This Wasn't on the Syllabus.

Definition of a Syllabus: A syllabus is a document that outlines everything you need to know and do in a course. It includes expectations, assignments, deadlines, and how to succeed.

So where the heck is the syllabus for adulthood? Because I have a few questions.

Hi, and welcome to This Wasn’t on the Syllabus, my little corner of the internet where we acknowledge that life is a lot more "pop quiz" than "planned curriculum."

Growing up, I was sure I knew how life would go. I had the dream written out like a polished lesson plan: I'd grow up, get married, have a kid, land a good job, buy a house—check, check, check, and check. That was the syllabus I envisioned. But somewhere between the glittery notebooks of my childhood and the adult-sized calendar reminders on my phone, reality hit me with a big ol' red pen and a note in the margin:

"Wait a minute. This WASN’T on the syllabus."

I’m almost 30 years old. On paper, I’m crushing it. I’m married. I’m a mom. I have a full-time job. I own a house. From the outside, I look like a fully-functioning grown woman. But on the inside? Picture a hamster frantically sprinting on a wheel while juggling a grocery list, emotional baggage, and a coffee that’s been reheated three times.

When I was a kid, I thought adults knew everything. I thought having a mortgage and a minivan meant you had life figured out. I believed that once you hit a certain age, some magical adult wisdom would just download into your brain like an iOS update.

Spoiler alert: No update. No manual. No syllabus.

What I got instead is beautiful, messy chaos. I’m figuring things out one life lesson at a time. Some days I’m thriving, other days I’m Googling “Ways to avoid a mental breakdown”.

And that’s why this blog exists. This is my open notebook, my digital hallway pass, my teacher's lounge confessional. It's where I share the chaos behind the scenes—the mental health moments, the marital side-eyes, the financial freak-outs, and the parenting panics.

As a teacher, I tell my students all the time: you don’t have to be perfect. You just have to try. I make mistakes in front of them. I own them. I learn. And I keep going. That’s the lesson I want them to take with them, and it’s the one I’m trying to live myself.

Maybe people will read this blog. Maybe they won’t. But either way, I’m showing up. I’m being vulnerable in the hopes that someone out there—another almost-30-something hamster-wheeler—will read this and feel just a little more seen.

So look around. Get comfy. Laugh, cry, roll your eyes, grab a snack.

You’re not alone in this.

Welcome to the chaos.

Let’s figure it out together.