Dear White People, Listen Up

It’s baking season in our household.

A few months ago I made a batch of banana bread and my roommate Joy has been obsessed ever since. She’s taken over the baking and has perfected our recipe, sprinkling the chocolate chips carefully on top.

She makes it with love.

My baking style is a bit more reckless. I’ve been known to toss all the chocolate chips in, essentially making it more of a chocolate cake than banana bread. I lick the spoon and the bowl and sometimes a lot more batter “accidentally” finds its way into my mouth before the pan goes in the oven.

I do not pay particular attention when I bake. I read the recipe, sure, but measurements seem more like suggestions to me.

I once left the paper tags on some baking pans and almost set my apartment on fire. After hearing this story, my childhood friend took a Crock-Pot out of her Amazon cart that she was going to buy me for my birthday because she “no longer trusted me with such high-tech cookware.”

Despite my recklessness, I used to make my students brownies at the end of the year. My “Brownie Point” board kept track of good deeds and whichever student in each class had the most by the end of the year would get a whole batch of brownies. They were in high school, by the way. But boy did they want those homemade brownies!

One batch was particularly traumatic as I mistakenly bought garlic-flavored cooking oil. As you might expect, they tasted like shit.

Why am I spending so much time on this metaphor? Be patient. You’ll see.

I made a new batch but brought along the garlic-flavored brownies to my students as a joke. Like “hey look how much of a shit baker I am, try these toxic squares if you dare!”

A few of the kids tried them. And to my shock, one kid wanted to take the whole batch off my hands. We laughed. A few of us gagged. It was all fun.

When I think about baking I also think about race in America, which is much less fun to talk about.

I’m going to talk to white people for a minute. It’s fine if you’re not white and want to keep reading, but this message is particularly for my Caucasians in the crowd. So when I say “we” I am referring to white people.

Alright, let’s turn the oven to 350 degrees.

If you are a shit baker like me, you’ve probably burned a few breads, crusted a few cookies, and garlicked a few brownies. The natural response when discovering this mistake is usually “OH SHIT.” We haphazardly pull the smoking and unrecognizable items out of the oven and get really pissed off, maybe even a little sad.

Our roommates behind us shed a single chocolate chip-shaped tear.

We start going through our stages of grief:

Denial: “But I set a timer and everything!”

Anger: *throws smoking thing out the window*

Bargaining: “Maybe I can just cover it with icing and nobody will notice?”

Depression: “I should have just bought a damn cake at the store!”

Acceptance: “This is what I get for not reading the recipe closely enough. I will do better next time.”

As we are processing these stages, the oven is still fucking smoking. It’s actually caught fully on fire but we haven’t noticed whatsoever. But if we did, we would also be victimized by this fire. It might even harm us, or destroy our home.

Are you starting to get it now?

The oven caught on fire is racism in America, OK. It’s been hot this whole time, and now it’s actually bursting in flames. It’s hurting people. And we don’t even like touching the thing with oven mitts when it’s not on fire.

I’m not going to apologize here: White people, stop being so fucking fragile and put out the fire already. Step away from your burnt cookies and grab the fire extinguisher.

To be clear, fragile things do not like to be broken.

I’m still unsure why lightbulbs come in little paper sleeves with no ends, but maybe we’ll never know. White people are fragile because we must be “handled with care” as our bright red labels imply.

Unfortunately, the only way things become less fragile is for them to be broken and rebuilt with stronger material. If you are a survivor of trauma, sexual abuse, or health issues, you may have an idea of what it feels like to be broken and built again. But the fact remains: many white people are so layered in privilege that we truly have no idea what it would feel like to be a black person at the center of this fire.

Let me give you a non-baking anecdote.

A few years ago Joy and I went out in Brooklyn. We took the subway to the movie theater, filled up on popcorn, and settled in for a nice rom-com. After the movie, we thought we’d get a drink or two. We didn’t live in this area of Brooklyn so we wanted to check out a cool spot nearby. It was a Karaoke Bar.

I am a quintessential basic white girl when it comes to Karaoke Bars. It’s almost like I sniff them out or something. And once I step inside of them, it’s nearly impossible to get me to leave. I immediately put our names in a bucket to sing.

While I was doing that, Joy attempted to order us a drink. But when I got back the drinks were not there. She had a pretty good spot at the bar and the bartender was right there.

“What’s the deal?” I asked.

Joy pulled me off the bar. She’d been trying to get the bartender’s attention for over five minutes. First with eye contact, then verbally.

I kid you not, the second I rolled up, this woman looked at me and asked if I’d been helped.

Oh, yes, Joy is Kenyan.

The two of us together make an odd pair, some might say. But we joke that we are a married couple. She is as her name suggests, unbelievably joyful. We don’t always agree on dishes, but she occupies a large space in my heart.

In this crowded bar, it had not gotten past me that Joy is the only black person there. I think I even mentioned it when we came in like “Woah, gentrified much!”

I’m peeved about the bartender, that’s the word, peeved. It is a mere annoyance for me. Unbeknownst to me at the time, it has ruined Joy’s night.

We have our drink. Joy doesn’t want another one. In fact, she wants to leave as soon as is physically possible.

“But what if they call our names to sing?” I plead with her.

Again, what the hell is my deal with Karaoke Bars?

We go outside to get some air for a bit but it’s raining. Joy feels trapped and I am trapping her. We huddle up under the awning as the rain pours around us. We meet a nice tattooed white girl ironically named “Brooklyn” who is from Australia. We like her and her accent. She’s smoking a cigarette and looks cool.

I take the liberty of talking shit about the bartender. I don’t know how we arrived at the next bit, but Brooklyn tells us she’s basically never met a black person before.

I’m far too amused that her name is “Brooklyn.”

“Wait, how is that possible?” I ask.

She tells us about her small town, which I don’t remember the name of. She’s here on a student visa. Her eyes are doing something weird but I’m getting kind of drunk since all we had for dinner was popcorn.

Suddenly I hear my name being called by the DJ who has earlobes the size of coffee filters.

“JOY! OH MY GOD! THEY CALLED MY NAME! LET’S STAY. JUST ONE SONG!” I yank her away from Brooklyn and inside without waiting to hear her rebuttal. 

Inside DJ Coffee Filter starts playing Clint Eastwood by Gorillaz except it’s a very weird remix that I don’t recognize and I botch the lyrics anyway. I make Joy capture my moment on my phone.

Finally, I let us leave. We wave goodbye to Brooklyn who is still on the stoop and hop in an Uber home. Because Joy is Joy, she politely continued to joke with me about how “weird the night was.”

My privilege allows me to see it as nothing more than that. A “weird night.” Thinking back on it now, this was a missed opportunity to put my fragile self aside and to take care of someone else.

I cannot speak to what I do not know, but I can put out the fucking fire.

Our shock as white people at the death of George Floyd is honestly an insult. Like I said before, this has been going on forever. I taught my students about Emmett Till, the 14-year old black boy lynched in Mississippi after a white woman accused him of flirting with her in 1955. I did not have time to teach them about the countless others that lost their lives for being black at the hands of white people like me. I don’t even think I could teach that if I had an entire school year at my disposal. There are just too many.

It’s uncomfortable. And I’m asking you to get over it. Black people are tired of waiting around for us whites to deal with our own shit.

Look, I’m not here to shame you or make you feel bad. I’m not accusing you of being a member of the Ku Klux Klan, OK. But it’s time. Time for us to sit in our uncomfortability and have the hard conversations so that actual change can occur.

Does rioting make you uncomfortable? Ask yourself why.

Does black anger make you uncomfortable? Ask yourself why.

In what ways have you seen racism? Did you speak out against it?

And for god sake do not make a black person walk you through this process, please god. They are so tired, you guys. They are so tired.

Once you’ve had these reckonings with yourself (and please do so quickly, remember that the fucking house is on fire), it’s time to do the work. Here is what you, a white person, can do to fight racism:

1.      Get on Google and do some research. What are the local laws in place for the police department nearest to you? Are they required to wear body cams? Are they trained in de-escalation training? Find out. Write to your city or town government. Their info is really easy to find.

2.      Like social media? Try sharing something! Share and retweet stories of racial injustice, protestor heroism, or just the work of black people you admire.

3.      Consume art, books, and music by black people. Also, there are many books about racism that can help educate you and have the tough conversations with yourself. Untamed by Glennon Doyle has a great chapter on racism.

4.      Sign petitions.

5.      Donate your money.

6.      Do some more research.

7.      Listen.

8.      Take notes.

9.      Sit in yourself for a while and resist the urge to squirm away.

10.  Don’t get defensive. You’re not the one on fire.

I thought about continuing this list, but seriously, just Google something and you will find it. The internet is fascinating that way. You’re going to have to do this on your own.

But I believe in you.

Now go and get the fire extinguisher.

Your Fellow White Person,

Mimi

How I Became a Podcaster on Accident

Here I am, relaxed as ever, after nearly losing an entire audio file...

Me: “I should start a podcast.”

Also Me: *looks at calendar booked to infinity*

I have a bad habit of accidentally doing things.

Not anything bad. I’ve never been pregnant or on cocaine. Although I did spend two weeks in a rehab center one time. And I did do a lot of drugs while I was there. But that was kind of necessary considering my brain exploding and all.

When I say “accidentally” I mean I had no intention of doing these things. I didn’t put them on any sort of Bucket-List or 5 Year Plan. And even when I was actively doing them, I still didn’t really consider the fact that I was doing them.

Does that make any sense?

I wrote a book on accident because my friend told me it would be a good idea and that maybe Ellen would invite me to be on her TV show.

I thought that was cool.

So that night I went to my computer, pulled up a word document, and wrote the words “I am writing a book” under a title page. I had no credentials, skills, or writing experience. And four years later it’s no longer a silly punchline that I merely humor and joke about to my friends, but a real-life BOOK that you will be able to buy in three weeks. And read. With your real-life eyeballs.

Ta-daaaah.

Trippy right?

I also accidentally started doing stand up comedy. Because a college buddy and I got drunk one time and signed up for an open mic. I was allotted three minutes and I performed eight, paying no mind to a person in the back of the room waving a phone light at me telling me to get the fuck off the stage.

Here I am probably telling the joke about the guy that held my face on a date who I figure is probably next in line to become a serial murderer (or THE serial murderer...from a true crime podcast I'm currently bingeing...)

And then four years later here I am in New York City telling jokes in big ol’ comedy clubs because that’s what real-life comedians do. One time I even got featured on a list called "New York City Comedians To Look Out For in 2018" which is strange considering I wasn't even trying to be a comedian at all ever. People still wave phone lights at me, but I’m part of a special club and I know what that means now.  

And wouldn’t you know it a few months ago a friend told me to start a podcast and I bet you can guess the punchline to this joke.

Artwork by the lovely and talented Joyah Love Spangler

Yep. I started a podcast.

Whoopsie-doodle!

Silly Mimi! Artistic projects are for…ARTISTS. Oh wait, you’re one of those too! This was not part of the plan!

I had a lot of plans growing up. Plans to be on Broadway and then more realistic plans to be a high school teacher. These things are still within reach for me, and I’m even still pursuing some of these things now.

But here’s the cool thing about “falling into” things: It’s way better than the shit I actually planned.

Why? Because planning comes with expectations. When I plan something, I set up an expectation in my brain of how that thing will turn out, so I obviously imagine the very best. I planned to be the best teacher imaginable, for every student to become a better person for having met me.

~LOL~

Now that’s not to say I wasn’t or am not currently a great teacher. Because I am.

But I’d be lying if I told you my expectations of clean cups of pencils and an organized classroom with zero questioning of my authority matched up perfectly with my reality of choking back tears in the teacher’s lounge in between class periods.

I was a hot mess.

And that’s fine because I’ve anchored that experience into what I’m currently doing, which is being a badass podcaster, writer, comedian, and human being. Hot-Mess to Bad-Ass: My Crazy Artist Life…anyone dare me to write another book?!

~SPOILER ALERT: I’M ALREADY WRITING LIKE FIVE~

I wasn’t really planning to be any of these things, so I have a very low bar when it comes to how successful I will be with them or what new opportunities will arise as a result. And when I say low bar I mean I practically trip over it on a daily basis.

It's a lot easier to succeed in something when you have zero concepts of what success looks like in that thing. For all you know, success means just not bursting into flames! Hey, good job! You're not on fire! You are slaying it at life!

Start a podcast, you say? Sure! Why not! What have I got to lose?! What’s one more thing I can immerse myself in that I know absolutely nothing about?

To be clear, I lacked all the necessary skills, equipment, and physical time to become a podcaster. It was only last year that I even KNEW what a podcast was, mmkay. I’d even been lightly nudged by other podcasters I'd met in New York not to start one because of how time-consuming they can become.

But that bar of expectations was already rolling around at my feet so I simply stepped over it and bought myself a copy of “Podcasting For Dummies” and binged more of my favorite podcasts on the subway and tried to learn their styles and techniques.

My favorites? Up and Vanished, Serial, Tiny Leaps Big Changes, Hidden Brain, and Science Vs.

Up and Vanished especially taught me the power of a regular Joe starting a podcast. Now, Payne Lindsey was already a filmmaker before he started his podcast so I bet he had a nice network of sound people and fancy microphones, but still, he was just like me! A random human with a story to tell!

So I borrowed a couple mics from a friend of a friend (who later became the creator of my theme song, what up Lucas Murray Music you the MAN) and started fooling around with sound software.

I was still missing some things, though. Mainly a sound mixing device and knowledge of what the actual fuck I was doing.

But that was easy to find. And the story was already there. The story is me.

As many of you know, I’ve expertly branded my brain injury into some content that is oddly marketable, it turns out. Much like my brain injury itself, that was also an accident. And a happy one at that.

But I already had a whole book about me and my brain, right? What else is there to explore? Are you really about to be yet another friend I have with a silly podcast I have to listen to? You say as you scoff audibly into the air as you read this. Well, if we’re going to get into the brain itself, there’s quite a bit of crazy phenomena to try to understand.

Like why do eyeballs see double after a brain injury? What part of a brain is responsible for making someone a serial killer? Do we have any idea why it takes babies so long to stop putting Legos in their mouths and trying to kill themselves when my back is turned?

I’d like to know these things. And because I’m not a neuroscientist (or rather, I haven’t accidentally enrolled in medical school yet) I can’t answer these questions. But I bet there are people out there that can.

And there you have it, the birth of an accidental podcast.

Powered by sheer curiosity, lots of fumbling with microphone cords, and a can-do attitude! 

The path to this podcast has been filled with many peaks and valleys; losing audio files, learning curves, and late nights spent reading lengthy science research trying not to look like a fool in front of my guests with Ph.D.’s, best-selling books, and award-winning research.

Mimi and The Brain is a science podcast, with a comedic twist. It’s a podcast about brains, for people that have them. In the first season, I will be interviewing top brain scientists, surgeons, and psychologists about the intricacies and mysteries of the human mind. I will tackle my confusion with real-life experts and have one heck of a fun time doing it!

Sound cool? It is. And guess what, it’s available now to listen!

Episodes 0 and 1 are now available to listen on Spotify, Apple iTunes, Google Podcasts, Stitcher, and you can click here to find it on our host site Buzzsprout!

Join us every other week to learn about my brain and your brain, baby brains, and even monkey brains, all of the brains! And feel free to follow us on social media @mimiandthebrain on Instagram and Facebook and @mimiandbrain on Twitter for the latest updates on our journey to discover all things brainy!

I hope you enjoy this accidental endeavor as much as I do.

Bye now! Or as I say on my podcast signoff… “Catch you gooey brains later!”

Mimi and The Brain is brought to you by...

Kylie Holloway, Producer

Jose Manuel Alfonzo, Sound Editing

Lucas Murray Music, Theme Music

Joyah Love Spangler, Artwork

Gotham Sound, Equipment

and Mimi Hayes, Writing and Co-Producer

I'm on a Health Journey, Not a Weight-Loss Journey. There's a F$@*ing Difference

Don't mind me, just gonna be conquering the world with my awesomeness over here on this bridge. 

Photo by the amazing Jajuan Burton 

It was Sunday and I was doing stand up for the first time in nearly a month.

I was rusty and I didn’t really have any new material or care to put in the effort to write better jokes.

So my good friend Kimmy lugged me out of the house and we hit two all-female open mics (Bunt Cake Mic and Laughing Buddha Ladies Mic you should try them out!). I felt empowered having all those ladies around me and excited to grab the microphone.

I felt good.

And then I got on stage.

I was doing my “brain bits” and I ended up trying a new bit about how weird it is when people say they’re sorry about my injury…which leads me to fuck with them mid-conversation and pretend like I’m remembering a bunch of repressed memories and that I didn’t actually have a brain bleed on a blind date, but that I’m remembering the person saying sorry having stabbed me in the back of the neck at brunch.

Et tu, Britney?!

Yeah, still working on it.

Anyway, Kimmy records me on my phone and we head to the next mic where I decide to do my “Angel Dicks” premise instead, which goes well in a room full of women who are really tired of men bragging about them.

I’m funny. We’ve established that.

It was viewing the playback of the video that was the problem.

When I watched the first video I saw one word burn into the screen hotter than the stage lights on my curly mop top: “pregnant.”

I looked pregnant.

To confirm this fact, the 4-year-old I nanny poked my stomach last week and asked me if I had a baby growing inside of it.

Now before you get all woke on me about this and tell me to shut my mouth, I’d like to remind you that I get to decide how I feel about my body. Me. Just me.

So what I say kind of goes in this situation. To be clear there is quite a long list of things I actually love about my body. Including but not limited to: my kick-ass curly hair, my baby blues, and my adorable tiny feet that are so ridiculously small that they get stuck in sidewalk cracks sometimes.

That joke was for you, Kimmy.

I can blame the oversized shirt I was wearing or the lighting or the fact that I wasn't even remotely “sucking it in.” But at the end of that video, I was sure of one thing: it was time for a change.

So after a few phone calls to trusted health allies (Alexis P. and Emily H. ladies, you are simply crushing it right now and Wellness Con Katie, your community is beautiful), I decided I was going to cut the crap. I need to be healthy.

Mmmm, now don’t you notice that I didn’t say SKINNY?!

Did you catch that little detail?

If you don’t recall, I’d attempted a health journey last summer and documented my results on my blog. I tried a 30-day Cleanse Diet program suggested by a great friend and experienced some initial success.

FYI I'd just eaten a giant grilled cheese sandwich, a bag of Doritos, and was sucking it in for the After Shot but YAY GO ME I AM STILL UNHEALTHY AF.

But there was a problem. For that attempt, I’d only wanted the Before and After shot; the famous picture I’d seen so many of my friends posting on their Facebooks and Instagrams the past year. I wanted that too! I wanted to wake up and casually post a pic of the new me, the better me. I wanted all my ex-boyfriends to slide into my DM’s and tell me how foolish they’d all been in leaving my sexy new ass.

As one would imagine, I gained it all back (and then some) almost instantly. And with it, an even lower sense of self-worth.

See, because of my fucking mindset. Oh, and cheese fries.  

I’d gone into that “weight-loss” journey with just that, an unrealistic goal to lose weight on a scale. Nothing else.

I didn’t care to educate myself on nutrition, I just wanted to pop a pre-made smoothie in the blender and forget about it. I didn’t want to read up on exercise techniques. I figured I would just run a few miles every couple of weeks and call it good.

Why?

Because changing your body is hard work.

It requires almost a complete overhaul of lifestyle to truly see a difference. And the fact of the matter is that most of us don’t want to alter our belief system just to fit into skinny jeans.

But we really should.

And that’s what I’m doing right now. I’m educating myself on my own body, talking to people who have had successes of their own, and trying to find the best path for me. I’m listening to podcasts, reading books, and joining online communities where I can learn about this weird sack of human bones and muscles and fats and awesomeness that I walk around in all day but have no idea how it actually works.  

But as cool as that is, somehow I’ve still caught some flak for it.

From friends, family, the internet.

“You don’t need that fancy gym membership!”

“You’re wasting your precious money!”

“Those supplements are all evil!”

“Your personal trainer is an anarchist!”

And y’all mean well! Really, you do. The intent behind these statements is surely: “I love you and I want you to be happy!”

And I love you for this intent.

But do you know what those words really do?

They take the wind right out of my sails and make me feel like a god damn lunatic. Like everything I’m doing is somehow wrong and I should stop doing all of it because that’s what everyone is telling me to do and they love me so they must be right, right?

Wrong.

My suspicions are that people who love me say these things because they themselves wouldn’t do them. They wouldn’t spend the time or money or take a risk that might not pan out. And hey, that’s cool. You don’t have to!

It really is an investment. Not just monetarily, but emotionally, physically, and probably spiritually to some degree.

So far for me, it has been very taxing on my pocketbook and my planner. This is a choice I made because I lack the skills and motivation to do this journey alone. And maybe that will change down the road once I get a solid foundation.

But it’s like that one little company called Microsoft that a few people invested in back in the 80's and everyone was all, “what are you doing Bill Gates this technology stuff is crazy AND THE ROBOTS WILL KILL US ALL.”

Who are we to judge if a few of those silly investors just so happen to be multi-millionaires now?

You didn’t invest.

Shit, I didn’t invest. But I was also not alive.

There’s also an added element here that we should consider, and that’s my favorite thing about me: my brain injury.

2014 was a real rough year for my body. Immediately after a breakup that summer I lost about 15 pounds because I stopped eating and started running like a crazy person. A real rom-com stereotype. My roommates tried to force-feed me but I just couldn’t bring myself to eat. I was depressed.

And then my head exploded and I lost another 20 lbs. of muscle mass.

Fucking muscle mass, you guys!

I also temporarily lost my taste buds on the left side of my tongue so not only was I so sick I couldn’t eat, but if I did I couldn’t enjoy it anyway.

Fast forward to me leaving the brain rehabilitation center after several weeks of regaining my motor functions, and I walk out with…wait for it…a pamphlet on nutrition!

With pictures of vegetables on it!

Yay for me! I can eat veggies on a white circular plate!

Well, my taste buds came back, y’all. And like, have you heard of mac and cheese though?

There was no guidance, no mentorship when it came to this sort of thing. I had no tools for nutrition or wellness post-injury and I was so god damn tired all the time from relearning how to walk that I wasn’t about to start rewiring my belief system too.

And I don’t regret that.

Do you have any idea how good food tastes when you can’t taste for 3 months?

It was like a multi-layered foodgasm every time I put something in my mouth. And it was fucking awesome.

But here I am, four years later, refusing to post an Instagram comedy video because I can’t stand the sight of my own body bombing up on the stage.

But you know what? My eyes are open now. Painfully so.

I had my first (and complimentary!) personal training visit at my gym and she pinched some fat on my arms and tummy to reveal that I was 34.5% body fat.

Above 30% is considered…obese!

I was shocked. And honestly not that surprised. And more than anything, I really wanted to understand what had gone wrong since my slimmer glory days. Back when I played college ice hockey but still ate whatever I wanted and could somehow fit into any clothes I needed to. I still wasn’t healthy back then, but at least I could squeeze into my jeans from high school.

But I’m not looking to lose weight. I actually don’t want to lose anything. I want to gain. I want to gain confidence and strength and willpower and lift a fucking car over my head just because I can.

This, my friends, is a true health journey.

It’s not a 30-Day Gut-Busting Juice Diet or a Slim-Down-Now Extreme Exercise Subscription. It’s not going to happen quickly. And I’m going to be a real human about it and eat a piece of chocolate if I want a piece of chocolate. Just not the whole bag. And I’m not going to be shameful about it either.

It’s a brain game. And I have a long way to go to truly understand what my brain and body really need in order to be healthy and operating at peak performance. There’s a reason I fall asleep standing up at work every day at 3:30 PM and cycle back into unhealthy eating habits to try to temporarily ease the emotional pain.

I’m not healthy. And that’s something you can’t always see on a little number on a scale. It’s deep inside my body, cradled inside my neurons and in the dark corners of my mind.

I’ve got my work cut out for me. And I hope that you do too. I hope that you seek knowledge as power and work your ass off for what really counts: health.

And I hope you keep your well-intentioned (and bullshit) weight-loss remarks to yourself 😂❤️️👏

Editor's Note: As of this morning's measurements with my Personal Trainer, I am down approximately 5 lbs. of fat with a total body fat composition of 30.6%. Ah, hell yeah. 

You Can Take the Teacher Out of the Classroom But...

My collection of weird teenagers during our final Comedy Club meeting.

Ah, damn it.

Are you serious? I thought we were done with this teacher shit.

Didn’t you like set your classroom on fire and run away to New York or something?

Nah, brah.

They’re back.

And I don’t mean the students I just sent to the Dean’s office for the millionth time.

I mean the feels.

They’re back with a vengeance and a lot of tear-stained tissues.

We are quickly approaching my one-year quit-iversary of being a high school teacher and boy it’s been a crazy 365ish days! Do you smell something burning? Oh, it’s my pants? My pants are on fire because that’s just a perfect metaphor for my insane lifestyle right now?

Great. Glad we’re all on the same page.

On this particular (and currently post-work and pantsless) evening, I am having trouble focusing. I spent the afternoon nannying with the world’s goofiest boys as always. But when I returned home I had only one thing on my mind: writing.

I.Must.Write.Or.I.Will.Die.

But what shall I write tonight? Will it be what’s behind door number 1, an episode of my new podcast that I need to finish by next week or I will look like a fool in front of my very first guest?

Will it be door number 2, a few hundred words of my 3rd memoir that I believe will be the key to unearthing myself from my seasonal depression?

How about door number 3, an article I decided to write yesterday for McSweeney’s on my inability to hold down jobs as a barista?

Or maybe even door number 4, a few minutes of stand up comedy related to the incidents leading to door number 3?

Just as I begin to open door number 1, I decide I really should clip my fingernails…

But then there was the matter of a second dinner and engaging in a glass of wine session with my roommate proved to be of utmost necessity.

And then I had to check my email.

And then I had to Google a few things really quick for no apparent reason other than to convince a private investigator in the future that I am a complete sociopath.

And then I absolutely needed to check my Instagram.

Now before I lose you, this is where shit gets interesting.

See, because there was a tiny little notification in the corner of my Insta informing me that somebody had left me a message. How exciting! Maybe it’s one of those cute guys I’ve been not-so-secretly cyber-stalking for the past few months…

UhhhhhhNOPE it’s a former student.

Now, this former student is a very special former student to me. A student who I spent many after schools with, typing away into a miniature Chromebook as she talked at top speeds, trying desperately to capture her genius. This was how we wrote her papers. Me at the keyboard and her getting her thoughts into the air as quickly as possible before they left us both in the dust.

I fucking love this student.

Of all the students to hear from at this hour, I am NOT mad about this one popping into my little inbox.

Not only was she always in that front row ready to listen to whatever ridiculous thing that came out of my mouth every single day, but she actually heard me. She heard me and she understood me.

And when I learned that she was struggling with a neurological disorder I was all over that shit. I was on the phone with Mom consistently, pestering her other teachers about letting her take her tests orally instead of on a scantron, I mean I'm pretty convinced I'd hide a body for this young lady, okay. 

About a year ago I revealed my social media accounts to her and some of my favorite students in the wake of the news that I was quitting. I’m not entirely sure why I did it, other than wanting to be that weird teacher who keeps tabs on their kids from time to time to make sure they’re not drinking from red solo cups or dating shitty people. Maybe I really did just want the followers, who the hell knows.

I’m young and hip and annoying so it makes sense.

Every few months I get an email, Facebook message, or Snapchat from a kiddo. The majority of them are innocent and not weird. Aside from a kiddo that called me cute (after seeing a picture of 16-year-old me LOL) and a few daily Snapchat bombardments with just the word “STREAKS” on them which seemed excessive and strange, we’re all good with this whole former student-teacher social media game.

I won’t run into any of them at the grocery store or the gym anytime soon and I’m sure if I end up settling back down in Colorado someday they’ll have long forgotten about lil’ old me and the windowless classroom we once shared all those years ago.

So here she is, my sweet, sweet girl.

And what does she have to say this evening? It’s not a text, or a random picture of her dog (although that is encouraged) but rather two pictures of a handwritten letter from a notebook.

“Hey I just found this and I never gave it to you because I never finished it and I’m sorry for the handwriting…lol”

Hold on to yer butts, folks, cuz you bout to shed some serious tears…

The letter reads:

September 27, 2016

I just wanted to say thank you so much for sharing your story with us. I understand that can be really hard and I’m really sorry you went through all of that. I’m sorry the response you got wasn’t respectful or caring. I have so much respect for you and what you’ve gone through I wish the vibe and open-mindedness was here in the class more. I see how much you care and wanna help these kids. You have such a big heart and I can see that! The way you are about us is unbelievable. You deserve so much from life and I hope you get that. It’s not fair that your emotions aren’t being reacted to or are taken into thought. I want you to know I hear everything you’re saying! I’m so happy to say I have a teacher that I connect so much with and you didn’t even know it. We have the same passion and visions for the school and just life in general. You can see the beauty of life as I do. I aspire to be like you and keep hope for change. Lately with everything going on it’s been really hard to keep that but your words have started a spark a light back inside me and I just wanna tell you that you are making a change and with everything you’ve been going and still trying to get pieces of you back. I have so so so much respect for you. Thank you for your letter! It really meant a lot to see that someone cared when I had nothing from anyone and was losing hope and strength. You reminded me that I’ve always been a fighter and whatever is going on won’t impact me the way it has been. I want my life back and I will get it back. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do but I won’t let it get a hold of me and change who I am. You’ve been helping me in so many ways without even trying. You are so important to a lot of people and I appreciate you. I love the way [you] meditate, your style, the little things you like ̶  *

Now if you can’t see your screen properly because the tears are flowing so heavily it’s practically Niagra Falls in this shit…YES, SHE REALLY SAID THESE WORDS AND YES, THE WALLS OF MY UTERUS ARE SHEDDING MAKING IT 20 BILLION TIMES WORSE.

She wrote them actually. Which is a big deal considering all those modifications we made to her History papers. She wrote the words on a piece of paper during what I can only tell you was one of the most terrifying and life-changing weeks of my life (alright second only to brain surgery).

It was actually the very week I first had the thought to move to New York City.

Now is that some cosmic shit or what?

I never saw the letter then, you see because that wouldn’t have been nearly as cool (although I still would have bawled my eyes out like I did just now).

Instead she’s sending me this NOW, days after losing a job, feeling a little bit sorry for myself, and around the same time frame that I remember last year was filled with summer anticipation, fear, and a fuck-ton of phone calls to parents telling them that their child was failing and needed to get their shit together like three semesters ago.

This unbelievably sweet letter comes at a time when I’ve started to settle into a certain lifestyle here in New York that I enjoy, but I’m also mourning the loss of the one I left behind. And most of all, mourning the loss of all the kids those two years who made me feel like I was a person who mattered.

Not some face in a crowded subway to be squeezed past or just another name on the lineup at a comedy show to be quickly crossed out at the end of my set, but a person who fucking counts.

It’s a feeling we so rarely talk about when we talk about work or success or joy or happiness.

It’s a feeling I want to replicate for the rest of my god damn life.

But I was suffocating.

My classroom had no windows. I was literally gasping for oxygen every single day for two whole years.

In that amount of time, I’d had more panic-induced mental breakdowns in the teacher’s lounge and in front of 5th period than I cared to remember. And that was just it, I didn’t want to remember.

The day she wrote that letter I don’t think I’d showered in days and my eyes were probably still puffy from crying over my recent tough break up. I was at my lowest low when this KID decided to open her notebook and tell me that I was real and that I mattered to her and to many others.

What had I said that day to deserve this little love letter? What ‘story’ was she talking about?

You know what, I honestly have no clue.

I can’t remember.

My guess is something brain-related. A story about maneuvering a wheelchair or learning how to do 3rd-grade math problems in rehab perhaps? Or something less recent? A story about being scared I’d lose my dad when he got into a car accident behind our house when I was in high school? Maybe I’d really fallen off the wagon and told the entire class that I’d just ended the best relationship I’d ever had in the most heartbreaking way possible…

What in the fuck came out of my mouth that day and how did it have the power to possess her to write such touching and honest words?

I’ll never know.

And I don’t have to.

What I do know is that I’m still a teacher.

Try as I might to lock that part of myself in my parent’s storage unit back in Colorado, I am still here.

Teaching and sharing and encouraging like I always have.

Making stupid jokes and telling people not to give up even when every fiber of their being is telling them to abandon all hope.

That’s my job.

And a year ago I thought I’d hung up the hall pass for good. I thought I was running away. I emptied the entire contents of my classroom into my car and then into that storage unit and shut the door tightly behind me, hoping to never look back for fear of confronting my deepest and darkest insecurities.

The little voice in my head that whispered, “You couldn’t hack it as a teacher. You weren’t tough enough.”

The opposite is actually the truth. Not only was I tough enough, but I was SO tough that I had to quit so that I could give everyone a god damn breather from how intense I was.

I’m like fucking Rocky Balboa before he’s all old and shit.

So what am I doing now you ask?

I’m actually still teaching.

Yes, I literally teach comedy writing classes on the Upper West Side on Monday nights, but I actually teach every day of the year.

I teach when I get on a stage and share a story.

I teach when I write my books.

I teach when I encourage a new friend to keep doing comedy even though it’s really fucking hard.

I teach when I tell people about my life.

I teach when I blog.

I teach when I podcast.

I teach the 4-year-old to ask more questions and the 2-year-old to tell me when he shits his diaper instead of just letting it sit there and making me look like the World’s Worst Nanny at the play place.

Just because I’m not suffocating in a public school classroom 80 hours a week, 10 months out of the year on slave wages doesn’t make me any less of a teacher.

I’m actually an even better teacher now that I’ve left that environment. The proof is in the handwritten letters. This is not an outlier. There are at least 200 letters much like this one tucked away just waiting for my blubbery eyes to discover; some back in the storage unit and about 50 stacked up on my nightstand right now.

And on my worst New York days, I turn to these letters and I remember who I am.

I am a teacher. And I matter.

Now pull out your damn headphones and let’s get to work.

My notorious 5th Period cheesin' during our Civil Rights Museum project day...

*Student gave permission to publish this letter.

What I Learned on a 30-Day Cleanse Diet

Hello, there my tiny scale friend! What news brings the day? Hark! A higher number than yesterday I see!

I’m not good at 30-day things.

My 30-day yoga challenges turn into 3-day yoga followed by 362-day no-yoga. With a few hot yoga’s thrown in there just because I hate myself and keep holding onto the idea that sweating my weight in liquids onto my yoga mat is actually fun and not the worst idea I’ve ever had.

This past month I tried a 30-day cleanse diet. And boy was it a doozy!

Never in my life would I have sought this kind of thing out on my own free will. But thanks to a lovely friend who posted a transformation photo and story recently (SHOUT OUT to Layne if you out there, girl you duh best), I thought hey, why the hell not.

I had zero expectations with this thing. Negative expectations actually.

I had this conception in my head that people who went on diets were crazy, deranged, wack-a-doodle’s. And sometimes just plain ol’ bat-shit sociopaths.

Who is this motivational person on this pamphlet to tell me not to eat bacon?

I. Don’t. Think. So.

But I called up my ol’ friend from middle school and we chatted about her transformation. It was amazing. She told me she not only looked great but actually felt great too. I liked the idea of not feeling so fat and lazy all the time.

I’d hit a point where I started to notice extra fat hanging around my sides in photographs. I took a selfie and had a double chin without trying. I ate a lot of delicious foods in Europe in the spring and I think they attached themselves to my belly button. Alright, I told myself. What the hell, let’s just do this thing.

Here is my (abridged) experience:

Day before:

• A lot of my friends are resisting the idea of me being on a diet “You don’t need to lose weight,” they say. “Haven’t you heard of working out?” “That’s a pyramid scam,” or my personal favorite, “Just cut out carbs, it’s easy.”

• I promptly want to punch them all in the face.

• I buy a sugary coffee on my way to an improv show, there was 5 dollar minimum on the card so I had to buy a bag of skittles (obviously).

• I drink a beer with new friends after the show because I have a feeling this is the last time I can do this kind of thing.

• I buy a tube of Pringles on the subway home. I feel hopeless and probably not even that hungry. I see a guy pissing on the side of the subway, run to the opposite side of the platform, and eat half the tube in disgust and shame. I get on the subway and try to offer the other half of my Pringles can to a homeless man and even HE didn’t want that shit. I get off the subway and proceed to throw away the can in the nearest trashcan.

Day 1: Sat 8/12

• Wake up, tired at 10:30 a.m.

• Read the directions on my giant box of mystery weight loss products.

• Take a “natural accelerator” pill.

• Drink 1 oz. of a weird brown liquid and start to question my life decisions.

• Make a vanilla shake, not the worst thing I’ve ever had. But it’s no doughnut.

• It’s snack time! I am so excited to eat again that I try to cut into a baby avocado that isn’t even close to ripe and butcher it horribly.

My life summed up in one photograph...

• I end up eating 10 grape tomatoes and a tiny spoon of hummus and kind of want to punch my boyfriend* as he opens a bag of Takis while simultaneously offering me a scoop of ice cream.

• Make banana bread with chocolate chips that I can’t eat and lick the spoon on accident.

• 2nd shake of the day, strawberry…I get the consistency down a bit better.

• First meal of day: half plate Kale (it’s surprising how good Kale can taste when you haven’t had solid food all day), half plate whole grain coos-coos with spoon of garlic, some artichokes, and a handful of grape tomatoes, plus some Trader Joe’s Mango Sweet and Spicy dressing (probably not supposed to eat this dressing but fuck it).

Day 2: Sun 8/13

• I feel sick this morning, like pukey. Maybe it’s the consistency of the shake. I’ve let it sit for a bit and now it’s lukewarm. I try to drink it, but cast half aside unable to stomach the texture of what feels like warm drool.

• I gulp down the brown liquid stuff again and feel like a whiny 9-year old taking my cough syrup medicine.

• For a snack, I have lentils and rice and veggies and don’t totally hate myself.

• Only one word can describe my emotions at 11 a.m. HANGRY. FUCKING HANGRY.

• I have my 2nd shake and a handful of almonds.

• I make dinner. A baked stuffed pepper with quinoa, asparagus, tomatoes. I inhale half of it and then have to get on a train to a house event.

• I break not once, not twice but THREE times at the house party. I sneakily inhale three bites of fettuccine alfredo, then cut a pizza into a small triangle and inhale that in shame, and then cut a small piece of bread. In my haste, the bread drops to the floor and I pick it up and dust it off, cover it with brie cheese and homemade berry jam and eat it anyway.

• I feel like a giant dumpster fire of a human being.

• No one at the party senses my disdain for them all as I watch them merrily eat everything and anything they want. Those fucking assholes with their brie cheese. BRIE.

LOOK AWAY.

Day 3: Mon 8/14

• I feel much better this morning and have my 1st shake of the day and prep for an interview.

• I get really hungry right as I’m leaving for the interview. I’m stressed because I’m helping someone new move into the house. I eat a “Go Lean” Isagenix bar and make a strawberry shake for the subway ride.

• My train is about to leave and I’m walking the new guy to the train but he needs to refill his MetroCard. I apologize and run onto the train anyway, not stopping for him because I can’t risk being late to this interview.

• I am early to my interview, encouraging me to stop at Starbucks and order an unsweetened pineapple black tea and call my best friend Kristen.

• I eat a quinoa bowl and water for dinner! Go me!

• I go to a friend’s comedy show. There is a 2 drink minimum which I confuse with a 2 item minimum. I buy zucchini chips…(okay they are fried), a hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps (minus whipped cream), and a way too expensive Perrier.

• I get to keep the mug from my alcoholic drink but steal the pen from signing the check because I spent 40 bucks and feel empty inside.

Day 4: Tues 8/15

• I get help from a friend on how to manage the 20-person co-living space I’ve just been hired to manage. I drink my shake slowly over the course of 3 hours.

• Later I go to a coffee shop and get a tea while I prepare for another interview for the next day.

• It’s 4 pm and I’m still at the coffee shop and now I am STARVING because I suck at following an eating schedule.

• I get home and eat a handful of nuts and cranberries.

• I eat 5 mini pretzels with cheese.

• I eat 5 cinnamon sugar almonds.

• I have my 2nd shake.

• I lead a house meeting and order pizza for my housemates. I eat a salad and fruit and try my best not to even look at the pizza. Go me!

Day 5: Wed 8/16

• I might be losing my mind but there are weird beige spots on my arms today…are these bruises? Am I dying? Wtf is going on.

• I feel more energy today but feel like I need more to really crush my interview. I eat a Go Lean bar on the way to the 911 Memorial and stop at Starbucks for a small iced coffee with a pump of vanilla. I crush my interview and feel awesome on the sugar high that I'm not allowed to be experiencing.

• I drink my 2nd shake then meet at Whole foods in Tribeca for manager training and dinner for my house. I get a box and head to the salad bar. I get some grilled veggies, salad, stuffed zucchini, tiki masala…and shit now I’ve gotten 2 large spoon’s full of mac and cheese, how the fuck did that happen. Oh, well.

• I decline dessert even though the CEO’s are buying.

• I go home and have a weird bowel movement.

Day 6: Thurs 8/17 (Cleanse Day 1)

• It’s cleanse day #1 and I talk to Layne on the phone about the schedule I should follow for cleanse days. I have absolutely no idea what I’ve gotten myself into.

• I spend the day eating my chalky capsules, pills, juice concoctions, chocolate (that’s my favorite part), and water.

• I sit and watch my boyfriend* order a veggie burger at a restaurant and can barely stand it.

• I have one slice of cucumber and a slice of tomato on accident.

• I’m writing like mad today because a publisher has requested my manuscript. I am having trouble focusing on the task at hand because I like to eat when I write. A lot.

Day 7: Fri 8/18 (Cleanse Day 2)

• It’s cleanse day #2; they are back to back every few weeks and I feel like that’s a recipe for disaster (and not the delicious kind).

• I’m actually doing okay. I’m surprised that I survived yesterday without real food.

• I follow the hourly schedule with fighter pilot precision.

• My boyfriend* lets me have a bite of mango at 3 p.m.

• This is more of a mental game than anything else. I don’t think I’m even that hungry, I just want to eat food to eat it, you know?

Day 8: Sat 8/19

• My book is due to the publisher today and I am stressed AF. I get up early to write, make a shake and forget to eat again until 5 p.m. I eat some pretzel crackers and avocado in .02 seconds over the sink.

• I lead an improv workshop in the basement of the house and buy some sugary snacks and alcohol for everyone. I eat a few pieces of chocolate but restrained myself from alcohol (okay so I took a sip and then bf was like “what are you doin’” and I was like “you right Bae, thanks”).

• I eat 2 bites of zucchini pasta and a shake for dinner.

• I weigh in and have lost about 5 pounds.

Day 9: Sun 8/20

• It’s Brunch Day at the house and we’re pulling out all the stops: biscuits and gravy, eggs, an entire case of champagne…

• Restrained myself and had Kombucha instead of Champagne and I’m going to be honest they taste about the same.

• I try to keep it light and have a few potatoes, half a biscuit, and tons of fruit (the non-Tequila-soaked ones).

• Lesson: I don’t even crave the alcohol, it’s the company. The people. I want to be around my friends!

Day 10: Mon 8/21

• It’s my first day at my editorial internship and I’m excited to walk into the office feeling like a big girl with a big important job.

• I kind of forget to eat again during normal lunch time but brought snacks and had a salad and shake.

• After the internship, I meet up with my new friend Becky and BREAK the shit out of my diet by eating a cheese board, bread, and “world famous” mac and cheese.

• I regret nothing but also everything.

• I feel a bit guilty, but also manage to restrain myself from alcohol for the 3rd day in a row! Wow!

Day 11: Tues 8/22

• Adding this Isagenix orange energy powder thing to my Vanilla shake (tastes like Orange Creamsicle) is rocking my world right now.

• I do a 4 mile run at Prospect Park and talk to geese and turtles and see a swan floating away like he didn’t want none of your bullshit.

• Lunch/Dinner: Veggie burger with Ezekiel bread, garlic spread, sweet corn salsa, tomatoes, and cucumbers OMG FOODGASM.

• Another shake at night and some bites of curry (bf is so supportive he gives me bites but only of healthy stuff).

• I realize that I am saving so much money on not eating out, drinking alcohol, and grocery shopping! YAY ME.

Day 12: Wed 8/23

• This Orange Creamsicle invention is still giving me life.

• I find out about the release of a new shake flavor, Cookies n’ Cream. I order it immediately and within a few hours, it completely breaks the internet.

• I make Quinoa pasta with Ezekiel bread on side for dinner 😊

Looks like I'm cheating...doesn't it. WELL I'M ACTUALLY NOT THIS TIME.

• I notice: not drinking enough water! Bad!

• Not much physical activity today but I felt pretty energetic.

• Made banana bread and subconsciously (or consciously) forgot to add the 3/4th cup of sugar! Woops. Still tasted good though with chocolate chips, soy milk, applesauce, and some agave.

Day 13: Thurs 8/24

• Was doing fine today until I saw an almond croissant from a bakery window…I ate it, naturally. I thought to myself, wow that was bad, why don’t I make up for it with this $8 juice, that must be healthy for me right? Um, NO. 190 calories, 810 mg potassium (okay, that’s okay right?), 45g carbs, 16g sugar, 340% Vitamin C. Alright, so not altogether awful. At least it’s not a Coke, right? But definitely not as healthy as the happy leaf on the front of the bottle would have you believe.

• I also notice when I tell myself I’m “hungry,” I actually get hungry. Like if I wasn’t thinking about food 24/7 I probably would have gotten on the train, skipped the almond croissant and juice, and been just fine.

Day 14: Fri 8/25

• I think I did okay today?

• I drink two shakes, a sushi dinner…is sushi in my diet? Can I eat this? No matter, it’s fucking delicious.

• I do some stand up at an open mic and don’t get any alcohol.

• When I get home some of the boys downstairs are playing a drinking game on the porch. I join them and feel super awkward when I decline alcohol again. “C’MON, ONE SHOT!” They scream. Nah, I’m okay. I just want to watch you all fail at the simplest of tasks in this game right now.

Day 15: Sat 8/26

• I have a comedy show tonight! I’m super excited and surprised that I got booked (shoutout to Raman if you in dis, thanks for hookin’ me up!).

• I have my shakes throughout the day and prep my set.

• I go to lunch with my good friend and brain buddy Emily who I haven’t seen for 6 years and we order a pizza and some salads. I wonder if it’s healthier because it’s gluten free but at this point, I think I’m just trying to make excuses. A pizza is a pizza.

• The show goes great and I feel back in the swing of stand up!

Day 16: Sun 8/27

• I’m getting a little frustrated because I’m not seeing the number on the scale go down…like at all. Damn it, pizza.

• I’m also on my special lady time so I’m bloated and feeling gross.

• I go for a run today which feels good.

• I want to eat a lot today, and I’m not really sure why...

• We do a taco bar for house dinner and I make mine like a salad…which is still probs not that healthy because I’ve dumped a bit of queso (okay a luxurious amount of queso) onto it.

• I’m not loving myself today. I feel shameful when I have these “fat” moments. It feels like I’m really screwing this up pretty much every day. Maybe I’m just emotional because my uterus feels like it’s on fire? I don’t know.

• I eat some snacks in the basement when we watch the Game of Thrones finale and feel real triggered.

Day 17: Mon 8/28

• Ate a “snack” tablet (kind of like a chalky tablet version of a shake) and an energy shot before my…wait for it…10.5 mile run. Yes. It’s true. I actually spent like 4 miles of this run getting lost in a cemetery, because that seemed like a good idea at the time.

• Finally arrive at my destination (a Trader Joe’s, obviously) and am a little disappointed by the scope and size of this location’s store. I buy some protein bars, water, and a non-Isagenix protein shake and call an Uber right as my phone is about to completely die.

• Take a shower. Get lunch with boyfriend* and another friend at an Israeli place down the street. I don’t realize what I’m ordering and it’s a sandwich. I pick off the bread and eat all the yummy veggie insides.

Day 18: Tues 8/29

• The granola from Trader Joe’s is like crack cocaine…I hope I’m allowed to eat this. It looks healthy. It’s gotta be healthy. I mean come on.

• I snack during the internship on dried mango, a banana, and some chips and pico de gallo from the deli downstairs during lunch break. I’ve spent all day writing about food that I can’t eat and alcohol I can’t drink. It’s getting kind of annoying.

• I stop at a chocolate store to buy something (for my boyfriend*, not for me!) and end up getting a sample piece of chocolate and a sample of a pistachio macaroon. What! What was I supposed to do? Turn down a macaroon from the nice man? Come now, I might be on a diet but I do have a soul.

• Caught a whiff of Chick-fil-A on the way from the chocolate store to the subway and hate everything.

Day 19: Wed 8/30

• A French house guest catches me making my shake this morning (with my new Cookies and Cream flavor!) and comments that “zat stuff eez really bad for you.” Hmm. Pourquoi, my little French busybody? I guess it’s starting to piss me off a reasonable amount that everybody and their mother has to weigh in on my dietary choices. What’s that? It’s bad for my liver you say? Please tell me more as you smoke that cigarette.

• The office ordered pizza for a meeting. And I sit contemplating my next move. Which is to eat 3 slices, obviously. I proceed to hate myself despite the deliciousness. I try to tell myself it’s okay because it was thin crust.

• Bargaining. The third step of grieving. Next, I will slip into a foodie depression.

• When I get home I eat some biscotti cookies.

• I don’t have my second shake until 11:30 p.m. I just can’t seem to get the scheduling down. I get distracted and I’m like “oh I already ruined my diet today so might as well just not eat!” That’s not good.

Day 20: Thurs 8/31

• I felt much better today. A bit more in control. I have 2 shakes throughout the day, some light snacks, a veggie patty, salad, and risotto (okay it had cheese in it but that was an oversight on my part, don't judge meeeee).

• It was a stressful day at the internship. I have a lot on my mind today and people are moving in and out of house like crazy. A friend calls to tell me she is having health issues. I cry for five minutes in the private phone booth at work for no apparent reason other than being overwhelmed.

• I probably ate something small I wasn’t supposed to at some point today. I can’t remember.

Day 21: Fri 9/1 (CLEANSE DAY 3)

• I hated today. I was very emotional, and it felt like there was drama around every corner. It was a terrible day for a cleanse day but I stuck to it. I watched a friend eat Indian food in front of me and I’m really proud of myself for that.

• Just a bullshit emotional day.

• I’ve lost 10 pounds.

Day 22: Sat 9/2 (CLEANSE DAY 4)

• I’m still emotional and at this point, my eyes just look puffy from all the crying I’ve been doing. I go for a run and call a friend to debrief her on the newest developments in my emotional roller coaster ride.

• I fucking hate not eating.

• I look real skinny today though.

Day 23: Sun 9/3

• I feel happy to be back to shakes today, Cookie’s n’ Cream is pretty bomb and I’m happy it exists.

• I go to a BBQ for my house and feel a little anxious about not being able to find food there that I can eat. I’m relieved to find a veggie burger.

• But I have a few Oreo’s from the dessert table. I’ve had a rough freaking weekend. I deserve this.

Day 24: Mon 9/4

• I wish I knew what went down on this day. I can’t find my notes for this day anywhere. Oh well. Use your imagination!

Day 25: Tues 9/5

• I did aiiight today.

• I did manage to start pinning doughnut places in NYC to my favorite’s tab today during work so that I can visit all of them once my diet ends. Sounds like a great idea.

• I made veggies and a sweet potato for dinner. Veggies go bad so fast I notice…

Day 26: Wed 9/6

• The Hannah’s (the names of the other interns, lol) are making fun of me for my lame shakes at our internship today. Not like in a mean way. I think part of them admire my quasi-dedication to this thing.

• I have a veggie burger for dinner and it’s delicious but I wasn’t supposed to eat the bread (don’t care). I eat some chips and guac and a swig of fancy cognac (that’s alcohol, and no I don’t care) for a friend’s going away party at the house.

• I make scones for the house snack. And eat one.

Day 27: Thurs 9/7

• Made a healthy quinoa breakfast with blueberries, cinnamon, and some other healthy bullshit. It’s actually really good. I know I’ve been grumpy these past few days, but really it’s not so bad.

• I accidentally skip a meal.

• I get home to find that my boyfriend* has made me a bowl of ice cream with blueberries and it makes me feel very special but I also know I’m not supposed to have it. I agree to have several bites and make him eat the rest of it.

• I eat some Ezekiel bread with garlic spread close to 10:30 p.m.

Day 28: Fri 9/8

• My boyfriend* and I stay in all day. We have granola and fruit for breakfast, order Pad Thai, and binge watch Bollywood movies all day.

• I’m feeling down this week, for a lot of reasons unrelated to the diet, but a few caused specifically by the diet.

• I’m getting really angry about having to say no to food. I feels like an open invitation for people to question me when I’m out somewhere. I also don’t think I’ve lost as much weight or fat as I wanted to, which I know is probably because all of my not-so-sneeky food cheating. I’m back up a few pounds from the cleanse day when I was at my lowest weight.

Day 29: Sat 9/9

• I unofficially end my diet a day early by eating peach french toast out with a friend for brunch.

• I get a green tea frappacino later in the day as I kill time before my improv class.

• After class I meet my boyfriend* at the bus station to go to Saugerties, a small town in up state NY where we’ve booked an Airbnb and decide to take a long weekend.

• Our bus makes a stop along the way at a cute diner and we order grilled cheese and fries.

• I have definitely ended my diet and I feel a lot of things about it…

I raise a grilled cheese to YOU, good friend.

Day 30: Sun 9/10

• For breakfast we go to a cute little restaurant in the main strip of town and I order a vegan pancake. I feel a little better about ending the whole thing but the lure of vacation food is too tempting. For lunch we have some chips and queso and for dinner I eat a steak taco and get a cider. Later I drink half a bottle of wine and we watch more Bollywood movies.

If you’ve made it this far, congratulations!

You’re likely well suited to attempt a 30-day adventure just by your shear will and determination to get through this long ass post!

A few last thoughts.

Since ending my 30-day diet I have bounced back pretty closely to where I was before, numbers wise. I’m not happy about this, but I know that I was also going through a tremedously difficult season of life (and still am). I realize now that it took extreme focus to live my life this way for this period of time, even if it wasn’t executed perfectly.

I know deep down I could have done better, I could have been more careful about falling back off once the diet was over. I could have done a lot more sit ups, probably.

But this is life. It’s a process. There are no 30-day magic fixes for our lives, in the health department or otherwise. I’ve decided that this was the first step that I needed to take to achieve a healthy lifestyle and I’m willing to try it again and would truly recommend it for anyone who wants to be healthier in body and mind.

I think there should be a balance though. This thing was no joke. It was extremely strict and as a result I sometimes felt ill-equipt to follow it with precision. But what I was doing before (and started to slip back into after) was the completely wrong way to go about eating.

I had no mindfulness about what was going into my body, nor did I care what it did to me.

And this truly has to change.

I’m still working on it. It might take me another 30 days. Maybe 90. Shit, maybe 365. But I’m conscious of this now and I owe it to myself to keep working.

Not half bad for sneaking contraband food items under the table more than a few times...

*Editor’s note: Yes, it’s true. I was dating someone during this time. And it truly made me a better candidate for success. If your curiousity is killing you because you haven’t talked to me in 2+ months please feel free to call me on the phone, send me a hand written letter, or a carrier pidgeon if you wish to know further.