This season, I was thrilled to see Paralympian Beatriz Hatz amongst the original Islanders. An amputee, at the top of her sport, featured in a show based on attraction, love and sex?! It’s a bigger deal than most people realize. It’s not often the disability community sees themselves represented in these spaces.

The cherry on top of the cake is that Beatriz is FUNNY. Her one-liners, ability to poke fun at herself, realness in the Villa, it was a refreshing representation of a woman with a disability being herself, her narrative not solely based on her disability. It seemed to play second fiddle to her just being fun, sexy and cool.

SPOILER ALERT: Beatriz is the first girl booted from the Villa, when new “Bombshell” Jen is chosen to couple up with Beatriz’s current partner, Gabriel. Then Corbin (who I am convinced is AI), has to choose between Beatriz, an Olympic medalist, and Melanie, a Bird who- okay sorry, sorry, not the point. But Corbin of course chooses to save Melanie, and Beatriz is quite literally sent packing.

In her exit, Beatriz and Gabriel have a conversation that felt like the Spanish version of Ilya speaking in Russian to Shane in “Heated Rivalry”. It was emotional and beautiful. Beatriz tells Gabriel, “You always treated me like a normal person”, and my tears started flowing with them.

It’s a sentence most people with a disability can relate to, I certainly can. When you are interabled dating (one person has a disability, the other does not), it can feel like the disability takes center stage, not leaving much room for you to be a woman first, but a disabled person first. Of course this changes when you find the right person (I did!), but it can make dating even more brutal than normal, if you can imagine.

But the real gut punch came when Gabriel, who had been crying over Beatriz a mere 24 hours prior, wasted no time jumping into things with her replacement, Jen. A blonde Bombshell- in actuality and in casting. Big lips, big boobs, bubbly, fun, and leads with sexuality. Her words, not mine! The conversations she has with Gabriel revolve more around lust, compared to the deeper conversations we saw him have with Beatriz. What I had come to regard as a safe, silly show to me, shocked me when I felt a pang of PTSD while watching last night.

Pre-Michael (my husband), when I was dating in college, there was a very noticeable pattern. I would meet a guy, at a party, through a friend, in class. I would start to like him, we would talk and text and date. But when it was time for intimacy, I took things slow. I had really weird feelings about my body in my 20s. It had been through so much, I wasn’t willing to give it to just anyone. I had given it to doctors, physical therapists, recoveries and medical equipment. It barely felt like mine, I wasn’t going to hand it over to someone else on a whim. What guys thought was “Prudish”, was me protecting myself and my body, which I had not always been able to do.

When the guy would realize this, that’s where the pattern would start. Talking would slow down, interest would die, and I’d see them a week or two later at a party with a Jen. Blonde, big boobs, bubbly, fun, and leads with sexuality. This is not a slight on these girls. I had my own insecurities, and these guys were also garbage in retrospect. But it never ceased to hurt me, being quickly replaced with an able-bodied girl whose relationship with her own body allowed her to share it more freely with others.

From what we have seen, Beatriz was the most accomplished woman in the Villa. And absolutely no one explored her, pulled her for chats, besides Gabriel. No one showed interest, called her beautiful. They called her “Strong”, “Inspiring”, “Bad Ass”. I saw how she tried to lead with her sexuality, her personality, but was put into a box by the men in the Villa. It felt familiar and heartbreaking.

This is not to pity Beatriz. She is a literal Bronze Medalist, sponsored by Nike, gorgeous and cool. She needs no one’s pity. In fact, I pity the men who did not try to get to know her, for whatever internalized fear, ableism or confusion they possess. And yes, it is that deep. Watching a beautiful, disabled woman get passed over for a Sydney Sweeney Dupe triggered me more than I’d like to admit.

I am lucky that I found my husband, who sees my disability as part of me, but not the main part. Who understood why I couldn’t just give myself to someone quickly and easily, and gave me the gift of patience. But it was a rough, hurtful road to get here, and I still feel sad for that 20-something girl so badly wanted someone treat her like she was normal- just like Beatriz.

When I watch Love Island, I am hoping for drama and chaos (I still am, bring on Casa Amor!!). But now, I am hoping that this season sheds a light on the experience of dating while disabled. Beatriz deserved better from the Villa, and now I know, I deserved better, too.

PS- GET SINCERE OUT OF MY VILLA!!!

PPS- How do I drop a Hunger Games Style gift into the Villa to let Sol know that MICHAEL B JORDAN IS IN HER INSTAGRAM LIKES!!

This group chat has been a saving grace for me- we have been through life’s biggest moments together, daily gripes, obscure product recommendations (“Has anyone tried the new Le Labo Violette 30?” Does anyone have a favorite laxative?”). We have visited one another, met each other’s kids, know the lore of each woman’s family histories. It has been a daily constant in my life during some of my most transformative years.

It also could be the most powerful focus group in the world. A brand would likely pay thousands of dollars for the insights this group drops on the daily about products across all categories. The raw honesty, the word-of-mouth marketing, the trusted recommendations, it’s a treasure trove of information and well, enabling.

Our group is all mothers- dog moms, cat moms, human baby moms. We were recently discussing what we wanted to give or receive for Mother’s Day, and it was a far departure from heart shaped necklaces. Sharing the group’s picks below, treat yourself or the MOTHER in your life (open to any and all definitions).

BRI:

• A wooden frame for Photo Booth strips (I’m getting this, much cooler than stuck on the fridge with a magnet)

• A Lola Blanket. A lot of us WFH, so we prioritize our home space/coziness/warmth. This blanket is $$, but a worthwhile investment

• Le Bon Shoppe Cloud Socks. I have multiple pairs, a daily staple for a lot of us. LBS should honestly sponsor this group, combined we probably have over 100 socks and 10,000 pairs of sweatpants, approximately

  

JEN:

• A fancy body oil. This is a great gift especially for a new mom. A luxurious oil can make you instantly feel better and more alive

• Nice pajamas to slip into after the body oil. Love these because they can pass for daywear around the house/look good on Zoom. Very Meg Ryan in “You’ve Got Mail”

JOELLE:

*DISCLAIMER: Joelle is a product God. She has a recommendation for EVERYTHING, and is always right. For that reason, I’m using her list verbatim.

• “The best gifts are free X of whatever that person loves. Like a coffee gift card to a place they like…sorry to the haters a gift card is the best gift on earth. I want to enjoy what I love not accept a weird vase I’m going to have to pretend to like”

• “A gorgeous facial tool like the Therabody depuffing wand or a gorgeous little lipstick from Victoria Beckham”

• “A PICTURE FRAME! Bring back OLD MEDIA. I grew up in a house with pictures everywhere. Frame personal pictures again!!!” (FYI, I get almost ALL my picture frames at estate sales, they’re so cheap and unique)

ALYSSA:

• A lounge cushion, for sitting on the floor with her daughter (genius)

• A vintage mug with one of her daughter’s favorite book characters on it. I often search eBay for these and currently am watching this one

  

• One G*d Damn good photo of her and her daughter (relatable)

MAE:

• She swears by her Moccamaster and it makes for a great gift for a coffee loving mom (in a Venn Diagram, it’s just a circle). Plus it comes in cute colors, LOVE the butter yellow

• A wine subscription- Bri recommended a sampler from this Black owned/women owned wine shop, Copake Wine Works

ELIZABETH:

• A chic watering can for the garden. Maybe this would get me to actually water my flowers idk, I should buy it just to see

• A Juliska Planter- love the idea of collecting these over the years/ for special moments

• An Electric Tea Kettle- she suggested this one to keep by my desk, but the most fitness I am getting right now is going up and down the stairs to make more tea throughout the day

ALEX:

• A retractable clothesline (Alyssa recommended this one that she has). One of my favorite parts of cleaning up vintage is laundering it back to life, and air drying is the perfect final step

• A Pill Box worthy of keeping out on my desk. I’m back on my vitamin-and mental health meds- game and a pretty vessel for them makes me want to take them more (which is maybe why I need the meds? Chicken? Egg?)

• Faux florals from Sissy Yellen Living. I LOVE having fresh flowers in the house, but they’re an expensive habit to replace every week. Sissy’s store had the most realistic faux flowers I’ve ever seen

  

  Our group chat is so valuable to me in so many ways. They often are the first women I tell news to, the first to hear about tragedy or triumphs. They have recommended me everything from dry shampoo to the best numbing spray after birth. But the most valuable thing has been having these women in my corner for over a decade, and being in theirs. Money can’t buy that type of support (but it can buy the newest chocolate concoction at Trader Joe’s, which we will all run out and buy if someone says to).

  *This post contains affiliate links, baby needs a new pair of shoes

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As reminded by the Artemis II a few weeks ago, we are all on a floating ball in space, until our time is up. All we can hope for is that we make an impact, and leave the world more beautiful than we found it. I can’t think of anyone else who achieved this more than Linda Dresner.

Growing up, I would pass by the windows of Linda Dresner’s eponymous store at 299 W. Maple in Birmingham, MI and stare in the windows. Exaggerated, dark silhouettes showcased on a single rack- often only one piece, signifying its importance and beauty to be able to stand on its own. I knew from a young age that this store was different, and that I had to know the woman behind it.

When I graduated college in 2012, I was working in advertising sales at a local magazine. I would often be walking around Birmingham, pitching prospective clients, passing by the giant windows of Linda’s store, admiring the simplicity, yet bravery, of the clothing. An admiration became a slight obsession, and I felt a calling to be a part of it.

In the winter of 2014, I started calling the store constantly. I would ask to speak to Linda, who was very chicly, “with clients”. I wanted to introduce myself, and see if I could come in and meet her (after years of working with her, it turns out I could have just walked in and said hello, she was always on the floor). I placed a near-weekly call, until one day, Linda picked up the phone. I was shocked and not prepared to give whatever pitch I had laid out in my head. I told her I was an admirer of her store and a recent fashion merchandising graduate. Without pause, Linda said “we are having a photoshoot tomorrow, would you like to come assist?”. Following her example, I did not hesitate to say yes.

I took a “sick day” from work to attend the photoshoot. Right after we had gotten off the phone, I rushed to my local Target to pick out something “professional but chic”. I landed on a cropped black pair of polyester-ish pants, a white who-knows-what-fabric blazer, and a silky, multi-colored camisole. I remember feeling embarrassed that I was going to be wearing Tar-zhay to the shoot, but maybe if I put my own touches on it, no one would know.

When I opened the doors to Linda Dresner the next day, I was greeted with bright lights from the camera’s flashes. When my eyes adjusted, there she was. Cuffed, baggy jeans, sandals, bodysuit and blazer with a blue bandana holding her dark, wiry curls. We introduced ourselves to one another, and the first thing Linda said was “you look so cute!”. I relaxed. While the windows of the store had always intimidated me with their severe beauty, the woman behind those displays was warm and welcoming.

We moved through the photoshoot, and I recall the model’s hair being teased into a large puff, to go with a basic Haider Ackermann ribbed long sleeve shirt and a Junya Watanabe patchwork skirt. While I watched in awe, I said “I wish I could look like that!”. Linda replied “why can’t you?”. My world burst right open.

It seems simple- you can be anything you want to be! But fear and self-doubt often get in the way. We make up rules for ourselves in our head about what we should look like, and how we should dress. What will others think of us? But the radical notion that on any given day we can decide differently, changed my worldview.

A few weeks later, I got a call from Linda. She asked if I would be interested in working in the store. I quit my job a week later and started working as a sales associate at Linda Dresner. I was immediately immersed in the holiness of the space. Clothing as art, art as furniture, the religious nature of the clients to Linda. The space was sacred, and so was Linda’s work.

I learned about the history of the designers- Comme des Garçons, Yohji Yamamoto, Junya Watanabe- all of which Linda had been one of the first American clients of. I learned about the textures of Dries van Noten, the simplicity of Alaïa, and the importance of then-newcomers like Vetements & Sacai. I studied the archives in the basement of Celine, Greg Lauren and Maison Martin Margiela. It was a fashion education that could not be found in books or universities. It was a look inside Linda’s brain and her heart. It was life altering.

I loved working in the store. The other associates were truly a cast of characters. All were women 50+, some of whom had worked for Linda for over a decade, including Linda’s beloved sister, Tishia. The seamstresses (who were always in the store, a rarity these days) were old school and could deconstruct couture and put it back together. At the time, I thought we were just having fun. Looking back, being exposed to these women in my 20s helped make me who I am today. Their confidence, wisdom and originality impacted me at a formative time.

Linda only went two places to buy in later years- Paris and New York. Linda had a fabulous assistant buyer, Douglas (Dougie, to Linda), who lived in France but had worked in her iconic store on Park Ave. in New York City. One season, he was unable to make it to New York, so I volunteered to coordinate Linda’s schedule for her with all the showrooms. I mapped out the easiest and most logical schedule, confirmed with showrooms, booked cars and dinners. When it was done, I presented her with an itinerary, and boldly asked her if I could accompany her. I even offered to pay for my own plane ticket. Linda said “don’t be silly, you’ll fly with me”.

A few weeks later, we landed in New York. I stayed in a hotel around the corner from Linda’s apartment in Central Park South. Each morning I would walk over to get her, we would have espresso and head to our appointments. I had studied buying in college, but the real experience was beyond my wildest dreams. Days of looking at the newest collections, deciding which client would like which pieces, dinner with Linda’s friends who affectionately called her “The Mrs.”. She was singular.

Linda was meticulous and smart, but ultimately let beauty guide her decision-making. When we went to Marc Jacobs, Linda had not bought there in a few years. They fell at her feet when she walked through the door. We were swept away to a large table with flowers and lunch and champagne. The showroom manager came over and said “Marc is so honored that you are here today, Linda”. Linda smiled and poured herself another coffee.

After that trip, I started traveling with Linda to Paris, too. It was a life-changing experience. I learned so much about the world and fashion just by being in her orbit. Each showroom greeted her like family, because she was. She had started a lot of these designer’s careers. She had taken the risk on so many people in the name of beauty, for the sake of art. She was brave and bold and sure. She could look at a piece, name the customer it should be worn by, and she was never wrong. It was her job, her superpower, to make women see themselves the way she saw them, which was always a higher version of themselves.

Linda was my boss, my mentor, and then my friend. We would routinely sneak out of the store to catch an afternoon matinee at the Main Art Theatre. I would pick her up from her house before work sometimes, where she would offer me an omelet and yes, an espresso. Linda’s granddaughter, Lauren, said it best in her eulogy a few weeks ago at Linda’s funeral: “she romanticized the mundane”. Lunch at the store was baked salmon and couscous, served on beautiful platters every day, accompanied by a “simple salad” made by Linda. Every lunch ended with coffee in small glass cups and chocolate. Always chocolate. She never did anything sloppily or quick, it had to be beautiful. And it was.

Linda’s family so kindly welcomed me with open arms. I attended her granddaughter Samantha’s wedding (and got to see the beautiful moment of Linda crying during Sam’s wedding dress fitting in the store). Linda and her daughter-in-law, Rena, came to my bridal shower, with a tulle Dries van Noten skirt I had loved, as a gift. Many celebrities came to shop over the years, but Linda was never more excited than when her granddaughters and Rena came into the store. Her family was her world, and she was theirs. To the world she was Linda Dresner, to them, she was “Bubs”.

We had countless dinners, hours looking at fashion magazines and Vogue.com. We dressed mannequins and ate trail mix out of a Ziploc baggie in her Goyard tote. We laughed. She was so funny. She was one of the loves of my life. She could have lived to be 150, and her loss would still feel like a gaping hole in the world.

Linda shaped the way we shop- or at least should shop. It should be intentional, enjoyable, beautiful. It should be slow and romantic. She didn’t chase trends or fads, she chased beauty, knowing clothes would come alive on the right person. While customers of her Park Avenue store included Jackie O, Carolyn Bessette Kennedy and the Olsen Twins, it was the average woman coming out of the fitting room, transformed, that made her feel alive.

She changed my life, and countless others. Her belief in you was more validating than any award or accolade. She made you want to be brave. When I ultimately left the store to move to Las Vegas for my husband’s job in 2018, Linda said “I can’t believe you’re leaving me here!”.

On a rainy morning a few weeks ago, when I held her hand for the last time, I thought to myself “I couldn’t leave you if I tried”.

For a full history of Linda Dresner and her stores, please see

The New York Times.

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Losing your job fucking sucks. I was completely blindsided by it, I had just finished a great year at work. I was told repeatedly that it wasn’t performance based, it wasn’t personal. But it couldn’t be more personal to me- I worked tirelessly to ensure I could keep the job that currently supports my family with income and health insurance, only to be left panicking, picking up the pieces and dusting off my resume.

I know I will find another job. But in the interim, my heart rate feels like the floor of a frat house right after Brett drops the beat. I have always been funny about money. I think when you grow up primarily without it, money becomes a symbol of safety. When I don’t have it, I genuinely feel unsafe. I feel vulnerable and anxious. I grew up with a single mom who worked her ass off to ensure my sister and I never went without, but I was very aware of how delicate money was, and how not having it was stressful and dangerous. Hearing my mom fight over a medical bill we couldn’t pay, questioning if a field trip fee was too much. It all played into an obsession of having money to keep myself safe.

In recent years, I have had more steady finances, with my career and family support. Anyone who says money doesn’t buy happiness, hasn’t ever been without it. It’s something rich people say to make you not feel bad. Not being scared of a doctor’s visit or an accident, paying off a credit card on time, being able to get a coffee or pick up breakfast with a friend, it adds a carefree blanket over life that I previously did not have covering me. A new handbag doesn’t replace the happiness brought to you by being loved or having community…but not having to panic if your car breaks down? That’s joy. It just is.

Not having my income right now is terrifying on many levels. When Michael was laid off a year and a half ago, we agreed that him going to business school was the best choice for our family’s future, and I still think it was the right choice. But it meant I was taking on being our main income. Since I was not anticipating being laid off, I took the meeting in an open space in our home, and Michael heard everything. As soon as I got off the call, he ran up the stairs and told me everything will be okay, we will figure it out. I cried into his arms out of fear, out of disappointment, out of anger and sadness. I gave everything I could to ensure my family’s security, and it wasn’t enough.

Now at 10 months postpartum, I’m starting over. I’ve been here before. The difference this time is something bigger than me-our daughter, Violet. Whatever I do, I’m doing it for her, for our family. This has been the most tumultuous four years for Michael and I. Layoffs, losses, uncertainty and unsteadiness. We have been riding a wave that seems hellbent on pulling us under. And maybe before I would have let it for a bit. But I don’t have that option this time. I need to not only stay afloat, I need to ride it like whatever body double Kate Bosworth was using in Blue Crush. Or maybe it was Kate Bosworth, she’s superhuman to me still. Maybe it’s her Heterochromia.

I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I wish a job didn’t hold this much weight in my life. I wish it wasn’t tied to so much of my worth. After all, my family is safe and healthy, we are all together and happy. I’m kind and a good mom. I wish that could pay the mortgage. But since it doesn’t, I’m metaphorically (but wish I was actually) putting on some Roxy board shorts and taking the waves that come my way. I hope one brings me to solid ground.

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In fact, two years ago I went to the Rose Bowl, and sitting in front of me was Alex Wikol, who was Michigan’s only MSS16 participant. I tapped her on the shoulder and told her she was an icon (after all, her dad owned a chateau and she tried to get Eminem at her party), only for her to sweetly tell me no one had brought that up to her in at least 10 years. We had a good laugh, and I realized how much of me is still that 14 year old girl, dying to live like the girls who wore Juicy sweatsuits and had Louis Vuitton Speedys.

But there was perhaps no episode I was more obsessed with than Teyana Taylor’s. I was shocked at how many people did not know the lore of this newly-minted Golden Globe winner. A teenager from Harlem that honestly…opened up my worldview. She wasn’t the pink sweatsuit wearing, chihuahua carrying Sweet Sixteen-er. She loved skateboarding, wore “Billionaire Boys Club” jackets & wanted a BIKE for her birthday, not a Mercedes convertible. I remember thinking she was the coolest person I had ever seen. She was confident and totally original.

The theme of her party was “Skateboard 16”. Up until this point, we had seen a Christmas theme (sorry but I am still convinced that “Southern Bell” Katie was actually 22 years old. She did get Young Joc to play at her party though), Arabian Nights, Moulin Rouge. Teyana wanted a marching band, graffiti artists, a skateboard ramp, & breakdancers.

I personally think she should recreate this look for The Oscars.

One of the things that stuck out to me though, was she had a mom who totally embraced who Teyana was, and seemed to nurture her interests. My mom was also this way, but we didn’t have the means to entertain every interest I had, and managing my disability took up a lot of space and time. Teyana rapped, skateboarded, and designed clothing. She is credited for choreographing Beyonce’s “Ring The Alarm” video when she was FIFTEEN, she was later signed by Pharrell, who hooked her up with MTV to do the episode. She may have come from some wealth, but she was also a prodigy.

She seemed to be celebrated for who she was by her family, and I can’t help but think what a difference that made in her life, and that confidence that ultimately made her a Golden Globe winner.

Teyana Taylor has had a star-quality since 2007, and I was thrilled to see her validated with such a prestigious award (her performance in “One Battle After Another” is exceptional). But I have to wonder, how much of her star power is a mother who believed in her child?

My own personal "Super Sweet 16” was at a Buca di Beppo. I got a Tiffany’s necklace that might as well have been a car, I felt so luxurious. My mom took me to a Barbizon (Where’s THAT documentary) casting call, a singing competition at Oakland Mall, bought me dance shoes and came to my games when I was the Assistant Manager of every sports team in middle school. While I never got a Louis Vuitton Speedy, what an embarrassment of riches I had with a mom who believed in me, too.

My mom and I in 2009, when I won the “Miss Vogue” award in high school. I think the thing she nurtured the most in me was my love of fashion. Also, tanning bed jumpscare!

It’s all made me reflect on how important of a role I have in my own daughter’s life. How it will be crucial for me to embrace who she is and her interests, and not project any of my expectations or dreams on her. Regardless of money or access, it may be my most important job to celebrate the uniqueness of who she will become. I pray over her every night at bedtime, telling her she can be whoever she wants to be and we will love her. Maybe I should also pray she doesn’t want a Range Rover when she turns sixteen, but we’ve got some time.

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Another year, another platform.

That’s what it’s felt like to be a content creator for the last 10 years. I remember in 2015, I was laying in bed with my then boyfriend, now husband, Michael, and I turned over and said: “I want to be a blogger and I need you to help me take it seriously”. And to his credit and mine, we did.

I started with The Nines, a blog about fashion and beauty. I hired a girl, Lauren, that I met on Instagram for $100 to take photos of me for my first post. I wrote about how fashion should be fun, like wearing a tutu with a vintage flannel shirt (I still believe in that, btw). We paraded all over downtown Detroit snapping photos and doing outfit changes in the back of my 2001 Saturn station wagon. I loved taking outfit photos, but my favorite part was the writing. I found I could use humor to make something as daunting as fashion, accessible.

Fall 2015, my first ever blog shoot. Iced out in the Michael Kors watch to boot!!

Then came the Instagram boom. No one wanted to “read all that” anymore, they wanted a nice, aesthetic photo to like, something you hoped would go viral. So I dove into taking pictures, then video content as the app evolved. The likes and comments were like a drug to me. It gave me a false sense of self-worth, and actually magnified that some of my self-worth may have come from a fake place all along.

Growing up with a disability, you are often idolized for…existing. You’re inspirational just because you are alive, which can be condescending tbh, but as a kid, the praise is intoxicating. You’re amazing! You’re a hero! All because I sat in a wheelchair. I have been idealized my entire life. So when my disability became not-as-obvious to naked eye as I got older, being idealized on the internet took its place.

In 2020, I found live streaming. another bright new shiny way to make content and get famous, damnnit! I was an early adopter to a beauty live streaming platform, and quickly fell in love. I loved having a weekly show, a consistent community that watched and chatted. Michael built me a studio in our house and produced the show, and I thought this was it for me, this would be my big break. For years I had tried my hardest to amass a following, get to 3k followers, no 5k! No 10k! I made videos and content and took photos, clawing my way to internet fame and love. Live streaming though, would set me apart- it was new and fresh and allowed me to stand out with what I do best, entertaining and oversharing.

Then one day, the virtual rug was pulled out from under me, and the platform decided to cut live streaming for us normal, sad little streamers and focus only on big names getting air time. It absolutely broke me. I felt like I had given my time, heart, and dedication to this new wave of content, all for it to be shut down overnight.

Well I wasn’t ready to stop yapping yet, so hello, podcast! I’ve gotta say, marrying someone who produces live shows and content really gives you a lot of options. Michael produced and edited my podcast, “Alex’s Fun Little Podcast” for over a year, and again I found myself clawing for listeners, one by one. 100 was great, but what do I have to do to get 1,000, 10,000, a million, EVERYONE IN THE WORLD?! I had such high hopes for our little show- and that’s when I had my first miscarriage.

And then another. Two miscarriages later and I was empty. I had nothing else to talk about, nothing joyous to share, no humor to give. It felt like everything lost meaning, like the color had been sucked out of my skin and my personality. When I finally did get pregnant again with our daughter, I was terrified. If I’m being honest, I was terrified the entire 9 months. That’s probably why she already has 6 teeth, some scarily accurate study found babies with mothers that had high cortisol levels during pregnancy got teeth faster than cooler, chiller moms. Called my ass out.

When I had our daughter, Violet, I quietly decided I would “retire” from content creating, maybe from the internet as a whole. For ten years I tried to make it big. Call it trying to be famous, or making influencing my career, whatever. I churned out content and counted followers and declared “this is it!” each time something went ViRaL for nearly a decade. But it never was. It had its moments of success, don’t get me wrong. But despite my best efforts and immense caring, it never became the thing I wanted it to be.

April 2025: Deadass me sitting on my front porch 8 days after giving birth, feeling utterly lost, sobbing and listening to Cynthia Erivo “I’m Still Here”. I do love to be dramatic.

I lost myself as the person I had written myself to be in my head (I have to be someone!), and then I lost myself in postpartum. I had no idea who I was, I felt like a failure, a fraud, a classic case of a woman who gave up on her dreams to be a mom. I don’t think any woman goes into motherhood thinking they’re going to abandon any identity or dreams they had. But what I’ve learned in the last 9 months, is you do have to succumb to it to be happy. You have to let go of who you were, your expectations, and just…be. Let it swallow you whole. I have to let go of who I thought I was going to be, so I can open the door for the woman who is waiting for me on the other side. The one who loves being a mom but has complex feelings about it, who has abandoned all rules about what I am supposed to be doing or what it’s supposed to look like.

And that leads us here- which really is just back to the beginning- writing. Ahem! is a very simple concept. What do you do when you have something to say? You clear your throat and start talking. I’ll write when I want to, not on a schedule or timeline. It could be every week, twice a week, or once a month. If you’re brand new here, or been with me since The Nines, thank you for supporting and believing in me. It’s actually the only thing that ever kept me going through my different eras of creating. I’ve created a blog, a podcast, a live show, countless videos, and now LITERAL LIFE. I figure, why stop now?

xx Alex

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