Unpopular opinion: our kids aren’t drowning because they can’t handle life.
They’re drowning because life no longer asks them to swim.

We’ve stripped away every bit of friction that once made childhood feel real.
Every delay. Every pause. Every unanswered question.
And we did it for all the right reasons: to keep them safe, to make things fair, to make sure they never feel the ache we once did.

But here we are.
Anxious kids. Burned-out parents.
A culture sprinting toward ease and somehow feeling more exhausted than ever.

Something has gone very wrong.

We live in a world that wants change to be cinematic.
Three-second hooks. Ring-light confessions. A “before and after” you can swipe.
But the nervous system doesn’t move at the speed of the algorithm.
It moves at the speed of trust.

The loudest changes aren’t always the deepest.
The deep ones root invisibly, under your calendar, beneath your coping, inside the way you speak to yourself before bed. They don’t trend. They translate. They re-teach your body what safe feels like.