Health & Lifestyle · Healthy Habits · Mental Health

The Photo that Sparked my 50lb Weight Loss Journey

While looking through the photos stored on my phone the other day, I came across the picture that sparked my weight loss journey back in June of 2024. I spent a few minutes looking at the person on my screen, the girl frozen in time in front of Buckingham Fountain in Chicago’s Grant Park on a sunny day in June. She didn’t know it then, but her life was about to change.

In the days after we got home from Chicago, that picture in front of Buckingham Fountain was like a magnet for my attention. After a youth and much of my adulthood spent comparing my own size to that of others, I had at least learned the toxicity in that practice, but what about comparing myself to myself? The girl in the picture was a size I had never before associated with me. Still, I took the image at its face value. That’s what I look like now, I thought, that’s me.

Oddly enough, as someone who struggled constantly with weight and body image, I didn’t dislike the picture. The fountain was beautiful and I was happy to have documented my being there and to reflect on my memories of our trip to Chicago. Now, was I over the moon about how I looked in the picture? I was not, my friends, but what’s the use in worrying too much over something you can’t change, right? Hmm…

I don’t know at what point after that the mysterious magic began to sparkle in my brain, but begin it did.

How do skinny people do it?

Why am I always hungry?

Am I actually always hungry?

These were the new questions in my head that day in June that sparked the experiment that has led to my fifty pound weight loss and many successful, comfortable months of maintenance.

I was convinced before starting this journey that there was something different about my brain that prevented me from being able to lose weight and to maintain weight loss. I had tried Weight Watchers multiple times in the past with success while on the program, only to have no idea what I was doing when it came to understanding healthy eating, portion sizes, hydration, and proper nutrition balance as soon as I stopped paying for the subscription. That’s how they getcha, I guess. I even wondered if I had a food addiction that resulted in me eating too much at every meal, causing me to experience discomfort and even physical pain for a majority of the days of each week. I was afraid I couldn’t change. I was afraid any changes I made wouldn’t last long. I was afraid. Period.

From where I am now, reflecting on my start in all this, I recognize the damage that inflating your fears can have on starting out on a weight loss journey or any monumental task, for that matter. If you’re too afraid to start, you won’t start. If you’re dismissive of your own ability to learn, you won’t learn. I pretended my fears were facts at the time. I blamed my brain for always “making me feel hungry”, not taking the time to figure out why that was. I decided that day, looking at that picture, that I didn’t care if it would be hard or uncomfortable. In fact, I knew it would be. I just wanted to understand the answers to my questions and I wanted to be able to get to the bottom of them myself.

Getting started was uncomfortable and confusing; I won’t sugar coat it. It was anything but easy. Still, the discomfort and the sensation of being out of my depth when it came to understanding my hunger cues and adjusting my eating habits was well worth the learning process. If understanding your own body’s nutritional needs is something you strive for and have struggled with, I urge you not to let your fear of failure and discomfort stop you from starting on your own journey, even if you have started it many times before.

In the first few days, as I was just getting started, I really focused on trying to listen to my body, whatever that means, I told myself. I ate meals without distraction of my phone or the television. I searched the internet to learn more about how hunger pangs can manifest. I learned that thirst can present similarly to hunger pangs and found that to be a revelation in and of itself. I learned that my hunger pangs don’t usually present with a growling stomach as some people’s do, but rather with irritability, a headache, fatigue, or some combination of those.

Those first few days of the process, I worried that in order to keep up my new healthy habits long term, I would have to feel uncomfortable and hungry for forever. As the week wore on, however, the discomfort subsided gradually and the constant food noise quieted down to the point where I could ignore it by finding my dopamine hits in writing, watching a YouTube Video, reading a book, or having a glass of water, seltzer, or some tea.

After a couple of weeks, I was surprised at how little food my body actually needed to function comfortably versus the enormous amounts I had been consuming prior to getting started. I wondered if I was eating too little even, at one point, but reminded myself that I would be able to tell that by listening to my body and my brain- by paying attention to my food as I ate- the texture of it, the taste, the smell, the colors, by recognizing when I had satisfied my hunger pangs to the point where I could get through the next three to four hours comfortably. Through trial and error, I learned the magic of portion control, Goldilocksing my way to the sweet spot for my own satiety.

I took comfort in the fact that I didn’t have to count calories or track what I was consuming. I just used smaller plates and bowls that I already had that made it easier to eyeball portions that were the right size for me. I weighed myself on Thursday mornings every other week. It felt different from dieting I had done in the past, in that I was still eating pretty much all the foods that I regularly enjoyed. In the first month, I did my best to pay attention to which of those foods did a good job of satiating my hunger and which ones did not, which ones induced cravings that weren’t real hunger, and which ones actually made me hungrier, surprisingly enough. Cereal and chicken nuggets had to go for a while there, though I can eat them mindfully now.

After the first few days, my new eating habits started to feel more normal and natural. After a few weeks, I was noticing the first of many “non-scale victories”. I relished the fact that some of my common ailments such as heartburn, bloating, and stomachaches hadn’t plagued me since before starting my experiment. I opened my handbag and removed the little bottle of Tums that lived there because all it had been doing for weeks at that point was taking up space.

Was it really this simple this whole time, I thought? If so, why was it so hard to wrap my head around before?

It’s funny how simple some of the hardest things can be, how the littlest changes, when made consistently, can lead to huge differences. Now, don’t get me wrong. When I say “simple”, I don’t mean easy. For many, I have come to learn, learning proper nutrition habits, learning how to identify your true hunger cues, and understanding when you are what people call “full” can be like reading an instruction manual in a language you only understand a few words of.

Let’s talk about that word full for a minute. It is my strong opinion that this word is dangerously ambiguous. For example, my personal interpretation and understanding of the word full before beginning my weight loss journey was identical to the sensation of feeling overstuffed. I have since reframed this thinking to interpret that what, let’s call “naturally thin” people really mean when they say they feel full is that they simply recognize they are no longer hungry; their body has consumed the nutrients and energy it needs to get through the next three to four to however-many hours until their next meal. This was a monumental “light bulb” realization for me and has been really helpful in checking in with myself during both my weight loss and my maintenance stages, to the point where I have only reached that uncomfortable “overstuffed” sensation a handful of times in the past year.

For many months during my weight loss journey, I sought out motivation via a Reddit thread called “r/loseit”. A lot of posters in the thread were working on their goals to reach a healthy weight, to improve their mobility, and / or to reverse the negative health effects that can often accompany obesity. Some posters in the thread had goals of losing 100+ pounds. Some posters had already lost impressive amounts of weight and were successful long term in their maintenance. I found their posts so inspiring that I would pop into the thread and read the new posts daily and it would give me that little extra umph when I needed it from time to time.

In some of my daily visits to the r/loseit thread, I read stories of people who were raised to have a “clean plate mentality”, some posters even having been made to remain at the dinner table for hours as children, until they consumed every scrap of food on their plate, even if they were overstuffed, “Because there are starving children in Africa.” Does this sound familiar to anyone? Are you walking to the fridge right now? Are you opening your snack drawer? Was that a bag of chips I heard? Maybe just stop for a second and have a drink of water instead and know you have a friend in your corner on the other end of this post who wants you to know that you are a miracle. You are good enough. You are loved. Food is meant to nourish your body. It is not meant to be an emotional coping mechanism.

Stories such as the one mentioned above made me realize how much of an influence your learned eating habits from childhood can affect your relationship with food as an adult, not to mention your relationship between your eating habits and your emotions. If “cleaning your plate” prevented punishment as a child, I imagine it can be really hard to reshape your eating habits as an adult. I, thankfully, was not raised with negativity around food like that. Reading through the loseit thread, however, I learned that some people are fighting these really negative emotions and memories as they try to navigate nutrition and reduced portions. Sometimes feelings of sadness, boredom, loneliness, and inadequacy can signal as hunger which can be really confusing if you don’t have a handle on your true physical hunger cues. Despite this, those weight loss champions of Reddit are still losing. They can do it. They are doing it and that’s badass as hell. 🏆

While physical conditions, illness, medication and age can all play roles in how difficult approaching weight loss can be, I am convinced that a lot of what leads to obesity is not these limitations, but rather the lack of understanding when it comes to the basics of nutrition and understanding your physical hunger cues versus your emotional hunger cues. For instance, in my Reddit visits, I learned that it is news to many finding out that drinks such as soda have calories. This always seemed like common sense to me, but I have learned that very few things actually fall under the realm of common sense. So much of our habits are learned. Parents have the job of passing on their habits to the next generation. It’s helpful when those habits are healthy, but unfortunately, that’s not always the case. Sometimes you have to ask yourself the tough questions. You have to pay attention. You have to learn, yourself, and guess what? You can do it.

*If this post resonates with just one person, it will be worth me sharing a picture that I was very hesitant to share here. So much has changed since Chicago, but that really is where this all began and I am so grateful for the whole learning experience for which this picture was the catalyst. Thank you for reading this post and for reading all of my posts that served as little dopamine hits throughout this life-changing ride. You are so appreciated.

Mental Health · Poetry · Social Media · Travel

On Crickets and Fireflies

I was reminded last week, by some truly lovely friends, that a handful of people actually read this. They brought up that I’ve been “pretty quiet over there” for a while. I was surprised that anybody noticed, to tell you the truth. I’ve been a little blocked with the personal stuff lately, see, or maybe just a little more reluctant to share for worry that people aren’t interested because that’s how it seems when you send personal writing out into the world and get crickets back. It’s pretty quiet from where I sit too sometimes. That’s just part of the process though, I tell myself. If people want to engage, they will. If they don’t, they won’t and that’s just fine. I need the outlet either way sometimes, the one way radio, so to speak.

The inspiration for the stuff that seems to do well with my readers on here, whom I don’t actually know- poetry (which still surprises me) dried up soon after I nixed coffee over two months back, which I don’t really understand, other than to know that I’ve never felt more emotionally stable than I do these days. Wouldn’t it be nice if the urge to write some rhymes or freeform comes back and I get to keep this nice, calm brain? Is life that good? I sure hope so.

It’s been hot here in NJ for the past few days after feeling like March for weeks beforehand. I was tired of the rain and the cold, but I wouldn’t mind if the cool, stormy weather came calling again, looking for a place to crash after a flight delay.

We took a trip to Miramar Beach, FL this month. I didn’t write about it and I probably won’t beyond this. It was restful and fun with a lot of family time that made me smile and a few dips in the turquoise Gulf that’ll have me missing that beautiful, warm water with each icy plunge into the Atlantic this summer.

As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, I was lucky enough to see some really wonderful friends last week, then some more later in the week, one of whom I hadn’t caught up with in many years. I’m pretty terrible at keeping in touch, it turns out, other than writing here and even that’s not been so good lately. I don’t even use social media anymore. It felt too inauthentic, the line between “friends” and strangers too blurred.

When I’m with my people face to face, I try to make up for lost time. It’s always so refreshing to see a familiar face, to hear their laugh or tone of voice, or to catch the unique little mannerisms or humor that make my loved ones who they are. It’s like watching fireflies in the indigo night, little blips of brilliance that transform the dark to magic.

I hope you are all happy and staying cool and thank you, as always, for reading. And thank you, Jean, for calling me out. I needed it. 💖

Health & Lifestyle · Healthy Habits · Mental Health · Minimalism

Reflections on My No Buy Month

The house is a mess today. I’ve decided there’s nothing wrong with that and I don’t plan on cleaning much. Maybe tomorrow. And that’s a hard maybe.

Yesterday was tough. February’s been a little tough so far, actually, but I think I’ve walked into some realizations, some signs marking the next turnoff to get back on the right track. I’ve got the GPS volume turned up high so I don’t miss it!

I completed my no shopping challenge with success in January and welcomed February with relief. I think I threw some stuff from my Amazon wish list into my cart at like 12:06AM on February 1st and immediately hit Proceed to Checkout. Granted, these purchases were needs rather than wants, but still, pretty embarrassing in hindsight that it only took six minutes into February to shop. Anybody else like this? If so, hope’s not lost! First, though, some background.

I quit coffee altogether for five months this past spring and summer. Before that, coffee was definitely something I relied on. I understand caffeine withdrawal like a pro. I’ve had splitting headaches that I didn’t understand until it hit me that I hadn’t had my coffee in X amount of hours. The fix was easy and all too accessible. Coffee is something I consume in moderation now, like everything else in my diet, and I try to remember the sense of dependance, anxiety, and physical discomfort that coffee represented for me in the past when I relied on it too much.

Hitting Proceed to Checkout at 12:06AM on February 1st and the subsequent dopamine release I experienced reminded me of those accessible caffeine fixes. Maybe shopping wasn’t just a habit. No; I recognized a problem.

Not buying stuff in January felt freeing. I wasn’t waiting on packages or tracking shipping. I didn’t have to drive anywhere to drop off returns. I didn’t have the shame I experience from the buy and return cycle. In January, the saving was the addiction and it felt great and I’m not just talking about money. Think about the time, the energy, the decisions that go into the cycle of shopping, or any bad habit- for that matter. And yet, shopping, once an available outlet again, overtook that sense of peace? Why? I had to get to the bottom of it.

I allowed myself to buy a few needs for the first few days of February, but soon found my wants encroaching. Precious time was lost to the scroll and limited mental energy- to decision fatigue. I have what I need! I tried to shout it in my head, but it came out meek. I preferred how I felt in January. I wanted that peace again, that time, that energy. I set a modest budget for the rest of the month for shopping, wondering if maybe the total deprivation of January was what led to “the itch” to shop as soon as January ended.

Now, let’s talk yesterday. Yesterday, I made a pact with myself to nip this habit in the bud and replace it with more constructive practices. I found myself distracted throughout the day with the craving to head to Marshall’s to buy things that I don’t need. Why? Procrastination, discomfort. When we have things that are difficult that we are supposed to be doing, it is uncomfortable. Discomfort is trigger numéro uno for me when it comes to giving in to bad habits. I learned that in my diet. I learned that in my creative pursuits. Heck, I’m writing this now and it’s not comfortable. I get help out of reading things like this, though, so in hopes that at least one of you will too, here are my reflections on the matter.

Yesterday afternoon, I got dressed with the thought of going to Marshall’s while simultaneously warring with myself to not go to Marshall’s. I left my home and went to my car. What are you doing? Just where do you think you’re going, missy? I said to myself. I got to the first stop sign and told myself, go for a walk instead. Get some energy out. Get some exercise, and maybe this idiotic craving will go away or at least become less noticeable.

By the magic of the gods I listened to me; which doesn’t happen nearly enough, I am sorry to say. I went to the park and started my walk. I ran into a woman I now know by name as I frequently see her on my walks. She said hi and called me by my name and said it was good to see me. That little bit of connection, that little tiny bit of recognition made me smile. I wouldn’t have gotten that at Marshall’s and I would have been short one smile yesterday. Thank you, Pamela.

I walked for about forty-five minutes and as I did, my thoughts turned to things other than shopping. I thought of minimalism and frugality, of mindfulness and the people in my life. I thought of the things that bring positivity and things that bring the opposite. I thought of things that fall into both categories- the people too. I made a mental list. At the end of my walk, I felt calmer. I went home and did some writing I’d been putting off. I watched an old Kate Kaden video on frugality and minimalism. I read some posts of Leo Babauta’s on his blog Zen Habits. I inched toward my center again. I felt my feet firmly on the ground.

This past year, I have learned a lot about myself, accepted a few glaring shortcomings, and been hit by realizations that probably could have been addressed by going to therapy at some point in time, but hey, maybe someday. And that’s a hard maybe. It takes a brave soul to speak your truth out loud to a real life person and I don’t know if I’d exactly be sorted into Gryffindor any old day of the week. I tend to internalize and the wisdom dawns slower, but it dawns all the same.

If you are a person who struggles with addiction and would like help, I hope you can recognize the strength that comes with reaching out to a loved one, a friend, a professional, a support group, heck-even reddit. There is not shame in seeking support and you are absolutely worth others’ time and energy.

Thanks for reading, friends. You are so loved and appreciated. Wishing you a February full of strength, clarity, gratitude, and all the good things! 💖

Health & Lifestyle · Mental Health · Music · Reviews & Reflections

Light

This one might stay just for me. I don’t know yet. If you are reading now, then that’s obviously not the case.

Yesterday was an anxious, distracted day, for no reason in particular. Bombarded with cravings to snack, drink coffee, and to shop for a new winter coat (despite not knowing what my current size is, let alone what it will be- come the actual colder months) while I was meant to be editing an unfinished piece introduced weighty doubt into the morning that carried on until I drifted off to sleep last night. I acknowledge that I am not even in the same time zone as the realm of perfection and some days are just bound to be spent lost in struggle city without a map. Maybe I should have given in to one of those cravings and the day wouldn’t have been such a write-off, but I resisted whether that was the right call or not. Take that as you will.

Yesterday evening I was on my own while Mike was out and I decided to revisit Beyonce’s “II Most Wanted” having enjoyed it while listening to her full album “Cowboy Carter” a week ago. The song features Miley Cyrus. The sound of Miley’s soothing, silky rasp reminded me of lyrics for one of her own songs so I queued up the “Used to Be Young” video next. 

I watched a bleary eyed Miley play her vulnerability to the camera and I got chills from the top of my head down to my elbows. The video reminded me of those times when you catch yourself in the mirror when you are feeling low and suddenly see your struggle magnified. It felt like Miley was singing to herself in a mirror, guiding herself back up from the bottom of the spiral. It was inspirational and today I’m going to guide myself back up from my own depths.

My lack of productivity yesterday feels like a setback going into today and I’m just as stuck as I was when I sat down with my lap desk and laptop yesterday morning. Today, I chose a different spot. Sometimes you have to follow the inspiration to find motivation and my tiny desk looked inspiring in the filtered morning light beneath the windows in the living room. So, I am writing this sitting on the floor with my keyboard on my tiny desk and my laptop propped up on a stand atop one of our living room end tables. When my hips start to scream and my feet go numb, I’ll move. After that, there’s no telling if the magic of the location will wear off or if I simply need to wait for the pins and needles to subside to resume my work for the day in the correct place. It’s always a mystery. Setting goals is cute when it comes to making art, but art isn’t always cooperative when it comes to following the rules. 

Remember to be kind to yourself. Your flaws are part of you. Your flaws give you dimension. Balance. They make the sparkly moments more dazzling by comparison. 

Maybe this won’t be just for me, after all. I can’t be the only one who feels like this some days. I mean, Miley feels like this some days. If you needed this today, we’re in this together, my friend. If you didn’t and you’re thinking man, what a wackadoodle, don’t worry; I’m alright. Where there are shadows, there’s always light.

Health & Lifestyle · Healthy Habits · Mental Health

How to be Happy

While organizing my digital files, I stumbled across a document titled How to be Happy. The memory of creating that document rushed back to me and gave my heart a less than gentle squeeze.

Once again, I was seated at our Ikea table in our Williamsburg apartment, trying to grasp any sort of hold on joy. I was working in a job that made me unhappy, living in a city that was someone else’s dream home, and had lost pretty much all touch with my creativity.

The list I wrote called out the dreams, the have nots, the wants. Some items were simple such as move to an apartment with laundry access. Some were more difficult like find a new job in a creative or educational field, live by the water, or get back into writing. I’d wandered off the marked trail and was lost amid a dense forest of skyscrapers, high rises, brownstones, and warehouses- all my breadcrumbs scattered at my feet, awaiting someone to find and rescue me.

There’s a line from Trampled by Turtles’ Widower’s Heart that resonates with me every time I hear it, “New York was a rough place that treated me well.” Sometimes it makes me feel a little guilty for having wanted to leave.

I did a lot of growing up in New York. It was a haven from Baltimore throughout college and it was home afterwards. It facilitated me meeting a group of friends that I can’t imagine my future without. Though grimy, tough, and loud, New York was good to me and I will always love it deeply. It’s not home anymore, however, and I’ve got to admit I prefer it that way.

Live by the water.

We were deep into searching for a new apartment in Brooklyn in January 2020 when a home that we’d been eyeing just for fun dropped in price on Zillow. We scheduled a viewing, rented a car from JFK, and took a drive out to New Jersey just to see it. The pictures hadn’t done the view justice, an observation since echoed by every new visitor we’ve ever had.

We went for drinks at a local brewery to think the idea over knowing it would be crazy if we bought the first place we ever looked at after having looked exclusively at apartments for rent in New York. We were renters. Renters didn’t have to deal with home repairs. Renters didn’t have to pay property taxes. Renters lived in tiny apartments in Brooklyn hoping to be able to afford a miniscule view of the East River.

The idea of buying seemed more sensical as we talked and sipped, but often harkened back to but it would be crazy… right?

It all came down to happiness. While New York was good to me and Mike would never feel the need to live anywhere else, he knew, more than I did, that I’d be much happier living by the water and, as is often the case, he was right.

I am a person who puts myself last in most situations. Why? Because I don’t like putting other people in a place where they have to experience discomfort. I’d rather be the uncomfortable one. It’s fucked up, yes, but it’s true and I’m working on it. Sometimes it takes someone else looking in to notice the effect of constant self-pressure. Sometimes it takes someone else to open their mouth and say it’s ok; we can leave New York. Sometimes it takes someone who loves you a whole lot to make you feel worthy of the change you know is necessary.

So we did something crazy. We bought the first and only home we’d thought about purchasing and moved to New Jersey. We escaped living through the pandemic in New York and instead lived in a place with fresh air and quiet outside the door. I like to think that that wasn’t a terrible consolation for Mike.

My love for New Jersey has very deep roots. There was something about coming home that was instantly calming- something about the water and the moonrise and the trees. I started to write again even though I didn’t feel confident in it. Confidence comes from practice. Confidence comes from having the courage to try.

I thought I’d make a new list to stumble across sometime in the future, perhaps a more general one in case you happen to stumble across it too.

How to be Happy:

  1. Be kind to your body. You’ve only got one.
  2. Prioritize sleep.
  3. Take difficult responsibilities one day or one step or one micro-step at a time.
  4. Move your body every day in a way that works for you.
  5. Commit to exercising good bodily and dental hygiene practices.
  6. Don’t overspend on finances, time, and energy.
  7. End each day with a positive thought or reflection. If you can’t think of one, look up positive affirmations online to jog your memory.
  8. Don’t bury your emotions. Listen to them. Voice them. Address them. You feel them for a reason.
  9. Forgive yourself for your mistakes. You are human. Erring is inevitable, but you are capable of learning and improving.
  10. Know that change is possible, no matter how difficult.
  11. Keep empty space on your calendar. It’s ok to say no to social engagements.
  12. Take a break from screens. Read, go for a walk, listen to music, work on a puzzle, make a new recipe, whatever puts a smile on your face and keeps your brain occupied.
  13. Stop comparing yourself to others. Your uniqueness is amazing and beautiful. Anyone who says otherwise doesn’t deserve an ounce of your attention.
  14. Don’t expect the worst of people. Chances are you are harder on yourself than anyone else would dare to be.
  15. Know that someone, somewhere loves you exactly as you are (likely lots of someones in lots of somewheres).

I hope this post helps you if you are feeling lost in the forest like I was. Your happiness is a worthy cause and it is possible. Breathe. Allow yourself to feel everything, even the difficult things. Give yourself a break. Scatter your breadcrumbs at your feet. You are capable of your own rescue.

Health & Lifestyle · Mental Health

Not So Cozy

This one’s not so cozy. For that, I apologize.

I am craving joy and coziness and am having trouble finding them amidst this sticky July heat on the east coast and the healthy habits that I’ve started to get used to. My reading material of late evokes feelings opposite of coziness thanks to the haunting story-spinning of the talented Stephen King. His images seep into my dreams in the quiet, dark night and rest upon my chest like the Nightmare in Henry Fuseli’s painting.

The family house in rental season is reminding me of past triggers that have caused my brain wires to overheat and shut down, but at least the place won’t actually try to devour me- right? I, myself, am ravenous for a cold breeze that lasts a week or more and a sweater that’s (hopefully) a little too big now.

I want to shut off the overactive mode of my imagination for a while and get a sense of what it’s like to feel calm in my own head for a prolonged period of time. I have a surplus of time and should be calm. And somehow, I seem to collect disquietude as a hobby in the summer.

Movement and fresh, dry air are the best medicine, but the air is wet and stagnant outside and hums with curious insects. Walking inland is endurable but not pleasant in this heat and walking by the ocean coaxes the sand fleas from where they’ve burrowed in the cemented shoreline as each new wave draws close.

Inside there is AC and writing to be done, tea to be brewed, and books Stephen King didn’t write. I’ll crack one of those open tonight like a cold drink and lock the nightmares out of the bedroom before my head sinks to the pillow. A healthy dose of sleep and sweet enough dreams- all I need to lighten the irrational burdens of summer.

Health & Lifestyle · Mental Health

Henry, Jack, John, and Jo

When I left work on the last day of my old job last summer, I cried on my short drive home, parked, composed myself, and that was that.

Last year was a rollercoaster that sort of coasted on the downs for more than was amusing and had me fighting for my misvalued worth for months in reaction to changes in salary structure for roles like mine at my place of work – a battle that I ultimately lost. Let’s just say there was a lot of crying in the shower. I was already down when the final kick came, but it was time to go and I was braced for it so it didn’t hurt too bad and the bruising was minimal.

Despite the low points, I still loved that place and it was rough to say goodbye.

Rewind to about a week and a half before that last day. I had just had a meeting to plead my final case, which you now know did not yield the desired outcome. It just wasn’t in the cards. I sort of expected that already, but I had to try everything. After work, I went to my family’s shore house to see relatives visiting from California and my cousin, having been pre-warned that I was probably going to have a difficult day at work, took my drink order in advance.

“What do you want when you get here?” she asked.

“An Old Fashioned,” I said.

“You got it,” she said.

I walked in the back door of the house and she handed me two, one for each hand, with a look of determination to make the night fun. That is love and that is what my family is like. They will pick you up when you are down and they will match your level, sip for sip the entire way.

The bottle of Jack Daniels was pretty full when I arrived that evening. It sat in the middle of the dark stained wooden buffet in the dining room. My uncle, aunts, mom, husband, cousin and her fiancée soon each had an Old Fashioned in front of them too. The glasses were warm honey in the glow of the chandelier fixture, adorned with delicately peeled orange rinds. We reviewed my day together. We bolstered my self confidence to the point where I could smile instead of just look worried and unsettled. I told them what I’d stay for and they increased the amount as the conversation continued until we came to a mutual agreement on what was a reasonable full time salary for a person of my skill.

As the night wore on, the purple Five Crowns box made its way to the table and we began to play. The bottle of Jack grew increasingly dehydrated. We grew increasingly giddy. We listened to a John Denver inspired Spotify playlist.

“Country Roads, Take me home, To the place I belong…”

My unease lessened. I laughed a lot. There is no medicine better than being with your people. Whatever was going to happen would happen and it was out of my hands. I’d given it my best effort. I’d given it every effort. I wouldn’t let the fight take more from me than it already had. It didn’t really matter anyway because I had these amazing people, a glass full of topaz, and cheeks that were sore from laughing.

I think in my head I knew how it would go. If it was in the cards, it wasn’t in my hand and I wasn’t ready for another round.

When I got in my car on my last day of work, I allowed myself to cry for the drive home. I got home and watched Little Women. I met Jo March. Jo was a writer. She was brave and she was told no. I was brave and I was told no for other things. So, might as well write like Jo.

Health & Lifestyle · Mental Health

Hare-Brained Tortoise

It begins with a static current of nerves.

A deep breath.

Doubt.

How far can my legs carry me today?

My lungs?

My brain?

Just breathe and stop thinking so much.

Were the Lisbon girls based on real people? Did Jeffrey Eugenides love them?

A few steps and wild electrons of thoughts bound about with no rhyme or reason.

What’s Amanda Bynes up to these days? I hope she’s ok.

The velocity is random.

Find your pace.

Find your breath.

Stop thinking so much.

Did Christopher Tolkien even like interpreting his father’s posthumous voice?

Gulp the air.

Hold it and release it slow.

Which of Judy Garland’s five husbands did she love most, if any?

Throat,

Lungs,

Diaphragm.

Again.

Lift your knees.

Is it possible for anyone to be as effortlessly cool as Sofia Coppola?

Wow, you’re not great at this, are you?

That woman was walking when I started and she just passed me.

Doubt.

Slow and steady.

Set your own pace.

This isn’t a race.

Get out of your head, Bethy.

Mo calls me Bethy. And Mike. Who else?

Summer’s coming up – Ugh, the house.

Three inches of water in the basement that time. I had to wash my sneakers.

You should think more.

You should think less.

Breathe.

Gulp the air

Swallow it slow.

No spotted lantern flies yet.

Breathe.

Lift your knees higher.

Is that jasmine or honeysuckle? Smells like Natalie’s wedding.

Relax your hands.

Do my feet pronate since that injury on the train in 2017?

Focus on the path.

Careful on the sand.

That scar from Bradley Beach is still there after three years. Crazy.

Who are Jack Antonoff’s songs about? Scarlett, Lena, Margaret?

Run.

Push a little further than you think you can.

I likely ruined that friendship. Maybe that was meant to happen.

Relish the breeze

And the sound of the gulls.

I want to stop.

Keep running.

Stop thinking so much.

I can’t stop.

Almost there.

Withstand the toughest part.

Pain in legs.

Pump your heart.

Maybe there’s a muse is these surroundings.

Home stretch.

Slow your steps.

Rush of blood to the head.

I actually did it.

Permit the pride.

Cool down.

Hydrate

Stretch.

Endorphins.

Now wasn’t that worth it?

Health & Lifestyle · Mental Health

Let’s Hear it for the Boy

A friend of mine once asked me how I come up with ideas for my blog posts. I confessed to her that my process is not so thought out, but rather a let’s just see what happens approach. If I feel like I have the stamina to write something for the blog on a particular day, I open my laptop and hope to be inspired.

Most of the time, to my own astonishment, it works and words string into sentences and paragraphs like a dream. There have been seven times (maybe eight with this one, who knows?) when it hasn’t, but I have grown used to ignoring the number of unfinished drafts in my writing view of the blog. Maybe one day I’ll devote fresh eyes to those, but for now the back burner is big enough to hold them all, so there they will sit for now.

Sometimes a title comes first – sometimes a particular line of a poem. Sometimes a memory or a feeling gets typed out and sits alone on the otherwise blank page for a while until words fill in the space around it, disguising it amongst the forest of sentences and stanzas, seemingly equal to the rest.

I clutter with words. They are something I found again when I began to simplify things. Writing words brings me joy and so I do not set a limit on them.

I always wished I could speak as comfortably as I write, but something gets lost in translation with the whole words coming out of my mouth thing while simultaneously breathing and thinking. It’s nerve-racking to go off script when other people improvise. I often rewrite conversations in my head that have already happened. The ones that can’t be edited are torturous. I write conversations that will never happen as well and wonder how they’d play out in reality.

I used to have a debilitating fear of talking on the phone to strangers. Like, I was afraid to order a pizza growing up and I love pizza. There was even one time during college when I thought I left my wallet in a restaurant and Mike told me it was ok and to just call the restaurant and he was sure it would be there. All I can say in response to that is thank goodness that wallet was just stuck between the car door and the passenger seat of Mike’s mom’s car, otherwise it would have been irretrievable. I mean it was bad you guys.

To have an irrational fear of saying words as a person who loves words doesn’t make any sense and I let it limit me for way too long. I soon learned, however, to my relief, that I wasn’t the only one who had trouble on the phone.

The summer after graduating college, I got an internship as a scheduling coordinator at a rehearsal rental studio in Manhattan. I remember keeping a Post-It note in front of the phone at work with impossibly difficult information to remember such as my name, the name of the studio, and the studio’s phone number so that when my throat began to tighten when I picked up the receiver and my thoughts turned to static, I’d have some lifeline to hold onto. I know– tough stuff.

It wasn’t until I got a call at the rental studio from a boy who was clearly more nervous on the phone than I was that I began to get over this irrational fear. He forgot to give me his name when he booked and hung up before I finished asking for that info. I called him back to finish the booking, silently praising my Post-It note strategy, knowing that without it, I’d be drowning due to my overactive salivary glands that switched on as soon as I picked up the receiver. The boy picked up and admitted that he was nervous talking on the phone. I told him not to worry and that I was too sometimes (white lie- I know). I got his name and finished his booking and we ended the call, each feeling a little less alone perhaps and a little more comfortable on the phone. That phone call changed a lot for me and I grew confident in a career that heavily involved answering and making phone calls.

Writing helped me cope with my phone phobia. I used to write out everything I needed to say on the phone if I were making an important call; in fact, I still do sometimes. I have even learned that some of my friends do this too and it makes me feel less like a malfunctioning robot of society. Somehow, seeing the words written out in an order that makes sense before I release them from my mouth gives me confidence. You can’t, however, pre-plan most of life’s conversations. Like I said before, I clutter with words. They are shoved in the hall closet of my head like miscellany after panic-cleaning and I’d hate for something to fall out that would disrupt the order of the room. Sometimes, however, words fall out and get a laugh or a smile and those make the uncertainty of it all worthwhile.

Mental Health · Poetry

Cement Shoes

I do not know my self yet.

Do you not know it too?

Defining dreams pours cement in my shoes

That makes it hard to move.

I chisel at my ankles.

I wiggle my toes loose

And slip away with shallow scrapes

That wandering heals anew.

I swim in wordless waters.

I run through salt-flecked air.

I channel why and wonder how

And if I’ll find me – where?

When priers ask, “What do you do?”

I’d like to tell them true.

I do my best –

Fulfilled, bereft.

I change.

And how ‘bout you?