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The Real, Unfiltered Side of Modern Parenting Let’s be real: parenting today isn’t a picture-perfect scene from a magazine or a carefully curated Instagram reel. More often than not, it feels like a messy, unpredictable adventure filled with equal parts chaos and love. Some days you’re winning with bedtime routines that go smoothly, and other days you’re just trying to survive the morning school rush without losing your mind. This is the space where we drop the filters, tell the truth, and laugh at the absurdity of it all. Parenting has always been a challenge, but modern parenting comes with its own unique set of trials. The endless advice columns, conflicting parenting books, and pressure to keep up appearances can leave parents feeling like they’re falling short. Here, we say enough is enough. Perfection is overrated, and honesty is everything. This section is a safe place for rants, funny stories, and unfiltered conversations about the rollercoaster that is family life. We’ve all experienced those days that feel like a comedy of errors. Maybe your toddler decided to stage a full-blown meltdown in the middle of the grocery store. Maybe your teenager rolled their eyes so hard you thought they might get stuck. Or maybe you just stepped on yet another Lego while carrying a laundry basket. These moments, as frustrating as they are in the moment, often become the stories we tell later with laughter. They’re the raw material of parenting—the bloopers that don’t make it onto social media but define the real experience. This is where parenting rants become a kind of therapy. From endless battles over bedtime to the stress of helping with homework you barely understand yourself, every parent has stories that deserve to be shared. Venting doesn’t mean you don’t love your kids. It means you’re human. Sharing these rants gives us perspective and reminds us that nobody has it all together, no matter how perfect their family looks online. Of course, it’s not just about venting. This is also a place for funny, relatable stories that bring a smile to your face even on the hardest days. Kids have a way of surprising us with their unfiltered honesty and wild imaginations. One minute they’re driving us up the wall, and the next they’re saying something so hilarious or sweet that we forget the frustration. These moments are the balance—the little reminders that parenting is as rewarding as it is exhausting. Behind all the chaos, there’s also the emotional side of being a parent. We talk about the anger, the guilt, and the exhaustion that come with the role. We talk about mom rage when the day has been too long and the patience has run too thin. We talk about the guilt of snapping at your kids when all you wanted was five minutes of peace. These are the realities that many parents keep bottled up, but sharing them helps lift the weight. The beauty of this space is that it builds solidarity. When one parent shares their rant, another nods in recognition and says, “Me too.” That shared understanding creates community. Parenting isn’t meant to be a solo journey, and knowing others are living through the same chaos makes it all a little easier to handle. Here, you’ll also find unfiltered advice that’s rooted in reality. Forget the complicated ten-step plans for perfect parenting. Instead, we talk about what actually works in the messy, unpredictable world of raising kids. It’s about survival tips, small victories, and finding joy in unexpected places. The best wisdom often comes from parents who are still figuring it out themselves, because let’s be honest—none of us ever really have it mastered. So, whether you’re having a rough day or just need to laugh at the absurdity of family life, you’re in the right place. This is the parenting section that celebrates imperfection, embraces honesty, and finds humor in the chaos. It’s a reminder that everyone is just trying to hold it together, and that’s perfectly okay. Parenting may be the hardest job in the world, but it’s also the one filled with the most laughter, love, and unforgettable stories. Together, let’s vent, laugh, and support one another through the glorious mess that is modern parenting.
LETTER 1Dear Bitch Fest, My best friend just had a "life-changing" ayahuasca retreat and now she won’t stop telling me I’m “vibrating at a low frequency.” She literally interrupted my story about getting promoted to tell me I need to “release my capitalist trauma.” Last week she brought a shaman she met on Hinge to brunch, and he tried to sage my mimosa. I miss the version of her who made inappropriate jokes and ate gas station sushi with me. How do I get her back—without attending a sound bath? — Missing My Low-Vibe BestieDear Missing My Low-Vibe Bestie,Ah yes, the post-psychedelic personality transplant—where your perfectly good trash goblin bestie returns from the jungle convinced that her sarcasm was just suppressed trauma and now only speaks in wellness word salad.Here's the cosmic joke your friend doesn't get: nothing says "low vibration" quite like constantly telling everyone else they're vibrating wrong. That's not enlightenment. That's just judgment in yoga pants.She didn't find herself in the Amazon. She got lost in the gift shop.Let me paint you a picture of what actually happened: Your friend paid $3,000 to throw up in a yurt while some white guy named Trevor (who now goes by "Cosmic Eagle") played a rain stick he bought on Etsy. She confused hallucinating geometric patterns with profound wisdom and now thinks every human emotion needs a spiritual bypass. The girl who used to help you slash your ex's tires is now suggesting you need to "thank your triggers" and "honor the lesson." The lesson? That some people will pay resort prices to have their personality professionally ruined.Real transformation doesn't require becoming a walking Instagram caption who prescribes shadow work like it's ibuprofen. And brunch isn't a spiritual intervention—unless the pancakes are really good.Try this: "I love that you found meaning. I'm just not applying for spiritual reconstruction right now. My chakras are great. My aura? Spectacular. And our friendship doesn't need a rebrand."Then suggest terrible takeout and reality TV. If she can't get through one episode without using the phrase "divine masculine," she's not evolving—she's just exhausting.She'll either remember that spiritual growth includes accepting people as they are (revolutionary!), or she'll float away in a cloud of Palo Santo to spiritually colonize someone else's boundaries.Either way? You win.LETTER 2Dear Bitch Fest,My coworker brings her emotional support ferret to the office and it has bitten three people, destroyed my lunch twice, and sleeps in the printer tray. When I complained to HR, they said I was being "ableist" and suggested I "examine my relationship with unconventional support systems." The ferret isn't even a real support animal—she got the vest on Amazon. Yesterday it got into the ceiling tiles and we had to evacuate the building. How is this my life?— Ferret SurvivorDear Ferret Survivor,I'm sorry, did you just describe a workplace hostage situation orchestrated by a weasel in a knockoff vest? Because that's what this is—emotional manipulation with tiny teeth and a side of liability lawsuit.Your coworker has weaponized both the ADA and an aggressive rodent, which is honestly impressive in its audacity. She's discovered that if you slap "emotional support" in front of anything, corporate America will bend over backward to accommodate it rather than risk a discrimination claim.Here's what HR doesn't want to admit: actual service animals don't hide in ceiling tiles like they're planning a hostile takeover. They don't bite coworkers or nap in office equipment. You know what does that? Regular-ass ferrets whose owners are too cheap for doggy daycare.Let's talk about what's really happening here: Your coworker has created the perfect crime. She gets to bring her badly behaved pet to work, terrorize the office, and hide behind disability protections she ordered off the internet. Meanwhile, you're stuck eating lunch in your car because a tube sock with anger issues claimed the break room. The ferret has more job security than half your department, and everyone's too scared of a lawsuit to point out that emotional support animals are supposed to provide support, not require their own crisis management team.Document everything. Every bite, every evacuation, every printer tray nap. Take photos. Get witness statements. Create a paper trail so thick that when someone finally gets ferret rabies, HR can't pretend they didn't know.And maybe casually mention to your coworker that emotional support cobras are having a moment. See how committed she really is to this bit.Time to make HR choose between one faker's ferret fantasy and an entire office's right to work without wildlife encounters. Start CC'ing lawyers on your emails. Nothing makes corporate wake up faster than the smell of litigation in the morning.Because that's what this is—a bit that's gone too far and now has dental records.Your coworker found the loophole, but you're about to find the lawyer.LETTER 3Dear Bitch Fest,I've been dating someone for six months and just discovered they've been using AI to write all their texts to me. Every sweet message, every "thinking of you," every carefully crafted response to my emotional shares—all ChatGPT. I found out when they accidentally sent me a message that started with "Here's a romantic text for your girlfriend:" Am I wrong to feel like I've been dating a robot? They say I'm overreacting and that they were just "optimizing their communication style."— Apparently Dating HAL 9000Dear Apparently Dating HAL 9000,Oh honey, you haven't been dating a robot—you've been dating someone who outsourced their entire personality to Silicon Valley. That's somehow worse."Optimizing their communication style"? That's tech-bro speak for "I couldn't be bothered to feel actual feelings so I hired a computer to pretend for me." They turned your relationship into a customer service interaction where you're the client and ChatGPT is the underpaid emotional labor.Every "I love you" was crafted by an algorithm. Every moment you thought you were connecting, you were actually interfacing with a large language model trained on Reddit posts and WikiHow articles about romance.The truly twisted part is they probably felt like a genius. Like they'd discovered the cheat code for emotional intimacy. Why waste energy on authentic human connection when you can just prompt your way through a relationship? They treated your heart like a coding problem and decided the solution was automation. Six months of your genuine emotions met with copy-pasted responses from a chatbot that's probably also writing breakup texts for twelve other relationships right now.The sickest part? They probably thought they were being clever. Like they'd found some life hack for human connection. "Why waste time on authentic emotion when you can just prompt engineer your way through a relationship?"Here's the thing: using AI to write work emails? Fine. Using it to maintain intimate relationships? That's just dystopian laziness dressed up as efficiency.Dump them. But first, ask ChatGPT to write your breakup text. Include the prompt. Really lean into the irony.You deserve someone whose emotions aren't crowdsourced from the internet. Someone who fumbles their words and sends typos and occasionally says the wrong thing because they're an actual human having actual feelings.Not this digital ventriloquist act masquerading as intimacy.Got something to rage about? Send your disasters to info@jeopublishing.com and watch us turn your chaos into catharsis.
LETTER 1Dear Bitch Fest,I'm 34, recently divorced, and my ex-husband is already engaged to someone he met three months ago. Meanwhile, I'm over here trying to figure out how to use dating apps without wanting to throw my phone into traffic. Everyone keeps telling me I should "get back out there" and "you're so strong," but honestly? I feel like a garbage person most days. How do I not hate myself for taking longer to bounce back than apparently everyone else on the planet?—Slow & Steady Loses the RaceDear Slow & Steady,First off, fuck everyone who's clocking your healing timeline like you're running a marathon they have money on. Your ex-husband didn't "bounce back"—he ricocheted directly into another person's life because sitting alone with his feelings was scarier than a horror movie marathon. That's not recovery; that's emotional whiplash with a ring attached.Here's what nobody tells you about divorce: there's no prize for speed-healing. You're not "losing" because you need more than a season to figure out who you are without someone else's dirty socks on your bedroom floor. You're being a goddamn adult about it.Let me paint you a picture of what's actually happening here. While you're doing the hard work of untangling years of shared everything and figuring out which version of yourself exists without his commentary, he's playing house with someone new. That's not strength—that's avoidance dressed up in wedding planning. He's using this poor woman as a human band-aid, and honestly? I feel sorry for her.Meanwhile, you're over here having actual feelings about the end of something that mattered. You're grieving not just the relationship, but the future you thought you were building and the comfort of knowing someone's coffee order by heart. That's not weakness—that's being human with a capital H.Here's what I want you to do: take all that energy you're spending on feeling like a "garbage person" and redirect it toward something that actually matters. Learn to cook that one dish you always wanted to try. Buy yourself flowers on a Tuesday for no reason other than you're still breathing. The goal isn't to become someone new—it's to remember who you were before you became half of a "we."Those dating apps? They'll still be there when you're ready to swipe through the wasteland of men whose entire personality is "I love The Office." Right now, your job is to remember that you're a whole person, not half of something broken. And for the love of all that's holy, stop measuring your progress against someone who clearly makes decisions the way a toddler picks breakfast cereal. You're not slow—you're thorough. There's a difference.LETTER 2Dear Bitch Fest,My best friend of 15 years has become completely obsessed with wellness culture. She won't shut up about her morning routine, her supplements, her "toxic" job (which pays well and she actually likes), and how I need to "align my energy." Last week she tried to sell me a $300 course on "feminine leadership" and got genuinely offended when I said no. I miss my friend, but I don't know how to talk to this MLM wellness robot she's become. Help?—Missing My Actual FriendDear Missing,Your friend didn't find wellness—she found a very expensive way to avoid her actual problems. That $300 course? It's not about feminine leadership; it's about buying a sense of purpose when you're too scared to examine why you feel empty.Here's the thing about wellness culture: it's designed to make you feel like you're constantly failing at being human. Your friend has found a community that tells her she's "awakened" while everyone else is "asleep," which is both incredibly seductive and incredibly isolating. She's not trying to hurt you—she's trying to save you from the same existential dread that's eating her alive.You have two choices: set boundaries harder than a prison wall, or have one brutally honest conversation about what's really going on in her life. Try this: "I love you, but I need you to hear me. I don't want to buy anything, join anything, or optimize anything. I just want my friend back. Can we hang out without talking about your morning routine?"If she can't do that, then you're grieving someone who's still alive, and that's its own kind of hell. But sometimes people need to get lost in the wellness sauce before they find their way back to being human.LETTER 3Dear Bitch Fest,I'm a 28-year-old woman who just started a new job at a company I actually love. The problem? My manager is a woman in her 40s who seems to hate me for no reason. She's supportive of everyone else on the team, but with me, she's cold, dismissive, and finds fault with everything I do. I've tried being extra friendly, staying late, bringing coffee—nothing works. I'm starting to think she just doesn't like young women, but I don't know how to handle this without looking like I'm playing the victim. What do I do?—Trying Too HardDear Trying,Stop tap-dancing for someone who's already decided not to clap. You're not imagining this, and you're not being dramatic. Some women absolutely do hate other women, especially younger ones, and it's usually because they're projecting their own insecurities about aging, relevance, or missed opportunities onto your unsuspecting face.Here's what you're going to do: document everything. Every dismissive comment, every impossible deadline, every time she treats you differently than your colleagues. Keep it factual, keep it dated, and keep it detailed. You're not playing victim—you're collecting evidence.Then stop trying to win her over. Seriously. No more coffee runs, no more staying late to prove your worth, no more performing the "cool, agreeable girl" routine. Do your job well, be professional, and let her weirdness be her problem, not yours.If it gets worse, you have options: HR, her boss, or finding a new team within the company. But first, try showing up as yourself instead of as a people-pleasing machine. Sometimes the only way to deal with a bully is to stop giving them the reaction they're looking for.LETTER 4Dear Bitch Fest,Okay, so I don't have a problem, but I can't fucking stand when people put their phone on speaker or FaceTime in public. It bugs the shit out of me. I don't care to hear about other people's conversations. People need to be more considerate of others around them. No, I'm not a Karen, but fuck, I feel like I'm getting there... lol—Almost KarenDear Almost Karen,Welcome to the club, baby. Population: everyone who's ever been trapped on public transport listening to someone's entire family drama unfold at maximum volume. You're not becoming a Karen—you're becoming someone with boundaries, and there's a difference.Here's the thing: people who blast their personal business in public spaces are the same people who think the world is their living room. They genuinely don't understand that the rest of us didn't sign up to be extras in their life documentary. It's not malicious; it's just breathtakingly self-absorbed.The real tragedy? These phone-blasters have somehow convinced themselves they're being "authentic" and "real" by turning every grocery store aisle into their personal therapy session. Meanwhile, you're standing there trying to pick out yogurt while learning intimate details about someone's UTI symptoms.You have three options: invest in noise-canceling headphones and join the rest of us in our protective bubbles, master the art of the pointed stare (works about 20% of the time), or embrace your inner petty and start loudly commenting on their conversation like you're providing live commentary. "Ooh, she should definitely dump him!"Just remember: wanting basic courtesy in shared spaces doesn't make you a Karen. It makes you someone who understands that civilization is held together by the thin thread of people not being complete assholes to each other.LETTER 5Dear Bitch Fest,I'm 29 and just found out I'm pregnant with my first kid. I'm excited, but I'm also terrified about what this means for my career. I work in marketing at a tech startup, and while they talk a big game about "work-life balance," I've watched two other women basically disappear after having babies. One got "restructured" out during her mat leave, and the other came back to find her responsibilities had been "redistributed." My manager keeps making jokes about how I'll "probably want to take it easy now" and asking if I'm "still committed to the big projects." I haven't even told them my due date yet. How do I protect myself without looking like I'm expecting special treatment?—Pregnant and ParanoidDear Pregnant and Paranoid,Welcome to the fucked-up world of pregnancy discrimination, where companies hang motivational posters about "supporting working mothers" while quietly pushing pregnant women toward the exit. Your paranoia isn't paranoia—it's pattern recognition, and you're absolutely right to be worried.First, start documenting everything immediately. Every "joke" about taking it easy, every comment about your commitment, every meeting you suddenly stop getting invited to. Keep a paper trail that would make a lawyer weep with joy. Email yourself summaries of conversations, save texts, screenshot everything. You're not being dramatic—you're being smart.Here's what your manager's "jokes" actually are: illegal interview questions disguised as casual conversation. They're fishing for information about your plans while pretending to be supportive. Don't take the bait. When they ask about your commitment to projects, respond with something like, "I'm fully committed to delivering excellent work, just like I always have." Keep it professional and give them nothing to twist later.The unfortunate reality is that pregnancy discrimination is rampant, especially in tech startups that love to talk about disruption but can't figure out basic human decency. Your company's track record speaks louder than their diversity statements. But here's the thing: knowledge is power, and you now know exactly what you're dealing with.Talk to an employment lawyer now, not after something goes wrong. Many will give you a free consultation to understand your rights and options. Know your provincial employment standards inside and out. Connect with other working mothers in your industry—they've navigated this bullshit before and can be invaluable allies.And remember: you're not asking for special treatment by expecting not to be discriminated against. You're asking for basic human rights and legal protections. The fact that this feels revolutionary says everything about how broken the system is, not about your expectations.A Note from the EditorThe inbox is overflowing with your workplace nightmares, family drama, dating disasters, and general life chaos, and honestly? I'm here for all of it. Your willingness to share the real, unfiltered truth about your lives is what makes this column worth reading. Before we go any further, let me be crystal clear: I am not a therapist, counselor, or any kind of licensed mental health professional. My advice should be taken with a massive grain of salt and the understanding that what works for one person's dumpster fire might not work for yours. If you're dealing with serious mental health issues or abuse, please seek help from qualified professionals who actually know what they're talking about.What I can offer is perspective, solidarity, and the occasional reality check delivered with zero filter. Think of this as advice from your most brutally honest friend—the one who loves you enough to tell you when you're being ridiculous and supports you enough to help you burn it all down when necessary. If you have something to bitch about, contact us at info@jeopublishing.com.
LETTER 1Dear Bitch Fest,I'm drowning in other people's expectations. My boss wants me to be a "team player" (code for working weekends), my partner wants more quality time, my friends are mad I keep canceling plans, and my mother keeps asking when I'm going to "settle down and get serious" (I'm 34 and a hospital administrator, but apparently that doesn't count as "serious"). I'm stretched so thin I might actually disappear. How do I tell everyone to back off without burning every bridge in my life?- Disappearing ActDear Disappearing Act,The problem isn't that you need better time management or a more efficient calendar app. The problem is you're trying to be a full-time employee, full-time partner, full-time friend, and full-time daughter with exactly one human body and the standard 24-hour day. The math doesn't work, and no amount of productivity hacks will fix it.Here's what nobody tells you about adulthood: disappointing people is a non-negotiable life skill. Not a fun one, not one you put on your resume, but absolutely essential to your survival.Your boss calling weekend work "being a team player" is manipulative corporate-speak for "I'm going to exploit your fear of being disliked." Your partner, friends, and mother all have legitimate desires for your time and attention, but their desires don't constitute your obligations.So here's your new script: "I can't do that, but here's what I can do.""I can't work this weekend, but I can help prioritize what needs to be done by Friday." "I can't do dinner Tuesday, but I'm all yours Saturday morning." "I can't call every day, Mom, but I'll send you updates and we'll have our Sunday chats."The bridges you're worried about burning? The real ones are fireproof. The ones that go up in flames because you set reasonable boundaries weren't bridges—they were trapdoors.The only person you're genuinely at risk of losing here is yourself. And between your boss, partner, friends, mother, and you—you're the only one you can't replace.LETTER 2Dear Bitch Fest,I've been seeing someone for six months, and everything seemed great until I accidentally found out they've been blatantly lying about their education, career history, and financial situation. I'm not talking about small embellishments—I'm talking fabricated degrees and nonexistent jobs.pThe thing is, I genuinely like who they are as a person. The connection feels real. But now I'm questioning everything. Can I trust anything they say? Does this mean they're a pathological liar in all areas? Or is this just some weird insecurity they have about their background?- Dating a Resume PadderDear Dating a Resume Padder,When someone shows you who they are through elaborate, sustained deception...believe them the first time.Look, we all have insecurities. We all occasionally say "I'm fine" when we're not or claim to have read books we've only skimmed. But there's a Grand Canyon-sized difference between social white lies and manufacturing entire life chapters.The fabricated degrees and phantom jobs aren't just lies—they're a carefully constructed alternate reality. That kind of deception takes consistent effort and endless follow-up lies. This isn't a moment of weakness; it's a campaign strategy.The connection you feel might be genuine on your end, but how can you know it's real on theirs when their entire presented self is fiction? It's like saying you love someone's cooking when they've been secretly ordering takeout and transferring it to their own dishes.You're not questioning everything because you're paranoid. You're questioning everything because you've discovered you're dating a counterfeit person.The hard truth: This won't be the only area where fabrication feels easier to them than truth. People who go to these lengths to appear impressive instead of working to become impressive don't suddenly develop authenticity in other areas of life.You deserve someone who doesn't make you a supporting character in their personal fan fiction. Someone whose flaws and successes are equally real. Every day you spend trying to decode what's authentic in this relationship is a day you're not building a life based on truth.Sometimes the kindest thing we can do for ourselves is admit we've been conned, learn the lesson, and walk away with our dignity.“Dump the fantasy. Delete the résumé. And block the sequel.”LETTER 3Dear Bitch Fest,I've become the default therapist/life coach/emotional support human for literally everyone in my life. Friends, family, coworkers, and even casual acquaintances seem to view me as a safe space to dump their heaviest problems. I've heard about marriages falling apart, substance abuse issues, workplace harassment—you name it, someone's crying to me about it.I want to be there for people I care about, but I'm completely drained. My own problems pile up while I'm helping everyone else sort through theirs. How do I maintain boundaries without becoming the heartless bitch who doesn't care about other people's struggles?- Everyone's Emotional DumpsterDear Everyone's Emotional Dumpster,Congratulations! You've achieved that special level of emotional intelligence where you've become a free, unlicensed, uncompensated mental health service for your entire social network. Your empathy has turned you into a human suggestion box for other people's pain.Here's the thing about being the go-to emotional support human: people aren't coming to you because they think you can fix their problems. They're coming to you because you make their problems feel temporarily lighter—by taking them onto yourself.That's not friendship or family support. That's emotional outsourcing.You're not heartless for having limits. You're not selfish for needing reciprocity. You're not a bad person for occasionally saying, "I don't have the bandwidth for this conversation right now."Try these boundary-setting phrases that won't require you to turn in your "Good Person" card:"I care about you, but I'm not in a place where I can take this on right now.""This sounds really challenging. Have you considered talking to a professional who might have better tools to help than I do?""I've got about 15 minutes I can listen, but then I need to focus on [whatever you actually need to do].""I notice our conversations tend to focus on your struggles. I'd love to create more balance where we support each other."Some people will respect these boundaries. Others will suddenly find you "less fun" or "changed"—which really means they've lost their emotional dumping ground. Those relationships weren't friendships; they were free therapy sessions with occasional social benefits.Remember: licensed therapists have supervision, training, professional boundaries, and get paid for the emotional labor you're providing for free. Even they don't listen to problems all day without support.You're allowed to close the emotional suggestion box occasionally. You're allowed to be a person, not just a service. And anyone who can't respect that difference was never there for the real you anyway.You have something to bitch about? Write us at info@jeopublishing.com
LETTER 1Dear Bitch Fest,I've been with my partner for 7 years. We have a life that looks pretty good on paper—good jobs, nice apartment, solid friend group. For our anniversary, they bought me a Peloton. A PELOTON. I'm not an exercise person. I've never expressed interest in spinning. When I asked why, they said, "You've been complaining about not having time for self-care, so I thought this would help you prioritize yourself!"Now I have a $2,000 reminder of how little they know me taking up space in our bedroom, and I'm fantasizing about either selling it and taking a solo vacation or using it to barricade them in the bathroom. Is that too harsh?- Spinning With RageDear Spinning With Rage,Let me get this straight: Your partner's solution to you not having enough time was to give you another obligation? One that comes with its own special shoes and a monthly subscription fee? And they wrapped up "you should work out more" in a self-care bow and expected gratitude?The audacity is almost impressive.Here's what's happening: Your partner heard "I need more support" and translated it to "I should help you fix yourself" rather than "maybe I should step up more." It's the fitness equivalent of buying someone a vacuum cleaner—a gift that creates work disguised as a treat.The Peloton isn't the real issue here. It's what it represents: the fundamental misunderstanding of what you actually need and want. And that's where the rage comes from—not the machine itself, but the gap between being known and being assumed.So no, fantasizing about barricading them in the bathroom isn't too harsh (though maybe keep that one to yourself for insurance purposes). But before you turn the Peloton into a very expensive clothes hanger, try this:"I need to talk about the Peloton. I know you meant well, but this gift made me feel unseen and misunderstood. When I talk about needing self-care, I'm really saying I need more support with our shared life, not another thing on my to-do list. I'd like to return it and use that money for something that would actually replenish me—like household help or time away—and then have a bigger conversation about what support really looks like for me."If they get defensive, hold your ground. This isn't about gratitude; it's about communication. And if they truly want to help you prioritize yourself, they can start by actually listening to what you want instead of prescribing what they think you need.Whatever you do, don't force yourself onto that bike out of guilt. Life's too short to spend your precious free time doing something that makes you seethe with resentment. That's not self-care—it's self-punishment.And for what it's worth? I'm betting there's a hot secondary market for barely-used Pelotons.“Each ping is just code for: ‘Please stop being a person and start being my solution.’”LETTER 2Dear Bitch Fest,I want to run away every time someone says my name. It's constant. From the moment I wake up until I finally sleep, it's texts and Slacks and emails and IMs, all needing my immediate attention. Even when my roommates are RIGHT THERE, people still come to me. Yesterday I locked myself in the bathroom and put in earbuds just to not hear my phone ping for five minutes.I love my friends and colleagues more than anything, but I'm starting to think I should change my name and move to a cabin in the woods. Am I a monster?- My Name My Name My NameDear My Name × 3,If being irritated by the sound of your own name makes you a monster, then we're going to need a bigger castle, because you've got plenty of company.There's actually science behind this phenomenon. It's called "semantic satiation"—when a word is repeated so often it temporarily loses meaning and just becomes an irritating noise. Except in the case of your name, it's not just semantic; it's existential. Each ping is actually code for "I need you to stop being your own person and attend to my needs immediately."No wonder you're hiding in the bathroom.The constant demand for your attention isn't just annoying—it's depleting. Humans aren't designed to be constantly accessible, constantly responsive, constantly ON. And yet that's exactly what modern life often demands, especially from those of us who've been socialized to prioritize others' needs above our own.So no, you're not a monster. You're experiencing a normal reaction to an abnormal expectation: that you should be available all the time, to everyone, without limits.Some practical suggestions:Institute specific times when you're "off duty" and unavailable (and vice versa)Teach people to wait their turn when you're engaged in something else (unless it's bleeding or burning)Create a visual cue that signals "not now" (like turning off notifications or setting status to busy)Practice not responding immediately to non-urgent pingsBut beyond tactics, consider this: Your irritation is information. It's telling you that your boundaries are being crossed, that your personhood is being eroded in small increments with each summons. Listen to that feeling. Honor it.The next time you feel like changing your name and moving to another continent, try this: "I'm feeling overwhelmed by how many people need things from me right now. I love being helpful, but I need a little quiet time for my brain right now. Unless it's an emergency, can you please try to solve this yourself or ask someone else?"People won't suffer from learning that you're a human being with limits and needs of your own. In fact, it might be one of the most important boundaries you establish.And keep those earbuds charged. Sometimes, five minutes of not being "on call" is exactly the reset you need to be able to answer the next ping with something other than a primal scream.LETTER 3Dear Bitch Fest,I love my creative work, but I HATE the business side. Like, would rather clean the bathroom with a toothbrush hate it. The endless emails, the invoicing, the pitching, the networking that feels like performance art—it all makes me want to claw my eyes out. But I've been told repeatedly that this is just "part of being a professional." How do I balance making art with the soul-crushing reality of selling it?- Pretending to Like CapitalismDear Pretending to Like Capitalism,Let me liberate you with this truth: You can be an exceptional creative and still hate the business side with the fire of a thousand suns.The creative industrial complex has convinced us that "real artists" effortlessly embody both visionary genius and savvy entrepreneurship. It's an impossible standard that no previous generation of creatives was expected to meet.Think about it: Did Picasso handle his own invoicing? Did Virginia Woolf design her own website? My point is, this expectation that creative people should also excel at—or even enjoy—the administrative, financial, and marketing aspects of their work is both recent and unreasonable.So first, let's ditch the guilt. Hating the business side doesn't make you unprofessional; it makes you a human with preferences. Some creatives thrive on the hustling aspects; others would rather eat glass than write another "just following up" email.Now for the practical part: How do you balance your art with the necessary evil of commerce?Set a timer. Ten minutes of focused, unpleasant business tasks is better than an hour of procrastination and dread. "I can send three follow-up emails and then get back to my real work" makes it doable.Outsource when possible. This doesn't have to mean hiring an assistant (though if you can afford it, do it). It could mean bartering services with a friend who's good at the stuff you hate, using automation tools, or finding a collaborative partner whose strengths complement your weaknesses.Batch similar tasks. "Money Mondays" or "Admin Afternoons" contain the psychological contamination of these tasks to specific times, leaving the rest of your schedule protected for creative work.Reframe the narrative. The business side isn't separate from your creative practice—it's what creates space for your creative practice to exist. Each invoice sent is an hour of creative freedom purchased.Be honest (in a strategic way). "I'm primarily focused on the creative aspects of my work, so I prefer to communicate about business matters on Thursdays" sets expectations without apology.Remember: Your job isn't to love every aspect of your work. Your job is to create meaningful art while building sustainable structures that allow you to keep creating. You can absolutely do that without pretending to enjoy the parts that drain your soul.The gatekeepers want you to believe that enthusiasm for capitalism is a prerequisite for creative success. It's not. Many of the most successful artists I know have assistants, managers, or systems specifically because they recognize their own limitations and priorities.So the next time someone tells you that you should learn to love pitching or networking, try: "I've recognized that my energy is best spent on creating excellent work. I'll handle the necessary business aspects efficiently so I can get back to what I do best."You're not failing the creative life by having boundaries. You're creating a sustainable one that won't burn you out before your best work is made.Besides, capitalism is overrated. Your art isn't.
For when your husband’s version of “helping” involves applause.Q: “Joseph, how do you handle a husband who thinks he deserves a standing ovation for doing one chore? Like, he empties the dishwasher once and suddenly he's the Patron Saint of Domestic Labor. I do a thousand things a day, no applause. Am I being petty?”— Exhausted in EtobicokeA: Oh darling… you're not being petty. You're being observant. And possibly under-applauded.This phenomenon is well-documented in parenting circles. It’s called Weaponized Incompetence meets Gold Star Syndrome, and it’s more common than socks in the couch cushions. It’s when a grown man completes a single, bare-minimum task and expects a parade. Bonus points if he announces it like a royal decree:“I took the garbage out.”Wow. Brave. Heroic. Should I call the mayor?Here’s the thing: we love our husbands. Truly. Deeply. In sickness and in “I loaded the dishwasher but didn’t press start.” But sometimes… sometimes they need a gentle, sarcastic reality check.So next time he goes full Beyoncé over folding one basket of laundry, try this:“Oh babe, amazing. I also wiped tiny human butts, made five meals no one ate, answered 36 quevstions about ants, and negotiated a treaty over who gets the pink fork. But yes—your laundry folding was vital to our survival.”Or… just slow clap silently while staring into his soul. Your call.The truth? You’re not asking for applause. You’re asking for partnership. For the mental load to be shared, not gifted. For recognition, not a résumé update.And honestly? He might not even realize it. So if the mood strikes, hit him with some humor and honesty.And if not? Come here, vent it out, and know that yes—you’re seen.Even if no one’s clapping when you change the toilet paper roll.Got something to bitch about? We’re all ears. If you’ve got a story, a rant, or just need to scream into the digital void—we’ve got room for it right here.Email us at info@jeopublishing.com, and maybe your chaos will end up in the next issue of Bitch Fest.
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LETTER 1Dear Bitch Fest,I'm 34, recently divorced, and my ex-husband is already engaged to someone he met three months ago. Meanwhile, I'm over here trying to figure out how to use dating apps without wanting to throw my phone into traffic. Everyone keeps telling me I should "get back out there" and "you're so strong," but honestly? I feel like a garbage person most days. How do I not hate myself for taking longer to bounce back than apparently everyone else on the planet?—Slow & Steady Loses the RaceDear Slow & Steady,First off, fuck everyone who's clocking your healing timeline like you're running a marathon they have money on. Your ex-husband didn't "bounce back"—he ricocheted directly into another person's life because sitting alone with his feelings was scarier than a horror movie marathon. That's not recovery; that's emotional whiplash with a ring attached.Here's what nobody tells you about divorce: there's no prize for speed-healing. You're not "losing" because you need more than a season to figure out who you are without someone else's dirty socks on your bedroom floor. You're being a goddamn adult about it.Let me paint you a picture of what's actually happening here. While you're doing the hard work of untangling years of shared everything and figuring out which version of yourself exists without his commentary, he's playing house with someone new. That's not strength—that's avoidance dressed up in wedding planning. He's using this poor woman as a human band-aid, and honestly? I feel sorry for her.Meanwhile, you're over here having actual feelings about the end of something that mattered. You're grieving not just the relationship, but the future you thought you were building and the comfort of knowing someone's coffee order by heart. That's not weakness—that's being human with a capital H.Here's what I want you to do: take all that energy you're spending on feeling like a "garbage person" and redirect it toward something that actually matters. Learn to cook that one dish you always wanted to try. Buy yourself flowers on a Tuesday for no reason other than you're still breathing. The goal isn't to become someone new—it's to remember who you were before you became half of a "we."Those dating apps? They'll still be there when you're ready to swipe through the wasteland of men whose entire personality is "I love The Office." Right now, your job is to remember that you're a whole person, not half of something broken. And for the love of all that's holy, stop measuring your progress against someone who clearly makes decisions the way a toddler picks breakfast cereal. You're not slow—you're thorough. There's a difference.LETTER 2Dear Bitch Fest,My best friend of 15 years has become completely obsessed with wellness culture. She won't shut up about her morning routine, her supplements, her "toxic" job (which pays well and she actually likes), and how I need to "align my energy." Last week she tried to sell me a $300 course on "feminine leadership" and got genuinely offended when I said no. I miss my friend, but I don't know how to talk to this MLM wellness robot she's become. Help?—Missing My Actual FriendDear Missing,Your friend didn't find wellness—she found a very expensive way to avoid her actual problems. That $300 course? It's not about feminine leadership; it's about buying a sense of purpose when you're too scared to examine why you feel empty.Here's the thing about wellness culture: it's designed to make you feel like you're constantly failing at being human. Your friend has found a community that tells her she's "awakened" while everyone else is "asleep," which is both incredibly seductive and incredibly isolating. She's not trying to hurt you—she's trying to save you from the same existential dread that's eating her alive.You have two choices: set boundaries harder than a prison wall, or have one brutally honest conversation about what's really going on in her life. Try this: "I love you, but I need you to hear me. I don't want to buy anything, join anything, or optimize anything. I just want my friend back. Can we hang out without talking about your morning routine?"If she can't do that, then you're grieving someone who's still alive, and that's its own kind of hell. But sometimes people need to get lost in the wellness sauce before they find their way back to being human.LETTER 3Dear Bitch Fest,I'm a 28-year-old woman who just started a new job at a company I actually love. The problem? My manager is a woman in her 40s who seems to hate me for no reason. She's supportive of everyone else on the team, but with me, she's cold, dismissive, and finds fault with everything I do. I've tried being extra friendly, staying late, bringing coffee—nothing works. I'm starting to think she just doesn't like young women, but I don't know how to handle this without looking like I'm playing the victim. What do I do?—Trying Too HardDear Trying,Stop tap-dancing for someone who's already decided not to clap. You're not imagining this, and you're not being dramatic. Some women absolutely do hate other women, especially younger ones, and it's usually because they're projecting their own insecurities about aging, relevance, or missed opportunities onto your unsuspecting face.Here's what you're going to do: document everything. Every dismissive comment, every impossible deadline, every time she treats you differently than your colleagues. Keep it factual, keep it dated, and keep it detailed. You're not playing victim—you're collecting evidence.Then stop trying to win her over. Seriously. No more coffee runs, no more staying late to prove your worth, no more performing the "cool, agreeable girl" routine. Do your job well, be professional, and let her weirdness be her problem, not yours.If it gets worse, you have options: HR, her boss, or finding a new team within the company. But first, try showing up as yourself instead of as a people-pleasing machine. Sometimes the only way to deal with a bully is to stop giving them the reaction they're looking for.LETTER 4Dear Bitch Fest,Okay, so I don't have a problem, but I can't fucking stand when people put their phone on speaker or FaceTime in public. It bugs the shit out of me. I don't care to hear about other people's conversations. People need to be more considerate of others around them. No, I'm not a Karen, but fuck, I feel like I'm getting there... lol—Almost KarenDear Almost Karen,Welcome to the club, baby. Population: everyone who's ever been trapped on public transport listening to someone's entire family drama unfold at maximum volume. You're not becoming a Karen—you're becoming someone with boundaries, and there's a difference.Here's the thing: people who blast their personal business in public spaces are the same people who think the world is their living room. They genuinely don't understand that the rest of us didn't sign up to be extras in their life documentary. It's not malicious; it's just breathtakingly self-absorbed.The real tragedy? These phone-blasters have somehow convinced themselves they're being "authentic" and "real" by turning every grocery store aisle into their personal therapy session. Meanwhile, you're standing there trying to pick out yogurt while learning intimate details about someone's UTI symptoms.You have three options: invest in noise-canceling headphones and join the rest of us in our protective bubbles, master the art of the pointed stare (works about 20% of the time), or embrace your inner petty and start loudly commenting on their conversation like you're providing live commentary. "Ooh, she should definitely dump him!"Just remember: wanting basic courtesy in shared spaces doesn't make you a Karen. It makes you someone who understands that civilization is held together by the thin thread of people not being complete assholes to each other.LETTER 5Dear Bitch Fest,I'm 29 and just found out I'm pregnant with my first kid. I'm excited, but I'm also terrified about what this means for my career. I work in marketing at a tech startup, and while they talk a big game about "work-life balance," I've watched two other women basically disappear after having babies. One got "restructured" out during her mat leave, and the other came back to find her responsibilities had been "redistributed." My manager keeps making jokes about how I'll "probably want to take it easy now" and asking if I'm "still committed to the big projects." I haven't even told them my due date yet. How do I protect myself without looking like I'm expecting special treatment?—Pregnant and ParanoidDear Pregnant and Paranoid,Welcome to the fucked-up world of pregnancy discrimination, where companies hang motivational posters about "supporting working mothers" while quietly pushing pregnant women toward the exit. Your paranoia isn't paranoia—it's pattern recognition, and you're absolutely right to be worried.First, start documenting everything immediately. Every "joke" about taking it easy, every comment about your commitment, every meeting you suddenly stop getting invited to. Keep a paper trail that would make a lawyer weep with joy. Email yourself summaries of conversations, save texts, screenshot everything. You're not being dramatic—you're being smart.Here's what your manager's "jokes" actually are: illegal interview questions disguised as casual conversation. They're fishing for information about your plans while pretending to be supportive. Don't take the bait. When they ask about your commitment to projects, respond with something like, "I'm fully committed to delivering excellent work, just like I always have." Keep it professional and give them nothing to twist later.The unfortunate reality is that pregnancy discrimination is rampant, especially in tech startups that love to talk about disruption but can't figure out basic human decency. Your company's track record speaks louder than their diversity statements. But here's the thing: knowledge is power, and you now know exactly what you're dealing with.Talk to an employment lawyer now, not after something goes wrong. Many will give you a free consultation to understand your rights and options. Know your provincial employment standards inside and out. Connect with other working mothers in your industry—they've navigated this bullshit before and can be invaluable allies.And remember: you're not asking for special treatment by expecting not to be discriminated against. You're asking for basic human rights and legal protections. The fact that this feels revolutionary says everything about how broken the system is, not about your expectations.A Note from the EditorThe inbox is overflowing with your workplace nightmares, family drama, dating disasters, and general life chaos, and honestly? I'm here for all of it. Your willingness to share the real, unfiltered truth about your lives is what makes this column worth reading. Before we go any further, let me be crystal clear: I am not a therapist, counselor, or any kind of licensed mental health professional. My advice should be taken with a massive grain of salt and the understanding that what works for one person's dumpster fire might not work for yours. If you're dealing with serious mental health issues or abuse, please seek help from qualified professionals who actually know what they're talking about.What I can offer is perspective, solidarity, and the occasional reality check delivered with zero filter. Think of this as advice from your most brutally honest friend—the one who loves you enough to tell you when you're being ridiculous and supports you enough to help you burn it all down when necessary. If you have something to bitch about, contact us at info@jeopublishing.com.
"I'm proudly a recovered alcoholic and I'm no longer going to feel ashamed. Shame will kill us - it almost killed me."Jenn Harper had been selling seafood for over a decade when three little Indigenous girls covered in lip gloss changed everything. The dream came in January 2015, just two months into her sobriety—brown skin, rosy cheeks, giggling and laughing while covered in colorful gloss. When she woke up, she wrote down what would become the business plan for Cheekbone Beauty."It was so real to me that building a cosmetics company was the next thing on my path," Harper reflects. "It's crazy when I think about it now—I'm embarrassed about how much I didn't know about this industry."What she didn't know could fill a warehouse: product development, supply chains, ingredients, retail merchandising, the crushing competitiveness of beauty. What she did know was this: a brand representing Indigenous people deserved to exist in the world.Ten years later, that naive conviction has built something unprecedented—the first B Corp certified Indigenous beauty brand to hit Sephora shelves, a company that's donated over $250,000 to Indigenous communities, and a new category Harper calls "Indigenous Beauty" that puts sustainability and cultural values at its core.But the real revolution? How Harper transformed the same addictive patterns that nearly destroyed her life into the obsessive focus that built an empire.When Shame Nearly Killed Her"I'm proudly a recovered alcoholic, and I'm no longer going to feel ashamed," Harper says with the directness that's become her trademark. "Shame will kill us—it almost killed me."Harper's battle with alcoholism lasted years, marked by rehab attempts, relapses, and a marriage hanging by a thread. In 2014, her husband delivered an ultimatum: get sober or he was leaving. It was the first time in their marriage he'd drawn that line."I had this moment of surrender. I had to believe truly that I could get well," she explains. The timing wasn't coincidental—2015 was also when Canada's Truth and Reconciliation Commission released its report on residential schools, finally giving Harper language for the generational trauma that had shaped her family."I used to believe I was just this person who comes from a completely dysfunctional family—we're just screwed up people," she admits. "Then I learned that this was systematically designed to take down a culture."Her grandmother had been taken from their community at six years old, forced into residential school until sixteen, beaten for speaking their language. Suddenly, Harper's family dysfunction had context—and a path to healing.Replacing One Addiction With AnotherTraditional recovery wisdom warns against substituting addictions, but Harper had a different plan. "I became obsessed with building this business, and maybe as an addict with an addict's brain, I'll never be fully healed from that in this life. But how can I use that power of obsession for doing something good versus destroying my life?"She admits the approach isn't typical AA advice, but it worked. Harper channeled her addictive patterns into something constructive: reading over a hundred books on entrepreneurship and Indigenous culture, diving deep into formulations and supply chains, obsessing over every detail of building a sustainable beauty company."That you can climb any mountain and get to the top," Harper says when asked what sobriety taught her about business. "You really can't see it unless you can see it—that line is so important for people from BIPOC communities. If you didn't see yourself represented out there, how are you supposed to think you can do those things?"Building Indigenous Beauty From NothingWhat Harper calls "Indigenous Beauty" isn't just marketing—it's a fundamental reimagining of how beauty products should be made. Where Korean beauty focuses on skincare and French beauty means perfume and red lipstick, Indigenous beauty centers sustainability and connection to the earth."Indigenous people have truly lived and breathed sustainability since the beginning of time," Harper explains. "We want to add that into how we make and create our products."At Cheekbone, that means formulas that actually biodegrade back into ecosystems, sustainably sourced packaging, and transparencyabout every ingredient. Harper spent years studying formulations to replace conventional ingredients with biodegradable alternatives—swapping propylene glycol for propendol, using only post-consumer recycled plastic, creating products that can serve multiple purposes."The truth is, true sustainability means we buy nothing and use what we have," Harper acknowledges. "We're still a consumer-based business. But can we do it so that the choice someone's making is a better choice they can feel good about?"The Cost of RepresentationHarper's drive for visibility became even more urgent after losing her brother BJ to suicide. "When you lose someone to suicide, you really spend a lot of time thinking about the what-ifs," she says quietly. "What I learned from my brother is that he really felt represented in these last few years. He would send me messages about Indigenous people on red carpets or athletes coming up."Those messages became proof of representation's power—and its absence's danger. Harper knows the statistics: Indigenous communities face suicide rates far above national averages, often linked to disconnection and lack of belonging."You really can't be it unless you can see it," Harper repeats. "For me, being able to represent our communities and help them see that entrepreneurship is an option—if I can figure it out and I wasn't a great student, I didn't have a university degree—if I can do this, they can too."Revolution, Not ActivismHarper's approach to change differs from traditional activism. "I feel like going and yelling at someone with a sign is never going to change their heart," she explains. "We need activists for many things, but I believe the way I love to connect with people is: can we change people's hearts?"Instead of protests, Harper builds. Cheekbone's scholarship fund has deployed 30 scholarships since 2021. Two percent of all revenue goes to Indigenous education initiatives year-round, with special Orange Shirt Day campaigns raising additional funds."We use the system," Harper says of their Orange Shirt Day strategy. "People arethinking about those things on that day, so of course we're using it. The algorithm of the world works on days now—if you're not speaking to the big things happening, no one cares because no one's going to see it."The approach extends to retail partnerships. When Sephora committed to Harper's "Glossed Over" campaign—featuring lip glosses named "Luscious Lead" and "E. Coli Kiss" to highlight water crises in Indigenous communities—it gave profits from Cheekbone sales to water treatment organizations."Sephora is really great—they take risks in that way," Harper notes. "They're truly the heroes in that story because they used their platform, and that's not easy to do on a bigger scale."The Real Beauty IndustryHarper envisions an industry transformation that goes beyond Indigenous representation. "Real people, no more editorial stuff," she says when asked what would make beauty actually beautiful. "We deserve to see real people wearing the products with real skin imperfections, acne, textured skin, hair on their face—let's just be real about it."It's a radical vision in an industry built on manufactured insecurity, but Harper's betting consumers are ready. As the first B Corp certified cosmetic brand in Sephora, Cheekbone legally prioritizes people and planet over profit—paying living wages, providing mental health benefits, and taking company-wide mental health weeks."Everyone at Cheekbone makes over a living wage for the area of the world they live in," Harper explains. "We take a whole week off every summer as an entire business so that it's a real mental health break for the entire company."What Her Grandmother Would ThinkWhen asked what her grandmother would think of seeing Cheekbone in Sephora, Harper pauses. "I think she would be proud. We're a humble group of people, a humble nation. We don't do the bragging thing—it's cultural. But there would be a lot of joy and happiness because I'm her granddaughter."That humility runs through everything Harper builds. Despite Cheekbone's success—Sephora shelves, B Corp certification, six-figure donations—she insists they're just getting started."I literally feel like we're just getting started," she says of the ten-year journey. "Over the last two years is finally when I feel like we've built something that's going to have value and matter."The Revolution ContinuesHarper's vision extends beyond Cheekbone to building an Indigenous beauty conglomerate—acquiring skincare brands, hair care lines, creating an entire ecosystem centered on Indigenous values and sustainable practices.“Cheekbone pioneered a category we call Indigenous Beauty," she explains. "What we intend to do is build this with that long view in mind."For women watching Harper's journey—especially those with their own healing to do—her message is clear: "I am no longer going to feel ashamed. If we've made past mistakes, big ones or small ones, you have to remove that shame part of it. Anyone can turn their lives around at any given moment."It's advice born from experience, spoken by someone who turned rock bottom into revolutionary business, addiction into empire-building, and personal healing into community transformation."If your heart's in something, there's nothing that can stop you from reaching that goal," Harper concludes. "I have regrets, many, many regrets. But shame will kill us. And I refuse to let shame win."Harper's story represents a new generation of Indigenous entrepreneurs building businesses that honor their heritage while challenging industry standards. As Orange Shirt Day approaches this September, her work reminds us that real reconciliation happens not through performative gestures, but through sustained action, authentic representation, and the radical act of building something beautiful from the ground up.When Jenn Harper talks about changing hearts instead of holding signs, she's describing a partnership that puts real money behind Indigenous education. For four years, Cheekbone Beauty has worked with Indspire, Canada's largest Indigenous-led registered charity, transforming lip gloss sales into life-changing scholarships."They're the one that we do our scholarship fund in collaboration with," Harper explains. "They're a not-for-profit, we're a for-profit business, so we get them to do all of our scholarship fund work."The partnership makes perfect sense: Harper brings platform and profits, while Indspire brings three decades of experience. Since 1996, Indspire has distributed over $200 million in scholarships to more than 54,000 Indigenous students across Canada.The collaboration has deployed 30 scholarships since 2021, with Cheekbone contributing 2% of all revenue year-round to their "For Future Generations Scholarship Fund." During Orange Shirt Day campaigns, that jumps to 100% of profits after operational costs."This year will be the fourth year," Harper notes. "The people at Cheekbone love their jobs because everything we do is about supporting and giving back to the community."What makes this powerful isn't just money—it's visibility. Harper's Orange Shirt Day campaigns educate consumers about funding gaps, systemic barriers, and why Indigenous education matters. Her customers learn while they shop."Education is powerful," Harper emphasizes. "Whatever path a young person can choose, it's going to help."Indspire's approach aligns with Harper's philosophy. Rather than charity creating dependency, they provide tools for self-determination. Scholarships support everything from trades programs to PhD studies, recognizing that Indigenous communities need leaders in every field.Harper's story—building a multi-million dollar company without a university degree—proves success comes in many forms. But systemic change requires Indigenous people in boardrooms, courtrooms, research labs, and government offices."Meeting people that have been impacted—they're a beautiful organization, and people should be supporting them in every which way they can," Harper says.The partnership creates a feedback loop: Cheekbone's success generates scholarship funding, which creates Indigenous graduates, who become role models for the next generation—the representation Harper wishes she'd had growing up ashamed of her identity.This isn't charity for charity's sake. Harper sees education funding as business strategy, community building, and cultural preservation. Every scholarship recipient represents potential future leadership and entrepreneurship."It's all about what are we doing here for the next generations," Harper explains. "That's part of our complete ethos as a brand."As Cheekbone grows into an Indigenous beauty conglomerate, the Indspire partnership ensures success lifts the entire community. It's capitalism with conscience, business as resistance, and proof that revolution can happen one scholarship at a time.
Patric Gagné doesn't need her kids to love her back. She's okay with that. Are we?Patric Gagné cuts her kids' peanut butter sandwiches into stars and whales. She makes Christmas magical even though she hates it. She shows up for bedtime stories, tantrums, and bullies. But here's the kicker—she does it without the emotional fuel most of us run on. She's a diagnosed sociopath. And she's one of the most fascinating, disarming, and deeply human mothers I've ever interviewed.This isn't a hot take on TikTok psychopathy or a glorified redemption arc. This is someone telling the truth about what it's like to parent without the typical emotional wiring—and still doing the damn thing. I first reached out to Patric because her memoir Sociopath hit me in the gut. Not because I saw a monster. But because I saw a parent navigating the same chaos I was—just using a different map. What followed was one of the most honest, unfiltered conversations I've ever had with anyone."I told my kids they don't have to love me." That line stopped me cold. I asked her if she meant it literally—like, had she actually said those words to her children? "Yes," she said without hesitation. "We've had long conversations about love, and I've told them it should always be additive. You should never feel obligated to love anyone. Even me."It's not rejection. It's radical self-honesty. And it challenges every sappy Mother's Day card, every feel-good sitcom, and every sugarcoated idea we've been sold about what love between parent and child is supposed to look like. But that's the point. Gagné's entire existence challenges the mythology of motherhood—and not in a self-congratulatory way. She's not trying to shock. She's trying to survive. And raise decent humans in the process.The Baby Stage: "I wanted to leave."We talked about those early months of parenting—the dark, sleepless tunnel so many of us have barely crawled out of. I told her I was crying daily, unsure if I'd make it out in one piece. She didn't flinch. "I wanted to kill myself," she admitted. "Not because of them—but because I thought something was wrong with me for not bonding."She had hoped, deep down, that motherhood would unlock something in her. Some primal instinct. Some feral maternal love. But it didn't. And that realization broke her heart in a way she couldn't quite describe. She wasn't angry at her children. She was angry at herself for believing she could be like everyone else. "I was a fool to have thought I could have bonded that way," she said. "I should have been more realistic with myself and said, 'Hey, it's not going to be what it's like for everybody else, just like nothing in your life has been. It's going to be different. But you'll get there.'"The difference between her experience and mine? She had a partner she could tap out to. "Unlike you, I had the benefit of a partner that I could say, 'Here you go. I got to tap out.'"Parenting Without the ScriptWe don't talk enough about what happens when your kids trigger parts of you that have never fully healed. Or never existed. Patric doesn't fake maternal warmth to keep up appearances with other parents. She fakes it when her kids need it from her. "Not so much anymore—they're older," she said. "But when they were younger and needed comfort I couldn't access authentically, I gave them what they needed anyway."When I asked what it feels like to watch her kids sleep, she answered without hesitation: "Relief." Not joy. Not aching love. Relief. Because they're okay. Because she can finally rest. That answer gutted me. Not because it was cold—but because it was honest. And how many of us have felt that exact thing, but felt too guilty to say it out loud?But then she surprises you. When her older child witnessed a classmate being bullied for their sexual orientation and stood up for them, Patric had one of her proudest moments. "I told him, 'You have no idea how much that means to that kid. It really means the world to a kid who feels all alone to have another kid say, stop doing that. That's not kind. And you're being a dick.' I was really proud of him that he did that."Pride without ego. Protection without possession. It's parenting stripped of performance."I can't care about this."One of my favorite moments came when I asked her how she handles the petty day-to-day dramas that set most parents off. "I just say, 'I can't care about this,'" she said, laughing. "It started as a joke with my friends, and now my kids even say it. Like, 'Mommy, you can't care about this.' And I'm like, 'I really can't. I love you. I do not have the bandwidth for a Fortnight play-by-play. I'm a huge gamer and I actually love Fortnite, but I'm also not interested in a 30 minute rundown."It sounds harsh. But how many of us pretend to care about every scraped knee, every Pokémon card betrayal, every tantrum about the wrong color cup? Patric doesn't pretend. She just shows up with what she's got.For nightmares, she takes what she calls "the easy way out." Instead of processing the dream at 3 AM, she'll say, "That's so scary! Let's talk about it more in the morning," or "The best thing for a nightmare is to replace it with a fresh dream," and bring them into bed with her. "The middle of the night is no time to process a nightmare," she said. "If they still want to talk about it in the morning I'll tell them they have 90 seconds to identify every emotion they felt in the dream. The emotions hold the information and, let's be honest, no one is trying to hear 90 minutes of unconscious recall."Boundaries without guilt. Efficiency without cruelty. It's revolutionary, actually.The Santa Claus RebellionIf you want to understand how Patric's mind works, ask her about Santa Claus. From the time her children were conscious enough to have the conversation, she's been methodically dismantling the myth. "I think Santa Claus is crazy. This whole thing about Santa Claus is insane to me," she told them. When they protested that Santa was real, she'd respond with pure logic: "What's the truth? That a man who wears the same clothes 365 days a year comes down a chimney and leaves presents for you because you're good? So he's breaking and entering?"Her children would push back, insisting Santa arrives by sleigh. "I'm sorry, he comes on what? A sleigh?" She'd continue: "Don't talk to strangers unless it's a man in a red suit promising gifts, in which case get into his lap and whisper your secrets? We're teaching kids about stranger danger, but over here it's okay?"But here's the thing—she still makes Christmas magical. "I really work hard to make Christmas magical for them, because it's not their fault that I have a really hard time at Christmas. It's so hard every year. But I definitely do it for them."Her solution was brilliant: let her children convince her while maintaining her stance. "They would come to me with the stories, and I would say, 'That's bonkers,' and then it's on them to convince me. All along I would say, 'This is insane,' but I will tell you there is something about Christmas that is magical. I don't know what it is, but I know it's not some random guy.""I never wanted to tell them I believed in something I didn't believe in," she explains. "I'd rather my kids know they can always count on me to deal with them honestly, even if it's not as magical as they would like it to be."Radical honesty wrapped in love. It shouldn't work. But it does.When Marriage Meets LogicLiving with someone who processes emotions so differently presents unique challenges. When her Italian husband gets angry and starts raising his voice, Patric's response is clinically precise. "I say, 'You're increasing the volume of your voice, not the clarity of your communication.'" she tells me. "I don't respond to yelling. I don't allow anyone to speak to me this way, and I wouldn't allow anyone to speak to you this way, so you need to take a walk because all I see is someone who is so wrapped up in an emotion tornado I can't reach the person on the inside."It should sound cold. Instead, it sounds like the sanest relationship advice I've ever heard. Her husband, she says, thrived in the baby stage. But Patric prefers the teenage years. "People like us tend to have a much easier time with the teenage years," she explains. "So many people who thrived in the baby stage are ready to pull their hair out in the teenage years. I feel that I'm more equipped to be a teen parent because I can have those conversations—about sex, about violence in schools. I'm very direct. I don't shy away from anything."When it comes to discipline, Patric strips away the emotional drama that usually accompanies consequences. "Actions have consequences. Period," she says. "It's like being an adult—if you want to test the boundaries and get caught, you're not going to be able to have access to the things you want. It's not 'How can you do this to me?' It's more just meeting them where they are."She often lets her children choose their own consequences. "You did something, so what is the consequence? You tell me, because I can choose, but I think it's more effective if you choose your own consequence. They're usually pretty spot on." With her older child, she'll reframe situations by asking what advice he'd give his younger sibling in the same situation. "Is this what I should tell your younger sibling? Is this how you would handle this?" The answer, she says, is always the same: "No."It's accountability without shame. Consequences without manipulation. And it's working.The Boxes of MemoryIn her memoir, Patric writes about a box of stolen childhood trinkets—glasses, small objects that gave her some sense of feeling when everything else felt like nothing. I asked if she still keeps that box. "I do, but it's gotten bigger. So now I have many boxes full of things, and they're not necessarily things that have been stolen so much as they're things that I have from places that I've been where I shouldn't have been."The impulse has evolved but never disappeared. When she travels alone, she notices the old urges. "She's still there, you know. She's like, 'Hey, you wanna go? Do you want to get into it?' It's like, no, I do not want to get into it. It's a conversation that's more playful now."At a recent party, she watched a woman being "such an asshole to the people working the event" and felt the familiar pull toward chaos. "I remember thinking, I'm just gonna grab her purse and throw it in the garbage. She's gonna lose her mind. She's gonna think somebody stole it. All of her stuff's gonna be gone." Her husband intervened quickly. "He definitely interceded very quickly, like 'You're not doing that.' And I was like, 'Well, we aren't doing anything. Just go get the car, Buddy. You don't have to be a part of this.'"Instead, she kicked the woman's purse under a table three tables over. "She did lose her mind and started accusing the staff of stealing it, which just basically outed her for being an even bigger piece of shit than she was."It's vigilante justice without violence. Chaos with a moral compass. And I'm not going to lie—I kind of love it.Love, RedefinedPatric's definition of love doesn't come with fireworks. It's not desperate or possessive. It's mutualism. "Organic. Additive. Mutual homeostasis," she said. "Not transactional. Not ego-driven. Just two people benefiting from each other's presence."When her children accomplish something—good grades, first steps, small victories—she celebrates differently than most parents. "I'm happy for them. I'm proud of them. But pride is something that's egocentric, isn't it? So many people who have a lot of pride also take it as a reflection of them, like 'Look at what a good parent I am because my kid got an A.' I'm proud for them, proud of them, but it has nothing to do with me."She adds, "You can be diagnosed with secondary psychopathy and still love. You can love differently—and still make it count."Honestly? It sounds like a better kind of love than most people ever get.Of course, the part of her story that makes people recoil—the pencil-stabbing, the animal cruelty—can't be sanitized away. When I asked what those moments felt like, she said, "Relief. It was like I could finally stop masking. It was my way of saying, 'This is who I am.'" She doesn't excuse the behavior. She doesn't romanticize it. She just doesn't connect to it emotionally the way neurotypical people do. And that's what terrifies people.But that's also why this story matters. Because when we treat sociopathy like a horror movie diagnosis—something you either are or aren't, something inherently evil—we lose the nuance. We lose the opportunity for understanding. For intervention. For treatment.She's Not Asking for ForgivenessPatric doesn't want you to like her. She's not asking for redemption. She's not looking to be fixed. She's just telling the truth. "I don't need an excuse to be an asshole," she told me. "If I'm in a dark place and I act out, I act out. There should be consequences. But I don't feel guilt about it."Her diagnosis doesn't excuse harm. But it does explain how she moves through the world. And she's spent years unlearning harmful behaviors—not because she "feels bad," but because she understands what's right. There's something both terrifying and refreshing about someone who takes responsibility without the emotional theater that usually accompanies it.The Privilege to HealShe's the first to acknowledge that if she weren't white, articulate, and conventionally attractive, this story might have ended very differently. "There are thousands of kids with the same traits I had—oppositional defiant disorder, conduct disorder—but they don't get access to treatment. They get kicked out of school. Thrown into the system. Labeled as bad kids. But these are treatable conditions. We just don't fund the solutions."She cites staggering statistics: "Conduct disorder affects roughly 10% of girls and 16% of boys. Its symptoms, such as stealing and deliberate acts of violence, are among the most common reasons for treatment. And yet there's no testing for them or markers for them like there are for autism."This isn't abstract for her. This is the knowledge that hundreds of thousands of children are cycling through systems designed to punish rather than heal. Children who could be helped. Children who could become functional adults, partners, parents. Children who could become her.The Origin MysteryPerhaps the most significant revelation comes when Patric drops a bombshell about her condition's origins: "I was not born this way." She's discovered something about the environmental factors that shaped her—specifically, "having been exposed to psychopathic practices at a very young age." Her response to this discovery? "Relief, fury, and clinical curiosity."But she's not ready to elaborate. "I need to do more research," she says. If her research proves what she suspects, it could revolutionize how we understand and treat sociopathy. It could shift the conversation from "monster or not monster" to "how do we prevent this from happening to other children?" For now, she's keeping that discovery close to her chest. But the implications are staggering.So What Do Her Kids Think?"They've never asked why I'm different," she said. "Because I've always been honest. I've told them, 'Mommy doesn't experience emotions like that. So sometimes I won't understand what you're feeling. But that's okay. You can talk to Daddy.'"When her children heard some of the backlash against her book, their response was pure confusion. "They're like, 'I don't understand. Why are people angry? Why are they saying things like that?' They can't wrap their head around it."Her children aren't confused about their mother. The rest of us are confused about what motherhood is supposed to look like.The Uncomfortable TruthThis is not a "look how far she's come" piece. This is a "look how she lives anyway" piece. Patric Gagné isn't trying to be your role model. She's not trying to win you over. But she is asking you to consider that parenting doesn't always have to be soaked in guilt, martyrdom, and emotional exhaustion. Maybe it can also be about logic. Consistency. Showing up. Giving your kids the truth, even when it's not pretty.We love to say that "there's no one way to be a good parent." But we rarely mean it. We say it, then judge every choice that doesn't look like our own. Patric Gagné is here to remind us that the love we think is universal—that overwhelming, consuming, sometimes destructive devotion—might not be the only way to raise whole human beings.You can love differently and still make it count. And maybe that's what makes her the most honest mother of all.If you or someone you know is struggling with thoughts of self-harm, please reach out to a mental health professional or crisis helpline. If you suspect a child may be showing signs of conduct disorder or other behavioral concerns, early intervention can make a significant difference."I am a criminal without a record. I am a master of disguise. I have never been caught. I have rarely been sorry. I am friendly. I am responsible. I am invisible. I blend right in. I am a twenty‑first‑century sociopath."Patric Gagne’s Sociopath is one of those books that leaves you sitting in silence long after the last page—equal parts disturbed, cracked open, and weirdly comforted. She doesn’t sugar-coat a thing. From childhood violence to emotional emptiness, Gagne holds nothing back, and somehow in that void, you feel everything. It’s not a plea for pity. It’s a dissection of what it means to perform humanity when you don’t feel it—and the loneliness that comes with that mask. And while the motherhood stuff is only touched on in the epilogue, what lands is the deep, unspoken ache for connection. This book made me question what we call empathy, what we judge as broken, and who gets to heal. It’s haunting in the best way. Get your copy here.
My childhood summers were spent with my grandparents in a small Italian town where time stood still. Every afternoon after lunch, my grandfather would grab his wooden chair, place it under an olive tree, and sit, becoming one with the stillness of the hot summer landscape and the clicking chorus of cicadas.I waited for him to do something. He just sat there, looking at nothing in particular. "Nonno, ma che fai?" I finally asked. Granddad, what are you doing? He turned to me and answered, "Sitting."At the time I figured he didn't understand the question. I didn't understand what he was doing. Not then. Not for years.In 2019, my eight-year-old daughter and I discovered a café in Saint-Germain near the apartment we were staying at. We would go early in the morning for breakfast before starting our day in La Ville Lumière. Annalise, our server, found my daughter's obsession with pain au chocolat amusing and by day 3 she already had one warm and waiting as we walked through the door. We sat by the window and watched the city wake up—the flower vendor arranging roses, the man who always stopped to let his dog drink from the water bowl outside. On our last morning, Annalise hugged us both, pressed a parting pain au chocolat into my little girl's hands, and said she hoped to see us again soon. My daughter unexpectedly threw her arms around the young server, hugging her as if she were leaving someone she had known her whole life rather than just a week.This wasn't how I'd planned our Paris trip. It became something better.The New Luxury: TimeThere's a word for what my grandfather did under his tree: il dolce far niente, the sweetness of doing nothing. In our age of FOMO travel, we collect destinations like stamps in a passport-sized achievement book. Paris: check. Istanbul: check. Machu Picchu: check. We have every day planned out, itineraries mapped out, cooking classes scheduled, reservations booked months in advance to all those restaurants that keep popping up on our Instagram feed—oh, and don't forget the three different beaches you absolutely cannot miss according to every travel blogger who's ever existed. We are very efficient at seeing places. Terrible at actually being in them. You're exhausted. In paradise.By the time you collapse into your airplane seat for the flight home, you need a vacation from your vacation. You spend the first three days back recuperating from what was supposed to restore you, scrolling through hundreds of photos to pick the ones that will be perfect for that reel you are going to post to let everyone see how good a time you had. But did you actually enjoy any of those meticulously planned experiences?Then it's back to the routine—work, obligations, the mechanical rhythm of daily life, and all the while you plan your next escape from where you just escaped from.But something is shifting. Travellers are beginning to reject the crammed must-see bucket list in favor of what some now call the joy of missing out travel—though my grandfather would have simply called it living.It's harder than it sounds. We're programmed for productivity, even in paradise. That voice in your head listing all the things you should be seeing, doing, experiencing. The guilt of flying halfway around the world to sit in a café you could find in your own city.But here's what I've learned: You can spend a week in Paris and see everything while experiencing nothing. Or you can know one café, one park, one street so well that a piece of your heart stays there.The New Luxury: TimeWhen I work with clients planning trips, I try to build in what I call "free time." Entire afternoons with nothing scheduled. No reservations, just go out and discover or literally do nothing. Without fail, these spontaneous moments become their most vivid and treasured memories: the restaurant they stumbled upon, the conversation with locals at a neighborhood bar, the afternoon walking through cobblestone streets without a map.Even the travel world is catching on. Hotels are reimagining luxury as time rather than activities—slow cruises where the journey matters more than checking off ports, train routes through Tuscany where you watch landscapes change gradually with wine in hand, spa retreats where "sleep programs" make doing nothing the entire point. You're not observing local life through a bus window; you're temporarily invited to be part of a community.This pushes against everything we normally do when we travel. It asks us to be present in a new place rather than productive in it. The real test of travel isn't how many sights you've seen, but whether the place changed how you see. My grandfather, sitting under his olive tree every afternoon, understood something we've forgotten in our rush to experience everything: Presence is the ultimate luxury, whether you're in Paris or your own backyard.Creating your own Dolce Far NienteDon't get me wrong. This isn't about throwing your schedule out the window and wandering aimlessly. It's about creating space for the sweetness of life even while travelling. It's about stopping to enjoy those little moments where you lean into your chair, coffee cupped between your hands, and sit with the moment.Instead of accumulating experiences like trading cards, let's lean into what feels good, not what looks good on Instagram. Spend a week in Tuscany picking olives and having dinner with a family at the end of the day on a farm. Choose a neighborhood and learn its rhythms. Have your morning coffee at the same café. These small routines create connection and transform you from tourist to temporary resident. Walk instead of taking taxis. The in-between moments often hold the most magic.We may not always have the luxury of long stays at our destination, but even then, we can find a pocket of presence. One unhurried morning, or a meal without checking the time.But here's the real question: What happens when we return home? As we settle into fall routines—school drop-offs, work deadlines, soccer practice, parent-teacher conferences. Can we maintain this practice of presence?The answer lies not in overhauling our schedules but in finding our own versions of my grandfather's tree. It's finding those pockets of stillness. Maybe it's five minutes with your morning coffee standing outside to enjoy the silent stillness of a city stillasleep before checking emails. Perhaps it's sitting in your car for a moment before heading into the office, or simply standing at your kitchen window, watching the leaves change colour.Since Paris, my daughter now asks for "pain au chocolat mornings" at home—our code for unhurried weekend breakfasts.I never got a chance to tell my grandfather I finally understood what he was doing under that tree. But sometimes, when I manage to sit still long enough to hear my own breathing, to notice the light through the window, to feel the weight of the mug in my hands—I can almost see him there. Still sitting. Still teaching me, decades later, that the sweetness isn't in doing nothing.It's in being present enough to taste it.il dolce fare niente.Angela Marotta, CEO and founder of Marotta Travel, is a travel designer with three decades of experience in the travel industry, having spent most of her career living and working in Italy and Mexico. Her mission today is to provide uniquely tailored travel experiences with purpose.
How Joanna Johnson built a revolution from the wreckage of everything she thought she knewThe revolution wasn't supposed to start with TikTok dances.Joanna Johnson was lip-syncing to "Jesse's Got a Gun" in her empty house, buying guitars she couldn't play, performing for strangers on an app she didn't understand. Her friends were calling to check if she was having a breakdown. She was 44, recently divorced, trapped in lockdown, and according to every metric that had previously defined her life, completely lost."My friends were calling me, making sure I wasn't having a physical, emotional breakdown," she laughs, remembering those early pandemic days. "They kept asking, 'What is going on, Joanna?' What they were seeing—and I didn't know it then—was very much a level of authenticity."Three years later, that "breakdown" has become a movement. The Ajax, Ontario educator now has over 3 million followers who look to @unlearn16 for wisdom about identity, authenticity, and the courage to rebuild your life from scratch. Her memoir, "That's Not What This Book Is About," is a number one bestseller. She's a keynote speaker, a school vice principal, and—most surprisingly to her—someone millions of people turn to when they need permission to become who they really are.But here's what makes Joanna different from every other inspiration-peddling influencer: she's brutally honest about the fact that she's still figuring it out.The Perfect StormThe path to viral educator began with what Joanna calls "three things occurring at the moment in time to create the perfect storm: Divorce, COVID lockdown, and Charlie, my best friend's kid, persuading me to download the app."The divorce came first. After years of what she now recognizes as dimming herself—"not being the center of the room, not being the person on stage, just carrying the stuff, being in the background"—her marriage ended. But the real end, the soul moment, came later."There was a moment that I stopped being her person," she says, her voice quieting. "She would call often, especially very late at night, very upset, questioning, needing support, and there was a moment that I had the awareness to say, 'I'm not your person anymore.'"It was 3 AM. A friend had told her she was still only "75% out" of the relationship. "That was the moment I knew that if I continue trying to save you—I'm never going to be the person that I need to be. And even worse, I'm never going to—even if you wanted me to save you—I can't. One person can't save another."What's remarkable is how little of herself she had to grieve. "I had been packing away myself for a good chunk of that relationship. I'd been just dimming it, right? As soon as you have to go somewhere and be less to make them feel better..." She trails off, then adds with characteristic directness: "I wasn't being myself at all. I was limiting who I was, and by limiting who I was, I was standing still."Standing still wasn't an option during lockdown. Alone in her house with nowhere to go and no one to dim herself for, Joanna had to face who she actually was. Social media became an unlikely laboratory for authenticity."I accidentally said something about Doug Ford," she recalls. "Literally, I just blurted it out, and then people were responding. They were laughing and saying, 'Oh my God, you're so bang on!' That's when I realized people want to talk about things authentically."The platform grew because Joanna brought something radical to social media: the willingness to admit she didn't have all the answers while still standing firmly in her truth. Her approach to bigotry and hate comments reveals this perfectly."You can't talk to hate, but I assure you, ignorance can be educated," she explains. When trolls comment about her appearance or sexuality, she responds with curiosity rather than defensiveness. "People ask, 'How do you keep your cool?' I say, 'I just don't care. Here’s a guy that spelled ‘their’ wrong wrong. What do I care about this guy?'"But it's not sociopathy—it's privilege, and she knows it. "I've had the luxury of living a privileged life in the sense that it's not that I've never experienced homophobia or roadblocks, but nothing horrific. I'm not carrying trauma. So when people authentically ask, 'Are you a boy or a girl?' I can authentically have that conversation without it triggering something significant."The Teaching ParadoxHere's where it gets complicated: How do you teach kids to be authentic when you're still figuring out who the hell you are?"You lead with that, don't you?" Joanna says without hesitation. "You lead with 'I don't know.'"After 23 years of teaching, she's learned that the education system has it backwards. "I try to tell kids—do things that scare you, do things you're not good at, because those are the things that are really going to highlight when you have to dig down. If I was good at math, just taking math course after math course teaches me nothing. Being afraid but doing it anyway—that's going to teach you something."She practices what she preaches. Five years ago, after decades of refusing, she finally agreed to be in a school play. "I've never been so scared in my entire life ever," she admits. "The best part was I had students that I was teaching strategies to study history, calming me down and helping me go through a completely different skill set."The LGBTQ+ advocacy that has become central to her platform works the same way. She's not trying to convert anyone or have dramatic coming-out conversations with students. Instead, she exists openly, loudly, authentically—"a visual example of somebody living very openly, very loudly, very 'call me whatever you want, just as long as you compliment my hair'—so that they can see that when they go down their authentic road, they can have a good, happy, healthy life."When millions of people look to you for guidance, what happens when you don't feel wise?"Every day," Joanna laughs. "What happens when I don't feel wise? Every day."But here's her secret: "As soon as you know that you know nothing, I think there's a comfort in it. I think the wisdom comes from understanding you have relatively nothing on lock, but you're willing to try everything."This Socratic approach extends to her online presence, where she navigates the impossible balance between authentic and performative. "I am performative. If I wasn't, I couldn't be a teacher," she acknowledges. "You don't get the message across unless you keep somebody's attention. If I don't keep a 16-year-old's attention, I don't care—it doesn't matter what knowledge I have in my head."The difference is intention. On TikTok, every gesture is amplified because she's trying to hold attention for four or five minutes. On live streams, she's more natural because there's back-and-forth conversation. But the core message remains the same: be willing to be scared and do it anyway.Love After SupermanThe hardest comment Joanna receives isn't about her appearance or politics—it's when the right wing successfully conflates LGBTQ+ advocacy with the term "groomer.""Everybody has a guttural reaction—you want to throw up when you think about people taking advantage of or manipulating kids. And they've done such a horrifically good job at binding the two together that it makes it very hard to operate in that space."She refuses to repost such comments, even to discredit them, because "then you're adding to it." Instead, she focuses on what she can control: being an example and having authentic conversations when possible.This approach extends to her personal life. After years of playing "Superman" in her marriage—swooping in to rescue and fix—she had to learn an entirely different way to love when she met Ana."I luckily met somebody who didn't need nor want me to save them," she explains. "Ana said, 'No, no, I don't need you to do that. That's me. I'll take care of me. You take care of you.' We've had to have more than one conversation like that where I realized, 'Oh, my value doesn't come from making sure you're okay because you're making sure you're okay.'"The realization was profound: "If I would have met the wrong person, I would be in the exact same loop."What terrifies someone who has rebuilt their entire life? "Failing," Joanna says simply. But not in the way you might think.As a vice principal, she carries the weight of wanting to help every student who walks through her door. "I tend to try to think, probably sometimes with a little bit of hubris, that I can help. And I always fear that one kid that I can't."Her office reflects this philosophy—movie posters, pop culture references, things that make people feel comfortable enough to be real. "The more we can connect through those kinds of stories, the more authentic the relationship is."But success? She already feels like she's made it. "I'm good now," she says with characteristic directness. Though she has one big goal left: filling Massey Hall with people who want to have the kinds of authentic, difficult, necessary conversations that social media has proven people are hungry for.The UnlearningFor readers who feel stuck, who look at their lives and think "this isn't working but I don't know how to burn it down," Joanna has surprising advice: Don't."I don't know if I'd start with burning it down. I'd start with one thing—one thing that you want to do that you're terrified to do. It could be an acting class, it could be scuba diving, it could be writing a book. You start engaging in it in an authentic way. You don't have to burn everything down because everything else will just fall away."The key is recognizing what you've been carrying that was never yours to carry. "We need to recognize that you have to stop carrying that. You have to figure out -what can I put down? My 14-year-old can get their own lunch. I can go do the art class. We don't have to do everything together."Because here's the truth she's learned: "You can't make other people happy. You can't fulfill other people. You can't make other people feel whole and powerful. You can only do that for you. And the more you do that for you, people around you will say, 'Oh shit, I want that. I'm going to do that.'"If all of it disappeared tomorrow—the followers, the speaking engagements, the platform—what would remain of who Joanna really is?"It would all remain," she says without hesitation. "The connections that I've made, the idea that I could go into any business, shake hands with any person at this point, never feel that I was out of place, never feel that I couldn't belong—that would remain. The idea that I'll be scared but I'll do it anyway. That, I hope, stays."This is what makes Joanna's story so powerful: it's not about finding yourself through external validation. It's about finally stopping the performance of being less than you are and discovering that who you've always been is enough.Her book isn't really about the stories from her childhood, though they're there. It's not about becoming a viral sensation, though that happened. It's about the moment when you stop being who you think you should be and start being who you actually are.And sometimes, just sometimes, the world is ready for exactly that person."That's not what this book is about," she says, grinning. "But maybe that's exactly what this life is about."
I'm sitting across from Lilly Vona at Bar Locale just days before opening, and even in this final preparation stage, you can feel the energy she and partner Frank Facciponte have built into this space. The music system is being tested, the bar is being stocked, and small plates are being perfected in the kitchen. It's exactly the sophisticated yet genuinely fun atmosphere they envisioned when they first laid eyes on this landmark location.Between the Covers: So you're about to open. How does it feel to see your vision finally coming to life?Lilly: It's incredible. This has been something I've always wanted to do. Through my travels, all through my young life, at home when my parents were big entertainers—this is what I've always enjoyed. Sharing plates, small plates, it's collaborative. It invites social connection. Food is so many things to so many people, but at the end of the day, it's family, it's love, it's culture.BTC: So what made Newmarket the right fit for this concept?Lilly: Actually, Newmarket wasn't even on our radar initially. We were actively looking at locations in midtown Toronto when we got approached to look at this property. It's a town-owned landmark location, and we only had one hour to view the space before deciding if we wanted to go through the whole RFP process—business plan, presentation, financials, the works. But honestly, the moment we saw it, we knew. And then when we learned about Main Street's accolades and what this community has built, we got really excited about being part of both the community and the business community here. It's such a unique opportunity to be in a landmark location that has this incredible heritage and significance to the town.BTC: You and Frank are business partners AND life partners. How do you not kill each other when the restaurant is having a shit day?Lilly: laughs We're both Geminis, so we're like the nicest four people you'll ever meet! But Geminis make exciting lovers, exciting partners. Exciting doesn't always mean easy—it's intense sometimes. We play hard, we work hard, we love hard. It's just who we are. And somehow through this crazy life we live, we raised three of the most amazing, well-balanced young men. That's my proudest achievement.BTC: What's been the biggest learning curve in expanding to three locations?Lilly: Learning to step back and trust our team. It took years—me and Frank worked on site 24/7 for years—for us to be able to oversee operations without micromanaging. Now we can go to our own restaurants and enjoy them as guests. Well, mostly. I still notice dust and fingerprints on the walls—you can't help it!BTC: Let's talk about that renovation. You literally stripped this place to the bare bones.Lilly: We did! It was a massive undertaking, but we had this vision of a space that could effortlessly transition from relaxed daytime lunch and brunch to a vibrant nighttime hotspot. That required completely rebuilding and redesigning everything. Every detail matters when you're trying to create an experience that lets people fully immerse themselves from the moment they walk in.BTC: How are you planning to balance creating that vibrant energy while still making it a place people can actually connect?Lilly: The music's going to be loud. When people come from our other Locale locations and say "the music's too loud," we're gonna be like "Crank it!" People should know that before coming in. But trust me, it will work. I'm 60, and I want to go to a place with loud music and crafted cocktails on date night. Sometimes you don't want to talk so much to your partner—you listen to the music together. It's gonna be vibrant, it's gonna give you energy.BTC: Your team seems ready to launch.Lilly: I could not do this without my core team. Steve Oletic will be our restaurant manager here—what he's achieved to make sure Aurora's in good hands while dedicating himself 24/7 to getting this place ready is incredible. Chef Michael Dadd is our head chef, and Eli Rosch is our bar manager. We've collaborated on everything together, and I can't wait for people to experience what we've built.The relationship between restaurant owner and chef is like a very complex dance. When you find that balance with somebody, you fucking go with it. Michael had so much potential beyond what he was doing—small plates, ingredient-driven cooking—this is his niche. And when I let him go, this is what we got.BTC: Chef Michael, tell us about your approach to the menu.Chef Michael Dadd: It's all about Mediterranean inspiration using local ingredients. We're doing everything from scratch—sardines we'll be cleaning and marinating in-house, 40 pounds a week. The patatas bravas, which we introduced at Beer Fest, went over really well. And the croquettas—very Spanish traditional but with a Scotch egg element, so there's a beautiful soft poached egg in the middle.I grew up 15 minutes north of here, so using local produce from the Holland Marsh has always been engrained in everything I do. I can't wait for guests to discover these flavor combinations.BTC: What's the hardest part about getting ready to open this concept?Lilly: Honestly? The hardest part has been navigating the delays and supply chain issues. Post-COVID, everything is more expensive—30 to 35% more—and nothing arrives on time. A simple barstool turns into a six-week delay. But we push through because growth isn’t just about opening another space—it’s about creating opportunity. For our team, our community, and the vision we believe in.I can't wait for our regular customers from King and Aurora to discover this different side of what we do, and to welcome new faces to the family."Food is so many things to so many people, but at the end of the day, it's family, it's love, it's culture."BTC: The design here is stunning. Tell me about those details.Lilly: Every single detail has been thought of, from the bathrooms to the little fringe on the barstools. The glass chandeliers are hand-blown from England. The moth wallpaper—I wanted something edgy. But here's the crazy part: when we first got in this place during construction, I went into that dusty, ugly washroom, and a moth landed on the wall. I was thinking about a logo representing transformation—of Locale, of this space, of myself. Moths are attracted to night and light, and this is the night. Everything just clicked.BTC: What's next for the Locale empire?Lilly: We're going to go RV for a month, because that's what we do. Montreal's been calling, so... I don't know. Let's end it with that.As our conversation winds down and the final preparations continue around us, it's clear that Lilly is about to achieve exactly what she set out to—a place where food is love, where collaboration happens naturally, and where every detail serves the bigger vision of bringing people together. Bar Locale is ready to open, and Newmarket is about to discover something special.
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