I'll Show Myself Out

I have been thinking about why the refusal of the call is as important a beat in the hero’s journey as the moment she embarks. It feels counterintuitive—after all, don’t we always just want a story to get going as quickly as possible? Why do we need to see someone not doing something before they do it? Perhaps because acknowledging the depth of fea

Shall we give ourselves permission to just let it all out for the next few minutes without guilt, and then we’ll go back to being our very best (dead one day) selves? LET’S DO IT.

A mother’s heroic journey is not about how she leaves, but about how she stays.

Lack of time is only half the story. Because even if, should you have the privilege of being able to afford a nanny or day care or some other caregiver, and you are able to make the time to exercise, the thing I didn’t anticipate was the sheer unending exhaustion of having a baby.

Sometimes we are too close.

I didn’t think Asher was paying attention when I told him what encouragement meant. But he was. He is paying attention to everything now. Everything I think he will miss, he catches, including the things I wish he would miss, like me glancing at my phone when we’re playing cars, or me using one tone too snarky with Mike, or me in general struggling

not to generalize, but all men just assume things will stay alive with help from others.

In case you haven’t seen the movie, I won’t spoil it except to say if you are looking to be simultaneously the horniest and most emotionally decimated you’ve ever been in your life, then run, don’t walk, to see Blue Is the Warmest Color by yourself in a theater on a rainy day.

increasingly find that if I step back and examine what emotion is simmering under my jittery, tight posture, it’s looking more and more similar to rage? Or at least . . . something rage-esque? A frustration on steroids, compounding day after day. A feeling of I can’t keep doing this, multiplied by doing it over and over.