• I was diagnosed with ADHD at 38. I spent most of my life masking things I didn't know were ADHD.
• Instead of pretending I'm fine, I tell my sons when my brain is full and my battery is running low.
• I'm teaching them that everybody has different limits and it's important to know and respect them.

There are nights when I look at my two boys, 13 and 10, and announce, "My battery is at 1%."

They know what this means.

I get much quieter. The pile of clothes I told myself I was going to fold gets moved to the floor and becomes tomorrow's problem. Video game sounds that normally wouldn't bother me suddenly send my whole system into overdrive. If both kids are talking to me at once, I sometimes have to say, "I can't process what either one of you is saying right now."

Eventually, I can hit what feels like an actual wall. I go into a burnout shutdown where decision-making becomes almost impossible. My brain feels frozen. I know there are things I should be doing, but I can't organize them into a next step. If I'm overstimulated enough, I can barely formulate a cohesive thought.

Sometimes the only thing that helps is going into my room, closing the door, and sitting in complete silence.

I don't hide this from my kids. I let them see it on purpose.

I spent most of my life not knowing my brain worked differently

I was diagnosed with ADHD at 38. Until then, I genuinely didn't know other people's brains worked the way mine did. The best way I can describe my brain is that there are three musicals happening on three different stages at the same time. There are songs, conversations, ideas, and a constant stream of thoughts all competing for my attention.

From the outside, I looked highly functional. I was an A+ student. I worked hard. I got things done. I became an entrepreneur.

Internally, I was exhausted to the point that it sometimes felt like an existential level.

I remember hitting this same wall when I was around the same age as my sons. My parents didn't understand what was happening, and why would they? ADHD wasn't something anyone was considering for me. I wasn't physically hyperactive. All of the pinging was happening inside my head. So I learned to push through it and, eventually, to look calm while doing it.

In our family, we talk about our batteries

Our family therapist gave us an analogy that has become part of our language: Everybody is like a cell phone. Our batteries drain differently, and they recharge differently.

My older son is an introvert like me. We can love being around people and still need significant quiet afterward. For me, recharging means real quiet — a chunk of time when nobody is talking to me, asking me a question, or needing me to make a decision.

My younger son, who also has ADHD, is almost the opposite. I always say he's fueled by people. Talking to friends and being around other people can actually charge him. I love that distinction because even people whose brains are wired similarly don't necessarily need the same things.

There isn't one correct way to recharge.

I want my kids to know before they're 38

Being a single parent means I can't disappear into silence every time my battery gets low. Sometimes the video game is still playing. Somebody still needs something. Life keeps happening.

I've stopped believing that being a good mother means hiding the fact that I have limits. I'm not asking my children to take care of me. I'm letting them know me.

I want them to understand that people who love each other get to be human in front of one another. You can say, "I need quiet." You can say, "I need people." You can say, "My brain is too full right now." Limits aren't character flaws, and rest isn't something you earn only after you've completely depleted yourself.

For most of my life, I thought strength meant pushing through until nobody could tell I was struggling. I'm trying to teach my kids something different: learn what drains your battery. Learn what charges it. Tell the people you love what you need. And don't wait until you're at 1% to plug yourself back in.

• I'm a dietitian and let my two kids enjoy Halloween candy without making them feel guilty.
• After trick-or-treating, I let them each choose five favorite pieces of candy to save for later.
• The Candy Fairy takes the rest and leaves a small toy, making the exchange fun rather than a punishment.

Editor's note: Do you let your kids keep all their Halloween candy? Do you have them pick a few they can keep? Share in the comments what your approach is.

Every Halloween, I know exactly what's coming: two excited kids, costumes, a neighborhood full of candy, and by the end of the night, bags that seemingly weigh almost as much as they do.

They look forward to trick-or-treating for months. Every year it's the same: despite my annual request that they wait until we get home to start eating their haul, more candy than I'd like gets eaten while we're still walking around the neighborhood.

I'm a registered dietitian, but I'm also a mom. Halloween is supposed to be fun, the kind of event that becomes a core childhood memory. I want my kids to feel "normal" in the best sense of the word. I want them to run from house to house, trade candy, and enjoy the same traditions as their friends without feeling like they have different rules because their mom happens to be a dietitian.

At the same time, I want them to understand balance.

When we get home, they may each have a few more pieces. Then we dump everything out, and they choose about five favorite pieces to save for later.

The rest goes to the Candy Fairy.

My kids write letters to the Candy Fairy

The Candy Fairy takes the extra candy and leaves a small toy in exchange. My kids even write her letters and put them in the mailbox. It turns getting rid of the excess into something fun instead of a punishment.

They still get the excitement of collecting candy and choosing the pieces they really love, while having some control over what stays. I'm not deciding which candy they're allowed to keep or telling them what they should like. They get to decide which pieces are worth saving and which ones they're ready to give up. I get to avoid having a ridiculous amount of candy sitting in the house until Thanksgiving.

My daughter may be starting to outgrow the tradition now, at 9 years old, but my son probably has a few more Candy Fairy years left. Eventually, though, I hope the tradition evolves with them.

Instead of sending the candy to a fairy, we can donate it to an organization they feel good about supporting. They'll still get that sense of pride and reward, only by then, the Candy Fairy will just be Mom, celebrating an act of kindness.

I want them to still enjoy their candy

There's also a practical reason this approach works for our family: our food environment matters. One phrase I often use is, "In house, in mouth." When I say that, I mean that food is harder to ignore when it's staring you in the face every time you open the pantry.

Halloween creates a strange kind of stress for parents. We don't want to teach our kids to fear candy, but we also don't want pounds of treats sitting in the house for weeks on end.

For me, it simply isn't worth that mental energy. I'm OK with having less Halloween candy around for a few days. Another family might feel fine keeping it for a month, and some may hardly be affected by it at all. There isn't a one-size-fits-all correct deadline.

I don't believe promoting a healthy relationship with food means pretending every food serves the same purpose. My kids know candy doesn't nourish their bodies the way the foods we eat every day do. It's a treat, a "fun food." Halloween is an occasion to enjoy those treats. I want my kids to enjoy their candy and not feel guilty about it. What I don't want is one night of celebration quietly stretching into a month simply because we happened to collect too much.

To me, teaching balance means holding both ideas at once: something can be enjoyable without needing to be available in unlimited amounts. That's the middle ground I'm trying to teach my kids. To me, food freedom includes structure. Boundaries simply make expectations clear.

The extra candy doesn't have to go in the trash

Families can look for local donation programs. Soldiers' Angels runs Treats for Troops, which collects Halloween candy for service members, veterans, and military communities. Some dental offices and community organizations may also serve as collection sites, so it's worth checking local options. Some families might freeze a few favorite chocolates or save candy for baking.

The point is not that there is one perfect way to handle it.

Our rule is simple: Enjoy Halloween. Eat some candy. Pick a few pieces you really love. Then let the Candy Fairy, or a good cause, handle the rest. For our family, that feels like the right balance.

My kids get to be kids, participate like everyone else, get excited about costumes, have fun with their friends, enjoy the candy on Halloween night, and learn that food freedom and boundaries can exist together.

• I followed Ina Garten's recipes for pumpkin, apple, and pecan pie to see which I liked best. 
• The pecan pie tasted like a cocktail, and the apple pie was shockingly simple to throw together.
• I ended up with extra pumpkin-pie filling, but Garten's buttery crust was the real winner. 

I cook and bake a lot, but I'm not a huge fan of making pies. I sometimes struggle to create a buttery, flaky crust, and my fillings don't always have the right texture.

So, I decided to sharpen my skills using three approachable and delicious-sounding recipes from Ina Garten.

Here's how my day of baking went as I attempted to make Garten's pecan, pumpkin, and apple pies.

Before I could make each pie, I had to prep the crust.

I've followed a few Garten pie recipes before, and I remember liking her easy-to-make crust. That memory held true.

I needed to make four crusts: a bottom and top for the apple pie, and one crust each for the pumpkin and pecan pies. It only took me between 10 and 15 minutes.

Garten uses a food processor for her "perfect pie crust," which makes prep easy. I divided the dough into two batches, and I could already tell from the look and feel that the crusts would be buttery and delicious.

With all of the dough resting in the fridge, I was ready to start tackling the individual pies.

I started with the easiest recipe: the maple-pecan pie.

Garten's maple-pecan pie has just 10 ingredients, excluding the crust.

I was excited to taste the combination of maple syrup and bourbon with the pecans. And I liked that she included some fresh orange zest to cut through the richer ingredients, like corn syrup and honey.

The filling smelled incredible while it was baking.

To make the pie, all I had to do was whisk the filling ingredients — minus the pecans — together.

Then I simply added the nuts and gave it a final stir before pouring the filling into the prepared pie crust.

I put the pie in the oven for just under an hour.

To ensure I got an evenly cooked crust, I turned the pie halfway through the bake.

The process was easy, and I loved the enticing smells coming from the oven as it baked.

I was pretty impressed with my first pie.

The flavors of the pecan pie reminded me of an old-fashioned cocktail, thanks to the bourbon and orange.

But the pecans ended up a little chewier than I would've liked. If I make this pie again, I'd probably toast the nuts first for a better texture.

It tasted good, but I should’ve let it firm up in the fridge before serving.

Despite letting the pecan pie fully cool before slicing into it, the pieces fell apart on me.

Next time, I think I'd let it chill in the fridge before serving so the filling can firm up more.

Garten’s pumpkin-pie recipe included a homemade rum whipped cream.

I moved on to making Garten's pumpkin pie.

I was intrigued by some of the ingredients in the filling, like orange zest and rum, but most were pretty standard, including pumpkin purée, brown sugar, cinnamon, ginger, and nutmeg.

I was most excited to make the accompanying rum whipped cream.

It sounded like a delicious, indulgent addition to the homemade pie, with ingredients such as crème fraîche or mascarpone and a dark rum.

For this pie, I needed to bake my crust twice.

First, I rolled out one of my crusts and placed it in a pie tin.

Unlike the other two recipes, this one required me to blind-bake the crust before adding the filling. I found some dried lentils and rice to use as pie weights to keep it from puffing up too much.

This first bake helped prep the crust for the liquid-y filling, but it also meant the edges got a little darker by the end than I'd hoped.

I ended up with way more filling than I needed.

The pumpkin filling was easy to make as I just had to whisk all the ingredients together in a large bowl.

I made way more filling than I needed for the pie crust, so I set it aside in hopes I could find a way to use it later. (My partner had a fun idea to use the filling to make pumpkin-pie custards in ramekins.)

The crust may have been darker than I wanted, but the pie was still delicious.

Despite the slightly overdone crust, Garten's pumpkin pie turned out great in terms of both taste and texture.

The filling was sweet but not too sweet, and the subtle hint of orange helped balance the custard's richness. The texture of it was smooth and creamy.

The pie had a perfect custardy texture and a sturdy, buttery crust

The crust was flaky and buttery, yet sturdy enough to hold the weight of the pumpkin filling. Each slice came out of the tin without crumbling.

The rum whipped cream was a unique companion to the pumpkin pie. I liked it much better than regular whipped cream.

Finally, I started on Garten's apple pie.

I saved the most intimidating pie for last.

I've made apple pies many times before, but I was still worried about whether the top crust would turn out right and if the filling would soften enough by the time the crust was done baking.

Garten's recipe for deep-dish apple pie calls for Granny Smith apples, which tend to be more sour and tart than sweet. The filling also called for both lemon and orange juices and zest, plus plenty of spices.

With all of those ingredients and only a ½ cup of sugar in the filling, I was worried the pie might not be sweet enough.

All my worries went away pretty quickly.

The filling was easy to make after I finished peeling, coring, and chopping what felt like 100 apples. The recipe called for 4 pounds!

The dough for my crust was very easy to roll out and transfer to the tin, thanks to the butter and vegetable shortening. It made easy work of assembling the pie.

I couldn’t believe how beautiful it looked, both before and after baking.

After adding my top crust, I cut slits for ventilation, brushed it with an egg wash, and sprinkled it with sugar, per Garten's instructions.

I let the pie bake for about an hour. Afterward, the top crust was golden and looked and smelled incredible.

The crust was definitely the tastiest part of this apple pie.

Garten's apple pie was pretty tasty, but the crust was by far the best part.

The extra sugar sprinkling on top gave it a sweet flavor and crunchy texture. It was so delicious I could eat it on its own.

However, I wasn't the biggest fan of the filling's flavor.

The filling was decent, but it had a little bit too much citrus for me.

I was glad the apples softened well without becoming mushy, but I think I'd precook them a little bit more next time. That would hopefully help concentrate the apple flavor and keep the filling from shrinking so far away from the top crust.

I also might sub some of the tart apples for a sweeter variety, as the combination of the Granny Smiths and citrus made for a pretty tart pie.

All of the pies were good, but I was actually most impressed by Garten's crust.

In the end, all of the pies I made using Garten's recipes turned out pretty good, and they were easy enough to make in one day without breaking a sweat.

I like that she adds citrus zest to each of these pies to really boost their flavors and give them a freshness. The rum whipped cream that went with the pumpkin pie was also delicious, and I think it would pair really well with the pecan pie, too.

However, my favorite part of all three recipes was the pie crust.

It was quick and easy to make, and it worked well with all the different fillings. I'll be using this crust for all my pies moving forward.

This story was originally published on November 19, 2023, and most recently updated on October 29, 2026.

The offers and details on this page may have updated or changed since the time of publication. See our article on Business Insider for current information.

• For Love & Money is a column from Business Insider answering your relationship and money questions.
• This week, a reader wants a portion of their inheritance now, rather than after their parents die.
• Our columnist says it's OK to ask, but that it's important to be self-aware and approach thoughtfully.

Dear For Love & Money,

I am lucky enough to come from a family with a lot of generational wealth. My great-grandparents passed down a large fortune to their kids, who passed it down to my parents when they died.

Before their deaths, my grandparents also used a large part of it to make their children's and grandchildren's lives better. They gave my parents enough to pay off most of their house, paid for my college, bought me my first car, and did the same for my sister and cousins.

Now, my parents have their share of the family inheritance. My sister and I fully expected our parents to follow our grandparents' example and give us some money up front — not the whole inheritance, but enough to help us pay off some debt and make our lives a little easier.

My parents have shown no signs of giving us a penny right now. I am sure they intend to leave it to us when they die, but until then, it doesn't seem to have even occurred to them to bless their children and grandchildren the way their parents did.

My niece will begin college next year, and my sister has dropped several hints. My wife says I need to just come out and ask them for some of the money because we could use the cash, but the idea of doing that makes me really uncomfortable. What do I do?

Sincerely,

Possibly Presumptuous

Dear Possibly,

If you are presumptuous — and perhaps you are — you have every reason to be. A large inheritance, it seems, is a family tradition (you lucky thing). Traditions are typified by the rituals that accompany them. In your family, this has looked like the bulk of the cash going to the next generation as a traditional inheritance, with a tidy sum set aside to ease the way for all direct descendants in the form of an early inheritance.

As such, it makes sense that you would have those expectations. However, no family tradition happens automatically, and each new generation must determine which parts of the legacy to leave and which to keep. In your case, this decision belongs to your parents.

I agree with your wife that asking directly is your only option for an advance inheritance payment. After all, your sister has already tried the heavy hinting method, and while you refer to it as "generational wealth" and "family inheritance," the money is your parents'.

Before you talk to them, however, I suggest you examine your motives first. There are two different types of entitlement: justified and absurd. Justified entitlement looks like someone driving to pick up their paycheck after working all week. Absurd entitlement looks like an adult racking up a credit card on a luxury vacation and then expecting their parents to pay it because they raised them to enjoy that lifestyle.

Based on your letter, I would guess your entitlement is justified — or at the very least, understandable. There is nothing wrong with having expectations because your family has always done something a specific way. However, the justified entitlement begins veering into the realm of the absurd if you feel resentment toward your family for not giving you something that isn't yours.

Self-awareness in this regard is crucial for personal growth. When I called you lucky at the beginning of this letter, I meant it. I, like most people, don't have an inheritance to look forward to, to help pay off my mortgage or send my kids to college. You hit the generational wealth lottery just by being born into the right family, as did your parents. I don't say this as a jealous sneer, but as a reminder.

You don't need to bow your head in shame for lucking out, but you must remember this money is a gift. Nobody likes the kid screaming at the tree on December 22nd because they want to open their presents early.

Not being that person is really a matter of tone. If your parents sense you're upset with them for even having to ask, they will be understandably hurt, which will only break down your dynamic. If you come to them with gratitude, humility, and curiosity, they might remember when they were in your shoes.

I mention curiosity because your parents may have hopes and expectations for this inheritance of their own. I can only imagine they had years to plan what they would do with it when it was finally their turn. Ask them about it. Show them your intention isn't to leapfrog over their moment holding the generational wealth, but to honor it.

Not only does this eliminate any ideas of absurd entitlement they may see around your request, but it might also help them see an early inheritance to you and your sister as a kind of collaboration — and the money as a family business. For now, they are co-CEOs and get to call the shots, but you, your sister, and your children are the future and worth the investment.

That said, I wouldn't shy away from reminding your dad that his parents did the same for him. I wouldn't make this reminder heavy-handed or accusatory. Instead, it should be a gentle way to introduce your request. Start by saying something like, "Hey, Dad. Remember how Grandma and Grandpa gave you part of your inheritance even while they were still living? I was thinking…"

You'll want to prepare a well-thought-out financial plan. Research investment options, savings accounts, and trusts, and determine how to maximize the financial gift you're requesting. Then, pitch this plan to your parents.

Whether your parents are holding onto the inheritance tightly because they still see you and your sister as fiscally irresponsible teenagers, because they have personal retirement concerns or priorities, or because they just didn't think you needed the money in the moment, presenting them with a plan is a great way to inspire their confidence and show them that giving you the money is not a risky indulgence, but a sound choice.

Your letter describes a lineage of security — not only the financial kind, but the kind that only happens when each generation looks after the next. While your parents may be playing with the timeline a bit, you mentioned having little doubt that they will leave the money to you and your sister when they die. This tells me your family looks out for one another. No matter how this conversation goes, take comfort in that security. That's the kind of wealth that can't be spent in a single generation, and you've got it. You lucky thing!

Rooting for you,

For Love & Money

An earlier version of this article was originally published in September 2024.

Looking for advice on how your savings, debt, or another financial challenge is affecting your relationships? Write to For Love & Money using this Google form.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with O'Shea Jackson, known professionally as Ice Cube, a 57-year-old rapper, actor, and cofounder of the professional three-on-three basketball league Big3, who is based in Los Angeles. The following has been edited for length and clarity.

I started out wanting to be the best rapper in the world. Then John Singleton put me in "Boyz n the Hood" in 1991, and I loved creating at that level. I didn't just want to be an actor; I wanted to be a producer and a writer. I wanted to control my own films and be involved in record company meetings. That thrust me into the business world.

I understand, from the neighborhood I come from in South Central Los Angeles, that if you don't learn the game, you're going to get taken advantage of. I knew that if I really wanted to be a solo artist and didn't want to be a horror story at the end of my career, I needed to learn the business. That's when I started transitioning to working behind the scenes.

In 2016, my cofounder, Jeff Kwatinetz, and I had the idea to start a professional three-on-three basketball league. We spent a year throwing around ideas for it before announcing Big3 in January 2017.

I love three-on-three, and I've always wondered why it hasn't been professionalized. We wanted to elevate it and attract players who still want to play at a high level against their peers in the summer. I also still rap and act, and I haven't looked back.

Here's a day in my life in Los Angeles.

5 a.m. — my goldendoodle wakes me up

My goldendoodle, Luffy, and I wake up at the same time, or one of us wakes the other up. He's a year old, so he's still got puppy energy. My wife, Kimberly, and my four kids watch an anime where the lead character's name is Luffy, which is how he got the name.

I've been an early riser ever since I was young. I like to wake up before everybody — sometimes two hours before my family — to hyper-focus on anything that needs my undivided attention. The East Coast is three hours ahead of us anyway, so I don't want to be late talking to people there.

7 .a.m. — coffee and walking Luffy

I usually make myself coffee at home. I'm a fan of Peet's dark roast. Then I take Luffy for a walk.

I'm not big on working out early in the morning, so I try to exercise in the evenings. To me, the morning is for coffee, enjoying being alive, and being happy that I get another chance to see another day.

I'm not a big breakfast guy, so I usually don't eat until late afternoon.

8 a.m. — thinking in the shower

Most of my ideas come when I'm in the shower. They'll just flood me with everything I need to get done, almost in order: you gotta have that, you gotta have that, stop procrastinating on this, get to that. The shower is where I get a lot of my clarity.

9 .a.m. — prioritizing my schedule from my home studio and office

I don't go into the office — I stopped doing that in 1999. I'm not built to be in the office. I'm a remote kind of guy.

I've got a spot in my house that's a studio and office. A lot of work gets done in there, including new music. It's cool to have it all in one place.

Because I'm splitting my time between Big3, music, films, and other things, I have to really plan the day and prioritize. There are things that have to get done today and things that can wait until tomorrow, so it's about deciphering what needs my immediate attention and focus.

10 a.m. — meetings focused on wherever I am

When I'm traveling, my day can vary a lot. I have a lot of meetings on my iPhone and Zoom, so I plan them around whatever I'm there to do.

If I'm on tour, everything has to come after what I have to do that night and the focus I need to give to the live performance. I've tried to do a movie in the daytime and go to the studio at night, and something suffers.

You don't want to spread the work too thin, either, just because you can. You want everything to still be as top-notch and good as you can make it. That takes discipline.

12 p.m. — ordering lunch and trying not to succumb to burgers

When it's time to eat, the first thing that pops into my head is always burgers. I try to push burgers aside and think of something different, like a Greek salad wrap. Otherwise, I'd go for burgers and fries all the time.

1 p.m. — checking out social media and executing on projects

I look at a lot of social media to figure out my next move. Social media-wise, I still like X, Instagram, YouTube, and TikTok. I'm not a big-time Facebook guy. I also don't use any AI apps.

I have several projects, and they're each in one of three stages: planning, execution, and follow-through. There's always work to be done. I've been in business for 40 years — I've seen it all. Nothing gets me too high, and nothing gets me too low.

I'm always looking for the most strategic way out of a sticky, complicated, or bad day. I don't really let it stress me, because I always know there's a solution.

6:30 p.m. — shut down business and hang with my family

It's crazy for somebody in the music industry, where mostly everything happens late at night, but it's for my sanity.

When it comes to my off time, people think I'd be out enjoying being Ice Cube, running around and getting the love that's out there, but I like kicking it with my family, hanging out, and not doing too much. A typical dinner is going to a steakhouse with my family, or to a burger joint if I'm on the road.

To unwind, I like to watch sports. Hopefully, there's a game on that I want to see: basketball, football, a Big3 game, or baseball. I'm a Dodgers guy.

11 p.m. — try to get to bed

I don't like to talk about stuff late at night, because then I'll be up all night, and I have to be back up in a few hours. I don't need much sleep, about five or six hours, but I make sure I get it.

Some days, I'm off to do something super cool, like a concert or a movie in France. It's important to balance the craziness with the regular, sensible stuff.

My life can be very exciting and complicated at times, and very simple and normal at other times. It's the best of both worlds.

• Kylie Genter graduated from college with no career plan.
• At 22, she moved to South Korea to teach English and became fascinated by female freedivers who harvest seafood.
• Now, 37 and married, she spends around five days a week diving with women in their 70s and 80s.

This-as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Kylie Genter, 36, a Haenyeo diver on Jeju Island, South Korea. It's been edited for length and clarity.

I'd been teaching English in South Korea for four years when I learned about the Haenyeo — female freedivers who harvest seafood without using modern equipment. I was interested. So, in the summer of 2018, I completed diving lessons with the hopes that maybe I could work with them one day.

A few years later, my Korean husband, a scuba diver, read on a diving group chat that a small village on the southwestern side of Jeju Island was recruiting new divers. Their youngest diver was 68 — I wanted to give it a try.

At first, I was rejected, but I got invited back a month later. I don't know what changed in that one month, but I guess they suddenly became open to it, and I went in for an interview.

In January 2024, I started as a diving intern, and after two years of training, I received my Haenyeo license in April.

Finding my footing in South Korea

I was born in upstate New York, the middle of three kids. I went to SUNY Oswego and graduated with a degree in communications.

After graduating in 2012, I didn't know what I wanted to do. I applied to a few graduate schools and jobs, but nothing worked out. I was stressed out and wanted to leave. I thought about going to Japan to teach English, as I'd studied Japanese for a year while in university.

Instead, I settled for South Korea, where some schools offered housing. I didn't know much about Korea at that time — I wasn't really a big K-pop fan before I came.

So, just four months after graduating, I moved to Jinju, a three-and-a-half-hour high-speed train ride from Seoul, to work as an English teacher. In the mornings, I'd do 20-minute lessons with kids. In the afternoon, I'd have speaking classes.

I continued teaching until August 2020. That same year, I got married and started a pension business with my husband, while still teaching English on the side.

Building my life as a diver

To get my license, I had to dive 50 days within a year, sell 1.2 million South Korean won, or $884, worth of catch, and get a unanimous vote from the divers in the collective. It took me two years.

Language was an issue; despite having spent years in the country, I still couldn't always understand what was happening. My biggest strength is that I'm physically fitter than some of the divers — they are mostly in their 70s and 80s. So, I help out, like when they need someone to carry their nets full of catches or wash the dishes.

A lot of the work is physically demanding. If you don't feel good, you can't just push through. I can't dive if I have a cold or my sinuses are blocked because I can't equalize underwater. It's important to keep my body physically strong and healthy through working out.

Committing to an unconventional job

I enjoy my life. Every day is different, and I do a lot of things besides diving. I run a pet hotel with my husband; sometimes I still tutor and give lectures. I work more hours, but I also have a lot more flexibility to pursue other things. I don't need permission for a break or a day off.

On normal days, I wake up and take the dogs for a walk. Then, I go diving depending on the weather. If it's not great, I only dive for two or three hours. A normal day of diving may take four or five. After that, I take the dogs for another walk.

In our village, we typically dive five days a week. We'll take our catch and accumulate it after one cycle. After that, we'll sell it to the regional fishing co-operative. They'll pay our president, and she then distributes the money.

Being a diver isn't a full-time job. A lot of what we earn depends on the catch. I make around $2,000 a year. Teaching is much more financially stable. But I love learning from women who have been carrying on this work for generations.

When I'm diving, nothing else matters. I just have to focus on diving and catching seafood. Nobody can call me. I don't have to look at my phone and waste time doomscrolling.

When I'm deep underwater, it can be meditative, especially on days when the ocean is calm, and there's plenty to catch. I see myself wedded to this village for the rest of my life.