Stop ‘Shoulding’ Yourself and Others It’s been a tough few days. My anxiety is through the roof for a million reasons, and when I stopped to figure out why, the answer was glaringly obvious—I’ve been “shoulding” myself and others into corners and holes. They should have done this. They should have done it that way. I should have gotten that done. I should have been better. And on and on… until my brain was so overloaded that my anxiety spiral started spinning faster than the Tasmanian Devil on a sugar rush or a tornado tearing through the Midwest. And for what? Did all that “shoulding” make anything better? No. It just made me feel worse—exhausted, overwhelmed, and stuck. I needed this reminder: Stop ‘shoulding’ yourself and others—it only fuels guilt, frustration, and anxiety. Clinging to ‘should’ keeps you stuck; trade it for peace. Peace, #tutulady #forwardisapace
Recently, a woman I admire deeply looked me straight in the eyes and said: “One thing I know about you is that you are capable. You are one of the most capable women I know.” That stopped me in my tracks. See, little Kristine never really heard that. I have never been made to truly feel like I do things well—or that I do them right. I have spent so much of my life striving for approval, feeling like I was either already in trouble or about to be. The feeling of never being enough, never being good enough, runs deep. And for a long time, I was terrified that I had unknowingly passed that feeling on to my own children. That they, too, might have inherited this quiet fear of not measuring up. The weight of generational trauma is heavy, and while I can’t undo the past, I can work to break the cycle. I can choose to do better, to be better—not just for myself, but for them. So hearing someone—someone I look up to—say, out loud, that they see me as capable? That hit deep. Words like that don’t just land; they sink in. They breathe life into parts of me that still need healing. Healing that inner child takes time. It takes patience. It takes work. But moments like this remind me how powerful it is when we speak truth into others. Because we all have things we need to hear. So if you see something good in someone—say it. Affirm them. Remind them of their strength, their resilience, their capability. Because you never know which part of their heart needs that reminder. And you never know just how much healing a few honest words can bring. Peace, #tutulady #forwardisapace
When I was little, I didn’t dream about a wedding. I didn’t plan out my future husband’s name or picture a white dress. While other girls were playing “bride,” I was cradling my dolls, changing their tiny outfits, and rocking them to sleep. I wasn’t playing house—I was playing mom. Motherhood was always the dream. As I got older, that didn’t change. I loved babies, and I mothered any child I could. My nephews and niece? I doted on them, cared for them, and soaked up every moment. Holding them, feeding them, soothing them—it felt natural. Right. Like I had stepped into a role that had always been meant for me. Marriage, on the other hand? That was never part of the picture. It wasn’t that I was against it, but it simply wasn’t what I longed for. Some people dream of love stories, wedding bells, and the perfect partner. I dreamed of cradling a baby in my arms, of hearing the word “Mom” spoken with love and trust. But life has a way of surprising us. I did get married. I prayed for the white-picket-fence life—the partnership, the shared responsibilities, the happily ever after. But that’s not what I got. Instead, I got another child and most of the housework. I became a mother in every sense of the word, to my children and, in many ways, to my husband too. The marriage I envisioned—the one filled with teamwork and equal weight—never quite materialized. And maybe that’s because I was never meant to be a wife. But even as a mother—the one role I always knew I was meant for—I haven’t been perfect. I haven’t always been the mom I imagined myself being. I have made mistakes, ones that weigh heavy on my heart. There are moments I wish I could go back and change, things I would have done differently if I had known then what I know now. Hindsight is always 20/20. I know mistakes were made, but I’ve also learned from them. Instead of letting them define me, I’ve chosen to forgive myself and do better. To be better. Motherhood isn’t about perfection—it’s about growth, love, and showing up, even when you don’t get it right. Is there psychology behind all of this? Maybe. Maybe it was the desire to love and be loved unconditionally. Maybe it was the innate pull to nurture, to protect, to guide. Or maybe—just maybe—I was simply born to be a mom. And I truly believe that’s enough. Some people are meant to be partners first. Others are meant to chase careers, passions, or adventures. Me? I was meant to be a mom. That was always my purpose, my calling, my heart’s greatest wish. Peace, #tutulady #forwardisapace
I have always believed that honesty—about our struggles, our joys, our fears, our wins, and even our messiness—creates connection. When we share openly, we allow others to know that they are not alone. And in a world that can feel isolating, that matters more than we realize. Recently, I’ve had three different people reach out to me about posts I’ve made—posts I had no idea had such an impact. They told me that something I shared inspired them, made them feel seen, helped them find their own strength, or simply reminded them that there are safe spaces in this world. They didn’t “like” the post. They didn’t comment. But they saw it. They felt it. And when they were ready, they reached out privately. That’s the thing about sharing our truth: we never really know who needs to hear it. Sometimes, we post something and feel like it disappears into the void, but I promise you—it doesn’t. People see, they absorb, and they carry those words with them. Maybe they’re not in a place where they can respond, but they’re listening. They’re processing. And when the moment comes, when they need that reminder that they’re not alone, they’ll remember…and they may reach out. I share my story and my thoughts because I want people to know that this world still holds kindness, still holds love, still holds safe spaces. That it’s okay to struggle. That strength doesn’t always look like perfection. That we are all walking this crazy path together….and if you need to know someone is (or has been) sitting in the same shit, I am here. So if you’ve ever hesitated to share something real—whether it’s a hard truth, a personal victory, or just a moment of vulnerability—remember that your voice might be the one that helps someone else find theirs. Keep being open. Keep showing up. You never know who you’re reaching. I know I will! Peace, #tutulady #forwardisapace
Today, I wandered into Half Price Books—just to browse, of course. While I was there, I pulled “The Color Purple” off the shelf, and a young woman (younger than me, probably late 20s) noticed and asked me about it. That little question sparked the most incredible conversation. She and her friend, who was also carrying a stack of books, showed me a list of banned books on their phone. They’d made it their mission to read through the ones they hadn’t read—or were supposed to read in high school but didn’t—and were buying books to share among their circle of friends. I told her I had just posted yesterday about adding banned books I hadn’t read to my reading list, and her face lit up. She said so many of their coworkers and friends were doing the same thing—as small acts of resistance and education And this… this is the power of books. The importance of reading. The strength of community. Books teach us, challenge us, remind us of who we are and who we can be. So, I’ll ask: What are you reading? What’s on your list? Have you read any banned books recently? What banned books have you read that you would recommend to others? And how will you resist today? Peace, #tutulady #forwardisapace
Kristine Binder 