101 Things I Love About Myself: Valentine's Day Edition

Ah, Valentine’s Day…the one day a year when you get to enjoy watching hoards of hopeless men scouring the picked-over aisles of CVS for the perfect way to say “I love you…and I probably don’t say that enough, in fact, I can’t remember the last time I did -oh, God, PLEASE DON’T DUMP ME, OH PLEASE WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T LEAVE ME FOR THAT YOUNGER AND LESS BALDING MAN IN YOUR YOGA CLASS.”

I really relish in this day. And sure, maybe it’s a little selfish, but I can’t help but savor watching grown men lug life-size teddy bears and cartoonish bouquets into the subway.

Pictured: A poor schmuck on Valentine’s Day in his natural habitat, frantically signing a Hallmark card using a pen from the register.

I used to be jealous of stuff like that. How dare I not have a Valentine on this completely ridiculous made-up day of consumerist love!

It took me a long time to really understand the root of that Valentine’s Day-fueled rage. Did I want a man to shower me in cheesy gifts that he just had to punch a guy over at the grocery store…I mean I guess so???

We’re so vain, we probably think this blog is about us.

In truth, I wasn’t upset that I was single on February 14th each year. I was upset that I didn’t have love in my life. And as far as I was concerned, the only way for that to happen was for another party to be involved.

Boyfriend. Boo-Thing. Babe. Bae. Sugar, do, do, do, do, do, do, ah, Honey, Honey…

The concept that love is for “couples only” is only slightly more ridiculous than, oh, I don’t know, a gigantic teddy bear holding a box of chocolate tap dancing at your doorstep.

Not only is this idea outdated, but it’s also just not true.

I’m not a scientist or anything, but I’ve spent the better part of the last five years studying myself. The thoughts I have, my little weird habits, all the tiny ways that make me, me. I guess this kind of makes me sound like a sociopath, but you get the idea.

And yes, I’ve done this all alone.

Now when I say “alone” I need you to step off and I mean that in the nicest way.

Because for some reason whenever I say I am “alone” some voice from the crowd (actually many) jump out and scream, “DON’T WORRY YOU HAVE PLENTY OF TIME TO FIND A MAN.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Being alone is not a bad thing. It is not a death sentence. I actually like it. And I don’t need you to attach my worth as a human to whether or not somebody else decides they want to be in a relationship with me, OKAY.

I’ll get off my soapbox now, but before we move forward in this blog I need you all to reassess the ways in which society tries to trick us into thinking we are worthless if we are alone. Dove commercials and Hershey’s chocolates would have you believe that you need someone else (a.k.a. not you) to show you how much you are worth and did we mention that M&Ms are half price today if you also buy this piñata shaped like two puppies kissing each other?!?!!

It’s rubbish and honestly have you ever even Googled “history of Valentine’s Day?”

Lol wait are you breaking up with me with a Valentine’s Day card???

According to history.com where I’ve spent the past hour of my life, there are a lot of wacky theories out there as to why V-Day started in the first place.

Some think it started as a celebration of the death of St. Valentine, an equally mysterious fella who might have gotten himself murdered for smuggling Christians out of Roman prisons. Others think he was marrying young lovers in secret after Emperor Claudius II outlawed marriage in an attempt to make better (and less distracted) soldiers.

And others site the day as having originated from a Roman festival where priests went around town in the middle of February, sacrificed some goats and dogs (for SHAME), dipped the hide in blood, then walked around the neighborhood slapping women and crops with the bloody hide because obviously this is the best-known method to bring fertility to all the land.

I know you didn’t ask for that history lesson, but at least now you can shame your significant other for giving you chocolate when they should have clearly slapped you with a bloody piece of goat hide. DO YOU EVEN LOVE ME, STEVEN.

OK, OK, enough is enough. You get the point. Don’t hate on Valentine’s Day just because you’re single and society told you to. Just love you! Here are 101 reasons why I love myself without the help of anybody else or an aisle of discounted chocolates. Enjoy!

How precious am I???

1.      I ate an entire package of Proscuitto while writing this blog post.

2.      I really love history even though I can’t remember where I put my laundry card.

3.      One time I went to Scotland in a giant brain costume and performed a one-woman show in a warehouse to like 2 people.

4.      I have really cute tiny feet that sometimes get stuck places cuz they are so smol.

5.      I absolutely lose my shit at every single dog I see, make eye contact, greet them, and try to convince them to leave their owner so we can run away together to the South of France.

Potential Male Suitor: Wanna go out?

Me: Sorry, I’m busy…

6.    I’m so funny.

7.      I relearned how to walk, see, and do 3rd-grade math problems in two weeks.

8.      I am a really good teacher even though I sometimes/always bump into desks and rip my pants wide open.

9.      I talk in my sleep, sometimes having full conversations with people who may or may not be in the room.

10.  When I become friends with someone, I love the shit out of them.

11.  I am known to make sound effects when doing just about everything.

12.  I will try to sell you a Passion Planner.

13.  Sometimes I dance when nobody is looking but also when everyone is.

14.  I wrote a book and it’s really fucking good.

15.  I am a fantastic listener.

16.  I have cool tattoos (and some silly ones).

17.  I cry whenever I need to and usually in public places.

18.  I am an absolute monster when I am hungry and/or tired.

19.  I don’t really have much of a filter anymore so sometimes I just say whatever the fuck comes out of my mouth. Like this BLOOP BING BONG ZOOPDY DOOO!

20.  I’m a hat person.

21.  I look cute with short and long hair.

22.  I have a dimple the size of Kentucky on the right side of my face.

23.  My parents are amazing role models and taught me the importance of hard work, kindness, and being authentic.

24.  I don’t tan and that’s fine.

25.  I have freckles on my shoulders and arms.

26.  My favorite food is mac and cheese because I am actually four years old.

27.  I used to play ice hockey and I was really good at it but only managed to play 20 whole minutes during my college season.

28.  My hair has it’s own zip code.

29.  I have the mind of a squirrel. 

30.  Because I almost died, I have a much deeper appreciation for life having been given a second chance.

31.  I’m a shit liar.

32.  I don’t have to wear a lot of makeup to look pretty but when I put on red lipstick WOO-DOGGY!

33.  I love old black and white films.

34.  I find shit off the street, like rusty cabinets and record players, and make them into furniture.

35.  Speaking of furniture. I BUILT AN IKEA BED OUT OF KITCHEN CABINETS WITH MY BARE HANDS.

36.  Sometimes I just walk around craft stores for fun.

37.  I have a sweet, sweet podcasting voice.

38.  I am always down to try new things.

39.  I am constantly reading 12 books at one time and never finishing any of them.

40.  I acknowledge that 101 things is kind of a lot but I will for sure finish this list.

41.  I know the difference between “you’re” and “your.”

42.  If you share a bathroom with me I’ll clean my hair out of the drain 97% of the time.

43.  I go nuts for office supplies. Especially binder clips.

44.  I am a natural storyteller and can captivate any audience.

45.  When I was in 2nd grade I mailed a letter to Rosa Parks.

46.  I run into my doorframe every single morning.

47.  I have literally the best friends in the whole world.

48.  I never throw away cards that people send me.

49.  I’ve never been addicted to drugs unless you count coffee.

50.  I like to draw cute little cartoon versions of myself and leave them around any surface I can find for my friends and coworkers.

51.  I’ve been rejected for a TED Talk three times but I keep trying.

52.  I cuddle up with my mom and binge serial killer documentaries and also Outlander.

53.  My legs are athletic despite losing a shit-ton of muscle mass and having to gain it all back.

54.  I have a quirky sense of style and my favorite outfits are mostly from thrift stores.

55.  It takes a lot to really piss me off or make me yell.

56.  I hide things from myself which is honestly kind of annoying but also like a miniature scavenger hunt.

57.  I have great taste in music.

58.  I am slowly but surely having a better taste in men.

59.  I’d rather stay in than go to the club.

60.  I’m actually a really great singer.

61.  I’m extremely functional considering my clinical depression, anxiety, and mild medically-triggered PTSD.

62.  I can find laughter in truly unfunny situations.

63.  When I was a kid I used to change outfits like 30 times a day.

64.  I fucking love Free Willy.

65.  Even though I have a potty mouth I never curse around little kids.

66.  I own a typewriter that I bought on Craigslist from a woman named Marge.

67.  I’m not that great at guitar but that doesn’t stop me from playing.

68.  I have the craziest stories and they are all true!

69.  I inspire people around me to be more creative and authentic.

70.  I’m not afraid to travel by myself.

71.  I actually don’t age. Seriously. I’m 97 years old.

72.  I’m pretty, but like in a 1942-keep-my-crumpled-photo-in-your-helmet-while-you-fight-Nazis sort of way.

73.  I take unusual pride in having had access to opioids post-brain surgery and somehow managing to not get addicted to them.

74.  I have actually said, “Hi! Would you like a sticker with a picture of my face on it?” to multiple strangers.

75.  I’m great with kids, teens, babies, teens who act like babies, and pre-pubescent 14-year-old boys who want to start improv clubs after school.

76.  I’m outrageously bad at accents.

77.  If I go on more than like three dates with you I’ll probably bake you banana bread.

78.  I turn into a sack of goo when people play with my hair.

79.  I’m an annoyingly hard worker.

80.  Exhibit A: I probably won’t go to bed until I finish this list because I’m just that fucking stubborn.

81.  I give high-fives, hugs, and back rubs.

82.  I’ve been known to have rap battles in clubs when I’m really drunk.

83.  I’m not flexible. Like at all.

84.  My eyes are purdy.

85.  I like taking long walks.

86.  Every Saturday I run 3.4 miles to the dog park and sit and watch the dogs while eating an almond croissant and drinking a matcha latte. I don’t even have a dog.

87.  I’m from Colorado, the coolest state ever!

88.  I sleep curled up in a tiny ball.

89.  I had the cutest classroom as a teacher (until my students ripped all my shit off the walls).

90.  I am getting so excited to be getting to the end of this list! I LOVE MAKING LISTS.

91.  I’m more sentimental than people realize.

92.  I’m not kidding I really want to be a carpenter when I’m like 60.

93.  Sometimes I buy myself pretty flowers just because.

94.  When I get home from work I immediately get into my comfy jams.

95.  The scar on the back of my neck is cute AF.

96.  I will always text you back unless I write the response in my head instead of out loud.

97.  I know how to change a tire.

98.  I packed two suitcases and a manuscript and moved to New York City by myself and I have yet to be hit by a taxi, declare bankruptcy, or stabbed (did get punched though!) on the subway.

99. I GET SO EXCITED BY MAGIC TRICKS.

100. I’m not a morning person but you’ll have a good time watching me try to maintain consciousness by whatever means necessary.

101. I am truly, unconditionally in LOVE with everything that is me and I could not be more excited to show myself all the love and kindness (and OK FINE, chocolate) that I truly deserve, not just today, but every single day for the rest of my life.

I could keep going. Truly, I could. There are so many hidden things I love about being me, myself, and I that it could probably fill twelve more books (who smells a new memoir idea!!!)

I won’t kid you. This is not easy work.

The things I’ve hated about myself have filled an even stronger hold of my psyche for my entire life and I’d be lying if I said they would all just go away with a single (but very good) blog post.

That’s not how this works. Rome wasn’t built in a day, you guys.

Self-love, the real, holy-shit-I-can’t-believe-I-get-to-wake-up-every-day-and-be-ME kind of self-love is fucking hard. For some people, this behavior has never been modeled for us in the first place, or worse, it’s ridiculed or mocked.

Self-love is not selfish. It is imperative, essential, and a fucking requirement if you intend on loving others.

It takes looking in the mirror every day, every hour, every minute, and choosing mercy. Choosing loving words instead of criticism, kindness instead of cruelty, and trust instead of fear.

Hey, you. Yes, you in that reflection over there. I love you.

I Refuse To Make a New Year's Resolution This Year, Here's Why

*emerges from a pile of Christmas cookies*

It’s January 1st* in the brand new year.

This morning at around 3 AM I broke a poor guy’s heart by leaving him at the club to go get chili cheese fries after dancing with him most of the night. I didn’t give him my number. Shit, I didn’t even give him my name.

But off I walked, into the shadows of the early morning to glorious drunk snack heaven.

Aren’t you wondering what a newly acclaimed “Vegan” is doing eating chili cheese fries at three in the god damn morning?

Does it concern you at all if I say that, despite being single for the past year, I broke two other gentlemen’s hearts this morning by not agreeing to let them buy me more drinks and dance with them?

I used to worry about shit like this. But now I’m not.

Let me just make one thing perfectly clear, OK: Fuck New Year’s resolutions.

Now, this doesn’t mean I think you are stupid for having one. You are welcome to “new year new me” yourself all the way to kingdom come for all I care.

All I’m saying is that the concept itself is Ludacris. And yes, I do mean the American rapper.

Let’s go back in a time machine real quick…you comfy back there? Good. Let’s roll.

2014 was the first year that I actually hated. It was the first time that I approached the end of the year with a desire to burn my cute Lil’ Target calendar inside a dumpster.

On one hand, I’d overcome two near-cataclysmic events in the same year: a break-up from a five-year long relationship that ended horribly, and a brain hemorrhage. Also I’d graduated college, which for me might as well have been a cataclysmic event because I almost didn’t graduate at all (LOL ask me about that Nutrition class I took that summer).

But survival was exhausting. And my emotions had been to their extremes so many times I didn’t even know how to regulate myself anymore.

What nobody tells you about having several life-changing events in one year is that you don’t really get to be the same again. You cross a threshold; of growth, of grieving. And once you step over that threshold you don’t get to go back to whatever “comfortable” life you lived before.

If that sounds dramatic to you, it’s because it fucking is.

If you don’t believe me, go to talk to the strongest person I know: my mother.

This woman has been through so much shit she’s practically an armored tank.

She’s going to call me once she reads this. Why? Because she’s my absolute biggest fan and if I ever get on Ellen someday she’s going to be crying in the front row. When I miraculously made local television this year, as the camera panned out to commercial I literally waved and mouthed “HI, MOM!”

“Don’t look at the camera.” Me:

When I arrived to December 31, 2014 I was really depressed. I was healing up nicely from my brain injury but only on the outside. My insides were still squirming with anxiety and record-breaking low self-esteem.

I was about to start my student teaching back up again and I felt a pit in my stomach drop every time I tried to pick up a lesson plan. PTSD. That’s called PTSD. I didn’t understand it then, but the classroom brought me higher rates of anxiety than normal.

Probably, oh, I don’t know, because my head exploded while trying to explain “ethnocentrism” to a couple of 14-year-old’s.

I decided to go out on the town with my best friend Brennyn so that I could do what most people do on New Year’s: get white girl wasted and pretend like my life wasn’t falling apart. I could drink alcohol again. And my doctor told me as long as I didn’t black out I was probably fine.

So I continued my trajectory to inebriation and landed myself with bloody arms (I was wearing a sequin skirt and it had scratched my arms up while dancing) in a friend of a friend’s bed drunk and kind of high, calling up my other best friend and demanding that I be her Maid of Honor if she got engaged** that night.

Do you even know what’s about to happen next in this story? Do you even understand the kind of wacky shit I’m about to tell you right now?

Here we go.

The next thing that happened was that I woke up in that stranger’s bed soaked in pee because I had just drunkenly pissed myself.

Didn’t see that one coming now did yuh?!

OK, maybe you did. Also maybe you read my book and that little juicy story is buried in there somewhere. Wow, did I just spoilers you without telling you I was gonna spoilers you right now?

I feel like that was kind of manipulative of me. But hey, if you actually read this then you must enjoy torture because literally all of these posts are ridiculous.

What was the resolution that led to this tragic event? I’ll take “What is…Stop Living Through Life-Altering Events and Having to Deal with The Emotional Fallout?” for $1,000, Alex!

As silly as that sounds, my “resolution” was to stop being me, essentially. I didn’t want to carry all that baggage with me into 2015! 2015, babay new year new-ohhhhhh, nope. I just pissed in a stranger’s bed. Same me. Wait, was I pissing in stranger’s beds before 2014? What in the actual fuck is going on here?

I’m happy to announce that I haven’t had an “incident” since. Unless you count passing out and puking at a routine blood draw every single time but I mean cut me some slack will you, pressures cuffs and bins on walls with needles in them make me lose consciousness, OK.

But that doesn’t mean my resolutions since then have been any less stupid.

There was 2016 where I vowed to get back in shape.

Also 2017 where I vowed to get back in shape.

And 2018 where I settled for being “a shape.”

Most of my resolutions in the past few years have centered on my body and changing it. I didn’t understand what this was about until recently when I remembered that my body went through a massive change in 2014 causing me to lose 20 pounds of muscle mass and gain it all back in my face, ass, and bellybutton.

I’ve also resolved to write daily, eat healthier, do more comedy, do a TED Talk, get a book published, and move to New York City.

I’ve tried all kinds of mechanisms for this change including countdown calendars, planners, writing affirmations on sticky notes and putting them around my house, and who doesn’t love a good ol’ vision board? And I’m not saying these things don’t work, because they do. Obviously a few of those things got done. And if I haven’t tried to sell you the Passion Planner then are we really even friends?

The only thing is that this change comes from within.

I know that sounds like I read it from a fortune cookie or some shit, but it’s true.

The planners and the vision boards and the resolutions can only get you so far.

It’s what you do when you’re alone that counts. What do you tell yourself when nobody is around to like your Instagram posts about your progress towards that resolution? Who is going to be there for the setbacks? How far are you willing to go to write that book or lose that weight or make that documentary? When it’s March and you’re trapped inside in a snowstorm and taking a nap or watching another Netflix show or scrolling through other people’s lives is so much easier? What are you going to give up to make a change?

Let me repeat that one more time: what are you going to give up to make a change?

We talk big talk, but when the rubber meets the road, or whatever, suddenly it’s December again and we didn’t even get so much as a chapter of our Great American Novel written. When we talk about resolutions we talk about what we’re going to get. Money, fame, the washboard abs. Nobody talks about the giving up part; the sacrifices and decisions made to make those resolutions actually resolve.

Historically speaking, I can maintain momentum with a resolution a couple of days in a row before I get distracted and derail myself because OH LOOK SHINY. WHAT’S THAT, A NEW PROJECT TO TAKE ON WITH ALL MY NON-EXISTENT FREE TIME AND SURPLUS OF MONEY? WHY YES, YES I WILL VOLUNTEER AT THAT BLIND DOG SHELTER.

We’re all like that. It’s not just me with my head injury over here flaking on resolutions left and right when we get side-tracked. January 1st rolls around and we want to change ourselves right the fuck now and right the fuck forever.

Because who doesn’t? Change is awesome. Change is what happens when a depressed high school teacher moves to New York City with nothing but a few pencil skirts and a manuscript and transforms into a slightly less depressed stand up comedian and motherfucking published author who wears mostly sweatpants and the occasional nice dress to book signings and local TV appearances.

My life is unrecognizable.

I hope my exes stalk my social media. In fact, I’m sure at least one of them does. And I can die happy knowing that he is kicking himself every time I post a juicy “look how successful I am, you SHMUCK” post on Instagram.

But change doesn’t happen overnight. And it isn’t permanent. Not for me and not for all those ex-boyfriends that ended up in my first book.

It’s 2019 and I don’t care how many “alternative facts” you’ve read today on Twitter, you know that much to be true.

I’ve seen a lot of friends achieve some amazing things this year. Some of them got married, had kids, finished Master’s degrees, climbed mountains, lost weight, and became artists.

I’ve achieved my own as well: publications, speaking tours, TED auditions, book launches, TV interviews, comedy shows, New York City hustling, Veganism. Shit did you know I cut my own bangs for a while back there? It’s been one hell of a year.

And in a sense I am still very much in progress; a process of becoming.

I refuse to reduce myself to a resolution. No, you know what I want, a revolution; a rebellion. I want to fuck shit up.

And I can’t do that with a flimsy promise to the ether to “be skinnier,” or “more successful.”

I don’t even want that. I want to be strong. So strong I can lift a fucking car over my head and still look graceful for a camera catching this viral shit go down. I want to be irrefutable. So irrefutable that people will stop at nothing to get inside my damn air bubble.

And if I really am going to get a revolution, then it’s going to take a long-ass time. I’m going to need to be strategic about this shit, get some advisers, do some homework, really dust off my suit of armor and probably get some life insurance already.

I’m going to war, basically.

I’ll fight for the life I want to live, not according to some calendar, but in the little moments that I choose to do the things that move me onward and upward.

And you know what? Some days all that means is drinking more damn water. Some days it means hiding my phone from myself so that I can write for 30 peaceful and uninterrupted minutes. Others it means letting myself eat the “non Vegan” thing instead of beating myself up for an hour over it.

And when I slip up (often), I will wipe off my bloody arms and acknowledge that the journey I’m on will challenge me to new places that I can’t even see yet. I’m going to fail and fail well, learn from my obstacles, and love myself no matter what day of the year it is.

Editor’s Notes:

*OK, I lied. It’s the 3rd. This post could have been much more timely but I figure by now at least 3/4ths of you have given up your resolutions already so it evens out.  

**This same friend just got engaged today*** and I may or may not have sent an identical voicemail to her this morning from the parking lot of a diner in Brooklyn. What can I say, some things never change.

***Two days ago.

I Had My Tarot Cards Read For the First Time and Pretty Much Lost My Damn Mind

My face when a deck of cards tells me about my life…

Okay, okay, everyone stop what you’re doing right now. Put down the pastry or po-go stick or small child you’re holding and listen to this.

I am freaking the fuck out, mmkay.

And not because Oprah or Spielberg called to deliver contracts for my movie rights.

I am freaking the fuck out because I just had my Tarot cards read this week, all right. And boy was it a doozy. Like the kind of doozy that makes you write blog posts about while you listen to the hum of a washing machine as three little angels sleep in their beds instead of passing out from pure exhaustion covered in stickers and macaroni noodles.

That’s right. The kids are asleep, the kitchen’s clean, and I’m ready to get into this shit.

But before I take you on the epic quasi-acid-trip that was my tarot reading, I’d first like to point out a couple of key details to this story.

1. I have never had my tarot cards read in my life.

2. I have never had interest in having my tarot cards read in my life.

3. I still don’t know what a tarot is.

4. But I think it’s a small animal of some kind.

In the past week I have discovered “Bumble Bizz,” a much cooler side of the classic dating app Bumble. I’d never noticed it before, but I swiped over to find one million professionals of all kinds of industries at my swipey little fingertips. Way cooler than trying to make a myriad of Steve’s, Chad’s, and Tyler’s more interesting than they actually are. Oh, your profile says you’re 6ft1, how fascinating!

I switched over to the Business side and quickly adjusted my profile to read “Seeking Ted Talks and Brain Gigs. LMK if you want to make my book into a movie” and began the ol’ swiperoo.

Within minutes I’d found a potential new student for my weekly writing class, neuroscientists that I wanted to interview for my podcast, and a lovely woman who was offering discounted Tarot readings.

Who doesn’t love a discount, amiright?

I guess the last time I’d heard the word ‘tarot’ was in the movie Ghost. I think there were tarots in that movie, right? Maybe it was just Whoopi Goldberg doing a séance when Patrick Swayze shows up and says she’s full of shit.

Well, as curious as I may be, I definitely didn’t believe in spiritual mumbo-jumbo like tarot cards any more than I believed Beatle Juice would show up in my livingroom if I said his annoying name three times.

But for whatever reason I right-swiped on this Tarot Reader and quickly messaged her to tell her I was game. We exchanged numbers and I picked my favorite coffee shop near the Brooklyn Museum to meet up in broad daylight. No dimly lit basements or side alleys for me, okay, I’m not a moron.

So I get to the coffee shop early and set up shop with a little notepad to record my thoughts pre-tarot. Here I am waiting to have my future told! I scribbled. I’m so excited! Although I was skeptical about the whole thing, I was still excited to hear thoughts on my life. It was way better than getting catfished, I decided.

A lovely Latina-looking woman roughly my age greeted me and I was immediately drawn to her energy, literally, I got out of my chair and squished around the crowded tables to give her a hug. She looked like a friend I’d known for years, or maybe in a past life, if I believed in that sort of thing, which I probably didn’t. But she was just so adorable.

We walked through what the cards did and didn’t do…

They can open up channels within you.

They cannot predict your future.

They can reveal things on your mind or in your life that you’ve been suppressing.

They cannot tell you when or how you’re going to die.

I was a little fixated on the death thing, probably because it’s that time of year and it would be so cool to know the year in which I’m finally allowed to shed my gooey human body and fuck with all my friends and enemies as a ghost.

She asked me to shuffle the deck in any way I chose. So I scrambled them around for a good minute or so, repeating back to her that the cards do not actually predict death.

Then she placed the deck to my left and gracefully pulled them to the right of the counter, making a perfect line between us. For some reason I expected her next move to be to pull one randomly from the deck and shout, “IS THIS YOUR CARD?” But she didn’t. Instead she asked me what I wanted to ask the cards.

“Ask them?” I clarified.

“Yes, ask them something you’d like to work out in your life that you are unsure about right now.”

“Ask them…ask them…” I hadn’t really prepared any questions for the session. I kind of thought she’d be doing all the work. “Oh, I got it! Can I ask them about my art? I want to know…like am I going to be successful at my art actually or am I just going to be a flash in the pan and not be relevant at all?”

Yes, it’s been weighing on me. Since releasing my first memoir and discovering it behind a ladder this week in Barnes and Noble, far from any wandering eyes to possibly find, I’ve been wondering if I’m truly going to become the author I want to be.

Do you guys know how many books there are in the world? Just think about that for a second, okay. Just think about how unlikely it really is that my little blue-green cover will make its way out of the slush pile of J.K. Rowling’s, Roxanne Gay’s, and apparently, Tim Tebow’s.

Yes. You guys. Tim Tebow is even writing books now. Or he pays someone else to and gets his face plastered all over them. And he gets his own fucking table at Barnes and Noble.

This title is like a motivational poster threw up all over the cover…

Where is the justice in the world, hmm?

New York Times Best-Seller?

Can somebody explain to me what the actual fuck is going on here?

All right, I’m calm.

Back to the cards.

She asked me to pull three cards with my left hand. Why the left hand, you ask? Yeah, I asked about that too. I forgot what she said but it was something about the heart’s connection to the brain. I’ll look it up later.

I pulled them a little apprehensively, after all I didn’t want to come this far to pull shitty cards. I’d just asked if I was going to be a best-seller or toil into a career as a has-never-really-been. I chose the cards one at a time, making sure to pick the first ones I laid my eyes on and not second-guess myself.

Here’s what I pulled:

The Master:

“The Master in Zen is not a master over others, but a master of himself. His every gesture and his every word reflect his enlightened state. He has no private goals, no desire that anything should be other than the way it is. His disciples gather around him not to follow him, but to soak up his presence and be inspired by his example. In his eyes they find their own truth reflected, and in his silence they fall more easily into the silence of their own beings.”

”The master welcomes the disciples not because he wants to lead them, but because he has so much to share. Together, they create an energy field that supports each unique individual in finding his or her own light. If you can find such a master you are blessed. If you cannot, keep on searching. Learn from the teachers, and the would-be masters, and move on. Charaiveti, charaiveti, said Gautam Buddha. Keep on moving.”

She explained: In order to be successful at my art, I need to be the Master of it. 10,000 hours, all that shit, mmkay. I didn’t tell her I was a writer or a comedian but she told me whatever my art was, I need to take it seriously and get. to. fucking. work. I need to live an breathe it. Why? Because I’ve got “disciples” now, all right. I’ve got people gathering around me listening to what I have to say. And not only that. What I say, or as the card would tell me, what I don’t say (i.e. “silence”) is helping others understand who they are. Holy fucking shit, you guys.

Also: Can we just talk about the Sanskrit word “charaiveti” for a second? I had to look this up, but when I did my brain literally walked out of the room for a smoke break that’s how overwhelmed with emotions it was, okay.

Chara = moving

Eva = alone; only

Iti = Thus

It is said that Buddha concluded his sermons with “Charaiveti, Charaiveti”, or “keep moving, keep moving,” which is part of a larger phrase:

“The honey bee, by its motion, collects honey, and birds enjoy tasty fruits by constant movement. The sun is revered, by virtue of its constant shining movement; therefore, one should be constantly in motion. Keep moving, keep moving on!”

If you need some context as to why I’m flipping out right now, which you likely do: I am so constantly in motion my parents literally say “that one, she’s always moving, always got her hair on fire.” So for me to draw this card which is to become constantly in motion and to become the master of my art so as to inspire others, well, I’m shook to say the least.

Let’s charaiveti, shall we?

I also pulled…

Clinging to the Past:

“The figure pictured in this card is so preoccupied with clutching her box of memories that she has turned her back on the sparkling champagne glass of blessings available here and now. Her nostalgia for the past really makes her a 'blockhead', and a beggar besides, as we can see from her patched and ragged clothes. She needn't be a beggar, of course--but she is not available to taste the pleasures that offer themselves in the present.” 

“It's time to face up to the fact that the past is gone, and any effort to repeat it is a sure way to stay stuck in old blueprints that you would have already outgrown if you hadn't been so busy clinging to what you have already been through. Take a deep breath, put the box down, tie it up in a pretty ribbon if you must, and bid it a fond and reverent farewell. Life is passing you by, and you're in danger of becoming an old fossil before your time!”

She interpreted: I’m literally obsessed with my past. Which is also to say, I’m obsessed with my trauma. Again, she didn’t even know about my book, my brain, or any of the other shit I’m currently not working on with a trained medical professional like I should be. She told me I need to “let it go.” Whatever “it” was that I’ve been holding onto, I need to get that old stuff out of my face.

My thoughts: No. Fucking. Shit. If you didn’t know, I spent four whole years reliving and rewriting my trauma into a memoir that is now sitting proudly in the front window of a least 1-2 Barnes and Nobles in Brooklyn where I have strategically placed them so as to not be sandwiched between Arthritis Pain 101 and Heal Your MIGRAINES Now on the very bottom row of the book shelf.

Honestly, I’m glad I spent four years clinging to my past. It made me tough AF and ain’t nobody can tell me shit. Why? Because resiliency that’s fucking why.

But the cards are right. I have to let it all go now. Which isn’t to say I have to pretend it didn’t happen, but it’s time for me to truly move on, move on, dear traveler.

Should I still tour my book and comedy and use my brain injury to promote my identity as the most adorable and funny brain-injured chick in all the land? Abso-fuckin-lutely. Should I toil with every book sale and allow myself to linger in yesteryear? Nope. Not. Gonna. Do. It.

I also pulled…

Totality:

“These three women are high in the air, playful and free, yet alert and interdependent. In a trapeze act, nobody can afford to be a little bit "absent" even for a split second. And it is this quality of total attentiveness to the moment at hand that is represented here. We may feel there are too many things to do at once, but get bogged down in trying to do a bit here, a bit there, instead of taking one task at a time and getting on with it. Or perhaps we think our task is "boring" because we've forgotten that it's not what you do but how you do it that matters.”

”Developing the knack of being total in responding to whatever comes, as it comes, is one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself. Taking one step through life at a time, giving each step your complete attention and energy, can bring a wondrous new vitality and creativity to all that you do.”

She interpreted: I have to focus. Just like a cast member in Cirque du Soleil, I gotta be on the ball and never take my eye off that same ball. I have to be the ball, okay. She also said when I am The Master and I stop Clinging to the Past, then I will have totality. I will be in the moment and I will thrive.

My thoughts: Yeah, I’m a hummingbird and my hair is on fire like all the time so yeah, you know what I do get distracted. I experience these flow or “total” states when I’m writing. I literally forget to go to the bathroom or eat or drink for like eight hour increments, it’s insane. But I’ve got too many damn balls floating around.

And try not to laugh at that, okay, I’m trying to be serious here, you guys.  

If I were a juggler I would suck right now and Cirque du Soleil would surely blacklist me from every future circus gig. I need to focus. I need to zen. I need to take some shit off my plate like right this very moment.

So if you’re reading this, that’s me telling you that I’m going to take a tiny pause from my podcast, Mimi and The Brain, for about a month, just to get my little zen head back on my neck for a minute.

Don’t worry! I’m not going anywhere, OK!

And if you are itching for some prime Mimi content might I direct you to like…everything else I’m doing right now. Including but not limited to my very fun and very dramatic book that is available right the fuck now, Fam!

Anyway, this post is getting long. And if I were to walk you through every single card we pulled with my questions like:

Is there anything holding me back from being successful?

Will I truly find love? And

Should I let someone else be responsible for my art or produce it solo?

I think I’d end up with a full-blown book proposal so we’re not going to do that, okay?

But I will leave you on a couple juicy bits and some emotional aftershock to stew on for the next month while you’re waiting for more content from me.

Honorable mentions:

I asked the deck more about pursuing my writing and I got Past Lives, a card which says in all of my past lives I encountered a choice to pursue a thing, or not and to regret it like a loser the rest of that life. My Tarot Spirit Guide said that every life I’ve lived before* I haven’t pursued it. Which is why leaning into my identity as an artist is so hard in this life.

*What do you guys think, hmm? Former Prime Minister of India? A carpenter in Renaissance Italy? One-armed juggler in 1930’s Chicago? Hit me up with your best predictions of my past lives! WHAT A FUN GAME I JUST MADE.

As you knew I would, I also asked the deck if I would find love or remain an old dusty hag with lots of dogs and a cabin all for myself. Which doesn’t sound so bad minus the dusty hag part.

I got the Schizophrenia, Morality, and Sorrow cards. Sounds promising, right? Well, actually it kind of is.

Schizophrenia:

“The person on this card brings a new twist to the old idea of "getting stuck between a rock and a hard place!" But we are in precisely this sort of situation when we get stuck in the indecisive and dualistic aspect of the mind. Should I let my arms go and fall head-first, or let my legs go and fall feet-first? Should I go here or there? Should I say yes or no? And whatever decision we make, we will always wonder if we should have decided the other way.”

”The only way out of this dilemma is, unfortunately, to let go of both at once. You can't work your way out of this one by solving it, making lists of pros and cons, or in any way working it out with your mind. Better to follow your heart, if you can find it. If you can't find it, just jump--your heart will start beating so fast there will be no mistake about where it is!”

She explained: When I go on dates, I’m kind of two-faced. I’m not being my truest self. And guys can see it a mile away. They are so good at spotting my two-facedness, in fact, that not one of them has seriously approached me as a romantic possibility in over a year. What does the deck Have to say about my future as that dusty dog lady, you ask?

Well…then I pulled:

Morality:

“Morality has restricted all the juice and energy of life to the narrow confines of her mind. It can't flow there, so she really has become 'a dried-up old prune'. Her whole manner is very proper and stiff and severe, and she is always ready to see every situation as black and white, like the jewel she wears around her neck.”

”The Queen of Clouds lurks in the minds of all of us who have been brought up with rigid ideas of good and bad, sinful and virtuous, acceptable and unacceptable, moral and immoral. It's important to remember that all these judgments of the mind are just products of our conditioning. And whether our judgments are applied to ourselves or to others, they keep us from experiencing the beauty and godliness that lies within. Only when we break through the cage of our conditioning and reach the truth of our own hearts can we begin to see life as it really is.”

She said: In order to find love, I need to let go of that desire to hold back my true self, the master, totality, all that. I gotta quit being such a dried-up old prune. OK, so she didn’t say that, but how goddamn hilarious is that?

I think: This card is spot-on. I don’t have any jewels around my neck but I’m pretty sure I’ve been pretty stubborn lately when it comes to dating. And like my new schizophrenia diagnosis, I have to quit hiding my full self from these dudes. Otherwise…

Sorrow:

“The image is of Ananda, the cousin and disciple of Gautam Buddha. He was at Buddha's side constantly, attending to his every need for forty-two years. When Buddha died, the story is told that Ananda was still at his side, weeping. The other disciples chastised him for his misunderstanding: Buddha had died absolutely fulfilled; he should be rejoicing. But Ananda said, "You misunderstand. I'm weeping not for him but for myself, because for all these years I have been constantly at his side but I have still not attained." Ananda stayed awake for the whole night, meditating deeply and feeling his pain and sorrow. By the morning, it is said, he was enlightened.”

”Times of great sorrow have the potential to be times of great transformation. But in order for transformation to happen we must go deep, to the very roots of our pain, and experience it as it is, without blame or self-pity.”

She said: Yeah. You better get your shit straight or you’re gonna be in peril, Mimi. Whoopi said it best:

This seemed grim, but she actually told me I’m about to find love, like the real kind. She told me I’m going to meet the man of my dreams and have everything I’ve ever wanted. The catch? I’m going to go very on-brand and freak the fuck out about it which will lead me to this lovely card of a man weeping uncontrollably. And that just doesn’t really sound fun for me, personally.

So: I can pursue the man* of my dreams but only if 1) I’m being my most authentic and awesome self and 2) I chill the hell out

*I’m not going to be dramatic…but I did meet a super cute guy at a party this weekend. Have my dusty old prune days come to an end? STAY TUNED TO FIND OUT.

Okay, okay, I’m going to talk about two more cards followed by a story, mmkay?

Next Question: Am I gonna be OK? i.e. “listen you little deck of cards I have seen some shit and I really want to achieve all these awesome dreams so am I going to or not?”

I pulled…

Adventure:

“When we are truly in a spirit of adventure, we are moving just like this child. Full of trust, out of the darkness of the forest into the rainbow of the light, we go step by step, drawn by our sense of wonder into the unknown. Adventure really has nothing to do with plans and maps and programs and organization.”

”The Page of Rainbows represents a quality that can come to us anywhere--at home or in the office, in the wilderness or in the city, in a creative project or in our relationships with others. Whenever we move into the new and unknown with the trusting spirit of a child, innocent and open and vulnerable, even the smallest things of life can become the greatest adventures.”

She told me: There’s this story of this guy who asks his guru what he should do to be happy, OK. And so the guru is like yeah sure go to this mountain. And there aren’t like planes or even like boats really he has to travel all across the world, literally swim the Pacific or something to get to this mountain. Twenty years this guy is trying to get to this fucking mountain. Along the way he meets the love of his life, has some crazy stories, all this stuff. But he gets to the mountain, all right, and it suuuuucks. Literally the mountain is dumb and he hates it. But then he looks back at his twenty-year journey and he’s like okay it’s not so bad I did all that cool stuff on the way here.

My thoughts: Wow I would hate to be that guy right now. But what a cool story. And so perfectly intertwined with my life and my constant pursuits to find the next best thing but never really enjoying the moments that get me there. “Drawn by our sense of wonder into the unknown?” Oh hell yeah. Let’s go find that lame-ass mountain!

Question asked next: What are my best qualities?

I pulled…

The Fool:

“Moment to moment, and with every step, the Fool leaves the past behind. He carries nothing more than his purity, innocence and trust, symbolized by the white rose in his hand. The pattern on his waistcoat contains the colors of all four elements of the tarot, indicating that he is in harmony with all that surrounds him. His intuition is functioning at its peak. At this moment the Fool has the support of the universe to make this jump into the unknown. Adventures await him in the river of life.”

”The card indicates that if you trust your intuition right now, your feeling of the 'rightness' of things, you cannot go wrong. Your actions may appear 'foolish' to others, or even to yourself, if you try to analyze them with the rational mind. But the 'zero' place occupied by the Fool is the numberless number where trust and innocence are the guides, not skepticism and past experience.”

Guru said: I have the ability to continue trusting, loving, and existing even when bad things happen to me. I am “foolish” in that I have an aura of innocence that allows me to bounce back from the past in a way that others cannot.

Me: At this moment in the session I was ugly crying. Why? Because the cards were right. The cards knew. They knew that I’ve been hurt by others and betrayed by my own body. They knew that on a daily basis I foolishly forget all the pain I’ve been through.

The card goes on to say:

“A fool is one who goes on trusting; a fool is one who goes on trusting against all his experience. You deceive him, and he trusts you; and you deceive him again, and he trusts you; and you deceive him again, and he trusts you. Then you will say that he is a fool, he does not learn. His trust is tremendous; his trust is so pure that nobody can corrupt it.”

”Be a fool in the Taoist sense, in the Zen sense. Don't try to create a wall of knowledge around you. Whatsoever experience comes to you, let it happen, and then go on dropping it. Go on cleaning your mind continuously; go on dying to the past so you remain in the present, here-now, as if just born, just a babe.”

”In the beginning it is going to be very difficult. The world will start taking advantage of you...let them. They are poor fellows. Even if you are cheated and deceived and robbed, let it happen, because that which is really yours cannot be robbed from you, that which is really yours nobody can steal from you.”

”And each time you don't allow situations to corrupt you, that opportunity will become an integration inside. Your soul will become more crystallized.”

At this point in the session I had to blow my nose. Which my guru was totally cool about. I explained to her in vague terms why I was crying and that it was true, I’m resilient because I am not burdened by my traumas, I use them to get me places.

Now for the final story.

I’ve been carrying on my week like normal, despite having been totally shaken by the truths told to me by a deck of cards I’d never even heard of before. I went to work like normal, did a few after-work social gatherings, and continued to stalk the shelves of every bookstore I could find for my book.

But something crazy happened tonight.

I went to go see A Star is Born with a friend, ugly cried, as was predicted, made a trip to the eye doctor for some new contacts and glasses, met a complete stranger at a coffee shop who grew up in Colorado, is a writer, teacher, and probably my new best friend…but the weirdest thing happened when I was reading my copy of my own book on the subway home.

I got to the part where I get a little humbled and deep. No spoilers, but I talk about feeling lucky that I’m not disabled, dead, or blind.

I went to my first eye exam in three years earlier today. And aside from being that idiot that wears a single pair of contacts for six months until they literally rip themselves out of my eye sockets, my eyes are fine.

I have some double-vision in the corners of my eyes still. Mostly just in the morning or if I look at something really fast in that upper left corner. Do you understand how fucking lucky I am?

I woke up from brain surgery seeing double and sideways. Are we on the same page now?

I closed my book on the end of this chapter right as the subway doors opened and began sobbing. All of a sudden I remembered. The Fool remembered what I’d been through and all of the sudden that was very heavy.

I ugly-cried myself the two blocks home while calling my mom. As I slowly puttered down the street leaving puddles of eyeball goo behind me, bodega owners and taxi guys on the street started shouting at me “What’s wrong, Baby? What’s wrong?” It was like reverse catcalling, it was kind of awesome.

But I kept walking, telling my mother that I was probably just overly emotional because of Bradley Cooper but also that I almost died four years ago and I kind of thought that was a lot to process.

I hadn’t realized in that teary phone call, but my brain was lining up all the information from the tarot cards and delivering them in real time. This wasn’t just some random thing I did. I’d opened up a window into my soul.

Added bonus? I got this all for $30.

Talk about a mind-fuck.

Well. That’s all I have for you this…morning? It’s currently 2:32AM as I’m wrapping this lil’ puppy up. Which I guess makes me The Master of Writing.

And also really fucking tired.

Charaiveti, charaiveti friends, I’ve got some REM cycles to attend to…

Editor’s Note: The cards used in the Tarot session were called “Osho Zen” Tarot cards and reflect the teachings of Osho, an Indian spiritual teacher who died in the 1990’s. During his lifetime he was viewed as a controversial new religious movement leader and mystic. The descriptions for each card were pulled from a site I found online that appear to be from a book published from Osho himself. I do not know the credibility of this source, however the descriptions found on the site matched what the Tarot reader said to me.

Hello Insecurity, It's Me Mimi

Oh, hello there.

I almost didn’t see you behind that bush over there. See, I guess I thought you were long gone by now. You know, with me doing well and all.

I just assumed you’d taken a one-way ticket to your destination of choice. It’s a great time to visit Poconos I hear. Or maybe Aspen once the leaves start to turn. I figured you wouldn’t be around anymore after things started to take off for me, professionally speaking.

I’m sure you’ve heard the big news. Yes, I got my first book deal this year. And yes, everyone is very proud. As you know I’ve spent the past four years on this project and it’s all coming to fruition, finally.

I bet you’ve also been following my Instagram closely to see that I’m exercising a lot more these days and trying to get healthy. It’s a long process but I’m already starting to see and feel a difference from the small changes I’ve made so far.

And hadn’t you heard? I’m doing more comedy than I have in years. I’m performing all over, working on new material, and even teaching a few writing classes in comedy and other genres that are meaningful and fun for me.

Yet here you are.

I must admit I’m not excited to see you. In fact, I wish you’d go back to your stupid bush and leave me alone if I’m being honest with you.

Because you’re starting to cramp my style.

A few months after being offered a book deal, you showed up. You showed up during a lunch date with a new friend I’d just made. A friend I was really trying to impress and make a connection with. And you were actually quite rude.

You interrupted me mid-conversation to remind me that it could all come crashing down in an instant and that it wasn’t really a big deal anyway. You embarrassed me in front of this new friend, so much so that she called you out on the spot. I apologized profusely on your behalf and felt so bad I bought her a slice of cheesecake.

I thought maybe that spectacle would have deterred you, but you showed up again at a comedy show and told me I wasn’t funny and that I was trying too hard to make trauma funny, something I’ve been working really hard on this year and actually felt good about.

And let’s not even start on the other night, at the club. I was comfortable in my outfit and having a really nice time dancing with my friends at the bar and then you rolled up to inform me that I couldn’t pull off the outfit (because I’m “pudgy” as you said) and that I was just the “(not even really) funny best friend” role in a romantic comedy and that I’d never get a guy in real life.

That shit hurt.

And now. Today. You’ve shown up unannounced yet again, a mere month before my book comes out to tell me more horrible things:

That my book won’t sell.

That my book won’t sell (because it’s shit).

Oh, and that I am shit.

That people will not buy my book because it is shit and I am shit.

That I will never be as successful as I want to be (because of said reasons above).

I can’t believe you would say these things to me. From what, the little cave that you live in?

You fucking coward.

And worse? Your behavior has started to impact how I behave around other people! Because of you, I’ve hidden my true self. I’ve had melt downs in public. I’ve even said things to people that I’m not proud of.

I drank your Kool-Aid.

And it’s disgusting.

I never even liked Kool-Aid. 

I don’t want you around anymore. I really don’t.

For a while, I humored you and let you hang around because I didn’t really think you were capable of wreaking that much havoc on my life. You could sit in on my conversations, follow me to the bus stop, even come to work with me without causing too much of a problem. But now it’s time to go.

For good.

I’m dancing around things but let me come right out and say it right here and now: I’m breaking up with you.

I’m banishing you from my life. It’s not me. It’s you. And you fucking suck.

Take this as your cue to leave, forever. Go ahead, discover yourself in the mountains, take that trip to Brazil you’ve always wanted. I don’t give a shit where you go but you are not welcome here. Take some vows and become a nun for all I care. Just. Go. Away.

The road before me is too exciting and promising to take you along with me. Shit, I’ll probably get there faster without you dragging me down the whole way there. I’m actually pretty eager to see where I end up now that we’re cutting ties and all.

Do not try and follow me.

I am blocking you on all social media channels.

Don’t make me get a restraining order. You know I’ll fucking do it.

Please take your box of sad, weird notes and knickknacks that you’ve given me over the years and leave my apartment. Don’t make this harder than it is, okay?

I can’t really say we “had good times” because well, we didn’t. You’ve always been a pain in my ass and I don’t know how I’ve put up with you for so long. I know that sounds harsh but it’s just the truth. And you’ve done nothing but spew lies to me all this time so at least one of us can be honest about something.

After all of this is said and done I hope you realize how good I was to you all that time, letting you hang around me and lowering my standards so that you wouldn’t feel so out of place and strange in my life.

But let’s get real. I’ve outgrown you. And I’m sorry to say that we’re just headed in different directions. Me to my bright future, and you to…well, shit I don’t know what you’ll do. Like I said I don’t care.

Goodbye, and good luck becoming someone else’s problem.

Peace out,

Mimi

P.S. I’ve changed all my Netflix, HBO, and Hulu passwords. #sorrynotsorry

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.