August 1- Sep 12, 2026 (No Session Labor Day Weekend)
Six Saturdays  | 5:30-8:00pm |  Live on Zoom | $600  | Twelve Seats

Parent Pride: release what you inherited so you can hold what's yours.

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Did you have a parent who couldn't hold your tears?

That's all of us, by the way. No parent is or ever will be perfect.

But what got passed down doesn't have to get passed on. The tightness when your kid melts down, blows up, or shuts down. The urge to fix it, stop it, shut it down. That's not bad parenting — that's an inherited nervous system doing what it was taught.

You can be the place where it ends.

Where You Might Be Right Now

You're doing this parenting thing mostly alone in your head. On the outside it might look fine (or maybe it's obviously not) — you show up, you handle it, you keep it together. But inside, there's a version of you that's exhausted from performing "fine," that snaps and then over-corrects, that scrolls the phone instead of meeting your kid's eyes.

You want to be the parent who catches the old reaction before it runs the room. Who can be tired and still present. Who doesn't need to be perfect to feel like enough.

Here's what's probably been keeping you from doing anything about it: naming the pattern feels like confessing failure, not asking for help — so it stays private, and private things don't heal. Somewhere along the way, "good parent" or “good human" got fused with "never needs help," and letting that go feels like losing part of who you are. There's a fear of being seen mid-struggle — so you wait until you have it together before letting anyone in, which means you never really do.

None of that is a character flaw. It's just what pride does when it's trying to protect you.

Pride shows up everywhere, often in the same day, in the same person:

  • Phone instead of eye contact → numb, absent, quietly guilty

  • Doomscrolling or TV binges to end the day → escaping, too tired to feel

  • Snacking to fill time, not hunger → distracted, avoiding the moment underneath

  • Reaching for nicotine to cope → restless, self-soothing, quietly ashamed

  • Over-scheduling every hour → controlled, outrunning stillness

  • Saying "I'm fine" on autopilot → disconnected from your own truth

These behaviors are just the evidence of a deeper pain that cries for healing. That's what we're doing here. Together.

What To Expect

There's a pride that keeps parents and caregivers stuck, and a pride that saves lives and relationships. This cohort is about learning the difference — together, over six weeks. For parents, yes — but also for the caregivers nobody thinks to ask about.

And here's what makes this different: we don't work on your parenting. We work on what happens in your body when the ones you're caring for get big — loud or silent — so you can stay with them, because you've learned to stay with yourself.

  • Recognize the hiding kind of pride before it runs the moment

  • Practice the healing kind — grace over judgment, in real time

  • Understand the root, not just the reaction

  • Build a small, trusted circle walking the same road

What You'll Receive

  • Six live online sessions, same day and time

  • Practice recognizing pride's harmful shape before it runs the moment

  • Guided space to understand the root, not just the reaction — grace over judgment, practiced in real time

  • A clear framework for telling the difference between pride that protects you and pride that isolates you

  • A small circle of people doing the same work — because the right community is the key to finding freedom in any area of life, and this one is built to hold that for you

THE SIX WEEKS

  • We start by naming what pride actually looks like for each person in the room — not in theory, but in your own daily life. No fixing, no advice. Just honest recognition.

  • We go underneath the habit to where it started — the role, the identity, the moment pride became a survival tool instead of just a feeling.

  • We look at the small, ordinary ways pride hides in plain sight — the phone, the busyness, the "I'm fine." You'll leave with your own top pattern named.

  • The turning point. We practice grace as something you do on purpose, not something you wait to feel — with real tools you can use the moment the old reaction fires.

  • We do the hardest part out loud — practicing the ask itself, and building your own "who do I call" list, so isolation stops being the default. And the phone call lands with the right person with your best interest at heart.

  • We close by naming what continues past week six — one practice each person commits to carrying forward, and space to mark how far you've come.

Who This Is For

I'll be honest: this is not for the faint of heart.

This is emotional strength training — and like any strength training, it asks something of you. You'll be invited to feel what you've spent years managing. To stay when your instinct says leave. To do the inner work in front of eleven other people doing theirs.

Come fully willing, or come later. Both are honorable. But if you're ready — really ready — this room will hold you while you do the most unfamiliar, proudest work of your life.

Why This Cohort Exists

I used to find myself tending. Constantly tending. Picking up after the kids, rearranging the rooms, shopping for one more thing to make the house right. Which — fine. The docs do say what's on the outside comes from the inside. And I made sure to have a put together, clean, beautiful home. But somewhere along the way I noticed something strange: I was getting mad at the very kids I was doing it all for. Cute little things. Also the greatest kids in the world. Made no sense, right? Until I looked closer at all that tending — and realized most of it wasn't even for them. They quit needing me that way years ago, right around the time they outgrew diapers. The tending was for me. Somehow, I was the one who'd become the dependent, constantly cleaning up after them just so it could get done my way.

These days the rearranging and the shopping have quit — though I'll admit I still pick up after two kids who are fully capable of doing it themselves. Some patterns leave. Some you just get honest about.

That's the surface. Here's what was underneath all that.

Eleven years ago I was 26, recently divorced, with one son not yet four. I believed becoming a mother would save me from an addiction I'd carried since I was a teenager. To be the mom, the wife. To have the family. It didn't. I dropped my son off at daycare one morning when I had just began shared custody time (so I wouldn't be with him all week), and by the time the liquor store opened at 8am, I was there.

Soon enough, alcohol wasn't enough. It turned back into the drugs I had fought so hard to leave years before. And I knew it was only a matter of time before it happened on my own parenting time. I had just been to a fancy inpatient treatment center for three months prior to this relapse..so one can imagine the amount of shame that came with it.

That was my bottom. Not what came before it. Not the treatment center. The moment I understood loving my son wasn't enough to save either of us — or keep my momming desire — and I finally asked for help. Again.

What made that so hard to face wasn't just the addiction. It was that my worth, my role, my entire sense of necessity had wrapped itself around being his mother. Motherhood wasn't just something I did — it was the identity holding me together. I had become the dependent savior, unable to admit my child could survive without me for a moment — and honestly, in that moment, might have been better for it. Letting go of that, admitting the role couldn't be the thing that saved me, meant losing the one self I'd built my life around. It's the most difficult thing I've ever had to release.

I know now that the hiding kind of pride is what kept me there longer than it needed to. Too proud to admit I was powerless. Too proud to be seen needing saving. That was far easier than admitting I wasn't capable of being the savior. Minimally, my son's primary caretaker.

The healing kind is what got me sober, and what still holds me now — grace over judgment, easier said than felt all the way through. Leaning into the lesson instead of away from the shame of needing one. Not becoming a caregiver who never struggles, but one who can meet the struggle with grace instead of pride. That's what this cohort is built on.

And eleven years later? I get to tend to an extra sibling's trail now — the prettiest daughter in the whole wide world. Turns out the house I kept fussing over is the life I almost didn't get to have.

If you've seen yourself anywhere in this — the funny version or the true one — I'd love to meet you.

How We Show Up For Each Other

  • We build each other up — never tear each other down

  • We hold space for peace, even when things get hard

  • We check in on the ones who've gone quiet

  • We encourage the discouraged and support the struggling

  • We practice patience, especially with ourselves

  • We meet harm with grace, not retaliation

  • We choose joy on purpose, not just when it's easy

  • We stay rooted in practice — whatever keeps you connected to something bigger than the moment

  • We give thanks, even for the small things

  • We don't shut down the parts of ourselves still trying to grow

  • We protect what's good, and we let go of what isn't

IT WON'T STAY IN ONE ROOM

Here's something I didn't expect from my own work: I came to heal one thing, and the tools quietly followed me everywhere. The same practices that steadied my closest relationships changed how I answer hard emails, how I rest, how I sit with silence. That's the nature of body-level work — your nervous system doesn't keep separate files for love, work, and family. It's all one system. Tend it in one place, and the whole house feels it.

How It Works

  • Tell me what's calling you here, and how ready you are to do this work. This isn't a formality — I read every application myself.

  • I'm not looking for who applied first — I'm looking for readiness and genuine desire to do this work. Twelve seats go to the twelve people I believe are ready to show up fully.

  • If this room is yours, you'll hear from me personally. Payment confirms your seat (the Care Fund exists if money is the wall — just say so), and I'll send your welcome letter and the Zoom link.

  • Saturdays, 5:30–8:00pm CT, live on Zoom. Same twelve people, same room, six sessions. Come as you are — the room does the rest.

  • A personal follow-up from me, and where to go next if you want to keep walking this — another round, one-on-one work, or simply what you built here, carried home.

Do You Want To Heal?

Reserve Your Spot

Twelve seats, reviewed personally — this isn't first-come, first-served. Apply, tell me what's pulling you here, and we'll see if this room is yours.

Apply Here

Not ready for a group? There are one-on-one paths too — see the offerings