Not With The Ham

“If you’re not laughing, you’re crying…”

For the past few years, this has become my mantra (or trauma response, depending on if you’re talking to my therapist or not). But I believe it is our very nature as humans to process and get through hard times with the help of humor. Bringing it back to the discussion of experiencing conflicting feelings simultaneously, I would argue you HAVE to laugh when things feel so heavy…to lift you out of the darkness even if it’s just for a few moments. For me, it’s usually due to the seemingly never-ending Murphy’s Law type of situation that causes me to pause, contemplate every life choice I’ve ever made, and wonder if I’m on some new, twisted version of Punk’d.

So we laugh. Because what’s the alternative? I don’t mean that to say, “There’s no crying in infertility,” because believe me, countless tears have been shed. What I mean is sometimes you have to just laugh at the absurdity of it all—like the time I was actively experiencing an ectopic pregnancy and in the midst of that chaos, I lost my job. Probably not a great pitch for Netflix’s next original rom-com storyline, but the sheer audacity of this comedy of errors was LAUGHABLE. I also feel that laughing at a traumatic situation is almost like an act of rebellion against the pain intended to be inflicted. It feels like I’m taking the power back in a way that diffuses and deflates its effect on me. And who doesn’t love an opportunity to tell the universe to “suck it”?

So when we started this first round of IVF, I was very meticulous about researching and organizing our medications. It was a lot of inventory, and it all had to be stored in the refrigerator. I was describing this endeavor to my high school bestie Marco Polo group when I uttered a phrase I never thought I would ever say in my whole life: “We decided to make this giant ham for the two of us, and now it’s taking up half of our damn fridge. Ugh. So anyway, I’ve got all the meds organized and put away…BUT NOT WITH THE HAM!” It’s so dumb and ridiculous and to be honest, it’s really one of those “you had to be there” types of funny moments, but for me this was HYSTERICAL. Here I am dealing with this very big, very scary, very overwhelming thing, and I’m worried about giving my meds their own VIP fridge space for fear of cross-contamination with a spiral-cut ham. Again, the absurdity of it all. L.O.L.

But in the hard moments of this process, it’s nice to have bits of levity…like the time my husband had to give me my first injection and (for some reason) decided to do it while on one knee like a marriage proposal or as if there were an injury on the field and almost fell over (and gave me a gnarly bruise) in the process…or the time I had to give myself an injection and had to FaceTime my best friend to hype me up while she was driving and I was redfaced-crying and dancing around my bathroom wielding a syringe…or the time I got two injections in one night and later called my husband when I noticed I somehow had acquired three injection marks, to which he casually replied, “Oh yeah, I think I accidentally poked you before I did the first one. My bad.”

Sometimes we laugh in the moment. Sometimes we laugh in hindsight. Sometimes we laugh to keep from crying. Tough times will continue to find ways into our lives at one point or another, so we must continue to find ways to laugh—to put that trauma on the shelf if only for a few moments…just not with the ham. ;)

Losing Control

“Control Freak”

This is a term I bestowed upon myself for years, but lately, it has grown to give me the “ick.” I mean, is it human to want to be in control of your life and the goings-on within it to an extent? Sure. Is it possible to perhaps take that a little too far? Also yes.

For instance, I didn’t drink (or get drunk, I should say) for the first time until I was almost 22 (and even that was unintentional…but that’s another story for another time). I don’t say this to demonstrate the lamest flex of all time but rather to illustrate how unwilling I was to not be fully in control of my person. If you’re a parent (and more specifically my parents, lol), this may sound like a green-flag situation…and without context, you wouldn’t be wrong. But the problem, at least for me, is that the control I so desperately seek is fully and completely rooted in fear—fear of the unknown, fear of repercussion, fear of failure.

I’ve always been an overly-cautious person. I evaluate and then reevaluate the risks, and if at any point I feel as though I won’t be able to manage the situation—or at the very least be able to remove myself from the situation—then 99.9% of the time I’m just not going to partake. Granted my general anxiety definitely plays a role in this as well, but it all usually comes back to my need to be in control. And when you’re faced with a situation, like infertility, that removes all aspects of control, it absolutely rocks you to your very core.

Because even in the pursuit of medical interventions—whether it’s medications, IUI, or IVF—the first thing a fertility doctor will tell you is that there are no guarantees. You can’t control how your body responds, you can’t control potential monkey wrenches, and you can’t control the outcome. So not only was I being faced with the circumstance of having no control over my body in the way of reproduction, but I also was about to embark on a (painful and expensive) journey with the full disclosure that I would have zero control over what the end result would be…and that terrified me.

But as I often say, multiple feelings can (and should) exist at once…and as soon as I grieved the fact that we get to have to pursue IVF, I was met with a strange sense of relief. I didn’t realize just how (mentally, physically, emotionally) exhausting it was to hold on to an idea or plan so tightly, paired with the constant mapping out of every logistical detail and risk analysis. I’m slowly learning that there’s something almost freeing in relinquishing control and a level of peace knowing I’ve done (or am doing) all that I can do in regard to the little control I do have.

Don’t get me wrong…it still kills me that this is our path and that there’s nothing I can do to change it, but one thing I can control is my attitude and my perspective in this endeavor. So I am choosing to just take it one day at a time and focusing more on what I’m gaining and less on what I’m losing: a revelatory life lesson, a new form of resilience, and—hopefully—a baby.

I Get To Have To

IVF. Oof.

After 2.5 years of actively trying (and failing), we were finally faced with this next step. A year earlier in one of my therapy sessions where we were discussing our infertility struggles, my therapist asked me if we were open to the idea of pursuing IVF, and I immediately shut it down with a firm “absolutely not.” She looked at me somewhat surprised, and I, too, found myself quite taken aback by my knee-jerk response. It was a perfectly fair question considering our many attempts with various medications, three failed IUI’s, and two naturally-conceived miscarriages. But for some reason, I found just the thought of IVF absurd and promptly dismissed it. And after unpacking that with myself and with my therapist, I think it was because a part of me felt that by pursuing IVF, I was giving up—having to admit that my body had failed me…failed us…and we truly could not make this happen on our own.

And when I say “giving up,” it sounds silly considering the act of pursuing IVF in and of itself means quite the opposite. I guess what I mean is that it felt like I was having to give up this idea of what I thought our path to parenthood would look like…my dream of how we would expand our family and all that goes with it would be just that…a dream. It was a reality that I was struggling to accept. More than struggling if I’m being honest. It was yet another thing I had to grieve in this journey to motherhood, and as it tends to do, with that grief came so. much. anger.

I had been grappling with all of these feelings for weeks, trying (and failing) to pinpoint the axis of all of these emotions I was experiencing enough to articulate them. It made me begin to wonder if I really had any reason to be this upset. I mean, we were fortunate enough to have made and saved quite a bit of money the past year to where we could afford this option. Aside from the fertility issues, I was in good health and a good candidate for IVF. And although being unemployed is normally not ideal, for our situation it allowed me the time to actually relax my mind and my body (for the first time in a very long time) and the space to take on this effort fully. Then one night I was having an especially emotional moment while discussing this ordeal with my husband, and it just came out: “I’m so incredibly grateful that we get to do this…but I’m so fucking angry that we have to.”

And that was it. That one sentence perfectly encapsulated every emotion that I’ve felt throughout this entire journey and why I was resisting this next step so hard. Then the guilt comes—guilt over the fact that we have the opportunity and privilege of this option when it’s so far out of reach for so many, and yet…I’m still furious that this is our circumstance. But then I’m reminded that as humans we are a spectrum of emotions that can and do coexist: we can be sad and also laugh…we can grieve and also have hope…we can be angry and also be grateful. We must.

I don’t subscribe to the sentiment that time heals all wounds, but I do believe it gives us perspective. Now that I’ve had time to process this next step and move through the anger, I’m ready to take it. And I’m going to take the advice of the ever-enlightening Elyse Myers and her fresh take on the Nike slogan: “Just do it scared. Just do it anxious. Just do it overwhelmed.” I am going to just do it angry…and that’s ok. Because all that matters is that I’m going to do it. For myself. For my family. For this little life that deserves to be fought for. And dammit…fight I will.

Thank U, Next

“Perhaps it requires of you precisely this existential anxiety in order to begin. Precisely these days of transition are perhaps the period when everything in you is working...”

— Rainer Maria Rilke

Nine years.

I had just celebrated nine years at my company when I got the call. My mind (and body) was reeling as I was still very much in the throws of an ectopic pregnancy that I hadn’t even given much thought to my office manager asking if I had a few minutes to talk. I assumed she was calling to maybe check to see how I was doing since most of my firm was aware of my current health situation, but boy was I wrong…

I suppose it was a pretty standard reaction to being caught completely off-guard with some life-changing news—shock, numbness, disbelief. She essentially said, “I’m really sorry to do this, but we’re going to have to let you go,” and I just remember responding with a lot of “okays” and “I understands” and “no problems.” It was very abrupt, very short, and very matter-of-fact. I hung up and found myself almost in a daze-like state…so much so that I turned back to the project I had been working on before the call and planned to wrap up my work for the day before logging off as if nothing had happened. But as I began to do that, my computer froze. I assumed it was the usual issue of our server being glitchy or my internet cutting out, so I logged out and logged back in…but I couldn’t—they had already kicked me out of their system. And just like that…I was unemployed.

But once the initial shock wore off, I was greeted with a feeling that I can only describe as…relief. You see, as grateful as I was to be employed (especially through COVID), I did not love my job. Not at all. Not even a little bit. It was a steady income, provided benefits, and I did get to work from home, but what had started out as a sense of freedom and security, over the years, had begun to feel stifling and suffocating. In the past year, we had gone from three people in my department down to two with zero pay increase to match the increased workload, I was bound to my desk/landline work phone (dear GenZer’s — a “landline” is a phone relic of yesteryear that is hardwired into a wall of your home that today is only used by elder Boomers and telemarketers), and I was becoming more and more micromanaged by the day. In the words of today’s youths: it was indubitably not the vibe.

To be fair, my office manager was just doing her job, and she handled it with professionalism, kindness, and compassion. My boss on the other hand—the man I had worked for for nine whole years—said nothing. Not a phone call. Not an email. Not a text. NOTHING. It was like I was suddenly back in the halls of my high school being handed a note from my boyfriend by my boyfriend’s best friend breaking up with me—adding insult to injury. It felt disrespectful…it felt inconsiderate…it felt cowardly. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m not mad…I’m just disappointed.

I say all of this to make this point: regardless of what your job title is or how long you’ve worked there or how “family-oriented”/“tight-knit” your company is, to them, you are very much replaceable (and that’s on capitalism babyyy). I don’t say that to mean you aren’t a wonderful being or that you don’t bring a ton to the table or you aren’t incredibly smart and talented. You are. What I mean is that at the end of the day, you are providing a service to a company that is paying you for said service. There may be some great perks and benefits (and, hopefully, a great work culture!) mixed in, but it is very much a transactional relationship. So set the necessary boundaries. Take the PTO (all of it). Establish a healthy work-life balance. And for the love of all that is good and holy, do not stay in a job that makes you miserable.

When talking with my best friend about losing my job shortly after it happened, she (kindly) said to me: “You were miserable in that job. You have been for a long time. And let’s be real…had it not happened this way, you probably would’ve never left.” (and that’s on my fear of change) She was right. And she also pointed out that I now seemed to have a certain lightness about me—a noticeable shift in my mood and overall being—and I felt it, too. I found myself in this unexpected transitional period, and I wasn’t scared. I was actually excited. Because now I had the space and the opportunity to pursue something I actually wanted to do. As always, I say this with full awareness of the level of privilege it takes to make such a statement, but I worked so hard in my side hustle in 2022 to afford myself the ability to take some time off, heal, and reevaluate what I wanted my life to look like. And in the seven’ish months since losing my job, I have never felt more rested, energized, creative, and inspired in terms of work. I’ve since been gifted a wonderful job opportunity doing something I love and thoroughly enjoy that provides far more “benefits” than anything my other job could have (or would have) ever offered me.

So if you’re reading this and you, too, find yourself in a miserable work environment, please take this as your sign to get out. Or at least start exploring some other options. See what’s out there. At the risk of being overly cliché, life is too damn short, y’all. No job title, no amount of pay, no benefits package is worth staying in a soul-sucking position that will slowly drain the life out of you. I understand that we have to have a level of practicality (especially in this current economy), but I promise you there’s a job out there that will pay the bills AND bring you a little bit of joy. Or at the very least allow you to grow and explore certain facets of yourself, whatever they may be. Or, you know, just not make you dread showing up every day? I know it’s hard to see it now, but I promise you…being on the other side of it, I have truly never been happier. Am I grateful for the lessons and friends that job provided me? Of course…but I honestly can’t believe I stayed as long as I did. So whether you’re in a toxic situation or just an unfulfilling one, do something today that your future self will thank you for. You (past, present, and future) deserve it.

False Hope & Ambiguous Loss

Ambiguous loss is a loss that occurs without a significant likelihood of reaching emotional closure or a clear understanding. This kind of loss leaves a person searching for answers, and thus complicates and delays the process of grieving, and often results in unresolved grief.

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A miracle. That’s what it felt like in every sense of the word. After years of negative tests, a miscarriage, and three failed IUI’s, it finally happened…I WAS PREGNANT, and with no medical intervention. It was July 2022, and it finally felt like things were falling into place. But what I couldn’t have known then was that it was actually all about to come crashing down.

We hadn’t told anyone yet. When you’ve experienced pregnancy loss, you’re incredibly cautious about what and how much you share—even with close friends and family. Plus I wanted to plan some sort of special reveal for our people who have been on this journey with us since day one. So here I was on this fun trip with my sisters and mom—our first-ever girls trip with just the four of us—to see the Mean Girls musical tour in Atlanta, and it started…the bleeding. It was so minor that I convinced myself that it was normal (which it definitely is) and that everything was fine. I was fine. The baby was fine. But after 3 days of it getting worse and worse, I knew that feeling all too well—it was gone.

I tearfully called my OBGYN to cancel my 8-week appointment and began the grieving process yet again. But after a few weeks, the bleeding hadn’t stopped. After calling my OB twice (once after 3 weeks of bleeding and again after 4 weeks) to let them know what was going on and them suggesting (to my shock and, tbh, horror) that I make an appointment with my general practitioner, go to an urgent care/ER, or they could see me in late October (mind you, this is mid-August now) and me screaming at the receptionist, “I’ll be dead by then!”…I decided to reach out to my fertility clinic. And thank god I did…

They were able to get me in immediately and confirmed my greatest fear—the miscarriage had become an ectopic pregnancy. Living in literally the worst state to have a baby with an atrocious abortion ban and coming just off the heels of the overturning of Roe v. Wade, I was understandably terrified. This baby that I had dreamt of and prayed for and paid exorbitant amounts of money to bring to life was no longer viable, and it was killing me. Thankfully, my clinic is run by a team of absolute saints who were able to get me the medication and care I needed to get through this, and I fully understand the level of privilege it takes to say that. But it wasn’t an easy road. The medication I was given—a type of chemotherapy—wreaked havoc on my body, and I spent almost an entire month in a level of pain I cannot begin to describe. I had to cancel my birthday party, spent the majority of our much-anticipated vacation to Florida crying in the fetal position counting the seconds til I could take my next pain pill, and barely managed to make it through one of my best friend’s bachelorette trip that I had been looking forward to for months. Compounding the physical pain with the emotional pain was almost too much to bare. One night the pain had gotten so bad that I looked at my husband and calmly said, “I think you’re going to have to take me to the ER.” Then a few minutes later, I felt something move through the left side of my abdomen, a sharp pain, and then…nothing. The pain was gone, and the level of relief I felt at that moment was immeasurable. But in the back of my mind, logically, I knew that this wasn’t good. So the next day, to the clinic I went…bracing myself for more bad news…

At first there was so much distortion on my scan, the nurses couldn’t figure out what had actually happened. Was it my ovary? A fallopian tube? I would need more tests and scans to confirm what damage had been done. Fortunately, it was determined that it was likely a follicle that had ruptured, which wasn’t great, but it was certainly nowhere near the worst-case scenario…and for that I was grateful. My body would need time to heal, and it would take right at three months from the beginning of this fiasco for that to happen. And in the midst of the nightmare that had fully consumed me during these three months, the company that I had worked for for nine years terminated me. But that’s another story for another time…

Once the physical healing was complete, it was time to start the emotional restoration. And it was around this time that I started listening to a podcast called Race to 35 (shout-out to my #1, Kate, for the perfect recommendation) wherein one of the episodes they talk with psychotherapist Esther Perel about the notion of ambiguous loss. Although I had never heard of this term before, I had absolutely experienced it. It’s an odd thing to grieve something intangible—it’s like missing someone you’ve never met and will never meet. But I believe it’s like I’ve said before, you're not just grieving this lost embryo…you're mourning the nursery you had already decorated in your head, the joy on your parents' faces after telling them they're going to be grandparents, the life that will never be.

Even though listening to and participating in discussions surrounding this topic won’t alleviate all of the pain that’s been endured, it has been helpful to assign a name to the feelings I have been experiencing not just through this incident but throughout our entire fertility journey, because I fully believe that you cannot repair something until you identify and name it. And despite this major setback, I choose to remain hopeful. If you are also traversing this path that is infertility, please allow yourself the space and grace to feel all the hard, awful, and (at times) overwhelming feelings, but in the end…I hope you, too, choose hope. Because the only thing I know to be truer than this road being rocky and unpredictable and weathering is that in the end it will all be so, so worth it.

When the Work Pays Off

“Shape yourself before the world shapes you.”

— Mahyar Mottahed

I was taking a morning stroll through my neighborhood last fall, my mind racing with chaotic thoughts surrounding my new life circumstances (which were equally chaotic), when I stopped for a moment to take a much-needed *deep breath*. As I stood there, feeling the warmth of the sunshine on my face, I opened my eyes and took in this massive tree towering over me and noticed something… It was adorned with several large nests that I had never noticed before. Fall had just made its way to us, so the tree had only very recently shed its leaves—of course I hadn’t noticed the nests. How could I?

As I continued to stand there gazing up at this now barren tree, I started to wonder how long it had taken the birds to build their nests. I imagined them scouring the nearby yards and fields, thoughtfully selecting every twig and crafting them with the greatest care and intentionality. All that preparation being done under the cover and protection of the spring leaves and blooms with no one able to witness it. All that hard work in anticipation of the moment when it would finally be needed. And then I realized…

Here I was, facing one of the most world-rocking seasons of my life, and…managing it. Not perfectly, of course, but pretty damn well. I thought about everything that had been thrown my way these past few months like a never-ending hurricane, and I was surviving and—dare I say—thriving? That’s when I made the connection…like the birds, I, too, had been putting in the work.

Four years ago I made one of the greatest decisions of my life—I started therapy. When I made that decision, it wasn’t because something tragic had just happened or I had suffered a mental breakdown (not yet, anyway). I went because I knew I didn’t have all the tips and tools to help me navigate this world when things inevitably get hard. For four years I put in the work. I showed up for myself. I dug deep and grew up and stretched beyond (what I thought were) my limits. I was intentional. I had taken so much care in my own preparation, and now in this wintry season, I was casting off my metaphorical leaves and bringing to light all the hard work I had been diligently and privately doing that had equipped me for this moment. The work was paying off.

In life, the universe gives and the universe takes away. I know I’m not special in that way. None of us escape this life without pain or trauma or hardship. But just as that doesn’t make life any less beautiful, it also doesn’t mean it has to be so arduous. We can put in the work to ease those tough moments and challenging seasons—I’m proof of that.

So if you aren’t doing so already, I hope you take this as an encouragement to do something for your present self that your future self will thank you for. It doesn’t have to be a grand gesture or done with an audience, because it’s not for anyone else. It’s for you—and you deserve that. Be intentional. Take care. Build something so strong that it will be able to withstand any stress or storm or season. Know that the fruits of your labor will be so very worth it…and I cannot wait to see the magnificent “nest” you build.

Down for the Count

“…everything looks great…but…”

Here it was. The phone call I had been fearing for so long. Up until this point every scan, ultrasound, blood panel, and test had all come back with positive results…and yet every pregnancy test I took continued to come back negative. It didn’t make sense. You can only be told, “Everything looks great…that’s what we want to see…you’re exactly where we want to be at…” so many times until your stress and anxiety turn into frustration. If everything appears “as it should”, then why isn’t it happening? Then the phone call came…

I could immediately tell by the nurse’s tone that the news wasn’t good—you know, that tone where someone is trying to overcompensate by sounding almost too positive. She said, “Well, we got your bloodwork back, and your levels are good, your thyroid is good, and really everything looks great…but…” I held my breath and braced for the impact. “…we would ideally want your AMH number to be around 1.5 or above…and well…yours is a 0.48.” My heart instantly sank in my chest, and I could feel the tears burning in the corners of my eyes. What the nurse had just told me was my greatest fear—in layman’s terms, my ovarian reserve (egg supply) was significantly diminished. I struggled to hear what she said next…a mix of encouraging words and next steps, I think. I somehow managed to hold it together through the rest of the call, politely thanked her, and then upon hanging up proceeded to enter a full. on. breakdown.

I am someone who admittedly cries often—I cry when I’m sad…when I’m mad…when I’m frustrated… even when I’m happy—and I don’t know that I’ve ever wailed like I did in that moment. It was a validation of my anxiety, the actual manifestation of my greatest fear. After suffering my first miscarriage almost two years ago, those dark (and at the time unfounded) thoughts I had held in the back of my mind since I was a teenager that I would never be able to have children definitely began to fester, but this news felt like confirmation. And compounded with the fact that I just celebrated my 35th birthday, it felt like my window of opportunity for motherhood was shrinking by the second.

But (as my nurses and therapist continue to remind me) it is not hopeless. It may take more meds and tests and procedures and medical intervention, but there is still a chance. And in the throes of the depression and despair that this recent news has caused, that’s what I’m choosing to cling to. I have to. I’ve also realized that part of what I’m feeling is grief—mourning the life I had envisioned for myself…a life that included a “normal” conception and pregnancy…a life where I would possibly even have baby #2 by now. But as that is clearly not the path we were destined for, I am taking heart in the encouraging words of my family and friends—some of whom have fought similar battles—and the confidence of my nurses and doctors.

So, I may be down for the count, but I am most certainly not out. Not yet…

The First, But Not the Last

“... Because every little girl watching tonight sees that this is a country of possibilities. And to the children of our country—regardless of your gender—our country has sent you a clear message: dream with ambition, lead with conviction, and see yourselves in a way that others may not simply because they've never seen it before, but know that we will applaud you every step of the way.”

— Kamala Harris

It has been a long four years, friends. I think anyone—regardless of which way you lean or how you cast your vote—would agree with at least that. The division, the drama, and the deliberate attacks on our democracy have shaken our country to its very core, which when added to the dumpster fire that was 2020, has simultaneously numbed us to the point where we don't even bat an eye when we see "cocaine hippos" scroll across our timelines. It has been a struggle for me (and I'm sure many others) to find and hold on to moments of significant joy in the seemingly never-ending chaos and calamity. But on this day—January 20, 2021, the 59th Inaugural Ceremony—something so monumental occurred that it transcends political party or partisan divides...we watched the first-ever woman (and first Black and South Asian American and daughter of an immigrant) inaugurated as Vice President of these United States.

It's true we've heard it said countless times by the media and political talking heads since November, but like many things this past year, the turmoil that was 2020 essentially sucked the life out of what would be (and should have been) a momentous occasion. Through the prolonged election results to the fraud-proclaiming conspiracies to the violent insurrection at the Capitol, we were never really given the time to fully soak in this incredible milestone. 230 years and 48 Vice Presidents later, we have finally been given the chance to say the words: "MADAM Vice President." And I know for myself that truly didn't hit me until I watched Kamala Devi Harris raise her right hand as she took her oath of office. I felt immense pride as though I knew her personally. I also felt tremendous sorrow—not only because it took this long for a woman to ascend to the second-highest office in the land, but also because neither I nor the rest of the country could celebrate it the way in which it so rightfully deserved. But mostly...I felt significant, exuberant joy.

“...this is a collective win for womankind.”

Joy in witnessing history being made. Joy in embracing a new day and a turning point in our country. Joy in celebrating a woman stepping into her power, and thereby empowering all women and girls to step into their own power. Joy in knowing that if I'm fortunate enough to have children, they will never know a world where a woman cannot serve as Vice President of the United States. Joy in never again being able to say, “A woman can’t…” because she did. Because WE did. From the sacrifices of the women who came before her to the women whose shoulders she stands upon and who paved the way to the White House to the women (especially WOC) who fought and advocated and voted for us to finally arrive at this moment with our own custom-made seat at the head of the table...this is a collective win for womankind.

Like many things in this country, we have come a long way but still have such a long way to go. I am not foolish enough to believe that one candidate or one administration or one historic moment can mend all the things our country needs to repair, and I am committing myself—as I hope you will too—to continuing to do the necessary work and hold this administration accountable. But I also hope that you will join me in taking a moment to fully experience the joy in her becoming the first, but more so the joy in knowing that she will most certainly not be the last.

The Breaking Point

“2020 has been my best and most favorite year yet!”

— No one, EVER

I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that 2020 has been an absolute dumpster fire for most of us—I know it certainly has been for me.

Even putting aside my own personal issues, it feels like each day is worse than the one before. It's like as soon as we catch our breath from one catastrophe, another one comes along and knocks the wind right back out of us. I think that's part of what has made this year so hard—the relentlessness of it all. We have far surpassed #thestruggleisreal and seem to have advanced to a level I'm now referring to as #SWEETBABYJESUSWHENWILLTHISNIGHTMAREEND. I've had several people over the past few months ask me, "How do you do it? How are you keeping it together?!" The truth is...I'm not. I've had bouts of anxiety-induced sleep paralysis. I've had days where I hardly moved from one spot. I've cried and cursed more this year than I have the past five years combined—and for anyone who knows me, you know that's saying something. Real talk: when I got the news of RBG's passing, I legitimately laid on my living room floor for three hours and sobbed. A tad dramatic? Sure. But that's because—unbeknownst to me—I was just about to arrive to this week's final destination...my breaking point.

As most of you know, I co-host a weekly show called Alabama Politics This Week. On the show, we obviously discuss topics involving politics and current events, which you can imagine in this god-forsaken year has been an absolute treat. Normally I'm able to keep it together through the hour'ish it takes to film the show. But yesterday...yesterday was the first day where the topics we discussed fully triggered my (already elevated) anxiety. Thinking and talking about the loss of RBG and Breonna Taylor and 200,000+ Americans dead from COVID and the pure chaos that will undoubtedly ensue in November and the wannabe-dictator megalomaniac in the White House just...honestly broke me. It was as if each thought was causing a small spark inside my brain and I could feel myself imploding right there in slow motion and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I had finally succumbed to the weight of everything that 2020 had thrown my way and just let is wash over me like a tidal wave. But also like a tidal wave, that initial sense of drowning was immediately followed by a sense of calm. And I realized that—just like you—I'm still here.

So whether you're angry, cynical, frustrated, somber, scared, or any combination of those things, that's okay. We are all in survival mode at this point and sometimes just getting through the day is a victory. So if you've made it through this day and you're reading this right now, please let me be the first to remind you that YOU ARE DOING A FUCKING GREAT JOB.

And if you need to, take break. Feel those feelings. Take care of yourself. But then come back. Because we have to keep pushing forward. We have to keep fighting the good fight. There's too much at stake to give up now.

I always want to be honest and transparent here. Most days are tough, and nine times out of ten I'm driving the Hot Mess Express. So I promise you are not alone in your feelings, whatever they may be. It's crazy out there, and we still have three more months of this shitshow of a year. But we will make it through. So far we've survived 100% of our worst days...and I like those odds.

The Story of Tonight

“I may not live to see our glory, But I will gladly join the fight, And when our children tell our story, They'll tell the story of tonight...”

— Hamilton: An American Musical

If I have learned anything in my fairly short amount of time in the political sphere it's that it's hard. Whether you're the candidate, a staffer, or a volunteer, it is hard work—grueling at times and mostly thankless. And although I don't have much to compare it to, I think I can safely say that being a Progressive in the deep red South just might be the most challenging. We have long been written off, mocked, and/or ignored. We have been told there's no use in trying because the odds are stacked too high against us. And on the face of it, I can understand that argument. But if I may be frank...I call bull shit on that.

Have there been times where it has felt hopeless? Sure. More days than I can count. In Alabama during the 2018 election cycle, we ran many incredible candidates up and down the ballot—locally and statewide—that didn't win. I personally was fully invested in Amy Wasyluka's State Senate District 2 campaign as her Campaign Manager/Comms Director. We had the right candidate. We had the right platform. We had a great team. We had a genuine passion for what we were fighting for. We worked our asses off. And yet...we were still beaten by a 70-something flip-flopper with name recognition, tons of PAC money, little-no effort or platform, and a shiny new R next to his name. It's never fun to lose, but it hurts even more when you know you put in the work, were on the right side of the issues, and had the most qualified candidate for the job. (Also, if you're wondering if I will die salty about this...you bet your sweet bippy I will) As I said before, politics is hard and not for the faint of heart...especially if you're a Democrat in Alabama.

BUT...on the flip side of that, being a Democrat in Alabama inherently makes you special. Not only are you someone who adheres to Progressive values, but you are also someone who is willing to fight that good fight, again and again, even when it seems impossible because if not us, then who? And if not now, then when? We have to start somewhere. We have to be the catalysts for change to not only create a better future for our families and communities now but also to inspire and pass the torch to a new generation of Progressives and activists in our communities.

“Raise a glass to freedom, Something they can never take away, No matter what they tell you, Raise a glass to the four of us, Tomorrow there’ll be more of us, Telling the story of tonight...”

— Hamilton: An American Musical

So on that note, I want to acknowledge the many people I know who have put themselves out there to run for office in order to bring positive change to their communities, and I want to give even greater acknowledgment to the unsung heroes of these campaigns—staff and volunteers—who put in a tremendous amount of time and energy for little to no compensation. But we don’t do it for the money…we do it because our families and neighbors and communities are worth fighting for, to make them the best they can possibly be. We do it because sometimes the hard thing and the right thing are the same.

So win, lose, or draw, know that the work you’ve done—and hopefully continue to do—matters. Through your campaigns you have engaged those who had been disengaged, you have given hope back to those who had lost it, you have represented those who had felt underrepresented or unheard, and you have brought issues to light that had been ignored for far too long. THAT. MATTERS.

For those who have won their races, CONGRATS! I know you will represent us well!

For those who have advanced to a runoff or whose election is upcoming, KEEP PUSHING!

For those who may have fallen a little short, I hope you will give yourself due credit, allow yourself grace, and—after you’ve gotten a few decent nights of sleep—continue the work.

Because although it is not easy, it IS necessary…and so incredibly worth it. Every time we put ourselves out there, we move the needle...we chip away a little more...we add a few new cracks to the glass ceiling. Remember: victory isn't always measured by an out-right win, so take heart in knowing that you have made a difference. And I for one am proud of you and look forward to continuing the fight alongside you. So until then, let’s have another round tonight...

The Audacity of Misogyny

“I ask no favor for my sex; all I ask of our brethren is that they take their feet off our necks.”

— Ruth Bader Ginsburg

There have been several stories in the news lately with headlines spanning from women being told they're "too ambitious" to run for office, having derogatory comments made about their bodies, and being publicly accosted and called profane names by their male peers. It was even the main topic of discussion on our most recent episode of Alabama Politics This Week. But any woman existing in the world today will tell you this is nothing new. I certainly cannot tell you the number of times I have personally been name-called, objectified, belittled, or dismissed by men throughout my life.

And it starts early with the objectifying (and creepy) Little Miss beauty pageants and constantly hearing, "You (fill in the blank) like a girl!" as an insult. Then we begin to upgrade to the, "She was asking for it" and "Don't be a slut but don't be a prude" misogynistic adages until we finally reach the peak of the patriarchy at income inequality, assumed gender roles, and—my personal favorite—"Women are too emotional/dramatic/crazy/overly-sensitive/weak/etc. to do X-Y-Z." If we aren't wearing a full face of makeup, we're criticized for our flaws...but when we post a selfie of us feeling ourselves, we're "shallow" and "vain". If we're smiling at you, we're "asking to be approached or engaged with"...but if we're not smiling, we have "resting bitch face" (or as I like to call it—A FACE). If we choose to not work, we're called "lazy" or "gold diggers'...but if we try to excel in our careers, we're called "overly ambitious" or just a classic "bitch". I could go on, but I think I've made my point here...

Chances are you have been affected by or observed these incidents at some point in your life. And in many conversations I've had with other women, it's not until we get deep into the discussion of our experiences that we even realize how many times we have been the victim of misogynistic behavior. And that right there may be the worst of it all—the fact that misogyny is so deeply ingrained into the fibers of our society that we often don't even recognize it for what it is at first glance.

Sometimes it is subtle and indirect—like an offhand comment or "joke". But subtlety does not negate the validity of the harm that is caused by this type of behavior. Sometimes it is brazen and straightforward—like an elected official making public derogatory statements regarding another elected official's body. And although I could speak (read: rant) on this subject for days, herein lies the bulk of my anger and frustration: the AUDACITY of misogyny.

“And that right there may be the worst of it all—the fact that misogyny is so deeply ingrained into the fibers of our society that we often don't even recognize it for what it is at first glance.”

There are a million examples I could use, but for the sake of the length of this post (and the fact that this dude is, unfortunately, my representative) I am going to discuss the incident involving AL State Board of Education District 8 Rep., Wayne Reynolds, and his public comments regarding Governor Kay Ivey. For those unfamiliar with the incident, I am referring to, during a recent press conference where Gov. Ivey was addressing the state in regards to the extension of the Safer at Home order, Mr. Reynolds made a comment on the Facebook live stream of that press conference stating, "She is gaining weight." When asked about this comment by a reporter from AL.com he doubled (tripled??) down on it by saying, "She looked heavy in that white suit, yes. I don’t know what she weighs, I don’t know how much she weighs, I just made an observation. It wasn’t derogatory, it was an observation. I’ve seen her wear other pantsuits that were more slimming on her. When she came out [for the announcement], that suit made her look heavy. There was a lady in pink that came out before her that looked quite slim."

*takes slow, meditative breath* There are so many levels to this statement that I have to break it down into bite-sized pieces... First and foremost, her body/appearance/weight (or that of any woman) is none of his or anyone else's business. Secondly, she (nor any other woman) does not owe it to him or anyone else to appear "slim" or whatever he believes to be a "more favorable" appearance. His comments also insinuate that there is something inherently wrong with being heavier or gaining weight (which is problematic at best in and of itself, but I will have to save that rant for another time). Additionally, he appears to objectify another woman albeit with a less negative connotation, but I must reiterate that does not negate the validity of the harm that is caused by this type of behavior.

But the crux of the matter is how publicly and nonchalantly he made these comments—how emboldened and entitled he felt to do so—and towards the Governor of our state and an elected official of his own party for that matter. That can only leave one to speculate how he interacts with and speaks about women in his day to day life. But again, neither he nor this occurrence is a rarity. We know these incidents too well and too often because too many men just like him have engaged in this type of behavior without impunity for far too long. And the offense is often compounded by weak-ass apologies and/or the use of their relationships with women in their lives as some kind of Captain America-style Sexism Shield (i.e. "I have a wife/daughter/mother/sister/aunt/etc. that I love and respect so much."). Let me be abundantly clear: If you only respect women with whom you have a relationship or find attractive, or if that respect is based on a woman's relationship to other men (i.e. "She's someone's wife/daughter/mother/sister/aunt/etc."), YOU. DO. NOT. RESPECT. WOMEN. So please miss me with any and ALL of that.

“Sometimes it is subtle and indirect—like an offhand comment or "joke". But subtlety does not negate the validity of the harm that is caused by this type of behavior.”

Are there times when the offender is genuinely unaware that their behavior or comments are inherently sexist or misogynistic? Sure. But that doesn't make it any less problematic or wrong. And that is why it is imperative that we call out this behavior when we experience it or observe it. The greater call to action though is for men to start taking accountability and viewing their behaviors and the effects thereof through a different lens. To the men—I challenge you to be more critical in terms of how you speak to and about women... Is it relative to the topic at hand? Could it be perceived as harmful or sexist? Would you say/do it to a male peer? To continue to disregard and excuse this type of behavior or chalk it up to "just a silly/dumb comment" and not call it out for what it is—MISOGYNY—is to be complicit in and perpetuate the behavior.

But as upsetting and infuriating as this issue is, these stories are also showing us that this behavior is becoming tolerated less and less. And although I cannot speak on behalf of an entire generation of women, may I be so audacious to say that misogynists and those who worship at the altar of the patriarchy have officially been put on notice. Of course I don't mean that to be derogatory...just an observation.

To All the Dems I Loved Before

“If by a ‘Liberal’ they mean someone who looks ahead and not behind, someone who welcomes new ideas without rigid reactions, someone who cares about the welfare of the people-their health, their housing, their schools, their jobs, their civil rights and their civil liberties-someone who believes we can break through the stalemate and suspicions that grip us in our policies abroad, if that is what they mean by a ‘Liberal’, then I'm proud to say I'm a ‘Liberal’.”

— John F. Kennedy

Well...we somehow managed to make it to 2020. We have survived 29+ (serious?) declared Dem presidential candidates, 12 (interesting?) debates, and a whooole lotta social media posts (rants?) re: who our best bet is to win back the White House in November. And now Super Tuesday is upon us...

For some, determining who their #1 candidate is has been a journey. For others, they've been ride-or-dies since day one. Some have flip-flopped...some have made complete 180's...and (shockingly) some are still undecided. And though many see this as a problem—the fact that there's not one candidate that everyone wants to back—I get it. We all know that there is no such thing as a perfect candidate, but all of the candidates who have entered this race bring something different and meaningful to the table.

So to honor that (and to have a little fun), I thought I would create my own 2019-2020 Democratic Presidential Yearbook Superlative List:

• MOST LIKELY TO STAND UP TO THE NRA / MOST LIKELY TO PLAY THE ROLE OF PRESIDENT ON CBS' NEWEST PRIME TIME DRAMA: Rep. Eric Swalwell

• MOST GOOD VIBES / MOST LIKELY TO MAKE YOU GO "HUH?": Marianne Williamson

• MOST LIKELY TO STICK IT TO TED CRUZ / TINIEST MOUTH: Sen. Michael Bennet

• MOST BIPARTISAN / MOST SWOLE: Rep. John Delaney

• TALLEST / MOST LIKELY TO DEMONSTRATE HOW NOT TO EAT NY STYLE PIZZA: Mayor Bill de Blasio

• BEST CLIMATE CHANGE ADVOCATE / MOST LIKELY TO BE CAST AS CAPTAIN PLANET IN THE TV SHOW REBOOT: Gov. Jay Inslee

• MOST LIKELY TO WANT TO GRAB A BEER WITH / MOST UNFORTUNATE NAME: Gov. John Hickenlooper

• BEST LABOR & UNION SUPPORTER / MOST FORGETTABLE: Rep. Tim Ryan

• MOST LIKELY TO BRING U.S. TROOPS HOME / MOST LIKELY TO BE THE INSPIRATION OF A FUTURE DISNEY VILLAIN: Rep. Tulsi Gabbard

• MOST IMPROVED POLICY STANCES / MOST LIKELY TO WIN AN ARM WRESTLING MATCH: Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand

• MOST LIKELY TO SUPPORT DREAMERS / MOST LIKELY TO PULL A "PARENT TRAP": Julián Castro

• ES MÁS PROBABLE QUE HABLE EN ESPAÑOL / BEST OLLIE: Rep. Beto O'Rourke

• BEST STYLE / MOST LIKELY TO MAKE A SUPREME COURT JUSTICE NOMINEE CRY: Sen. Kamala Harris

• MOST LIKABLE BILLIONAIRE / MOST LIKELY TO BACK THAT AZZ UP: Tom Steyer

• MOST PET-FRIENDLY / BEST DAD JOKES & SICK BURNS: Sen. Cory Booker

• BEST MATHLETE / MOST TECH SAVVY: Andrew Yang

• MOST HEALTH CONSCIOUS / MOST LIKELY TO MAKE ME SIGN AN NDA AFTER PUBLISHING THIS BLOG: Mayor Mike Bloomberg

• MOST LIKELY TO GET A BILL PASSED / BEST BANGS: Sen. Amy Klobuchar

• MOST (NON-POLITICALLY) ACCOMPLISHED / BEST ROBOT-DANCE MOVES: Mayor Pete Buttigieg

• BEST MODERATE / BEST SHOULDER MASSAGES: VP Joe Biden

• MOST CONSISTENT / BEST LARRY DAVID IMPRESSION: Sen. Bernie Sanders

• MOST LIKELY TO HAVE A PLAN FOR THAT / MOST LIKELY TO MAKE A BILLIONAIRE CRY: Sen. Elizabeth Warren

In all seriousness, these candidates have dedicated their lives, sacrificed quite a bit, and opened themselves up to relentless scrutiny during this race all in an attempt to do what they could to push this country forward and make it better for us—for all of us. And regardless of whether you're a fan or not, that at the very least is to be admired and respected. I don't yet know who our nominee will be, but I do know that those still left in the race (and those we have lost along the way) all have the ability to realign our moral compass, inject a necessary level of empathy back into our humanity, and help shape a better and brighter future for everyone from the least of these to the marginalized to the middle-American.

I encourage you to vote for who you feel best represents you and your issues. Don't let polls or concerns of "electability" dictate your decision—people are only unelectable if you don't vote for them. But I do hope that regardless of the outcome of this primary, you will join me and #VoteBlueNoMatterWho on November 3rd. Don't give into the division, and don't lose sight of what really matters. The job of these candidates is to present their best case for why they should lead this country, and our job is to make sure one of them secures that position—and our job starts tomorrow. So let's get to work...

Oh, and for what it's worth...if you reeaally want to know who is MOST LIKELY TO WIN MY VOTE ON SUPER TUESDAY: it is absolutely and most definitely Senator Elizabeth Warren.

Identifying My Identity

“Identity cannot be found or fabricated but emerges from within when one has the courage to let go.”

— Doug Cooper

As humans, I believe that we all to some degree have an innate desire to be known for something—whether it's a job, a trademark look, or some kind of attribute that makes us unique. And today, in a world run by social media, that desire seems to be amplified with bloggers, influencers, and really anyone trying to find something, anything to help them stand out from the crowd. (I believe the kids are calling it their "brand"?) So when you find something that becomes "your thing", there is a strong sense to hold onto it, tightly...and perhaps for some, too tightly.

For me, it's my hair. Throughout the past 15'ish years, being known as "the girl with the long, red hair" has become "my brand". Friends, family, and (especially) strangers make comments often, which as someone who's #1 love language is "Words of Affirmation," it truly makes my little heart sing. But as silly as it may sound (and I'm sure that it does), what can be perceived as an attractive characteristic can start to become a serious point of insecurity.

Because when you start to become "known" for something, you slowly find yourself putting more and more stock into that thing, and little by little it begins to seep into your psyche and sense of being. It initiates in our subconscious until we find ourselves sitting in a salon chair literally staring it in the face and asking questions like, "What if others don't like it?" ... "What if I'm getting rid of the one thing that makes me special?" ... "What if I'm not 'me' anymore?" This is exactly where I found myself last week—in the midst of an identity crisis (and a mild-moderate anxiety attack).

These questions gave me pause, and I sat for a few moments trying to dig deep to understand why I was holding on to these inches of hair—something on the surface so frivolous and superficial, yet I felt tears welling up in my eyes at the mere thought of cutting them off. That's when the epiphany hit: You cannot confuse "identifiable" with "identity". "Identifiable" is how others recognize and distinguish you...'identity' is how you recognize and distinguish yourself. My hair is something identifiable about me, but it is not who I am. It is not a reflection of my talent, my intellect, or my character...it's literally just hair.

"You cannot confuse 'identifiable' with 'identity'. 'Identifiable' is how others recognize and distinguish you…'identity' is how you recognize and distinguish yourself."

There is nothing wrong with having a brand or a niche or a thing that you're known for. By all means, go out and make a name for yourself, earn that title, or rock that look—just know that those things are a part of you, not the whole you. So whether it's a job, a title, or a look, I encourage you to stay focused on what matters, don't take yourself (or "your brand") too seriously, and when an opportunity to mix things up arises, take the plunge...or the cut. ;)

12 inches gone! Shout-out to Christina at The Red Door for encouraging me to take the leap and doing the damn thing on this head.

History in the Making

"Take a stand for what's right. Raise a ruckus and make a change. You may not always be popular, but you'll be part of something larger and bigger and greater than yourself. Besides, making history is extremely cool."

— Samuel L. Jackson

I woke up this morning with what I can only describe as a "Democracy Hangover"...

Yesterday the Alabama State Democratic Executive Committee held its much-anticipated meeting to create new diversity caucuses, remove its current "leadership", and elect a new Chair/Vice-Chair. If you're not familiar with what led to this monumental meeting, first read this earlier post for reference and context. And as dramatic as the lead-up to this moment has been, you could not have written what transpired just hours before the meeting occurred.

On Friday (at 5:00 PM no less) Montgomery Circuit Judge Greg Griffin granted an injunction filed by Nancy Worley et al. that would essentially cancel the meeting. But just as The Reformers were starting to lose hope, an appeal was filed and the circuit court ruling was stayed by the Alabama Supreme Court. The meeting was back on! And then if all of that weren't crazy enough, later Friday evening Nancy accidentally butt-dialed someone from The Reformers and the 45+ minute conversation between Worley and Joe Reed (the Minority Caucus Leader) was live-streamed on Facebook...and let's just say it was not favorable to their cause. (They even did a rough transcription of the call, because it's so unbelievable, you have to hear it AND read it for yourself—bless you Cara McClure!)

So after this roller coaster of a Friday, I showed up at the Convention Center in Montgomery on Saturday morning (after hyping myself up with lots of caffeine and Hamilton) honestly not quite sure what to expect. I of course was feeling hopeful, but I couldn't help but hold just a tad bit of cynicism (and a whole lot of anxiety) in my heart. After all, the previous SDEC meetings I had attended had all been next-level shit-shows. But those negative thoughts were immediately dashed as soon as I entered the Youth Caucus room—it was FILLED with young people (#demkids). And not just young people, but diverse and impressive and from all over the state. The energy in the room was electric, and I was genuinely overcome with emotion as I sat listening to them one-by-one give their 30-second pitches as to why they wanted to be elected as at-large Youth Caucus members. Unfortunately, we couldn't elect them all, but we were able to add 48 superb new Youth members—39 of which were African American—as well as electing members to the newly-created Native American, Hispanic, Asian/Pacific Islander, and LGBTQ+ Caucuses. THIS is what the Alabama Democratic Party is supposed to look like and represent!

As soon as the caucuses were in place, we gathered downstairs in the main hall for the commencement of the meeting of the full SDEC body. Once a quorum had been established (108 members who were elected prior to this day), it was showtime. It was noted that neither Worley nor Kelly nor Reed were present, although Nancy may still be at home trying to figure out how cell phones work. (#blessherheart) The meeting began with a unanimous vote to adopt the minutes from the October 5th (DNC-approved, Worley non-approved) meeting, as well fill a handful of vacant House District seats. Then—one by one—each caucus presented its slate of new at-large members which were all accepted unanimously and greeted with a standing ovation as they received their credentials and joined the rest of us on the voting floor. It was truly a sight to behold.

Then came the moment we had all been waiting for...the vote to remove Nancy Worley as Chair and Randy Kelly as Vice-Chair. Initially, the motion to remove them was put to a voice vote, but at the wise suggestion of Senator Vivian Figures and the majority vote of the body, it was moved to a roll-call vote. Now, with now 172 voting members present, this becomes a looong and tedious process. But I will say this—getting to verbally shout-out “YES!” in favor of removing Nancy Worley as Chair was one of the most satisfying things I have ever done in my life. And after a unanimous vote (172-0!), it was done: "Nancy Worley and Randy Kelly have been removed as Chair and Vice-Chair of the Alabama Democratic Party." And the crowd ERUPTED. We had done it...we had actually done it.

https://twitter.com/_LifeOfLisa_/status/1190684767517327360?s=20

Now came the next part...electing a new Chair and Vice-Chair. The nominees who had declared their candidacy prior to the meeting were Dr. Will Boyd, Rep. Chris England, and Tabitha Isner. Let me preface this by being forthright and stating my biases regarding this topic—I was #TeamTabitha all the way. That's not to say I was against any other candidate. Both Dr. Boyd and Rep. England have done countless things to better the ADP and represent it and its values well. But in my personal opinion, Tabitha impressed me not only with her incredible run for Congress in 2018, but also with her six months of hard work to help unite our party, recruit at-large members, and make this November 2nd meeting happen. She had earned my vote. But honestly, the beauty of this election was that there was no bad choice.

After some compelling speeches from all three candidates and a roll call vote, Rep. Chris England was declared the Chair of the Alabama Democratic Party (England-104; Isner-63; Boyd-4). This in itself was a historic moment—Rep. England was the first African American elected as Chair of the ADP. After a well-deserved standing ovation, Rep. England took his place to head the remainder of the meeting. The next item on the agenda was the election of the Vice-Chair. (FYI: Per the ADP bylaws, the Vice-Chair must be the opposite gender of the Chair...so in this case, since the newly elected Chair was male, the Vice-Chair would have to be female) There were two women who had declared their candidacy for Vice-Chair prior to the meeting—former Rep. Patricia Todd and Dr. Adia Winfrey—and Tabitha Isner was nominated from the floor. Isner declined the nomination, because (in her words): "I would like for the Chair to have the Vice [Chair] that he wants, so I respectfully decline."

#sdec #alpolitics #alpol 😳😳😳 pic.twitter.com/egYu7UB7JZ

— Lisa Handback (@lisahandback) November 2, 2019

After another roll call vote, Patricia Todd garnered 113 of the 141 votes cast, thereby becoming the new Vice Chair. Patricia Todd, having already made history back in 2006 when she became the first openly gay representative in Alabama, had now added her name in a big way to this historic moment. After the election of Caucus Chairs, a few more motions were brought to the floor—most notably a motion to end the lawsuit filed when Worley was Chair and prohibit any more money from being spent on the attorneys in that case, as well as a motion to add a Disability Caucus as soon as possible but no later than 2022—both of which passed unanimously. Finally after a total of 8.5 hours, the meeting was closed out with some encouraging words from Senator Doug Jones (who had been present all day, as well as DNC representative, Harold Ickes).

It has been a trying 15 months to say the very least. I have personally felt beaten down, discouraged, mortified, furious, frustrated, and a myriad of other unpleasant emotions over these past few months. But this time...this moment...it felt different. It was different. We had proven that not only a quorum of the body wanted change...wanted a better Democratic Party...but we showed up and we demanded that change...we were that change. We let it be known loud and clear and unanimously that we wanted a more diverse and inclusive and forward-thinking Democratic Party. We rallied...we showed up...and we voted. I know there are a few more battles ahead of us, as Nancy has already stated to AL.com that she has not conceded in her role as Chair. But I also know this...

After being surrounded all day by Democrats of all ages, races, backgrounds, and walks of life who are passionate about putting in the work to rebuild this party, what we have done these past 15 months, what we did this weekend, and what we will do in the weeks and months ahead fighting this battle will all be worth it. It won't be easy, and it won't be pretty...but then again when has making history ever been?

What I Knew And What I Know

I've heard women say so many times, "I knew...I just knew!"...and I remember thinking, "How do you just know?" Well, one day in mid-September I finally understood what they meant: I just knew I was pregnant.

After a week of feeling all of the feelings—excitement, anxiety, fear, hope—I finally took a test... "PREGNANT". Those same feelings instantly amplified and washed over me like a terrifyingly glorious wave. This was real...this was happening...I was actually going to be a mom! It was a high I was sure I would never come down from, nor did I ever want to. But what I didn't know is just how quickly that high would end...

A few days (and several more positive tests) later, I started experiencing some minor pain. I had read that was normal and tried to focus on how I was going to surprise Alex with the news. Our six year wedding anniversary would be that Saturday, and I thought what better way to celebrate than with this incredible news! But a few days before, the pain started to intensify, as well as the bleeding, and it became almost unbearable. I called my doctor and made an appointment to have some blood work done, but I knew...I just knew...

I have experienced the loss of loved ones and dear relationships...I have suffered heartbreak and tragedy...but nothing—none of it—could have prepared me for the level of pain I felt in that moment. I cried til my eyes were swollen shut...I screamed til my throat was raw...I cursed and threw things and prayed and laid in the fetal position in the floor of my bathroom. I was gutted. I was angry. I was devastated.

“It's an odd dichotomy…feeling as though you—or your body—has failed, while also feeling like something has been stolen from you.”

See, what many people don't know about me is that since I was a young teenager, I have always held this (seemingly irrational) fear that I would never be able to have children. No doctor had told me such—it was just some dark notion that has lingered in the back of my mind for nearly 20 years. And for a little while, those dark dreams had been dashed, and I had proven my anxiety to be wrong. So when it was confirmed that I had in fact miscarried, those dark dreams had now turned into my worst—and very real—nightmare.

I still have a hard time even saying the word: "miscarriage." If you look it up in the dictionary, one of the first synonyms you will find is "failure," and that really resonates with me. It's an odd dichotomy...feeling as though you—or your body—has failed, while also feeling like something has been stolen from you. I feel guilty, yet victimized. I feel self-reproach, yet self-pity. I feel "why not me?", yet "why me?!"

“It's a club that no one wants to join, yet there are so, so many members.”

The first few weeks I went through (what I dubbed) the Triple D Cycle: 1) Depression; 2) Denial; 3) Distraction. Repeat. I've tried my best to keep busy and put on a brave face, but I've also allowed myself to have moments where I feel those hard feelings fully and deeply. The goal is to not suppress those emotions, but also to not become consumed by them. And a month later, I'm still struggling with finding that balance.

One out of every four pregnancies ends in a miscarriage. That is a truly devastating statistic. I have dear friends who have suffered miscarriages and fertility issues, and my heart broke for them. And now being on this side of it, the heaviness somehow feels even heavier. Because you're not just grieving this lost embryo…you're mourning the nursery you had already decorated in your head, the joy on your parents' faces after telling them they're going to be grandparents, the life that will never be. It's a club that no one wants to join, yet there are so, so many members. But I am fortunate in the sense that my friends have been very open with me about their pain and struggles, which has allowed me to be more open and honest about my own experience—and therapy...thank god for therapy.

But keeping with that honesty, I initially didn't want to tell anyone (with the exception of my husband, of course). I mean...how do you casually bring that up in conversation? Why tell people who care about you something that will just make them sad and pity you? Why burden others with your sadness or pain if you don't have to? But then I felt that sadness begin to turn into anger... You see, the world doesn't just stop, even if it feels like it's crashing down on you. I still had projects to complete...laundry to do...relationships to maintain...emails to respond to...meetings to attend... There were days where I sat at my computer and literally screamed at the (obviously unknowing) person on the other side, "Do you have any idea what I'm going through right now?!" And of course, the answer was no.

“...I understand that your gain does not equal my loss...”

That's when I knew I had to write about it. Not for sympathy or pity or to make excuses for being emotionally/physically checked out—but for understanding. I also wanted to write about it, because as an advocate for removing the stigma surrounding mental health and related topics, to not share my personal experience would be hypocritical in my eyes and only perpetuate the stigma. And as I said, I am so lucky to have friends who have shared their experiences with me, as well as an amazing therapist...and I understand everyone is not as fortunate to have both or either of those things. So if my story can help one person out there feel less alone, then it's worth the temporary pain and vulnerability that comes with writing this blog.

To all my mama friends out there—please do not feel like you have to tiptoe around me or handle me with kit gloves. Keep sharing your funny stories and cute pictures of your kiddos. To all my pregnant gal pals—please do not feel like you have to avoid me. Keep posting those baby announcements, ultrasound pictures, bump updates, etc. Will they make me a little sad? Honestly, they most likely will. BUT...please know that I understand that your gain does not equal my loss and that I am genuinely and sincerely happy for you. And to all my ladies who have experienced or are currently experiencing the loss of a pregnancy—please do not feel like you have to bear this burden on your own. Let your family, friends, loved ones help you carry some of the weight. Lean on them, talk to them, confide in them. And if you feel like you can't, then please come lean on me. I will sit with you, cry with you, scream with you, or just quietly hold your hand. Your feelings—whatever they may be—are yours and yours alone, and you are justified in all of them...just don't feel like you have to feel them alone.

I've learned by now that you can't put a time limit, or any parameters, on grief—it ebbs and flows like the tide, with some days giving you space and the appearance of "normal" while others leave you feeling like a tsunami is crashing over you. I still have good days and bad days...moments of complete peace and moments of absolute meltdowns. But along with support, my friends' stories have also given me hope, as many of them now have beautiful, precious rainbow babies that I, too, have the privilege to love on. So it may not be today...tomorrow...or even months from now, but I am confident that I will get through this...that I will be okay...and that one day I will be granted the blessing of being a mother.

I know it...I just know it.

The Lizzo Effect

"If I'm shinin', everybody gonna shine // I was born like this, don't even gotta try // I'm like chardonnay, get better over time // Heard you say I'm not the baddest, bitch, you lied..."

— Lizzo

I love to dance—I always have. I'm not talking about "So You Think You Can Dance"-formally-trained dancing (although I did take one "acrobatic jazz" class when I was eight years old where I gave an epic recital performance dressed in all the neon-colored polyester and set to the tune of "Joy to the World"). <insert hair flip> I'm talking about out on a dance floor with my best girlfriends...in the aisles of the grocery store...all up in my car (safely ((ish)), of course)...I just love. to. dance.

And a few months ago (after falling down yet another rabbit hole of dance videos on YouTube), I was feeling inspired to research adult hip-hop classes in the area. Now mind you I am certainly not the greatest of dancers, but ya girl has some rhythm and was known to drop down and get her eagle on from time to time back in the day. (You're welcome for the visual) There was nothing I could find at the time that was what I was looking for, so I just went back to twirling with my vacuum in the privacy of my living room a la Mrs. Doubtfire.

Fast forward to a week ago when—lo and behold—I received an email from a local dance studio advertising their new adult hip hop class! And not only that, it is reasonably priced, happening on a day/time of the week that I can easily attend, and literally located across the street from my neighborhood. It's as if the dance gods were all hitting the Woah whilst smiling upon me in unison.

But then I immediately felt that switch flip. You know the one—insecurity, apprehension, terror. I found myself looking down and taking inventory of my body: I'm not in the greatest of shape. Parts of me move and jiggle that didn't use to before. That knee injury from twelve years ago is starting to take its toll. What if others in the class stare at or judge me? What if I look ridiculous? What if I'm *gasp* the "big girl" among a gaggle of J-Lo backup dancers?!

I felt myself spiraling into this black hole of self-doubt and started to just delete the email from my inbox and my brain. But as luck (or maybe those dance gods I mentioned earlier) would have it, just as I was clicking through the email, Lizzo's Good As Hell came up on my playlist. I suddenly found myself singing along and doing some serious chair-dancing and hair-tossing. The switch had been flipped off...just like that. And it was in that moment I realized that I was about to allow my fears and insecurities to prevent me from doing something I love.

"We cannot allow anything or anyone to steal our joy—especially ourselves."

Am I currently in my "physical prime"? No. But I am still healthy and capable of movement. Am I carrying around more weight than I ever have? Yes. But my body is deserving of love no matter how many imperfections or the number on a scale. I know these things...and I knew these things when I first opened that email. And yet I—like so much of our society—have been conditioned to believe not only that the weight/size of our bodies matters, but also that they must reach a certain standard to be deemed "acceptable". As if there's a specific criterion we must meet in order to wear certain clothing, move on a dance floor, or just exist in the world.

And the craziest part for me is that if someone else were to talk to me that way—tell me I'm too big or too old or too inexperienced—I would be 100% that bitch and tell them all the way the hell off. So why would I allow myself to speak about myself in that way? Life is too short and the world is, at times, too ugly to not enjoy every pleasure it can bring. We cannot allow anything or anyone to steal our joy—especially ourselves.

"The hardest type of love is and will always be self-love—but it's also the best kind of love."

We are all deserving of love and the opportunity to pursue our passions. Full stop. Should being healthy and taking care of our bodies be a priority? Of course. But instead of taking physical inventory of myself—whether it be my pants size or that new roll that seemingly appeared overnight—at the end of the day, I'm going to take inventory of the things that actually matter: was I kind to someone today...did I accomplish a goal...am I allowing myself enough self-care mentally, physically, emotionally...did I learn something new...did I do something today that brought myself or someone else joy.

The hardest type of love is and will always be self-love—but it's also the best kind of love. We can speak about it, write about it, and even sing about it til we're blue in the face, but until we practice it—consistently—every day, we won't ever fully achieve it. That is why at the end of each day I am challenging myself to start writing down 3-5 things that I accomplished, that I'm grateful for, and/or that I love about myself in an attempt to shift my perspective. And when those icky thoughts start to creep in, I will reject those words as if they were being spoken by my greatest of haters. And I challenge you to do the same—because we are smart and kind and strong and hard-working and funny and loving and giving and so many wonderful things that actually matter.

And if you're wondering if I signed up for that hip hop class or not...the answer is not only did I sign up for it, but I also pre-registered and committed to taking the entire multi-week session. I'm still nervous and have some insecurities to work through, but I'm excited to step out of my comfort zone and do something that brings me joy. I owe myself that—nay—I deserve that. Because in the words of our Lord and Savior Lizzo: "I don't need a crown to know that I'm a queen." And neither do you.

My Take on the Third Dem Debate

GRAPHIC COURTESY OF FIVETHIRTYEIGHT.COM

Whew. After a semi-exhausting first two rounds (and four total nights) of debates, I was excited to take in this pared down round of front-runners, where they would have more of an opportunity to get down to the "nitty gritty" of some of the issues, as well as address other issues that had been neglected in previous debates.

Here are my humble views on how Round 3 went down:

Round 3:

Sen. Bernie Sanders — Nothing new to report here, really. If you err on the side of optimism, he was consistent. If you don't, he was predictable. Although regardless of where you stand on the issue of Medicare For All, Sen. Klobuchar's quip, "While Bernie wrote the bill, I read the bill," paired with Mayor Pete's comment, "The problem, Sen. Sanders, with that damn bill that you wrote and that Sen. Warren backs is that it doesn't trust the American people," definitely landed hard and helped make a case for those with a more moderate/centrist position regarding healthcare.

Sen. Elizabeth Warren — Per usual, I felt she was solid in the beginning, but then seemed to almost disappear for most of debate. Her opening and closing statements were the strongest and most balanced, and she certainly connected with me (and I'm sure many other Millennials) when she spoke on the student debt crisis and the high costs of childcare.

Mayor Pete Buttigieg — Like Sen. Warren, I felt as though he faded into the background for a large chunk of the debate, but when he did speak, he delivered some solid talking points and made the most of his time. His highlights to me were when he called for his fellow candidates to stop using the platform to score political points (we're all looking at you, Castro) and his closing statement, which was heartfelt and resonated with anyone who has a soul.

Beto O'Rourke — Ok, so...I still not planning to catch a ride on the "Beto Bandwagon" anytime soon, but I would be lying if I said he didn't have a good night. After the tragic mass shooting occurred in his hometown of El Paso a few weeks ago, he came out the clear winner on the topic of gun control with a bold and fiery exclamation, "Hell, yes, we're going to take your AR-15, your AK-47!" paired with the accolades he received from some of his fellow candidates on his stance and outspokenness on the topic. And I, too, give him kudos for his advocacy on this incredibly important issue. (But if you think I've forgotten about the Round 1 Debate, you would be incorrecto)

Sen. Amy Klobuchar — Like Beto, I found her performance this round to be a big improvement upon the earlier rounds. She (both literally and figuratively) read Bernie for filth regarding his Medicare For All bill, as well as put up a strong defense of her record when it was called into question. And her personal story regarding her work to enact the 48-hour maternity hospital stay rule in Minnesota really resonated with me. But also like Beto, I am still not "All About Amy" just yet.

Sen. Kamala Harris — She definitely had a different strategy going into this round, which was clearly to focus all of her critiques on the current administration as opposed to her Dem opponents. And with several comments made throughout the debate about "infighting", this appeared to be a good move on her part. (But did anyone else grab some popcorn and pray for mercy on Ol' Joe when the topic of race came up again?) She seemed very relaxed this round, too, even landing some pretty funny jokes with her opening statement and her comparison of 45 and the Wizard of Oz (“You know, when you pull back the curtain, it’s a really small dude.”) Oh, and her closing statement somehow kicked up some dust in my living room... #imnotcryingyourecrying

Julián Castro — BRUH. I had actually begun to like him more and more, round by round, but his performance this time was ROUGH. His blatant and overzealous attack on Biden was cringe-worthy, and it only benefited Joe by making him appear more sympathetic. (I mean, come on, Julián, he's somebody's grandpa!) I personally think he's vying for a VP spot, so maybe this was part of his plan?? (Because let's be real...I would pay a pretty penny to see him go in on Pence like that on a debate stage)

Andrew Yang — Whew. Ok, so...like Castro, I too had started to become a fan of Yang's the more I heard from him. I felt he brought an interesting perspective and had some great policy ideas. BUT...between his icky Asian stereotype "joke" and his gimmicky promotion of his Freedom Dividend plan, he certainly didn't do himself any favors. I honestly don't think I could sum up his performance any better than Mike Drucker did on Twitter, so I'm just going to leave this right here.

Sen. Cory Booker — I felt this was another solid night from Sen. Booker. His multiple references of his experiences in his community and neighborhood felt sincere and humble. And Sen. Harris wasn't the only one who came with jokes—I'm still giggling over his wisecrack about Trudeau's "menacing" hair. Being the first to chastise Castro for his attack on Biden while still holding Joe accountable for the things Castro was calling him out for definitely scored him some points. (But whether those points will reflect in the polls remains to be seen)

VP Joe Biden — I've got to be honest...he performed well this round. Aside from his continued efforts to cherry-pick his involvement with the Obama administration, the strong defense of his attacks paired with the support he received from his fellow centrists (and again, the mercy showed to him by Kamala regarding race) allowed him to not only garner the most talk time but also come out as one of the top performers.

Final Thoughts:

Overall, I enjoyed this debate. I would personally like it to be pared down even more, but I was still able to get a better feel for these candidates and see aspects of them I hadn't yet before.

One of my biggest "CONS" was the lack of diversity in which candidates were asked questions. Although I know there's no way to ensure that they all get exactly equal talk time, I feel that much more could be done by the moderators to see to it that there's a more level playing field. (After all, we are Democrats, right?) Another big "CON" for me: again, this debate was dominated by the topic of healthcare. I mean, don't get me wrong...healthcare is obviously one of the most important issues America is facing today, but sweet Democratic baby Jesus, there have been so many critical issues that have yet to have much (if any) discussion on the debate stage. For example: the economy, equal pay, abortion rights, maternal health, family leave, domestic violence, mental health, education, childcare, student loan debt crisis, criminal justice reform, marijuana legalization, LGBTQ+, sexual harassment, etc. etc. etc… "PRO"(ish): Was it just me, or did everyone suddenly shift from giving Obama hell last round to kissing his as...err...feet this round? (My guess is Michelle made a couple of phone calls after that last debate to check some people, remind them of who the hell they are, and gave them some "notes" for this round) Regardless, I'm glad everyone's back on #TeamObama.

Thanks again for reading my thoughts on this third round of debates. What were your takes on my rundown? What did you think were the biggest hits and misses of this round? I would love to hear your thoughts!

If you'd like to read my takes on the previous debates, you can do so here:

Dem Debate Round 1

Dem Debate Round 2

My Take on the Second Dem Debate

GRAPHIC COURTESY OF FIVETHIRTYEIGHT.COM

Alright...here we are again. ROUND 2. I felt like the first round of debates was more of a warm-up with the candidates in feeling out the debate stage, their opponents, and what the viewers would respond to most. My hope for the second round (aside from less candidates, which clearly didn't happen) was that some of the candidates would come out strong on their stances and make attempts to separate themselves from the pack—some did, some faded into the background, and some are possibly still on the debate stage in search of their political careers.

So here it is—my takeaway from Round 2:

Round 2, Night 1:

Sen. Bernie Sanders — He came dressed in his best pair of sassy pants, and I was here 👏🏻 for 👏🏻 it 👏🏻 . He had some great zingers + sound bites, and he definitely held tight to the left with his progressive messaging.

Sen. Elizabeth Warren — I felt she was extremely strong throughout the night on all topics this round, and her Mortal Kombat ending of Delaney was more than epic. She’s my declared winner of the night. #FinishHim

Mayor Pete Buttigieg — I thought he was solid and did an excellent job leveraging his age as a strength, when most would perceive it as a weakness. And his lines about structural democratic reform and “Repubs will call us crazy socialists no matter what, so let’s just stand up for the right policies” were definitely shining moments for him.

Beto O'Rourke — Well, he was better than the last round, but that’s not saying too much. (¿Cómo se dice…"meh"?)

Sen. Amy Klobuchar — I found her to be stronger and more confident this round as well. She has some good policy ideas, but I just don’t think she’s a candidate people can get really excited about (including myself).

John Hickenlooper — I still stand by my statement that he should be disqualified for his name alone.

Rep. Tim Ryan — In the words of our Lord Ariana Grande: #thankunext

John Delaney — R.I.P. Swole Daddy

Marianne Williamson — I'm shook just typing this, but she did well. Like, shockingly well…to the point where I thought momentarily I might be the crazy one…that is until her closing statement. #CareBearStare

Gov. Steve Bullock — He won’t win the nomination, but he could always try for a career in beauty pageants and/or soap operas.

BONUS: Jake Tapper was definitely "that friend" in middle school who would secretly 3-way call you to try and get you to talk shit about your other friend on the line.

Round 2, Night 2:

Sen. Kamala Harris — She was strong and polished, but I felt like she didn’t bring the same level of intensity this round as she did the first (maybe it was muted by the others who raised theirs?). Also, as much of a fan as I am not of Gabbard, her call-out of Harris’ record stung. Still think she’s a strong contender regardless.

Rep. Tulsi Gabbard — Did y’all know she was deployed to Iraq?! Ok, in all seriousness, I sincerely appreciate her service to our country…and I would also appreciate it if she continued that service in Congress.

Gov. Jay Inslee — He did just as expected and harped mostly on the climate crisis. And there IS a climate crisis…but the world is also figuratively on fire with so many other issues that we have to address. You can’t come off as a single-issue candidate and expect to go far. Another #thankunext

Sen. Michael Bennet — Sweet, sweet Michael Bennet. I know you are more than your abnormally tiny mouth and Muppet voice, but it is incredibly distracting from anything you’re saying. I truly cannot.

Mayor Bill de Blasio — From attempting to moderate the debate himself to trying to pass the buck on the Eric Garner issue, he sucked👏🏻it👏🏻up👏🏻. More like de BLAHsio…de BlasiNO…de BlasiGO…DUH Blasio…(thanks folks, I’ll be here all night) 🙋🏻‍♀️

Julián Castro — I felt he had a great night, and I am becoming more and more a fan of his the more I hear from him. I'm hoping he's able to qualify for the September debates.

Andrew Yang — Ok, so he has no chance at winning (obviously), BUT…the man has some great ideas AND is hilarious. I’m glad someone like him is in the mix to bring a different perspective to some of these big issues. I am very much here for the #yanggang.

Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand — Girlfriend was snatching wigs AND sponsors! (#clorox) Straight out the gate she came off much stronger and more fierce than last round. She’s not in my top tier currently, but I feel like last night she showed a different side of herself and gave her campaign a much-needed boost. Not sure if it will reflect in the polls, but BRAVA!

Sen. Cory Booker — CLEAR WINNER. Even though he is known for being a great speaker, I was still surprised by how well he performed: talked policy, went on the offense and called others out when necessary, called for unity among the candidates when things started getting messy, and—like Gillibrand—probably snagged himself a new sponsor (#koolaid) along with one of the best lines/sickest burns of the whole round.

VP Joe Biden — Has anyone checked on Uncle Joe since last night’s ass whoopin’? Sweet baby Democratic Jesus. I’m interested to find out if the other nine candidates made a pact prior to the debate to go IN on him collectively. It was hard to watch at times. I felt like he defended himself the best he could given the circumstances (and definitely got the most screen time because of it), but some of the blows landed REAL hard and I truly think will hurt him going forward. And he certainly didn’t do himself any favors with his greeting of Harris pre-debate or his seemingly senile closing statement. Siiiiigh #malarkey

BONUS: All in all, it was a very spirited debate, but I HATE the whole first hour was almost exclusively focused on healthcare with lots of other potential topics being left out. Looking forward to the next round being pared down in candidates and amped up in varied issues. Oh, and Jake “Regina George” Tapper still sucks.

Thanks for reading my humble thoughts on this second round of debates. I'm interested to see who will make the cut and qualify for the next round, and I'm excited to have the field more narrowed down. Did you agree with my rundown? What did you think were the biggest hits and misses of this round? I would love to hear your thoughts!

If you'd like to read my take on the previous debate, you can do so here:

Dem Debate Round 1

My Take on the First Dem Debate

Graphic courtesy of FiveThirtyEight.com

Like millions around the country, I found myself glued to my TV to take in what was sure to be an interesting night (err...nightS) of debate between the twenty qualified Democratic candidates all vying to become the 46th President of the United States.

And also like the millions watching, I had some opinions about it. There was a lot to take in (and by that I mean entirely too many damn candidates), so in the interest of time and attention span, here is my abbreviated takeaway from Round 1:

Round 1, Night 1:

Julián Castro — He was my clear winner for night one. He was prepared, but genuine…showed as experienced, but not super-establishment…asserted himself without being obnoxious…and pushed the other candidates on some of the issues, especially immigration.

Sen. Elizabeth Warren — I felt like she started strong and finished strong, but there was a serious lagging in the middle. Being the first one out of the gate hitting Medicare For All definitely scored her some solid points.

Sen. Cory Booker — He definitely flexed his strength as an orator and had some solid policy points, but his speaking on the opioid crisis paired with his baggage with Big Pharma didn’t sit well with me.

Mayor Bill de Blasio — The only shining moment for me was when he pointed out the misplaced blame of America’s problems on immigrants instead of big corporations and the 1%. Of which I concur.

John Delaney — #swoledaddy

Gov. Jay Inslee — I'm sorry...who??

Sen. Amy Klobuchar — I truly, truly hate to say this about a fellow woman, but…I found her to be bland and borderline obnoxious. I did feel she got one or two good talking points in, and her call-out of Inslee on the topic of women's rights was equal parts glorious and hilarious!

Rep. Tulsi Gabbard — I have complete and utter appreciation for all service men & women and vets, but I think she misused what little time she had constantly talking about her service instead of actual policy. Also, that reminder of her early non-support of LGBTQ+ issues definitely hurt her. But her call-out of Ryan on the Taliban/Al-Qaeda comment made me literally LOL.

Beto O'Rourke — Pandering. Word Salad. Cringey. Or in Beto’s words: "No bueno."

Rep. Tim Ryan — #boyBYE

Round 1, Night 2:

Sen. Kamala Harris — WINNER by a mile. She was strong and measured while making some exccellent policy points. She also took great control over the race conversation and in the process #AryaStark’ed the hell out of Uncle Joe.

Mayor Pete Buttigieg — He did as well as I had expected. He, too, made some good policy points, and his line: “We’ll have no idea who he’s pissed off more by that point” was a great LOL moment and a personal highlight of the night. And although I feel that he handled the question regarding the recent South Bend police incident fairly well, it still leaves the question of, “Why wasn’t/hasn’t more been done to prevent this?” unanswered and will potentially hurt his run in the end.

Sen. Bernie Sanders — I’ve never been a big fan (don't @ me, Bernie Bros), but I’m also not a hater. I felt he was predictable and used his time to drive home his main talking points. Not a negative necessarily, just…predictable.

Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand — She did well, but she was immensely overshadowed by Harris. And although I appreciate her attempt to address women’s issues, it was so rushed and talked over by some of the other candidates that it didn’t land as strongly as it could have.

Andrew Yang — I love a good wildcard, and I’m seriously considering donating to his campaign just to hear more from him.

Sen. Michael Bennet — The only thing worth remembering is his comment about not being able to get anything done in Congress til Cocaine Mitch is gone. Also #DitchMitch.

John Hickenlooper — Should be disqualified by name alone.

VP Joe Biden — #AryaStark'ed

Marianne Williamson — #CareBearStare #WITAF

Rep. Eric Swalwell — When you actually manage to out-cringe Beto. He was definitely tonight's #boyBYE.

Thanks for reading my humble thoughts on this first round of debates. I for one am certainly looking forward to how things develop over the coming months and these future debates. Did you agree with my rundown? What did you think were the biggest hits and misses of this round? I would love to hear your thoughts!

It's Okay Not to Be Okay

"If we start being honest about our pain, our anger, and our shortcomings instead of pretending they don’t exist, then maybe we’ll leave the world a better place than we found it."

— Russell Wilson

Nervous. Anxious. Unsure. Scared. Embarrassed.

The waiting room had the sounds and smells like that of a spa, but I was anything but relaxed. In the few minutes I sat waiting, I contemplated jumping up and running out of there as fast as I could so many times.

"Do I really need to be here? Is this truly necessary? I mean, no one's making me be here, so I should just go."

At that moment, a lovely woman with the warmest expression opened the door and gently called my name. I somehow managed to gather myself up and cross the hall into her office and onto the couch.

You see, I had been contemplating therapy for years but had always come to the conclusion that all-in-all, I was okay. In my mind, there was no super-traumatic experience...no devastating loss...no abuse...which I interpreted as "okay." It almost felt silly to me the idea of seeing a therapist—not because I haven't had my fair share of sadness and loss (I have) or that I don't think mental health is incredibly important (I do), but because I never saw my problems or issues or feelings as "that bad." I essentially had what I like to call the "Kourtney Kardashian mentality"—as in when it comes to the rest of the world's problems, mine sort of pale in comparison.

But after years of encouragement from one of my best friends and some recent "ah-ha" moments, I decided to finally take the leap, and here I was.

I had no idea what to expect. We started out making small talk—standard get-to-know-you chitchat and comments about the weather. Then it started to get real: she asked me about my goals and what I wanted to achieve through our time together, and I started to feel the panic set in.

I had filled out a form previous to our meeting that asked that question, and I had written down some fairly vague answers: "Better my relationships" ... "Process my feelings in a healthier way"...etc. But I hadn't really considered why I was going or what I was wanting to get out of it in the end. Again, I thought I was "okay" and my life was "okay" and everything was pretty much "okay," but then I opened my mouth to answer, and it happened...word vomit. I honestly couldn't even tell you what I said if I wanted to. It felt almost like an out-of-body experience, spewing all of these feelings and tears onto this poor woman. It was like a switch had been flipped inside of me, and I couldn't turn it off.

After rambling on for what seemed like hours, she kindly informed me that our time was up, but that she would like to see me again...once a week for the next few months. I stood there half-stunned, half-confused. I smiled and nodded as she discussed available dates, but in my head, I kept repeating, "But I'm okay...I'm okay...I'm okay...??"

I stood up, gave her a half-hearted "thank you", and walked out of the door to my car. I sat there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened when I suddenly felt this wave come over me—and I let out the most guttural, cathartic scream I have ever heard, much less produced, followed by uncontrollable sobbing. And that's when I knew...

I. was. not. o. kay.

So I went back, and week after week—slowly but surely—I could feel things shifting. And then, just a few weeks ago, I had a major breakthrough: it turns out the awful thoughts and feelings I had been experiencing most of my life that I had chalked up to as "normal" were in fact quite the opposite. Stress, work, politics, #life—albeit contributors—were actually not the cause of the moderate/severe progression of these thoughts and feelings in recent years.

Turns out I have severe anxiety.

Now, younger Lisa would have immediately thrown her defenses up, argued her case, and found every excuse to explain away the notion that there may be something "wrong" with her...that she wasn't "okay." But not now. In that moment, I felt this enormous weight lift, and I cried at its release—but these tears were different. These were tears of relief...relief in finally putting a name to the cause of the negative thoughts and feelings that I had accumulated and which had plagued me for so, so long. In a sense, it felt...freeing...

Because it's only when you can identify an issue—whether it be with your physical health, a relationship, or your mental health—that you can truly begin the process of healing it.

It has now been 120 days since I started my journey to better mental health, and I still have such a long way to go. It has been hard and, at times, downright painful. But my only regret thus far is that I didn't seek help sooner. I write this not only as a way to externally process my feelings or because it is #MentalHealthAwarenessMonth, but also as an encouragement to anyone out there to not suffer in silence. Your feelings and experiences are valid. Full stop.

It's okay not to be okay...but it's not okay to not live your life as fully, beautifully, and freely as you deserve. And I wish nothing less than that for myself...and for you.

IF YOU NEED HELP FINDING A MENTAL HEALTH PROFESSIONAL, THIS WEBSITE IS A GREAT RESOURCE AND HELPED ME FIND MY THERAPIST.