For some reason, people are paying me to act. I’ve been auditioning regularly, getting callbacks, booking print and commercial jobs left and right. I’m what some may call a “booking machine,” my agency’s words, not mine. I’m not that cocky, although I only started acting and modeling professionally two years ago, and obviously I’m very good.…

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All I want for Mother’s Day is for the closest people in my life to NOT want or need anything from me. So far, the only person doing that right now is my mom. She hasn’t mentioned Mother’s Day this year. At all. She never does. She doesn’t expect anything on Mother’s Day, not from me to her, or from her to me. She is rarely …

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Pete [3.5] was so completely overwhelmed by the whole concept that he stood between us and hugged my leg while chewing on his stuck out tongue, kinda smiling? for a long time. His body stayed completely still until we encouraged him to show us …

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My husband is a runner now. Like, runs miles and miles and miles. For fun. And I’ve gotten really into improv. Like taking classes, attending rehearsals, doing shows. It’s pretty funny actually - not me and my improv, but how insufferable we’ve become.

If there’s one thing that’s particularly annoying about us, it’s that we’re “that couple” who constantly wants to grow, level up, and support each other as we change. Gross. But trust me, what’s more annoying are the habits we’ve picked up.

1.) Mike is showering with a watch.

It’s like an episode of Black Mirror.

He sleeps with the watch. Its name is Garmin. He does everything with Garmin. Everything. What’s worse is that Garmin tells me data to prove everything Mike is experiencing.

If you know us, there is one constant argument we have that never reaches a warm and happy place: I believe feelings are enough of a reason to do something or not. He believes we’re all just bags of chemicals whose emotions can’t be trusted, so we must use data.

Garmin started sharing Mike’s sleep score with me every day. All I could think was, “Must be nice to be attached to a linear, masculine form, Garmin. Have you ever had a period, Garmin? Do you know what it’s like to change not only by the month, but by the week, and sometimes even by the minute? What will my sleep score tell me about perimenopause, Garmin? Do you have any data on that?”

2.) We have to work around each other’s shows and runs.

There is nothing more annoying than a runner saying, “I need to go for a run” (Says who!) and nothing more annoying than an improv performer saying “I have rehearsal” (For what! It’s all made up!).

But despite these obvious flaws in our chosen hobbies, we pretend we understand each other’s commitments. We respond with, “Ok” and “When will you be back?” Then we count the minutes until the other person returns so we can pass off the kids like a baton.

I’m not ready for the marathon phase of Mike’s running life. Nothing like watching a million sweaty people run just to see the one person you know for three seconds. But I will support it, with a cute cheeky sign, because Mike has already sat through several of my improv shows, and there’s nothing like suffering through a million people do bad comedy to see your significant other do slightly less bad comedy.

At least when I got really into meditation it was quiet and didn’t bother anybody. Now I’m asking him to come see me do something stupid and that’s the point. I guess that’s the point of running marathons too, so, see you there.

3.) I ask Mike to tell me if something I wrote is funny at the most inconvenient times.

Because I’m doing improv now, I think everything I write is funny. And because I’m a writer, I think everything I write is bad. So lucky for me, I have Mike to read my DATA and tell me if he thinks it’s funny or not.

Unfortunately for him, I need him to do this as soon as a piece is done because I cannot wait. Not one minute. It’s the reason I have a Substack in the first place - I need immediate gratification. Now. Writing a book is agony because how am I supposed to write hundreds and hundreds of pages without someone telling me I’m funny every time I finish 800 words?

So I ask Mike to read my writing when he’s working. I ask him right before bed when he’s trying to read. Or in the morning when he’s showering (with Garmin, obviously), I shout at him through the glass door, “I took out this sentence - does it still make sense??”

It’s what needs to be done and it needs to be done right now.

-

Something different I did while working on this piece: before I asked him to read it, I asked Mike what’s the most annoying thing about me doing improv.

He said, “Just that I have to watch the kids most of the day alone every Sunday. And Tuesday nights.”

Honestly, compared to what I have to put up with with Garmin?

Sounds like a pretty good deal to me.

I was a small business owner for five years. Then a stay-at-home mom for five years after that. I now consider myself a working mom - acting, modeling, writing (I have 3 paid subscribers on Substack so back off! I’m a paid writer). Let’s be clear, I’ve always been working. ALL MOMS WORK. But I’m defining myself this way now because it’s easier. Let’s also be clear, I shouldn’t have to, but the world demands we choose a box and climb inside it. I don’t get enough sleep to fight this.

My acting and modeling career is fun. There’s something intoxicating about being chosen, someone looking at you and saying “Yes, you.” But the ups and downs are exhausting. One minute I’m “on hold,” booked solid, feeling like I’ve finally figured it out. The next I’m “released,” my phone is silent, and I’m convinced I should get a master’s degree and become an accountant.

And as for writing? I am trying. I am always trying to write. I am obsessed with writing about myself and my experiences in the way all artists are, not out of narcissism, but out of necessity. The “self” is the only laboratory we have. The only material we can really know. How else am I supposed to understand myself except to write down everything like it's important news? 'BREAKING: Woman Cries in Target Parking Lot Over Nothing in Particular.' Ridiculous? Maybe. But that’s art to me, having a human experience and making meaning of it.

What I’ve realized since becoming a mother is society expects women to sacrifice themselves, serve others, choose a box, be useful, take up less space. Art is a rebellion against that. Creativity says “F U” and becomes a sacred act at the same time. Making art is my new church. I go there daily. Because here’s what no one tells you about choosing to be an artist, especially as a woman, especially as a mother: the world will give you a thousand reasons to ignore the desire you have to create. What you’re secretly waiting for is permission. Permission to stop trying so hard to serve everyone else. Permission to do something that doesn’t require you to constantly prove your worth. Permission to not have to prove you’re a good mother, a good wife, a good girl. Permission to be you, just you, and do what is calling to you. Permission to commune with yourself and trust what guides you - that’s the work. That’s what it means to be an artist.

My perspective matters. My voice matters. What I have to say is worth the uncertainty, the financial instability, the constant vulnerability of putting my work into the world and waiting to see if anyone cares.

It means rejecting the reasonable voice that says I should do something more reliable, more respectable, more easily explained at dinner parties.

It means accepting that I will probably Google “alternative careers for creative people” once a month for the rest of my life. The fantasy of escape is part of the process.

What matters is that I keep coming back. To the page. To the work. To the hard, uncertain, necessary thing.

Because yes, it’s hard.

But I love it.

And maybe that’s the most radical choice of all: to love something impractical, something that doesn’t make financial sense, something that requires me to believe my voice matters even when the world keeps offering me easier options.

Choosing to be an artist, especially as a woman, especially as a mother, is an act of defiance. A refusal to make myself small, practical, convenient.

So here I am. Returning. Again.

Not because I have it figured out. Not because the uncertainty has gotten easier. But because I have things to say, and I’m done apologizing for saying them.

Acting, modeling, putting on makeup, fancy clothes, taking pictures, making movies - some people call it superficial. But the reason it’s so glamorous, so out of reach, is because it’s self-serving. I could say I want to be an actor because I care about “telling stories,” sure. Of course I do. But ultimately the story is about me. And at our core, it’s what we all want for ourselves. For everything to be all about me. If we’re being honest with ourselves, we’d say it out loud.

You don’t have to do anything worthwhile, self-bettering, or help others to call yourself an artist. You can make something all about you. It’s okay. You can make meaning of something only you understand. You are allowed to take up space, be seen, want attention. Make something because you feel like it.

You’re allowed to choose yourself,

your art.

That’s my new religion anyway.

I wrote this piece almost a year ago, it’s crazy. I never posted it because ~life~ It’s interesting to look at it again and make edits. I’ve always been more of a write it, share it, receive instant gratification, lather, rinse, repeat, kind of girl, as you know. It feels good to work on a longer, more critical, ultimately feminist piece.

Cheers to trying something new.

Enjoy!

My son Jack’s 4th birthday party just wrapped up. My brother, his boyfriend, and I slumped on the couch, phones in hand, recharging our social batteries. As I scrolled through my photos and videos, I realized I hadn’t taken a group picture of all the kiddos together. Fail. My brother snapped Polaroids of each child for them to take home (per my request), but neglected to take an iPhone photo of the whole set (per my lack of request).

All of a sudden, I had a genius plan: What if I texted each mom and asked for a photo of the Polaroid and then photoshopped them all together? Is that insane? This is insane. I’m gonna do it.

I texted every mom.

Later, I’m lying down with Jack, trying to coax him into a nap. Just as I start drifting off, I hear my mom’s voice as she opens the front door. Panic kicks in. Is she talking to…our neighbor? Oh no, did she bring the Poloroids back because I texted her? Oh God…I slip out of Jack’s bed, careful not to wake him, and sneak downstairs. My mom hands me the Polaroids with a raised eyebrow, “Did you ask for these back?” she asks, judgment filling the space between us. My face is on fire. I didn’t want our neighbor—who has a four-year-old and newborn twins, no less—to make a special trip over here just for this. I quickly lay the Polaroids out on the counter, snap a photo, and dash out the door to catch her. She’s already halfway down the street. Behind me, Jack and Pete (2), tear out the door, both crying, followed by my dad.

I jog after my neighbor, who’s changed from the sparkly black top she was wearing at Jack’s party into full on plaid Christmas pajamas, her drooly English bulldog waddling beside her. Apologizing profusely, I hand back the photos, explaining what an idiot I was. At the same time, Jack clings to my leg, tears streaming down his open mouth, while Pete grabs at my pant leg, whining to be cuddled. I sheepishly wave goodbye and head back up the driveway towards my dad who is muttering to me in Tagalog, “You need to put jackets on these kids! They’re going to get pneumonia. You can’t be doing this. You need to put jackets on these kids!”

I roll my eyes and huff out of my nose, willing myself to keep it together. Once inside, I grab a glass of water while still managing these clingy boys. But as I take a sip, my mom calls from the other room, also in Tagalog, “Cati, you really should put a jacket on the kids.” I breakdown. “Mom, will you stop?? They ran after me. It’s not my fault!” Suddenly, my dad storms in, practically shouting, “IF YOU’RE JUST GOING TO YELL AT US WE’RE LEAVING. MOM GET IN THE CAR. LET’S GO. Cati’s just going to yell at us.” My mom looks up and mutters, “But, I have to poop…” before shuffling to the restroom. I lean against the counter cuddling Pete and stare blankly at my dad as he marches out the front door while my heart struggles to think. They cooked almost all the food for this party and helped me clean up, what did I just do? I scoop up Jack and Pete, who weigh a combined shit ton, and carry them to our bedroom, where Mike is gently, kindly, preciously, waking from a nap. As I try to tell him what happened, tears roll down my face, but I choose my words carefully, not able to fully express myself in my own room, in my own bed, because tiny ears are always listening. I ask Mike to watch the kids while I go find my dad. I can’t let it go like this.

Outside, I tap on the window of my dad’s car. He sits there silently, looking out the window like an old, sad, little boy. I lay it all out, “Dad, I got mad because the kids ran after me. I didn’t have time to grab their jackets. I was just trying to give something to our neighbor. But you and mom kept going on about jackets.” “Cati, I just care about them. I don’t want them to get sick,” he says softly, “and then you’re fighting with your mom again.”

Fighting with mom again? This sentence feels like a shot put hurled right at my chest. (I know what that feels like because in 7th grade gym class, someone hurled a shot put right at my chest.) Why now, dad? Why call me out for yelling at Mom, now? We’ve yelled at each other for years. Literal years. And for literal years - he’s said nothing. Stood by, quietly watched us as we fought, then probably talked shit about me with my mom afterwards behind my back like a normal person. And suddenly, now is the time to say something?

Since my dad chose now to bring up the past and do things differently, maybe it’s time that I reconsider our shared history as well. Starting with tonight’s series of events. Cause if you think about it,

Technically,
My dad was the one who started yelling at me about putting jackets on the kids in the first place. He blamed me for something I had no control over, making me feel like a bad mom, when he could have easily, grabbed👏 those👏 jackets👏 himself👏 Grandpa.

And technically,
My mom simply repeated what he said. She stood by his actions, as a wife, a mother, a grandmother, the Lafou to his Gaston.

And technically,
I unfairly, and inappropriately, took everything out on her. As I always do.

Because technically,
I was doing what we all do:

Blame the mom.

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Hey paid subscribers, I have something for you. I found this lady’s yoga classes online that I love. Her teaching style is very poetic and she talks a lot during her classes which I’m not normally into but for some reason she doesn’t annoy me. Yay! It’s perfect for when you want a more traditional yoga studio experience rooted in philosophy. Classes are an hour or longer so you really have to carve out the space for it. I recommend signing up for a monthly membership and seeing what you think, or trying her classes on YouTube first. That’s smarter. Do that. I’ll share links below:

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Hi!

If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been back in your inbox since May, with these two masterpieces: I’ve arrived! and The Sound of Silence: My first year as a Chicago actor). I made a quiet comeback from my break without announcing anything because: No one cares. And for the record, no I did not write a book or a screenplay while I was away, but I did write. For me. And that’s what matters. BUT, I want to continue writing for you too. So here’s a little clarity on what to expect moving forward.

I used to judge Substack creators who’d say, “I post when inspiration hits.” (cringe!!!) But like all things, I realized I judged them because I wanted to be them. I’ve always put pressure on myself to show up consistently. Perform. Produce. Deliver. And hey, that worked for a while!

But now? Now I’m not a morning person. I’m not chasing productivity. I’m not trying to start a business or become a famous writer. I just want to live what the internet calls a “soft life” (which, again: CRINGE!!!!) but I want it. I want a life where it’s my responsibility to get quiet, interpret what the birds are saying, make up worlds in improvisational comedy, watercolor my feelings with zero artistic training, and pull tarot cards to see if my spirit guides are sending me signs, or coincidences, or signs disguised as coincidences (disguised as anxiety?). Someone has to do that job. I’ve decided that someone is me.

So. As a free subscriber. Here’s what you get:

• You’ll hear from me at least once a month.

• But only when inspiration hits, so maybe never.

• Judge me if you must. Just please stay subscribed.

As for my paid subscribers (aka my hot friends supporting me at $8/month: I see you, I love you, you are the wind beneath my wings). Here’s what you’ll get:

• Personal family life things I’d text you or voice note you about if I had the time and you were all in one, big, group chat (of exactly 4 people). For example, like today’s pressing topic: What I packed the kids for preschool this week. You may wonder why I’d gatekeep this info? Duh, because it’s valuable! Do you know how much time I spend thinking, shopping, and prepping food? This is my art and I’m ready to go public - with my private, paid subscribers.

• Spiritual and creative life updates on the woo-woo things I’m into. You know, the classes I’m taking, the courses my inner child has led me to, the energy work I’ve booked, decks I’m shuffling, moon rituals I’m leaning into. The ins and outs of how I manifest things in my life. Maybe an akashic record reading just for you. Basically whatever I’d share with you if we were burning palo santo and pulling oracle cards at a sleepover. So if you want in on some magic, consider becoming a paid subscriber or microdosing on shrooms. Or both! It’s up to you.

• Access to all my archived posts.

  To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

Or, if monthly subscriptions stress you out (girl, same), you can Tip Me 20 Minutes of Quiet for $4.99 via Venmo at @cataldanasager.

• That’s roughly one Pomodoro of work, a fraction of hourly childcare, and a huge gesture of support. Truly, I’m not being facetious. Your financial support is you saying, “Your writing belongs in the world.” And wow, what a thing to say.

Alright. That’s all I got.

Thanks for reading, and for being here with me. Still.

xo,

Cat

Commercial break:

I’ve recently been asked to join the Jones Road Beauty community and I will say, I feel very much in my influencer era. If you’re curious about their makeup, particularly the Miracle Balm, it’s amazing but it’s definitely different. It feels more like a sticky, creamy, glowy texture, but in a good way. I really like it. I don’t wear makeup all the time but their makeup is perfect for when I just want to look like I drink water and get enough sleep. If you want to check it out, you can use my link and I get a little kickback which is just nice: Jones Road Beauty

Now, for my paid subscribers. The moment you’ve been waiting for:

MOM LIFE UPDATE:

Here’s my first stab at packing a school lunch for the kids. They are 2.5 and 4.5 and started a 6 hour long summer camp twice a week. I’ve never packed them lunches before! Here’s what I sent them off with. I’m also sharing a “WOO WOO UPDATE” below so keep scrolling.

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I stand in my basement, its low ceiling height keeping me humble, and stare at my phone in landscape mode across from me on a tripod. I hit record, state my name, height, and that I live in Chicago. I press the red button, hit it again, and perform the script of a financial advisor - a quir…

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I used to teach yoga at Equinox in the Gold Coast. I had a 10:30am class every Wednesday for years. I started teaching it in my early 20s. I remember feeling so excited about the sleek, black, fancy gym equipment, the sauna, the steam room, the Kiehl’s products in the bathroom. I had arrived! At what, I’m not sure—but it smelled like eucalyptus and I had access to free tampons.

Most Wednesdays, I’d steam and shower after I taught and did my own workout. After all, the gym was cleaner than my own apartment - which to be fair, I shared with four roommates in a two bedroom. Not ideal. Jelena, our landlord, kept trying to evict us for cramming too many people, but somehow we were always able to hide one or two humans in a closet or under a blanket whenever she came by. Anyway, I remember getting ready at Equinox one day, and the thrill of eucalyptus towels was no longer doing it for me. Instead I dripped with sweat and insecurity because it seemed like all my friends were moving up in their careers. They were getting promotions, raises, nicer, new apartments, moving to New York or LA. Meanwhile, I was debating on whether to add a green smoothie to my credit card debt. In the middle of spiraling in the locker room, it hit me: Here I am, surrounded by women of retirement age, all doing the same thing as me - stretching, steaming, getting ready at a luxurious pace. I must be doing something right. Right? Wednesday mornings aren’t for working. They’re for doing yoga, laying in a sauna, and slowly moisturizing.

Something about being in that locker room surrounded by women older and wiser (and naked and unbothered) made me realize - despite my job title or what was (or wasn’t) in my bank account, I was already living well. This was it. This was the point: To take care of yourself in whatever tiny, stupid, tender loving ways you can. Sure I didn’t have a 401(k), but I had a soft, white towel turban on my head and I didn’t even have to run it through the laundry, someone else would do it!

A couple years later, I was grocery shopping at Target in the middle of a weekday. I had to pick up a cleaning spray for AIR Aerial Fitness, a company where I was now the Operations Director—an impressive title that mostly meant I knew where the Swiffer pads were. I walked down the aisle, taking my time choosing the exact right peanut butter (creamy, organic, no-stir—but not too no-stir), and thought: I love that I get to do this. Run an errand, get what I need, do something vaguely work-adjacent—and call it a career. It felt integrative, like maybe this was adulthood. Not a corner office, or a 30 under 30 feature, but wandering a fluorescent-lit aisle in yoga pants taking my God-given time - that’s the real paycheck.

After six months away from Substack, I realized every post I’ve written is really about this: Simple, every day moments where I feel like “I’ve made it.” It never looks how I thought it would in my twenties. Back then, I imagined success as becoming a creative director at Leo Burnett or owning a yoga studio. Even when I reached milestones I knew I wanted—like leading international retreats, becoming a lululemon ambassador, starting a corporate wellness business, or more recently, signing with an agent and booking TV and commercial work- none of these ever felt as life-altering as when Jack sang in H Mart, or Pete’s last starfish pose, or whenever I curl up in my cozy grey armchair to journal thoughts that will never see the light of day.

When time is slow and there’s freedom in the air, that to me is when I feel, I’ve made it. I remember one morning last winter, I woke up at 5am, before the kids. I rolled around on foam rollers in my basement.

I’ve never felt more free.

Truly! This is why I started this Substack in the first place: To remind myself (and anyone who’s reading) that if you want to manifest more moments in life where you truly feel free, start by taking care of yourself and paying attention. Maybe writing about these moments is my way of putting a fancy, white, towel turban on the ordinary and reminding myself, “I’ve arrived!” At what, I’m still not sure. But if nothing else, I hope this was at least a slightly more elegant way to spend our screen time together.

“In a world that entices us to browse through the lives of others to help us better determine how we feel about ourselves, and to in turn feel the need to be constantly visible—for visibility these days seems to somehow equate to success—do not be afraid to disappear—from it, from us, for a while. And see what comes to you in the silence.”

— Michaela Coel

Of course, when I Googled it just now to check for accuracy, I discovered I’d actually missed the first line:

"Write the tale that scares you, that makes you feel uncertain, that isn’t comfortable. I dare you.”

This, it turns out, is exactly what I need right now:

To disappear a little. To be quiet. To write stories within me that feel daunting, stories that push me into unknown territory. I have writer’s block, but it’s not that I have no words—it’s that the words aren’t fitting here, on Substack, in an email newsletter. My heart is pulling me to focus on something else. I don’t know exactly what it is yet, but I know that it’s something that needs the kind of focus and vulnerability I can’t bring to this space right now.

Starting this Substack was a leap of faith, a spur-of-the-moment decision revolving my morning breakfast routine almost two years ago that somehow brought all of you here. And now, I’m feeling that same intuitive hit to write something else but - privately and quietly. I’ve learned by now to follow these instincts without overthinking them, or talking myself out of them, and just doing it.

So, that’s what I’m going to do. I plan to take a break from my Substack newsletter for now, pausing any paying subscriptions while I take a step back. I don’t know how long I’ll be away, but I’ll be back! And when I return, I can’t wait to share with you what came through.

And to think, when I first found that quote three years ago, I had no idea who Michaela Coel was. I still don’t know much about her, but Wikipedia told me she’s an Emmy award winning actress, filmmaker, and poet. Of course she is. The pieces are starting to come together now…

Sometimes, what we need is to step back and take the time to tell the story that’s waiting for us,

the one that challenges us,

and maybe even changes us.

With that, I’ll see you soon my friends!

P.S. How embarrassing would it be if I came back from this with…nothing?

Like, “Hey, everyone! Took a few months off, and the good news is—I wrote absolutely nothing! Woohoo!” But hey, that’d be okay, too. The point is, I’m following my intuition and giving it a shot. That’s all we can do.

P.S.S. Happy Halloween! Happy Thanksgiving! Happy Holidays! Happy New Year! I’ll miss you. I’m here for you if you need any love and support surrounding your own creative pursuits. I love hearing from you and your updates as well.

With love and gratitude,

Cat

I’m going to be honest with you, as always. I’m battling writer’s block, haven’t been sleeping well (maybe because Pete (2) rolls around in my bed and grinds his teeth), and I’ve been #bookedandbusy with acting and modeling almost to the point of burnout. It’s one of those moments where I keep asking myself, Can I really do it all? Be at home with my kids, write, act, model, and pursue every creative whim that calls to me?

The truth is, when I get down to it, I genuinely believe I can. Some might call me "delulu," but honestly…believing I can is the only way any of this works.

Because I’m too braindead for words, please enjoy this Instagram reel that took me way too long to make. It’s from my day on the set of Chicago PD, where I played a nurse.

If you want to watch it, the episode aired last week on Peacock—Season 12, Episode 4. My scene is right after the opening title. You can’t miss it! (Actually, you can because it’s super short.) But I promise I have lines. My lovely scene partner is just screaming over them. Rightfully so. You’ll see.

Have you ever felt totally wiped and somehow still kept going? What's your secret? Tell me! Halp. Don’t say yoga and meditation, I’ll cut you!

xoxo

Cat

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Both kids = no screen time for over a week !!

And if you think I’m sharing this to show off, of course I’m not. I’m just a really good parent, ya know?

Honestly though, I’m sharing because it’s made a huge difference and weirdly, it hasn’t been that hard. Let me explain.

For reference: before our trip to Morocco and Portugal last month, Jack was watching 30 mins to an hour of TV a day. Pete? A modest 0-15 minutes, because (did I mention?) I’m a good parent. Gold star! Then we went on our trip, and I threw all the rules out the airplane window because we had to survive, people. You know, basic human survival.

On the flight home, Jack clocked about six straight hours of TV. I think he watched Frozen 2 twice and Inside Out 1 and 2 - the most consecutive screen time he’s ever had. When we deplaned and turned his screen off, Jack yelled, hit, cried, threw his body around, and had the biggest tantrum of the whole trip. I mean, it was so obvious: too much screen time.

Fast forward to the past couple weeks we’ve been home: I’ve been catching up on sleep (trying not to stress about my dad) by napping when Pete naps. Because Jack doesn’t nap anymore —even though he definitely should, he was watching 1.5-2 hours of TV a day while we napped. I felt guilty about it, but ignored it. Growing up Catholic made that part easy.

What I couldn’t ignore were the tantrums—what happened to my sweet boy? Jack’s tantrums seemed more intense and more frequent. The kid fought me on everything. He wasn’t playing well on his own, and listening to me was never an option.

Then one day, I let Jack watch 15 minutes of Ms. Rachel with Pete while I prepped dinner. When I turned it off, no freak out — none of the usual theatrics I get with Frozen. That’s when the post-movie-marathon-airplane-tantrum replayed in my mind. So, I thought about cutting off animated shows and movies and sticking to Ms. Rachel and Sesame Street from now on, but because I’m intense as f*ck and maybe a bit of a perfectionist, I impulsively decided:

No screen time, full stop.

The results were:

WOW.

Aside from me not being able to nap anymore (because I now have a permanent shadow), it’s been fine. He’s basically a puppy now— always by my side, sitting on my lap, begging for treats, or to help with a toy, but he’s not whining! Or mad. He’s just, there, being cute!!!

Don’t get me wrong, those first couple days, he bugged me to watch TV about 97 times, but by day 4, he got it. He only asked once, if at all. And the house is a lot messier now cause he’s playing a lot more. But isn’t that what kids are for?

Now that we’re a little over a week in, I’ve noticed Jack is way more calm, cheerful, plays well on his own, is nicer to Pete, and listens better. He has 0-2 tantrums a day and they’re about things that make sense like, “I can’t find my helmet!” or “No I want the darker cup!” Whereas last week, it felt like I wanted to get rid of him.

So, this is a long-winded way of saying I don’t get a daily nap anymore, and it sucks. I need to start going to bed earlier (I say this as I watch the clock creep toward midnight.) But on the plus side, I finished a book in a week because I’m reading during what used to be my nap time, while Jack snuggles next to me with his own book or plays with Legos.

Oh, and I started drinking coffee in the afternoon, just to have something exciting to keep me awake. For the record, it’s doing nothing for me. I used to get heart palpitations from one sip, so that’s why I never drank it. But now? I feel nothing. I don’t know what this says about me. My body is just forever tired? Or maybe it’s because I only take two sips and then forget about it. Is that what all coffee drinkers do? When Mike works from home, there are half-empty coffee cups lying around all the time.

Maybe coffee is just a lie we tell ourselves we deserve,

When what we really need

Is a nap.

For my paid subscribers, I wrote a review of the book I just finished—because, you know, I’ve got to put something behind a paywall. If you’re even a little bit obsessed with me (and honestly, who isn’t?), you’ll cough up the cash, and I’ll love you forever.

Book Review:

First of all, I have to share the adorable story behind why I even read this book:

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Hands and feet on the ground,

Head upside down in buttered toast, sticky floors, big feelings.

Chest and belly arched toward the sky,

Catching inspiration, writing it down, daydreaming of the stage, the screen, being seen

My whole body stretched, trying to be in two places at once.

But I know, the moment I come down,

When my spine finally rests against the earth,

Knees bent, feet flat,

Heart, body, and mind cradled by gravity—

I’ll inhale and,

I’ll miss the tension.

The urgency, the pull in opposite directions.

It’s contrast that makes life thrilling.

The paradox,

The stretch.

It’s what makes being in this intense, heart-opening posture

So completely

And utterly

Worthwhile.

This time last year:

Love you. Thanks for reading. Shoot me a message. I love hearing from you.

xo Cat

P.S. If you’re a paid subscriber, scroll down because I have a Full Moon Akashic Record Reading for you. I’m so excited for you to seeee!

For those of you that support my writing through a paid subscription, thank you. I’ve always felt that sharing the inner workings of my mind and heart through writing was my calling. For years, a small voice within kept telling me that my writing could help people somehow, make them feel less alone, but I never really knew how it’d come to life. I’m grateful to have this platform to be able to figure it out, in real time, alongside you.

I took a break from doing intuitive readings and moon rituals for a while because having kids became all consuming. It pissed me off that I couldn't do yoga, meditate, or perform sacred spiritual ceremonies for literally hours on end like I used to. Now, I realize that I don't have to do it how I used to do it aka I don’t have to do it perfectly, I can do the best I can with the time I have. What’s more important than how much time you put into spiritual practices is the intention you have going into it. If it fills your cup and speaks to your soul, it’s worth doing.

Because-ah time is limited, I’m going to assume you’re continuing to read this because you’re familiar with astrology, or have done new and full moon rituals in the past, or are curious enough to do your own research to understand why it’s even something to honor in the first place. If you’re new to astrology and moon ceremonies, I recommend checking out my friend ’s work. Here’s her latest post about last night’s full moon on Instagram. She’s incredible at breaking astrology down simply. Another great resource, particularly about moon rituals, is the book Moonology by Yasmin Boland. Lastly, I recommend checking out my friend Venessa’s podcast, Feed Your Wild (←link to episode about last night’s Full Moon). She combines astrology with akashic records and functional medicine. It’s fascinating, plus her voice is so soothing.

To me, new and full moon rituals are a way to slow down, reflect on your life, and align yourself with the rhythms of nature and the greater universe. It’s a great time to manifest✨ Currently, my moon ritual consists of working with the Akashic Records, pulling tarot and/or oracle cards, and journaling, every new and full moon. That’s it. And if you’re like wtf are the Akashic Records, here’s my elevator pitch:

The root of the word Akashic is Akasha. Akasha is the Sanskrit word for “ether” - one of the five elements (earth, water, fire, wind, ether/space). The Akashic Records are an energetic database where all past, present, and future possibilities are held. An Akashic Record Reading is a soul reading - it’s a prayerful process of tapping into the Akash to access your soul’s unique vibration, history and purpose.

I used to do Akashic Record Readings for people all the time. Think of this as a collective, mini, Akashic Record Reading. I was thinking of you, you reading this!, this community, *you* were on my mind as I performed this ritual.

I’ll start off by sharing the questions I asked, the cards I pulled, my intuitive hits from the records, and a picture of each card. I’ll end with a centering thought or mantra you can repeat to yourself and come back to during the next two weeks, and a picture of all the cards together. I say the next two weeks because in two weeks there will be a new moon (October 2) which is a great time to reflect on your answers here, and perform this ritual or something similar all over again. Hence the word - ritual!

Here we go! My invitation to you is to take what resonates, leave the rest, and spend some time journaling about these questions in the next couple days. The Full Moon (especially a full moon that’s also an eclipse!) is felt for days/weeks surrounding it. So, you got time, no rush. Write and reflect when you can.

Eat Stretch Nap® Full Moon Akashic Record Reading

an intuitive reading for the Harvest Moon Lunar Eclipse in Pisces on September 17

1.) What do I need to release?

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The following week, I took Jack to what would be his final Preschool Prep class because we were about to leave for our trip to Morocco and Portugal. When we returned, he’d be starting regular preschool and wouldn’t be attending this class anymore. However, when we arrived, I learned that Preschool Prep was canceled. I felt so guilty for not being physically present for his last class, even though I’ve taken him to every single class for the past year. But honestly, I felt even more guilty that the last time I took him to Preschool Prep I wasn’t really there. I couldn’t even remember it. I was too busy grabbing snacks, shoving their chubby feet into socks and shoes, and holding their hands as we crossed the road. If I knew the last time was “the last time,” I would have been more present. I would have talked to Jack about it, congratulated him, and given him a big hug! I took him mindlessly and I don't really remember it. Therefore it doesn’t count.

Bullshit.

Because you know what, I was there. It was a blurry, forgettable process of getting him there each week, but that doesn't matter because that’s how life is. You can’t be present all the time. It’s impossible.

I’ve realized that there’s this pervasive societal pressure to be “present.” We’ve been fed this narrative of how important it is to be a “present parent.” But this is just another way of saying you need to be a perfect parent, or that if you’re a “present parent” you’ll have perfect children. Whenever we say things like “I just want to be present with my kids” or emphasize “quality over quantity,” what are we really looking for? Do we genuinely believe that if we’re 100% present whenever we’re with our kids, that everything will be better? Mmm. Arguable.

We demand so much of ourselves. Like, not only do I have to take care of my children but I have to be present for it? What does that even mean? I’m here, aren’t I? Shoveling out peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, managing tantrums? What more do you want from me? To mentally BE HERE while I change diapers and drive them from A to B? Every time??

To be clear, when I say “don’t be present,” I’m not endorsing ignoring your child or handing them an iPad all day. I’m referring to the unrealistic expectation many of us have to be "present" when we’re with our kids in general. We’ve been fed this false belief that if I am present with my kids it means: I will enjoy them. I will be grateful. I will have patience. I will be a much better parent.

And I’m here to say, not exactly.

You wanna know what presence feels like?

It’s your toddler hugging your leg with such sweetness while you worry about how you forgot to put a pad on and they might headbutt you in the crotch in a way that causes your period blood to show through your dress.

It’s joy and sadness.

Beauty and pain.

It’s love, anxiety, and chaos.

It’s h u m a n.

Kids are a reflection of our wild human nature. It seems our humaness, our imperfection, is so intense for us, that we make up rules for ourselves, like we have to be present in order to enjoy being alive. Are you kidding me? Look at your child. Their wildness. Their freedom? Isn’t that what you really want for yourself? More than this perfect presence?

I used to seek out “living in the present” back in the day, quite intensely (still do let’s be real). At one point I meditated in silence for 10 hours 10 days straight on a Vipassana retreat. What I learned from that experience I’ve learned time and time again in motherhood: Presence is painful and blissful, all at the same time. It’s not this “happy place where everything is better and I’m doing the right thing” we picture it to be.

So, in case you need to hear this today:

Forget trying to be present. All that leads to is pressure, expectations…guilt. It’s a lie.

Instead, notice the freedom that comes with being more like your kids,

and not thinking about anything all too much.

Just.

Live.

Next week, I’ll share a Full Moon practice and an intuitive card reading with paid subscribers. If you’re not a paid subscriber and this sounds cool to you, now is a good time to become a monthly paid subscriber. You can cancel at anytime.

Til next time!
Cat

I’m also here avoiding the household homework I’m surrounded by since we got back from our trip to Morocco and Portugal. Including but not limited to - putting parmesan cheese away that Mike took out, disposing of a cut up orange that’s been on the counter for two days for Mike to see and just know I left it out for him to make homemade potpourri, and picking up a piece of cod on the floor that Jack (3.5) dropped while running around eating that Mike didn’t see. (For the record, Mike has done 99% of the household (and outdoor) chores since we’ve been back and I haven’t done shit, but that’s not the point). Not to mention, I’m also avoiding organizing our dirty laundry strewn guest bedroom that needs to be habitable because our primary bathroom is getting redone. There’s construction dust covering our entire bedroom. I know what you’re thinking, you’d love to come home, not sleep in your own bed and live out of your toiletry bag after two weeks of travel with toddlers! So zen.

I’m showing up today with my hair unbrushed and my soul crushed because I got back feeling exhausted, but mostly nostalgic and proud of our amazing international family adventure and literally as I was walking through the front door of my house, I answered the phone to my mom telling me that my dad is in the hospital. Sadly, this isn't the first time my dad has had a health scare. It seems to happen far too often. He's dealt with health issues for a long time. My aunt, his sister, told me he was in and out of the hospital constantly as a baby. My dad was born prematurely at 7 months. I can’t even imagine what the healthcare system was like in the Philippines, in the 60s. When I was 13-14, I remember going to my cousin’s sweet 16 party. She did a dance with her dad and I thought to myself, “I hope I get to do that with my dad one day.” That was over 20 years ago, and the thought that he may be gone soon still lingers today. It’s not a new fear, but when something like this happens, it’s a fear that’s more real.

I don’t know how I could write about anything else that went on this past summer when this is happening right now. I wish it didn’t take a tragedy to keep me truly present and remind me that showing up just as I am is more important than being perfect.

So here I am

Hitting send.

Quick updates:

• Hi! I’m excited to be back in your inbox. Thank you for letting me into this precious space. You can expect to hear from me once a week on Wednesdays. Sharing 3-5x a week is no longer possible since my acting career is taking off. Just kidding, but not really!! More on that later.

• Dear paid subscribers, I want to do some monthly magic with you surrounding the full moon. New and full moon rituals keep me grounded and after having kids it’s even more important for me to keep them simple and easy. I remember when Jack was born I stopped doing this witchy shit all together, but slowly, I’ve found myself integrating it back into my life in meaningful ways. I want to share my practices with you! The next Full Moon is Tuesday, Sept 17, so I’ll send something before then. If you’re not a paid subscriber and this sounds cool to you, now is a good time to become a monthly paid subscriber. You can cancel at anytime.

  ---

See you next week!

Cat

I’m still enjoying summer break, but I wanted to give you a quick update and share links to 3 things I’m enjoying right now.

Jack (3.5) and Pete (2 at the end of the month!) are finishing up their last week of summer camp. The hopes and dreams of free time I had were absorbed by the usual daily tasks of cooking and cleaning with occasional writing, acting, napping, and Kardashian watching. Although - in this short time, I’ve officially auditioned for all the Chicago shows - Chicago Med, Chicago PD, and Chicago Fire. I haven’t booked any. So I guess I’m a real actor now!!! Bold Journey Magazine seems to think so too.

I’m going to Lollapalooza tonight to see Chappell Roan. God, I wish I could bring Pete just to hear him sing “kInk Ohny CAH!” And we leave for Morocco and Portugal with the kids soon, I can’t wait to share how that goes.

Links to things I like:

(FTC Disclosure: As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.)

We Are Experiencing a Slight Delay (tips, tales, travels) by Gary Janetti . When I say I was LOLing reading this book, I mean it. Legit snickering in my bed like a lil school girl. It’s my absolute favorite type of humor: Bitchy. The first essay in particular, “Wellness,” kills me. (Amazon)

Ocean Pleasant. I love diving into astrology and what it all means. My friend recommended ’s work and I’m addicted. It’s just a matter of time before my addiction gets the better of me and I start handing her money. Her posts about “Where you resist self-promotion astrologically” is crack for the astro-curious (Instagram)

Ancient Stones Oracle. I’ve eyed Rebecca Campbell’s oracle decks for a while - Starseed, Work Your Light, Rose, all of em. I thought they were all a little too “basic bitch witch?” but the more I interacted with them through friends and events, the more I realized I’m a lot more basic than I think because I. LOVE. THESE. CARDS. I was so excited when I got them that I asked Mike if I could do an 11 card 6 month forecast reading for him because I had no one else to do a reading for. By the time I pulled the 11th card, ‘Creativity,” he was like, “Why couldn’t we have just pulled one and be done with it?” If I’m being honest, I really lost his interest at card 6 when I pulled an ethereal, pink and white floral vagina card and the description was ‘Fertility.’ I proceeded to Google “What does male fertility mean” to convince him the card was relevant to his life. Perhaps, maybe, female identifying folks will appreciate this deck most. (Amazon)

Can’t wait to be back in your inbox regularly again starting in September (Spoiler alert: I’ll be cutting down to sharing 1x a week vs 3x a week for reasons I’ll explain later). In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the rest of late summer. Miss you. Love you!

XOXO
Cat

“Can I be interested in something without feeling the need to pursue it to the highest degree?” Wow. This video spoke to me. It reminded me of a post I wrote a while back about

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