Presently: Real

“From here on out, I am only interested in what is real. Real people, real feelings. That’s it. That’s all I’m interested in.”

My roommate is going to yell at me when she reads this because she knows I just quoted a movie I’ve never seen.

The first time I read that quote was on a dorm-mate’s AIM away message at UMASS, Amherst in 2006. I had no idea where the quote came from and I didn’t really care. I just sort of absorbed it and it’s been looping in my brain ever since… that loop has gotten louder recently.

Real people. Real feelings. That’s all I’m interested in. Yeah…

While deep-diving into some self-help/self-love/self-stuff this year, I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that I haven’t been very “real” lately, or at all. I’ve lived a pretty big chunk of my life dishonestly.

A momma-friend of mine told me the other day that according to some recent studies, most children learn to lie around the age of five. I definitely picked up that habit early on and ran with it. Of course, I’m talking about those little white lies to get out of trouble, and the bigger ones to garner some kind of attention, but what I’ve discovered to be the most damning lies I ever told, are the ones I told myself.

Something really interesting happens when you stop lying to yourself. When you dig around and get brutally honest… You kinda start to blow up your life a little, or at least, that’s what I’ve done.

I found that the more honest I got, the more I realized I had been doing things that weren’t very “me” and were actually bold-faced lies.

For example, earlier this year, I got a side job writing for a click-bait-y website. I used a pen name because I was so embarrassed to have my real name published under articles like “Which Frozen Character Are You Based On Your Zodiac Sign?”. Seems harmless enough, right? Wrong. I was lying. I was lying about who wrote these articles for the sake of a paycheck, and for a girl who clearly needs an audience and loves taking credit for her work, this lie was a big one. So, I quit. Sure, I miss the additional income, but I definitely don’t miss the feeling of settling for work I’m not proud of and hiding in plain sight with a stupid pen name.

Once I blew up my financial stability, I moved on to my love life. Normally, in relationships, I like to play it cool, or at least, that’s the lie I’ve been telling myself and the people I’m with. “I don’t need a label”, “I can have casual sex”, “I’m not sure what I want”. All lies I’ve been perpetuating for most of my adult life. Turns out, I like labels and I want an all-in relationship and when I sleep with someone, I usually get pretty attached (as do most women because when we have sex, our brains release Oxytocin the “love chemical” no matter what, while in men’s brains, that chemical is only released when the dude is in love).

Last month, I found myself six months into a relationship with someone who didn’t want the same things I wanted, and instead of being mad about it or convincing myself to hold on long enough until he did want those things… we broke up. It was actually one of the healthiest break-ups I’ve ever had because we were totally honest with one another and I walked away feeling like he and I could be friends in the future. No hard feelings. I’ve never been able to say that about an ex before.

Shortly after that break-up, I uncovered even more heart-stuff I had been lying about and finally told one of my guy friends that I’ve been harboring feelings for him, off and on, for the better part of a decade. Did that kind of honesty make me want to barf? Yup. Especially when he didn’t reciprocate those feelings (which I kinda always knew he didn’t). But, I’m so glad I told him because I can move on knowing I was honest. I’ve lied so much in the past because it seemed like the safer bet. It’s safer to pretend to feel nothing than to be vulnerable and feel everything. That’s not true. I found out vulnerability actually feels really good in most situations, especially in matters of the heart, because it’s honest.

There’s one more relationship I got honest with this month, and that’s my relationship with alcohol. For anyone who has read this blog over the years, there’s been a lot of ups and downs and back and forth with the drinking “thing”. One month I was sober, the next I was declaring I’d found a healthy way to drink, and then a few months later I was sober again. What I’ve realized recently is that… I am not someone who has ever had healthy drinking habits and a lot of my old posts on here were real-time struggles with alcoholism. I lied to you guys and I lied to myself. I have a genetic predisposition to alcoholism. I am 50% more likely than the average human to develop an addiction, and I did. That’s not to say I haven’t had what society considers to be a “normal” night out drinking with friends, of course I have, but those nights never came naturally to me. The overwhelming urge to binge drink has been something I’ve always struggled with and I think I’ve finally reached the point where I’m done struggling. That’s the funny thing I’m learning about all these lies… it’s a struggle to keep up with them. Telling the truth is just so much easier. Scarier? Sure, sometimes. But it’s always easier.

From here on out, I’m only interested in what’s real, and what’s easy, and what’s honest. That’s it. That’s all I’m interested in.

Presently: Divided

One of those click-bait-y internet memes popped up on my Facebook feed a few days ago. I usually scroll past them, but I stopped and read this one and I don’t remember exactly what it said. I can’t even tell you which of my social media friends posted it, but to summarize, it was talking about how in the last four years we’ve probably all learned a lot about politics, but we’ve learned even more about our family and friends. 

Boy, oh, boy, did that sentiment hit me in the face like a pillowcase full of bricks. 

I’ve learned a lot about you people, especially recently.

I’ve learned that I was raised by three women who are innately empathetic and adaptable, women who can hold space for new ideas and healthy conversations. I’ve learned that I’m really proud when people tell me I’m exactly like them. 

I’ve also learned that there are a lot of people in my family who don’t agree with my view points, both political and societal. I’ve learned that the people who don’t agree with me are a lot harder to talk to because the topics of conversation are so divisive and ultimately, engaging with those who don’t agree, makes me feel small, and it makes me feel wrong, and I find myself questioning just about everything and hesitating to speak up when I feel like I should. Part of the reason I took a social media break was because I was so tired of being brushed off every time I tried to engage with a member of my family who supports our current president or responds to my BLM post with “All/Blue/White Lives Matter” or spreads misinformation about the current Pandemic without fact-checking it or bitches about having to wear a mask. 

If you read this last paragraph and it resonated, this blog post is for you.

I’m so tired of your shit, guys. Seriously. It’s exhausting. Just in the last three months, I’ve had to sit through conversations where you say things like, “I don’t fact check before I post”, and “I don’t have time for politics”, and “Trump loves this country, why else would he be President”, and “If Jacob Blake had just complied…”, and “What about the looting”, and “If I get COVID I won’t die” and, “The left are a bunch of socialists” (that one is my favorite because every single person who has said that to me is benefiting from either social security, medicaid, or free college… so, like, socialism.)

I’ve tried to have these conversations with you, I’ve tried to voice a different opinion in hopes of having a healthy debate, but you’ve made me feel so stupid for trying. You’re so quick to dismiss me with an emoji or a “let’s not go there” or a “calm down”. I’ve come to the conclusion that you really don’t care. You aren’t saying these things because you want to have a conversation, you’re saying them because they feel good to say. Think about that. Responding to social injustice with “What about my life?”, feels good. Posting conspiracy theories about the CDC and the pandemic when over 180,000 Americans have died as a direct result of this virus, feels good. Listening to a racist, divisive, narcissistic president, who, from day one, has raged a war against the press as a way to keep his supporters from listening to facts and forming their own opinions, feels good. 

It certainly feels better than listening to me, right? I get it. Talking to me or people like me, who don’t share your views doesn’t feel good because it makes you feel wrong. And no one likes being wrong. I hate being wrong. I’m just as stubborn as most of you, in fact, I probably got my stubbornness from you. (See? We do still have a thing or two in common.)

So, we find ourselves in a really weird place. We’re family. We’re supposed to love each other unconditionally, but we’re suddenly seeing conditions in each another that are difficult to love. How do we fix that? How do we come back from this? 

I have no idea. I don’t know how I’m supposed to have Thanksgiving with you and act like I haven’t lost sleep over some of the things I’ve heard you say and seen you post. And I don’t think you want to sit across a table from me either because you know it’s going to come up eventually and I suck at biting my tongue.

And I don’t know what I’m supposed to say when I call you now. The silence from both ends of the line is screaming for us to have a hard conversation that we hesitate to start because we don’t know how it will end.

And I don’t know how many more months we’re going to continue to ignore each other and pretend that’s not what we’re doing. I’ll like a post of your kid, you like my new headshot. We’ll continue playing nice on the surface because if we ever attempt to unpack all of this stuff, it’s going to be so messy and uncomfortable. 

Seems like it’s easier to just agree to disagree, right? Play nice. Butt out. Don’t engage.

That’s certainly the easier way out, but I don’t want to do that.

I’ve re-written the end of this post about a hundred times. I’m realizing I don’t have a solution, and that scares me. I want things to go back to the way they were, but that’s impossible if we can’t talk to one another and listen to one another.

It’s funny… I remember the day after the 2016 election, I talked to most of you about my fears with this president. You assured me it wouldn’t be that bad. You said one president can’t cause that much damage.

Look at what one president did to our family. 

From where I’m sitting… I see a lot of damage. 

Presently: Back

I’ve written a lot on this blog about being an “all or nothing” person. I’ve always been the type to live in extremes, if I did something it was 100% or not at all. And that was nothing I’ve ever felt ashamed of or something I thought I should examine a little closer. I just figured that was how I operated in the world, and there wasn’t much I, or anyone else, could do to fix it because it didn’t need fixing.

And then 2020 happened.

What a weird freaking year, right guys?

I’ve thought about blogging a hundred times since my last post back in February and have an alarming number of drafts saved in my WordPress folder, that will never see the light of day. By late March, I started to get the feeling that maybe I picked the wrong year to re-start this blog because in the middle of a pandemic, while people are dying and everyone is sheltering at home and some are losing their jobs and there is so much uncertainty, who the eff cares what I have to say?

Truth be told, I didn’t have anything to say. I didn’t know where to begin. So, every time my mom, (who I still think is the only one who actually reads these things anyway), asked, I told her it didn’t feel appropriate. When really, I was just at a loss for words for the first time in my entire life.

Which caused me to retreat inward. I think a lot of us did that. I mean, we got blindsided by an effing pandemic, what were we supposed to do?

And while I was in there, in my head and digging deeper into my subconscious (with a little help from an incredible woman named Lacy Phillips, who I highly recommend you get to know), I figured a few things out, and well, I guess I found those words I thought I lost.

Life is really gray. I don’t mean that in a depressing way, although, life this year, as we all know, has been very gray and gloomy. What I mean is the world and how we operate in it, isn’t as black and white as I once thought it was. Trying to operate as an “all or nothing” person is actually very hard because it’s so limiting and what this world has to offer on a daily basis, even in the middle of pandemic, is not limited, it’s gray.

Maybe gray is the wrong word choice here. It doesn’t paint a very pretty picture, does it? It’s not gray, it’s nuanced and detailed and shaded and colorful. Colorful. I like that. Life is colorful.

I’ve been looking for the nuances, the “colorful” if you will, more lately. When the pandemic started, “colorful” was having days where I’d get up early and write for hours and other days where I’d be lucky to get out of my pajamas by dinner time, judgement-free. When it comes to my dry year, “colorful” is sipping on an alcoholic komubucha last night while simultaneously crying into a bag of French fries watching Obama give his speech at the DNC and not feeling “bad” about it. (I’ll blog more about the dry year thing later, promise.) When it comes to politics, it’s really hard to find colors, but they’re there. There is a bright, colorful middle ground somewhere and I think the only way to find it is to ensure the guy currently sitting in the White House, who loves to pit things and people against one another, labeling them “good” and “bad” and “right” and “wrong” and “black” and “white”, gets his eviction notice on November 3rd. And when it comes to each other and how we move forward from all of this, we’ll start seeing more colors when we start listening to one another.

The world seems so divided right now. It looks so black and white, everything feels so all or nothing. Take it from a girl who lived in those extremes for most of her life, it’s not the way things are meant to be.

I have a lot to say about this year, so don’t worry, I’ll be back soon. But in the meantime, keep your eyes open for a little more color, and let’s try to paint a prettier picture than what we’ve seen in 2020 thus far.

bah, humbug.

You know what’s harder than dating in your 30’s, in a major city? Dating in your 30’s, in a major city, and having to respond to every date inquiry with, “Sure, but I’m not drinking”. (I say every date inquiry like I’m juggling tons of men on a weekly basis and I should probably tell you now, that’s the exact opposite of what I’m doing.)

I’ve been asked out once so far this year, (heyo, still got it), and it was very sweet, but I declined for a few reasons. And the only one I’m willing to divulge in a public forum is… well… I’m not 100% sure I have any idea how to date at this point in my life. 

Dating without alcohol makes you extremely vulnerable and as you all know by now, the last time I met someone under sober circumstances, I fell pretty hard and pretty fast, and had my heart broken pretty bad. I mean, let’s be honest, I fall quickly no matter what, but it’s different when you take alcohol out of the equation. It’s different when your first date is over coffee and you meet at a cute little shop in the valley where you end up sitting and talking for four hours about everything from your obsession with Instagram dogs to his favorite classic films, and you open up about losing someone you loved when you were twenty-four and he tells you about losing his dad when he was a kid, and then you tell each other embarrassing high school stories to lighten the mood, until eventually, you realize what time it is and you invent some reason why you can’t sit there for another four hours, even though secretly, you’d really like to. So, soberly, your date walks you to your car and stops what he’s saying mid-sentence to tell you that you have the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen and you know you can believe him when he says things like that, and it’s not just one too many drinks talking or something he’ll take back when he’s hungover the next morning. It’s very easy to fall for that guy under those circumstances. It’s very easy to give your whole heart to someone who didn’t really deserve it in the first place, even if his one-liners were perfect. It’s very easy to stop trusting your heart when it lets itself get so broken. 

When you take alcohol out of the dating equation, you have nothing to hide behind, no crutches, no take-backs. It forces you to be completely you. When you fall for someone under such honest circumstances it’s amazing, but when it ends and you realize that sober-you was wrong and misjudged someone so badly, and sober-you didn’t listen to that little voice those first couple of months saying “this isn’t right”, and sober-you ignored countless red flags because sober-you was so afraid to be alone with sober-you, well, you can probably understand how the idea of dating these days sends me spiraling rather quickly. 

I’m trying though, I am. I re-downloaded Raya and swiped right on John Mayer the other night. That counts, right? I know, it doesn’t. I just really wanted you guys to know that I’m on Raya.

I have a crush, a few of them actually. That feels like a good place to start, but will mostly likely also be the place where it ends due to my fear of rejection and unrealistic desire to be swept off my feet Notebook style. 

So, I’m probably screwed. And not in the fun way.

As one of my all-time favorite musicians, Don Henley, would say, I’ve been trying to get down, to the heart of the matter. I really hope I can do that this year. I hope I figure this whole love thing out. I hope I learn how to trust my heart and listen to my gut at the same time. I hope I find the nerve to ask one of those crushes out on a date. I hope I find myself at another cute little coffee shop in the valley falling for someone new, someone right.

But, in the meantime, I shall embrace single-lady life and be my own Valentine today. I plan on treating ya girl right with some sushi and a viewing of the new “To All The Boys…” on Netflix, (don’t roll your eyes, the first one was freaking great).


You know how, when you’re on a really dumb first date with a guy you accidentally swiped right to on Raya and the conversation is moving at a glacial pace until the dude who put “hedge fund” as his job description (red flag #1) decides to ask you a really original, thought provoking, move-over-James-Lipton, type of question. So, as he sips his second black label on the rocks, and you chug your club soda, wishing the bartender had accidentally slipped you an ounce or two of vodka, he leans in, does the Hot Priest Smirk (but it’s not nearly as hot), and says, “If you could have one superpower, what would it be?” And then you answer as quickly as possible, “Flying”, hoping to God the check comes and puts you out of your misery.
No? Just me? Cool, cool, cool, cool… I digress.
My point is, it’s day 22 and I’ve discovered that I actually have not one, but two superpowers.
Superpower #1 comes with a Superhero alter-ego, named (by my roommate), Chloe. It’s recently been discovered that I am incredibly good at flirty texting dudes. How I’m still single, well, that’s a question for the ages, but I’ve become a go-to for my lady friends when they’re texting someone they like. A fact I am most proud of and in true LA-fashion, am also looking to monetize. Kidding. Sort of.
Superpower #2. I was getting a London Fog over the weekend with one of my closest friends/great loves of my life. We hadn’t seen each other since my dry year began, so naturally, one of the first topics of conversation was just that. I proudly told him I was on day 19 and then he asked, “How do you do that?”
It’s a question I’ve been getting a lot lately. I guess people asked me the same thing in 2015, but I didn’t have a clear answer and usually just shrugged my shoulders and chalked it up to some kind of divine intervention or something.
I’ve always known “why” I wanted to do a dry year, both this time and the last time, but “how” seems to have a more complicated answer.
I think that for starters, I’m just really stubborn. If I say I’m going to do something, I follow through, no matter what. If my life were a Shakespearean drama, this would probably be my character’s tragic flaw. I remember the first time I declared a dry year, a lot of people thought or said behind my back, “I give her two weeks before she cracks”, and though I never heard those comments with my own ears, I knew they were out there and the idea of proving some of my nearest and dearest wrong motivated me.
I’ve also described it as a switch in my brain that I can turn on and off. Like, if I decide not to drink for a year, I turn the sober-switch on and the desire to put anything other than water, green juice, and caffeine in my body has completely vanished. But, that’s not always true, in the past, this switch has been known to blow a fuse or be out-of-order, (see: Dry Year Attempt of 2018), so that visual doesn’t make for a very good “how”.
I think the best way to explain how I’m doing this, again, is to say, I’m consciously choosing to face my fears. Fears. Plural. There’s a lot of them. A lot.
The biggest of the bunch is the fear of failure. As I hinted at earlier, this isn’t my second attempt at a dry year, it’s actually my fourth. As hard as my first dry year was, I loved it so much, and I’ve spent most of the time since that year, trying to find my way back to the person and the life I had created for myself then. I knew that cutting out the not-so-healthy distractions would help me rediscover what I learned in 2015, but for some reason, it’s been almost impossible for me to follow through on another dry, distraction-free, period of time. I’ve tried a half-year, a month, another year, and shortly after each attempt was made, I managed to reason myself back into my old habits.  Failing all of those attempts, fed my dormant insecurities and feelings of not-enoughness until they were no longer dormant. They were wide awake and I was headed down a slow and steady spiral of self destruction, until I hit rock bottom.
I should clarify now that my “rock bottom” wasn’t drinking every day or even that excessively, though I did get pretty good at justifying a mid-week hangover. It wasn’t what I’d call “movie rock bottom” where the girl sits alone in her apartment drinking wine from the Franzia bag, blasting Taylor Swift, and crying to her dog because a boy didn’t call her back or the job she thought she booked or meeting she thought she had fell through (I swear that didn’t happen).
My rock bottom was a constant awareness that I needed help, but didn’t want to ask for it. I fell out of love with myself and I knew it and I had zero desire to do anything about it. There was a lot of isolation, depression, pretending I was fine. A lot of lying, to myself and everyone else around me. I never want to go back to that, and the fear that if I don’t follow through this year, that’s where I might be again… I guess that’s been my “how” so far.
The next thing I was going to write was, “overcoming fear is my superpower”, but I realized just now, that’s not what I’m doing. I’m not overcoming my fears, I’m using them to my advantage. I think that’s my superpower and I think it might be yours too. I think we’re all capable of taking what scares us the most and using it to be better. Maybe fear isn’t meant to be overcome or defeated, maybe we shouldn’t put that pressure on ourselves, to tackle such a beast.
Maybe fear is meant to be lived in and recognized and used in a way that motivates and pushes us to something great, to our full Superhero potential.
I like the sound of that. I’m going to go put on my cape now, maybe sip a green juice, cancel my Raya, see if Chloe can be of service, and figure out what other fears of mine can help get me back to better.


Happy 2020!

It’s the most wonderful time of the year! I love New Year’s. I love the idea of starting fresh and making resolutions and vision boards and setting goals for the next 365 days… clearly.

I’ve been prepping for this new year for the last month or so. I bought some great journals, made a couple of vision boards and set new goals for 2020.

One of my big goals (besides doing another dry year) is to be more open, vulnerable, and truthful. I wasn’t really great at any of those things last year. So, in the interest of vulnerability, openness, and honesty, I’m going to share what’s on my goal list and vision boards with you.

I’m using The New Hollywood’s “Manifesting Your Mission” journal this year to track all of my intentions for 2020. I LOVE this journal. I used it in 2019 and it was one of the few things that kept me (somewhat) sane during a hard year. I highly recommend getting yourself one. They’re available for purchase online through The New Hollywood’s website ($25).

One thing this journal talks about is setting goals vs. visualizations.

Goals are measurable things. Things you have control over. Some of my goals are:
-No alcohol for 365 days.
-Working out 4x a week.
-Starting my day with celery juice every morning.
-Hiking with my pup, Warner, on the weekends.
-Reading for an hour before bed every night.
-Daily meditation/journaling. (I’m using Commanding Life’s Daily Journal for all my journaling needs this year.)
-Spending less time on social media, specifically, spending less time internet stalking exes on social media.
-Finishing the 5th draft of my Vietnam script.
-Finishing the 1st draft of my rom-com.
-Finishing the 1st draft of my play.
-Shooting my short film by March 2020.
-Treating myself to a mani/pedi once a month because it makes me feel fancy.
-Spending more time with the amazing, smart, beautiful, creative, badass women in my life.

I have a few other goals, but these are the big ones, the ones that I think will not only help me have a healthier life physically, emotionally, and spiritually, but will also set me up for the success I want this year.

Which brings me to visualization. Visualization is for the things you want that may not be entirely in your control. Vision boards are like an ultimate wish list and I think that if you focus on these visualizations while simultaneously working towards your goals, it can be pretty magical.

Sharing my visions is scarier than sharing my goals. It makes me feel really vulnerable, knowing that people could read this list and roll their eyes while whispering “yeah right” under their breath. But, I’m gonna do it, so roll and scoff away if you feel so inclined…

-I want a contract on a soap opera. When I was 10 years old, a friend of my father’s, who was an actress on the east coast, told me that she really wanted to be on a soap opera. It’s stable, fun, creative work, and well, that sounded pretty good to 10 year old me and sounds really, really good to 32 year old me. I was lucky enough to do an episode of The Young and the Restless a couple of years ago and I LOVED that day on set. It was exciting and welcoming and I want more of that in 2020.

-I want to book a guest star on a prime time network show. And if I’m getting really specific with this one, I want to book a guest star on “This Is Us”. I really want to work with that cast and I think the writing on that show is beautiful. I’d love to say the words that those writers have written.

-I want one supporting role in a studio feature. I had a few close calls last year and some really amazing auditions for films I would’ve killed to be a part of. I really want to know what it feels like to call my mom and say “I booked it!”, after one of those auditions.

-I want to be in a holiday movie. One good, sappy, boy-meets-girl-and-they-fall-in-love-at-Christmastime, holiday movie. It’s been on my actor’s bucket list for a while now, so, let’s see that come into fruition in the next 365 days.

-I want to work with Hugh Jackman. Six years ago, I went to a taping of Inside the Actor’s Studio with Hugh Jackman and at the end of the conversation, Hugh took audience questions. I raised my hand and I asked Mr. Jackman, “Have you ever felt like quitting?” He said, “No. Not really.” And then he asked me, “How old are you?”, I said, “I’m 26.” And he said, “You have plenty of time and you’re going to be just fine. Don’t give up.” I’ve thought about that interaction a lot, especially in the last couple of years when I’ve really considered quitting. I’d love to work with Hugh and have that moment come full circle.

-I want to travel outside of the US. I’m 32 years old and I’ve never had a passport. I’ve never left the country. I made this a goal in 2016, but quickly realized that this belonged on my vision board, not my goal list because traveling is expensive and as a struggling artist, having extra income for travel isn’t as in my control as I wish it could be.

-And one more thing on my vision board, one that’s scariest to share… I want to fall in love. As you probably know by now, my heart hurt a lot this past year. It’s the biggest reason I’ve decided to do another dry year and take care of myself. I hope learning to love myself again will bring the other kind of love into my life. I mean, I’m not getting any younger, and Jim and Eva need some grand babies (yes, I’m deflecting with a bit of humor to make admitting this heartfelt desire a little easier).

So, there you have it. My hopes, dreams, and heart in writing. Maybe in 365 days I’ll look back at this and roll my eyes too, but maybe, maybe, I’ll look back and say, “I did it.” I really hope that’s the case.


Big time.
At least for me.

And I guess that is what’s led me back here. This year sucked so bad, I thought to myself, “Surely, I can’t be the only one feeling this way.” So I’ve spent the better part of the last week perusing social media for the inevitable “Eff you, 2019” memes, but have yet to find any. I guess I was feeling a bit alone with my thoughts, but then figured that maybe there are people out there feeling the same way and I should start my own “2019 was the worst” meme, only make it a blog. So, like, a long-form meme.

I got the wind knocked out of me this year. A few high points, but mostly lows. My struggle with anxiety and depression has been almost constant, the work I love felt painful and pointless, I got another year older, which only perpetuated my anxiety because the older I get the more my career is starting to feel like an unrequited love story, and then I went through a break up. The mother of all break ups. One of those break ups that makes you question everything you ever thought you knew about love and everything you thought you knew about yourself. I stepped out of a one and a half year relationship, took a long look in the mirror and I didn’t recognize what I saw. I didn’t even recognize the sound of my own voice, and the thoughts that voice was preaching in my head weren’t very healthy.

You’d think coming out of that, I would pick myself up by the bootstraps and vow to do better, that’s what I would’ve done, two, five, even ten years ago. But, I didn’t do that this time. Instead, I started feeding the negativity I was feeling and using it as fuel to get through another day. I masked my emotions, deflected any and all concern from my friends and family, and I didn’t cry. Not once. If you know me, you know that’s a very strange, bright, red flag. I cry all the time. Or at least, I did.

When I left this blog a little over a year ago, I said it was because I was craving privacy. And that’s true, I was. For the most part, I still am. But, in true Amelia fashion, my need for introspective moments swung to the extreme side of the spectrum and my privacy turned into seclusion. I was hiding, not just from the public, but from myself. All of the awareness, and presence, and love I built when I started this blog almost five years ago seemed to vanish in a few short months due to a broken heart and an extreme feeling of “not-enough-ness”.

So, I’m back. I’m writing. That feels really good. And I’m considering another dry year, but for completely different reasons than the first time. The first time, back in 2015, it was because, well, I was drinking a lot and that was distracting me from all of my hopes and dreams. And if you’ve read this blog before, you know that during that first year, this crazy thing happened when I cut out those distractions… I found myself.

But then this year happened and I lost her. I’d really like to find her again.

I realize that some/most people reading this might think “Well, that’s a little extreme, maybe you should try something else. Like therapy.” And to that I say, you haven’t been paying attention. I’m full of extremes. I’m an all or nothing person. I fall in love after a first date and if I open a pint of Ben and Jerry’s I finish the entire thing in one sitting. When I cry, I do it with my entire body, and don’t even get me started on the noise that comes out when I laugh. That’s just how I operate. I’m either in or I’m out. I’ve been spending a lot of time “out” and I’d like to dive back “in”.

And that’s what I intend to do in the new year.
New year, 2015 me.

Just A Day

I know, I know, it’s been a while. You may have clicked on this new post to hear all about what I’ve been up to for the last four months or to read about how sobriety: round two is going or to delve into all my deep, dark personal secrets that are usually for my diary’s pages only. If you said yes to any of the above, you’re about to be severely disappointed. I’ve just popped by to say a quick farewell, at least for now.

That’s right folks, I’ve logged on momentarily only to log off indefinitely. I know, total tease.

Why, you ask? Okay, fine, I’ll explain… a little.

What I thought would be a year full of sober discovery and well-written overshares, has actually turned into quite the opposite. I’ve found myself in a really happy place, craving as much privacy as possible. Maybe it’s old age, I don’t know, but I just haven’t felt a need to put much of my life on social media as of late. Sure, the occasional career-related post on Instagram, or a short political rant on Facebook, but even those things don’t sound very appealing to me as of late.

And I think it’s because I’m just plain happy.

For the first time in my life, I have a sense of stability and confidence. And for the first time, I feel like a woman. So much so, I don’t even get mad when I get “ma’am”-ed at Target anymore.

I didn’t do it on purpose. I didn’t wake up one morning and swear off this blog or social media in general. I’ve actually tried doing that before, and it didn’t work. I just got bored with it all and started focusing on my normal day-to-day. I stopped seeking validation in likes and comments and stopped comparing my life to the general public’s highlight reels, and I did it without even realizing it. In fact, when I did realize it, which was about five weeks ago, I thought “You should really blog, it’s been a while”, but then life kept giving me better things to do and I did those things instead and I have no regrets about any of it.

So, there you have it. That’s why you haven’t heard from me in a while. It just kinda happened that way, and the way that it happened, I kinda like, so I’m going to keep it this way for a while.

Before I say adieu, maybe there are a few things you guys should know…

1) I’m not sober. This year’s sobriety lasted about four months. It was a really, really hard four months. I didn’t start drinking again because it got too hard. I started drinking again because I made it through those awful four months without alcohol, and when I came out on the other end, I felt safe and secure enough to introduce healthy drinking and social behaviors back into my life. I also started to realize that going in and out of sobriety at my leisure made me a little bit of an a-hole. Sobriety is a serious topic. Alcoholism is a serious disease. I am not an alcoholic, but I know people who struggle with the disease and have seen that struggle up close, and it’s not something a person suffering from can easily go in and out of depending on their mood. I think everyone should try a dry month or even a dry year, but that’s very different from sobriety.

2) I’m not smoking! That’s the best thing to come out of the new-failed attempt at a dry 2018. Yes, I have started drinking again, but I’m still not smoking! I’m not going to lie, I still have cravings, especially when I drink, but I’ve been surrounding myself with some solid, non-smokers lately, so it’s not even an option when I do decide to have a glass of wine (or two).

3) I’m still “enough”, and so are you. My OG readers may recall the moral of my 2015 story was that I finally felt like I was enough. That was a huge revelation and I carry that lesson with me every day, in everything I do. Of course, I still have an occasional bad day, we all do. But, in those moments when I feel like I’m too much or too little, I remember what my twenty-eight year old self whispered on top of Runyon Canyon while ugly-crying to an Adele song…. “you are enough”. And in case you’ve lost sight of that, I want you to know that you’re enough too. You’re the perfect amount of perfection. Please remember that.

That’s all for now. If you’re reading this for the first time or if you’ve read every post since Day 1, I am grateful for you. Thank you for listening to my rants and raves for three years. Thank you for caring. You’re awesome.

Presently: Signing Off.



Day Seventy-Eight

I discovered a new place in LA this weekend. It’s a place I heard about back in December, and a place I’ve put off going to ever since.

Initially I put it off because I was really happy. It was January 1st, I was on my second adventure into sobriety, I had a solid living situation, a new, promising guy in my life, a hopeful pilot season on the horizon, things were good.

When things got less good, I still didn’t go. I mean, things weren’t that bad. The guy left, pilot season wasn’t happening, my thoughts were a little darker, I was a little less hopeful, but I could handle it.

And then I couldn’t.

Slowly, but surely, what seemed not-so-good only got worse. I was spending more time alone in my apartment, not always by choice. I was feeling left out, depressed, anxious, abandoned. Those feelings, on top of sobriety, started to become more and more challenging to manage.

The thing I forgot about sobriety (probably as a way of protecting myself subconsciously), is that, in the first couple of months, a lot of stuff comes up.

Think about a time you’ve had a rough day or an exciting day or an overwhelming day. Think about what you did when you got home after that day full of all that stuff. I bet a lot of people reading this had a drink, right? It’s okay. It’s etched into our society. Happy hour is a thing and it’s called “happy hour” for a reason. It’s normal to want to unwind after one of those days and the way a lot of us do that is with alcohol. That’s what I’ve been doing, especially post-2015 year of sobriety. So, when I went sober again this year, not only was I relearning how to handle “those” days, but I was also facing all the stuff I drowned in bottles of wine over the last two years and probably even before that.

Cut to: Oscar Sunday 2018. My OG readers know that Oscar Sunday is my Super Bowl. Hollywood’s prom night is my favorite night of the year. Normally, I’m watching the show with a small group of friends and copious amounts of baked goods. That’s what I had planned to do this year. But, all my friends cancelled and I didn’t feel like leaving my house to grocery shop for baking supplies and I barely felt like lifting a finger to turn on the TV. Before Kimmel could start his monologue, I was on the phone with a close friend expressing thoughts and feelings I didn’t even know I had, and none of them were good. I unleashed years of things I had buried, and though my friend was an incredible and supportive sounding board that night, we both knew I needed someone else.

So, Saturday morning I drove to the Southern California Counseling Center for a new patient intake. (Yes, even after all of that, it still took me another two weeks to make the move). This was the place I had been avoiding for the past three months, and  once I got there, I realized I hadn’t been avoiding it because things were going right or because I didn’t have the time or because I thought I could handle everything on my own.

I was avoiding it because it was, by far, the scariest thing I have ever done in my adult life.

I saw therapists regularily from the time I was about six until I graduated high school, and even since being in LA, I’ve looked into therapy and tried a few things, but to sit across from a complete stranger and list all the reasons why I was reaching out for help, was something I’ve never done. I mean, I’ve never done that with my closest friends and family. Sure, the people who know me, know a lot of my story, but when you lump everything together in a 50-minute session, when thirty years of ups and downs come flooding out of your mouth at a rate of utterance so quick, my brain could barely keep up. I wasn’t ready for that. I was so nervous, I pinched the skin on the inside of my right arm the entire time, trying to self soothe, and didn’t even realize I had done that until I saw a tiny bruise a few hours later.

While I’m giving this very kind and loving stranger the rundown of my life, I just kept looking at her and wondering, “Do you even believe me?”

When you lump together everything that’s happened to you in your life, and then you start listing it off, it becomes kind of hard to believe. I even stopped halfway through to check in with myself. “Wait. You sure that really happened? You already talked about that other bad thing. How much more is there?”

There’s a lot. That’s what this session showed me. I have a lot of stuff.

Talking about this stuff doesn’t scare me. I’ve been pretty open on this blog about the cards I’ve been dealt; abuse, suicide, family tragedy, depression, anxiety. I can call my pain out and I can discuss it openly, it’s realizing how much of it there is…. that’s where I start to buckle.

It’s like I’ve packed this giant suitcase full of ugly clothes, worn out shoes, and socks with holes in them, and I put the suitcase in storage a really long time ago, but I always held onto the key, just in case. On Saturday, I made a copy of the key and I gave that to someone I don’t know, but she promises to take really good care of it, and pretty soon, she’s going to help me lift that suitcase out of storage and set it down someplace safe, and then we’ll start to unpack it. It sounds like a daunting task, I know, no one likes unpacking, but I’m looking forward to it.

It’s true what they say, reaching out is hard. It’s really, really hard, but if you’re reading this and if anything I wrote resonated with you, please do it.

Your suitcase may seem really heavy, but I promise it’ll be easier to lift with a little help.

Day Seventy

It’s been a weird couple of weeks, guys. A lot of highs and a ton of lows that have left me longing for some mundane middle ground, where nothing is necessarily going right or wrong, it’s just… going.

When I was a kid, I used to imagine that God had a giant TV and every channel on the TV was a different person’s life. If a lot of stuff seemed to be happening to me all at once, I said it was because God was watching my channel. Now, as an adult, I realize this probably isn’t the case and I am hopefully serving a bigger purpose than just being mere entertainment for an all-powerful entity. I also realize this is basically the plot to the Truman Show and there’s a slight chance Hollywood stole my idea.

There’s a lot of unknown mixed in with these extreme cards I’m being dealt. It makes it difficult to figure out what my next move is because if I’m being honest, I’m terrified.

I think it goes back to wanting to control things that are completely out of my control. I blogged about that recently, and I guess the Universe, or God, or what-who-whomever is in charge around here is making me practice what I preach.

I know I’m being vague. I’m sure you’d like to know the specifics of these highs and lows I’m referring too, but those are F.D.O., For Diary Only, at least for now.

It’s also not the point of this blog post. Because it’s never about what happens to us guys, it’s about how we handle it, right?

A year ago, I would be halfway through a bottle of Petit Syrah and probably on my fourth cigarette by now. I’d be sitting outside, in the rain, scrolling through my ex-boyfriend’s Instragram, and completely ignoring my own life. I wouldn’t be thinking about everything that’s happened this week, I would be actively numbing all of it because that’s the easiest thing to do.

Unhealthy distractions only provide temporary relief. They are just another way we try to control the uncontrollable. If I pretend it’s not there, it will eventually go away. Nope. Wrong. If you throw an invisibility cloak over anything that doesn’t appeal to you, the unappealing will eventually maneuver it’s way out from under the wine stains and cloud of smoke and will pop up somewhere else. There aren’t enough invisibility cloaks in the universe for everything we face on a daily basis. There are actually no invisibility cloaks in the universe, soooo….

It’s time to face it. It’s time to be afraid and keep moving anyways. It’s time to reach out for help when I need it and love as much as possible. It’s time to welcome the uncontrollable, the good and the bad, and take heart knowing that I got this. So do you. We got this.

Maybe God is sitting in front of His TV, tuned into my channel, or your channel. Maybe it does feel like it’s all just too much right now. But, I’m pretty sure everything is going to be okay because I’m pretty sure we all get happily-ever-afters.