I wrote about that day and what it taught me — the threads of confusion and overwhelm that Beach Day Mom had to sort through to try to enjoy the experience.

I won’t repeat it all here, but the gist is that she had a lot of responsibilities and worries to keep everyone safe and happy. It was a lot for a sunburned mom in an ill-fitting swimsuit and only one contact (long story).

In the end, she discovers she has to find a way to let it all go, so she can keep her kid from noticing how incredibly stressed she is about sand and seaweed and life in general.

Because kids deserve to enjoy a beach day, no matter what it takes from their mom to provide that.

Well, we recently went to the pool.

And Pool Day Mom learned something very different.

Let’s try this again

First, to set the scene:

It’s a beautiful day, 75 and sunny, a few wispy clouds in the blue sky.

The pool is clean, the water Caribbean-clear. It’s Sunday morning Tot Time, so not too busy, and there are plenty of lounge chairs with partial shade.

Everything is unhurried. The soundtrack is the relaxing sound of fountains and the gentle murmur of happy children.

Mom is wearing her roly poly suit (now just known as “my swimsuit”) and both contacts.

Looking around, she sees lots of other moms about her age. Different versions of real motherhood dressed in swimsuits:

Pregnant moms. Fit moms who make time for themselves. Moms with cellulite… and happiness and the wisdom that their thighs have absolutely nothing to do with their kids’ pool day fun. Breastfeeding moms standing in the pool with a baby on their boob, knowing that’s beautiful and normal.

And it’s the same for the kids — all close in age, yet each family doing things their own way, and each kid free to be themselves within that. Swim diapers or potty trained. Rash guards and sun hats or bare skin (that may or may not have sunscreen). Timid in the water or loving it.

Something about the scene is quietly comforting.

Sunshine, clear water, and real people being exactly who they are. Nothing to fix, nothing to prove. Just enough, exactly as it is.

How to relax at the pool

Pool Day Mom sat in the partial shade of an umbrella, watching her husband and daughter playing in the water.

She remembered what it was like being a kid going to the pool — the dripping steps of the water slide, the line for the diving board, the extremely tan teenage lifeguard reminding everyone to walk. Bringing quarters for a popsicle (Would that be like $20 now?). The tropical aroma of Banana Boat, drifting through splashing, laughing, and an occasional whistle.

Oh, the nostalgic smell and sound of a summer pool day.

She smiled and leaned into that memory. Being here and now, and then and there.

What a vibe. No responsibilities, no worries. The dads and lifeguards were handling that.

She didn’t even dole out snacks and water — her kid and husband helped themselves while she typed this Substack essay on her phone. (Not efficient, but not everything has to be.)

Pool Day Mom relaxed. She took a deep breath of slightly chlorinated air. Gently brushed ants off the lounge chair. (The public pool isn’t perfect, but not everything has to be.)

She leaned back and noticed: This is what “enjoying it” is supposed to feel like.

Sure, the pool day was a little different than the beach day. The weather was better, the water was cleaner, it was less crowded. She had both contacts, and didn’t get burned.

But the real difference was that Pool Day Mom knew better.

She wasn’t there to optimize anything. She wasn’t there to get it right.

She was just there to be a mom, a whole mom.

A mom who packs the bag. Who got the cute Hanna Andersson swimsuit and the reef-safe sunscreen (obviously important in Wisconsin). She was responsible enough to think of sunglasses and lifeguard-approved pool toys. Still didn’t remember her book.

And then she let it all be.

She joined her family in the water when she wanted to. She sat peacefully in a lounge chair when she wanted to. It was the best of both worlds — being a mom who is a person too.

As she sat there doing that, she saw other moms doing the same. Coordinating sunscreen and then reading a book. Having moments of peace and then consoling a kid who got water in their nose.

Enjoying family time, being a caregiver when needed, savoring “me” time when it was available.

All at once, in a swimsuit, no cover-up needed.

Taking this in, she realized:

Just like at the beach, it’s not all the things Pool Day Mom can do that’s most important.

But it’s also not hiding them.

It’s showing her kid that it’s possible to do them all.

xo Mel

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Story, talk about what we’re doing tomorrow, song, goodnight hug and kiss, lights out. (In theory, with an increasing number of deviations.)

Sometimes it would take an hour or two. I’d be begging to leave. Bribing her, rationalizing the importance of sleep, negotiating the terms of me being allowed to leave the room.

I wished she would let my husband take a turn.

But she rarely accepted that, mostly because she doesn’t like how he reads books. (Despite being an expressive and slow-talking Texan, he speed-reads children’s stories in monotone.)

So, me it was, for years.

Until.

Daddy had to do bedtime one night and he told her a story of Lily, the wolf cub, and Chad.

A story he made up about a little girl, a wolf cub, and a grown man who are all friends (I don’t love love the whole grown man thing — sort of a sensitive topic — but will let it slide as an innocent legitimate friendship).

He made up the first story on the fly. The hopefully-not-sinister grown man is named after my husband’s coworker, the first name that came to mind after a long work day.

Our daughter loved this story so much I’ve never seen her again. She requests it every night. Only Daddy can do bedtime these days, not Mommy.

Now, I am a very good children’s book reader, if I do say so myself. I’ve got pacing and intonation down, even half-asleep!

However, I cannot, for the life of me, make up fiction on the spot.

I could tell long-winded stories all day about my own real life experiences. (Hi, welcome to my Substack.)

But I’ve been asked to carry on a story of Lily, Chad and the wolf cub… and I just can’t do it.

What are they supposed to do? Go raspberry picking? And then what? My daughter wants the story to be scary, but not too scary, and my brain is just not churning out tales of a giant, hairy, but mostly friendly spider they encounter in the woods. While they’re eating raspberries. What?

So I’ve been clearly and objectively demoted to being the Non-Bedtime Parent.

The first few nights, I relished in my good fortune. I got time to wash my face, wear my red light mask, do my usually forgotten PT exercises, and get in bed at a reasonable hour. Loved it.

But now I miss it.

The difference between Mom and Dad

I also feel bad about the differences I’m noticing between Daddy Bedtime and Mommy Bedtime.

Daddy Bedtime is a lot… calmer. Daddy is a lot… nicer.

Sure, sure, it’s easier to remain calm when you haven’t had to handle the bedtime chaos two times a day for 182 consecutive weeks (not that I’m counting). When you’re not with her all day before it. When you’re the designated fun parent, not the taskmaster.

But I’ve noticed some important differences that seem to get different results:

First, Dad coaxes the “not tired” child upstairs with extreme bouncing. She gets to choose the starting place on the first floor, from which he bounces her in big, swooping hops all the way upstairs. We’re talking squatting and overhead pressing all 45 wiggly pounds of her.

Then, she happily submits to having her teeth brushed and eczema-healing creams applied, because Dad lets her watch Disney songs on his phone while he does that.

Next, the ongoing Lily, Wolf Cub & Chad™ story is a choose-your-own-adventure, where she gets to help decide what they do in the story each evening. She feels heard and valued.

When they get to the inevitable stall tactic part of bedtime, Dad handles it differently. He gives in to all requests, no matter how unnecessary they are. (Yesterday, she said she needed to stick her hand in a cup of water. And he said “Sure,” and brought her one.)

And, maybe most importantly, he enjoys and appreciates doing bedtime because he didn’t get to do it all those years before she knew about his storytelling prowess.

So those things seem to work well for Dad.

But they’re difficult for me.

Not just because they’re physically not an option — no rocket ship up a flight of stairs because of my damaged pelvic floor, no elaborate sorta-scary spider/wolf/girl/man friend stories because my brain is not like that.

It’s also difficult for me to hand over my phone and say, “Here, watch a bunch of bright, stimulating Disney songs right before bed.” Messes with my concept of bedtime wind-down.

It’s difficult to give in to ridiculous requests to prolong the bedtime process — I know how that ends (none of us sleep again in our lives).

And it’s just different because we’re different people/parents and she has different relationships with us. As the primary caregiver who is with my daughter most of the time, I get the honor and joy of being her safe person, aka punching bag.

So I know it’s different for me. Easy, calm bedtime is harder for me than it is for Dad and Lily and the wolf cub (his name is Joker, by the way).

But this new version of things has been working so well, I wonder what I could borrow.

Bedtime tips from Dad

Things I’ve learned from my husband’s foray into toddler bedtime:

• Make the transition fun, not just an instruction.

• Give a little, get a little. I need her to hold still for the eczema-healing creams. She wants to watch Disney songs on my phone. Quid pro quo, I guess.

• Connect before bedtime. If bedtime is the only time I’m slowing down long enough to be fully present with her, of course she’ll try to prolong it. Filling her cup with connection well before we get in the bedtime chair is an important part of a calm bedtime process.

• Offer agency and leadership. My daughter, like most kids this age, wants to have a say in things. I have tried and tried the advice of offering two acceptable options for her to choose from, but she sees right through that and wants neither option. I think she needs more agency than that — so instead of asking, “Do you want the green jammies or the pink jammies?” I could try, “What should we wear to sleep tonight?” and let her take the lead and guide us. Maybe this could backfire and she chooses to wear a winter coat to bed, but for now that’s my interpretation.

• Be (a little) less rigid. We still need some boundaries or this child will be asking me to make her gluten-free pancakes at 10 p.m. But I can be clear which requests she is allowed to make if she “needs” something, and then give in without grunting in distress first.

• Enjoy it. There will come a day she doesn’t want another story. Might as well enjoy and appreciate long bedtimes while they last (sob).

And maybe one of the best things I’ve learned from my recent demotion is that a little space is good for us all.

I needed this to even be able to see what wasn’t working well for Bedtime Struggles with Mom. I needed the time away and the example of something different.

So I had to give up bedtime for now.

I’ll probably get it back someday, and will do things a little differently when I do.

So, thanks, Chad and Joker — for the story and the space I didn’t know I needed.

xo Mel

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It came, it went, with very little celebration. I did remind my sweet husband that he should aim to do something, anything to acknowledge his wife’s birthday. (We have this talk approximately every year.) Not to sell him too short, he is a great husband in many other ways. Birthday celebrations just aren’t his strong suit.

So, due to my husband not being on the same planet as me regarding birthday activities, I did not have a joyful, relaxing morning of having my breakfast and coffee brought to me while I journaled peacefully about my past year of life and my hopes and dreams and plans for the next year.

To be fair, he totally would’ve supported this had I planned it out and asked for it. But I left the planning to him, which is what resulted in me taking apart and cleaning the vacuum as the exciting activity of the day.

But you know what I say to my child? It’s not how you start, it’s how you finish.

(Not that she listens to that, but it’s solid advice.)

So, better late than never! I shall, three weeks late, take a quiet morning to reflect on my 38th year of life and what I’d like for the year ahead.

I’m doing this because it’s important to me and I’m making time for it — not because someone else made the time for me. Because, really, it’s my responsibility to tune into what I want and move toward it.

Before I begin, should probably mention that today I’m sipping coffee my husband made and brought me, and it’s only a “quiet morning” for me because he’s having a loud morning tending to the infinite demands of our child. He is forgiven.

And some parts of self-care really can be a team effort.

How do you want to feel?

As a good millennial, I’ve read my fair share of woo-woo personal growth books. So I’m aware that personal goals should stem from a place of how you want to feel.

That’s easy.

This year, I want to feel like a healthy mom.

I haven’t really “felt well” since my daughter was born nearly four years ago.

Maybe it’s my mom insomnia or self-diagnosed cortisol imbalance. Maybe it’s years of partying too hard that caught up to me. Or maybe my acupuncturist was right and I have Lyme disease and a bunch of parasites. Maybe it’s just aging. Who knows.

In any case, I know I need to take care of myself and my body better than I have been.

This easily could just be a personal list that lives in my phone, and nobody ever knows about it.

But if anyone else does similar birthday reflections or is similarly tired or similarly trying to figure out the balance between Mom and Self… maybe something in the list will spark an idea or remind you of something you’ve been meaning to do for yourself too.

Shall we make our internet friendship official?

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What I’m doing for myself this year

This list is sort of a grab bag — some ideas are more fully formed than others. But I’m trying to lean into the truth that not everything needs to be polished here.

Because not everything is polished in life. Sometimes we have ideas that are clear and ready to go, and other times we have just an inkling of something still forming. But they’re all valid pulls and they’re all worth paying attention to.

Here are 38 things I’m doing to feel like “a healthy mom” this year:

1. Prioritize sleep. I just wrote 3,500 words on what I’m doing to sleep better, probably enough said.

2. 10 minutes of “Do Nothing Time” daily. No phone, no specific task. Just sit and be. Watch my kid playing. Maybe do something that I notice needs to be done, but that wasn’t on my to-do list. Just exist.

3. 10-minute downshift routine at night. My red light mask is on a 10-minute timer. That’s the perfect amount of time to lay on my acupressure mat with legs up the wall — Viparita Karani yoga pose. Release the tension in my back, improve lymph flow, get glowy skin 🤞, and calm my body. And it’s 10 more minutes of doing nothing. (Which is kind of the whole point.)

4. Prioritize exercise. I say fitness is important to me, but it’s always a back-burner item. This year, I want to make it non-negotiable: Mom gets to exercise, daily. We make it happen in our household. No nap? I’ll have a back-up plan to work out while my kid has quiet time. Or while my husband takes a turn making dinner for the evening. It’s gotta be a thing we all know is happening and commit to. And that I get held accountable for — my husband now has a reminder in his phone to ask me daily what I’m doing for my workout and when.

5. Sauna. Sweating really does help me sleep better (my very top priority in life). But the sauna is also a quiet, dedicated time to go inward and connect with myself. Pay attention to how I’m feeling, what I need more of or less of in life, where the heck I’m going, etc. I’m aiming for 3-5x/week.

6. Cold water at the end of my shower. It’s good for shiny hair and healthy skin as well as calming your nervous system. I’ll start with 15ish seconds and work up to 60 seconds.

7. “10-Minute Miracle” before bedtime. If you’re not familiar, this is 10 minutes of uninterrupted, undirected focus time with my kid. On the surface this seems like it’s about her, not me. But it’s also for me to feel calm in the evening as we’re settling down for bedtime. Toddler bedtime has been a battle and I’m done with that! I think this will help.

8. Start tretinoin. After too many decades of sun damage, I could really use some retinol repair, which I’ve never tried before out of nervousness that it will make all my skin fall off. And, if we’re being honest, I’ve also avoided having one more thing to remember to do, especially at the end of a long day. I’m committing to start slowly and gently, using the sandwich method. I’m also planning to use my red light mask to help calm inflammation as I ramp up. If you have any tretinoin tips for newbies, please do share!

9. Make an effort to lose my pregnancy weight. I’m ready to commit to the dietary changes necessary to lose the 30 extra pounds I’ve been hanging onto the past four years. I’ve been on the eat what I want, when I want bandwagon my entire adult life, but that resulted in a lot of weight gain with pregnancy, which I never lost. I know it’s slowing me down and contributing to some of the fatigue and blood sugar instability I’ve been struggling with postpartum. I also know that small, simple changes in the kitchen can help make a big difference: smaller portions (not restrictive, but I know I’m currently eating larger quantities than I need, and then feeling sluggish after); using a calorie counting app to understand my intake and how it matches my needs; choosing more intentional, higher-protein, satisfying meals. Body positivity is great, but so is making changes so your body feels great to live in.

10. Do my physical therapy as prescribed. I pushed out a 10.5-pound baby and my pelvic floor and left hip have never been the same. I’ve been prescribed specific physical therapy exercises to help with this, but often “run out of time” to do it each day. In reality, I run out of mental energy to care about it. Part of taking care of myself this year means prioritizing 10 minutes each day for PT exercises to heal my pelvic floor and sore hip.

11. Lift weights. I know that strength training is one of the most important things I can be doing for my health right now — it’s really important for women to maintain muscle mass as we age (for general longevity and to avoid osteoporosis); muscle is a helpful boost for weight loss (it speeds metabolism); and strength training is helpful for managing blood sugar (which is a contributing factor to my sleep problems). I know all of this and I have a beautiful, fully equipped home gym and my husband is capable of being my personal trainer. Yet I don’t lift weights regularly. In part because finding time is an issue and in part because I’m not supposed to lift heavy with pelvic floor dysfunction. But I just need to make a plan that fits where I’m at — and then stick to it. Aiming to lift 3x/week.

12. Go slow. Do things at a calm pace, not rushing.

13. Enjoy quarterly luxuries. I’ve wanted these stupidly expensive cloth napkins for over a year. I almost bought them a few times but stalled because I have enough napkins already and a set of 16 is expensive for what is essentially small cloths for the purpose of getting stained. But each quarter I’m going to allow myself to buy some small luxury that rationally I know is silly or not needed, but emotionally I find joy in.

14. Tech neck exercises. I’m pretty sure I’m getting a hunchback from too many years on my devices. I had my AI friend Claude make a simple routine of exercises to counteract this. Will set a reminder in my phone to do 5 minutes, daily.

15. Work with my hands regularly. House projects (I’m currently renovating my basement), cleaning, gardening, arts and crafts. Love me some manual labor.

16. Set aside time to write my Substack regularly. This has been a great creative outlet to understand my own jumbled thoughts, as well as a social benefit to connect with other moms experiencing this beautiful and confusing time of life called matrescence. Finding a consistent time to write has been challenging, so I’m going to block it on the calendar. I guess we’ll know how well it’s working by how often you hear from me.

17. Digital minimalism. I strongly desire to use my phone less throughout day. Not that I use it a ton, but it still takes away from real life. (And is giving me tech neck!) I’ll dock it in the kitchen like a landline. Might get a Brick to keep apps locked until I intentionally sit down to use them. The irony is not lost on me that I’d be getting another device to stay off my existing device, but I hear it’s helpful.

18. Grounded morning routine. I don’t know what this means, but I know I want simple mornings that are grounded and connect me to the present moment.

19. Reduce physical clutter. My house isn’t even very cluttered because I don’t let it be. But still, there are unused things in closets and drawers, just sitting around waiting… for what? For me to release. I’m going to schedule childcare for a few hours, make a full sweep through house and make donations.

20. Reduce digital clutter. Similarly, I’m going to block time to clean files and apps on my computer and phone. Set up email filters to keep my inbox more manageable. Turn off notifications I don’t need. Clean my exploding Notes app and establish more of a system. Consolidate password apps (why do I have two?!).

21. Reduce mental clutter. Mom brain needs all the help it can get. I will automate anything possible so I don’t have to think about it over and over. Set some guardrails of what’s important or not. Create lists, and a process for coming back to them.

22. Journal regularly. Not sure when… Before bed? Morning? When I feel like it? I know it’s a helpful practice for me, but it’s not set in my schedule in a predictable way, so I don’t do it as often as I’d like.

23. Continue to take a break from alcohol. I enjoy a drink on a rare special occasion if I really want it. But after spending a couple decades consuming alcohol in excess (will probably write about that eventually…), I’m enjoying a break and will continue it.

24. Be a calmer parent. No idea how to do this other than pause before reacting. Will start there.

25. Take care of my skin. SUNSCREEN!!! And CeraVe Moisturizing Cream after the shower (my daughter’s dermatologist demands this for her eczema-healing routine, and it’s the absolute best).

26. Learn how to do my hair in a way I like. Any recommendations for a learn-to-style-your-wavy-hair tutorial for nearly middle aged women?

27. Yoga. I would like to be the type of person who does yoga regularly. I always feel great when doing so. It’s a great option for someone with anxiety and tension, and it cures my persistent upper back pain. Gotta find the app and schedule that sticks.

28. Have fun making food. I used to enjoy cooking and now I can’t stand it, it’s such a chore. I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to do this, but I want to find the cozy joy in making homemade meals again.

29. Clear to-dos. I am a very earnest list-maker, and a less consistent list-doer. But unfinished to-dos hang over me like a heavy cloud. So I want to clear my mind by doing all the little lingering things on my to-do list.

30. Read a book before bed.

31. Give more hugs. I’m not a Super Hugger to begin with, and being out-touched as the parent of a small child makes me less inclined to seek additional hugs. But hugs are supposed to be good for our health and connection, so I think I could probably hug more?

32. Simplify my closet. Despite trying to simplify my closet a bunch over the past few years (and, it naturally got simplified by literally nothing from my pre-pregnancy life fitting me anymore), it still feels overrun with things I never wear. And I don’t wear them because I don’t love how they feel or look. I want to get rid of things I don’t love and invest in a few things I do.

33. Get tested for ADHD. I have some of the classic signs of women with ADHD but have never been tested. I’d like to get formally tested (and diagnosed if applicable) just to have a more clear understanding how my brain is wired and how to work with it as best as I can. And, since I have a kid, it’s probably helpful to know what my child may be predisposed to so I can keep a better eye out for it.

34. Collect and make art. I’ve collected a lot of prints over the years but want to start collecting other media, especially original paintings. I realize that’s probably expensive. Hopefully my husband’s not reading. (Jk he definitely is, Hi honey!)

35. Take a break when I want. Sometimes I’m tapped out. I just want to lay down and be. But something has to get done (dinner, kid’s needs). Whenever possible during these depleted times, I’m going to hand things off however I can. Or just cancel dinner and order out. I hate that I inherited the expectation that moms don’t rest — we definitely need a break sometimes, ladies!!

36. Monthly health checks. I know I should be doing a monthly breast self exam and a monthly skin cancer self check. Just need to set an effective reminder to do this. Yay, aging.

37. Dry brush. I’m convinced of the health benefits of dry brushing (lymphatic drainage, skin elasticity, relaxation), as well as the aesthetic side effects (less visible cellulite). I currently dry brush in the sauna but could expand to daily. I find I’m able to be more consistent when I go all-in and practice a new habit daily, rather than just some days.

38. Dead hang. Apparently dead hangs are a key sign of longevity, something to do with grip strength — so we should all be practicing dead hangs for our overall health? But they’re also really helpful for back pain, which I usually have. I’ll finally make use of the pull-up bar in our home gym, and will take advantage of the monkey bars when my daughter is at the park.

This is a lot of things, I know. Rather than pushing myself to start them all, all at once, I’m setting the intentions now and will come back every week or two to add something else into my routine. See how it feels. And keep going from there.

I guess that’s the elusive practice of self-care, isn’t it?

Small things that feel easy and good, so we do them consistently, well before we know we “need” them.

It’s the consistency part that many of us struggle with. But here’s the thing: nobody’s going to schedule it for us. Not our husbands, not our kids, not some future, less-tired version of ourselves.

So, despite the mostly joking public shaming of my Non-Birthday Husband, the real lesson here is that it’s on me to be the guiding force in my own self-care.

Both for a quiet birthday morning and an entire year of trying to feel like a healthy mom.

xo future healthy-ish mom, Mel

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One question was: What was the most difficult experience you’ve ever been through?

He told a story of his first day at Marine Corps Officer Candidate School, when he got off the bus and had to stencil his last name on all his clothing and gear, all night long. “So many shirts! And it had to be so straight or you got yelled at!”

As he passionately told this story about how difficult it was for him, I was shocked. This is a man who has been to literal war. Who I knew had experienced many challenging things. And yet the most difficult thing of all was a night of extensive stenciling?!

I mean, that’s certainly hard to beat.

But I was expecting something a little more… dangerous or transformative.

Something extreme-sounding, like:

“Well… I suppose it’s gotta be that time I hiked the Inca Trail with food poisoning, right after I was almost left for dead on the side of a road in the Andes.”

My turn

When I was a junior in college, I studied abroad in Ecuador. Wonderful time, very life-changing experience.

It was difficult at times. Usually in ways that were uncomfortable (and probably filthy and dangerous), but that always felt somehow manageable.

There was one time, though, that stands out as being one of the most physically and mentally challenging things I’ve ever experienced.

Something that taught me a lot about myself, and life in general.

And something that could have ended up much worse than it did.

Machu Picchu gone wrong

After our study abroad semester was over, some friends and I decided to stick around longer to visit Peru and hike the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu.

Four days, 26 miles, 18,000 ft. of total elevation change. All at an average elevation of 10,000 ft.

None of this was a concern at the time we planned the trip. I was 20 years old, healthy and reasonably fit, and had been hiking at elevation for months — no physical concerns there.

However.

The universe decided to test me in ways I had never been tested before.

It all began with a visit to Puno. And an egg.

The Inca Trail, a 500-year-old feat of engineering paved with perfectly interlocking stones, is protected as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Trail access is limited and permitted, only available via tickets with a licensed tour operator.

Because our tickets were not for a few days after we arrived in Peru, we decided to see some other sights. We traveled to Puno, a town on Lake Titicaca, an Andean lake known for its indigenous villages on floating islands woven from reeds.

Cool place, lovely time.

Then, one night at dinner, I ate a dish that included an undercooked egg. (You can guess where this is going…)

I shouldn’t have done that, I knew better. I guess I was fancying myself a Seasoned South American Traveler, maybe feeling extra bold from the cold shower at our $2/night hostel. I can do anything, including eat eggs!

The next night, we were at the bus station ready to get on our night bus back to Cusco to start the trail. The beauty of night buses for student travelers is that you get where you’re going without wasting daylight and you don’t have to pay for a place to sleep! Perfect.

However, right as we began loading the bus, I started to feel… not well.

I noticed this with annoyance — when you’re feeling a little sensitive in the tummy, the last place you want to be is on a bus ride. Particularly an 8-hour double-decker night bus ride through the Andes Mountains.

But I figured I’d be able to fall asleep, sleep it off, and it would all pass as a mild discomfort.

I got to my seat, settled in, and queued up my iPod with some music to doze off to.

Oh, how nice to be an optimistic 20-year-old.

The night bus from hell

Shortly after we began moving, my stomach made it clear that it was not going to be okay with this.

I decided it would be best to throw up and get whatever this little issue was out of me.

No problem, I have thrown up in bus bathrooms before. After a semester in South America, I was a bit of a pro.

I did what I needed to do, went back to my seat, and settled back in to sleep for the night. A few minutes later, the warm, nauseous rumbling returned.

I went and threw up again.

After a couple rounds of this — emptying the contents of my stomach and returning to my seat thinking, Phew, good to get that out, feeling much better, now I’ll sleep! — I got the sense that things were getting worse rather than better.

I had the sinking realization that this was going to be the night bus from hell.

But even then, my poor non-religious self had no idea what hell would actually entail.

Hi, it’s me, the bathroom girl

I lived in that bus bathroom all night.

Violently puked my guts out. Until there was nothing left. And then kept puking more guts out. (Or bile, I guess it’s called.)

I spent so much time on this disgusting bathroom floor that other passengers would bang on the door for me to get out.

So then I’d sit right outside the bathroom, on the steps leading to the second level — steps reminding me how tall this bus was and why it was rocking back and forth so much at every turn. Steps I braced myself against on those turns.

Have you ever really needed to puke, but needed to hold it in even more?

The interludes I spent not puking on those steps were some of the most mentally strong moments of my life.

I was violently ill with food poisoning (salmonella for sure, I could smell it). But I refused to puke all over the small vestibule of a crowded bus.

Instead, I sat there shaking and sweating, every fiber of my being fighting against nature, fighting my own self-preservation and the intense, involuntary urge to expel poison from my body.

You’re welcome, fellow passengers!

Eventually, the ayudante (the guy who helps the bus driver) brought me a plastic bag. I’m not sure if he was being kind, or just didn’t want me to puke there either. I saved that bag and kept it with me all night, for my waiting periods on the stairs.

I got to know the disgusting toilet and floor of that bathroom far too intimately. I can still see it, indelibly etched in my mind, nearly 20 years later.

Cleanliness standards were low. And my dignity was getting lower by the minute too.

Like many restrooms in South America, this bus bathroom did not have toilet paper — you’re expected to bring your own. I used every last bit I had with me (salmonella is like that), so then had to go around the bus to my friends to wake them up, explain my plight, and ask for all their TP. Classy.

Okay, but let’s make it worse

Bus rides through the Andes are an experience. Steep climbs and descents, sharp curves, and bus drivers that navigate all of this at much higher speeds than is safe.

The roads are treacherous on a good day — blind curves, rock slides, unprotected drop-offs as the road runs along the edge of a cliff. This is all extra treacherous in the dark of night. There are no streetlights lining remote parts of the Andes.

This particular evening, we had another element to contend with. At the time, there were widespread protests of mining in Peru. Protesters had put roadblocks — logs, boulders — along this “thoroughfare” we were traveling (a two-lane mountain road, but the primary route of travel between Puno and Cusco).

So the bus was regularly slowing down, sometimes stopping, to move or go around obstacles.

Several times it went off-roading on the shoulder, presumably on the edge of a cliff. Risky, and not something I’m sure the bus driver would do if passengers were awake and noticing (and yelling about it). But everyone was sleeping and it was pitch black outside, so hard to see what was happening. I only knew because I was fucking awake all night and could feel the bus tipping more than usual as it dropped down onto the shoulder to go around something.

So, it was the middle of the night, I was miserably sick with food poisoning, dizzy with tiredness from no sleep, embarrassed about being the icky bathroom girl in everyone’s way, and also stressed about the bus falling off a cliff.

Everything about this bus ride was the worst it could be.

I sat on the stairs whenever I could, just to have a break from the terrible little bathroom.

It had been many hours now, so there wasn’t much coming out of me anymore. That didn’t mean I felt any better. But I could just sit on the stairs, dry heave into my trash bag, and contemplate how awful my existence had suddenly become.

The roads that life didn’t take

At one point in the middle of the night, the bus stopped.

The side door next to me opened, and I peered out into the night. The driver and ayudante spoke angrily and tried to move yet another blockade out of the way. It was taking a while.

The cool night air felt refreshing on my face, and I thought it might be helpful to get some more of that.

I stepped out of the bus.

We were stopped on a large gravel pull-off on the side of the cliff. The lights of the bus lit up a small, almost cozy area around us. I walked to the edge of the light fading into the dark and took a deep breath.

The stillness of solid ground comforted my soul.

I was so grateful to be off the bus for a moment, it had been so horribly exhausting to endure its constant motion. There have got to be few places worse for experiencing food poisoning than a double-decker bus ride through the mountains.

I laid down on the ground, my defeated body crunching into the gravel. I stared up at the stars in the sky and let the cold air wash over me. It’s okay, the world is still now.

I closed my eyes and, for one moment, felt peace.

The voices came closer and the driver climbed back onto the bus.

Already?! Noooo. I want to stay here longer.

The ayudante called to me that it was time to go.

I can’t do it. I can’t get on the bus again. I need to stay here in my gravel bed.

He disappeared onto the bus.

I don’t care if it leaves without me. I’ll just lay here and figure it out in the morning.

The bus revved its engine.

Someone will stop for me. I speak Spanish, I can explain. I’ll get back to Cusco when I’m feeling a little better.

The ayudante appeared in the doorway and called out to me again.

I laid there in silence, unmoving, not acknowledging him. Delirious with sickness, all muddled with appreciation for still ground. I felt with such certainty, I stay here now.

And then it hit me:

I’m a young American woman on the edge of a cliff in the middle of the Andes. I have no money on me. My passport and everything I possess on this continent is on that bus. I have to go with it.

I sighed and got up, brushing gravel from my backside.

And then the bus started to move.

Fuuuuuuck.

I rushed toward it, as quickly as someone who has been ravaged by the plague can do.

In that short distance between the comfort of my gravel bed and the safety of the bus, I saw my life flash before my eyes:

Me, waiting, trying to stay warm until sunrise; wondering, as the first vehicle stops for me, if they have good intentions and if I should go with them or not; wondering if I’d even have a choice in the matter; realizing someone could easily dispose of my body off the edge of this cliff and I’d never be found again; oh no, this could be very, very bad.

“Ya voyyyy!!!” (“I’m cominggg!!!”) I yelled, as I ran.

I reached the open door and pulled myself up onto the moving bus. As it drove away.

Drove away from me, and the life I had before me — the life I’m living now.

I’m so lucky it was moving slowly, needing to maneuver around the blockade they had just removed.

And I’m so lucky I had a last-second flash of sanity. That I realized the short-term discomfort of the bus was probably better than the long-term consequences of being left on the side of the road in the Andes at 3 a.m.

Maybe it would have turned out fine and the kindness of humanity would have brought me, moneyless, safely back to Cusco. Who knows. But it also could have turned out very differently.

Sometimes I still think of this night, and the roads my life didn’t take.

Now, let’s go on a long hike

Roadside abandonment narrowly averted, the bus and I made it back to Cusco. Then, over the next four days and three nights, my friends and I hiked the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu.

Hiking the Inca Trail is, in and of itself, difficult. I wouldn’t recommend doing it with food poisoning.

I was mostly in the clear vis à vis expelling all my insides. But I was still uncomfortably warm with fever and my body had absolutely no interest in eating. Over the course of the hike, I drank some water and coca tea, and ate a few handfuls of popcorn and a Snickers bar.

So I was hiking in somewhat of a diseased, fasted state.

My group of 10 all hiked together (as you’re supposed to), but I often fell behind, taking slow steps and many rests. I was so slow I sometimes blended into other groups catching up to me. But mostly, I walked alone.

It was physically difficult — up and down, up and down steep mountains, burning my legs and lungs.

It was mentally tiring — carefully choosing each stone step so I didn’t tumble to my death.

But it was spiritually a gift.

The times I walked with my friends or group, it was fun, doing something amazing together, chitchatting.

But the time I spent walking alone was better. I had the space and solitude to notice everything around me: Rays of sunlight through the clouds. Wild alpacas on the mountainside. The thin, worn sandals and weathered toes of the porters running past me.

I felt enlightened. Both by the passing of my miserable illness and the transcendental state of my unintentional fast.

I was weak, but the energy and history of the trail carried me forward. As well as that Snickers bar, which I got from a stranger on the side of the trail. Or maybe it was bestowed upon me by Incan gods. Hard to say, really.

I walked slowly and quietly for days.

Admiring the 500-year-old hand-cut and hand-laid stones. Picturing the hands that laid them, the feet that crossed over this path all those years ago, during the height of the Incan Empire.

I assumed it wasn’t as hard for them as it was for me now. I pictured ancient Incas expertly climbing in their simple leather sandals, llamas loaded high with supplies, a beautiful pre-conquistador walk up high in the clouds.

It wasn’t hard in the same ways, but I’m sure it was also hard at times — there was still illness and injury and weakness and sadness and danger. And they still climbed these very stone steps through it all.

So I put one salmonella foot in front of the other and made my way along.

We can do hard things.

And those are the moments that make us.

xo Mel

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At first, it made sense — I was up nursing a newborn, pumping, etc. But after she began sleeping through the night at 8 months old (bless her), I unfortunately did not.

Not getting enough sleep is both miserable for your mental state and terrible for your physical health. It negatively impacts every bodily system and literally shortens your lifespan. It contributes to weight gain or makes it harder to lose weight (kind of annoying postpartum).

But the biggest thing impacting me day-to-day was intense brain fog.

I had gotten used to feeling tired, kind of bleh, and just carrying on as the zombie mom of a new baby. I could even be chipper at times!

But three-ish years of life were just foggy.

I could see, I could do things, I could feel things… but not well.

It felt like I had about 25% of the brain capacity I was used to having. Which is very limiting, to say the least.

Most of this time, I knew there was a problem with my sleep and was actively working on it in some way.

Eventually, I got so tired (literally, lol) of feeling like my head was not quite fully attached to my body that I went all-in on researching sleep and figuring out how to finally fix it.

And… it worked!

This is a long one, here’s what’s below:

• The root cause of my mom insomnia

• The things I tried that worked best

• What I’d prioritize if starting this journey again

Being able to sleep is a pretty basic human function, right?! Outside of very rare conditions, our body is capable of sleeping well, there are just things in our modern lifestyle that get in the way of it.

Over the past three-ish years of almost never sleeping through the night, I’ve tried lots of different things to improve my sleep. And, even more importantly, to understand where the problem was actually coming from.

The backstory

I’ve always been a pretty light sleeper (the type who wakes up easily to noise and light), but generally didn’t have a problem falling asleep or staying asleep.

As a young adult, I went from being able to sleep anywhere — college days of sleeping in my makeup with a pizza box as a pillow — to eventually having a 15-point checklist of proper sleep environment and bedtime routine. But still, I slept fine with that.

Until, somehow, things changed.

First, sleep took a nose dive during pregnancy and postpartum, which was understandable. But the lingering issues didn’t make as much sense — why my body wasn’t going back to normal when it had the chance.

After my daughter started sleeping through the night, I was still waking up consistently around 2 a.m., unable to fall back asleep. Wide awake each night for three to four hours (which sucks, by the way).

I was averaging about five hours of sleep a night, not an amount I function well with.

I tried lots of standard sleep hygiene things (more on those below, since they’re still good to follow), but it wasn’t until I looked more deeply into why my brain/body was struggling to stay asleep that I finally figured out some things that work.

Why we wake up in the middle of the night

The reason for otherwise unexplainable middle-of-the-night wakings is often cortisol.

In my case, I probably had a cortisol imbalance from some combination of: postpartum hormones, years of high-functioning anxiety, side effects of hormonal birth control (worth reading about in the fascinating book This Is Your Brain on Birth Control), and blood sugar instability.

All of these things combine to disrupt the intricate hormonal balance that tells your body when to be alert and when to downshift and rest.

So, for the past year-ish I’ve been working to resolve this cortisol imbalance and re-teach my nervous system how to sleep.

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The Sleep Stack

Here’s what I do to set myself up to sleep through the night. It’s a long list, but maybe there’s something you could try if you have trouble sleeping too.

Note: I’m not a medical professional and this is not medical advice. It’s just a personal account of what worked for me!

Supplements for sleep

I am usually anti-supplement (mostly because I hate swallowing giant pills), so take only what I think truly makes a difference and is worth the discomfort of trying to swallow it.

Here’s what I’ve landed on and currently take with good results:

• Ashwagandha: I take Thorne Ashwagandha in the morning for general calming and stress support throughout the day. As someone who has unmedicated anxiety (yay!), I’ve found this supplement very helpful for turning down the knob on baseline anxiety.

• B-complex: B vitamins are depleted with stress and lack of sleep, as well as hormonal birth control, so I take Thorne Basic B Complex to replenish them.

• Omega-3 / D3: Omega-3 helps regulate cortisol, and D3 supports circadian rhythm. There’s evidence that the two taken together show improvements in both sleep quality and anxiety, so I take Nordic Naturals Omega D-3 Minis each morning.

• Theanine: I love having two cups of hot coffee to start my day — it’s a tradition I’m not willing to part with. Morning caffeine was definitely contributing to my sleep trouble, so my workaround is to drink half-caf (we just combine equal parts regular and decaf beans) and take Thorne Theanine with it, which helps to smooth the cortisol spike from caffeine.

• Magnesium: Magnesium is well-known to relax the nervous system and quiet brain activity before bed. I take three Thorne Magnesium Glycinate capsules 30-60 minutes before I’d like to be asleep. This is the easiest-to-digest form of magnesium and I have noticed no side effects (usually that would be tummy upset or loose stools).

• Creatine: My husband had been taking creatine for fitness purposes, and told me I should try it for mental clarity. I started taking 5-10g each morning and noticed a difference in clarity, especially after nights of poor sleep. Note: The standard dosing is 5g but some research suggests 10g gives better cognitive benefits.

Sleep environment

There are a lot of environmental things that can make it difficult to fall asleep or stay asleep. Especially when you’re working to pinpoint and resolve possible internal issues (like I was), it’s important to resolve any external factors that are hurting your cause.

These are the sleep environment details that make a noticeable difference for me:

• Cool room: Most people sleep better cool, in the 60-65°F range, which mimics the natural drop in nighttime temperature. We set our thermostat to 62° at night and have a Google Nest temperature sensor in our bedroom so the thermostat is responding to the actual temperature there (and not the thermostat’s location on a different floor).

• Dark room: Similarly, our bodies tend to sleep better in complete darkness, which mimics pre-industrial nighttime. Blackout curtains are usually necessary to block out city light or moonlight (which is very bright in certain phases — something I never noticed until I became nocturnal). Also, we don’t keep any electronics in the bedroom that have a power light beaming its rays into my eyes at night.

• Brown noise: Brown noise is the new white noise! I first learned this from baby sound machines, but it’s much more natural and soothing. I sleep with background noise so I’m less likely to wake up from the occasional random house noise or my dog or husband being noisy sleepers.

• Comfy bed: Seems so obvious, but a comfortable bed you feel cozy in really matters. I actually hate my mattress, but it’s brand new and was not cheap so I’m trying to make it work. I got more slats for the bed frame to give the mattress more support, and got a featherbed topper to make it plusher. There are definitely things you can do to improve the comfort of your bed without a whole new mattress!

• Cooling sheets: I hadn’t realized that sheet material is such a big factor in staying cool while sleeping. We now use linen sheets and it seems to make a difference.

• Comfy pillow for side sleepers: I’m a side sleeper and love the Nest side sleeper pillow, which got rid of my shoulder pain from sleeping in a crumpled position. Wirecutter has a good guide on the best pillows for different sleep positions.

• Knee pillow: I’m not sure how I slept fine for decades without a knee pillow, because now everything hurts without one. I like that the Nest Jr. pillow is customizable and small.

• Eye mask: Even though we have blackout curtains, since they’re not dark colored (I’m annoying and chose aesthetic ivory linen with a liner), it still gets somewhat brighter in the morning, or during a full moon, or with Midwest thunderstorm lightning. So I keep a silk eye mask in my bedside table if conditions call for it.

• CPAP machine for my husband: My dear husband is a snorer… sounds like a motorcycle when he’s sleeping. His CPAP machine makes a world of difference for his snoring, sleep talking, and sleep walking. Love that thing!

Bedtime routine

Some people, like my husband, can fall asleep literally anywhere in 10 seconds. I’m not sure how that’s physically possible, but I guess some are just blessed.

Others of us need to work with what we’ve got. In my case, that’s recognizing that my brain takes a while to downshift at night and slow the ol’ brain waves enough to be ready for sleep.

Sleep experts often recommend a specific bedtime routine that calms your body and mind and signals that it’s time for sleep. (Just like we do for toddlers, ha!)

Here’s what helps me signal sleepy-time for my brain:

• Dim lights: So obvious, but it helps your circadian rhythm if your eyes are exposed to bright light during the day and dim light when it’s dark outside. I put some of the lights in my home on Lutron Caseta smart dimmers (LOVE!), so they automatically dim at sunset.

• Quiet/gentle time: An hour or so before I want to be asleep, I enter my “Gentle Time.” Lights are dim, I don’t do anything mentally (or emotionally) stimulating, we speak in quieter voices (also because my kid is now, hopefully, sleeping). It is a designated time for life to begin slowing down.

• No TV 2 hours before bed: This is one of the easiest starting places for most people looking to improve their sleep. It doesn’t make a huge difference for me, because I rarely watch TV anyway. But during football season we might have a game on later at night and I do notice a harder time falling and staying asleep those nights. I even wear funny-looking orange glasses to reduce the blue light from the TV, so can only imagine how much worse it’d be watching TV without those!

• No/low screens in bed: We do not have a TV in the bedroom. My husband has tried for that a few times and it’s a hard no from me. If you are a finicky sleeper, it’s way too bright and stimulating. I also try to limit use of my phone once I’m in bed. Ideally I’d not use it at all, and put it to sleep in a different room… but I’m not there yet. So I have my iPhone’s Night Shift set to its dimmest (most warm) setting and turn the brightness waaaay down if I’m using it in bed. Pro Tip: Use the “Reduce White Point” setting to get it even dimmer!

• Self-care routine: I feel like this is an area I haven’t fully mastered (moms having time for self care is a thing), but there’s so much possibility: evening yoga, meditation, dry brushing, bath, journaling, etc. Right now I just do my evening skincare routine, which is not very advanced, but it gives a few minutes of transition into “bedtime.”

• Small bedtime snack: Part of the fun of cortisol dysregulation is that it also messes up your hunger hormones. When I wake in the middle of the night, I’m usually hungry. Having a small protein-and-complex-carb bedtime snack seems to help stabilize my blood sugar and reduce hunger-induced wakings. Something like a string cheese and Nut Thin crackers. Yogurt and some berries. Etc.

• Bedtime brain dump: If there’s something in your life causing active stress and worry, “brain dumping” it before bed can be a helpful way to release those worries before they fester and wake you up at night. Similarly, writing a to-do list before bed helps your brain trust that anything that needs to get done will get done — in the morning. I have a Note in my phone that I use to add any to-dos or issues to resolve (moms are often the de facto Household Problem-Solver) so if I think of them while laying in bed, I can store those thoughts in a safe place I know I’ll be able to come back to later. That helps my brain trust that we don’t need to be choosing my daughter’s preschool at 2 a.m.

Nervous system regulation

One of the most impactful things for curing my mom insomnia was recognizing it wasn’t actually about sleep — it was about regulating my nervous system during the day to allow it to feel safe enough to sleep at night.

I live in a very safe part of human existence (time-wise and geographically). I really don’t have much to be concerned about, so was surprised to learn this is such an issue.

But it’s a very real thing for many moms, especially stay-at-home moms, whose very existence is tied to your child’s needs and survival, and whose daily activities involve staying on top of absolutely everything your family and household need — your nervous system is constantly ON and has forgotten when it’s okay to turn OFF.

Early motherhood nighttime in particular has no OFF switch, you’re always sleeping with one ear open for cries to be fed or changed or cuddled.

For a nervous system that hasn’t really turned off for years, it can also forget how to do that. So it’s stuck in a vigilant (fight-or-flight) state.

Here are the things I’m doing to retrain my nervous system to relax:

• Exercise: When I talked to my doctor about my lingering brain fog and fatigue three years postpartum, she ran a bunch of tests and asked me a bunch of questions and then said: “If I could prescribe you one thing, it’d be regular strenuous exercise.” Lo and behold, that does the trick! Fitting in strenuous exercise that gives a good sweat really helps calm my body and helps it enter its parasympathetic (rest-and-digest) state.

• Sauna: When I realized how effective sweating is for calming my nervous system, I suddenly became much more receptive to my husband’s desire to purchase a home sauna. (Not that I don’t care about his interests, but it was more of a “nice to have” for him, whereas it’s a “literally helps me sleep and function better” thing for me.) We purchased a Clearlight infrared sauna and absolutely love it. I use it almost daily and, though it was an investment, the difference it makes is well worth it to me. Sweating does help me relax, and thus sleep better.

• Bright light in the morning: Exposure to bright light first thing in the morning helps regulate your circadian rhythm and cortisol production. In the dark Upper Midwest winter, I sit next to a light therapy lamp while drinking my coffee.

• Protein: Blood sugar instability contributes to cortisol spikes, so I’ve made a better effort to eat enough protein throughout the day (typically 0.7 - 1g of protein per pound of body weight) to help stabilize my blood sugar so it’s not going crazy, spiking cortisol, and waking me up at 2 a.m.

• Journaling: When I began the journey of retraining my nervous system to relax, I hadn’t journaled in many years. I got a cute new notebook and started journaling in the mornings and/or before bed. I liked it and found it helpful. It helped me get extra thoughts out of my brain, onto paper, so it felt like they went somewhere more productive than circling repetitively. It also gave the effect some people get from prayer — the “let go and let God” approach of releasing things you can’t control.

• Cognitive behavioral therapy: Similar to journaling, cognitive behavioral therapy (what most people know as just “therapy”) is helpful for processing things our brain would otherwise ruminate on or struggle to process in a healthy way. I’ve used CBT on-and-off throughout my adult life and love it. It’s like a personal trainer for your brain, helping strengthen your thought processes (aka neural pathways) in ways that make you mentally healthier and more resilient.

• Go slow: One of the things my therapist helped me notice was that I am always rushing, which keeps me stuck in a fight-or-flight state. Even if I’m doing laundry or dishes, with no set timeline, I’m rushing to do them as efficiently as possible. This is a side effect of Mom Life — feeling like you have 10,000 more things to do than you could ever get done in a day. But it prevents your nervous system from being able to relax. So I’m practicing going slower. Just a smidge. Doing things at an “easy-going” pace and reminding myself that’s perfectly safe and okay.

• No news: I am not someone who can see horrible things happening in the world and sleep well at night. For years, I ignored my nervous system’s response to negative news because I didn’t want to become complacent to others’ suffering. But the thing is, humans are not evolved enough to be so aware of allll the suffering happening in places we’ve never been. This is a really unique time in human history that we are even able to be aware of that. But we’re not biologically capable of processing all of it without feeling extremely unsafe ourselves. I realized I was physically suffering (elevated cortisol, sleep loss) because of terrible things outside of my control. In order to heal my nervous system, I had to cut out news. Uninstall apps. Unfollow certain accounts. My husband is in charge of telling me anything happening that I absolutely need to know about. Not in a my-husband-thinks-for-me-because-he’s-the-man way, but like a very conscious, trusted filter of what’s worth me stressing over or not. I think I’ll eventually go back to not living under a rock… but a little break under here has been helpful for calming my nervous system.

• Tune into your cycle: For women, our cycle also intricately influences the hormones of our nervous system. I noticed that I routinely feel more anxious or unsettled, and thus sleep worse, during the luteal phase of my cycle. Tracking my cycle (I use the MyFLO app) and tuning into any additional support I might need (an extra nighttime magnesium, a longer self care session, etc.) seems to help.

Zzzzzz

Doing these things consistently — some for years, some a few months — has measurably improved my ability to sleep through the night. I’m only waking up one night or so per week, compared to every night.

Even with this incremental improvement (not total improvement yet), I feel so much better. I generally feel calmer and have more mental clarity throughout the day. A bad night of sleep doesn’t wreck me as much — probably because it’s a one-off, not the cumulative effect of 300 bad nights in a row.

If your sleep is less than ideal, hopefully something in this list can help make even a slight improvement for you too!

xo Mel

P.S. I really do think each item above helps in some way. But it’s a lot, and I didn’t start it all at once. And some things have better bang for the buck (or effort).

If I were starting this better sleep journey again, here’s what I’d start with for the greatest impact:

• Magnesium

• Ashwagandha

• Cold, dark bedroom

• Regular strenuous exercise (aka get sweaty often)

• Bright light in the morning, dim light at night

• “Gentle Time” bedtime wind-down

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So my husband and I decided to take our three-year-old daughter to the beach.

Of course, she’s been to beaches before. But just the small local beaches here in America’s Dairyland. Which means the lake is green with algae from fertilizer runoff. The sand is speckled with goose poop and probably cheese wrappers.

No, we decided to take her to a real beach — pristine sand dunes on the sparkling shores of Lake Michigan. Somewhere with waves. And seagulls. And water that wouldn’t be a health hazard if she got a little in her mouth.

This is a story about a family going to the beach. And what it’s like to be the mom there.

It’s just a swimsuit

First, I needed to confirm I had a swimsuit that fits me. I got my basket of swimwear down from a high shelf in my closet, where it safely lives, mostly unneeded.

I found a swimsuit that technically fit, though certainly not in a flattering way.

I haven’t worn a swimsuit yet this season, because we don’t do a lot of swimming. My kid doesn’t love the water (screamed her way through swim lessons until we un-enrolled her) and I’m not into “swimming” in green soup, aka the local lakes. So not a lot of need for a swimsuit these days.

That said, I spent most of my adult life in Southern California, where I wore swimsuits a lot — went to the beach a fair amount and lived in apartments with pools, which I (grateful Midwesterner) made regular use of. I didn’t really love going in the water, but I enjoyed tanning my naturally-very-pale skin and being near the water. In a swimsuit.

Now, three years postpartum, I’m still genuinely surprised when I put on swimwear. It’s a much more roly poly experience than I’m used to.

But, looking in the mirror the night before Beach Day, my daughter watching me, I smiled and said, “Oh, good! It fits! I’ll wear this one.”

Despite the initial surprise of seeing my mom bod in a bikini, I quickly reached a place of total acceptance. I felt just fine going in public like this.

I knew I wouldn’t say anything or give any indication of shyness or shame. In part because I didn’t feel any. And in part because this was one of the few times my daughter has seen me in a swimsuit and I wanted to act completely normal about it.

All body sizes and shapes can wear swimsuits and enjoy swimming!

Never mind that I don’t actually enjoy swimming, I’m proving a body image point.

Don’t forget anything

Swimsuit for Mom, check. Beach toys, check. Newly purchased shade tent, check.

Weather, very sketchy.

At the last minute, we decided to abort the plan of the real beach and instead head for a different state park beach with a better weather forecast.

By the time we got on the road, 45 minutes late (darn it), I was sweating and my stomach didn’t feel quite right. I think we had everything. Except one of my contacts, which somehow never made it in my eye.

The world was a little blurry. But we so rarely get a family day trip, I told myself to get over it and enjoy the moment.

And, that, I tried to do.

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Midwest beach day

When we first arrived, driving in through the beautiful state park forest, the same winding road I remember from my own childhood coming here, it was special. I felt that real ‘90s summer nostalgia we’re all looking for right now.

The wooden state park signs. The boathouse renting paddle boats and kayaks. The lakeside ice cream shop. The crowded beach full of brightly colored inflatable beach toys.

The kids running and playing and splashing — even small kids playing in the water alone, their adults drinking cold beer on the beach, laughing with family and friends who feel like family, all loosely keeping an eye on each other’s little ones.

(I recall this was a thing of my childhood, but I thought we’re doing water safety a little differently now? Oh well, I thought. Their kids are probably more comfortable in the water than mine. I’m sure everyone’s fine.)

As I took this all in, it felt very cozy and familiar. I was glad to be showing my daughter how I grew up. What a ‘90s midwestern summer is like — hot, muggy, buggy, and carefree.

I don’t know when exactly it happened, but that initial view of a perfect summer beach day faded.

The water was actually indisputably green.

It was murky from the cloudy day, a seaweed problem, and the side effects of the crowd — a soggy hamburger bun washed up onshore, a band-aid wrapper floating by (I gagged).

Rather than the lake sparkling in the sun, it glistened with a thin film of sunscreen residue.

Despite this, we did what we came to do! We walked into the water, our toes finding their way over sticks and rocks and broken sunglasses and whatever else was down there (might gag again).

I tried to overlook these small details — this is just what Midwest beaches are like in busy season!

It’s so nice to be here, to experience the community of a summer state park beach day. Just like I remember it from 30 years ago.

Relax, I told myself.

Sunscreen, repeat

I’ve spent most of my life trying to tan my pale Scandinavian skin. Almost never wore sunscreen until a couple years ago (shame, shame).

Now, I pay the price for that with sun damage. I get annual skin cancer screenings because I’m considered high risk.

But I’ve learned my lesson! In my older, wiser years, I take sun protection seriously.

I came prepared with five types of sunscreen, all meticulously researched and chosen for their different purposes — Thinkbaby for my kid’s eczema-prone skin, Thrive for me and my husband, Suntegrity tinted sunscreen for my face, Vanicream for my husband’s face (we all know husbands don’t get to share the expensive tinted sunscreen), Coola SPF lip balm.

When we arrived early-ish in the day, I didn’t put sunscreen on us right away because it was cloudy and the UV Index was low.

So by the time my kid played a little and I determined it was time for sunscreen, she was all sandy and applying it was like exfoliating her delicate baby skin. “Why is it so scratchy?!” she asked. Whoops! Noted for next time.

I doled out my husband’s sunscreen (lest he just grab any random one himself) and helped rub it in. Zinc oxide is quite a different experience than the chemical Banana Boat of my youth. Oh well, at least my sunscreens are all non-toxic and reef-safe now!

For myself, I did some mental calculations on the proper amount of sun exposure to fix my T-shirt tan lines but not die of melanoma. Decided to wait approximately 12 minutes.

And we were good to go! (I thought.)

As a recent sunscreen devotee, I am aware it should always be reapplied after toweling off. So I spent the rest of the day monitoring who dried off and needed their sunscreen reapplied.

I did not, however, properly apply my own. I got burned. Which was particularly stupid for someone with five types of sunscreen in their bag.

Mom forgot mom, classic.

And then she tried to relax

Between (other people’s) sunscreen applications and hydration reminders, I tried my best to relax.

Which was hard to do because I had a bit of a headache (was it from the heat wave? the first day of my period? or just eye strain from missing a contact?). I wished I had some Advil, but alas, that was not on the packing list. I made a mental note to include it next time.

I looked around the beach and watched kids playing games in the water — Marco Polo, underwater handstands, dive toys. I vaguely recalled that earlier sense of nostalgia and tried to hold on to it.

But my childhood memory was interrupted by the present-day child in front of me, throwing sand.

I reminded my daughter many times that sand stays on the ground. She continued to throw it in my general direction. I shook sand out of the shade tent and brushed it off my food. Then reminded her a million more times that sand stays on the fucking ground. (Hopefully I said it more gently.)

It’s hard to parent calmly when your head hurts, you’re missing a contact, and you have sand in your mouth.

Deep breath.

I decided to get out my book. Unfortunately, I had no book. I forgot to pack one. Probably because I’m not actively reading one, because I’m a mom and where would I find time to do that?

Oh well, it was a good opportunity to just be and enjoy my surroundings.

So I sat in my shade tent on the crowded beach, watching my daughter and husband stand in the green water. (Turns out my daughter still doesn’t like swimming.)

I was aware that I was too much in my own head about everything.

That I was, unironically, living out the Bluey episode where the mom can’t relax on the beach.

She’s so focused on optimizing the family’s beach vacation that she can’t actually enjoy it. It’s an episode so deeply relatable to parents who forget how to let go of their responsibilities and just relax.

Maybe I was overcomplicating things.

What is going to the beach?

It’s water, sand, a swimsuit, and a beach towel. That’s all! You show up and enjoy these simple things.

Or… at least that’s what I used to think. Because those simple things used to mean so much more:

A quiet moment away from life’s daily responsibilities. A deep breath of fresh air.

The warm stillness of the sun, nobody needing anything from me.

The sparkle of sunlight on clear water, and the belief that the world will be okay.

I realized my idealized “beach day” was my pre-kid life going to the beach in Malibu. When it was just me, my book, my snacks that weren’t covered in sand, and both of my contacts.

It was peaceful, clean, rejuvenating.

My current Midwest beach day was the opposite: loud, slimy and littered, anxiety-inducing. Instead of relaxing, I worried about the safety of everyone around me. (For the record, the beer-drinking parents’ kids were perfectly fine, didn’t need my concern.)

This was a very different ambiance and version of me.

I didn’t really understand what it means to go to the beach anymore.

What it means now

As a mom, anything I experience carries the extra weight of why it’s like that and what now — how do I fix it, or what is the outcome I need to prepare for.

I can’t unsee things I know about. I can’t un-care about things I care about. Everything is deeper than it appears on the surface.

The dirty beach isn’t just a dirty beach — it’s park funding being cut and environmental regulations getting rolled back. Safety precautions aren’t random, they’re skin cancer statistics and knowing that drowning is the leading cause of death for kids under age five.

Feeling pressured to relax isn’t (just) because I’m tightly wound, it comes from knowing too well what burnout feels like, knowing that I have very few opportunities to rest, and understanding the importance of doing that right now.

That’s the experience of being a mom at the beach.

But for a kid, a beach day is much simpler. It’s the water, the sand, the special snacks, the new beach floatie.

It’s the ‘90s summer beach day I remembered as we drove in. When I remembered what it was like to be a kid coming here.

Before I turned into Beach Day Mom.

Beach Day Mom has to come along because she’s the one who thinks about the 10,000 little things that make this trip happen. She carries the mental load so everyone has fun and nobody gets skin cancer or drowns. She’s the provider of snacks and dry towels, and the reminder that you absolutely must wear your sandals in the beach bathroom.

But the most important part of being Beach Day Mom isn’t all the things she does — it’s not letting kids know that these things exist at all.

For my kid, a beach day is just water, sand, a swimsuit, and a colorful beach towel.

“That’s all there is to it, sweetie. Now run along and play in the water while I drink my beer.”

xo Mel

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Instead, the therapist smiled gently, reached over, and handed me a photocopied paper titled Perfectionistic Thinking.

I was annoyed.

I was in her office for one clear purpose: To cure my debilitating fear of public speaking.

It turned out grad school wasn’t all researching and writing papers peacefully in the library like I had thought. It involved daily public speaking, and that was making me a little… unwell.

After teetering a bit too close to dropping out and running away to Joshua Tree, I decided to visit the Student Health Center. In my intake, I specifically asked for help to overcome my fear of public speaking and to cope with the intense anxiety (and, sometimes, panic) of doing that.

But instead, Ms. Therapist asked me a million questions about my childhood and upbringing, and now she was handing me this. Not only did it feel unhelpful, but it showed how little she understood me.

This was the first time I had been labeled “a perfectionist,” and I didn’t believe it.

Not me, who skipped class and didn’t care about my grades. Who didn’t try hard. Who had a nose ring and tattoos and generally liked disappointing authority.

A misdiagnosis if I ever heard one.

But…

You can probably guess where this is going. She was actually very right.

Decades of perfectionistic thinking led me exactly to that moment — where I was so convinced public speaking was the problem because it was innately scary.

I had no idea I was terrified of speaking in front of a group because I was terrified of doing that imperfectly.

Surprise, you’re not who you think you are

Eventually, after a few sessions cracking the hard shell of who I think I am, I saw the light and accepted that I indeed suffered from perfectionism.

An unforgiving inner critic raised by a world obsessed with labeling everything as good vs. bad.

Perfectionistic thinking doesn’t just appear out of nowhere — it’s built, slowly and quietly, by environments that teach us our worth is contingent on how well we meet expectations. How close we are to good and how far we are from bad.

For most of us, this starts young. In households, classrooms, and cultures where love feels just a little bit conditional.

Where the wrong reaction, the wrong answer, the wrong emotion caused a rift. We learned to read other people before we learned to know ourselves. We learned to shrink, to smooth, to perform — because somewhere along the way, it became clear that the full, messy, unfiltered version of ourselves was either too much or not enough.

Vulnerability wasn’t safe. Imperfection wasn’t tolerated. So the inner critic got very good at its job of keeping things in line.

But in doing that, it also repeatedly taught: It’s not okay to mess up or have flaws. It’s not okay to be fully human.

When this is all you know, it’s all you know. It’s reinforced from every angle, by so many people, because it’s the social norm. You accept it as truth.

Until age 25, when a therapist slaps you across the face (slight exaggeration) with a Perfectionistic Thinking handout and you have to re-think it all.

So, I spent a decade* in and out of cognitive behavioral therapy to unlearn these “learned beliefs” and rewire my brain in healthier thought patterns:

• To be human is to be imperfect.

• To be human is to make mistakes and know that says absolutely nothing about your value or goodness.

*a totally normal and chill amount

Years later, I noticed something

So, I spent many years working to dismantle my deeply indoctrinated perfectionistic thinking, and replace it with something… better.

And by “better,” I (somewhat ironically) mean — more imperfect.

Over time, I recognized that I’d come a long way. But it’s quite a process to rewire how you think, so there were still times I fell into the old ways of expecting myself or things around me (my partners, lol) to be perfect because that’s all that is good.

Fast forward to now.

I recently came across a prompt asking, What do you care more about or less about since becoming a mom?

I jotted down my answers and was genuinely surprised by what I saw. The pre-mom and post-mom lists had a glaring difference:

I care way less about perfectionism now.

Somehow, having a child helped me get to something I’d been consciously working toward for over 10 years — giving up my attachment to making things perfect.

Perfect appearance, words, behavior, plans, outcomes… None of it exists, and none of it is important.

Perfectionism and babies

Becoming a mom is a perfect lesson in doing things imperfectly.

There’s no definitive right or wrong way to raise a child… so there’s no perfect.

Now, sometimes there’s still the illusion of a “right” way. Sometimes there are guidelines and recommendations. Limit screen time to one hour per day. Get your kid a dentist appointment by age two. Read books to them.

But in general there are a gazillion different choices and paths for any given parenting decision — childcare options, what volume the sound machine is at (or if you even have one), what age you start potty training, what toys you choose to give your kid, which TV show(s) they’re allowed to watch.

There is no one “right” way to do these things. So, there’s no option for doing it perfectly.

You just do it the way that works best for you and your family and your values, at this moment in time, because “what works best” is always changing.

What are we modeling?

The other thing parenting does is give us the perspective of what we’d like to model for our child.

Do I want to model getting stressed out because something didn’t go perfectly? No.

Do I want to model spending my precious time worrying about and trying to control things outside of my control? Also no.

Do I want to model focusing more on performing for others than enjoying life myself? Definitely not.

I don’t want to inadvertently teach my kid any of these things. So I have to be extra aware of how my perfectionistic tendencies might be getting in the way, and change course when and how I can.

An example: Sometimes I feel pressure to dress my child cute for something, like a party or social event. She has cute clothes. She’s a cute kid. I feel like I should put that all together and present her well.

But, she’s three, and she has her own opinions of what to wear. She rolls around playing and gets her beautiful curls all tangled and frizzy.

I have the choice between forcing an outfit on her and chasing her around to style her hair… all for the purpose of feeling like I dressed her well for others to admire. (So weird.)

Or, I can choose to let it go. She wears what she picked out, which is a reasonable, albeit imperfect pairing of things. Her hair is a mess. And it’s totally fine.

One of these paths models that she needs to set herself aside to aim for the arbitrary, elusive goal of “perfection” by someone else’s standards, for someone else’s enjoyment.

And the other models that she gets to safely be herself.

There are no words involved. She doesn’t even know what I’m doing or that there’s a lesson here.

The art of imperfection is just letting it be.

xo Mel

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Other moms seemed to feel similarly. They commented things like:

“My experience is the same. I’ve been writing quite a bit recently but it’s eating into time I should be sleeping, or working out, or cleaning the bathroom.”

“So true. I’m living many parts of my life ish-ly.”

Same, girls, same.

I thought things would be different?

I was somewhat aware of being spread too thin across too many things.

That’s why I left my job two years ago to be a stay-at-home mom. It felt like I was doing each thing — motherhood and career — only half as well as I’d like to.

So I decided to focus on one.

I do feel much more complete and present in motherhood since stepping away from my career and focusing on all that is toddler life.

But since becoming a SAHM and focusing on my child, so many other things have become -ish.

And I guess I wasn’t expecting that.

Focusing on motherhood

I felt like I had solved the competition between career and motherhood by choosing the SAHM path and diving into it.

I did things like plan cute activities and neatly write them, color-coded, in my planner. I cleaned the house during nap time, had healthy snacks plated and waiting for my child when she woke up, built sensory bins.

We took a daily stroller walk. I rotated toys on the Montessori toy shelf and arranged seasonally and developmentally appropriate topics on the bookshelf. I read our Lovevery play guides cover-to-cover and bought supplies for all the extra, crafty activities they included.

I was full-time mom-ing and, for the first time in my daughter’s almost two years of life, felt like I could finally try to do my best at it.

That was so wonderful and cozy. And it worked for a while.

… Until time and energy became an issue again.

A mom, who is a person too

Now, two years later, I find myself in a new conundrum — one that’s eerily similar to the career vs. motherhood one before.

I’m a mom, who’s doing everything else -ish.

All the parts of my life that are important to me are just sort of… sometimes there.

My health is important to me, -ish.

My marriage is important to me, -ish.

Having friendships and some form of social life beyond the preschool age group is important to me, -ish.

My home (how clean it is, how it feels to live in, how quickly broken things get fixed) is important to me, -ish.

My appearance (looking somewhat alive and wearing something other than yesterday’s clothes I pulled off the floor) is important to me, -ish.

Having time to relax or do something personally interesting is important to me, -ish.

Cooking fresh, healthy, wholesome food is important to me, -ish.

All of these things are important to me. And they all get a little bit of attention:

I eat reasonably healthy food. I invested in a nice, well-stocked home gym so I can conveniently exercise any hour of the day or night. I vacuum and clean the bathrooms and wash the bed sheets. I kiss my husband good morning and ask how his day was in the evening. I play Bunko with the neighborhood ladies monthly. I keep a book I want to read on my bedside table.

And yet —

I still don’t find time to exercise most days of the week. My floor is still covered in dog hair and toddler crumbs. I still rarely have a full conversation with another adult. I still get into bed at night too tired to pick up my book. I still wear the same clothes I wore yesterday and put a baseball cap over my dirty hair.

Just because something is important to me does not mean it’s getting done.

What is getting done?

So, given everything I’m not doing — what is getting done?

I don’t know.

And the reason I don’t know: I’m not sure how to label or quantify it, so it’s hard to even see it.

It’s a thousand tiny little things that go along with being a stay-at-home mom.

Every day, I’ve done probably 800 small, barely perceptible things all before noon:

Made my kid a bagel. Turned on Bluey. Unloaded the dishwasher. Gave the dog her morning kong. Paused Bluey. Helped my kid take off her clothes because she needs to go potty, and she only does that fully naked. Printed a label and packaged a return. Wiped my kid’s butt. Refolded the bathroom hand towel so it’s neat and orderly for my family to crumple it again. Turned Bluey back on. Added toilet paper to my Target pick-up order. Put in a load of laundry. Replied to a text to coordinate something. Went upstairs to get more laundry. Opened curtains so our houseplants can have light. Carried a stray shoe downstairs. Paused Bluey again. Made another bagel. Added butter to my grocery list. Picked up toys laying all over the house, even though my kid is supposed to do that. Turned Bluey back on. Took out the trash. Rescheduled the pediatric dentist appointment which conflicted with the much-harder-to-schedule pediatric dermatology appointment. Gave the dog another kong because she asked nicely. Cleaned cream cheese fingerprints off the fridge. Pretended to eat some toy food my kid made me. Asked my husband what type of frozen fruit he’d like for his smoothies this week; added appropriate type to my grocery list.

And so on…

My days are a constant stream of responding to my household’s needs as they arise.

It’s easy to lose track of time when it’s all one long, run-on sentence of minutiae.

It also means there is very little time I’m intentionally doing something I personally wanted to do or planned to do — a workout, an hour to write, whatever.

Stay-at-home parenting is a deceptive form of “freedom” — yes, I have much more time freedom in some ways than I did before. But my time and energy also becomes a black hole that life just gets sucked into.

And then there’s the basement

I’m currently renovating my basement.

To be clear, the basement was fine as it was. But now it will be better. So that’s the level of importance we’re talking about.

As part of this project, I replaced the perfectly fine (but not my style) LVP flooring with a different (nicer, more my style) engineered wood flooring.

To do this I needed to use three different types of saws, which is a lot of saws for someone new to power tools. I read the manuals, Googled things I didn’t understand, watched some YouTube videos, and practiced making cuts on scrap wood.

All in all, I spent at least a couple hours learning to use this fleet of new saws. Plus a couple hours doing stupidly complicated math to get the flooring to fit in an oddly shaped room, meeting all the manufacturer’s requirements like seams can’t be less than 20” apart, no row can be less than 3” wide — an adult puzzle that is very expensive and you don’t want to mess up. And then I spent many hours prepping, cutting, and laying the floor.

So, as I sit around wondering why I’m doing everything in life so ish-ly these days, why I don’t have time to write Substack posts and why we’ve ordered delivery most nights this week… I remember that I decided to renovate my basement.

You can do anything but not everything

Everything is a trade-off. Every “yes” is a “no” to something else.

I could write a weekly-ish Substack post. Or I could renovate my basement.

I could measure and cut flooring planks during nap time, or I could exercise.

I could do a Peloton workout or paint my nails.

I could have painted nails or clean, blow-dried hair.

You can do anything but not everything.

I know this adage so well… and yet it still surprises me every day.

I suppose I’ve got the first part down — an unwavering belief that everything is figure-out-able (hence my willingness to renovate my house with absolutely no skills or expertise except knowing how to use the internet).

So I can solve the puzzle that is laying wood flooring planks. But do I understand how renovating a basement fits into the puzzle of my time? No.

Each day, I try to fit in all the things that are important to me. Realistically, I end up fitting in half of one thing and tiny fractions of others.

And that’s not a new problem for me. I’ve consciously struggled with time management for years — trying to force 50 hours of life into 16 waking hours. I’ve read books on this and learned the “tricks.” Do monthly and weekly planning exercises. Choose X number of things that are your priority each day. If everything’s a priority, nothing’s a priority.

But that’s just not life, is it?

There’s rarely one to three clear priorities to cleanly fit into our schedule.

Most days as a mom, there are many, many competing priorities that all have to be squeezed together in some sort of haphazard mosaic of “time management.”

And then we feel bad for not doing it all with the level of care and quality that we’d do each thing if it was the only thing on our list.

What’s not -ish?

Something I tried asking myself recently: Is there anything that’s not -ish? And is that what I’d want it to be?

I suppose if there’s one thing I’m doing most completely these days, it’s making sure my kid’s basic needs are met. Food, playtime, nap, teeth brushed, eczema-healing creams applied, bedtime cuddles, clothes that fit, speech therapy appointments, etc.

I don’t do all the cute Lovevery activities anymore. I don’t exercise daily. I don’t remember to thaw dinner on time and then we have to order delivery.

But that’s okay, because I’m busy doing the thing that’s most important of all — keeping a small child alive and (mostly) happy.

Homemade dinner can be -ish. House projects can take 5x longer than they should. Crumbs and dog hair can stay on the floor an extra day. My social calendar can be more sparse. My hair can be dirty and my nails unpainted and my outfits recycled from yesterday.

Some days I’ll do some of these other “important” things. But every day I’ll be present for my child when and how she needs me.

Motherhood is something that makes everything else -ish.

Probably forever, but especially in these younger years.

And we have to be okay with that.

xo Mel

This post is sponsored by my basement flooring project, which will remain partly done yet another day.

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It’s pretty rich for someone with 70 subscribers to give any advice about how to get started on Substack.

I started this five minutes ago, what could I possibly know?

Street cred

I am sort of a writer, I suppose.

I’ve written hundreds and hundreds of blog posts. Ranked well in Google. Had an article on the front page of The Huffington Post (circa 2015, when that was cool). The Dalai Lama retweeted one of my articles — or, at least, his social media intern did. My Pinterest account, sharing said articles, had 1 million monthly views.

Legit.

But now? I’m a toddler mom with no following.

The resume no one asked for

My credibility as an “internet writer” is from the olden days. It’s more like cobblestone street cred at this point.

But, maybe it has some lessons and tools that are helpful here.

I spent ten years as a blogger, first as a side gig passion project, then as a freelancer, then as part of my full-time job and business.

That, plus a decade in marketing and growth strategy (former Marketing & Communications Manager for a hospital, Head of Growth for a small software company, and Founder of my own two small businesses), means I’ve got some background in content creation and marketing.

I built Airtable and Google Sheet content planners for other bloggers to use. Grew an OG email newsletter (you know, the kind on Mailchimp or Flodesk). Taught an SEO course.

Most importantly, I started from zero and built something that people read.

Substack for writers from other worlds

Substack is such a different world in here!

There are some things that translate from other writing worlds, like blogging and digital publications. And there are some things that are very different.

Five things I’m focusing on as I get started here:

1. Be authentic and relatable

Blogging was all about keyword-rich content. It became automatic, I knew exactly how to write the formulaic posts that performed well in Google. It made me money.

Now: SEO, what?

It’s both refreshing and terrifying that Substack doesn’t reward that as much. Here, it’s more about authentic content that people can relate to. Words that make internet strangers feel seen, heard, and collectively human.

As a writer, there’s nothing more vulnerable than being authentic and relatable.

It’s easy to say what sounds good. It’s harder to say what’s real but scary or unpopular or maybe you haven’t even told your social circle who might be reading.

So, my goal here is: Say it like it is. Share the messy, confusing parts. Confess that I don’t have it all figured out. I can type 2,000 words on all the sleep hacks that are helping me sleep better and still wake up some nights.

What I love about Substack is that it invites us to wear our imperfection proudly, dance with the insecurity that shows up to this creative party. All parts of us are invited here.

2. Don’t compare your Day 1 to someone else’s Day 1,000

To re-tell a story from one of my first posts:

After logging into Substack full of energy and ambition to start, I poked around to see if any of the publication names I was interested in were already taken.

I saw so many already successful millennial-mom-figuring-out-world-and-parenting publications. Why should I start one too? These are already so established and much better.

I saw even more not “successful” versions of the same thing. Writers with dozens of posts and just a handful of readers. Oh no, that could be me, writing into the void, wasting time I could’ve been doing XYZ.

My ambition immediately faded and I felt discouraged before I even began.

But, here’s the thing: I’ve been here before.

The comparison trap is so loud it took a moment to remember that.

Nobody comes out of the womb with 53,000 Substack subscribers. We don’t even come out with one! Everyone starts at Day 1, everyone starts at zero.

(Sure, some Substackers may bring an existing following from elsewhere, but that following also had a Day 1.)

There are so many reasons to not begin a new creative or professional project. But “I can’t start at Day 1, I only like starting at Day 1,000” just can’t be one of them.

What I’m doing: Letting my Day 1 look different from someone else’s Day 1,000. We’re all on our own journey, with our own voice. We all have our own resources and own timeline — which have to tie into the other things going on in our life too.

As a stay-at-home mom, I get to write when I can (aka when nobody else needs something from me). And I don’t get to write when there’s something else to do. And that has to be okay for me and my story here.

3. Do it before it’s perfect

Nothing is more fitting to be my epitaph than: She let perfection be the enemy of good.

Most of my career, I waited and polished and perfected before publishing or launching anything. I now know enough about how that worked out to say: Don’t do it that way!

I, personally, will not be doing it that way anymore.

Maybe I’m a rambling mess right now (a bit rusty, I admit). But getting started and getting something out there, getting some creative momentum, is more valuable than forever word-smithing for slight improvement.

I read an interesting article the other day about The “About To” Trap — that so many of our ideas and interests and needs sit waiting on standby because we’re “about to” do them. And never do.

What I’m doing: Getting out of my head — literally, getting ideas and words out of my head and onto the page. Whether that’s a Substack draft or a Note in my phone. Taking action to jot down a thought before it forever departs. Putting an idea in motion when it’s fresh.

And, then, I’m challenging myself to share when it’s almost ready. This is terrifying for me and, I have to admit, seems like a dumb idea to my core. But I’m willing to try it. Will report back.

4. Be community-minded

With just a mildly successful blog, I received daily emails from other bloggers (newer or less successful) asking to submit a free article and promote themselves on my blog to grow their following.

The hustle was real. Everyone and their dog was spamming each other for self-promotion. It was what you were “supposed” to do.

I asked ChatGPT how to grow a Substack these days — because I genuinely do not know — and it told me to focus on connecting with other writers and asking for cross-promotion. I’m not sure if people actually do that here. But it didn’t feel “write” to me. (Lol)

The beautiful thing about this platform is that it’s the voices that actually shine. Not the politics of SEO-hacking or cross-promotion.

Like I said, I’ve been here for only five minutes. Yet I already have some budding friendships with other moms. Because showing up genuinely, not strategically, is how real relationships happen.

What I’m doing: Engaging with other writers or posts because I want to — because I connected with what they wrote, or it made me think in a new way, or I want to support them — not because I have a certain quota of connection to reach for biz reasons.

5. Plan it out (a little)

Substack has this great vibe that every writer is just opening their laptop and typing out a stream-of-consciousness that perfectly articulates their deepest, most profound feelings and observations. Which all somehow mirrors our very own but not-so-perfectly-formed thoughts.

But the best pieces you read here are usually not that.

Just like any form of content sharing, there are a few basic parameters:

• Who am I?

• Who am I speaking to?

• What do I have to offer them?

Maybe in some cases (or at some point) this becomes as easy-peasy as opening the laptop and typing. But for new Substack writers, in the early phases of defining our voice and publication, we need some more structure.

And these aren’t just Substack questions. Anyone starting a new chapter — new job, new city, new relationship — is also working through something similar. Starting over in any capacity means getting in touch with the new version of ourselves and where we might be going from here.

What I’m doing: I’m loosely mapping out who I am (oh gosh, what a question for a new mom), who I’m writing for, and what I’m going to write about. I wrote this out in my “Substack Proposal” in my first post — both as a way for my 0 subscribers to know what they’re getting into (kidding), and for myself to organize what I’m doing here.

So, yes — this is a Substack post about Substack.

But if you’re not a writer and you made it this far (Hi, thank you!), I don’t think this was really about Substack at all.

It’s about whatever you’re starting.

Day 1 is always a little embarrassing. It’s supposed to be. The only real mistake is deciding the first day isn’t worth showing up for.

See you at Day 2. 💛

xo Mel

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We’re used to the term “consumerism” having a negative connotation — something excessive and wasteful for people with empty souls.

But these days, we are all such consumers.

Consumers of physical things we can have shipped to our door by 5 p.m. Consumers of the opinions and stories of strangers we’ll never meet. Consumers of real-time tragedies from the other side of the world. Consumers of someone else’s emotions through movies or TV shows or a good book.

No matter how “anti-consumerism” we may think we are, we’re still constantly consuming — and it’s noisy!

The downside of all this noise is that we muffle our inner voice and our immediate surroundings.

Sure, we’re able to connect with people and ideas and things not immediately in front of us… and that has its benefits! But it comes at the cost of drifting further and further away from our inner world and the present moment.

BUT — what if the things we consume could also help us get back there?

Help us live intentionally in a modern world. Connect with human wisdom that got quieter along the way. Create shared experience that sparks joy. Find small things that make life measurably better.

That’s the intention behind this series — a monthly-ish list of things I’m loving because they bring me back to me, or the present moment around me.

Here’s this month’s list of cool things:

7 steps to living your best life

I’ve read a few books on manifesting (even used to be in a manifesting book club 🤓), but this one is my favorite yet. It’s the most down-to-earth (least “woo-woo”) and the most actionable — helping you put it into practice in real life.

Here’s what I keep coming back to: manifesting isn’t about the universe delivering things to your door by 5 p.m. It’s about getting so clear on what you want that you actually start moving toward it — noticing the doors that were always there, saying yes to the right things, saying no to the noise.

Art that sets the mood

Something I’ve had fun with recently is decorating my home with art that sets the tone of each room — how I want to feel when I’m there. I’ve been sourcing from independent sellers, many of whom I find on Etsy. (It feels good to support small artists doing what they love!)

I find myself mixing classic “artsy” pieces (like a landscape painting) with an unexpected one (like a talking seagull). It strikes a balance I think I’m trying to find in life in general — intentional, but still spontaneous sometimes too.

Some recent finds I liked:

Cornish seagull watercolor by Sarah W Illustration, Blueberries painting by Jen Wang Studios, Don’t overthink it illustration by HoneyVibess, Western landscape by El Baker Art

An unusual vase

I gave this vase as a gift recently and it was a hit. It’s classic, it’s modern, it’s cute, it’s cool. A great gift idea if you need one!

I’m often scrambling to buy gifts last-minute, so I started a Note on my phone to add ideas (like this) when I come across them. Then, I have a curated list to choose from when needed, rather than panic-buying something meh.

Open vs. closed door decisions

My husband introduced me to the concept of open vs. closed door decision-making, and I’ve been using it lots.

Open door decisions are those that you can re-make — the door you chose remains open, so if you change your mind later, you can go back and make a different choice. An example would be choosing a paint color for your living room: You choose a color, and if you don’t like it as much as you thought you would, you can choose a different color and re-paint. (Is this as shocking to you as it was to me?!)

Closed door decisions are those that can’t be re-made — once you go through a door, it closes behind you and can never be opened again. An (extreme) example is murdering someone. You can’t un-murder them later.

This framework is used in business, but it also applies to the choices we make in daily life.

I’ve realized that most decisions I make are open door decisions. Yet I was treating so many of them as closed doors — that I have to choose the perfect paint color because I will have to live with it forever. Which, of course, is not true.

With open door decisions, your first choice doesn’t have to be your forever choice.

Now, I’m not going to repaint the living room weekly because I changed my mind, but it’s been helpful to think of decisions with a more realistic view of their permanence.

What we learn from flowering trees

The trees in my neighborhood are flowering and they’re so beautiful. It’s something that happens once a year and lasts only a week or two, so it’s special and gives me pause each time I notice.

Pause. Something I’ve been trying to do more.

So much of my current life as a stay-at-home mom is fleeting, just like a flowering tree. Now, each time I appreciate the pink trees I’m also reminded to appreciate all the other little things in front of me that are here for a brief season only.

Apricot brie pastry bites

I’ve been making a spring-y version of this recipe whenever I have to bring an appetizer to something. It’s so easy. I love that it’s just assembling things, no measuring or actual baking skill required (of which I have none).

The cuteness and tastiness to effort ratio is great. And having one idea I can always reach for is its own kind of intentionality, a small decision already made.

Sweating is self care

We recently invested in an at-home infrared sauna. A bit extra, I know, but we absolutely love it.

I feel more relaxed, I sleep better, and my husband likes it for post-workout recovery. There may be some specific benefits of infrared sauna, but mostly it just feels really good to sweat. And, sitting in the sauna is quiet “me” time I don’t often get these days.

So, that’s the real thing I’m sharing: it’s been life-improving to get sweaty more often. Sauna, running, a workout — whatever the method, it almost always counts as time for yourself too.

Really good towels

I had to buy a thousand new towels for the sauna. I got these organic waffle towels and am really happy with them. It’s an even softer version of the “luxury” Onsen towels (which I really like too).

I realize I sound like I’m obsessed with towels. But it’s a simple pleasure in life to dry yourself with a really nice, soft towel. And then have it dry quickly so it’s not musty.

Every time I get out of the shower or sauna, I think “Wow! What a nice towel.” I’ve never thought that before about toweling off, I’ve never liked a towel before, and it’s nice. Nice to have something usually meaningless become something genuinely pleasant.

Those are some things I thought were pretty cool recently. What about you? Anything you’ve been loving and sharing with friends? I’d love to hear in the comments!

xo Mel

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That may be enough said for someone else with a three-year-old of “strong-willed” disposition.

But to explain further: She was a sweet, easy-going angel through the so-called Terrible Twos. They were the Terrific Twos. Then she turned three and it’s a very different story.

The process of doing anything that is not her idea is an absolute nightmare. This includes essential things like putting on clothes, brushing teeth, taking a bath, putting on the very important eczema-healing creams, putting on shoes, walking out the door, eating dinner, etc.

When upset, she throws anything within reach. When through with that, she opens drawers and throws everything out of them.

If it was too upsetting that she was asked to put her shoes on, she’ll throw all the shoes (and anything else in the mudroom) into the washing machine.

She slams doors so forcefully it makes the art on adjacent walls crooked.

Screams at the top of her lungs right in her loving parent’s face (who’s probably trying to help her with something for her own well-being, like putting healing cream on her rash that itches).

I’ve had to lock the cabinets again. Move things out of reach like I’m re-baby-proofing. Take doors off the hinges.

In my experience, living with a three-year-old is like living with an angry wild animal.

And sometimes, she’s not even angry. She’s smiling and laughing. She knows she’s doing something loud and very not allowed, and she can see it’s making me increasingly upset. And that’s all part of the fun.

So, some days, the story of my day is: “My child is insane. Her behavior is atrocious. Woe is me, her frazzled stay-at-home mom.”

Why kids do what they do

Trust me, I’ve researched if my daughter is showing early signs of being a sociopath.

Turns out she’s not, she’s just three.

She’s going through the completely natural processes of exploring and testing boundaries, experimenting with cause and effect, and establishing independence as her own being who has her own preferences and agenda.

And, she’s being raised by parents who are letting her do that. Letting her be three.

We do not try to scare it out of her by spanking or yelling. (Well, okay, sometimes I kind of yell…but it’s more of a reaction than a conscious choice.)

We have rules and boundaries, but she can almost always try again later. The principle being that our role is to guide her and help her learn to make safe and kind choices on her own; our role is not to punish her for not yet having the impulse control of an adult. (Which, to be fair, many adults barely have either.)

While this is the parenting style that aligns best with our values, it also results in the complete destruction of our home. And unraveling of our sanity.

Yet, thanks to the tenets of Gentle Parenting, our cute tiny monster has no fear of the repercussions of her behavior — we’re still going to be her loving parents, and she’s eventually going to get the toys she threw back.

And she gets to just be three (shudder) in the process.

Different vantage points, different stories

When this “threenager” phase first started, my husband and I were absolutely appalled at our daughter’s behavior and worried there was something gravely wrong with her.

We would have never dreamed of doing this to our parents. (We knew the consequences of doing so.)

So, my daughter is living out all these normal, healthy three-year-old things. Testing boundaries, having big physical and vocal responses to difficult feelings. She’s navigating the internal chaos of toddler development in the only ways toddlers know how.

But we, her parents, experience it so differently.

We were taught this behavior (oh, you know, putting dents in the walls) is simply not okay. We have default programming that doing such a thing is very, very bad. That it means bad things about ye who does that.

So, I have moments or days where my story is: “There is something terribly wrong with this child.”

And I feel awful on those days. I’m exhausted and sad. I feel disconnected from my child. And I don’t like her very much.

But what about the days I catch myself and tell a different story?

“She’s three and learning how to be a human.”

I feel better, calmer, and more understanding of her messy parts. I’m not panicking that she’s growing up to be a serial killer. I like her more.

Reframing is a superpower

Neuroscience shows that our subconscious mind grows to believe what our conscious mind says is true. In other words, the story we repeat becomes the lens we see through — and eventually, the reality we live in.

It’s such a powerful tool we have — anytime, anywhere — to guide our own experience. Choose our own adventure.

For example, if I have running thoughts all day about my child being awful, I’m going to get deep into feeling and believing she is a totally abnormal, terribly behaved monster child — either due to some fault of her own or mine. That’s going to cause worse reactions on my part, which will push her behavior further into hell, and we’ll all just spiral from there. (Sad!)

But if I instead reframe the situation and tell a different story — she’s not giving me a hard time, she’s having a hard time — everything shifts. Frustration turns into empathy. I feel calmer. I help her feel calmer. The challenge passes and all is well.

Treating toddler behavior like it’s intentional (albeit stupid) choices puts unfair blame on the child, who’s not choosing to have no impulse control. Their brain just literally doesn’t have that yet, no matter how much they know mommy doesn’t like wooden toys being thrown at the wall.

My daughter is not going to stop acting on impulse anytime soon. So, it’s on me to understand that and reframe what it means about her.

It’s not just toddlers

How many other things in life do we need to do this with, too?!

In relationships/marriage: When your partner does something annoying, the default story is often “they don't respect me” or “they're selfish” — when really it might just be “they're overwhelmed right now.”

Your own inner critic: “I’m so behind” vs. “I’ve come so far and done so much.” Two different stories about exactly the same place.

Body image: Looking in the mirror and judging any slight imperfection, rather than appreciating everything your body does for you. The mom bod may look a bit different than it used to — but we get to choose if we critique or thank the soft tummy that grew our baby, the arms they run to, the boobs that fed them.

Friendships: She didn’t text back spiraling into “she doesn’t value me” instead of “she’s just swamped and her kids probably stole her phone again.”

It’s not about inventing a story to fool yourself into a false reality. It’s about pausing the default story long enough to question if that’s the best one.

What about you? Do you have a story you’ve been telling yourself that you’d like to reframe? I’d love to hear in the comments!

xo Mel

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Two years ago, I quit my job to become a stay-at-home mom.

It was a long, difficult decision to make.

I had always envisioned being a working mom, and liked what I did. (I was the Head of Growth for a small software company.) We had a wonderful nanny we loved. She brought her own daughter who was four months older than mine, and they were the cutest little playmates. Financially, we were used to having two incomes, and the security of having two jobs.

There were so many reasons to not give that all up.

Listening when something feels off

I went back to work at three months postpartum and worked until my daughter was 19 months. For those 16 months of working full time as a new mom, I did not enjoy it.

I was not getting enough sleep, so was incredibly tired and somewhat dazed all the time. I’m not sure I would’ve been enjoying anything as much as usual. But there was something deeper I could feel, too.

I was not fully present in anything I did. There was always something else I felt like I should be doing.

If I was working, I felt like I should be playing with my daughter instead of paying someone else to do that. If I was playing with my daughter, I felt like I should be exercising because I hadn’t moved all day, or probably all week. If I was exercising, I felt like I should actually be sleeping because that’s a more important basic need. If I was sleeping, I felt like I should be at my computer working. Etc.

I’m sure this went on for many, many months before I even registered what I was feeling or that there was a problem. That’s the thing about being spread too thin — you probably don’t have enough bandwidth to notice there’s anything wrong.

I think I finally started to notice when I came across and started following an Instagram account from a mother living a slow, peaceful life in northern Minnesota. Taking care of her family, her home, herself. Living seasonally. Slowly.

I thought it was beautiful, and I wanted that.

Logistics of becoming a SAHM

When I started to consider that I might want to slow down and focus on just my home life for a bit, there were a lot of logistical things to sort out.

First: Do I really want this?

As any of my fellow over-thinkers will understand, if you’re not great at hearing and listening to your gut, you have to ask it to repeat itself many, many times.

I had to get in touch with if SAHM life was something I really wanted, and if giving up my career was really okay with me.

In many cases, a stay-at-home parent is giving up their career “for now” but can come back to it later. In my industry at the time (software design), things change so rapidly, it was more likely I’d be giving up my position level — and everything I’d worked years for — forever. So that was a big thing to be fully certain about.

How can we make it work financially?

I am very fortunate my family even had the option for me to leave my job while maintaining our house and most of our lifestyle. I do recognize that is not the case for many working parents, and I don’t take it for granted.

Even so, when I left my job, I gave up half my family’s income. That was not insignificant, and it was a decision we made very carefully after lots of financial review and planning.

That process forced us to get really clear on what was most important to us, and how to align our finances around that, while saying “no” to things that matter less. A worthwhile thing to do, but still a stretch we felt.

How do I handle other people’s feelings about this?

My husband was very supportive of my desire to slow down and focus on being a mom. (To be fair, he would’ve been equally supportive of me working — he supported whichever path was best for me.) But I still worried how my choice might affect him, like making him feel more pressure to be the sole income earner, or not having the same discretionary spending as before.

I was also worried about letting down our nanny, whom we’d have to let go, and the small company I worked for.

I had to ask myself the question: In 20 years, what’s going to be more important to me — how I felt about this time with my daughter, or how XYZ felt about it? Easy answer.

A note for other parents (moms especially): There is, of course, no right or wrong choice here. It’s whatever works best for you and your family and what you personally value more:

• The amount of time spent with your child at this phase of their life

• The lifestyle you can provide your child and family

• The way you model (and enjoy) having your own career

• Or whatever else!

I really don’t think there’s a universally better option, and for anyone considering becoming a stay-at-home parent, you just need to tune into your own value system and which career/childcare arrangement would fit best within that. (Sometimes easier said than done, right?!)

What I was told about SAHM life

As I mulled over this decision, I talked with a lot of people and read a lot online to understand how others felt about the stay-at-home parent decision, how they knew it was right for them, and how it was going.

Some of the things I was told that I have found to be true for me too:

• Your child is only this little once, you will never regret spending this time with them.

• You’ll get to know your child better.

• You’ll enjoy motherhood more.

• Financially, you can get creative and figure it out. People make it work with less than you.

• You can always work again in the future if you’d like.

• You’re not doing this for your child (they’ll be fine with whatever), you’re doing it for you.

What I wish I would’ve known about being a SAHM

Now, two years later, there are some big things I did not see or hear mentioned, that I wish I would’ve known. Not that it would’ve changed my decision necessarily, but that it could have helped set my expectations or be more prepared for what I was getting into. And, maybe it would change the decision for someone else.

Here’s what I would’ve liked to know:

It’s not natural, and maybe not so healthy

It’s not really natural to be directly in charge of your children 24/7. For most of human history, we had a village helping raise children; one biological parent was not completely, solely responsible at all times. Children played amongst themselves and the older ones helped look after the younger ones.

It is a uniquely “modern” thing to be a stay-at-home parent who is with your child almost all of their waking hours, taking on all the roles traditionally filled by multiple people: mother, aunt, grandmother, cousin, neighbor, playmate, etc.

I don’t think this is great for the parent, nor the child.

It’s the hardest job you’ll ever have

I heard recently that stay-at-home parents have one of the highest-stress jobs (producing the most cortisol in your body) of any industry, up there with emergency room doctors.

I never would’ve guessed this, but now I can’t unsee it.

It is much harder than I expected. Sometimes physically, but mostly mentally and emotionally.

The work environment is often literal insanity — if an adult in the workplace behaved the way your toddler behaves, they would be arrested and/or committed.

Yet even in the face of the 50th daily instance of insanity, you must remain calm and composed and manage the situation in a loving way that honors your kid’s feelings and where they’re at developmentally, while also making sure you’re reducing collateral damage (angry toddlers throw and kick lots of things), keeping the noise down while the “working” parent is on a conference call, and hopefully teaching your family’s values and expectations so this doesn’t keep happening into infinity.

It’s a lot to do at once, all while being verbally (and maybe physically) attacked. Repeating some version of this all day every day… does raise one’s cortisol levels.

I love hanging out with my child, and she is fun and sweet a lot of the time, too. It’s just that the times that are difficult are much more physically and emotionally intense than a difficult time I might have had in a more traditional workplace. And they’re much more frequent.

Stay-at-home parenting is a 24/7 job, 365 days a year, with no vacation or sick days. I knew this going in, but wasn’t fully prepared for the cumulative effect. It’s incredibly taxing to be always “on.” Even in the evenings, when my husband is available to give me a much-needed break, I’m still the default parent for many needs and questions (where to find something, which snacks are okay to eat, does she need a bath tonight).

Despite the work being very near and dear to my heart, stay-at-home parenting is still a job — it’s work you’re doing for someone else, not always on your own terms or desired schedule.

Women have primarily done this work as unpaid labor for the past centuries (at least in western culture), so it hasn’t carried much respect as legitimate “work.” But economists have shown that if stay-at-home parents were paid a market rate for everything they do — nanny, housekeeper, chef, laundry service, chauffeur, tutor, therapist, personal shopper, etc. — they’d be making a salary of $200,000 a year.

I’m fortunate to live in an era and with a partner and community that views homemaking as someone’s chosen work rather than their womanly duty. I feel seen and valued for what I provide. But still, it’s a tough role. One that starts at sunrise, ends when you fall asleep at night, and you’re on call throughout the night, too.

All this to say: I’ve worked some demanding, high-stress jobs. Being a stay-at-home mom is the hardest job I’ve ever had.

I want to acknowledge that working parents also have many of the difficulties or responsibilities above, which are just a very real part of parenthood. What’s unique for stay-at-home parents is the magnitude of these things — higher frequency (and maybe higher intensity) with little to no breaks.

Your relationship with your child will fundamentally change

I think my child might’ve liked me more when I was working full time. She was a very different age then than she is now, so that probably has something to do with it. At age three, I’m not sure she likes anyone as much as she used to, lol.

But the time apart really did something. I think she was genuinely happy to see me when I was available to her. Now that she sees me nearly 24/7, her behavior with me is… really different.

I know it’s because I’m her safe space and she can test things out with me. I get it. And it’s not that I don’t want that for her.

But just saying: I do think she would behave differently around me if she was not with me full time. And, by “differently,” I mean a greater percentage of our time together would be harmonious.

The same goes for me — I think I enjoyed her presence more when I didn’t have as much of it. It was good for me to have breaks from her because it gave me more resilience in dealing with any challenges that arise (as they do).

Being together all the time has been a beautiful experience… but also changed our relationship in some challenging ways too, which I hadn’t expected.

You’ll have less personal time than before

I assumed that, without a full-time job, I’d have more personal time in addition to more time with my child.

No. Very much no. I have much less personal time now.

I don’t even get to go to the bathroom by myself.

Wherever I go, my little shadow is not far behind. Which is heartwarming, for sure. But also hard sometimes.

Even if I felt like I didn’t have personal time while working, I still had a lot of time alone throughout the day. The lack of alone time and space is a huge shift for an introvert who recharges with a little peace and quiet.

You kinda forget what it’s like to be an adult

I am so focused on what my child needs and how to provide that for her, I often lose sight of what I need and my responsibility to provide that for myself.

When you’re responsible for a small child, their every need comes first, before your own. There’s not a lot of time or energy left over.

Also, I’m so used to talking to a toddler, it’s sometimes hard to code shift and speak to an adult. I feel like I use smaller words now than I did before. I have fewer grown-up thoughts and things to discuss.

When someone asks what I’m reading, “Does Collected Stories of Winnie-the-Pooh count?”

I don’t mean for this list to be mostly negative, but I think I was prepared for the positive parts of becoming a SAHM — that’s what drove me to make the change! I was less prepared for (or aware of) the potential difficulties.

So, knowing all that now, would I do it again?

Absolutely, yes! I’m so grateful I get to be more present with my daughter in this phase of her life.

As a working parent, I personally did not thrive with one foot in each canoe. I needed the breathing room to fully lean into motherhood.

Especially in these younger years and with my first child (aka everything is new and I am figuring it out as I go), it has been wonderful to be able to focus on her.

But I would do some things differently:

• I would have fewer expectations of myself and what I’m getting done on top of parenting. (Not much.)

• I would build in more time apart for me and my child — asking family or friends for help, hiring a babysitter (or a younger Mother’s Helper to play while I do something else around the house), possibly starting part-time preschool earlier. I didn’t do these things much, especially at first, because I had the mentality that I had given up my career to spend time with my child, so why would I try to give away some of that time? The reason: for everyone’s sanity.

• I would be more intentional and consistent with scheduling “me” time to do things I want or need (like exercise! reading a book! taking a shower!). There’s a misconception that you can just do your own things with your kid in tow. Ha! Maybe some kids at some ages. Doing something I need or want to do with my child at this age is like doing something with a tiny monster who doesn’t want to do the thing you’re doing. You can guess how that goes.

• I would also want to be more aware that when you choose the slow life, you have to actually go slow. Be willing to move at the pace of a baby and mama snail. Things will take longer, less will get done, and that’s okay.

I actually am doing these things differently now, but if I had known to do so from the beginning, it would have smoothed out some of the rough spots of stay-at-home parenting and made the entire experience even more wonderful.

All in all, being a stay-at-home mom has been a precious time for me and I’m really grateful I took the opportunity to do it!

I just think everyone should know it’s not all unicorns and rainbows and snuggles, it’s an experience in here.

xo Mel

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Post #2, and I feel conflicted about whether I should even write this.

In some ways, dusting off the ol’ keyboard and writing — for myself, maybe for others — feels exciting.

In other ways, it feels very silly and daunting.

I’m in a phase of life with about five minutes to myself each day, and I use that time very intentionally.

To be more accurate, I’m a stay-at-home mom to a busy toddler who’s with me full time — until she starts 3K two mornings per week in the fall, bless! — so I have approximately two hours of “free” time daily during her nap.

This time is used for exercise, cleaning things she would otherwise un-clean immediately, making phone calls she would otherwise be interrupting, using the computer for things she would otherwise be re-typing. It’s also the designated time for self-care: a sauna session, PT exercises for my hip that’s never been the same post-childbirth, maybe even reading a book (true luxury!).

Time for moms is a black hole, so let’s ignore the specifics and just accept that I have extremely limited “me” time or space.

And, as I mentioned in my first ramble, new moms are in dire need of a little space just to process Who exactly is this new-ish person I’m seeing in the mirror? How does she feel? What does she need? What’s the best thing she can do with this free moment she has to even notice herself in the mirror?

So, I’m in a phase of turning in. An era of self improvement. I spend my free time doing things for me.

And I’m so proud of that!!

So, I’m not sure why I would give up some of my newfound “inner” time — where I’m pouring into myself — to instead pour out of myself.

The cup hath poureth outeth.

Listening to the spark

Creatives refer to the importance of “noticing and listening to the spark.” We all have ideas or interests throughout the day. But what do we do with them?

Do you let them flutter away, thinking Cute, but not for me?

Do you notice, admire, and make a mental note to do something later?

Or do you welcome the spark, invite it in, and cook it dinner? So to speak.

Parents of little ones have so much on our minds we’re constantly reacting to, I’ve found that the sparks get less and less noticeable. But as they do, our inner selves become less and less noticeable, too. Because the sparks are the things that remind us who we really are.

For whatever reason (likely treadmill-induced euphoria), I listened to a spark the other day… and now find myself here, typing. Maybe that’s a good thing for Mom, version 2. I guess we shall see.

Finding something that works

I had the audacity to try to write this while my daughter is watching her daily allotment of Daniel Tiger.

She has actually only interrupted once (needed me to take off her clothes and put on her apron… I get the sense they’re cooking something on the TV). So, I’d say this has been surprisingly successful.

Of course, that means there are many other things I didn’t do while she was occupied for an hour: cut up the family’s weekly carrot sticks so we get enough fiber, water my thirsty houseplants, do my aforementioned hip PT, get dressed so we’re not late to an appointment this morning. Etc., etc.

What’s worth your time?

Like so many decisions as a mom (or just a person in general), it all comes back to: What’s worth my precious time?

Do I feel more fulfilled / more at peace / better if I spend an hour typing out my muddled thoughts and sending them out to the internet… or if I cut carrots and did laundry and maybe picked up some toys and just lived a slow cozy morning of mom life?

Honestly, I don’t know.

How intimidated are you willing to be?

As a former member of this — the creator economy — I used to put myself and ideas out there a lot. But I’ve been out of the workforce for a couple years and haven’t had a lot of recent practice feeling vulnerable or insecure because I’m trying. In a visible way.

One of my hesitations about doing this is if it’s worth it to try.

“Worth it” meaning: Will this be interesting to anyone? Helpful to them? Will more than three people read it? Will I enjoy doing it, and be proud of it?

It’s intimidating to try.

It’s not intimidating to do something well. It’s intimidating to try, when you don’t know how well it’s going to go.

And that’s where I’m at. I don’t know where this is going. My foray on Substack in general, or even this post right now.

I don’t know what will come of it, so it’s intimidating to try anyway.

Re-thinking “good enough”

When we do something new, we get so hung up on everyone else who came before us. They are the bar of good enough we measure ourselves against.

After my initial ambition to start writing a newsletter turned into a more reasonable state of mind, I poked around Substack to see if any of the publication names I was interested in were already taken. (Story in a moment.)

I saw so many already successful millennial-mom-figuring-out-world-and-parenting publications. Why should I reinvent the wheel? Just let them do this. They’re already more established and much better.

I saw even more not “successful” versions of the same thing. Writers with dozens of posts and just a handful of readers. Oh no, that could be me, writing into the void, wasting time I could’ve been cutting carrots.

I immediately felt discouraged about this “silly” idea.

But, here’s the thing: I was comparing my Day 1 to someone else’s Day 1,000.

Or, in the case of the lesser successful versions, I was comparing my potential to the results of someone else with a different voice and different ideas, who stopped publishing in 2023.

Neither of these comparisons say that much about anyone else or what will happen if that someone else starts writing.

A tangent on world history

If we only ever did things that had never been done before in any form, or if we only did things we knew for sure we would succeed at… we wouldn’t have most of the amazing human creations we do.

Anything in the arts or sciences builds upon what came before it. Most of the greatest inventions we have in human history weren’t the first of their kind, they just did it better.

Not that I aspire to be a “better” Mommy Substacker, but that’s the thing about art — there can be so much of it.

It’s almost impossible to quantify what is good, or more or less good, let alone the best. It’s just about what people connect with. And people like different things for different reasons.

The point is: I’m talking myself out of believing it’s not worth writing a Substack because other people started theirs first.

The cost of trying

My husband is former military, went to business school, overall a very practical person. He’s always helpfully pragmatic with any issue I’m trying to sort out.

It seems like magic, but he’s really just asking some variation of: “Is this a good business decision for your life?”

In business terms, what am I willing to invest (time-wise) in this project? What would I be doing with that time instead, and what is not getting done because it’s allocated here?

What is the anticipated return on my investment, or what am I looking to get out of it? When will I know if I’ve gotten that, or if I should cut my losses and stop?

He’s so wise, I tell ya.

So, what is the cost of trying this?

I’m risking privacy and peace. Giving up some of my most precious resource, time.

But maybe through that, I’ll gain clarity and connection. I think that would be worth the trade.

Signs from the universe

When I finally decided on my publication’s name, Cool, Thanks!, I checked to confirm the subdomain was available on Substack (coolthanks.substack.com). It was, great, so I proceeded to change my default domain to the new one.

Except I could not find where to make this darn change!

I asked ChatGPT and went back and forth in a totally useless conversation in which it kept telling me things that don’t exist. Lesson on the limitations and delusions of AI.

When I finally figured it out myself 10 minutes later, I attempted to change the domain and saw:

I actually first saw it when it said Launched a few seconds ago but didn’t screenshot right away.

Someone else took the name I chose. Literally A FEW SECONDS before me.

Victoria, if you’re reading: Hi! I hope you are enjoying your Substack. No hard feelings. :)

I felt so devastated! In retrospect, such a small and unimportant thing. But at the time, I was vulnerably chasing my spark, for the first time in a loooong time, and the universe slammed the door and said, “No, you shall not.” Or at least, that’s what it felt like.

I eventually decided it’s not telling me to give up now and go back to cutting carrots. That’s just a choice it’s offering.

This setback was actually an opportunity to practice what happens at the crossroads of trying and not trying.

In order to do something meaningful, you have to repeatedly choose to do it, over and over again.

So, I had to choose a name. And then choose it again — add a few letters to the end of it and call it “artistic liberty.”

And, every time I have the choice to write or not write, I have to keep choosing it.

Should I even do this?

So, for my Substack project, or any idea you happen to be sitting on — should we even do it?

Let’s think through:

• If you noticed a spark and admired it;

• If you can find a way to make it work logistically;

• If you are brave enough to try without knowing the end result;

• If you aren’t giving up other things you want more;

• If you are willing to build upon those who came before you (and be built upon by those who come later);

• If the universe is giving you opportunities to keep choosing the path of trying;

Then I think you should do it! And I will, too.

xo Mel

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Five years ago, I owned a business. I wrote blog posts and newsletters full time, had thousands of subscribers. Articles in publications. I had so much to say. (And so much time to say it?)

Since then, I became a mom.

And, as many do, I lost myself in that.

The newborn phase, the trying-to-work-full-time-while-first-time-parenting phase, deciding to become a stay-at-home mom, health issues from becoming a mom, blurry mom brain (OMG so blurry), trying to keep us all alive through the toddler years, etc.

Parenting a small child is a lot. Parenting a small child as a millennial with comparatively little village is A LOT A LOT.

During a time my identity was completely changing, my mental capacity to process that change (or really have any coherent thoughts at all) was non-existent.

So much changed, but when?

Becoming a mom is wild. You are suddenly, overnight a new person. And then slowly, slowly an even more new person, as you get used to motherhood and the seasons of it change.

I know I have changed so much since becoming a mom (both mentally and physically — ha!)…. and yet every day felt kind of the same and no change was registered consciously.

Somewhat scary since I’ve been in charge of a wee one, but the first three years of motherhood were mostly a blur.

To be clear, I was regularly screened for and did not have postpartum depression or anxiety, which are very real things causing the blur for many moms. I guess I was just really tired. Or something.

But my point is:

In all that blurriness, I barely recognized myself — I certainly wasn’t who I used to be, yet I couldn’t quite see who I’d become. So I was a sort of faceless, generic “Mom,” present in all the ways I needed to be… but not all the ways I could be.

And now, I’m crawling my way out of that.

The start of something new…

Typing this feels very strange. Not that I’m afraid to write something. But the irony of the topic and timing. That it would’ve made more sense to Substack years ago when I had a business and an audience and knew things about things.

Now, I’m just a mom in Anywhere, USA.

What do I have to say, and who cares?

My own child doesn’t even listen to me.

I’m not sure what about my life is at all helpful or inspiring.

I’m still 30 pounds overweight from my pregnancy three years ago. My toddler’s behavior is not great, nor is my parenting (though I’m trying!).

I haven’t figured out perfect, glowy skin; rather, mine is showing the results of not wearing sunscreen in my younger years. Most of my cooking is a solid 5/10, and I should’ve washed my hair several days ago, but never got around to it.

I guess my home is sort of clean and put together, though the toddler and dog are really working against me on that.

What do I have to say if I’m still figuring out everything, too?

But, maybe that’s the point… maybe we, as moms, learn from each other not because we’re perfect, but because we know what it’s like to be imperfect and show up anyway.

What do you do with an idea?

This all started when I had a thought earlier today, watching a Caro Chambers interview while on the treadmill. (A truth of mom life: You must always be doing at least two things at once.)

She was talking about the origins of her very popular Substack newsletter, and I thought: “Maybe I’d like to write a Substack someday. When I have something useful to say. That seems like something I’d like to do.”

Old, pre-mom me would’ve filed that thought away until some perfect later time when I was 120% ready to write the best Substack I possibly could.

New, tired mom version of me heard that thought and said: “Hey! Maybe you should do that.” We know how to work with less.

So, without a well thought-out plan (or any plan at all), I got off the treadmill, told my husband I was starting a Substack for moms, and here we are. Which is shocking, to be honest. I am a plan-before-doer, and don’t even have time to wash my hair, let alone write newsletters.

But there’s something very fitting writing about motherhood in a way that is unplanned, imperfect, and just showing up.

That feeling I had on the treadmill was to be a friendly face and maybe a helpful voice to other moms. And to hopefully find some other friendly faces and helpful voices through that, too.

Oh hey there, want to be friends??

Subscribe now

So, what are we gonna do here?

Somewhere in the deep dusty cobwebs of my mom brain, a voice from my past life of content marketing is screaming: “Okay, no formal plan, whatever. At least start with some content pillars!”

Not a bad idea — I should probably mention what I’ll be writing about, and what, if any, credentials I have to do that.

I used to be an “expert” in certain things I could speak about with confidence.

On paper, I’m no expert in anything these days.

But I am a real mom. And I do over-research and overthink everything. And then talk about it all with my therapist (lol, such a millennial credential).

Maybe something in there is worth writing about?

Maybe it’s practical things — like what I’ve learned about storing fresh berries (my toddler’s sole sustenance) so they don’t mold in five minutes, or how she potty trained so easily, or what finally worked for her eczema.

Or maybe we talk about what to do when all the best parenting books and Instagram accounts are actually not helping your toddler’s tantrums and your nervous system is melting into a puddle.

Or maybe I put on my career hat and talk about entrepreneurship and financial freedom and being a working mom or taking a break from that.

Or maybe I just journal into the abyss about finding myself as a new mom or reparenting myself while trying to parent my child. (No offense to my own parents, but I’m learning some good new stuff.)

The point is, I’m not writing this because I’m an expert mom.

I’m not an expert in anything except learning how to be myself as a mom.

To be fair, I’m actually not an expert in that yet either… but that was the theme of this section and I gotta roll with it because my timer for writing this is about to go off. (Mom Truth #2: We’re living on borrowed time.)

So, here I am.

37 years old. Stay-at-home mom to a toddler. Wife to a lovely husband who graciously puts up with me. Former web designer, digital marketer, and wellness blogger. Aspiring carpenter of things around my house. Recovering perfectionist and high achiever currently achieving very little. Long-lost friend hoping to rekindle something. Late to the party #PelotonMom.

Here’s what I think I’ll write about:

• Motherhood: figuring out joyful parenting while still growing into myself, too

• Health & wellness: trying to curate the simplest possible practices that help me feel my best as an almost-40-year-old mom

• Lifestyle: home stuff, modern homemaking (is that a term?), the habits and routines that help us live a life we love

• Personal growth & career: the person behind the mom

Stuff I would say to a friend, or a friend would say to me, that makes us go, “Cool, thanks!” Sharing humanness in a real and helpful way, I guess.

I am a mom of a small child, and that’s a huge part (or, really, most) of my current identity and experience. But maybe you’re a dad. Or maybe you aren’t yet a parent but might be in the future. Or maybe you’re a parent and your children are older or grown.

I’m not sure who will find their way here... but if you’re trying to be a happy, healthy, kind human and/or trying to raise one, welcome!

If you’re reading, I hope you feel seen in some way.

I haven’t really said anything meaningful yet, but if we meet again in another post, I hope you feel inspired in some way — inspired to invest in yourself, to be the best version of yourself.

And I hope you feel connected in solidarity to this internet stranger mom, just over here figuring things out along with you!

xo Mel

P.S. I am a real person/mom:

P.P.S. You know what I learned from not doing this five years ago? Just do it today. If the best time was five years ago, the second-best time is today.

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