The summer of 2016, my husband recommended I read a novel called The Brothers K. I’m no stranger to getting enveloped in the magic of fiction –– as a kid, I spent long summer days reading Judy Blume and Beverly Cleary, and a decade later, I graduated with a degree in English. But in that season of my life, pregnant with my second son and wrestling with anxiety, growing felt a lot more important than escaping.
Thanks to my husband’s persistent encouragement, I picked up the tattered novel. And, to my surprise, I didn’t put the book down for two…
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There’s this one person I’m always trying to measure up to. She’s a prolific freelancer, writing articles for publications she’s always admired. Her thighs and hips aren’t bespeckled in white stretch marks, because she’s a decade younger than me and doesn’t have kids. She seems so carefree and untethered––and in many ways, very much unlike me.
My nemesis isn’t a friend, or even an internet stranger. The person I compare myself to most is a past version of myself — a mental collage of all the happiest, most productive times of my life. Pining for the old days isn’t necessarily…
A week into the pandemic, my kids and I got out the markers and made signs to hang in our living room window: You are loved. Thank you, doctors and nurses. We’ll get through this. Hope didn’t come naturally in the uncertainty, but getting out the art supplies was my way of keeping my eye on the future so I could stay afloat in the present. More than a year later, I’m feeling grateful I won’t have to bank on all those What Ifs much longer–– but I’m also already missing the looking-forward perspective.
I’m smart. I’m funny. I’m successful. People like me. This is a not-even-close-to-exhaustive list of things I wish I believed about myself on a given day –– the kind of stuff that, in the event no one else was around to give me a pep talk, I’d probably recite in a mirror with yesterday’s mascara running down my face. (All the more reason for a pep talk, I guess.)
As woo woo as it sounds, there’s plenty of evidence that cognitive behavioral therapy, a form of psychotherapy that can help people challenge self-sabotaging thinking and in turn change their behavior…
These days, I don’t have to scroll very long before coming across a long-winded rant about pandemic restrictions or a sunny vacation photo with nary a mask in sight. These are people I know, people who have shown me kindness and care through low times in my own life. Each time, the cognitive dissonance makes my head spin.
I recently came across a Twitter thread from the editor Sigrid Ellis that put words to what I’d been feeling: “Americans are really good at acute compassion, but pretty bad at chronic empathy,” the thread begins. “We, without question, haul strangers out…
Even though I’m not really one for video games, I can talk about Minecraft with the confidence of a much more seasoned gamer. I know, for example, that you can play in creative mode, which is all about world-building, or in survival mode, where your main goal is to dodge the monsters and, well, survive.
How do I know this? Because every day my seven-year-old turns on Minecraft in survival mode, my younger son joins in, and then the zombies come. “I want to play in CREATIVE mode,” he yells to his older brother, frantically defending himself against the enemy.
…
It happens to me more than I’d like: I finally finish a big, complicated story, or have an A+ parenting day where everyone’s happy and fed and no one has any meltdowns — and I’m so focused on the things I did wrong that I can’t even let myself enjoy the win. Well-meaning compliments from my husband or a close friend don’t help much, either, mostly because I don’t believe them. They have to say that, I think. They’re just being nice.
That’s just how impostor syndrome works: No matter how many accolades or compliments you collect, you still don’t…
I keep a running mental list of things that make me belly laugh: videos of my kids when they were babies; old episodes of Impractical Jokers; a spontaneous FaceTime call with my best friend from college. When I catch myself slipping into doom and gloom, I pick one — not as a way to bypass my emotions, but to make sure I don’t forget how to feel them in the first place.
There’s a time for sadness and anger, and these days, it seems to be 24/7. Summoning joy, on the other hand, hasn’t felt so easy for a while…
In three weeks, my husband, kids, and I are relocating from Minnesota to my home state of Wisconsin. It’s a decision that didn’t come easily. We’ll be uprooting lives we liked for new ones full of unknowns. Moving is draining, especially during a pandemic. And expensive.
For many of us, the past year of Covid has been a clarifying time, highlighting our personal values and forcing a more honest consideration of our priorities. In some cases, that clarity can make big decisions feel easier and more urgent — but on the other hand, the constant risk assessment of living through…
I’ve been living with a strange feeling for a few weeks now: a sense of hope mixed with anticipation mixed with energy. It first took root the day after the presidential election was called, and it swelled again with the vaccine news that brought the end of the pandemic into view. For the first time in months, I have the energy to get shit done.
In terms of motivation, a burst of hope is like the first day of school: That blank slate feeling is the perfect push to shake up old routines. …
Writer-mom hybrid. Health & psychology stories in NYT, WaPo, Allure, Real Simple, & more.