I Refuse to Call This Normal

I refuse to call this normal. I call it what it is: broken.

And I won’t raise my children to either.

This is where the drift stops.

Fix What’s Broken

I remember when a gallon of milk didn’t cost a prayer and a side hustle.

I write because something’s gone sideways. Because the world I grew up in—the one with front porches, family dinners, and teachers who taught truth instead of trends—feels like it’s been paved over with glitter and gaslighting.

They call it progress.
I call it sin in sequins.

We’re told that morals are outdated, that truth is flexible, that family is whatever you want it to be. But I don’t buy it. I believe in right and wrong, not “your truth” and “my truth.” I believe in men being men, women being women, and the sacred strength of a family that honors both.

I believe in sacrifice, not entitlement.
In discipline, not dopamine.
In raising children, not outsourcing them to screens and slogans.

Our education system is broken. Our economy is bleeding us dry. And too many of us are told to smile through it, to be “grateful,” to stop complaining. But I won’t. Because life wasn’t like this in the ’80s and ’90s—and it doesn’t have to stay like this now.

This blog is my paper trail. My protest. My pulpit.
If you’re tired of pretending this is fine, you’re in the right place.