And, Another One

I’m not a person who loves celebrating my birthday. It’s been a time when I usually allow myself to fall into a depression and start ruminating over all of the things I’m not. But, this year something is different. I’ve noticed a small shift in mindset. I suspect all of the loss, sadness, and anxiety of the last few years has made me wildly grateful that I’ve survived. Instead of wallowing in the what-ifs, this year I’m thinking of all of the things in my life - my husband, our kids, our granddaughter, my friendships, therapy, group chats that make me laugh all day, oat milk lattes, noise-canceling headphones, Schitt’s Creek memes, strawberry ice cream- that make my heart happy. That make me infinitely grateful to see every single day.

I can’t promise the angst and ennui won’t return. I’m a GenXer, it’s what we do! But, today as I start my 48th trip around the sun, I’m embracing my life in this moment and celebrating all the good things!

Worn|| On Wednesdays We Wear Pink

::taps on mic:: Is this thing on? I know I’m a GenXer so being a slacker is in my blood, but I didn’t mean to take that long of a break!

Lately, much of my internet surfing has been giving me the same sort of message over and over. It basically says to stop doubting myself. It reminds me that there are people out here living my dream. The one I’ve been too terrified to pursue. It yells at me to believe in my own excellence as much as some people champion their mediocrity.

August is my birthday month. I usually greet it with about as much enthusiasm as one feels for rain on your wedding day(shout out to Alanis!), but this month what if I listened to all of those whispers I’ve been hearing in the universe. What if instead of shrugging them off as flights of fancy, I embraced them. I may not be big on celebrating my birthday but this month, the one in which I’ll begin yet another trek around the sun, I’m gifting myself grace and going all in! I’m going to lean into all of the things I’ve wanted to do and take baby steps into becoming the woman I want to be. I’m going all-in on all of the uniquely wonderful things I bring to the table.

As of late, I’ve been working on countering all of the negative self-talk I bombard myself with daily. My usual response to hearing “there’s only one of you” would be “thank, God.” But, in this vast universe, there IS only one of me and that’s fucking amazing! All of this time I’ve been punishing myself for being imperfect while denying myself the absolute joy that lives in celebrating my humanity! I’m putting you on notice August, I’m coming for you!

Worn||A Well-Dressed Mess

Mother’s Day came and went this year without a post from me. It was the second one without my mom and in all honesty, I was unprepared for how hard it would hit me. Most of last year was spent in a haze of personal grief and collective mourning for all that we were losing almost daily. I was numb last year. This year I felt the weight of my own personal loss. Perhaps, I should say, I finally allowed myself to feel the weight of my loss.

Like lots of mothers and daughters, my mom and I had a complicated relationship. Sometimes we were so alike that most people would never notice how vast our differences were. And, I think I always believed those monumental differences meant that I would never be the daughter she was proud of. I always believed the times she voiced doubt about my choices or concern for the direction of my life it was judgment. I thought her interest in our commonalities was pressure for me to do those things the exact same way that she did. I never suspected that perhaps I was teaching her or that she was excited to see something she loved become something important to me.

I’ve been struggling in therapy a lot lately which is really how it goes. Every breakthrough is followed by a breakdown. Because growth can be as painful as it is powerful. Both awesome and terrifying. So, my therapist gave me homework. I had to write a letter to myself laying out all of the reasons why I’m not that broken person I was in my past. The girl I jokingly call, The Well Dressed Mess. The Bespoke Basketcase. The Fuck Up in the lovely Frock.

I won’t go into all the details I laid out in that letter but the one that is sticking with me and the one I’ve been unable to really say out loud is that I can’t be that old version of myself because I am my mother’s legacy.

In the few years before she died, we weren’t very close. Miscommunication and hurt feelings were at the root of it. But, I’d finally started to work past some of them. We started talking a little more. My visits weren’t so few and far between. Honestly, I thought we’d have more time. We didn’t. And I’ve carried so much guilt. Guilt that wouldn’t let me say that I miss her so much. Guilt that wouldn’t let me tell people how very much I loved her. And that guilt would never let me say that I can’t go back to being the well-dressed mess because it’s not who my mom raised me to be.

Whenever I was facing a conflict or a crisis, I could go to her. We’d have coffee and I would cry it out. She’d wipe my tears and rub my back. Saying, “I know….I know…it’s okay sweetie….” over and over until I was soothed. When I was ready to go back out into the world she’d give me a hug and whisper “give ‘em hell, Rae!” in my ear as I left.

So even when the fight to stay mentally healthy is incredibly difficult and all of the demons from my past are being kept at bay by the thinnest of razor wire, I will not be that person ever again because I’m starting to realize that I’m growing into the woman my mom always knew I was.

I’m still here mama, and I’m doing my damndest to give ‘em hell!

But First...

So Starbucks launched new drinks a few weeks ago. According to the baristas on Twitter, they had no idea they were going to be such a hit. I tried the Brown Sugar Oat Milk Shaken Espresso exactly one time ,which was enough for me to become obsessed with it, before it became almost impossible to get another one! Subsequent trips to Starbucks have left me frustrated. They’ve been out of oatmilk or out of the brown sugar syrup or both! Honestly, it’s enough to send to me Dunkin’….kidding!

Anyway, I decided to figure out how to make them at home in order to satisfy my craving. I have to say, mine is a pretty close dupe!

We have an espresso machine but honestly, I’m not about that life and I find it slightly intimidating. Cold brew is the next best thing. And, how did I not know that you can buy a pitcher specifically for making cold brew?! Next up make your simple syrup. I used 1 cup of water and 1 cup of brown sugar. Add oat milk…and it’s really just that easy!

Worn || Nostalgia

I have to admit, I had these overalls in my cart for close to three months before I clicked purchase. The only thing I regret is waiting so long to buy them.

I’m not sure this is the most flattering item of clothing I own. Although, these days I’m defining “flattering” as more of a mantra than a strict rule of style. How can something that makes you feel playful and happy be unflattering? Here’s to remembering and honoring the 9-year-old me, spending a summer afternoon on a yellow bike named Marigold, coveralls, crooked ponytails, and unlaced sneakers before I knew or even cared about flattering or appropriate clothing.

And just in case you needed to hear it, buy the damn overalls!

Overalls: https://amzn.to/3dYU5sp For reference I’m wearing a Medium. They shrank slightly after washing and drying

Chucks: https://amzn.to/3dWlbAl

Top: https://bit.ly/3xp9cTH

My Story and My Recovery

This week is National Eating Disorders Awareness Week. While, I know I’m not the image that pops up in your mind when hear the words anorexic or bulimic, I have struggled with an eating disorder for most of my adult life.

I’ve been trying to tell this story for the last week. Starting and stopping. Staring at the blinking cursor. Ultimately, the writing it all down has been too painful. But here is the story in my own words. If you are struggling I am so sorry. Please keep fighting. You are worth it.

Oh, Hello, February!

January is holiday hangovers, adjusting to shorter days and longer, colder nights. It’s looking at a 12 month calendar with some trepidation because the slate is almost a little TOO clean.

February is settling into new routines. It’s celebrating love in all of its iterations. It’s warm, sweet, and pink like champagne bubbles. It’s red, hot, and intoxicating like the best first kiss. It’s self-care as self-love. It’s black excellence. It’s art, music, and literature. It’s joyous black boys and magical black girls!

Hello, February! C’mon in and stay awhile!

Worn|| Rambling

For the first time in four years, I’m not living with a knot of anxiety in my soul. I’m a little lighter. There’s a tiny sliver of optimism that pops its head out every now and then.

Strangely, I’ve also been exhausted and really, really sad. It’s dawned on me that like a lot of us who have faced each day of the Trump administration braced for horror and new lows, I’ve been running on a mixture of rage and anxiety. Survival mode. The pandemic has just become another thing to “get through”. And now that one threat has been vanquished, I have space to grieve for the things that we’ve lost in this last year. The big things- babies being born, graduations, weddings, birthdays- and the smaller ones- Sunday brunch, afternoons at the art museum, spa days, and date nights- all gone for those of us who have been following orders to shelter at home. I used to think a lot about how absolutely normal and mundane my life was. The life of a middle-aged suburban housewife is only exciting when scripted by the execs at Bravo. I never would have guessed that the loss of “normal” would leave such a Grand Canyon-sized hole in not only how I perceive the world, but also in how I view myself. If my role as a wife and a mother is to comfort and care for my family and the ways in which I’ve done that are suddenly not accessible, then what is my purpose?

This long ramble is just to say I feel unmoored in this new normal. I think it’s part of grieving all that we have lost. And, if you’re feeling that way too, please know that you are not alone.

Word Of The Year|| Unpack

Unpack.

To remove the contents of. To unburden or reveal. To analyze the detail of by examining in detail. To decompress.

Photo by Tucker Good on Unsplash

I think we have all breathed a collective sigh of relief that 2020 is over. And are a bit apprehensive about what 2021 may bring. It would be foolish to think that everything will completely change once the clock strikes 12:00 on January 1. In spite of my pessimistic nature, I can’t help but hope that this year will bring all of the things that we were robbed of last year. In the spirit of letting myself have a little bit of hope, I decided to pick a word for this year. OR, should I say it picked me just as it did in the last two years. It struck me in the middle of another sleepless night, UNPACK.

How will I unpack?

I want to unburden myself of the rage I’ve been living with for the last four years and find a better way to channel that anger into something more productive.

These last 10 months living in lockdown I’ve started to embrace simplicity. Everything feels like a lot! When I look around my space, I want to be surrounded by not just the things I need but also things that I love. 2021 will be the year of going through all of the things and figuring out what stays and what goes in an effort to unburden myself of excess.

Finally, in the past few months, I’ve been working really hard in therapy to understand why I feel so undeserving of the love of friends and family. In a lot of ways, I fear that the more I am me. the more there is to reject. And so, I’m never fully myself in any relationship. This year it’s time for me to stop living like I have one foot out the door. To show up as my full self, unpack, and stay.

Here’s to 2021 my friends.

*I started writing this post on January 1. We’re 12 days in and 2021 is already a dumpster fire. So yeah. Also, fuck Donald Trump and his mob of terrorists. Now. And, forever.

Rambling Rose|| Worn

Six months into the pandemic with no relief in sight and I’m still working to maintain a sense of normalcy from day to day. Getting dressed everyday, even if it's only for a few hours has become an important part of maintaining that.

As summer fades into fall, I’m trying to find things that are technically considered clothing but are so comfortable to wear it’s almost like wearing pajamas!

This dress checks both of those boxes! I have it in this floral, leopard print and I may have another two on the way! These are great layering pieces. As it gets a little cooler, I plan on wearing them over leggings with a chunky cardigan and my new fuzzy slippers. Although I rarely leave the house these days, I think this dress would also work with a jean jacket, tights and boots/booties on the rare out of the house day.