Photo cred: Lina Kivaka via Pexels
Photo Cred: Lina Kivaka via Pexels

It’s one of those days where even washing my face before bed is a begrudged chore. Everything that lies ahead of me seems insurmountable and everything I’ve done seems insignificant. I can’t even form a thought here without feeling exhausted and irritated with the phantom critic I’m pretending is reading this.

I live with this paradoxical soundtrack that no one gives a shit what I do — rightly so, I’m an ant in this big old ocean of people — and when they do, it’s because of the only trivial instance where we are forced to connect. …

Photo by Alisa Anton on Unsplash

A note on my fruitlessly consumed days of early motherhood.

Just like vacation is a feeling, Saturday morning is a feeling. You can take time off work and you can go somewhere magical, but until you let yourself relax, you aren’t on vacation.

I wondered how I’d feel about people believing maternity leave is a vacation. Half the opinions viciously defending the tireless work of parenthood. The other half not saying but really saying they feel it’s a break.

So far, I’d say it looks like a vacation but surely doesn’t feel like one.

These days, I’m living in a blur of fast but long weekdays. Caring for my newborn…

Photo by Hannu Keski-Hakuni on Unsplash

This past week, a wonderful man left this world. His paternal presence was a safe harbor and home in this season of my life. I don’t leave myself much room to daydream these days but I had such a strong wish for you to meet him and grow up with him in your life. He was a teacher to everyone in his life. Whether you asked to be taught or not, he would bestow a lesson. I dreamed up all the lessons and love he’d give to you. My future memories had me quietly obeserving these lessons. You deeply engaged…

I want to sit on your porch with you again. Maybe its not even your porch anymore…

I want to sit with you and cry about the sharp edges of adulthood. You aren’t my dad. We don’t talk often but when we do I know you mean it — your wisdom is pure and your empathy is genuine.

Maybe this is why I wish for this moment. If you view my life through a distant lens, I’m not Amy the hardened adult. I’m still Amy, your 6-year-old neice you snuck on to roller coaster rides when I wasn’t tall enough.

And how we’re asking for it.

I want to start a blog and a lot of the times I struggle to think of who I would become. Not because I don’t see the thrill of being on the map and incredibly well-received, that certain sort of pressure is fascinating and something I’d obviously explore. But to think of what it takes to make a blog popular today, it makes me weary. Oftentimes, you are the brand and the evolution of this person-based brand is a losing battle. The story always goes something like this:

  • Blogger gains popularity for unique and, oftentimes, relatable voice and approach
  • Blogger…

I like to cry. Since becoming pregnant, I’ve jokingly referred to my bouts of tears as prego moments — “I’ve got a prego moment coming on” I say to my boyfriend, as if it’s a sneeze — inevitable and inconvenient. But the truth of it is, I’ve enjoyed this newfound emotional layer of actually feeling moved by something.

I used to be a very emotional person. It felt like a lifetime sentence but really only flared up in my teen years (seeing a chemical trend here?). I was so moved by things, I felt them so much. Everything felt bigger…

I’m older, wiser, more logical, less narcassistic and also feeling less inspired to write but still think its a good idea and still love run on sentences.

I used to write because it helped me close the loop — put a pretty bow on an idea I had and make it nice and tidy. But I’ve started to form an opinion on life: it’s messy and there is no bow to tie.

Still, I’ve figured out some stuff in the years that took me from 21 to 27. If you’re younger and feel like you’ll get something out of it…

There is this part-time job. You won’t get paid and you’ve got to work everyday but it’s got benefits, you have a lot independence and the hours are flexible.

The job is developing yourself outside of your work. Whether you love work or hate it, you aren’t just it. Or shouldn’t be. Let me explain:

We had a new VP coming in and my boss asked me to type up a few bullet points about myself; my hobbies, interests, whatever made me me. You’d think this was easiest thing to knock out on a workday but 5 minutes later I…


Writing when the feeling is right.

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