Kristi Pahr

I’m frazzled, y’all; I’m a mess. I’m a basketcase of anxiety and stress and I need to chill.

It seems like everyone is an introvert these days.

I have to go shopping tomorrow and I’m dreading it.

Don’t be an asshole is my barometer. It’s my go-to for figuring out how to respond to any given situation, big or small, personal, local, or global.

I know how it feels to not contribute financially to the household. I know how it feels to be completely dependent on someone else for my financial stability. I know how it feels to know that if something dreadful and unthinkable happened, I’d be completely destitute. And it’s terrifying.

2016 sucked. If we can’t agree on anything else, I think we can all agree on at least that much.

If a person meets a certain threshold, it’s considered a pathology called Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Here's how you can spot a narcissist.

I feel like if I’d started earlier, had my first kid at 28 instead of 34, maybe I’d be a little less tired right now. Maybe I’d be a more fun mom if my knees didn’t sound like small arms fire every time I tried to run with my son. Maybe I’d be a better mom if I was younger. But I don’t think so. My kids? They’re awesome. And I’m the mom they have, so I must be doing something right, old or not.

Things as simple as a missed call from an unknown number or someone knocking on your door put me into straight up fight or flight. I really do hide from people who come to my door. Real talk, I have gotten on my hands and knees below a window so they wouldn’t see me. I’ve even hidden in the closet. I know. Whacko.

My parenting mantra is: "Do your best and hope he doesn't turn into a sociopath." And I guess that's really all we can do, because if we're honest with ourselves, I think none of us really know what we're doing.