10,000+ Visits, Five Countries, and One Free Ad: Let’s See What Happens

The other day, I shared some exciting news: NielFlamm.com has passed 10,000 page views, visits, and unique visitors. Thank you to everyone who has stopped by, watched a video, read a post, or followed along on this journey. I’m glad you’re here!

I’ve also mentioned that I’m offering 30 days of free advertising on the site. And maybe you’re thinking: “I don’t have anything to sell to Niel’s audience. Why would I advertise?”

Fair question. But advertising doesn’t have to be only about selling a product. Maybe you want people to discover your business, service, creative work, event, organization, or cause. Maybe you’re trying to reach a new audience, build recognition, or see whether your message connects with people in places you haven’t advertised before.

Here’s another reason to consider it: NielFlamm.com has an international audience. The top five viewer locations, in order, are:

1. United States

2. Singapore

3. Hong Kong

4. Germany

5. China

That means a business or organization in one of these places could use an ad to introduce itself to visitors elsewhere. A U.S. business might want to reach people in Singapore or Germany. A creator in Hong Kong might want more people in the United States to find their work. Or perhaps you simply want your name, project, or message to travel farther than it does today.

And there’s more: the site uses Linguise to translate content. In the last 30 days, it has handled more than 1 million words, over 10 million characters, and more than seven individual requests. The most commonly translated languages were Arabic, Dutch, Portuguese, Chinese, and German.

So your ad could be part of a site that welcomes visitors from around the world and offers content in multiple languages. It might be a print-style ad, a video, or another format that suits your message. We can talk about what you’re hoping to promote and come up with something that fits.

The offer is simple: advertise for 30 days for free. Try it, see whether people notice, and find out whether it impacts your bottom line. Since there’s no charge for the first 30 days, you can test the idea without paying for the experiment.

You have nothing to lose by starting a conversation. Let’s talk about what you’d like to promote and come up with a 30-day campaign together. Reach out through the Contact page at NielFlamm.com—and let’s see where the journey takes your message.

The Other Side of Acceptance: Caregiving, Family Resentment, and the Weight of Doing It All

In my last blog post, I wrote about acceptance. Specifically, the difficult conversation I had with Mom about her current situation, her health, and the possibility of moving into assisted living.

But there's another side of that coin.

Resentment.

And I realized today that I feel some resentment toward Mom, caregiving, and the rest of the family.

Let me explain.

How did I become the person doing all this?

Let's look at the circumstances.

I'm not currently working. I'm close by. I'm living in my parents' home. I have time available, at least when I'm not recovering from dialysis or dealing with my own medical issues.

My kids live in other states. I don't have a wife (there is an Airica, though). And somehow, this enormous responsibility of helping Mom has become something I've taken on.

Here's the important distinction: I chose this.

Nobody forced me. Nobody coerced me. Nobody held a meeting and assigned me the job of family caregiver.

I decided to visit Mom. I decided to help with the assisted living search. I decided to get involved with the financial arrangements, the appointments, the questions, the concerns, and all the other things that come with being a caregiver.

I made that decision.

But making the decision doesn't mean it never gets difficult. It doesn't mean I won't get tired, frustrated, or resentful.

And today, I felt quite a bit of resentment.

The clothes conversation

After visiting Mom and having the difficult conversation I wrote about in my previous post, I asked her if there was anything I could bring her.

She asked me to bring some clothes.

That seemed simple enough.

But I remembered that my brother and sister-in-law had said they were going to get her clothes and drop them off Saturday or Sunday. I wanted to make sure Mom wasn't confused about whether they had already visited or brought anything.

So I got in the car and texted them both.

Me: "Did you drop off clothes?"

Answer: "No, not yet"

Me: "Are you dropping off clothes today?"

Answer: "No, we r in Myrtle beach"

Fantastic.

You mentioned yesterday that you were getting clothes and would be dropping them off. Now you're in Myrtle Beach, about two hours away.

And that's when the resentment started bubbling up.

The list running through my head

I could feel the thoughts piling up:

• You said you were getting her clothes.

• You said you would drop them off.

• You can't visit her for more than an hour a day?

• Why did you need to go to Myrtle Beach today?

• What happened to the clothes?

• Am I the only one who is supposed to make sure everything gets done?

And that wasn't even the whole list.

There's also a brother in Colorado who said he’d come out to visit and help. That hasn't happened either.

Meanwhile, I'm here. I'm visiting. I'm asking questions. I'm looking at assisted living facilities. I'm trying to work through the financial arrangements. I'm dealing with the day-to-day conversations and complaints.

And I'm also trying to manage my own life and health.

I know everyone has their own schedules, responsibilities, and circumstances. I don't know everything that went into their decision to go to Myrtle Beach. But when someone says they'll do something and then doesn't, it's frustrating.

Especially when the responsibility keeps landing in the same place.

The resentment isn't really about a bag of clothes

Let's be clear. This isn't really about the clothes.

The clothes are just the latest example of something much bigger.

It's about expectations, commitments, and the feeling that the responsibility of caring for Mom is unevenly distributed.

I don't expect everyone to drop everything and spend every day at the facility. I understand that people have jobs, families, obligations, and lives of their own.

But there's a difference between having a busy life and saying you’ll do something and not following through.

And there's a difference between visiting Mom and actually helping with the responsibilities that come with caring for her.

Sometimes a visit is just a visit. Sometimes caregiving means making phone calls, arranging things, researching options, following up, handling finances, and managing the details nobody necessarily sees.

Those details add up.

And when you're the person handling most of them, it can feel pretty lonely.

I chose this, so what am I resentful about?

This is where I have to look at myself.

I chose to take on this role. I wasn't assigned it. I didn't have to be the person who visits, researches, coordinates, and tries to make things happen.

But I did.

Does that mean I have no right to feel frustrated when other family members don't follow through? No.

Does it mean I should expect everyone else to contribute in the same way I do? Probably not.

And does it mean I should keep score? That's where I need to be careful.

Resentment can become a dangerous thing. It can take a legitimate frustration and turn it into something that consumes far more energy than the original problem deserves.

I can spend the rest of the evening replaying the Myrtle Beach conversation, thinking about the clothes, the missed visits, and the brother in Colorado.

Or I can acknowledge that I'm frustrated, recognize what I can and cannot control, and decide what I’ll do next.

Time for another dose of acceptance

I wrote about acceptance in my previous post. Today, I realized I need to practice it myself.

I need to accept that my siblings may not participate the way I would like them to.

I need to accept that people make commitments and sometimes don't follow through.

I need to accept that I cannot make other people prioritize something the way I prioritize it.

And I need to accept that choosing to be Mom's caregiver doesn't mean I have to do everything without boundaries.

I can ask for help. I can communicate what needs to be done. I can be clear about what I can handle. And I can stop assuming that everyone else will approach this responsibility the way I do.

Most importantly, I need to be careful not to let resentment drive my decisions.

I want to help Mom because I chose to help Mom. I don't want to do it while carrying around a running list of everything everyone else hasn't done.

That's easier said than done, especially on days like today.

Acceptance doesn't mean pretending everything is fine

I can accept that my brother and sister-in-law went to Myrtle Beach. I can accept that my brother in Colorado hasn't made the trip yet. I can accept that my family may not show up in the way I hoped.

But acceptance doesn't mean I have to pretend that it doesn't bother me.

It doesn't mean I can't talk about expectations. It doesn't mean I can't ask people to follow through. And it certainly doesn't mean I have to take on every responsibility simply because I'm nearby.

I have my own health to manage. I have dialysis. I have recovery. I have relationships and a life outside the skilled nursing facility.

I need to remember that, too.

So today, after writing about acceptance, I discovered something else I need to work on.

Resentment.

And apparently, I need another helping of acceptance.

Maybe a large one.

Stay tuned. This caregiving journey continues, and I'm learning just as much about myself as I am about helping Mom.

Acceptance Is a Tough Pill to Swallow: Mom, Assisted Living, and a Difficult Conversation

Today started a little later than usual. It was after noon before I got moving. My body told me it needed the rest, and since I didn't have anywhere I needed to be right away, I listened. Sometimes that's the smartest thing you can do.

I finally got cleaned up (I haven't shaved in three days), hopped in the car, washed it, and headed to Costco to pick up one quick item. I was also thinking about grabbing an inexpensive lunch, but the line at the food counter was longer than I wanted to deal with.

Next stop: the skilled nursing facility to visit Mom.

When I arrived, a couple of CNAs or techs were taking her vitals. Everything seemed routine enough. Then the conversation started.

"The people here are mistreating me."

I've heard this song before. I entertained it for a moment, but it didn't take long for the conversation to go in several different directions. And that's when I decided we needed to have a difficult conversation.

So, buckle in. Here we go.

The conversation nobody wants to have

I told Mom that her current situation didn't happen overnight, and it didn't happen because someone randomly decided to put her in a skilled nursing facility.

For at least five years, she hadn't been seeing a doctor or taking medication. I asked her repeatedly:

"Did you see a doctor or take medication during those five years?"

The answer kept changing directions. First, it was about my father. Then it was about the facility. Then something else.

I brought it back to the question.

Eventually, I got the answer: "No."

My next question was simple:

"What did you expect to happen?"

Her answer? "Not this."

Well, I don't think anyone expects to have two strokes, potentially some smaller ones, and end up needing skilled nursing care. But medical consequences don't always arrive with a convenient warning label.

I also reminded her that the peaceful, comfortable ending we see portrayed in movies isn't necessarily how life works. Sometimes things get complicated. Sometimes the consequences are difficult, and sometimes they change just about everything.

The loss of autonomy

Mom told me she "just wants to be comfortable."

I understand that. Who doesn't?

But I also tried to explain something she doesn't seem to want to accept: she's lost a significant amount of independence and autonomy.

I compared the experience to being in a medical jail or prison. Not literally, of course, but in terms of how much control she has over her daily schedule.

In a skilled nursing facility, routines run the show. Meals happen at certain times. Showers, medications, therapy, activities, and even opportunities to go outside are often scheduled around staffing and the needs of the entire facility.

It's not like being home, where you can decide to make a sandwich at 10 p.m., take a shower whenever you feel like it, or change your plans because you don't feel like doing something.

Mom responded that she didn't know because she'd "never been to jail."

Fair enough. That statement would become interesting a little later.

My point was that she needs to recognize how she got here. I told her that she has to stop fighting the reality of her situation and blaming everyone else for it.

Acceptance: Something I learned in recovery

A concept in the recovery literature has stuck with me. It's on page 417, and it's about acceptance.

The idea is that acceptance can change the way we experience life. It doesn't mean we like everything that happens. It doesn't mean we approve of it. It means we stop fighting reality and start working with what is actually in front of us.

I explained to Mom that I could spend my days blaming other people for my above-the-knee amputation and my end-stage renal disease.

I could point fingers. I could complain about everything that happened. I could spend my time wishing my life were different.

But where would that get me?

My own decisions, and things I didn't do, contributed to where I am today. Once I began accepting my circumstances, life became easier to navigate. I found more peace and serenity.

I don't have to like dialysis. I don't have to like being an amputee. I don't have to enjoy the limitations that come with my medical situation.

But I can accept that this is my life today.

Not the life I had before. Not the life I wish I had—the life I have today.

And that distinction makes a difference.

I want Mom to understand that acceptance doesn't mean giving up. It means acknowledging where you are so you can figure out what to do next.

The jail conversation takes an interesting turn.

Mom then mentioned that she had thrown up and that nobody did anything about it.

I asked her, "Did you ask for a doctor?"

She said it would take two days.

"How do you know? Did you ask for one?"

Then came the response:

"They come faster in jail."

Wait a minute.

A few minutes earlier, she told me she didn't know anything about jail because she'd never been there. Now she's apparently familiar with the response times for medical care in correctional facilities?

This is where I brought up something I've discussed with her before: she tends to tell stories and embellish things. Sometimes the details change depending on where the conversation goes.

She says she doesn't make things up. I disagree.

I'm not going to pretend I know exactly why she does it. Still, when the stories keep changing, it becomes difficult to have a productive conversation about what is actually happening.

And that's frustrating, especially when we're trying to make decisions about her care.

Of course, if she's feeling sick or has thrown up, that deserves attention. I don't want legitimate medical concerns dismissed because of disagreements about the facility. Those things need to be reported to the nursing staff and addressed.

But we also need to separate an actual concern from a story that changes every time we discuss it.

The search for a place where everything is perfect

We eventually circled back to Mom saying that all she wants is to be happy.

I've told her before, and I'll say it again: she is never going to be 100% happy wherever she goes.

No facility will be exactly what she wants. The food won't always be perfect. The temperature might be too warm or too cold. The staff won't always arrive the second she presses the call button. There will be noise, lighting issues, schedules, and activities she doesn't like.

She tells me she's "not picky."

Folks, she is.

She complains about the food, the staff, the temperature, the lighting, the noise, the gym, and just about anything else that comes up. At some point, we have to acknowledge that the problem might not be entirely about the building or the people working there.

I keep coming back to the same word: acceptance.

I asked her where she wanted to go. Instead of answering, she went off on another tangent about my father.

And that's when I explained something else.

I've spent time researching and visiting assisted living facilities. I've put effort into figuring out what might work. I've been trying to find a place where she can have more independence and receive the support she needs.

But I cannot guarantee that she'll be happy there.

I can't promise that the food will be perfect, the staff will be perfect, the temperature will be perfect, or that every day will meet her expectations.

I can help find a place. I cannot manufacture happiness.

The decision is now hers.

I have an appointment with my father this Thursday to work on establishing a trust so that funds can be used to pay for Mom's assisted living care.

This is a step toward making a transition possible. It's not about me getting money. It's about making sure the money is available for Mom's housing, care, and related expenses.

But I also told Mom that she needs to decide what she actually wants.

If she doesn't want to move to assisted living, she needs to tell me.

If she doesn't want any of this, then she can come home. From a practical standpoint, that would actually be easier for me. I wouldn't have to keep driving around, touring facilities, researching options, and coordinating another move.

I don't mind visiting her. I don't mind helping her. But I do need her to participate in the process.

I cannot spend all this time trying to arrange a better living situation if she's not willing to consider it or make a decision.

I told her she has until Tuesday, when I don't have dialysis, to decide.

That's the deadline I've given her.

Acceptance applies to me, too.

Here's the part I have to remind myself about.

Acceptance isn't just something I'm asking Mom to practice. It applies to me, too.

I have to accept that I cannot control what she says, what she thinks, what she complains about, or whether she decides to move.

I can provide information. I can research facilities. I can help arrange the finances. I can visit. I can listen.

But I cannot make her accept her circumstances.

I also have to accept that my life has limitations. Between dialysis, my own medical needs, and everything else happening, I have to be mindful of how much I take on.

I want to help Mom. I want her to have a comfortable place to live and the best quality of life possible under the circumstances.

But I also need to maintain some peace in my own life.

And sometimes that means having a difficult conversation, setting a deadline, and letting someone else decide what happens next.

So, Mom has until Tuesday.

Thursday, Dad and I have the appointment about the trust.

What happens next? Well, that's still to be determined.

Stay tuned. This story isn't over.

Day 147: 147 Days, One Research Request, and a Stock Price Below $2 — Is Anyone at Nextdoor Listening?

Another day, another email to Nextdoor leadership.

Today marks Day 147 since I first requested the complete research study and methodology referenced in a Nextdoor blog post. Not the public-facing article. Not another link to the same information I've already read. I'm asking for the actual study and the methodology behind it.

And here we are, 147 days later.

You would think this would be a relatively simple request. Either the study is available, or it isn't. If it is available, send it. If it isn't, say so. If Jacob Chavis is no longer the right person to contact, tell me who is.

Apparently, getting that simple answer is proving quite a challenge.

The problem isn't just the missing study.

I've said this before, but I'll say it again: the lack of a response is becoming a story of its own.

When a company publishes research and identifies someone to contact for additional information, it creates an expectation that someone will actually respond. I'm not asking for confidential information, trade secrets, or access to Nextdoor's internal systems. I'm asking for the referenced research, which was reportedly available upon request.

If there are restrictions on sharing it, explain them. If you’ve overlooked the request, acknowledge it. If someone else handles research inquiries, introduce them.

Silence doesn't answer the question. It just creates more questions about communication and accountability.

And then there's the stock price.

Following this week's earnings report, NXDR continued its downward trend, closing Friday below $2.

That's worth paying attention to.

I don't claim to know precisely why investors are reacting the way they are. A stock price can move for many reasons, and I don't have access to every investor's thinking. But I do think there are legitimate questions worth asking.

• After 15 years, why has Nextdoor struggled to establish consistent profitability?

• Are increases in revenue and weekly active users translating into sustainable business performance?

• Are new AI-powered features creating meaningful value for neighbors and advertisers?

• Are small businesses getting the tools and information they need to measure advertising effectiveness?

• How does Nextdoor balance automated moderation with the needs of local publishers and community members?

• Does leadership's approach to communication and accountability inspire confidence?

These are questions and possibilities, not declarations about what is driving the stock price. But investors have every reason to look beyond product announcements and user growth. They want to understand the business, its prospects, and its path to sustainable profitability.

I'd rather write a different story.

Here's the part that I think gets lost in all of this.

I would much rather write a blog post saying that someone at Nextdoor finally reached out, provided the study, answered the questions, and helped resolve the issue.

That would be a much more interesting update than another day-counting exercise.

I have offered to speak by phone, through video, or even over virtual coffee. I'm open to a constructive conversation. I want Nextdoor to succeed. I also believe that asking questions, providing feedback, and expecting companies to respond are reasonable parts of doing business.

This isn't about demanding special treatment. It's about a company following through on an invitation it made publicly.

My request, once again

So, as I sent in today's email to Nirav Tolia and the Nextdoor leadership team, I'm asking three straightforward questions:

1. Can someone provide the complete research study and methodology?

2. If Jacob Chavis is no longer the appropriate contact, who is?

3. If the study cannot be shared, can someone explain why?

That's it.

No elaborate presentation. No complicated negotiation. Just an answer.

Day 147. The request is still outstanding.

Nextdoor, the ball is in your court. I'd be happy to write a different ending to this story.

👉 Follow the ongoing case study and the latest updates at NielFlamm.com/blog.

Mom, Roommate Rumors, and the Art of Separating Fact from Fiction

So here I am again, sitting with Mom at the skilled nursing facility, having another conversation.

You never quite know where these conversations will go. Sometimes they're about her recovery, sometimes about what she wants to eat, and sometimes they take a few unexpected turns.

Today was no exception.

Wait, I Was There on Tuesday!

In a previous post, I mentioned that Mom told me I hadn't visited her in a week.

I reminded her that I had actually been there on Tuesday.

Then I remembered something else.

On that Tuesday visit, I handed her nurse, Coco, and her CNA, Heather, bottles of tequila I had picked up at the grocery store in Cozumel, Mexico, while on my cruise.

So, apparently, I wasn't just there. I was making deliveries!

I guess the tequila should have been a pretty memorable clue.

It's interesting how visit details can get lost or mixed up. I know institutional life can make the days blend together, but sometimes I wonder what Mom actually remembers.

The Story About Dotty

Then our conversation moved to her roommate, Dotty.

Mom started telling me that Dotty was dying.

Naturally, I asked how she knew.

Her explanation?

"Dotty isn't moving."

Well, that's quite a diagnosis.

Mom continued, explaining that Dotty would be at the skilled nursing facility forever. She also had plenty to say about Dotty's family, including that they didn't care about her.

There were other details and observations, too.

I listened, but I wasn't sure how much of what I was hearing was factual and how much was Mom's interpretation or imagination.

I told her something pretty straightforward:

I can't control what Dotty's family does.

I don't know their circumstances, their relationship with Dotty, or what's happening outside the facility. And neither does Mom necessarily.

There may be perfectly reasonable explanations for things she sees or doesn't see.

I don't want to turn every conversation into an investigation, but I also don't want to accept every story as fact.

Why Does Mom Make Things Up?

Here's where the conversation became a little more personal.

My mother tends to make things up.

Actually, calling it a tendency probably understates it. From my experience, it's something she does habitually.

I've noticed it over the years, and it can make conversations challenging because I sometimes find myself trying to figure out what's real, what's exaggerated, and what's been added along the way.

Today, I decided to ask her about it.

I tried to get to the root of why she does it.

First, I asked her whether she was trying to make me feel guilty.

After all, she had just reminded me that I supposedly hadn't visited in a week, even though I had been there Tuesday.

I wanted to know if there was some underlying reason for these stories or comments.

Her answer was no.

I explained that I don't feel guilty. I'm doing everything I can for her. In fact, I'm doing more than my best.

I'm visiting, advocating, researching assisted living facilities, dealing with financial arrangements, managing my own health, and trying to keep everything moving forward.

I can't manufacture more hours in the day.

I can't be in two places at once.

And I can't control everything that happens inside or outside the facility.

Then I asked another question.

Did she learn this behavior from her parents?

Again, she said no.

So much for my amateur attempt at family psychology!

I Hope I Don't Pick Up This Trait

The conversation left me thinking.

Why do people embellish stories? Why do they create narratives about other people? Is it attention? Is it a way of expressing frustration? Is it an attempt to make sense of circumstances they don't fully understand?

I don't have the answers.

And I certainly don't want to diagnose Mom based on conversations like these.

There could be several explanations, including changes in memory, perception, or cognition. Given everything she's been through medically, I think it's worth keeping an open mind rather than assuming every inaccurate statement is intentional.

Still, it can be frustrating.

Especially when I'm trying to have a straightforward conversation and suddenly find myself sorting through a collection of claims that may or may not be accurate.

And here's my biggest takeaway:

I hope I don't pick up this trait.

I already have enough going on without developing a habit of creating my own versions of events!

Another Day, Another Conversation

That's the thing about visiting Mom.

There are good moments, frustrating moments, funny moments, and conversations that leave me scratching my head.

I want her to recover as much as possible. I want her to have a good quality of life. I want to help her find the right living arrangement and make sure she has the resources she needs.

But I also have to recognize that I can't control everything she says, thinks, remembers, or believes.

I can listen.

I can ask questions.

I can clarify what I know.

And sometimes, I can simply change the subject.

And perhaps next time, I'll bring another bottle of tequila for Coco and Heather.

At least I know that part of Tuesday actually happened!

One thing is certain: life with Mom still provides plenty of material for the blog.