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AI is everywhere in teens’ lives — from recommendation feeds to chatbots and image tools — and it can be both a huge help and a quiet risk. This episode explains how AI can act as a tutor, creativity booster, and safe practice space, but also how it can fuel unhealthy comparison, attention traps, misinformation, reputation harm, and school cheating.

Rather than panic, the show offers a practical family playbook: notice what the algorithm is doing, widen information sources, set realistic phone boundaries, create a clear AI honesty agreement for schoolwork, and use simple fact‑checking habits. It also stresses that AI can’t replace real relationships or mental‑health support.

For teens: ask whether a tool is helping you grow or helping you avoid growing. For parents: focus on trust, skills, and one small fair change each week. Keep the conversation open — that’s the best protection in a world shaped by AI

.Podcast Episode

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I am lucky to have twelve grandchildren that surprise me every day. They are clever in their expressions and some come naturally to it. My purpose here is to share with you some of my favorite facial expressions my grandchildren shared. You can decide for yourself which one is the winner.

Funny Characters!

Honestly, I don’t know how I am so blessed to have such characters in our family! There are moments in every life that are boring, happy, surprising, and insane. It seems that certain children just have more theatrical way of showing their reaction to these moments.

Which Side of the Family?

Some grandchildren shy away from the camera and then there are those who welcome any extra attention from you. Sometimes it is hard to believe they all came from the same grandparents (it must be the “other side)!

I don’t know if it is the new generation or not, but I do not remember making so many funny faces growing up. Perhaps the “selfie” kids are used to posing for social media and so any camera pointed in their way elicits a reaction like some of these beauties!

See if you can find funny faces from your photos and post them here too.

Today, we’re talking about a small, practical strategy that can make a big difference in your relationship with your teenager,

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The 777 rule!

Just to set expectations right away, this is not one of those parenting ideas that requires a total lifestyle overhaul. So, read on to find out what it is. You’ll be glad you did.

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I have lived in four different countries, traveled to 20, and enjoyed the many wondrously unique areas of the world that God created for humanity. I have written several articles about my travels and hope that you will enjoy them.

Please comment and tell me about where you have traveled, like and subscribe for future articles and videos about my adventures.

#travelwriting #travels #worldtravel #kongaika #aroundtheworld

Because teen parenting is not easy.

It asks a lot of you.
It stretches your patience.
It tests your emotional control.
It can make you question yourself on your best day.

And yet, this season of parenting matters deeply.

Your teen does not need a perfect parent.
They need a steady one.

They need someone who can be firm, calm, and loving.
Someone who can say no without shame, correct without crushing, and guide without disappearing.

That is what today is about.

This is not an episode about permissiveness.
It is not about fear-based discipline.
It is about something stronger, wiser, and more lasting:

Discipline with dignity.

The heart of the message

Let me say this right at the start:

Discipline with dignity means you do not let go of the boundary, and you do not let go of the child.

That is the heart of it.

Because so many parents are stuck between two extremes.
On one side is harshness, control, and constant correction.
On the other side is exhaustion, giving in, and hoping the moment just passes.

But there is a better way.

You can stay connected without giving in.
You can hold the line without losing the relationship.
You can lead your teen without turning the home into a battleground.

That is not soft parenting.
That is strong parenting.

And it takes emotional intelligence.

What teens actually need

Teenagers do not just need rules.
They need regulation.
They need modeling.
They need emotional safety.
They need parents who can be steady when life gets loud.

Because teens are in a season of becoming.

They are testing identity.
They are pushing for independence.
They are trying to understand who they are and where they fit.

And in that process, they often resist what they need most:
structure, consistency, and calm leadership.

This is where many parents get confused.

They think if their teen pushes back, they are failing.
But pushback is not always rebellion.
Sometimes it is development.
Sometimes it is discomfort.
Sometimes it is a young person trying to separate while still needing the anchor of home.

So instead of asking, “How do I control this?”
try asking, “How do I remain the safe, wise adult in this moment?”

That shift changes the whole energy of the home.

Aloha discipline

Now let’s talk about Aloha.

Aloha discipline is not weak.
It is not passive.
It is not letting things slide to keep the peace.

Aloha discipline says:
I see you.
I honor your humanity.
And I will still hold the boundary.

That means your teen can be upset, but they cannot be disrespectful.
They can disagree, but they cannot dominate.
They can have emotions, but emotions do not get to become chaos.

This is where the phrase love with a spine matters.

Because teens need to know that love is not the absence of standards.
Love is what makes the standards meaningful.

A parent who leads with Aloha says:

• “I’m not here to fight you.”

• “I’m here to guide you.”

• “I will listen to you.”

• “And I will still parent you.”

That is powerful.

That is memorable.

And that is the kind of parenting teens may resist in the moment but later thank you for.

Why dignity matters

Dignity matters because shame does not teach what we hope it will teach.

Shame can make a teen shut down.
Shame can make them lie better.
Shame can make them hide more.
Shame can make them feel like their value is tied to their performance.

But dignity says:
You are accountable, and you are still worthy of respect.

That is a life-changing message for a teenager.

Because teens are already asking silent questions like:

• Am I enough?

• Do I matter?

• Will I still be loved when I mess up?

• Can I be known and still be accepted?

When parents discipline with dignity, they answer those questions without even saying them out loud.

They say:

• You are not bad.

• You made a bad choice.

• I can correct you without rejecting you.

• Our relationship can survive hard moments.

That is the kind of parenting that builds healthy adults.

The calm can be contagious

One of the most powerful truths in parenting is this:

The calm can be contagious.

When a parent regulates first, the whole emotional temperature of the room can shift.

That does not mean your teen instantly becomes pleasant.
It means you stop feeding the fire.

And a lot of teen conflict is really fire on fire.

Teen gets loud.
Parent gets louder.
Teen shuts down.
Parent pushes harder.
Teen reacts.
Parent escalates.

And suddenly everyone is upset, nothing got solved, and the original issue is buried under the emotional wreckage.

So your power move is not louder control.
Your power move is steadiness.

Try saying:

• “I’m ready to talk when we can both stay respectful.”

• “I hear you, and the answer is still no.”

• “You do not have to like this boundary, but you do have to live with it.”

• “We can revisit this when we’re both calm.”

That is not giving in.
That is leading.

What to do when your teen pushes back

Teen pushback is normal.
But how you handle it teaches your teen what kind of adult they are becoming.

When your teen talks back, do not make the moment bigger than it needs to be.
When your teen rolls their eyes, do not immediately assume you are losing influence.
When your teen shuts you out, do not panic and chase harder.

Instead, remember this:

You are not in competition with your teen.

You are not trying to win against them.
You are trying to remain trustworthy while they grow.

That means your job is not to crush resistance.
Your job is to guide through it.

So try these responses:

• “Try that again with respect.”

• “I’m open to hearing your view when you can speak calmly.”

• “We are not going to solve this through disrespect.”

• “You can be upset, but you cannot be unkind.”

• “I’m here when you’re ready to talk like a family member, not an opponent.”

Those kinds of statements are clear, grounded, and deeply respectful.

The parent’s inner work

Now let’s get honest.

Sometimes the real issue is not the teen.
Sometimes the real issue is the parent’s nervous system.

Because if your teen’s tone makes you feel disrespected, dismissed, or powerless, you may respond from that pain instead of from wisdom.

That is why mindfulness matters so much.

Before you speak, pause.
Before you correct, breathe.
Before you escalate, ask:
What is the lesson here?
What is the long-term goal?
What kind of parent do I want to be in this moment?

This tiny pause can change the whole interaction.

It can keep you from saying something you will regret.
It can stop the spiral before it starts.
It can help you stay in your role as the leader, not the reactor.

And that is what mindful parenting looks like in real time.

Not perfection.
Awareness.

Boundaries that build better behavior

Let’s bring in another line that matters here:

Boundaries that build better behavior.

That is what we want.

Not boundaries that humiliate.
Not boundaries that disappear.
Not boundaries that are only threats.

We want boundaries that teach.

A strong boundary sounds like:

• “You do not have to agree, but this is still the expectation.”

• “If you choose disrespect, the conversation ends for now.”

• “You are responsible for your choices.”

• “I will support you, but I will not rescue you from every consequence.”

That last one is important.

Because one of the greatest gifts you can give a teen is the chance to connect choices and consequences in a loving home, while you are still there to guide them.

Repair is part of dignity

No matter how mindful you are, there will be moments when you miss it.

You will speak too fast.
You will get louder than you wanted.
You will overcorrect.
You will wish you could do it again.

And when that happens, repair.

Repair is not weakness.
Repair is leadership.

You can say:

• “I came at you too hard.”

• “What I meant was important, but the way I said it was not helpful.”

• “I want to do better.”

• “Let’s try that conversation again.”

That teaches your teen something priceless:
strong people can apologize.
Respect can be restored.
Relationships can survive hard moments.

That is a lesson that will follow them into adulthood.

The respect you want

At the end of the day, most parents do not just want obedience.

They want respect.
They want honesty.
They want emotional maturity.
They want a home where everyone can breathe.

And the irony is that respect grows best where it is modeled first.

If you want your teen to be respectful, show them what respect looks like under pressure.
If you want them to regulate, show them what calm looks like in conflict.
If you want them to tell the truth, create a home where truth is safer than performance.

That is why this episode matters.

Because the respectful parent is not the one who never has conflict.
The respectful parent is the one who handles conflict without losing dignity.

Closing truth

So here is the truth I want to leave you with:

Your teen does not need a defeated parent.
They need a dignified one.

They do not need a parent who disappears when things get hard.
They need a parent who stays.
They do not need a parent who gives in just to avoid discomfort.
They need a parent who can hold the line with love.

That is the kind of parent who shapes a future adult.

So keep this phrase close:

Stay connected without giving in.

Because that is not just a parenting strategy.
It is a way of leading that protects relationship, teaches responsibility, and keeps love strong enough to do the hard work.

Final challenge

This week, choose one phrase and use it consistently:

• “Try again with respect.”

• “The boundary stays.”

• “I’m here when you’re calm.”

• “I love you, and the answer is still no.”

• “We can talk when we’re both ready.”

Pick one.
Practice it.
Use it.

And remember:
Aloha discipline is not about being perfect.
It is about being present, steady, and wise.

Lead like love.
Be firm, calm, and loving.
No shame, no chaos

.

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I am not sure you were glad I was born. Even as your first daughter, I never felt especially wanted. My older brother was the one who seemed to carry your pride. I remember him receiving your attention in kindergarten, and I remember him being crowned king at May Day while I sat on the porch across the street and watched.

From our small house beside the elementary school, I waited for him to come home so I would have someone to play with. He was my hero then—tall, handsome, adored by everyone. I looked up to him in every sense.

We were not poor, but we had very little. Our home was small, and I shared a bunk bed with him, he on top and I on the bottom. Somehow, that arrangement seemed to echo through the rest of my life.

I remember not having a bathtub. I was bathed in a metal tub on the kitchen table. I know now that you had little yourself when you were young, and that hardship followed you into motherhood. You came from a poor home across from the train station, with a sick father who could barely work and a mother who had to knit and sew your clothes. I can see now that your beginning was hard.

I was a tiny baby, and I know you tried to nurse me, but the doctor told you not to because I was not growing. Perhaps that was where our distance began. I remained small—five feet tall—and that smallness became a defining thing in my life. I was always a head shorter than the other girls. I stood beneath everyone else, literally and otherwise. I did not know then that being different could feel like a kind of disability until people treated me as though it was. I wish someone had taught me that different did not mean lesser. I needed someone to lift me up, because my own body would not.

I imagine motherhood was difficult for you. Perhaps I disappointed you. My brother was the one who seemed to make you shine. He brought good grades, popularity, and eventually a medical degree. He was the child who reflected well on you in the eyes of others. I never quite matched that measure, and I carried the ache of comparison for years. I did my best, but my best was rarely enough.

I am learning, slowly, to give you grace for not making me feel special. When I was emotional, I do not remember being comforted. I remember being observed, timed, and dismissed. When I ran to my room upset, it became something to mock rather than something to understand. I do not remember being held, or asked what hurt, or being made to feel that my tears mattered.

I was not the prettiest girl, and I know that. I was clumsy, awkward, and struggled with reading in ways no one ever truly addressed. I started kindergarten even though the teacher could hardly believe I was old enough, simply because I was so small. Perhaps I would have done better if I had been held back a year. It would not have changed my height, but it might have given me more confidence, more maturity, more ease in the world.

It often seemed that you were embarrassed by me because I did not excel. Still, I tried. I found small places to belong—in school musicals, in the marching team, in the Tigerettes. Even as the shortest one among them, I felt a little bit of pride. I do recognize that you had your own burdens. But I also remember being left alone for hours, and when you were home, I did not always feel cared for in the ways a child needs most.

I remember Christmas comparisons, too. There was always careful accounting between me and my cousin, as though equality in gifts could somehow protect us from inequality in affection. She was gifted, tall, talented, and intelligent. She played piano. She grew up quickly, and everyone noticed. Her mother made sure I knew I was not her equal. She said cruel things that stayed with me. Even then, I knew I was being measured and found lacking. That seemed to be the pattern of my childhood: always compared, rarely cherished.

When relatives came, I felt the tension before anyone said a word. Some would not even come into the house, choosing instead to stay in the car because they disliked the way your success made them feel. I never understood why they were not welcomed inside, and I never felt much tenderness from my aunts. They looked at me with disdain, or not at all. Later, when my second husband became a mission president, they came to see whether it was true, as though worth only became visible when it could be borrowed from position.

Because I was so often belittled and compared, my self-esteem suffered deeply. I stuttered when I tried to speak. I struggled to express myself. I tried to earn love through drawing, writing, singing, dancing—through anything I could offer—but it never seemed to reach the place in you where I most needed it to land.

High school made me feel second-rate in new ways. My clothes were not what the other girls wore. You took me to Lerner’s in Provo and told me I could buy four outfits for the entire year. Brand names were something I learned about only because my friends’ parents could afford them. I tried to pretend it did not matter, more to protect your feelings than mine.

I was short-sighted as well as short in stature, and when I needed glasses, my already fragile self-image felt even more exposed. You often cut my bangs very short, and I felt as though my appearance was being reduced again and again. It seemed almost as if ugliness had been assigned to me.

I dated young, and you did not seem concerned when I disappeared for hours. There was no curfew, no searching, no visible worry. I know now you were carrying your own burdens, but I learned independence because I had no other choice.

By thirteen, I was looking at boys. Some of them were not kind. I made choices I do not defend, but I understand now that I was trying to be seen. I felt invisible, and invisibility can lead a child into dangerous places.

One tender memory remains: pink carpet, a small dresser, and a canopy bed. Those were among my favorite things growing up. So no, I cannot say I was ignored completely. But even then, I suspect some of the care came from wanting to look good in front of relatives rather than from seeing me as a daughter worthy of delight.

My brother was often unkind. He put me down because he could. He was the grand one, the admired one. And yet, he also made my breakfast much of the time because you did not rise early enough to do it. We lived so close to the school that I could walk, and he did not really protect me when I needed him to. He was not a source of comfort or safety when he had his own friends and his own world.

When I was sixteen, I began seriously dating a man two years older than I was. He had been grooming me for some time, though I did not yet have language for that. No one checked on us even when we were sitting together in the living room. He abused me, and I thought it was normal because I was too young to understand otherwise. When he later returned

from his mission early and blamed me, I was the one left carrying the shame. I refused to see him again, but he told the church authorities it was my fault. They believed him. I tried to explain, but no one seemed willing to hear me. I was young, and I was alone.

You came to me one night when I did not know what to do. The only question you asked was whether I was pregnant. After that, I shut down. I could feel the battle slipping away from me. No one tried to understand what I felt. No one treated me as if my heart, my fear, or my confusion mattered. No one stopped me from making one of the greatest mistakes of my life: marrying an abuser who mocked me, betrayed me, and drove whatever self-worth I had left deeper into the ground.

I did not want to see him again. His mother called and begged me to meet with him because he was crying. I gave in, and by eighteen I was married to a man who was cruel and unfaithful. The only thing I remember you saying was that he “wasn’t that good-looking anyway.” I did not know how to respond to that. He even brought another boyfriend of mine into the cruelty, and the two of them mocked me whenever they could. Two grown men against little me. It was grotesque. He sexually abused me, too, and even tried to persuade me to work in a strip club. We had both been raised in the church, and that was not the life we had been taught to know.

So I became even more independent, because I had to survive. I had already known suicidal thoughts in high school, when I did not make it into the marching club my first year. I was suicidal again after a broken marriage, two miscarriages, and no support except from Dad, who told me to freeze our assets, go to a lawyer, and discover the truth: drugs, pornography, infidelity. At last, someone stood beside me.

I found counseling at BYU Provo in group sessions. There, I said aloud the things I had carried in silence: that I felt ugly, stupid, and unloved. And then something unexpected happened. Some of the boys told me they would date me if they had the chance. They told me I was pretty. They told me I had worth. It mattered more than I can say. I ended up dating one of them—a kind man with a motorcycle who did not judge me. You were embarrassed when he came to pick me up, probably worried about what the neighbors would think.

I never really had girlfriends. I liked boys better because they were not so petty. I went to dances alone. You allowed me to have a decent wedding, perhaps again under the pressure of appearances. The girls in my line, whose bridal dresses we had provided, stood tall beside me on my wedding day, and I was the first bride among them. When I got divorced, only one friend came to check on me. Another laughed when she heard. So I kept going alone. I had to make my own way.

I became so independent that I bought my own car and went where I wanted, when I wanted, with little concern for who approved. Even my grandmother was not warm to me, though I was named after her. At her funeral, her sisters told me I should come because I was her namesake. But she had never made me feel wanted or special, and I came to dislike my own name because of it. I brought her a Hawaiian flower arrangement all the way from Hawaii, where we had lived for twenty-one years. It was meaningful in the islands, but you told me you could not believe I would bring something like that because it did not resemble the generic funeral bouquets the Utah family had brought.

Then I met a brown-skinned man at a dance—yet again, I was there alone. He was kind to me, easy to be around, as were his cousins. When I visited him in Provo, I felt welcomed in a way I had almost never known. I would go after work and fall asleep in his arms. For the first time, I felt deeply loved. But you were prejudiced, and it showed. So was your mother, who wanted me to leave him. I did not listen. When we married, I decorated the entire reception by myself. No one in the family came to help. I did it all because I had long understood I was something of an embarrassment to the family. At the reception, it turned into a luau, and while his family stayed to celebrate, my relatives drifted away. Their faces said what they would never speak aloud.

I was fully welcomed into his culture. When he took me to the islands, I experienced culture shock, but my children loved it, and so did I. People invited us into their homes. I made lifelong friends. The warmth there felt real. I was never put down or made to feel lesser. Even though I struggled with the language, likely because of a learning disability no one had ever addressed, I was treated with patience. His mother treated me with special kindness. She was half white, so my husband was a quarter white, but none of that mattered there—not the way his skin was dark, not the way I had been taught to think.

The islands were different in every way. People helped one another. Older women made you feel loved and cared for. His mother sewed beautiful clothes for the children, and it was clear she adored them. When we later came to visit you, my husband overheard you tell my younger sister that we were “so dirty.” You did not know he was in the house. That hurt deeply. You also complained about our young son because he was active, full of boyhood energy, and not like my perfect brother.

So I write this to you because I have struggled for many years to forgive what was said, what was done, and what was left undone. My own daughter once had to rescue me when I tried to speak at your family reunion. I was overwhelmed with emotion, and she stepped in and finished my words while your family watched me break apart. I am grateful beyond words for a loving daughter and granddaughter who have stood by me ever since.

I do not know, after all these years, whether what you said or did was intentional. But I have carried its weight for seventy-four years, and it still visits me. I was asked to write this letter so I could give you ownership of what you did to me, and in doing so, release myself from having to live under the shadow of your approval.

Every day, your hurtful words return to me. I cannot keep living that way. I have four beautiful children and twelve grandchildren who love me, support me, and love one another. That love has made my life worth living.

I also want to acknowledge that you gave me two sisters, though you treated them differently. They had singing lessons, and you attended their performances. When I tell them about how I grew up, it is clear we did not have the same mother. You were kinder to them, more encouraging, more present. You helped them build self-esteem. Perhaps by then you understood more fully what your words could do to a daughter. One sister is ten years younger than I am, and the other sixteen years younger. Maybe you had changed by then.

My life has held a great deal of disappointment, and much of it I do owe to you. And yet, I know now that you carried wounds of your own. In that way, we are more alike than different.

I believe our Savior gives grace, and that after this life we may return to Him with our hearts made clean. I want to offer you grace for what you did, and for what you should have done but did not. I hope we will meet in the next life with our minds cleared of malice, and with truth and love restored between us.

Your oldest daughter

Before my kids arrived, I had a very definite notion of what type of parent I was going to be. Oh, how little tiny babies can change everything! Here are five things I vowed would never happen in our house, until they did.

Let a child sleep in our bed

I admit that some of my children preferred their own beds, but then those with very strong personalities arrived. They would awaken several times during the wee hours for whatever reason. Perhaps they just missed me? After almost losing my sanity and several doctor appointments, pediatricians assured me nothing was wrong. Some babies just don’t sleep as much as others. Usually, they sleep very well during the day. So for them, I got up several times a night to comfort them, change their diapers, get them a bottle, and pat them on the back or even bounce them! Not all my babies took pacifiers, but to me they were lifesavers. Sleepless nights result in a dysfunctional mother. Of course, Dads are oblivious and able to sleep through all the noise and commotion. After several attempts to get a child to sleep, I would give in and bring the baby to my bed. Sleep at last!

I would never bribe my child

I planned to have very obedient happy peaceful children. Then they grew up! The only thing that really worked to motivate stubborn toddlers is bribing. It takes quite a bit of creativity to come up with new and effective bribes. Candy, ice cream, toys, more electronic time, a later bedtime, trips to Disney, but nothing beats plain old money. My how they learn very young! 

Let my child stay up late

I need my alone time, but children seem to want to follow you everywhere. If you are up at night, they want to be there too. Setting a bedtime was easy. Getting them to stay in bed was the problem. They figured out early that all the fun action happened after their bedtime. All of a sudden they are stricken with horrible thirst, a panic attack about a witch under the bed, or any other imaginable crisis. I had to pick my battles with the little people! They just wanted to see how far they could push me. It was a power struggle which blossomed the older they got. I finally had to convince them that it was their own responsibility to get enough sleep so they wouldn’t embarrass themselves by sleeping during school, not mine.

Let a child misbehave during church

My children looked like the perfect little angels when they left for church, but just when all the old ladies are meditating and want complete reverence, they become little demons. How could this happen week after week? What was I doing wrong? Then I began taking snacks, which eventually ended up everywhere possible. Then, I took my children outside the chapel, but they soon figured out it was more fun to be in the foyer running around than sitting quietly on a bench for an hour. I took small toys and those little activity books that are fun for about two minutes. All the older people gave me the evil eye and I felt like the worse mother alive. One day I stumbled onto something that actually worked. Pinching! It didn’t have to involve very much skin and not enough to leave any bruising. When the child misbehaved, I would cunningly reach over and grab a tiny piece of skin and pinch it. But, not hard enough to make them cry. Just a little “shock”. This served me well during church for many years.

Let my child watch more than two hours of TV a day

I planned to have the smartest children around. I would not be one of those parents who let technology be their child’s main babysitter. With so many resources and books from experts who knew how best to raised smart children, I would prepare well ahead of time and have each waking moment a learning one for my incredible child. And then real life happened! Failed attempts at keeping my child’s attention cooled my enthusiasm. They seemed to find more enjoyment from a cardboard box than any elaborate presentation I could think up. If the TV was on, they were automatically mesmerized. They sat transfixed for large blocks of time, so I could actually get some things done. Why fight a good thing? My children ended out fairly normal despite their addiction to Sesame Street. Perhaps they excelled because of it rather than despite it. Who’s to tell?

If your child has left home carrying hurt…
If there are words you wish you could take back…
If silence has replaced what used to be laughter…

Please hear this:

It’s not too late.

Not too late to soften your heart.
Not too late to see them differently.
Not too late to begin again—gently, humbly, honestly.

Sometimes the distance between a parent and a child isn’t measured in miles…
It’s measured in misunderstandings, unspoken pain, and moments where connection was missed.

But here’s the truth most parents don’t hear enough:

Relationships are living things.
And as long as both hearts are still beating… there is still hope.

Your child may not be waiting for perfection.
They may be waiting for safety.

Not a lecture.
Not a defense.
Not “after all I’ve done for you…”

But something like this:

“I’ve been thinking about us… and I miss you.
I may not have understood everything back then, but I want to now.
If you’re willing, I’m here to listen.”

That kind of courage…
That kind of humility…

That is where healing begins.

Will it fix everything overnight? No.
Will it feel uncomfortable? Probably.
Will it matter? More than you know.

Because connection doesn’t require a perfect past—
It requires a willing present.

So if you’ve been wondering whether to reach out…
Whether it’s too late…
Whether the door is already closed…

Try the handle.

You might be surprised.

💛
Connection before correction. Always.

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“Aloha and welcome back to The Aloha EQ Podcast… where we bring heart and mind together to help you live, lead, and love with emotional intelligence.

Today’s episode is a little different—and I think you’re going to feel why right away.

We’re talking about something that affects every family, every parent, and every future generation… and that’s money, mindset, and the emotions behind the way we build our lives.

Because here’s the truth…

👉 It’s not just what we earn… it’s how we think, how we feel, and how we show up that determines the life we create.

And today, I have a guest who has helped thousands of people understand how to build real, lasting wealth—not just quick wins, but systems, discipline, and long-term thinking.

So I want you to listen carefully—not just for the strategies…

…but for the mindset behind them.

#medicine #medical #truestories #socialmedicine #modernmedicine

Is anyone else having trouble with the recording equipment on Substact? If not, please help me out.

Ruth Kongaika

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