the subjugation of Indigenous peoples, the enslavement of Africans, the marginalization of women, and the raping of Mother Earth, American history reveals a dangerous pattern of establishing dominance and control.

This election highlights how ‘power over’ continues to shape our systems and influence those in leadership, dictating policies that reinforce inequality and suppress the voices that are brave enough to stand up and challenge the status quo.

This theme of dominance is woven into the fabric of our nation. It runs deep. And it is dragging us down.

The Feminine Rebellion and the Power of Change

My work within The Feminine Rebellion is rooted in the redefinition of power—not as dominance or control, but as a force found within each of us that, when activated, creates ripples of love and justice in the world.

It’s time to step back and rethink what power means. What if, instead of clinging to ‘power over,’ we embraced ‘power with’? This shift is transformative. ‘Power with’ builds connection rather than division, amplifies voices rather than silencing them, and seeks justice rather than control. It is the power of collaboration, born of empathy and fueled by a shared commitment to something greater than ourselves.

This is the heart of The Feminine Rebellion: awakening this kind of power within women so they can lead lives of purpose and authenticity. It’s about breaking free from the toxic cycles of dominance that have shaped our culture for centuries and stepping boldly into a new way of being—one where we move together, empowered by mutual respect, empathy, and the unstoppable force of love in action.

Taking the First Step Toward Justice

Last night I made a list of Black-led non-profits in Boston. Today I will sit with my husband and choose one cause to get behind—a tangible step we can take to channel our frustration and heartbreak into action. Whether it’s donating to an organization fighting for justice, volunteering our time, or amplifying the voices of those most impacted, we will make a commitment. Because love without action is not enough, and the only way forward is to start where we are, with what we have, and do something.

Most of my readers are white women, and if you are one, I ask you this: How will you commit to creating change? How will you use your privilege to dismantle the systems that uphold ‘power over’? What steps will you take to listen, learn, and take meaningful action?

And starting doesn’t have to mean a big, splashy gesture. It can be as simple as picking up a book on systemic injustice to educate yourself, making a small monthly donation to a Black-led grassroots organization, or supporting local businesses owned by people of color. Small actions, done consistently, create momentum. What matters most is that you begin—where you are, with what you have—and commit to moving forward, one step at a time.

The Challenge We All Face

Our country is at a breaking point, and so are we. Comfort, silence, and complacency are no longer options for any of us. The systems of dominance and oppression that shape this nation will not dismantle themselves, and the burden of change cannot rest on the shoulders of the oppressed alone.

Love, if it is real, demands action. It demands that we confront our complicity, push beyond our comfort, and take tangible steps toward justice. Kindness without courage changes nothing. Words without action are empty.

So, I challenge you—challenge myself—to move boldly, to step into the discomfort, and to start breaking the cycles of ‘power over’ that have shaped this country for far too long. The time to act is now.

The question isn’t whether you can make a difference—it’s whether you will.

OK. Love you madly and let’s f*cking go.
Natty