September was chaotic, fun, and full of nonstop socializing, which basically means my battery is fried and I think I’ve officially aged out of extensive partying. (No worries, I’ll still make appearances… I’ll just complain about needing a nap after.)

But this week isn’t just about catching up — it’s my one-year podcast anniversary and my finale. Over the past year, this little project taught me how to get comfortable being vulnerable, to find strength in my emotions, and to rebuild confidence I thought I’d lost. Turns out, putting your messiest, most personal thoughts out into the world is a great way to stop caring about other people’s opinions.

While this isn’t exactly how I imagined things wrapping up, I’m proud I made it a full year after being scared to even start. I’m endlessly grateful to everyone who’s listened, laughed, and figured things out with me. So, hopefully this isn’t a goodbye forever and more like a “to be continued.”

 This week, I’m unpacking the glamorous curse that is oldest daughter syndrome—the unspoken role of family project manager, the permanent “can you handle this?” energy, and the way it shapes how we love, fight, and people-please. I reflect on the theory that other oldest siblings might secretly be our best matches, how my own sibling and parent dynamics sent me packing from the East Coast to Chicago, and the weird guilt that comes with putting distance between you and the people you love. It’s reflective, a little uncomfortably honest, and still sprinkled with dry humor—because if you can’t laugh about your firstborn baggage, you might actually cry...or cry anyway.

This week, I’m figuring out what happens when your month starts strong... and ends in a crying spiral. I open up about my recent trip home—how revisiting old dynamics and emotions left me feeling foggy, avoidant, and off-track. I reflect on how easy it is to feel like you’re growing just because you’re trying, and how sometimes, the funk that follows reminds you that deeper changes still need to happen. It’s vulnerable, it’s solo (literally in the dark), and maybe a little rambling—but it’s real.