Tag: tutulady

Dreams

Kristine Binder

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

SUN day

Kristine Binder

His jacket caught my eye first—Vietnam Veteran, embroidered across the back, the fabric worn but still holding its meaning.
“Thank you for your service,” I said as I passed him on the path.
“You’re welcome. What a cute dog…” he replied, his voice warm but quick to deflect my gratitude. He shifted the conversation almost immediately, turning his attention to Lucky, who, of course,  was delighted to be the center of it.
I slowed my pace and walked alongside him as he asked questions—How old is he? What kind of dog is he? Does he like walks? Simple questions, but I could tell they were more than small talk. This wasn’t just about my dog; this was about connection.
As we walked, he shared that getting out was hard for him these days. He was tired—tired of being inside but determined to take advantage of the spring sun while he could. I nodded, understanding in a way that had nothing to do with age or experience and everything to do with simply being human. Some days, moving forward is its own kind of victory.
After about a block, he slowed even more. “I need to sit,” he admitted.
“Do you need anything?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nope, just need to catch my breath.”
So, Lucky and I continued on, leaving him there on walker seat, bathed in sunlight, watching the world go by.
I glanced back and snapped a quick photo—not of him directly, but of the moment. A man, resting in the sun, taking in the small joys of the day. And I wondered—how many people passed him without a word? How many were annoyed that he walked too slowly, or that he took up space in the middle of the sidewalk?
How many veterans go unnoticed and unappreciated every single day?
I don’t have the answer. But what I do know is that acknowledging someone—truly seeing them—costs nothing. And sometimes, even a few shared steps on a walk can be a reminder that we all need a little kindness, a little connection, and, every now and then, just a moment in the sun.
Because people matter. Moments matter. Taking a second to see someone, to hear them, to remind them that they are not invisible—it all matters. We never know what a simple smile, a kind word, or a small thank you might mean to someone else.
The world is busy, and life moves fast, but in the end, the smallest moments of connection might just be the most important ones.
Peace,
#tutulady
#forwardisapace

Openness

Kristine Binder

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

Banned

Kristine Binder

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

Grief

Kristine Binder

Grief is a strange, relentless companion. It comes in waves, some so powerful they knock me off my feet, while others gently lap at my ankles before receding into the background. Lately, though, the waves feel more like a storm. The world is so heavy right now, and I can feel that weight pressing down on my chest. Everywhere I turn, there seems to be another loss, another heartbreak, another reason to grieve.
Losing my dad has been a pain I can hardly describe. It’s not just the absence of his voice or his laugh—it’s the absence of his presence in my life, the anchor he provided, the memories we’ll never create. On top of that, dear friends of mine are mourning loved ones. A young person I cherished as if they were my own has left this world far too soon. Each loss feels like another stone added to the pile I carry, threatening to bury me.There are moments when it all feels so overwhelming that I want to crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head, and disappear. The thought of facing another day, carrying another burden, is sometimes too much to bear. But then there are other moments—moments when that grief fuels a fire in me to fight. To show up for my children, my students, my community. To prove that love and resilience can be louder than hate and despair.
Being my mother’s emergency contact now is a new weight I hadn’t prepared for. It’s a role that feels heavy with responsibility and the reminder of how fragile life is. Sometimes, the pressure of it all feels like it might crush me. But then I remember: forward is my pace. Even if it’s just baby steps, I keep moving. One foot in front of the other. One moment at a time.
Grief, I’ve learned, doesn’t go away. It shifts, it changes, and it continues to wash over me in unexpected moments. Some days, I feel like I’m barely keeping my head above water. Other days, I find glimmers of peace when the waves recede. But within those waves, I try to find the strength to swim. To reach out to others. To remind myself that while the world feels heavy, we don’t have to carry it alone.
Peace is not always easy to find, but it is there—waiting in the moments when the waves recede, offering us the chance to catch our breath. Let’s take those baby steps together, reminding ourselves that we don’t have to face it alone. In the moments when the storm calms, we can find breath, and maybe even hope, together.
If you’re reading this and you’re feeling the weight of your own grief, know that you’re not alone. Take those baby steps, no matter how small. Cry if you need to. Rest if you can. Fight when you’re ready. And remember: forward is always a pace.
Peace,
#tutulady
#forwardisapace