Who am I but some girl talking about way too much on the internet?

I am Emily, most of you have met me, but there a few new faces around here. I am a 34 year old mom who someone ended up with a lot of followers on the internet talking about the hard stuff out loud.

It has gotten to a point now where I have no shame talking about… anything online to millions of strangers- are we really strangers if I talk about my nipples and vagina?

BESTIES.

Anyway, I wrote a book and it comes out in two months and that means the time has come where I become increasingly annoying in talking about said book.

I have learned so much about what it actually takes to write a book, and promote a book, and like most things- it was way more work and harder than I expected (like motherhood…and baking sourdough)

But one thing I am trying to get better at is believing in myself and giving myself credit.

So here are some truths.

From the time I was 12, I have wanted to be a writer- now….did I think I would be writing about motherhood after accidentally falling into a social media career….no- but here we are.

I am immensely proud of this book and I wrote every single word myself. I even had to cut some.

I think it will make you feel good about your own motherhood journey, and feel less alone.

You can preorder my book here: https://a.co/d/0g18NM3j

Pre orders are VERY IMPORTANT- and they matter in the book world- it truly is what sets your book up for success. It shows that people actually want to read it and that gets it put on shelves and in stores.

When you do preorder the book - send proof of purchase to normalizingnormal@gmail.com for an exclusive SECRET PREORDER PODCAST!

And now- drumroll please- a sneak peak of Normalizing Normal: Motherhood Without the Filter

“While my marriage changing and losing friends was hard, what hurt me most of all, was the fact that I started to lose myself.

It happened gradually. I didn’t even realize it was happening in fact until I was already out to sea, drowning. It’s just like that, losing yourself in motherhood. It’s like when you are at a lake in the summer and you hop in an intertube. You close your eyes and relax in the waves, you look up at some point and realize you are a little further out from shore than where you started. You aren’t panicked, you’re not too far, and you are a strong swimmer, you will be ok. You close your eyes again, but the next time you open them, you feel panicked. You are suddenly surrounded by water. No land in sight. You kick your legs and you cannot remember how to swim. You flail your arms, and yell out for help, but no one comes to rescue you. You feel like you might drown, and you do not understand, the shore was just there. How did you drift so far? How did you not realize it? That is what it felt like to me when I looked up at my reflection and did not recognize who I saw in the mirror. I had been buried in diapers and bottles and breast feeding and baby shark for 5 years.

When you have young children, you take on a type of caretaker role. Especially at the beginning, they need you for everything. They need you to eat, sleep, and drink. They need you to help them build the muscles they need to crawl, and eventually walk - aka you listen to them scream as you force them into tummy time on the floor. You teach them how to use the bathroom (I could write a whole chapter probably on potty training alone-but it is ok to wait until your child is ready. Both of my kids were potty trained at four and are just fine. Just saying.), you teach them how to get dressed, and teach them their shapes and colors. There was a moment as I was patiently trying to get my daughter to use a fork when I realized how much my mom had taught me. All the simple day to day tasks, (laying all those bricks) that she had taught me how to do. By the way, thanks Mom.

Many moms, with the lack of the modern day village, and especially if you are a stay at home mom, end up carrying most of the mental load as well. Your mind is running 24/7 planning grocery lists and dinner ideas, trying to keep track of doctor appointments, and making sure you bought the right diaper size because your kid had another blowout this morning. Trying to keep up with the laundry, the dishes, and finding the source of the weird smell coming from the playroom. Spoiler alert, it’s always a sippy cup of milk, and yes it will be chunky, and you should most definitely just throw it away because it’s not worth even opening it at that point. Later, I will help you deal with the guilt of not being able to keep up with the house, but when my kids were both little, I thought about it, and cared about it a lot.

When you spend your days solely taking care of someone else 24/7, it becomes very easy to start to neglect yourself and your own needs. I remember not having the energy to shower or brush my teeth. My hair, grown out, and my dark roots were exposing my new gray additions. The idea of sitting in a chair for three hours, and paying $200+ for a hair appointment felt like a pipe dream. I am just happy I did not attempt to cut my own bangs at that time, or shave my head. Makeup? Before I had kids, I had loved experimenting with makeup, trying out fun bright colors. At this stage? I was barely showering- makeup was the last thing on my to do list. I was maybe showering once or twice a week. Showers meant my kids inevitably unrolling all the toilet paper, trying to get to the cat box, and deciding to take out every toy they own. Most days, it was not worth the energy, and I would tell myself false promises about how I would shower later that night, only to find myself at the end of the day with just enough energy to crawl into bed. Often, I even forgot to brush my teeth. Going from one to two kids, then parenting two kids, 2.5 years and younger, during a global pandemic had left me a shell of myself. Who was Emily? What did I like and enjoy doing? I could not even remember the last time I listened to music I liked in the car. I could not care less what I was wearing and any hobbies I once had were a pipe dream. I was a shadow of myself. I lost myself in the shuffle of caring for everyone else. I have found so much of my struggles in motherhood are “normal” and pretty universally experienced. It helps me feel a lot less alone to know that others are feeling the same as me.

I cannot wait for the day I can walk into a book store and see my book on a shelf.

I cannot wait for you to read it.

I cannot wait for the mom up at 2 am rocking her baby thinking - I suck at this- to feel a lot less alone

#motherhood #normalizingnormal

A. I’ve always wanted to write a book. From the time I got a poem published in the 8th grade, I wanted to be a published author.

Fast forward to now. 34 years old and getting ready to publish a book this year.

Like… for real.

The millennial who still uses “like” way too much and overuses “lol” in her texts will be able to walk into a bookstore and see her name on a book.

Wild.

My publisher wants me to share behind the scenes and I thought… what better than just share bits and pieces of the book with you. Unedited. Pure writing.

Is this what they meant?…. Hopefully

Because I’m going to share

So here we are

And official sneak peak

Normalizing Normal: Motherhood Without the Filter

Then came our first night home. I remember crying in my bathroom with my newborn, my boobs massive, sore, veiny and freshly filled with milk. I remember bouncing her up and down, while she screamed relentlessly. She would not eat. She would not sleep.  I glanced up at my reflection in the mirror and thought “what the fuck is this?’. My hair was disheveled, there were dark circles under my eyes (because again, you do NOT sleep in the hospital), stitches in my vagina,  and my belly was deflated and empty. Yet, I still looked pregnant. My daughter and I were mirror images of each other- dark brown eyes, crying, both wearing diapers. My husband, with his useless nipples, called out asking if I needed help, “No, I’m ok!”. Because I was supposed to be ok. Because, I was supposed to be good at this. I wanted this. I had wanted this since I was 15 years old and it was supposed to be amazing. So what the hell was this? Was I just terrible at motherhood? In that moment, I felt lost, overwhelmed, terrified, and like I had grossly underestimated what this was going to be. If I am being truly honest, I had.

 I had no concept of how hard motherhood was actually going to be. 

At my baby shower little cards were given out for guests to write advice for me about my upcoming motherhood journey. So many cards read “sleep when the baby sleeps”, “You’re going to be great”, and the dreaded “soak up every moment, you’ll miss these days when they are gone”. Where were the cards that said “your newborn may hate the car and scream a high pitched scream that causes something in you to snap and you’ll grip the steering wheel until your knuckles are white and scream with her and then hate yourself”,  or “you may find yourself locking yourself in a closet and crying while your toddler kicks the door on the other side because you yelled three times this morning and you can’t get yourself regulated”, and “you may throw a toy out of frustration and then reprimand your kid doing the same thing five minutes later”. 

And yet on my bedroom wall hangs medals for 5ks, half marathons and one full.

Yes in 2024, I set out with an impossible goal- run and finish a marathon.

I gave myself no way out. I signed up to run with a charity for guaranteed entry and then the real kicker- I told the internet I was doing it.

Training was unlike anything I expected. It was grueling. My time to run? Before my children woke for the day.

On my longer runs, that meant waking sometimes at 3 in the morning to run 12 miles and then solo parent all day.

I’m not sure how I found the motivation. It was pure determination. Pure grit.

About a month before the marathon, I got a sharp pain in my shins. It hurt to walk. My coach suggested imaging and I began to panic.

What if I could not run? It did not make sense. I knew in my bones I was going to run and finish that marathon. This did not make sense.

it was then I realized how important completing this goal really had to become. This was for ME. The only was to complete the goal was to work hard. And I had. I had done the impossible.

I sat in the MRI machine holding my breath. Actually, I wanted to nap.

It came back- shin splints. Two weeks more of rest and then I could run, leaving two weeks of training.

Running the marathon was spiritual. It’s the only way I could explain it. Every time I wanted to quit I would see a sign with my name on it, or someone would hand me a snack and it kept me going. Every time I wanted to stop I would hear the nice man who ran into me at Costco and gave the best advice, “Don’t fucking stop”.

Mile 26 came and I rounded the corner to see my family and most importantly my sister waving and cheering. I burst into a sprint with a rush of adrenaline. I saw the finish line.

I was going to do it. Finish a marathon. I started my running journey years earlier trying to run a mile without stopping and here I was finishing a world major marathon.

I finished at 3:33:33

No coincidence my birthday is March 3.

Since I have had people say I inspired them to run marathons themselves or start running.

I am a bad runner. I am also a marathoner.

As I gear up to try to cross the finish line again, I remember that you don’t have to be good at something to enjoy it. You can do almost anything you set your mind to if you work hard enough at it.

And you get the same medal if you take three hours or seven hours to finish

What started as a hobby, pure dumb luck, stay at home loneliness, and Covid lockdown boredom, I created a Tiktok account and began documenting silly dancing videos, pandemic themed skits, and lastly, parenting content.

I saw perfect mommy influencers, marble countertops and super clean houses, and looked around at my….polar opposite view. My kids were often half dressed, eating cereal out of a box, and dancing to the “The Office” theme song which was just played in the background on repeat.

Watch a Normalizing Normal Video Here

I felt lost, and alone, and so, in a leap of faith- I made a silly video documenting my chaos. And made it silly, and fun. Radical acceptance and humor about my less than perfect home.

Subscribe now

The rest is history. It blew up. Articles written. Interviews taken. I have been in books, on podcasts, on TV shows and have even held hands with Drew Barrymore (and yes I absolutely throw that into any conversation I can). Normalizing Normal has grown into its own kind of brand.

But what does it really mean….

Does normal even exist?

Often times when I post a video I am met with a comment that will read “Well, that’s not my normal”- which, correct. It might not be- but it is MINE. And my normal is one I do not see represented as something to be celebrated or noted as “okay”. And so I share it with the world, so that others feel less alone.

My normal- my messy house, feral children, and outfits I have word multiple days in a row- are often labeled as something to fix. Or a setback. Something that is sympathized with- but ultimately a problem. Not a success.

But what if I told you- I am totally fine with how I live. I have ADHD and am messy. I was before kids, and probably will be when they are grown and gone. It’s me, hi, I am the problem it’s me. I do not love cooking or cleaning, and will often put fun and joyful things first before the dishes. I am also the mom okay if her kids want to run in the splash pad at the zoo with their clothes on, and run around outside when a rain storm rolls in.

My mess and chaos is not something I really actively try to improve or fix. Yeah it’s a little chaotic here but I sleep like a baby with dishes in my sink, and sometimes I think that is a super power, and I really try hard to help others to be able to breathe a little bit when they see mess.

I do NOT like glitter though. That is where I draw the line.

Share

So does normal exist?- no, not really. And I think that is the point. There is no baseline of what is “right”. There is no magical formula you have to follow in this life to be successful or to feel happiness and joy. The possibilities of what you can do and who you can be are almost limitless.

Insert me scream singing “ UNLIMITEDDDDDDD”.

Clean and minimal is not the base for success or what everyone needs to strive for to be your “best” stuff. I love stuff, and things, and cool art and trinkets and gadgets, and that is OK. It’s ok.

Being aesthetically pleasing is a hobby.

Home decor- hobby.

It has zero reflection of who you are a person, or your work ethic or whether you are successful or not.

As my friend KC Davis would say “ Mess is morally neutral”.

I feel the image I have of every great mind and creative is surrounded with chaos and a messy desk, them frantically searching through drawers to find the right pencil, and shoving papers to the side to make room for their next drawing. Artists. Writers. Inventors.

Some of the most successful minds of our time were GASP** messy.

And so I embrace.

I do not apologize for my mess. When people come over I do still catch myself warning them that it will be messy- but what you will not hear me say is “I am sorry for the mess” followed by the list of why my house is a mess.

But all that is -Is really me screaming “ DO NOT JUDGE ME”

As if messiness is a failure or shortcoming.

And I am here to say it’s not. There are so many reasons your house may be a mess but it is not because you are a bad person, a bad mom, a bad wife.

I am Emily, 33. I have been married two times, and have two kids. I have three cats and a dog. Sometimes my cat pees in the Paw Patrol slide in my playroom. Why, I do not know. I have debt of all the varieties - besides a boat payment- but do not tempt me with a jet ski. I like to make cringy silly videos and post them to the internet- it’s weirdly a job- but mostly it is fun. I love sugar and candy. I once did not go to the dentist for ten years and when I did go I had FOURTEEN CAVITIES- HA! I always drive five miles over the speed limit and I love ice coffee. I dance and sing when I hear music and I am a while vibe. I like to document and make home movies. I play video games on the easiest level, and while I actually can cook well- I hate coming up with dinner ideas.

All normal.

Things people shy away from or are embarrassed by- I celebrate and make others feel at ease about things.

So for those of us that are a hot mess. Whose socks do not match. Who are flying by the seat of our pants- we are normal. For those that are polar opposite- you are normal too.

Because there is no one right way to get through life. There is no one right way to parent, or way to exist in your house.

Normalize that it’s all Normal.

Today was back to school day. Drop off is always a bittersweet day for me. I love the energy in the air. I love the flurry of students with their backpacks too big for their bodies, waiting outside, taking pictures- most of them excited. Too young for cliques and politics of who is “cool” or who is wearing the right clothes or not. Everyone is waving and excited.

Today was the first day for my second grader and my Kinder will start today, the day this is published.

For the first time in seven years, I will be home alone. The first time in seven years I will not have child in the backseat crying or asking me how much they would weigh on the moon. No more handing back snacks while trying to avoid swerving into traffic. I can clean room and it will stay somewhat clean (until they get home). I can go to a grocery store and shop without the anxiety of someone snatching my kid.

Subscribe now

Today, I dropped off my second grader and headed back home with my youngest, and while it was not totally stress free- it was- a hell of a lot easier. By themselves my children are different creatures. Often calmer, quieter, and better behaved. Together they mutate into some sort of wild, feral, creature- with lots of fighting, whining and all together more….naughtiness.

I was able to clean, FaceTime a friend, and make myself some nutritious meals for myself.

Then something magical happened.

To say I have been a raging bitch this last few weeks of summer would be the understatement of the year. I have been actually just downright mean to my kids. I am pretty sure my eldest thinks I have it out for her. I have been yelling, melting down- basically acting like an adult toddler. And see, I have self awareness and emotional intelligence. I am aware even as it is happening that I just need to chill the fuck out. But, yet, there I am, freaking out.

But today, well today, something was different.

I had support.

Due to life circumstances, etc, I do a lot of solo childcare, most of the time. Meaning for the most part, and with little to no break, I am the sole caregiver for two kids.

And burn out is a real thing.

And it is not natural to be taking care of children, especially multiple children, with not much break, for seven years.

And let this be reassurance for parents in the same position- of course you yell. Of course you are overstimulated. Of course your house is a wreck. Of course you have no time to yourself. Of course you are frustrated by that. Of course. Because anyone would. It is not natural to be in that caretaker role that constantly with no break.

But today, I had childcare (Aka school)

When the end of day meltdowns came - I was regulated. I did not yell….much. I did not scream or get frustrated. I held boundaries and gave consequences while staying calm, and managed to stay regulated while I did so.

Subscribe now

I am not a bad mom.

I am always, always, a good mom.

But sometimes, when I have the support I am supposed to have- I am able to be a better mom.

And that is important to remember in those moments at the end of the night when I am wracked with guilt, watching my children sleep. Children that did not ask to be here, and whose childhood I am shaping.

You are not a bad mom if you are overstimulated, burned out, and unsupported. All of those elements matter, and influence your motherhood journey.

You are not a bad mom or a bad person.

You in fact I imagine, care very very much.

You just have a lot going up against you that makes it really really hard to be the very best you could be

But that doesn’t mean you are bad.

It doesn’t mean that at all.

In this next chapter, I want to learn how to slow down. Take time for me, heal. Invest in my mental and physical health.

I hope you come along. Maybe it will inspire you to take small steps for yourself as well, because even the smallest of steps- moves you forward.

I want to talk about a very good day I had this past July. It was a day where I not only saw the light at the end of the tunnel, but was basking in it.

We headed to our local small town Fourth of July Carnival. I did not think twice about it but we just headed out the door. I did not pack a stroller and I did not sling a diaper bag over my shoulder. I did not pack extra snacks or bring toys to occupy anyone.

We grabbed wrist bands for the kids- and they were off.

Again and again I watched them run from ride to ride. My five year old surprising me with his bravery, jumping on every ride with his older sister.

For hours they ran and played. We stopped to eat a corn dog and drink some strawberry lemonade and they were off again.

As the sun set, and I watched my five year old whip around the corner of the dragon roller coaster for perhaps the 48th time in a row and it dawned at me.

I was simply existing in parenthood and relaxed and enjoyed it.

That is not to say I have not enjoyed the various stages of parenthood thus far. With every new stage brings new excitement and new hardships. But this was different. There was less mental load. There was less planning and more, enjoying. More simply exhaling and being in the moment.

With my children’s new budding independence came a new kind of freedom.

Freedom to relax. To witness their excitement.

I want to tell you about this day because it was a “good ol’ day”. It was a day I feel like I will look back on one day and grieve that it is gone. It was a really magical, wonderful day.

And this is important because my kids were five and seven when it happened.

Often moms are bombarded and for me- guilted- with the idea that when your babies are tiny and small, that those are the best days of your life. That THOSE are the magical days that once they are gone- they are gone, so you better enjoy every damn minute of them.

But here is the problem.

Newborns are hard. You are sleep deprived, physically recovering, and your entire life gets flipped upside down.

Toddlers are hard. You are dealing with tantrums, potty training, and constant movement and energy.

Those early years are well, extremely hard. And emotionally and physically taxing.

And they are amazing years, and there are so many amazing moments that are once in a lifetime- but- those moments do not stop as your kids get older.

If you are in those years and are feeling like you are in survival mode and feeling guilty for not enjoying them enough- I want you to know that those days do not stop and they are their own kind of wonderful

Through my many years on the internet I have ended up down some unexpected paths. I found myself jumping out of a plane on a whim. I trained for and successfully completed the Chicago Marathon. I was flown out to New York and met with Drew Barrymore after a spam email of someone pretending to be her went viral.

But at the end of all those rather impressive sounding events, I always came home to my kids who treat me like the snack bitch I am. Demanding more bags of chips to be opened and milk to be poured.

They keep me humble and remind me how very not cool I am.

Most likely, you already know all of this. You probably follow me on social media and I asked as a favor to me for you to subscribe to this page.

Subscribe now

Oh where did that button come from? You should click it.

You see my book team wants me to get to 1,000 subscribers here by the time my rough draft is done. I think it’s a doable goal- probably.

Here is a little secret- don’t tell.

I am terrified to write this book. For so many reasons. But mainly because I feel like I am hiding very well in sheep’s clothing but I am really just a dumb wolf hiding. What if I cannot write a whole book? What if I type and type and type and it just never comes together. What if no one buys it or worse- they buy it and the do not like it.

I am SCARED.

But I know one thing- it’s something I have always wanted to do. From the time I was 14 and got my first poem published- I have wanted to write a book. Back then, I was sure it was going to be a murder mystery or perhaps a romance novel- trust me, parenting book was not on my radar at the time. But because it is something I have always wanted to do. I have to try.

There will be something magical about walking in to a book store- and finding my book on the shelves. My name on the spine. Chilling truly.

Plus the more I do these hard impossible things, I realize it inspires others to try to do them too.

Perhaps you won’t even run a marathon, but maybe because you watched me try- you went for a run today.

Maybe you won’t ever jump out of a plane, but because you saw me try- you do something that scares you a little bit.

Maybe no one reads my book except one person, but it helps that one person feel a little less alone.

And isn’t that the point?

Helping even just one person, on some capacity?

I think so.

So here’s what comes next- lot’s of writing. As soon as these kids get back in school because one thing I have learned is it is impossible while they are here. Weekly newsletters where you will hear my parenting stories, book updates (including preorder links when they are ready) and inside looks on what it is like to write a book.

I may be sharing sneak peeks and ask you for your opinion.

I will start here- what are things you wish were in the parenting books? What topics are NOT covered that you wish were?

Until next time, keep it normal,

Emily

I hear the sniffly nose starting again, and I start getting …. Angry- not at her of course, not directly.

It’s not her fault that someone in the house is sick ….again.

But I sigh in ….annoyance. In obligation.

Another few days of remembering medicine doses, canceling plans, calling doctors because I’m pretty sure the next absence is going to get me a truancy letter.

And I sigh because it’s all on me

“Where’s your husband????” They say

AT WORK

And working long hours because that’s the job. And the job pays the bills, which buys the Tylonel I have to keep stocking up on because one of us has been ill since THANKSGIVING.

and I am burnt out.

When they get sick, it’s me caring for them, because that’s the job, and they get better just in time for me to catch whatever it was.

And I’m told “you signed up for this! Stop complaining! There are parents out there who are praying for your problems!”

Listen, stop saying that

It’s SO problematic

Saying parts of motherhood is hard is NOT the same as being ungrateful. It’s being honest.

And those people out there praying to be parents will also find it hard and should be able to voice that instead of sitting in silence in the name of “being grateful”

Because motherhood is hard

It’s hard to care for sick kids when you are sick yourself

It’s hard to watch your kids get sick again and again because well preschoolers and first graders are gross

It’s a season.

It will pass.

And a new challenge will emerge.

Because that’s the job

And of course there’s wonderful parts of motherhood. Of course there are.

But that cannot be all we talk about.

It’s not fair and it’s a lie.

What a disservice it would be to everyone to place rose colored glasses over that most complex endeavor you may embark on: motherhood.

“Then you have a remote learning day!”, she said with enthusiasm. She is six. The age where the idea of having school at home is exciting.

I instantly went back to my own childhood in that moment. I remember praying for a snow day so we could hang out at home and watch TV, drink hot chocolate and go sledding. I remember having snow days with my friends, tackling each other in the snow, and building snowmen.

Snow days do not simply not exist solely because of the introduction of remote learning (thank you Covid). They do not exist because, there is no snow.

The last time we had more than a few inches was four or five years ago. It was just enough to go sledding. We took the kids to a local Nature Preserve that has a huge hill. We sled for hours and it was an amazing memory my kids will never remember.

A lesson I have learned, and it seems silly, but I had to learn it the hard way. Your children will never have your childhood. For those with terrible childhoods, this is good news.

But for me, someone who grew up in an unrealistic Hallmark movie kind of childhood; it’s been hard to let go of the dream I had for my family.

Growing up my dad would come home at 5 PM every night. There is video of us greeting him at the door, and him picking us up and swinging us around in circles. We all sat down, TV off, and ate dinner together. We would play trivia and talk about the day.

Today, my kids eat a separate meal from my husband and myself. Oftentimes he is not home to see them before they go to bed. Dinners happen, all over the place. Sometimes we sit all together at the kitchen counter and chat. Sometimes they sit in front of the TV or in front of their iPads.

Growing up my family would all get together and chop down our Christmas trees together. I am talking everyone. Grandparents, cousins, etc, 20 plus people all driving in a caravan style line down the highway to a Christmas tree farm to cut down our trees.

Last year, I bought a fake tree, and hated how much I loved it.

I remember riding all over town on my bike with friends and playing endlessly in my backyard.

I live on a corner lot and do not have a fence. I have way too much internet exposure and am shown constantly all the ways my chid can be kidnapped or killed and so, we go outside together.

I remember when the first iPad came out. I only got my first one this year. I am 32. My daughter had one in her Kindergarten classroom

There was a period of time when I had to mourn the fact that my kids will not have my childhood. It is impossible to. We live in a different world that is always changing.

I am not saying that their childhood will be bad.

I just was surprised how bad I felt that I could not recreate my own for them, no matter how hard I tried.

For now, I will play the role of book reviewer. Because, why not?

One of my goals this year is to read more. And write more. And stop spending money in response to my brains never stop hunt for dopamine ( thank you ADHD).

I got LASIK in March of 2024. I promise this all becomes relevant -forgive my jumping around- ADHD -you remember?

My vision they were correcting with the laser was a -9 and a -8.75. For those who are not familiar with prescriptions - those are- very high.

For six months it was wonderful.

I knew when getting lasik I had a much higher chance of it regressing with my higher script. And so it was not a total shock when I stopped being able to see far away. While my eyes are changing and adjusting it’s been difficult to read.

A physical book that is.

And I am someone who loves holding a book.

I (was)VERY anti kindle (I even bought one to try) and audio books. I want physical pages to turn.

But life seems to have ways of laughing in your face and here I am using my Monthly audio credits to listen to books.

I have found that I cannot simply sit and consume an audio book. No. I need to be doing something else while it plays. Sometimes that is cooking. Or cleaning. Or my personal favorite- Lego building.

My goal is 12 books this year. No, you do not have to have your book goal be 100. I kept it simple. I knew I could pull off one book a month.

It’s January 17 and I have actually read TWO books already! And have started my third.

Perhaps monthly we can check in together and I can share the books I have read. A book club of sorts.

Book one:

My time to stand by Gypsy-Rose Blanchard.

Rating 3/10

I was SO excited about this book. I had watched the documentary on Max, “Mommy Dead and Dearest” and got sucked into this case and the story. When Gypsy Rose was released from prison she did a bit of a media blitz. She was on talk shows and podcasts and even had a reality show- which I watched every episode of. Through all the media she recounted her story many times from her perspective. When I bought the book, I was expecting to read new details from the case, and her story. It fell short. I felt like I already knew everything she mentioned In the book. I felt she threw in random details for “shock value” - I.e. her prison cell mate who played in her own excrement- which had nothing to do with the story.

Book two:

The house of my mother by Shari Frankie.

My rating: 8.5/10

The child abuse case that rocked the world is the one of the Franke Family. The sweet family who documented their life on their YouTube Channel 8 Passengers eventually get separated, their mother falling into a religious cult and eventually horrifically abusing her children until she is caught and charged.

Now this, this book was GOOD. Shari can write well.

And she gives a lot of background and behind the scenes information. As someone who used to watch their content on YouTube, it was eye opening to hear about moments I recognized from A vlog I had watched, with a different point of view. She delves into the abuse of her narcissistic mother and also how that led to her being abused by others. She respects her siblings’ privacy and keeps the story about her own experiences.

It’s a story of resilience and it made me happy she seems to be doing well

My best read is “Let them” by Mel Robbins. I am a few chapters in and aM a big fan so far!

Until next time,

Emily (very professional book reviewer)

I think perhaps when D and H died when I was in high school. Siblings, who I had shared a band class with were driving in a snow storm and were both killed after being hit by a semi after they crossed the median in the white haze.

Naively then, at 17, I gasped when I heard they were not wearing seatbelts, as if that would have somehow saved them.

I watched the town line up around the block for their wake. Students crying during a moment of silence. Tears rolling down my own cheeks even though I barely knew them. The tragedy of someone so young dying -crushed my own young spirit. So much potential. So much future left. Gone.

But the person I thought of most?

Their mother.

Both of her children, gone. In just one day. One moment. I watched her at their wake and wondered how she was still standing upright, expecting her to collapse to the floor at any moment. I wondered what she was feeling, or if she was numb. I wondered what she would do now after likely dedicating so much of her life to them.

I am 32 now, and have yet to experience a true loss. I have lost pets that crushed me, and one of my grandfathers passed away when I was in the fourth grade, but I have yet (thankfully) to experience a deep loss. One where I would have to navigate true grief.

But I am getting older. I now more often hear of people passing who I grew up with. Dan, who lived down the street, dying in a car accident. Julie passing away.

I am not sure I fear death as much as I am so much more aware of it. I feel like I am walking on egg shells waiting for it to find me.

I end phone calls with “I love you” noting- always say I love you- you don’t know if it is their last call.

When I hug my grandpa goodbye I try to memorize what his hug feels like. I note my mother’s favorite perfume. I try to make sure I always answer when my dad calls.

I write in journals to my own children in case I die early they will still somehow have a piece of me.

I would not call the thoughts of death all consuming but they are very present.

Is is anxiety? Is it getting older? Is it having my children, bits of my own heart walking around outside of my body?

Or is it simply lack of experience - fear of the unknown- in this case- grief?

I’m not sure how to leave it out of my subconscious

perhaps therapy

#normalizingnormal