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.

---

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.

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…

Growing Pains & Making Gains

They tell you when you hit your 30’s, something changes within you—you really start figuring things out, learning your true self, and a sense of self-acceptance begins to settle in. But here I find myself (rapidly) approaching the midpoint of this decade of my life, constantly checking my watch, waiting for this cosmic shift to take place and … *tick tock tick tock* … nothing.

The truth is…the past two years I’ve been struggling. The grief over the loss of my pregnancy and of my furry soulmate, the year-long anxiety of doing a TV show (that I still feel I had no business doing), the depression over our ongoing infertility struggle—not to mention the trauma from this goddamn global pandemic—all have taken a toll on me mentally, emotionally, spiritually…and physically. Now, I should preface this by saying that being thin has never really been a goal at any point in my life (which is good, because tbh it’s just not in the genetic cards for me). My weight and size have fluctuated since middle school, and I’ve just ridden that wave and accepted every version that my body has presented over the years. But lately…I’ve felt like a stranger in my own skin, finding it nearly impossible to recognize my reflection or feel good in anything I put on my body.

“So I checked my bullshit with the bouncer, got myself a drink, and hit the dance floor with my friends.”

So you can imagine when the idea was proposed that we go out clubbing one night while we were in Vegas recently, I immediately dove headfirst into my private pool of self-pity. But I poked my head up out of the water long enough to feign an excitable “OK, let’s do it!” and proceeded to painstakingly pick something (anything) to wear that I would feel remotely good in. When we arrived at the club, I was quickly made aware of the key demographic—it was impossible to not notice the abundance of 22-year-olds in their tiny, sparkly dresses, 6-inch heels, and Insta-Influencer-level faces. Did I look cute? Sure. Was I still a tad (read: super) self-conscious at this point? Definitely. But…I made the decision right then that I was going to let all that go and just enjoy myself. So I checked my bullshit with the bouncer, got myself a drink, and hit the dance floor with my friends. And then, something amazing happened…

“I remember the days of my earlier years where I constantly felt like I had something to prove—like I had to be the prettiest or funniest or smartest or some combination of those things in order to stand out in a crowd.”

All of a sudden I found myself dancing…and laughing…and having the time of my life. And then I started to look around at these young women that had initially triggered my own insecurities and began to almost feel sorry for them. I watched as they teetered around in those ridiculous heels, pulling at their dresses, fussing with their hair, eyes shifting from one woman to the next as if they were taking some kind of hot-girl-inventory and doing the impossible math in their heads to determine how they stacked up against them. I recognized it because I used to be them.

“…not only is life better when you let go of your insecurities and allow yourself to fully and shamelessly experience the joys life has to offer but also when you do that, other people can see it and feel it.”

I remember the days of my earlier years where I constantly felt like I had something to prove—like I had to be the prettiest or funniest or smartest or some combination of those things in order to stand out in a crowd. And in that moment—as I sweatily twerked to Megan Thee Stallion—I realized that none of that mattered. In fact, we had several people approach us wanting to dance with us and buy us drinks with one man literally saying, “You are giving off a vibe that none of these young gals could even touch” (which he later followed up with a highly inappropriate and awkward marriage proposal, but that’s neither here nor there). But this isn’t about throwing shade at all the 20-somethings of the world (y’all continue living your best young-folx’ lives!) nor is it about seeking validation from strange men in a club (although words of affirmation are my love language, ijs). That night didn’t necessarily affect how I felt about myself, rather it validated the idea that not only is life better when you let go of your insecurities and allow yourself to fully and shamelessly experience the joys life has to offer but also when you do that, other people can see it and feel it.

It was also that night I realized that sure, maybe I’ve recently gained (ahem) a few pounds, but in the past two years I’ve also gained: emotional stability through consistent therapy, a stronger marriage and closer relationships, my own business and a passion for what I do, a great deal of wisdom and several life lessons, and 10 whole inches of hair (I mean, I’m allowed at least one frivolous gain, right?). Not to mention a body that has carried me through all the trials and tribulations I mentioned earlier along with countless others. Can I say that I have “officially arrived”? I wouldn’t just yet. But…I can certainly feel the c o s m o s s h i f t i n g, inching me closer to the next best version of myself—a version who fully accepts herself as-is, who experiences joy unabashedly, and who can still drop it like it’s hot…in sensible shoes…and I can’t wait to meet her.

Maybe Next Year...

As I sit here taking in this beautiful, cool spring Sunday morning (which is a true anomaly here in mid-May Alabama), it seems almost offensive to be anything but joyous and at peace—and yet, here I am...crying into my coffee...where not even the warmth of the sun nor the coolness of the breeze are enough to dry my tears. Grief is strange in that way.

And even though I had anticipated these hard feelings today, it still doesn't ease the pain of what feels like a whole day dedicated to reminding me of something I am so desperately longing for and fear will never come. A social media feed full of sweet messages and pictures that makes me smile while simultaneously breaking my heart. And logically I know that this day is not a personal attack or some crazy conspiracy to get me down, but again...grief is strange in that way.

But I am also incredibly grateful for the many amazing women I have in my life who also happen to be phenomenal mothers and have taught and inspired me more than they'll probably ever know and who deserve to be celebrated today (and let's be honest, EVERY day). And of course, the pièce de résistance of motherhood (IMO), my mother, who truly should have a holiday dedicated to her alone. I cannot emphasize enough how impactful the women in my life have been on the woman I have become (and am still becoming) and the mother I hope to become someday. I love them...I respect them...I envy them. Grief is strange in that way.

Through this journey of infertility, I am learning every day just how complex we are as humans in our emotional capacities. Sadness and happiness can coexist. Joy and sorrow can coexist. Gratitude and jealousy can coexist. They can coexist because they must coexist. We have to allow ourselves permission and the space to process all of these feelings without guilt or shame, knowing that there is no wrong way to feel and no one emotion that defines us or a particular moment in our lives.

So as I take this gorgeous spring morning to process my feelings and sit in my sadness, I know that these feelings are not permanent and do not define me or this day...because tonight I will be genuinely and happily celebrating my sweet mama. I recognize that others also find today to be tough due to the loss of their own mothers or a strained relationship, and I don't ever want to take the time or the relationship that I have with her for granted.

If you are a mama, know that I am celebrating you.

If you have lost your mama/child or have a strained relationship, know that I am thinking of you.

If you, too, are struggling with infertility, know that I see you.

I don't know if I believe in speaking things into existence, but just in case: here's to celebrating Mother's Day 2022 as we had hoped we would be celebrating this year...as mothers.

This One's for the Girls

“Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.”

― Anaïs Nin

Although it's been said many times and in many ways, I don't believe it can really be stated enough: this past year has been HARD. A year full of loss, fear, uncertainty, chaos, and distance. Even this introvert has felt the heaviness and pain of that distance and isolation. I have never been more grateful for my amazing husband and the opportunity to safely spend time with some of our immediate family but in all honesty...I miss my friends.

I miss Girls' Nights Out and wine night get-togethers and weekend coffee dates and random road trips and just being together—laughing, venting, crying, sharing ideas, and spilling all the tea. Sure, we still have group chats and Zooms and FaceTime, but nothing can fully replace being together under one roof. I miss the hugs and cheersing and high-fives—all of it. BUT...even with the distance and separation, the women in my life have still somehow managed to save me.

It's easy for us to focus on all the terrible things 2020 brought (and continues to bring) us, but it has also personally brought me a deep appreciation for all the wonderful things (mainly people) I have in my life. These women—in spite of their own personal struggles in the midst of this shit-show we are currently referring to as "life"—have encouraged me, checked in on me, loved on me, uplifted me, and inspired me in ways that still leave me in awe. The ability to continually pour into others, even when you yourself feel mentally/emotionally/physically/spiritually depleted, I believe is a characteristic that is so specific to women, and I continue to be amazed by it.

“My friends have made the story of my life. In a thousand ways they have turned my limitations into beautiful privileges.”

— Helen Keller

I'll admit that when I was younger, I didn't have many serious female friendships. Hell, my mother had to basically bribe me to even go through my college sorority recruitment, because I had ZERO desire to expand my tiny female-friend universe (but I am oh-so-thankful she did). I am so lucky to have some incredible men in my life, but the older I have gotten, the more I realize that it has been the women and female relationships in my life that have truly shaped me into the woman I am today and continue to evolve into. From family members to besties...coworkers to mentors...acquaintances to those I admire from afar, they have all made a lasting impact on me in big and small ways.

So if you are a woman in my life reading this—regardless of how close we may or may not be—please know that I see you, I respect you, I appreciate you, and I thank you. And especially during this past year, whether you provided me with career opportunities, offered kind words of encouragement during my darkest days, made me belly-laugh when I needed it most, supported me and my passions, or allowed a safe space for me to be myself, I am forever grateful. Although still very much flawed, I am most certainly a product of all the phenomenal women around me, and I hope that from now on when you look at me, you will see that glimmer of yourself that is now a part of me reflected back.

“Women understand. We may share experiences, make jokes, paint pictures, and describe humiliations that mean nothing to men, but women understand. The odd thing about these deep and personal connections of women is that they often ignore barriers of age, economics, worldly experience, race, culture — all the barriers that, in male or mixed society, had seemed so difficult to cross.”

— Gloria Steinem

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.

America, We Need to Talk

“Talking to each other instead of talking about each other is not some kind of nicey-nice idea. It's the difference between societies falling apart and societies getting something wonderful done.”

— Elizabeth Lesser

Like many of you, I am still processing the events of Wednesday, January 6th…a day that will no doubt live in infamy. I find myself struggling to string together the words to perfectly describe what I (what we) witnessed and what I feel. I am enraged…I am mortified…I am heartbroken…I am shocked…but I cannot say that I am surprised. This was not an accident. This was not random. This was a culmination of years of rhetoric and complicity. This has further compounded the collective trauma that was the-year-we-shall-not-speak-of and shined a spotlight on the deep divides that exist in our country.

“We have the ability to make ourselves incredibly accessible to billions of people, but that accessibility appears to begin and end at our keyboards.”

But I don't want to talk about the event itself—anyone who knows anything about me knows where I stand. Instead, I want to talk about how we get through this—because we will get through this. Emotions are high right now and we find ourselves at yet another fork in the road in terms of the direction of our country. I certainly do not claim to have all of the answers, but after many conversations and some time to reflect on this exact question that has been posed to me several times over the past few days, my answer is this: we have to start having the hard conversations.

We find ourselves in an age where you can send a message around the world with just one click of a mouse…or share a photo of your brunch to all of your friends in a matter of seconds…or fight with complete strangers about sports or politics on various platforms. We have the ability to make ourselves incredibly accessible to billions of people, but that accessibility appears to begin and end at our keyboards. As a Millennial (and as a solid Enneagram 9), I have always struggled with confrontation, giving my (true and full) opinion, and frankly having hard conversations. And as a “Southern young lady” it was ingrained in me from a young age that it was impolite to discuss things such as money, politics, and sex openly. When difficult situations would arise, the “flight” in my “fight or flight” would immediately kick in, causing me to become defensive, to deflect, or to shut down altogether. And I believe that experience to be true for many others as well. Then the internet appeared, and we found that pendulum swinging so far in the opposite direction—digitally shouting down those who would disagree with us at every opportunity and seeking refuge in our respective echo chambers. And as therapeutic as owning a Twitter troll can be at times, that isn’t how we make progress.

“We have to be willing to not only make our voices, opinions, and stances heard but also to allow the same for others.”

Like most things when it comes to making progress, it starts with us. Again, for us Millennials especially, it’s easy to watch an event like the insurrection at the Capitol unfold and be affected by it but still experience a huge disconnect. The tragedy of 9/11 occurred during our most formative years, and I still vividly remember watching the towers burn with fear and pain and confusion in my heart and yet…I never felt a seismic shift in my life because of it. As adults now we obviously have a much better understanding of the world, but I think we are still lacking one very important piece of the puzzle: principled responsibility.

So what does that look like? We have to first understand that whether we feel the direct effects of an event or not, they still affect us in some way, shape, or form. We then have to claim our responsibility as an active participant in society and share some accountability in the successes and the shortcomings that come with that. And finally…we have to start having the hard conversations—with family, with friends, with colleagues—in the form of civil discourse. We have to be willing to not only make our voices, opinions, and stances heard but also to allow the same for others. In my most recent interview with WVNN radio, I made the point that it is absolutely okay (and healthy!) to disagree with someone—completely and fervently—but we must not lose our empathy. That doesn’t mean not holding people accountable for their actions and that does not mean allowing people who have proven themselves to be toxic and harmful to stay in your life, but we have to make the effort. We have to try.

And although my show Alabama Politics This Week has certainly gone a long way to push me to express myself more openly and has forced me to discuss tough topics and have these hard conversations with those who may not agree with me some (or most) of the time, I am absolutely still a work in progress. But if the-year-we-shall-not-speak-of has taught us anything, it’s that we can do hard things. We must do hard things. Because I believe that until we start recognizing the humanity in each other and begin talking to each other in the form of civil discourse with the true intention of seeking understanding and common ground, what we are experiencing now—which is not normal—will almost certainly become so.

So consider this a challenge: start by discussing last week's attack with someone in your inner circle such as a close friend or a family member you trust and know will be willing to engage with you. Make sure to listen to them, even if they may not agree with your views—especially if they don't agree with your views—and then share yours. We all have different life experiences that have shaped us into who we are, whether it be because of our gender, race, affiliation, generation, family dynamic, religion, or culture, and we have so much to learn from each other because of that. I cannot guarantee that any agreements will be made or that every conversation will be fruitful or that it will even solve all/any of our problems, but I do believe that having these conversations—however hard they may be—will only serve to better us as people, as a society, and—hopefully—as a country.

All I Wanted for Christmas Was You

Since the dawn of its creation, music has always had an incredible way of evoking our deepest emotions. As someone who is an extreme empath and an owner of #allthefeelings, I have always found empowerment, connection, and solace in music. When I was younger and my level of angst was unable to be expressed through my own limited vocabulary, I turned to the songs of the emo-est of bands (picture teenaged Lisa scream-singing MCR and Yellowcard whilst scribbling madly in her diary—bless her). When I went through a horrific breakup, I sought refuge in the melancholy lyrics of the sappiest singer-songwriters (shout-out to Jack Johnson and T-Swift). And when I need a serious mood boost (or a dance party of one), I immediately crank up the show tunes or some '90s-'00s hip hop (if you've seen my curated playlists, you get it).

But have you ever had a moment in your life—a new milestone, a big move, a messy breakup—that caused a song that you had heard a thousand times before and mindlessly sang along to all of a sudden truly resonate or take on a whole new meaning?

A few days ago I was on my way to the gym and in an effort to get myself pumped up and excited about working out at 6:30 AM (which is truly a monumental effort) I queued up my favorite Christmas playlist. Because I love all things Christmas and am no fool, “All I Want for Christmas is You” was the first song up. I was singing and bee-bopping along per usual until I was about a minute in and then something shifted. I started honing in on the words, unintentionally at first, and it was like I was suddenly hearing them for the first time. And then I felt that all too familiar feeling...a meltdown was coming. And boy did it. I finally parked the car and sat there in the gym parking lot, letting the feeling wash over me like a catastrophic tidal wave.

“Every month I have quietly prayed and hoped that this month would be the month it would all change...and every month I have silently wept and cursed when it was made clear that it wouldn’t.”

I’m sure by this point you’re probably thinking, “How could (arguably) the greatest Christmas song ever sung by one of the most iconic voices of our generation cause you to lose it like that?” And that's a completely valid question. I know the intended meaning of the song is wanting to be with the one you love for Christmas so desperately and not needing anything else but that. And on a very deep level—deeper than I even realized—that’s exactly what I was (well, am) feeling. But it’s not a significant other I’m longing for. The thing is...I have just begun my twelfth month of 2020 still not being pregnant.

By now most of you are aware of my experience last year, but I haven’t really spoken about it again until now. I honestly don’t like to, or frankly want to, talk about it—not because I’m ashamed or feel it shouldn’t be a topic that is openly discussed (it should!) but because it makes it that much more real for me. Before my miscarriage last year and even until recently when the subject of if we were ever having kids came up, I would say, “Ehh...if it happens, it happens” in the most nonchalant tone I could muster. That has been my chosen response because saying what I really feel hurts too much. In my mind admitting out loud that we have been trying (and trying...) and knowing that it isn’t happening makes each passing month feel like one giant failure after another. That my body is failing me. That I’m failing us. Every month I have quietly prayed and hoped that this month would be the month it would all change...and every month I have silently wept and cursed when it was made clear that it wouldn’t.

“In true Enneagram 9 fashion, I have always struggled with moving outside of my comfort zone and taking risks. Not for fear of judgment or of being vulnerable, but of failure.”

And until my therapy session this week (can I say, “Thank god for therapy!” enough?), I don’t think I realized just how important this is to me. I believe that a part of me has tried to convince myself that it doesn’t really matter if I ever have kids as some sort of a defense mechanism because admitting how desperately I want to be a mother would somehow make the pain and reality of it not happening that much deeper and truly unbearable. This has been a constant theme in my life—doing everything in my power to not get my hopes up over something for fear of the (in my mind, inevitable) let down. In true Enneagram 9 fashion, I have always struggled with moving outside of my comfort zone and taking risks. Not for fear of judgment or of being vulnerable, but of failure. And this just feels like an extension of that.

And here we find ourselves, at the end of what has undoubtedly been the most dumpster-fiery year in recorded history chock-full of immense tragedy and shared trauma. This holiday season will look and feel so different for almost all of us. I know for me that this time last year I was almost certain that we would be celebrating our best year yet and our first Christmas as a (human) family of three. But like most things in 2020 that, too, was tossed into the dumpster fire. And although seeing others getting to live out that experience—precious family holiday cards, cute kiddos unwrapping their gifts, festive pregnancy announcements—will undoubtedly cause a pang of envy in my heart, I also know that there is no shortage of love and joy in my life. I have the most phenomenal partner in my husband, an incredible support system in my friends and family, and (IMO) the world’s greatest therapist—and I am so ridiculously lucky. And grateful. Because I know there are so many others who are having to navigate a similar journey that may not have some or any of those same resources. But moreover, I am hopeful.

I hope if we have learned anything from this godforsaken year, it is the importance of human connectivity, the need for more empathy, and how truly resilient we are as people—individually and collectively. I hope this year has forced us to understand what’s really important in this life—not beautifully wrapped boxes under a tree but our relationships with those we love most. I hope that even though we are all going through shared and personal struggles, we can find a moment or two to appreciate what we do have—not just focus on what we didn’t get. I hope that for myself...and I hope it for you. So Happy End of 2020, friends! We may not have gotten all that we wanted, but we made it here. And that is truly a gift in and of itself.

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.

Point of (dis)Order

"A house divided against itself cannot stand."

— Abraham Lincoln

Whew. Where to begin? I suppose at the beginning...

After diving head-first into local politics almost 3 years ago, I decided at the beginning of 2018 I was going to take an even bigger step in "being the change I wish to see" by running to represent House District 10 on the Alabama State Democratic Executive Committee. I had been warned by previous/current SDEC members that it was quite the cluster, but I thought, "What better reason to get involved and help the Party progress!?" After the election of Senator Doug Jones, my level of hope for Democratic politics in Alabama was at an all-time high with dreams of turning this crimson red state into a light shade of purple. That hope was shaken back in August of 2018...and those dreams were nearly dashed 2 days ago.

I won't dive into the details of what led to the October 12th meeting, but some fellow young SDEC members and I wrote an open letter on the importance of this meeting and urged all SDEC members to attend this past Saturday. Upon arrival, it was very clear that this meeting would not be going smoothly—the tension in the air was thick and the emotions were already running high. Roll call was done, which showed that 161 members were in attendance (which notably included House Minority Leader, Rep. Anthony Daniels, Rep. Laura Hall, Rep. Chris England, and Sen. Vivian Figures). The meeting (which started 30+ minutes late) kicked off with some bizarre ramblings from Chair Worley (Shriners concession stand breakfast hot dog, anyone?), a request for the paper signs to be put down (because it was a "potential safety risk"?), and (one of the few positive notes of the day) a recognition of the historic elections that recently occurred in Montgomery and Talladega. But—as you can imagine—the positivity was very short-lived.

Several SDEC members began calling for a Point of Order, as well as a Point of Inquiry—requesting her to state which set of bylaws this meeting would be operated under (the old, non-DNC approved bylaws or the DNC approved bylaws which were voted on by the SDEC on October 5th and accepted)—all of which Chair Worley blatantly ignored. After many attempts to ignore and skirt around the Point of Inquiry, Chair Worley finally stated that she did not acknowledge the (DNC-approved and legally called) meeting held on October 5th as legitimate and that the current meeting could be operated under both sets of bylaws. This outrageous statement unsurprisingly sent the room into an uproar and was met with a motion to immediately adjourn. The roll call vote on the motion to adjourn: 73-YES; 88-NO. The chaos would continue...

Again several Points of Order were called—one specifically asking how much of the Party's money has been spent in legal fees defending the Chair and Vice-Chair against the many recent challenges (which, FYI: ~$200,000)—and again, Chair Worley flagrantly steamrolled them. That is until Vice-Chair Kelly called for a motion to postpone the minutes of the October 5th meeting indefinitely, a moment which aroused confusion and, frankly, laughter. Because as Rep. England eloquently pointed out, this motion would mean that the ADP "leadership" is in fact acknowledging AND validating the meeting that occurred on October 5th and the business that was conducted within it. From what I could discern from the debate that followed, that motion was (temporarily) tabled.

Another much-needed bright spot of the meeting was the announcement of numerous and amazing accomplishments of Alabama Young Dems this past year—although it was somehow not acknowledged by the Vice-Chair of Youth Affairs and had to be brought up as a motion to correct the record (shout-out to James Parker, Jr. - HD28). In hindsight, I believe it was this very moment that retained what little hope I had left and fueled me through the rest of the meeting (that and the two very large coffee drinks I consumed that morning). And it was desperately needed. Because what happened next was a level of shit-show I was not prepared for...

The DNC—oh, excuse me—TOM PEREZ sent a letter to Chair Worley on October 9th clearly stating that the bylaws voted on and passed on October 5th had been validated by the DNC Rules and Bylaws Committee and that those should be the bylaws under which all meetings going forward should be operated, as well as no vacancies should be filled until the November 2nd meeting. As you can imagine, Chair Worley gave two giant middle fingers to those instructions and not only conducted business under her bylaws but also moved forward with filling several vacancies. More Points of Order and motions to adjourn were simply ignored. But the ultimate "F U" moment came when Matthew Brown - HD21 made a motion to have DNC representative, Harold Ickes, speak to the Committee, and Chair Worley stated that "there would have to be a unanimous vote for a non-member to speak", and wouldn't you know it...there were a few objections from the Committee, so Mr. Ickes was not allowed to speak. I repeat—A MEMBER OF THE DNC WAS NOT ACKNOWLEDGED OR ALLOWED TO ADDRESS THE COMMITTEE.

During the umpteenth roll call vote—this time on whether to substitute the bylaws (which ones, I'm still not even sure)—I took this opportunity to meditate, eat some chips, and watch the kickoff of the Alabama v. TAMU game. At this point, the mental break was honestly welcomed and very much needed. Once the bylaw substitution vote passed (I believe substituting the non-DNC approved bylaws for the DNC approved bylaws), Vice-Chair Kelly motioned for the (previously voted on and DNC approved on October 5th) November 2nd meeting to be canceled and instead held on November 16th...maybe?? But again, this would be acknowledging and validating the October 5th meeting and all of the business discussed and voted on as a result—which was in complete contradiction of the claims of illegitimacy made by Chair Worley and Vice-Chair Kelly himself. What is real...what is valid...what is legitimate...what the hell is happening??

At this point, the room, completely consumed by animosity and division, erupted into total anarchy—screaming, name-calling, and more calls for Points of Order and motions that (shockingly) were ignored. I honestly couldn't tell you what was said by Chair Worley in the last two minutes of that meeting due to the pure chaos that had ensued, except the word "ADJOURNED" echoed loud and clear over the speaker. And that was it. We were dismissed. Four and a half hours of pure pandemonium, and all I was left with was embarrassment, disappointment, confusion, and an overwhelming amount of sadness.

I have been a Democrat all my life—even before I knew what it was or what it meant. I want to uplift, empower, and support those of marginalized communities and those who also want to do all they can for the betterment of the collective. I want elections like that of Senator Doug Jones, Mayor-elect Steven Reed, and Mayor-elect Timothy Ragland to be the norm, not an anomaly. I want to leave my community, my state Party, my world better than I found it. As a young(ish) person, I constantly hear, "Yay a young person! Where are the rest of you? Why doesn't your generation care about what's going on?!" And on the surface, that seems like a fair question. However, after witnessing firsthand the atrocity that was the October 12th meeting, how could anyone in their right mind—much less the youth—want to involve themselves in such ridiculousness? Moreover, we (Millennials and Gen Z) are trying to finish school and establish careers and start families and pay bills and be activists whilst a majority of us are being crippled by student loan debt paired with low-paying jobs, and quite frankly we do not have the time nor the patience to engage in this kind of bullshit. But even in those moments when some of us attempt to pull up a chair and join the conversation, we are then swiftly patted on the head and told to go sit at the kiddie table to wait our turn.

I don't know what the future holds for the SDEC or the Alabama Democratic Party as a whole—only time (and the DNC) can tell us that. But I know this much...this state is full of hardworking, smart, talented, dedicated, and all-around badass progressive young people who want to move the Democratic Party and the state of Alabama forward. Our futures and those of our children are most at stake. So my suggestion to those who, too, want these things would be to drop your decades-old grudges, step aside, and allow space for people of our generation to make the significant contributions that we know we have the potential to make. Otherwise, you can fully expect my fellow young rabble-rousers and me to build our own damn table...and you can't sit with us.