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I haven’t been doing a lot of writing lately.

Whenever people ask what I’ve been up, I often reply I’ve been mothering, working, working out, reading, and writing.

However, for me to get out a fully formed creative thought, I write in my Notes app when the house is asleep or I must leave the house to write. Both can be challenging.

What hasn’t been so challenging is catching up on tv, on my iPad, while my toddler dominates the main TV. Or asleep.

In the last month, I devoured Prime’s Ride or Die, an action drama about the complexities & love of friendships. The two female leads deal with a failing career, failing relationship, all while uncovering the secret that one of them is an assassin. It’s uniquely beautiful. I want more.

The Five Star Weekend on Peacock also kept me captivated for a weekend. This series is based on the Elin Hilderbrand book. I never read it or any of her books, but I really enjoyed the story. Although I do think some of the friends should’ve whooped that trick. IYKYK.

The series is another one about the complexities of friendships, marriages, parenthood. But mostly, it’s about the friendships. I’d love to see more shows and movies about friendships of women of a certain age.

Spoiler alert: I may or may not have already written something of the sort.

I also enjoy laugh out series of male friendships. The wholesomeness of Apple TV’s Ted Lasso. The inappropriateness of Netflix’s Tires. My current comfort show, Martin because what did Tommy do for work??

In the world of reality, I’ve also been watching the latest season of Married At First Sight, now moved from Lifetime to Peacock. Every time a new season premieres, someone reaches out to ask if I’m watching the latest season because I worked on the show 10 years (!!) ago.

I sought out working on such shows because my production experience was predominantly competition series and I wanted to expand my background so no one would could ever say I wasn’t experienced when the dream opportunity came around. The fact that I was able to work on this one locally after my move from LA was pretty dreamy to me.

In competition series, I loved watching people expand their audiences, clientele, and win prizes, and keep in touch with some folks to this very day. If watching people love what they do was fulfilling, I imagined watching people fall in love could be even more so.

So I thought.

Since then, I don’t regularly follow the series as it’s bounced around because it was less of a dream as I had never been more sleep deprived in my entire production career. However, I do tune in from time to time when the streets are talking. And by streets, I mean my social media feeds.

The latest season has me intrigued due to the new experts, format makeover to match more of the UK one, and like most people, the absurdity of the characters. Because some of these folks have got to be characters.

Once upon a time, I can see why people would go onto to TV to find love. The locations are magical, people are vetted, etc.

Present day, I want women to stop going on shows to find love.

I swear that some of the men (#notallmen!) that are cast these days are the best of the worst. I question the quality of the background checks used on a lot of these shows these days.

Of course, there are women who do these shows with influencer or bigger goals in mind like a tropical vacation, but at least that doesn’t come at the risk of someone’s well being.

A lot of these men don’t like women. They may identify as heterosexual, but they clearly do not like women.

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“Funny that you ask because I because I just shared if I were ever single again, I’d just have a friend ‘Mr. So & So’ that paid for everything and pumped all my gas because I’m tired,” I confessed.

This wasn’t a dig on my partner.

He’s not cheap and we’re not poor.

We were doing our (mostly) weekly relationship check in when this card was drawn. I think the question was probably meant for something sexual, but being taken care of is my kind of kink.

Earlier that day, a friend had shared that she didn’t have a boyfriend but she has a “friend” (or as I call it a “Mr. So & So”) and that it was as closest she cared to getting to a boyfriend right now. She shared in a way that made me think she was trying to defend it, but I told her that I get it. I really do.

I’ve spent so much time as an independent woman that sometimes I’d love to just sit back sometimes and not worry about a damn thing.

I’m currently reading Emma Straub’s latest release, American Fantasy, a novel said to be inspired by the New Kids on the Block cruises. It’s a bit of slow burn, and I’m currently waiting for this pop star story to pop off.

As I sat at the bar on a solo date, with the book and a glass of Sancerre, I thought The American Fantasy is to do just that - enjoy lunches with a full bank account, little work, and read, write, and wine whenever one wishes. At least that’s my fantasy.

I’ve lived most of my life in a fantasy bubble, a lot of fantasies that I’ve been able to achieve, and somewhere in recent years that’s just slowed down.

I don’t like that.

It’s too easy to say that it’s due to motherhood, grief, career shift, or what. Although it’s all affected who I am today.

It’s not a mid-life crisis. It’s post-pandemic life.

During the pandemic, we were forced to stay at home with deadly warnings, while a political and racial reckoning occurred, on every news outlet and social media newsfeed no matter your algorithm.

It changed people.

People found deeper meaning in their lives. People found deeper understanding for Black people in their lives. People understood that life was more than just work. Yet somehow it seems a lot of people came out on the other side of all that …worse.

It’s exhausting.

When people are peak so nasty and so rude, just about anything can feel discouraging in this present day, but it was recent chat with a friend that snapped me out of it.

A friend shared that they were gonna look for new work opportunities even though the reported job market stats aren’t great. Their attitude? Why not? Closed mouths don’t get fed and all that stuff.

My friend is right and it’s why I try to surround myself with this type of energy.

As much as I talk a good talk, I realized how much I had allowed low vibration attitudes to slowly seep into my vibe, online and off. Substack aside, I don’t put myself out there as much as I used to because things just seem so bleh.

There’s no time for this. There’s no money for that. I can’t do that.

But I can. And there is. So I am.

I just have to figure out what makes things work for these current times.

I workout in the mornings because that time is often guaranteed uninterrupted. I purchased a reading light so I can read more books in peace. I write most of my Substack pieces in my notes app at night. (I kinda dig dark mode). I’m going through old creative ideas to get them out of my drafts and in some type of format.

I enjoy the pleasure of my own company for solo dates when I’m craving something, want to check a spot, and/or good company isn’t available. I’ve done errands date with a girlfriend. I had a mother/daughter date with another. I reached out to another mom friend for writing date or whatever.

I’m also getting my groove back with the aid of Trader’s Joes beauty dupes. That vitamin C serum??! MAGIC! I had no idea my skin was in such need until I added this to my routine and saw a difference in less than 2 weeks.

With all this revitalized glow, I can keep thinking big so the fantasy of funds and freedom is that much closer.

A recent quote I read said something like: I can be grateful for what I have, but still be honest about what I want.

And that solo date where I wrote most of this in my notes app?

Sponsored by my partner to who sent me out with his card to treat myself. Sometimes it pays to be honest with what you want out of life. Literally.

Where my independent dependent ladies at?

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Summer Vibes

First, there was the pandemic and “civil unrest.” To be honest, I hate the when people refer to that time as “civil unrest” because it totally ignores why people are unrestful - they’re over open bigotry, rollback of rights, and murder on the streets. I don’t know what’s more headache inducing - living through it or learning that I actually know people that co-sign this mess.

Or I should say knew.

I’m Here To Make Friends, but to quote Summer House’s Ciara Miller when referencing interracial friendships: ”Like I actually don’t want to be friends if we’re not talking about the political climate of this world because there’s a whole other layer that we experience it in. So yeah, the conversations are vital.”

As I’ve shared so much in previous newsletters, the following summer, I experienced a very complicated pregnancy, followed by loss & grief. Then the summer after that, I was pregnant again the with lots of monitoring, then post postpartum the summer after that.

Through it all, I’m swimming, not in pools, but in lots & lots of emails because my work volume goes all the way up April thru September. These emails don’t give a damn about warm weather days.

Suffice to say - I’ve been ready for a summer that feels like a summer break.

That’s why I’m so deep in my feelings about a Summer of Jennie . There’s no social distancing, I’m not baking a baby, I’m no longer a milk machine, and I want to be outside in every way imaginable.

I kicked off the first days of summer with my mammogram results that reported that I had “unremarkable” breasts. I never thought I’d be so relieved to read such a thing because I do find my breasts to be pretty remarkable even after a year of breast feeding but in this case, I’ll accept the reporting.

I’ve also been on a reading streak. When not catching up on substacks, I’ve read The Wedding People, Score, and currently reading The Missed Connection. There’s so much good dialogue in all of them, and one of my favorite quotes in my current read is “The downfall of social culture is planned meetups.”

That’s why I’ve been all about impromptu get togethers whenever possible. Too much planning often ruins the vibe and results in cancellations by the time the planned date comes around. It’s not just the grown folks, the kids are suffering socially, too, because everyone is sick & tired of being sick & tired.

Recently, I’ve returned from a road trip of visiting my family down south, which was part 90s summer vibes because we traveled with our toddler, no tablet, minimum tantrums, and lots of truck stop treats along the way. The trip was also complete with multiple impromptu connections. Maybe exceptions were made because my family was in town, maybe it was because people make time for those who matter to them. I don’t know, but I hope to have more of that energy upon returning home.

I’ve been back into my meditation routine with a monthly series based on visualization. What’s been interesting is that I find myself visualizing moments I’d love to recapture, not new moments or things I’m trying to obtain. When it comes to visualizing peace, it’s always a place I’ve been.

To my surprise, I visualized brunch at Sunset Blvd’s Saddle Ranch. My friends & I often went for their oversized plates and variety of bottomless mimosas. Sometimes, the plans were spontaneous, sometimes planned for a special occasion, but the best part was that it always ended up being A TIME because either friends would randomly pull up a seat to join us or we’d make new friends. Maybe one day, I’ll share how we ended up at hanging with LAFD for after-hours.

Twice.

I don’t even recall if we ever made reservations. Someone would suggest weekend brunch there and we’d make it happen. No multiple check ins to see if people were still on. People would just show up. Yes, we were younger, but life wasn’t necessarily easier. We all had some entry to mid-level job as we were building competitive careers in the big city but not always big checks. We had relationships to maintain or situationships we should’ve fled. The least complicated thing in our lives was maintaining our social lives.

Oh, those were the days.

But they still can be.

This summer is already off to a better start than summers that preceded it.

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Please no spoilers: I’ve only finished the first season.

Among the things that intrigued me about the series was the site of the largest private wine collection in the world. This show may be fiction but surely a collection of this magnitude exists somewhere. I wasn’t so much intrigued to know what the wines were, but I was wondering what’s the point of holding onto such lovely things if never to be enjoyed.

Not a spoiler: the owner of the collection passed away before enjoying it.

In recent years, I’ve been sitting on things because of waiting for the right moment. A bottle of wine, a dress, shoes, etc.. And then these things just sit and sit and sit.

During the pandemic when panic was high and prices were low, I was shopping shopping. I have a platform pair of snakeskin platforms that have never seen the light of day. During my recent spring cleaning, I actually had to pull things from my closet to dust them.

I’ve also been working my way through my stockpile of cute notebooks because as an Instagram post from The Home Edit once said - it’s just paper. I felt so dragged! I have notebooks I’ve started and not finished for reasons unknown to myself. So much for organization.

In one notebook, I found a 10 year old Summer of Jennie list. To know me, is to know I reference Seinfeld, Sex & the City, and Coming to America A LOT. Seinfeld fans know that George made a couple attempts at a Summer of George. Some goals met, some not because of sitcoms hijinks.

I completed my list 10 years ago. Hijinks, hectic production schedule, & all.

Which got me thinking, what would I like to complete this summer?

Summer of Jennie 2026

Health check ups. Not exactly fun, but definitely necessary. I took my job years ago because I needed good benefits, and I need to honor myself by using them. I got my colonoscopy and dental checkup that resulted in a root canal. Next up, annual mammogram.

Go outside. I’m embarrassed to admit that I work so much that sometimes I go a day or two without the sunshine on my face. I think the ultimate reality check was when my Apple Watch told that my movement is “declining.” I do workout nearly every morning, but it turns out that if you’re not moving much throughout the day, it just cancels out that workout.

Put that $h!t on. I always prefer to be overdressed than underdressed so I’m gonna stop waiting for the perfect occasion and just put that $h!t on. The snakeskin platforms are going out for a spin. I don’t know where but it’s going to happen.

Visit family. Most of my family is in the south. They often come up north in spring & summer and whenever needed, and I often go to them in fall & winter. I don’t go often in the summer because it’s hot. Too hot. My parents have no plans to come up and my niece recently had a baby so it’s only fair that I get over the heat and visit them this summer.

Have a 90s summer. Articles and posts have been trending about how to have a 90s summer, and a lot of folks are missing the point that to throwback to the 90s, you gotta remember people didn’t over plan their life. That’s why it was a simpler time! People were just vibing. No cell phones. No social media.

I was also a teen who paid no bills so that helped, too.

I don’t want calendar invite for calls, simple dinner plans booked a month in advanced, or RSVPs that come with multiple notifications. I want to vibe out for impromptu coffee, go to happy hour that turns into dinner, randomly run errands with friends, walk & talk for a workout, etc. I’ve already made a few unsuccessful attempts at last minute plans, but I’m hoping this post will inspire some friends to join me for some random fun. If you’re in the area and just want to walk around the mall and get a Gloria Jean’s chiller, I’m your girl.

To be honest, I feel this list is kinda sad, but it’s needed and this post should hold me accountable. My list also reminds me of the years of school summer break when all this was possible. Adults aren’t getting a summer break anytime soon so I need to snatch my time back because time waits for no one.

Tell me friends - What’s on tap for your summer?

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RECENT POSTS

The ultimate spring cleaning.

I had done my closet clean out, even dropped off bags, cleaned up phone contacts and emails, and scheduled dental and doctor appointments.

I didn’t initially coordinate things this way, but once the train had left the station, it was too late to turn back. Scheduled appointment, scheduled time off for me and my partner/driver, prescription picked up, and a death in the family one week prior from the very illness colonoscopies screen.

I was drinking this drink.

I didn’t have cause for concern to have a colonoscopy. It was all part of my spring cleaning and medical maintenance. As a person of a particular age, it was time for my screening. Unlike other screenings such as pap smears and mammograms, the upside to the procedure is that if there are any polyps found, they’re removed then & there and if anything further is needed, you get direction from there. That alone gave me peace of mind.

But, I didn’t know any of that at first. In fact, I didn’t know much of anything because I only know two other people who’ve had a colonoscopy. At least two that have spoken about it.

Like the loss of my angel baby Charlotte, I think we need to talk more about the colonoscopy procedure to normalize these things. It’s serious business and pretending it is not does not make these things go away. We’re seeing more & more about screening awareness with loss of actors Chadwick Boseman and most recently James Van Der Beek. There are other late actresses rumored to have battled the disease. The issue is not male or female.

Simply put, the screening age has gone down because cancer is up. A nurse told me as such.

Since I’ve told others about my procedure, I’ve been hit up with questions and people being reminded that they need to schedule their own appointment. One friend did & done!

Here’s the things that I wish I knew from close ones versus needing to go down Reddit rabbit holes and watch videos on my healthcare’s site.

• Don’t only drink water and the laxative concoction. Drink other cleared clear liquids to stay hydrated and to overall mix things up because your pallet will get bored. I stocked up on cherry Clearly Canadian (my 90s go to!), Gatorade, and apple juice. My partner also got me some jello since it was on the cleared list and made a nice, little treat.

• Do drink the entire gallon laxative drink even if you think you’re all clear. The directions are very clear about this, but if we’ve learned anything from the pandemic, people with elementary school reading levels think they know more than doctors. I read stories of people that thought they were all good so they stopped the drink, only to not be all clear and have to reschedule and start at square one.

• Don’t make any plans The Day Before. It takes a certain mental strength to drink only clear liquids and jello all day. I camped out at home and caught up on TV all day. I caught up on all things Apple TV and the movie Roommates on Netflix. Just relax and stay close to home base. The pipeline from this laxative ain’t sh*t to well…. 💩 is something else.

• Do chill The Day Of. The procedure is quick, but it is a surgical procedure. I was knocked out with propofol and woke up talking about emails. The anesthesiologist and nurse begged me - Please do not go to work today. I was not. It was just my subconscious talking. Literally. Apparently capitalism has everyone in a chokehold because out of all the aftercare instructions given, do not work was the one I overheard them stressing to patients the most.

Oh, and my results? All clear!

No polyps. No colonoscopy for 10 years. Plus, I walked away with some pretty cool photos of my clean insides.

In celebration, my family & I went out for a belated Mother’s Day dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, where I cheered with a French 94 mocktail because I wasn’t cleared for the booze yet.

If you’re due for an colonoscopy, please let this serve as a reminder.

Got any questions? Got any tips to share? Please be a friend and leave a comment.

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Just emails.

Lots of emails.

Tagging emails. Sorting emails. Sending emails.

Because that is my reality with a “9-5” job.

In another life, my work emails used to consist of pitching myself, pitching talent, pitching segments that would sometimes result in me being whisked off to an international location or Dunkerton, Iowa.

Even socially, happy hours often consisted of pitching oneself so people could determine if you were a resource worth acquiring.

Whenever attending parties, I’d often ask friends not to tell people what I did for work because I wouldn’t want to spend most of my night talking about work, especially if there was a potential date present. Too many men get spooked by a women who has a lot going on. #NotAllMen, but let us not forget the date who asked if my parents paid for my car and my townhouse and he wasn’t the only one.

However, as I sought more stability in my life, I sought out work where I could do good work weekly, get paid, and turn work off.

“You don’t have any experience in this field, but I think you’ll be good at this,” my future manager told me as she scanned my resume.

She was right. I didn’t have any experience in real estate and up until a few weeks before my interview, I had no idea this area of real estate existed - a title company.

I knew the phrase “closing on a house,” but I had no idea there were people outside of attorneys, mortgage brokers, and real estate agents that played a part in the transactions, let alone that these people worked for a major company that coordinated and insured the title insurance.

Despite not having any experience, I was pretty confident that I’d be good at the job just as my barre buddy who referred me. I’m organized. I’m good with numbers. I’m good with people.

Whenever production people find themselves working outside the industry, I noticed a trend that they go on to work in either fitness, health, or real estate. I think the common denominator is that these industries are part of the few where people must jump into a fast paced environment and handle a lot of different personalities. And if there’s one thing production people know - it’s how to hit the ground running!

I decided to pursue a “9-5” job because I wanted something steady. After all, I moved back to the Midwest for that personally, I thought to pursue it professionally, too. In entertainment, even if you knew it was a sure thing that you’d be offered to return for an upcoming TV season, you never really knew. Not without a contract. I’d been blessed over the years with mutli-season contracts, but that was rare for anyone, especially someone like me who now didn’t wish to be away from home for weeks or months anymore.

So I needed to find a steady job.

Even more so than steady work. I needed benefits.

To make it happen, I worked with a few people to transition my production resume to a skilled based resume. I even got on LinkedIn. I still don’t get that platform, BTW. And I told everyone and anyone that I wanted a job. I didn’t know what job. But a job JOB.

I wanted to clock in, clock out, guaranteed weekends off, holidays off, and most importantly health benefits! I’d work for it. I just need to secure said work.

Fortunately, I was successful on pitching myself for an office job where I would wear my best office casual and show off my large shoe collection.

From reality TV to reality check

For the first few weeks, I was sent to one office to train before beginning work at my assigned office. I watched multiple training videos and took note after note on the many acronyms of agencies that regulated the whole machine when in truth what mattered most was how I handled high volume emails.

There was no video for that.

I was trained on how to do the meat & potatoes of the job that came via those many emails - coordinating lender and seller figures to create the master statement that would play a part in someone’s happily ever after. Or investment.

Once I was sent to my assigned office, I had a coordinating counterpart who was to assist me until I was fully up to speed. Whenever she wasn’t late. Or on a break. Or another break.

You remember the montage scene in The Devil Wears Prada where Miranda drops her coat & bag on Andy’s desk and tells her a task while still in motion? That’s exactly what it felt like when given folders on incomplete files. I’d look for my Emily for help, but ultimately it was my escrow manager that saved me.

On what I forever refer to as Black Tuesday, my counterpart called off due a family emergency. It was the day after Memorial Day (paid holiday!) but it was also the end of the month, the busiest time for real estate transactions.

I hadn’t been on the job a full month.

I was getting folder after folder to balance files, requesting closing packages from lenders, making updates to files while attorneys waited at my desk, and much more. The emails didn’t wait for me to catch up.

My escrow manager moved some of her closings around and jumped in the trenches with me. I got a break to just breathe and then I pulled myself together to finish out the day.

Some say they’re surprised I came back, but I did because with a “9-5” job there’s the light at the end of the tunnel of not taking work home. At the end of the day, the day’s gotta end. No one is gonna call me at some ungodly hour about a creative change or cold feet before filming. I can go workout, go watch my shows, or go to happy hour and vent about it all until the subject changes because no one’s that interested in hearing about emails.

No matter how some crazy days may get, it can never be as bad as Black Tuesday. It can’t be.

I’ve been working remotely since the pandemic and sometimes I do miss office life. I’ve met a lot of great contacts, a few close friends, and sometimes there’d be happy hour. Now, I wear workout fits daily.

As my 9 year work anniversary approaches, I’ve found some balance between Creative Me and “9-5” Me and now Momma Me. I never fully lost me, but sometimes I let emails bury that part of me that successfully shines so I try to keep teams chats lit with GIFs, have my meme exchange buddies, and outside of that, I have this substack, a submitted final draft, and other script ideas inspired by this life of mine.

As the entertainment and journalism industries are dry with jobs, I’ve witnessed many frequently post their availability or share a career transition. Please be a friend and drop a line on what you did, what you do, and what you still do. You never know who may inspire.

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TRIGGER WARNING: Pregnancy complications and loss.

This week it is Black Maternal Health Week and I’ve been thinking that during this week so much is shared about loss and I hardly see much else. Once upon a time, even I wrote about loss during this very week for OmNoire’s blog. Yes, awareness must be raised. However, I’ve expanded my story to share the other side of loss because I think it’s also important for people to know how they may be able to have healthy pregnancies with the right team and right information.

And let’s face it - we hardly ever see Black women or women of color when it comes to happily ever after stories. The constant think pieces and posts about the newly released movie, You, Me, & Tuscany is proof in itself.

The theme of this year’s Black Maternal Health Week is “rooted in justice & joy” so I’m here to share what brought me joy to get me my happily after ever with my rainbow baby.

Please note: The details shared in my journey are not medical advice as everyone’s journey is different. However, I do advise that everyone advocate for themselves when questions feel unanswered.

When I was pregnant with Charlotte, I was all too aware of the grim statistics that Black mothers face. It was a cloud that hung over an already complicated pregnancy. It also didn’t help that I watched the documentary, Aftershock, before checking into the hospital for my extended stay. It wasn’t that I was looking for the added stress, but I needed my partner to fully understand the root of my concerns.

The loss of my first pregnancy had nothing to do with being a Black woman. I was failed by prenatal testing guidelines. However, I was open with my doctors about my concerns of the stats and how I did not wish to give birth at home out of fear. If someone wants a home birth, all the power to them. It’s just not something that I desired because I’d always worry my home wasn’t clean enough before and after.

Since I was committed to a hospital birth, here’s my what I did to stay joyous during my rainbow pregnancy:

Transparency with Doctors. It’s often suggested that Black people should have a Black OBGYN. That may be easier said than done. Availability. Insurance compatibility. Hospital compatibility. Etc. Etc.

If you’re an expectant mother with any concerns about birthing statistics, share them with your doctor regardless of race. I had a diverse medical team, but none of my doctors were Black. I didn’t so much share my concerns as much as I told them, the stats out there are raggedy and I’m trying to come home with my baby. Period.

My doctors listened with an open ear and did not try to gaslight me into ignoring the facts. In fact, I feel they may have had better communication because of how open I was with them. I had an amazing rapport with all the medical staff and have connections with a couple of them to this day. If a doctor ever makes you feel unheard in any situation, try to find a new doctor that listens. Stat.

Find a Doula or Midwife. Doula and Midwives have been trending as if they’re a new thing, but truth is they’ve been caring for pregnant people for years and years. We hired a doula for my rainbow pregnancy and I cannot recommend it enough. Not only did she help with delivery prep and home prep, but she also checked in with my partner one-on-one because dads need care, too. She also hosted monthly zoom calls with other Black mommas, pregnant and newly postpartum so we could be in community with those also in the trenches.

Doulas and Midwives are an added expense that may seem out of reach especially in this economy, but I found my doula services to be affordable out of pocket. Some insurances are now covering midwives and doula services and some doulas and midwives accept HSA/FSA payments. For those in need, Birthfund is just one of the resources out there to make services accessible to families.

Mental Health Maintenance is a Must. Whether it’s meditation, prayer, or therapy, do whatever fits you best to take care of your mental health. Poor mental health affects physical health. Hello, high blood pressure! Black women are already 60% more likely to develop preeclampsia than white women so getting ahead of any stressors may aid in keeping that away.

Recently, I shared that I used Therapy for Black Girls to find my therapist. I stayed with my therapist through pregnancy and even had a session the day before my scheduled c-section. When I wasn’t attending weekly therapy, I was meditating and doing prenatal yoga to make peace with my body and all it had been through.

Lastly, I didn’t keep company with those who operate on fear and pessimism. When I became pregnant again, we didn’t make an announcement until I was about 6 months along. It wasn’t that we were keeping a secret - I was outside! - but I knew people who may project their fears onto me and I didn’t need to hear it. Energy is contagious.

It is always my goal for my story to give someone hope, become their survival guide, and maybe even be a friend in their head when they need it most.

Please let me know how you find joy when stats are stacked against you.

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“Is there anything you’re worried that the doctor will say?,” my therapist asked.

I had been in weekly therapy for roughly a month now. At one of my postpartum appointments, Dr. F asked me about emotional support. I shared that Tony & I would be going to an upcoming Share meeting. She said that was great, but she highly suggested that I check out therapy because of the trauma I experienced.

I’d never been to therapy before, and I had nothing against it. Really. In fact, I’d sometimes suggested therapy to others. I already felt like Dr. F had my best interests at heart so when I went home I checked out Therapy for Black Girls and got to searching.

It’s not always necessary for me to have a Black provider for things. Hairstylist? Hard yes! Everything else? I can go either way. I grew up in predominately white spaces so I was fairly fluent in knowing when someone is cool and when someone is racist. I just wasn’t interested in going to a therapist who would give the tired ass Black woman compliment - “You’re so strong.”

I didn’t want to be strong. I wanted this to never have happened to me. I know people don’t mean ill will with that compliment, but many fail to realize that Black women are so strong because we’re rarely allowed the opportunity to be soft. So Therapy for Black Girls it was.

I chose my therapist because in her profile said she liked baking cupcakes. Me, too!, I thought. She also had experience in grief, but it was the cupcakes bit that sold me.

After a few sessions, she was up to speed on everything including the looming pre-conception consultation with maternal fetal medicine. We had a good rapport so I had no issues giving a blunt answer to her question.

“Is there anything you’re worried that the doctor will say?”

“That my insides are trash,” I told her.

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Preemies? Super tiny, wrinkly, angry old men.

So imagine my surprise when 26 week old Charlotte looked like me and Tony! As I lay numb in my hospital bed, whenever no one was looking, I would stretch my neck to look at her in the basket that rested on my tray table. I didn’t pick her up from the basket because I was worried I’d hurt her, deceased & all. I didn’t pick up the basket because it felt ridiculous to hold this unusually large basket on my body still numb from the spinal block. So I just kept leaning to look at her because she looked so much like us. Despite my house partying days, my brain function is good so I have an idea how DNA works, but I was just blown away at how strong our DNA was when Charlotte had been so weak.

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After learning that I’d be having an emergency c-section, Tony & I got prepared for Charlotte’s delivery, and I was as calm as I could be.

After bawling on the phone to my mom who was 8 hours away.

Multiple medical team members that would be present for the delivery came into my room to either check in or introduce themselves if we hadn’t already met. It was kinda like being at a dinner party, making sure everyone meets & greets at happy hour before the main course.

In this case, the main course being my emergency c-section.

The anesthesiologist held court with several jokes to ease the tension. By this point, I was asking everyone if I could be knocked out for the c-section. I knew the answer was no, but I felt something was especially cruel about having to be awake while being sliced open, with the added stress of a pregnancy complication. He assured me that he could give me something as soon as Charlotte was out. That helped relax me a little bit.

Tony was sent to get prepped in scrubs, and I was told that he could meet me in the operating room once they got me situated. The operating room was so blah and so bright all at the same time. I was poked, prodded, and positioned while everyone took their places.

You know how in those medical dramas the doctors call out the date, time, patient’s name and diagnosis to all medical staff present? That’s exactly how it was. I would later tell my sister that I was living my own personal episode of Grey’s Anatomy.

Awake.

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This week, it was a toss up on continuing my Road to Rainbow series (paid subscribers only - please consider upgrading) or this post. Given that The Road to Rainbow series is heavy, with a sprinkle of dark humor, I opted to reintroduce myself to those who may not have read my introductory post.

I’m Jennie, a 40 something who used to live in the Hollywood while working as a reality TV producer. I could seriously see Sunset Blvd from my balcony. I switched up my life at the oddest time (for some, not me) to slow it down in suburbia and pursue a life of stability.

The Career Shift

The road to stability has not been so simple. I had high hopes of blending in with Chicago production peeps, only to learn they’re not too welcoming to Hollywood folks. Even though I’m originally from the Chicagoland area. For a while, I maintained production work through LA contacts and eventually sought out a 9-5 job because I needed stability and benefits!

The Dating Life

In my time back in suburbia, I’ve had some nightmare dates and almost dates, and finally found a partner to do life with, but then tragedy struck with an uneventful pregnancy turned very, very eventful.

Since that loss, I’ve been very open about pregnancy loss after people shared how lost they were after loss. I also found light again with a diagnosis that led me to my rainbow baby, Madeline. In sharing my story, it’s my intention to let people know they are not alone and maybe, just maybe, something I share will help them get answers as other’s testimonies have done for me.

Please share, friends - What have enjoyed reading most?

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When Netflix dropped the trailer for Reality Check: Inside America’s Next Top Model, I was excited. I couldn’t wait to hear what the judges themselves had to say, especially with cast members’ participation. I expected maybe some scandal, a little tea, and a lot of fun because for a lot of us - on & off camera and fans & critics, ANTM was a fun show.

I had a draft post all queued up with space left to fill in my feedback on the documentary, but I scraped it before I could even finish episode one. There’s really only one series I speak negatively on and this one isn’t it so I had to sit with my feelings.

As the kids say - I was gagged.

Before I could even finish the three episodes, I was getting hit up with messages asking if I knew about this, knew about that.

Spoiler alert: I didn’t know about a lot of it.

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TRIGGER WARNING: Pregnancy complications and loss. I’ve been very open on social media about my journey. Google’s AI results have even called me an advocate. The following details have not been shared. Until now.

The only time I’ve ever stayed at the hospital is when I was born. I was always healthy, inside & out, and now I was packed to the gills with all kinds of entertainment for an eight week hospital stay. Books to read, puzzles to complete, pages to color, iPad to finally binge Severance.

“Packed to the gills.” What does that mean anyway?

On the morning of August 1st, I entered the hospital with a calming confidence. In the weeks leading up to my stay, people shared their stories of low amniotic fluid, too much amniotic fluid, delivery at this many weeks early or that many weeks late. I was beginning to think that an uneventful, 40 week pregnancy was the exception, not the norm.

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TRIGGER WARNING: Pregnancy complications and loss. I’ve been very open on social media about my journey. Google’s AI results have even called me an advocate. The following details have not been shared. Until now.

Summer 2022

While awaiting the appointment for a second opinion, I reached out to only one person, a friend from college - a Black mother of the two, who told me that if I ever had any questions I could reach out to her and she could run by her best friend who is well known OBGYN.

The statistics that haunt Black pregnant women were never too far from my mind. I never believed whatever was going on with me and my baby was because I’m Black, but moving forward, I needed to be guarded with as much information as possible to make it out alive.

Hours later, from the set of of her latest’s production, she reached out confirming some of what I had learned online - Dr. Doom should’ve offered Expectant Management.

Expectant Management is where a doctor will monitor mother and baby very closely until it’s time for delivery. If the baby reaches 23 weeks, steroid injections will be offered to give baby’s lungs a boost and may make additional steps to move forward.

Not so fun fact: doctors do not consider a baby viable until they reach 23 weeks.

I just needed to make it 3 more weeks for someone to give a damn.

The following morning, at 20 weeks 4 days, we returned to the very same office to meet with a different doctor. However, the same nurse did my intake. She made a attempt at a joke by asking if anything had changed since yesterday. She was well meaning but she had to know that my whole world had changed. My blood pressure was a little higher than the day before, but she said it was probably just nerves.

We met with Dr. T and he examined me as if it was a standard appointment, but since he was well aware of why were were there, he did share all the grim statistics of PPROM. Where he differed from Dr. Doom is that he said he never advises termination because the odds of death are not 100%, and he was very open that it’s far from 0%. To him, termination was a decision that parents have to live with, and as parents, it’s understandable for parents to want to fight for their child. He got me.

Unlike Dr. Doom, he explained that due to Charlotte’s measurements, it’s estimated that my amniotic fluid went low at 17 weeks, a key week for lung development. Without measurable amniotic fluid, the lungs may not be developed. However, we would not know until birth because lungs cannot be seen on an ultrasound. Who knew?! He was very clear that if Charlotte was to survive, we’d be looking at a lengthy NICU stay.

Since Charlotte & I were in good health, all things considered, he agreed that I could be put on Expectant Management.

The plan was to see him once a week, take my temperature daily because I was currently at risk for infection, and limit my activity to avoid excess leaks and not risk labor. I was also told that I was at risk for my umbilical cord falling out! If that were happen, we were not to call 911 and drive directly to the hospital since I lived close enough to not risk any health care delay. I was too scared to ask any further details on that.

He also explained that amniotic fluid could not be restored at this point as babies now takes over making amniotic fluid at this gestational age. It was believed that maybe I had a slow leak so I may continue to leak. My best bet was to make sure Charlotte stays on top of making fluids by me drinking lots of fluids. She wouldn’t get everything I put in, but the more I put in the better. We went home with a little bit of hope and from that day to delivery, I drank over a gallon of water a day.

I limited activity but spent a lot of time going to & from the bathroom, including the middle of the night. I would would go to the bathroom, drink more water, and alternate between doom & hope scrolling, and repeat.

On my hope scrolling, I learned that every single day I stay pregnant mattered. Charlotte continued to move, even though PPROM parents are told their babies would not move without fluid. This was good.

On doom scrolling, I would cross reference what week & day I was pregnant versus when someone delivered and what their outcome was. Life, death, complications, NICU stay, etc.

To everyone’s surprise, but mine, we made it to 23 weeks! I was even told that our status was “extraordinary.”

On our last visit with Dr. T, he advised that I go into the hospital at 26 weeks and remain there through delivery.

Eight weeks.

If all went smoothly, I would delivery via c-section at 34 weeks. He told us that he would praying for us. Tony & I found this a bold thing to say in this day & age when people can be sensitive about religion, but we were moved by his warmth.

Now that we made it to 23 weeks, the vibe completely changed and my phone was constantly ringing - calls to come in for steroid shots, calls to prepare for my hospital stay, calls to connect with the perinatal coordinator and NICU team. I hadn’t received this many calls since the 90s.

On the introductory call with the perinatal support services coordinator, she asked if I had a name for my daughter. It wasn’t until that point that I hadn’t realized what cloud was truly over me. Whenever I spoke with Dr. T, the nurses, the OBGYN team, no one referred to my baby as my daughter or even asked if she had a name. I don’t think anyone even referred to her as a baby anymore.

I burst into tears immediately.

I shared that her name is Charlotte. The friendly reply - “Do you plan to call her Charlie?”

I did.

Up until this point, I barely cried. Hardly a drip. It wasn’t that I wasn’t sad or scared, but logistically thought I couldn’t afford to lose any unnecessary fluids. I stayed as faithful and optimistic as possible, but we did cancel our baby shower. It felt all too weird to have a party when we really didn’t know what was going to happen.

Over the next few weeks, I got for the much desired steroid shots, had zoom calls with the NICU team, received gifts from family & friends for my upcoming hospital stay, had visits from my family, and prepared work for my leave of absence.

My manager asked how I felt about staying in the hospital for eight weeks. I told her that when people are doing everything they can to care for us, I’d do whatever they say and at this point, and if they told me to smoke meth to bring Charlotte home, I would. Not a total professional response, but I really meant it.

I’d do anything to bring Charlotte home.

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TRIGGER WARNING: Pregnancy complications and loss. I’ve been very open on social media about my journey. Google’s AI results have even called me an advocate. The following details have not been shared. Until now.

Summer 2022

I waited 20 weeks for this appointment. Well, technically I’ve only waited about 16 weeks because like most people, I didn’t know I was pregnant for the first 4 weeks, although I swear I felt my baby implant at the end of February. Maybe it was woo woo to believe such a thing or maybe I was that in sync with my body.

Or so I thought.

After the routine 20 week anatomy scan, the mousy maternal fetal medicine doctor tip-toed into the dim room, slowly shut the door, she took a look at the monitor and whispered - “I have some concerns.” Even with my ever changing body, one thing I knew for sure, my keen sense of hearing had not changed. I asked her to repeat herself.

She took a seat next to me, leaned in as if she was afraid to wake my tired body but now anxious mind.

“I have some concerns,” she repeated.

She handed me a small box of generic kleenex and reached for the computer mouse. She pulled up an image of my 20 week old wiggling daughter and continued to speak as slowly as she entered the room.

“Your baby is measuring small.”

“Your amniotic fluid is very low.”

“I recommend termination.”

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The Road to Rainbow is to be a paid series for a deeper dive into how I went from loss to light again. Please consider upgrading your subscription for answers to the questions that have been in my DMs and things left unsaid in my lengthy instagram captions. Please note: The details shared in my journey are not medical advice as everyone’s journey is different. However, I do advise that everyone advocate for themselves when questions feel unanswered.

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Spring 2023

For the second time in my life, I’m late.

Which means for the second time in my life, I’m pregnant.

When you’ve had a period for 30 years that’s arrives like clockwork, you know when something is afoot. I’m pregnant. And this one is gonna stick.

I stepped away from the revolving Teams notifications at my desk and I took a pregnancy test. Before the timer could go off, the test confirmed what I already knew. I’m pregnant with my rainbow baby.

I ran upstairs to catch my partner before he could go onsite for work. What a day to have to go in, I thought.

“I’m pregnant. I just took a test.”

“Did you call the doctor?”

“Not yet, but I will. I’ll take another test just to be sure, then I’ll call the doctor. I’ll keep you posted.”

We kissed goodbye and I went back to work and began guzzling water so I could take another test.

Positive.

I immediately called my hematologist’s office to share the news. They congratulated me and then asked me something to the effect of who all have I called.

“Y’all. I called y’all because you told me to call as soon as I got a positive test.”

I hadn’t even called my OBGYN’s office yet.

“You did the right thing! We’ll call in your prescription today.”

Two months ago, I had my initial appointment with a hematologist after learning that when pregnant, my blood likes to act up. It’s called something that I cannot pronounce to this very day - Antiphospholipid syndrome. Or what I refer to moving forward - APS. After playing internet doctor, it was determined I should add a hematologist to my roster in addition to my OBGYN and maternal fetal medicine doctor for a future pregnancy.

I was not messing around.

It was time to call my OBGYN’s office to set an appoint to confirm the pregnancy. When you’ve experienced pregnancy loss or complications, you become familiar with phrases & words such as “confirm the pregnancy” and “viability.” Most people would just see this as a standard appointment.

Not me.

When I called to schedule the appointment, I had to explain they would probably want to see me sooner than the average patient. There was a pause. They’re reading my chart, I thought. They see the loss.

“Oh, yes. We’ll get you in.”

Not too long after scheduling the appointment and hanging up, the doctor’s office called back.

“We’d like to reschedule your appointment. Dr. F heard that you’re coming in and would like to see you for your appointment.”

I agreed.

There was no way the doctor that delivered my angel baby was going to tell me that my rainbow baby was not confirmed.

I’m definitely having a baby.

Siri, play Stevie Wonder’s “Don’t You Worry ‘Bout A Thing.”

Dad’s got this.

On this day, I got some Me Time, if four plus hours sitting and listening, not yet watching, the Dreamgirls movie because my hair stylist’s station is just behind the tv counts as Me Time, then I got some Me Time. This time hit a bit different because Dad Duty hasn’t hit this way in awhile.

“You haven’t had a morning solo with her in a while, have you?,” I lightly asked with a smile.

I didn’t want to come off micro-managing, but I wanted to be sure not only that they were all good but that I could return home without having to pick up where I left off. Tap in? Of course. Pick up? No.

I can hear the opening & closing of drawers and it’s growing more frantic. He’s looking for something, but he’s not asking me. I close my book and turn down the tv just enough that if he does ask a question, I don’t miss it.

“I’m sorry, baby girl. I don’t see it.”

Elmo.

He’s looking for her Elmo shirt. I don’t how I know, but I do. Plus, he bought it so of course he wants to put that on her. That’s cute. I’m so close to telling him where it is, but I don’t.

We’re working on trust that if I expand my time away from home, I must trust everything will be fine. I trust that he’s gonna find the shirt. Or ask me.

“Maybe it’s in the closet.”

It is. I know because I’m in her closet all the time, but once he discovers the prized Elmo shirt, he’ll learn of other treasures in there. I hear the door slide open and she begins to chant Elmo as we often hear her do multiple times a day and I know all is right.

My biggest dilemma used to be selecting which heels paired well with happy hour. Now, my dilemma is coordinating the best day & time to leave the house solo.

Parenthood is kind of a joke.

No one prepares parents for the teamwork it entails. When a heterosexual couple shares that they’re expecting, there’s the multiple stages of responses. The excitement. The “you’ll never sleep again” warning. And then the gender roles warnings - they tell the woman all the work she’ll be doing; they tell the man how awful the woman is about to become …but leave off it may be because of the work she’s been through mentally and physically.

No one tells couples how to work together.

When the nurses make their rounds in the maternity ward, they should probably have a relationship therapist come around just as much as they do the lactation consultants. We really do just go home with a whole ass person, with just a hope and a prayer.

We’re free-styling a group project and hoping everyone does their part.

When I was pregnant with Madeline, I read about Fair Play, a book that tackles that very subject. I bookmarked it, but then deleted it and I raged - why do women have to do all the research?!?

A few weeks into my postpartum journey, I learned that there’s also a Fair Play documentary on Hulu. I was willing to commit to a watch and it was good. Now, I tell every couple to watch it as a preventative measure to be the best team they can be. We don’t have to suffer because other people suffer through their relationships and pretend it’s normal.

I only take parenting advice from people I respect. Parents that raise their children, not just have children. There’s a difference. I also take into account my village, as well. Truly good people without children can have good advice, be good caregivers, or the very least can tell me when I’m tripping. The best advice comes from people living authentic lives, even if they are a single parent or people without children.

Whenever anyone asks how parenthood is going, my answer is always the same - the best part is there something new every couple of weeks; the wildest part is there’s something new every couple of weeks.

To get through the constant transitions, my partner & I do relationship check in cards almost weekly to make sure we’re good so that we’re all good. Having a check in date also helps me check myself. If something is bugging me, but not enough to address in the moment, I sit on it for check in time. Either it’s resolved by the check in date or I can address it in a mature way then. Our teamwork with our daughter is stronger so a lot of this time is now focused on us outside of parenthood, including my time away from home.

In just a few days, we’re about to enter a whole new year. Baby girl is turning two!! The terrible twos are always talked about, and the term threenager is gaining traction, but I gotta take it one day, one week at a time.

However, I’ve heard a lot about how in this second year a lot of mothers get back to themselves. Will I dress in more than matching workout sets? Will I hit more happy hours? Will I take an overnight somewhere? Only time will tell, but I welcome any tips on how to be outside!

Have you ditched resolutions this year?

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This year is the first year that I didn’t start off with a Passion Planner because I didn’t need to make monthly lists of more things to do, at a high price point at that. However, since I’m a pen & paper type of lady, I did get a planner because if I don’t write down plans, they don’t exist. I got a Bloom planner and I like it already because it has prompts asking what gives me joy and reminders to reflect on joy, which is all everyone I know wants these says.

Sometimes when I’m in a mood, I mumble about missing my townhouse - where I lived alone for the first time. Technically, I lived alone in New York for ANTM, but I also wasn’t paying those bills while paying my LA bills and that place came furnished so it wasn’t mine but it was fun to pretend.

My first home back to suburbia was a townhouse that was nothing luxurious but it was nice enough for one to assume my parents helped pay for it . It was just right for me - walk in closet, great tub, balcony, and a freezer always stocked with Trader Joe’s trendiest treats for hosting. It felt empowering yet cozy. These days, with working at home, parenthood, and post pandemic socializing, I spend way too much time in a home that doesn’t feel fully me. This shouldn’t be too shocking. After all, it took me four years to find a coffee table.

At each anniversary, my partner likes to talk about goals we have for ourselves as a couple so we addressed my home wants and how to make it the joyous, cozy space my nervous system needs. I was heard, not entertained, so I’m about to be in my HGTV bag.

For my self imposed winter break, I returned to slower mornings because I learned that no matter how early I start the work day, it does not make it any better so I should at least start the day on a good note. Most mornings, I’ve been taking virtual yoga classes. Not only has it made my mornings better but our evenings as well as I’m not rushing to fit in a workout or anything else.

So with no road map to this year, I’m cruising on vibes and focused on cozy home and slow mornings and as always - quality time, reading writing, and hopefully back to traveling, too!

But if I see “2026 rebrand” one more time, I might scream.

And that’s just one of the things that pissed me off about this year.

There was way too much Breaking News and I don’t even watch the news anymore! Fires, floods, & more. I won’t even get into the political climate because it’s not gonna do anything. But seriously, can someone do something? Things are going down - rights, employment rates, intelligence; while everything else is going up - prices, work tasks, blood pressure. It seems like now more than ever is time to reflect on what good has come out of this year.

Let’s get into it.

This year kicked off with my baby turning one! ONE!!! I’ve gone from having a baby to a full blown third person in the house. She has her favorite toys, snacks, songs, and for some reason, she likes to wear only one sock. She’s incredibly loving and funny and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her that way.

Also in January, Hulu birthed the new series, Paradise. I’m so grateful that my toddler was just as sat for this as I was. It’s all I talked about for months. The show feels like an upcoming documentary. Episode 7 is not for the weak. There’s time to catch up before the season two premiere in February.

The theme of spring was OUTSIDE!

I connected with two different mom groups. I’ve attended meet ups, Moms Night Out, and a couple of play dates. One of my best girlfriends from LA made her return to Chicagoland and she got to meet my daughter. We hadn’t seen each other in person in years due to the pandemic, pregnancies, health issues, but made up for lost time with two visits in one year. Now, I need to work on getting out to LA again!

I also reconnected with my nephew & niece that I hadn’t seen in years. My family is truly great but it’s also very big so when contact isn’t steady, it can be easy to get lost in the shuffle. I can almost understand Home Alone. As the youngest of 7, I have so many nieces & nephews that I don’t know how many without writing them all down, but no matter who it is, when we do get together, it’s always a time.

With patio weather back, I enjoyed reading & writing outdoors every chance I got. I loved Tina Knowles Matriarch. It’s a testament that when someone chooses themselves, intentionally not selfishly, they produce great things - her hair salon, her family, her fashions, and that new hair care that people swear is witchcraft.

This summer, I got back to ME.

On the physical side, it was because I got my body back after three years of pregnancies, recovery, and breast feeding. On the mental side, there’s something about being a mother that makes me want my daughter see at my best overall. I wrapped up therapy and now left to my own devices to keep up the work.

This birthday felt transformative even though it wasn’t a milestone birthday. I hear being in your 40s will do that to a person. As a birthday gift and an investment in myself, I registered for Cara Alwill’s Literary Queens workshop, which in turn birthed this Substack.

Cara’s latest book Don’t Do Anything I Would Do was a favorite as it was incredibly real, raw, & relatable which is refreshing in a world of performative people. Authenticity was my word of the year and I stopped following accounts that weren’t and hanging out with people where I had to pretend to their pretending. This book was so good that I finished in a day.

Falling back in love with writing

In the October , I launched this Here to Make Friends substack! Over time, people have asked what I’m working on creatively and since composing replies to the day’s 50th Teams notification doesn’t count and who knows when my script will be done done, I put myself back out there online since the days of The Happy Hour Tour. This time, things get deep. Think: the conversations once the happy hour hits.

I also signed up for Luvvie’s 30 min a day writing challenge. Spoiler alert: I do not have 30 minutes a day to myself to write. I saved all the prompts though for when I need further inspiration.

This fall, I got in more family time with a visit from my niece & her wife. It’s always cute to see my baby playing with her 30 year old cousins. Weeks later, we traveled to Memphis to see lots more family where I gave a lot of thought on lessons to pass on to my daughter.

When I wasn’t busy drafting posts, I was finally catching up on The Pitt. The show originally aired around the same time as Paradise so I passed because I couldn’t take two stressful shows at once. The Emmy wins were well deserved on this one. The new season comes out next month.

My library card has been getting worked this year! I ate up Danielle Prescod’s The Rules of Fortune. One thing about me is I’m always here for rich, Black content. Gimme the mini series please.

THE WRAP UP

As the year closes out, I’m trying to find pockets of peace wherever I can. This December ain’t Decembering like past ones. Almost everyone I know is stretched too thin and worked too hard with no light at the end of the tunnel for lighter days.

Where is the winter break for adults???

I’ve barely watched any holiday movies, but I devoured Emily in Paris in about a day. I love this silly little show. I love the escapism and I miss fashion on my tv. I’ve spent the latter half of the year revisiting stuff I own. I have literally dusted off shoes and handbags that I hadn’t worn in years. I almost forget who I am. Almost.

I didn’t get much into reality series this year and I blame that on so many talented people I know are out of work or ditched the industry due to volatile job market and stagnant wages. I tried to get into Love Island but I just couldn’t commit to daily episodes but I’m into this Olandria press as if I watched the whole thing. Someone please tell me how many episodes are there?!?

The only show I was able to watch with a warm heart and hot tea was Bachelor in Paradise and it was the addition of the Goldens that did it for me. I now understand the saying - youth is wasted on the young. The young were boo hoo-ing and strategizing while the Goldens were turnt. We get one life!

In my free time, I met up with some mommas for a holiday dinner, attended an annual cookie exchange party with barre friends, and celebrated my 9th anniversary with my partner, Tony.

I don’t know what this last week of the year will hold but I hope it is gentle to us all.

I was in the middle of a conversation with someone else, glanced over his shoulder and I saw a guy I didn’t know, but still I replied, “I know all your friends.”

I wasn’t trying to be rude, but I was pretty sure that I did know most of his friends, and I was not interested in meeting any more men that weren’t single or job leads. I was actually telling this to people. Encountering men who were not ready for a serious relationship and playing games and still doing the freelance dance four years after my midwest move gave me this edge.

I almost skipped this party altogether.

I was fresh off of Married At First Sight and I was burned the eff out after working nearly 7-day production weeks for months. I had been tending more to cast member’s lives more than my own so I was just looking to chill now that the show was wrapped. Plus, the repeated party notifications asking what food people were bringing was just too much. I barely wanted to make the bed, let alone a party dish so I declined. However, when the better half of the host reached out about my response, she assured me that it was all good and I didn’t have to bring anything but myself so I changed my RSVP to yes.

In my quest to pull my life back together, I scheduled a massage for the morning of the party. The massage therapist I was seeing at the time was a bit into the woo woo - reiki, manifestations, all that stuff. She had a new line of intention settings oils and asked me to select one.

I selected love.

I’m someone who romanticizes most things in life, yet here I was now acting up hours later at this party while dressed as ringmaster. Because I was raised right, I excused myself from my catch up conversation and accepted the intro to Tony. It was short, sweet, and we both kept it moving. In fact, I don’t think we spoke again for the rest of the party.

Put it all on The Table

Days later, the Facebook invite arrived from him. He had an intriguing profile picture so I accepted.

One of my best friends insisted that we met before - because we were both in her wedding party. I did not recall. He was married at the time, but he was now divorced. That’s how blind I was to unavailable or non-career connection men, if we didn’t already know each other.

Shortly after, Tony posted some furniture that we was selling to make room for new things in his life. I spotted a glass coffee table that I wanted. In addition to not securing a steady job since my move, I had not secured a coffee table. I saw lots I liked online, but I’m not too keen on online shopping. I reached out to request a price and he told me that it’s all mine; I only had to pick it up.

Funny enough, people would always try to sell me on online dating by telling me it was just like online shopping. I don’t like online shopping. I like checking things out in person. People, too! I love online connections & all, but we don’t really know each other until we’ve shared a meal, a bottle of wine, and/or cruised around listening to jams with the windows down, music up.

But back to the table…

When I arrived, I double parked with my hazards on. What I thought would be a 10 minute exchange ended up being two hours of talking that turned into daily DMs.

By the way, I sage that table once I got it home. I’m into the woo woo, too.

As we neared the holidays, he asked of my plans, I told him that I always wanted to go the Christkindle Market. Within minutes, he dropped some proposed dates & times and asked my availability. A man with a plan!

Now, I wasn’t too sure if this was a date or not, but I was open if it was one. Our chats flowed easily, and I liked that since being friends with a partner is half the battle, in my opinion. When I asked his plans for the holidays, he told me that he was excited to go on a date with a girl that he recently met.

Date confirmed

On December 17th, nine years ago today, we went on an afternoon date to that market. Then, we had a bite to eat and festive drinks at a nearby restaurant. Since the date was going so well, we decided to attend an event together we were both invited to due to all of our mutual friends. What a way to make a debut!

The evening ended with a PG hang back at my place, eating Portillo’s and watching carpool karaoke. The date was so long that it called for two meals. As we got to know each other further, I busted out the Married At First Sight questionnaire to go deeper. Even though, the show is now incredibly messy, the questionnaire is not and could make some solid couples based on that alone. Was I doing too much with that? Probably. But I was at the point in my life where I didn’t like my time wasted - romantically or otherwise. After sitting through matchmaking interviews where majority of men shared they do not like an extrovert woman, I needed to know what I was working with in my reality. Fortunately, he was good sport.

Use your words

I almost wish I could say there was was this one magical moment that did it for me like in the movies, but it’s been communication that keeps us going. I once had a girlfriend share that she wishes men understand that it takes more than being providers these days because we contribute, too; they just need to be nice. Sadly, too many would rather listen to podcast bros battle than have engaging conversations with a female partner. Not on my watch!

After 9 years together, 7 years cohabitating, 1 home, 1 cat, an angel baby, and a rainbow baby, we’re still here, talking through what makes us tick and what ticks us off because all good relationships require open communication.

Oh, and that coffee table is still with us.