Why We Went Anyway

My son sits alone on a wooden bench, looking out at the vast Slovenian countryside — a quiet moment of stillness and perspective.

We came here to slow down—and somewhere in the quiet, he reminded me how.

I’ve spent the past twenty years studying what stress does to the body, what trauma does to the mind, and what systems do to people who try to carry it all.

I am a clinical psychologist, a professor, a researcher.

I teach college students the science of wellness. I write about how people recover, how they heal, how they build lives that feel worth living.

And somewhere along the way, I forgot to live mine.

Like so many of us in academia — especially women, especially mothers — I got caught in the current. There were always more grant and paper deadlines, more meetings, more people to show up for. Summer, we’re told, is when you finally get to “do your best work.” Which usually means giving your unpaid time to the same structures that burned you out in the first place.

One day, I chose something different.

Instead of staying home to hustle, I booked a ticket.

Instead of catching up on research, I decided to catch up with myself.

We Went Anyway is where I’m telling that story — the one I will continue to strive for.

It’s about slowing down. Wandering on purpose. Choosing memories over metrics.

It’s about showing my son — and reminding myself — that the world is big and beautiful and complicated, and that we belong in it.

My husband (also an academic) has walked beside me every step.

Our son is the center of it all.

Sometimes our extended family members join. Sometimes dear friends.

But at the heart, this is my journey — one I hope will enrich us all.

We’re not influencers or digital nomads. We’re just a family choosing presence over productivity, and connection over conventional success. The kind of people who know we “should” stay home…

…but we went anyway.

This blog is for the moments that make it all matter:

Jet-lagged mornings. Laughing until our bellies hurt. Late-night conversations with strangers. The smell of sea air. The quiet peace of knowing we chose this, and continue to choose this over and over.

If that kind of life speaks to you — one where joy is intentional, where meaning is made, not measured — I hope you’ll come along.

Subscribe, follow, or just read when you need a reminder: it’s okay to choose a different way.

Thanks for being here. Truly.

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From Dusty to Delightful: Two Days in Athens Beyond the Crowds and Ruins