Motherhood

Not So Different from Drinking: Technology Addiction and Why I'm Adopting Digital Minimalism

Not So Different from Drinking: Technology Addiction and Why I'm Adopting Digital Minimalism

I thought it was about social media. But it was about all of it. It was about being on, all the time. Being connected, and open to connections, and available, and expected to respond and expecting to get a response, and creating thousands upon thousands of tiny slivers of interactions to “connect” and “be productive” simply because I could. It’s actually worse than that. I had fallen into a very intentional trap laid by tech companies who only make money if I keep picking up my phone and putting my eyeballs on their apps.

Alcohol Poured Gasoline on My Anxiety: The Truth About Women, Motherhood, and Drinking

Alcohol Poured Gasoline on My Anxiety: The Truth About Women, Motherhood, and Drinking

I remember so looking forward to drinking again once I had her. I missed the release, the inclusion, the socializing, the softening. Almost immediately after she was born I went back to it, joining in at parties with my husband and baby in tow, having my girlfriends over or going to their house for wine like we had been doing for years. One time, just a couple weeks after she was born, I walked in a snowstorm to my friend’s place a few blocks away, just to try and feel like my “old” self for a few minutes. I barely drank one glass of wine before I felt so ill I had to trek home. I had mastitis.

How Much You Drink Doesn't Matter (A Recap of Megyn Kelly TODAY)

How Much You Drink Doesn't Matter (A Recap of Megyn Kelly TODAY)

So, last week I was on national TV. Aaaand it was about as surreal as I imagined, but also way more fun and fascinating too. I’ve been saying it was like visiting another planet for a few hours—one where everyone had exceptional make-up and hair and knew exactly what to do next and when—who knew?

I'm Sorry, But What the Fuck is Going On?

I'm Sorry, But What the Fuck is Going On?

Can we pause for one second before we crack open the Rosé and think, Where am I going with this? Closer to life or further away? Why? Is this what it means to be alive? Is there some kind of connection to this—the wine, the food, the sex, the 500th Netflix show, whatever—and the disconnection we’re seeing in the world? Maybe?

40 Things at 40 Years

40 Things at 40 Years

A few things I'm thinking about this trip around the sun.

    The Pain of Too Much Tenderness

    The Pain of Too Much Tenderness

    This kaleidoscope of things. Sometimes all the pieces come into focus in a way that’s so beautiful it hurts—like the plastic bag at the end of American Beauty. The ordinariness of life. The bigness of it, too. When it comes into focus, everything is clear and felt at once.

    What Kind of Call Do You Want to Answer?

    What Kind of Call Do You Want to Answer?

    This past weekend, a friend who I hadn’t actually talked to in years sent me a message asking if we could talk. She was scared and afraid she was in trouble with her drinking and she knew it was late, but was I there? I was, and we talked, and I don’t know if it helped or if it’ll change anything for her, but I was just so damn grateful I could answer.

    Pictured / Not Pictured

    Pictured / Not Pictured

    Do you ever/did you ever look at friends' Facebook posts, or hear good news about their lives, and be filled with a combination of jealousy and rage? Sometimes I feel that way and I am so ashamed that I can't just be happy for other people without feeling like my life in no way measures up. I have good things in my life...but not the marriage, house, and kids that everyone posts a million pictures of. And my instinctual reaction to watching other people be happy is, "Why can't I be like that?" Sometimes I just have to stop looking because otherwise, it makes me so sad.

    Seasons

    Seasons

    All around me, I can see the unmistakable beauty in all the seasons that have passed, especially the really difficult ones. I can honor the one I am in. This is the season of my adult aloneness. The season of writing my first book. The season of goddess friendships and living in my body. The season of mothering and becoming an aunt. The season of my 39th year.

    Your Cup Will Never Be Full

    Your Cup Will Never Be Full

    I’m sitting on the edge of my bed looking out at the bay, still in my work clothes. It’s Friday afternoon, Memorial Day weekend, and the sun is bouncing off all the roofs of the houses, the water, the docked boats bobbing in the bay. Even after living here for two years, the view still stuns me. The house sits on top of a steep row of houses, the highest on the street, and from this perch in my bedroom, the beauty is always so shocking I believe it washes away all that is wrong. How can a marriage break in the face of that view? How can there be any pain at all?