Bullies

To the Town Bully: A Reflection on Kindness and Strength

There’s a quiet strength in choosing peace.

A lot of times, I think people look at me as weak—because I rarely get angry, because I try to see the good in everybody. I’ve been told I’m “too soft” or that I let people walk all over me. But here’s the truth:

It takes more strength to walk away from conflict than it does to stand and fight just to win.

I don’t avoid drama because I’m afraid of it—I avoid it because I know the cost. Most fights don’t end with resolution. They end with two people hurt, more divided than they were before. And that’s not the world I want to help create.

I don’t believe most people are evil. Even those who lash out, gossip, or try to tear others down… what I often see is pain. A desperate cry to be seen, to be loved. A person who has been taught—directly or indirectly—that they are not worthy, that they must attack first before they’re rejected.

That’s not weakness. That’s wounding.

And wounds don’t heal from judgment. They heal from community. From patience. From someone saying, “I see your pain, and I still see your humanity.”

So to the town bully—you know who you are.

I want you to know: We see the good in you, too. We recognize the ways you’ve shown up for our community, and those moments matter. You matter. And I hope that one day, you let yourself feel loved without needing to fight for it.

To the rest of us: when we encounter someone who spreads hate, remember—it doesn’t mean we have to tolerate harm, but we can respond in ways that don’t continue the cycle. We can set boundaries with compassion, and we can still show up with integrity.

Sometimes, the most radical thing we can do is refuse to match someone’s darkness, and instead offer light.

Retaliate with kindness.
Respond with love.
Disrupt with gentleness.
Heal with community.

That’s how we make waves.
That’s how we build real change.

Wela’lioq na teliula’lin,
—Tashena

You're Not Alone, Mama

Date: April 3, 2022

One of the biggest mistakes I've made over the last few years is assuming that no one else feels alone.

I used to believe the moms out there advocating for our community must have had great friends and family support surrounding them—that they didn't need any more support. I couldn't have been more wrong.

The truth is, while you can get too much of some things, the support of your community, and the validation that what you're doing matters—those are things you can never have enough of.

I'll admit, I'm not great at small talk. I struggle with knowing when to reach out or give space. When other moms invite me to playdates, I'm never quite sure when a colleague becomes a friend—or what the difference even is.

But what I do know is what it feels like to feel alone. And I know I never want another mom in our community to feel that way again. Especially not the ones fighting for our kids, for our schools, for our healing, for our community.

That’s why, by working alongside four other amazing moms, I’m dreaming of something bigger. Not only do I want to bring positivity back to the forefront of our community—I want to bring moms closer. I want us to have a safe space, one that reminds us that we are supported, no matter what.

And this invitation isn't just for those who carry the "Mom" title. It's for everyone who mothers—for anyone who's ever stayed up at night worrying over a child, or who has had to figure out how to keep a little one alive while somehow surviving yourself.

If you've been up at night with a little one, wondering how you'll manage to keep going—I'm talking to you. You're one of us.

We need to stick together. For ourselves. For our kids.

Disclaimer: Anyone who has been abusive does not count in this mom category. Our support and solidarity are rooted in care, not harm.