Posted in : Blog
Posted on : August 19, 2025
By: Jennifer Stone
In recent years, I’ve focused my work on putting people and our planet first. Whether it’s guiding companies through B Corp certification or supporting diversity, equity, inclusion, and accessibility (DEIA) initiatives, I’ve seen firsthand how everyday choices can add up.
At home, putting my values into action feels more complicated. Parenting adds a whole new level of chaos. Between juggling time, tight budgets, and temper tantrums, every decision feels more tangled and personal, and I often question if my small actions really make a difference.
For my son’s sixth birthday, I set out to throw him the ultimate Sonic the Hedgehog celebration. I went straight to the party store and loaded up on themed decorations, shiny balloons, and favors; everything I thought would make the day magical.
But somewhere between the floor-to-ceiling aisles of shiny decor and the checkout line, I froze. My cart was overflowing, and so was my guilt.
This wasn’t the first time I’d felt that tension: the pressure to pull off a Pinterest-worthy moment clashing with the voice in my head whispering, who is this for?
I saw at that moment what I’d been trying not to: the uncomfortable, inconvenient thoughts I usually pushed aside. I wanted to create a special day for my son, but I knew everything in my cart would likely end up in the trash by the next morning.
Still, the pressure was real, especially as a parent. It’s easy to compare and feel like we’re falling short. We’re bombarded with images of curated “perfection”: balloon arches, custom cakes, and themed snack tables. The message is loud and clear: More is better. And if you skip the loot bags? Cue the mom guilt.
Feeling overwhelmed, I emptied my cart and left the store with only a few paper balloons. I didn’t have a plan, just a terrible feeling in my gut I couldn’t ignore.
From there, I started exploring more sustainable options for my son’s party and asking deeper questions about who might be carrying the cost of my everyday choices. The more I uncovered, the more uneasy I felt.
Climate change, pollution, and toxic waste aren’t abstract problems. They land heaviest in the places and communities that have been overlooked for years. Places where people were already fighting to be seen and heard.
Not everyone experiences “the environment” the same way. I started noticing that zero-waste choices, the kind of things we often hear about, aren’t really an option for many people. Often, those conversations come from places of privilege – people with time, money, and access. Meanwhile, the people facing the harshest effects of environmental harm usually have the least power and resources.
Facing the hidden impacts, often paid in dignity, labor, land, or wellbeing, meant confronting my habits rooted in convenience and privilege. And that was the hardest part: choosing to keep learning, even when it was uncomfortable, and making space for humility and choices that felt more aligned with my values.
At first, I thought sustainability was mostly about stuff: what we buy, what we throw away, and what we recycle. But over time, that view started to feel too narrow and too simple.
When I started paying closer attention, I could see how the impact of my choices reached far beyond my home. The things that make life easier for me often come with a price that others end up paying. That cost might show up in:
It’s not evenly shared, and it doesn’t show up on a receipt.
To take care of the environment, we need to take care of each other. When we put equity, inclusion, and accessibility front and center, we come up with ideas that work for more people and stand the test of time. Without it, we’re just repeating the same broken systems, only this time with reusable tote bags.
Do I still get it wrong? Absolutely. There are days when convenience wins, and I forget to ask better questions. But I’m learning to pause and choose more intentionally whenever I can, grounding myself in these questions:
Every choice we make says something about what matters to us. And even small, imperfect actions can build momentum when we stay curious, open, and willing to keep learning.
For me, everything came into focus in aisle five; and since then, it’s grown into a new way of seeing, choosing, and showing up.
And you know what? My son had the best birthday.
We gifted reusable Sonic the Hedgehog mugs from a local sustainable shop instead of the usual plastic loot bags, and he proudly explained why it was better for the planet as he handed them out to his friends. The decorations (or lack of them)? He didn’t even notice. He was too busy having fun.
I’m still figuring it out. I don’t have all the answers. My kids keep reminding me that being present is way more important than making everything look perfect, and that teaching them to be part of the solution starts with how I show up.
For me, sustainability is more than the choices I make. It’s about being willing to see the impact of those choices and staying curious enough to keep learning and growing, even when it feels uncomfortable or messy.
So, what will your next choice say about the world you want to create?
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