My birthday was this weekend. Within two days, I cried in front of customers at my second job and the next day, cancelled my 25th birthday party. Real, ugly panic attacks with snot and everything. Considered bringing a brown paper bag while running errands.

I felt like a loser - I felt like a crybaby. I felt that I was still the person I was in middle school.

When I was in middle school, I realized I had this strange, godlike power. Akin to a superhero. I had the ability to command things into existence by thinking of them, but this great power, came with great and crushing responsibility. If I thought about my grandpa dying, my brother’s plane crashing, or my friend’s basketball team losing, it would happen. If other people said these things aloud with the authority and honesty I did, I’d roll my eyes at the audacity of it.

I was being completely rational. I was a magical 12 year old.

However, I was not magical enough to think about good things happening. Those thoughts were out of my control. Horrible things, were my thing. But through some divine intercession, I discovered there were ways I could prevent my all controlling mind from allowing these awful thoughts to become awful realities. They were rational things like washing my hands until they cracked, praying a Rosary 5 times a day, confessing some random “sin” to my mom to equalize it, or maybe hitting my hand against my countertop until I stopped thinking about something.

Super cool and normal part of being a middle school girl. I thought I was doing the world a favor.

I remember hearing the term “obsessive compulsive” and looking it up on my iPod. It was overwhelming - oh my god, I am not insane. I wasn’t the first person to have these thoughts.

The uncovering of a possible diagnosis for the thoughts that had been plaguing me since I remember - relieving but scary.

It also struck me that I was not a magical 12 year old deity who was controlling the lives of others in my brain. (LAME!) And for once, maybe the bad things in my life didn’t happen because I caused them by being born. Which is a shocking realization for someone who was born 2 weeks before 9/11. I felt that I could breathe, my birth did not knock over the dominoes that led to that.

Obviously a label doesn’t always fix everything. I would confess things to my friends to absolve me of my sins, cry during church, pick my nails til I couldn’t stop bleeding at my sorority’s initiation, and discovered that I could never watch a horror movie again. Watching Hereditary on my friend’s couch fueled a lot of intrusive thoughts which has barred me from most scary movies.

These intrusive thoughts never come when you want them to. It’d be a frat party during my freshman year of college, and I’d be talking to some boy. Maybe he’d try to initiate something, but as soon as that would start I would envision that little girl getting decapitated. Doesn’t really make you act normal around boys.

OCD makes it really hard to maintain healthy relationships. With like, everything. My relationships with religion, food, my friends, my body, my own interests, are cloudy. In my brain, there is a thick layer of fog preventing me from reaching back and seeing my own, genuine thoughts. I can’t be comfortable with thinking.

After about thirteen years, rotating diagnoses, three therapists, and a lot of medication, I feel that I can actually fathom what it is. I was listening to The Rest is Science (a fun little science podcast) and they were talking about how human brains work from an evolutionary perspective. Your little prehistoric lizard brain is trying to keep you alive. Lizards don’t think rationally like humans - but they think about if they have food, water, and safety. They just want to be sitting on a warm rock.

My brain isn’t sending me these signals because it hates me, it’s trying to protect me. Trying to get me to find a warm rock. But it’s horrible at that.

In the same way a toddler tries to help by pouring a gallon of milk onto the floor instead of into a cup, my brain sends me thousands of thoughts in a minute about everything that could go wrong, and the weird ways that could possibly solve it. I decide to keep a few of them, not consciously, and those are what become my compulsions. My brain is trying to make sure I am safe from imminent danger, but I just have been trying to lock my front door for fifteen minutes.

OCD feels like a dirty thing to say. I physically have trouble saying it aloud. I can tell people that I’m left handed, that I’m anxious, that I don’t have an appendix, that my period cramps make me fall to the ground. I can tell people that I am inpatient and I sometimes struggle with my speech. I can talk about bad days and embarrassing moments and it doesn’t take much for me to overshare. I can explain that I had a panic attack. But I cannot force it out of my mouth to say “I have OCD.” That is crossing a line. Because it’s so ugly for me. It’s so ugly and difficult and complex and it changes as I change.

It’s a life-destroying disorder that sounds like a fun personality trait. It makes me feel really lonely. But, it’s motivating to me because putting these words down means I am one step closer to saying some of this aloud.

It’s obvious to me that this isn’t something I can cure myself of. OCD changes as I change as a person. I am not going to have my birthday, blow out a candle, and be absolved of the last 13 years of difficulty. But I hope this reaches one person who can feel a little more brave, a little more heard.

We all hear the yada yada mental health matters slogans. We see the stickers and the shirts and the celebrities post. But here’s me! Life can be really hard. The way I am getting through it is trying to understand my lizard brain more. May we share the compassion we give to others to our lizard brains, just trying to find a safe, warm rock.

My birthday reminded me off the horrible parts of this disorder. I got through it though. So I know I can handle it, even though it’s scary, intrusive, and unpredictable. And if I cry while waitressing, who cares. I’ll keep it up.

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Sometimes I go on Facebook, and wish that an astroid would just wipe out humanity. To my dismay, I have not been gifted the power of willing things into existence, in such a cosmic way (yet).

When we go through these trying times we want to feel part of something. Connected to a whole. We band together with others who are feeling unwanted, overlooked, or afraid.

This is a survival mechanism. It doesn’t take much knowledge of anthropology to know that humans are social - we need a village. Things get difficult and those who have more power than the whole of the village become the enemy - institutions, politicians, celebrities, even educators. We want to distrust those who could thrust us into more despair.

This distrust in society is normal and nothing to be ashamed of. I have noticed, however, that with this cloud of despair and distress that we fear creativity. Not in the way that we scream when we see a piece of art or break down in tears when listening to avant-garde music. In a more restrictive way - the way that we do not want to leave the status quo. Again, humans need a village. We want to do what makes us feel safe, what we have concrete memories of, things that we know we can do. We are tired of uncertainty. Creativity often leads to this uncertain feeling.

Who can blame us? When the world seems to be crumbling, why would you want to leave the path that has treated you in a way that has allowed for social cohesion and survival? Comfortability takes priority, it eases our anxiety.

Once we get stuck in this cycle of comfortability, we stick with what we know. That’s why we love a remake of a childhood movie or comfort watching something. Why would I watch a new show when I can rewatch a show and not feel any stress for an hour? That’s why we want to rent an apartment that looks just like all of our friends’ rentals. It’s why we delve into AI to understand something more because everyone is doing it. This cycle makes us miserable. Even while it makes us feel part of society, with common interests and knowledge, we stop searching, Passions crumble and days become monotonous.

Humans want to share and create and discuss and imagine and innovate! We don’t want to be sedentary, no matter how conditioned we are to it. Every human has such a unique personality and struggles that shape who we are, and that uniqueness directly contributes to creations. Every person has so much potential that provides meaning, even if it is only something that the individual understands.

But, it’s uncomfortable and frustrating. Unlike watching a recreation of a movie you saw when you were a child. It’s not comfortable like deciding your living room decor based on a Pinterest board from some corporate apartment complex. It’s hard - it can’t be solved with a ChatGPT prompt or the Google Gemini response. The more we indulge into this the more miserable we become. Your brain isn’t working as hard and you begin lose intrinsic motivation. Things become the same and this moves us into an anxious, unhappy state. We aren’t living the lives we wanted.

So as the world’s smartest person, I would like to share my thoughts on solving this creativity crisis.

Find at least one way to be creative today. You don’t need to rewire your whole life or change society in 15 minutes. Go make a friendship bracelet. Reset up your room. Buy one new piece of clothing at the Goodwill. Journal for 10 minutes. Talk to yourself. Doodle. Add an extra spice to your dinner. Write your homework in cursive.

Creativity is what makes us human, and we are so quickly losing it in today’s fast world. So, find something easy that gives more purpose to your life. No matter how small. If it’s embarrassing, do it in your home until you’re brave enough to do it in front of others. Be creative with your time and problem solving.

Okay - you found a hobby, you made a goal, you took a risk. Step one is done. But then you realize, you kinda suck. And it’s really hard and time consuming and exhausting. Sometimes I write, cry, and delete it all. Slamming my laptop shut type of mad. Staring at my stagnant subscriber count until I fall asleep. Other times, I can handle the frustration productively. If it’s more tactile work, like collaging or drawing, I usually don’t mind when it’s difficult (usually because I have lower expectations).

Frustration is like, my least favorite feeling in the world. When I’m frustrated, I physically feel it in my hands and my arms. My muscles tense and I get tunnel vision. I have to remind myself to breathe and separate myself from whatever is hurting me.

Even while I hate it, I found I would much rather be frustrated at something creative than myself. I would rather face uncomfortably hard moments while writing an article about having OCD over having active compulsions. Usually I have both, but it feels more productive using it as a hobby. I can’t solve my problems in a few hours, but I can write about it.

Creativity lets us keep a safer boundary with our hardships. I feel that when I post about the difficulties I face, it has to be slightly improving the situation. Not solving it - but letting myself be more open. I have been more honest about OCD and fear of the future to random strangers on Substack than my therapist (maybe I should work on that part). We can get closer to what scares us, while developing solutions.

The world is a shit show at any given time. When one person is having the best day of their life, someone else is living their nightmare. People are oppressed and overwhelmed and mistreated everyday. Creativity is a voice, it’s a tangible activism. We may not have money or presence, but we all have the opportunity to make something.

I’m not going to lie and pretend that hiding behind my keyboard and writing and essay where I tiptoe around the real taboo subjects is saving the world. It’s not! But it’s saving myself. I could be miserable and lay and just consume and consume and consume. And I do a fair share of that. But dedicating a bit of my time to creating helps me feel like there’s some worth in me. Even when things are dire.

Rewatching the same piece of media and using some AI bot to solve some issue is not going to make you love your life. Copying an aesthetic from a celebrity (or someone cool in your town) might make you feel more confident, but it’s not going to save you.

You are not inventing happiness when you are regurgitating what is easy.

Your phone is not going to chew up bullshit that you scroll through all day, and spit it back in your mouth as nourishing intellectual meal. Your phone is not a mama bird. It is simply a device.

But - social media can be a way for you to share what you’ve created. When you try to be original, even if someone else has thought of the same thing. That means you both were trying! Celebrate it!

My favorite show isn’t a prescription drug to cure anxiety. The live action remake of my favorite movie isn’t going to make me feel more alive. Shopping in the home decor section of Target isn’t helping me feel part of the world. But relating with someone over a creative process or a quirky interest will.

So go out! Do something creative. Even if it’s small. Especially if it’s small! That’s how we find joy. Experiment with your latte! Put together your two favorite articles of clothes even if they clash. Add your own interpretative dance moves at karaoke.

Humans are made to make. We are social animals who want to help develop our world. It is so saddening how so many inhabitants of this planet don’t want to leave it a better place than they found it. We can though, when you start to create.

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if u made it to here, thank you so much!! i appreciate you and would love to connect!

Sociology is a soft science that studies how individuals behave in groups and how those groups shape individual behavior. I don’t love the term “soft” because it leans into the idea that sciences that are harder to isolate are weaker or less important. I minored in sociology in college and have always had a deep curiosity for the concepts. Looking at the world through a sociological lens has changed my life in a variety of ways and helped me become a more engaged and aware community member.

It also makes watching Vanderpump Rules a hell of a lot more interesting. I was on Season 5 as I began this article's journey. (I am scheduling it and about halfway through Season 7). I am accompanied by a sociology textbook I drunk ordered. I have read many sociology textbooks and journals throughout college, but I bought this book to refresh my memory and to inspire more free, curiosity-driven learning that you don’t always have the time for in college.

Sociology, put simply, is the study of how humans interact with society, and how society changes their behavior. Reality TV is defined as “ a genre characterized by unscripted programming that often features real people in various competitive or observational scenarios” (Cooper, Patrick G). Vanderpump Rules follows a group of young adults in LA, trying to make it as actors, models, and singers. While they are pursuing their dreams, they work at SUR (Sexy Unique Restaurant) owned by Lisa Vanderpump, who was on Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.

The show focuses on the restaurant in the beginning seasons, but eventually begins to follow more of the cast’s personal lives as it progresses. It highlights dynamic character changes, and also is a snapshot of the 2010s. Sociology is founded on principles that emerged at the time of the Age of Enlightenment, and was also strongly influenced by the French and Industrial Revolutions. It is a fairly new science, which makes it perfect to analyze a show that is still airing and captures a generation that underwent a technological revolution.

In my Sociology 101 course, I was introduced to macro and micro levels of thinking. If you are looking at something from the macro level, you are taking a perspective where you are viewing society as a whole, and analyzing “the institutions that it is constituted of.” A micro level focuses on the individual experiences.

The city of Los Angeles is my “macro” level. Obviously, this show has a great impact on pop culture, but for specifics, I am imagining the Vanderpump Rules as a bubble that we are researching. The “micro” level is the individual characters who have been employed by Lisa Vanderpump at one point. I am viewing VPR as a shrunken society, where the regular sociological traits and principles are exaggerated with the cast.

It is futile to explain sociology through the means of VPR without mentioning the three great thinkers of sociology: Marx, Durkheim, and Weber. Their ways of thinking intersect with my enjoyment of the show, and how I reason the character’s decisions.

Vandermarxism is the intersection of Marx’s ideas that I am still trying to learn and Lisa Vanderpump’s social experiment of SUR. His ideas have some tie to the French Revolution, and revolve around material circumstances and class divides. SUR is my French Revolution.

When I think of the ruling, capitalist class that Marx references of, it is hard to decide if it is more appropriate to assign that label to the Vanderpump family, or to the characters that are more successful in that season. To me, Lisa almost represents a “God” in this society - someone who decides their fates and is above the struggles they face. This is proven by her refusal to get involved in some drama, as she cannot control the cast’s decisions outside of SUR. However, when she does get involved, her divine intervention is not to be ignored. I view the ruling class as whoever is the most popular character at the time. In the first season, Stassi Schroeder represents the ruling class - her decisions affect those “below” her.

Who is below her? The proletariat, or working class. The workers or friends of SUR who are not as popular as their coworkers and/or by audience standards. And while they could band together to bring down the ruling class, this would be incredibly difficult, for social and entertainment purposes. SUR represents the opposite of a classless society, and highlights the severity of separating the social “rich” from the social “poor.” Social capital is their version of money.

If all the workers of SUR worked on developing a strong connection, they could overthrow the ruling class. However, due to reality TV’s nature of evolving social capital and changes in the power structure, one person does not rule for long enough.

In the later seasons, this class divide isn’t as prominent, as they all fall into the worker class. It is almost the opposite of a classless society, where a group overthrew the powerful. Instead, they all hated each other so much that nobody was truly part of the ruling class. They were all equal in craziness.

As VPR grew in complexity and branched outside of the restaurant, we are reminded that we need to focus on society (LA) as a whole in how it affects the decision-making and reality of these characters.

After season 4, most of the show happens outside of SUR. I think of weddings, trips, TomTom opening up, and the cast grows. The cast grows up and out of their original, wannabe superstar personalities and into “real” people. Few of them want the career they lusted for at the beginning of the series as they realize that Reality TV is making them a household name.

However, the lack of a common theme holding them together is great for TV. As they have less in common, they have less to lose. The episodes lack a bit of purpose, but without scenes of them waitressing it is replaced with scenes of them fighting in Mexico, gossiping while getting a Brazilian wax, or at another bar.

Something that I think is truly wonderful about watching reality TV is that it is such an exaggerated view of society. It’s as if you put modern living, culture, and consumerism under a microscope. It’s like using physical manipulatives in math class as a child. Instead of using blocks and counting bears, we’re using Tequila Katie and DJ James “The White Kanye” Kennedy to understand larger issues that affect us all. We can look at the interrelated parts of society in a more palatable way than looking at statistics or research

Vanderpump Rules is an amazing snapshot of the information age, as our devices determine how we navigate our lives. It’s interesting to watch how, when new forms of social media arise (specifically Snapchat), it affects the relations between the cast. Vanderpump Rules also asks an interesting question of what we can define as the “haves” and “have-nots” in society. The characters are glamorous and seem to be able to afford luxurious vacations, but have no solid financial stability. I particularly think of the scene when Katie and Tom Schwartz are signing a prenuptial agreement, when they acknowledge that they don’t really have enough money to make it relevant.

According to a Reddit post, Ariana, Stassi, Raquel, and Scheana all went to college. However, their level of education doesn’t really seem to separate them from the success of their classmates. It’s reflective of the job market today and the constant bickerings of what will help someone be successful and what should shape someone’s life for success. It seems to point to the fact that connections, luck, and a combination of charisma and looks are more desirable than intelligence.

How much of their success is built around being privileged (primarily white and straight), and how much is because of grit? The answer is pretty obvious - mainly thinking of how much they get away with (…Jax getting arrested in Hawaii). Is this reflective of the larger world? Of course. It’s the prime example of how VPR represents great sociological concepts.

One of my favorite aspects to pick apart with this show is the different subcultures and identities that each character fits into. Sticking with the theme that Lisa is a higher power and LA is society as a whole, we can fit the idea that those who consume “high culture” are models, actors, and wealthy people. The high culture sets a standard that fame, money, and gossip are what push society. It seems beneficial to sacrifice your own beliefs to join the “in” groups. The characters on Vanderpump Rules are doing this constantly. Cultural identity has gone through an incredible shift in the last few centuries, as globalization and technology have allowed “individuals to blend influences from multiple cultures and redefine their sense of self” (https://www.ebsco.com/research-starters/political-science/cultural-identity).

This show is an amazing case study of that, as social media, auditions, fame, and public infamy shape these people in ways that have never been seen before in modern society. LA subcultures, relationships, the political climate, drugs and alcohol, and the chance at 15 minutes of fame? Fantastic. Like, Laura-Leigh and Jax? The cultural intersections that occur within that plot line deserve an essay of its own.

Whoever they determine to be the integral member of society, they bend to their will. They want to be liked by the audience and their co-stars. I specifically think of Scheana, shifting opinions and ideas inconsistently throughout the seasons. Her loyalty falters, but it allows her to steal screen time.

I am no better than Scheana, though! We all want to be part of the culture that dictates the norms. Again, VPR is just an exaggerated tale of society. We all will sacrifice individual motivations to fit what appears to be the wisest track. Even when it is embarrassing. At this point in writing, Brittany found out that Jax had cheated on her with Faith. She played the audio recording at the housewarming party. I am pretty good at avoiding spoilers, but I do know that they eventually get married and have a child. Could her forgiveness of Jax just be an attempt at staying in the “haves”?

I feel as if the moral compasses of these characters are truly unpredictable, which makes the show so successful. These warped views of morals created by the skewed cultural identities of the cast make a wonderful show to binge-watch.

Consumption is, undoubtedly, what motivates American society. We are not immune to the vicious cycle that is work - buy - work - buy - work - buy. We are addicted to the consistency of this cycle. The one way out of this revolution is to find passion in your work, find some sense of community and meaning. It won’t save you, but it will make life enjoyable.

At SUR, do these people like their jobs? Do they seem to enjoy going to work? Is this who they want to surround themselves with? Sometimes, it’s an outstanding yes (Katie and Tom’s wedding), and sometimes it’s an obvious no (most days lol). And while throughout the show these series disperse from the restaurant as its central location, the occupations of the members drive the show.

These waitresses, hostesses, bartenders, and busboys want to be famous. They want success in a creative career. As the show progresses, you can see that they are realizing that being a reality TV star is the most attainable way to hold onto their dream. So, they do it. We all know that reality TV is scripted to an extent, and that the audience and producers have a large influence on what we see. But when in a unique situation like VPR, this could be their dream job. This is what will make them successful or set them up for a new life. Not going to more auditions or recording studios, but throwing a drink in someone’s face.

If we are kissing up to our superior at work or staying late, we are performing in the same way Tom Sandoval does when he cries on camera. It is difficult to compare our work and their work, but we are trapped in the same cycle. They just have a more public and dramatic way to find some sense of salvation in their jobs.

We are not that different from the cast and characters of VPR, except that most of us operate on a smaller scale. Kristen Doute is pretty crazy in some episodes - but I sometimes can find a bit of myself with her. Tom Schwartz reminds me of all of the frat boys I met in college. They all deal with the families, friendships, and relationships we deal with, but on a magnified level.

I feel that watching this show can actually have great effects on how we view social mishaps and faux pas in our daily lives, because we can probably find an episode of VPR that reminds us of our own personal situations, and use their outcomes as an “worst case scenario” of what our reactions may cause. It is a social experiment in a box with a reality TV bow.

I’ve written articles regarding mental health. A lot of things that I have struggled with in the past are funny to talk about now. A great example is how, when I was in third grade, my OCD convinced me that I was responsible for 9/11 (I was 20 days old). Depression is also difficult for me. And again, I’ve posted about it, I talk about it openly, I joke about it, but it is an aspect of my life that is out of control.

Being depressed is weird. I can rationalize it with my friends by having them imagine a bad hangover. But not hungover enough to vomit or cancel all plans, just hungover enough where it’s lingering all day. You feel fine, and all of a sudden you have to lie down on cold tile. Or you're working a double shift, and you can’t remember how to clock in, even though you’ve worked somewhere for 2 years. It’s not hard to verbalize that you’re hungover, but it’s frustrating that other people don’t understand how horrible you feel because you’re still going through the basic actions of the day. You look fine-ish.

Replace “hungover” with “depressed.” Keep the rest the same.

The first time I remember feeling depressed, I was 7 years old. My name is Lily, and I was crying because I didn’t know why I had a happy-sounding name if I was so sad all the time. I have no idea what emotions I was specifically feeling, but I remember saying that and sobbing to my mom.

Blah, blah, blah. High school and college were tough at times. They were wonderful at times. I had lovely friends and was pretty good at school. I found things I was passionate about, and my family was supportive. I was also incredibly impulsive and did not think critically about any of my decisions because I didn’t think that anything mattered, due to depression. I would wake up and enjoy the day until about 6 pm, when I would start to get stuck with scary, horrible thoughts that derailed my choices and self-esteem. I would fall asleep miserable and repeat the cycle the next day,

The worst depression I have had is whatever the hell you get curse I was stricken with when I turned 23. Maybe that Blink-182 song really manifested into my life, because goddamn, nobody (or yourself, at least) likes you when you’re 23.

Many factors contribute to someone’s mental health and how they handle it. While I may have felt “worse” or dealt with harder situations in the past, I feel that the older I get, the yuckier it feels. I tried to land on a reason why, and I found my personal explanation.

I finally have autonomy over most of my decisions and choices in life, yet I am still depressed. WHAT!? That isn’t what’s supposed to happen! I thought that changing environments, finding your passions, and making better decisions cured you of all ailments.

What do you mean, I still need to be on antidepressants, and that I probably will need them for a while (or perhaps the rest of my life)? That’s not true - I ran 7 miles yesterday! I couldn’t possibly be isolating myself - I’m getting my master’s! Have I even eaten a real meal in two weeks? I must have, I grocery shop at Trader Joe’s! And I posted it all on social media, so it must be 100% accurate that I am living a dream.

I can’t be depressed! I like pilates and matcha!

I am not a tragic character; I am just a depressed young adult. I want to find a reason for every scary thought I can’t control. I want to justify spending a day in bed in the darkness. But that doesn’t happen. People have battles with mental health in all corners of society. I am a very lucky person in many ways, but I still struggle.

We are so desperate to search for meaning with mental health and feel that we need to justify asking for help. We have to struggle in the “right” way and reach a specific point. Nothing too concerning, but making sure not to be an attention seeker. We want to make our depression, our anxieties, our fears, and make it digestable for ourselves.

There’s no right way to “have” mental health. There’s no magical cure for a diagnosis. Sometimes, our brains just suck. Mine sucks a lot! I feel that I have two brains sometimes, and my logical brain is judging the hell out of my depression brain. I’ve gotten better at listening to my logical brain, luckily (with help).

It’s taught me that I am going to wake up some days and hate my life. Out of those days, some will be very rewarding and restful, and sometimes I am going to be the worst version of myself. And no matter if I took a walk or if I cried for 8 hours and wiped snot on my blanket, I’m still handling it. I am attempting to keep myself going, which is so hard.

Don’t discredit yourself. No matter the situation. We all want to justify our thinking. It’s human nature. Even if you moved to your dream city and go to pilates five times a week, you still might struggle with finding motivation every day. Or maybe you hate your job, things are hard, and you feel lonely. You could be in the middle. Sometimes you can’t “outsituation” your mental health.

It’s so vital to remind ourselves that sometimes we can’t control our thoughts - and we need to go one step at a time. We love to play a comparison game with ourselves and others, but now we all have to stick together.

For anyone in the USA struggling, here are some resources:

https://www.cdc.gov/mental-health/caring/index.html

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I celebrated my good friend’s graduation at a bar. I skipped home afterwards and watched Juno on my couch, and ate an entire bag of Trader Joe’s Takis. I have seen Juno countless times before, have the soundtrack memorized, and know the twists and turns. But this time, I ugly cried. Disgusting, snotty, sobs.

Some movies should be critically acclaimed and worshipped with accolades from the stars, and some deserve recognition through having 20-year-old girls cry to it on a Friday night alone.

Juno is of the latter group. I originally loved it for Michael Cera (still do), the quirky fashion, and funny quips. I love Jason Bateman (even though he’s evil in this film) and Elliot Page. On my rewatch, I appreciated what makes this a special movie to me. The top contenders were the soundtrack, unhealthy relationships, positive female role models, parents, and the stark portrayal of teenage life.

The Soundtrack

Easy to start with. Genuinely lifechanging. It is such a beautiful array of songs. I remember driving home with a friend who was far cooler than I was after a theatre rehearsal in high school, and playing Kimya Dawson. I loved the punchy lyrics ten years ago, and love them today. The songs remind me of people I loved in high school, people I love today, and people whom I will love in my future. It’s so hopeful, just like the conclusion of the movie.

These are songs I listen to on rainy days when I desperately need to cheer up. On the contrary, these are songs I listen to when I feel in love. This soundtrack watched me grow up.

Unhealthy Relationships

I wanted to throw up in my mouth when I watched Jason Bateman’s character start slow dancing with a very pregnant Juno MacGuff. I was aghast, even though I’ve seen it a thousand times. It’s uncomfortable - what type of freak sees a pregnant teenager with a lot of emotions and starts to prey on her? Unfortunately, these freaks are real. The older I get, the worse it becomes.

When you’re 16, and a boy gives you attention, you desperately want it to be a good thing. Even if you know deep down that it’s bad. You make excuses about how this man recognizes you as an individual. I may not have been swooned over by a man-child who thinks they’re better than everyone for knowing what a guitar is, but we’ve all been in an unhealthy relationship.

I thought I was playing the cards.

I wasn’t. There are people and incidents in my life where I was totally taken advantage of. And you don’t even seem to mind because you want to believe that it’s the right thing. You justify it in the strangest ways. It’s gross and awkward to watch them on the screen, but even worse when you realize that most girls relate.

Each story has different villains. It’s so ingrained in our patriarchal society that the men are probably in the right, and women need to adjust their behavior. We need to advocate for those being taken advantage of. Watching someone who is playing someone so worldly but naive get conned by someone who is supposed to represent a trustworthy future is terrifying.

But it’s so real. No matter what way you look at it. It is so hard to stomach that you are not always smart enough to see what is wrong for you. And you are still probably not smart enough to catch every grievance, even years later.

When Juno gets upset with her stepmom, Brenda, for voicing concerns about her relationship with Mark Loring, I could close my eyes and imagine my friends in homeroom in high school telling me that I shouldn’t be taking chances with a boy, but I (incorrectly) felt in my gut that it was right.

Female Role Models

These women were emotional, creative, goofy, and themselves. They were unique and showed that even with a small ensemble of a cast, women need each other. Bren is probably the MVP of all of Y2K moms. My favorite scene is her sewing Juno’s jeans with extra fabric so they fit her throughout her pregnancy. She is not an evil stepmother, she is not overbearing, she is not slut shaming her stepdaughter, she is not living out some weird fantasy. She just cares about her daughter. The practicality of her is inspiring. I hope I can be a mom like her.

Leah and Juno’s relationship is also a favorite. I love when they gossip as if there isn’t a giant, pregnant stomach there. They are still worried about boys and silly high school dilemmas. It shows the innocence you still carry with you during high school, no matter the “real” world around you. You can be dealing with such heavy things, but a friend makes it light.

The best girlfriends in life really don’t give a rat’s ass what the situation is. Leah was a true friend. She was a cute cheerleader hanging out with someone who was cast out of high school life. She didn’t care. She got lunch with her and didn’t acknowledge Juno’s full plate.

Vanessa Loring is another inspirational character. The scene at the end is what makes me ugly cry when she is holding Juno’s baby. It is so refreshing to see a woman have a happy, independent ending. Even if you cannot relate to her story, it feels relieving in a world that can be so scary and unfair.

I hope to be a mom like Bren and Vanessa, and I hope I can be a friend like Leah. I don’t think I always have, or will always be, but I love their dynamic. All you can do is stick around for your friends, and we see that.

Being a teenager

It sucks, right? Like if I could vacuum out the ages of 13-19 from my life, I would. It is awkward and uncomfortable. I love Michael Cera’s bedroom being reminiscent of a first grader’s, and talking to his pregnant girlfriend. When she has to waddle up to him. The dialogue is so cringy, wonderful, and accurate.

I love watching Juno and Leah tell her parents she’s pregnant, but also comparing it to expulsion and drugs to justify it. Juno trying to navigate being a teenager is, inevitably, difficult. But it was for all of us, teen pregnancy or not. You have real, challenging issues as a teen, but they’re not handled well because you don’t have the skills yet to handle them. Which is ok - even though the world doesn’t want you to believe that. You can make big mistakes. You’re just learning.

Love

I love a good rom-com. I love cute, unrealistic stories. And there’s so much love in this movie. Friendships, family, and a nerdy boy who doesn’t really know what he’s doing.

I sobbed because it was just so happy at the end. Nothing is ideal, but everything is perfect. I like to be a little naive and think that maybe my life is filled with Juno moments. No teenage pregnancies, but ending up with the right people in your life, even when life gets ugly. Things work out.

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I am no TV critic, but I am on some emotional journey due to the series ending of Euphoria that I didn’t really intend to be. I started watching Euphoria in my twin bed in my childhood bedroom, with headphones on and covering my mouth to hide the gasps from Season 1.

The ending of Euphoria felt shocking. I am all for Ali (Coleman Domingo is truly fantastic) saving the day and Bishop and Maddy walking out together with Snowflake. However, there are a lot of qualms I am having over the abrupt ending to such a generation-defining show.

In my senior year of college, I watched all of Shameless. It tackled some of the same topics of Euphoria in that same graphic, shocking manner. Both shows took the line and crossed it. And then they went further.

The earliest seasons of Shameless are some of my favorite TV shows I have ever watched. In the same way that Euphoria tackles addiction, Shameless shows poverty. Obviously, they are dramaticized and do not always represent these issues in productive ways, but they feel real.

But both of these shows had an ending that felt predictable from a cultural perspective.

Relatable Characters Decaying

I wish everyone could just have empathy for people who are dealing with the plights of these characters. In our world today, however, it is easier to convince people to be more generous in real life by portraying it with a celebrity. I felt that Fiona was a great protagonist, and once she left, it was hard to carry on as a fan.

I don’t even know if I finished Shameless. I can’t tell you what happens in the final few seasons - especially when COVID-19 became an integral part of the plot. The worst part for me was the destruction of Jeremy Allen White’s character, Lip.

I loved him. He was smart and creative, but didn’t always exercise these traits properly. He seemed to have somewhat of a good head on his shoulder, and I felt that maybe, just maybe, he could make it out of that house and start anew. After he dropped out of college, he still seemed to have it somewhat together. His character decayed over the next few seasons, and I felt that this inquisitive and passionate character was… unintelligent? I didn’t recognize him. His book and street smarts felt lost.

I felt the same with other characters. Debby became public enemy #1. Her character changes were not necessary for the movement of the plot, in my opinion. The show became a mockery of itself. It was a parody of the earlier seasons. It was hard to finish, so I didn’t. Even before I finished, I would have to fast-forward through some side plots because they made me cringe so hard.

In Euphoria, I loved Lexi (specifically her relationship with Fez) and Jules. But by the end? I didn’t know anything else about them. I wanted to care, but I couldn’t. Just in the way that I wanted to care about the end of Shameless. I want to feel more outrage over the lack of Jules in season 3, but maybe I am relieved that she didn’t play as large a part.

The Fall of Nate Jacobs

I am not comparing Nate Jacobs and Lip Gallagher. They are very different dynamic characters, both representing inflated versions of negative traits we all carry. By the end of Shameless, I felt that Lip was not worth rooting for. Lip Gallagher was my favorite character, and I had tried to do mental gymnastics, but I lost my enthusiasm.

Nate Jacobs was NOT someone I rooted for. He was horrible. Jacob Elordi did a phenomenal job of making the most vile characters of the decade. We weren’t rooting for him - but we were praying for his downfall. And I guess he got it through a snake bite and being stuck in a coffin.

In the first two seasons, he is deranged. He is evil and cunning and does not care who he has to step on. He is absolutely despicable, and it is frustrating watching him miraculously get away with so much. The audience wanted him to get his comeuppance - and I guess he did? He was just too whiny for me to handle by the end.

It didn’t feel satisfying. I felt so detached from him as a character that I couldn’t care less. What happened to the aggressive and sneaky Nate? I would’ve loved for him to get his world rocked if he were actually the same character from the first two seasons. I just felt detached. It was the opposite end of the spectrum from Lip. I wanted positive and negative outcomes, but I really didn’t care by the end of the season.

Indifference and Bastidarization

I felt that the end of Euphoria was cinematically fulfilling and entertaining, like the rest of the show. But I felt that I was watching with indifference. I was still shocked, but emotionally, I wasn’t tied to it. The last episode reminded me of how the final season of Shameless made me feel. Like sure, I’ll keep watching it. Not because I wanted to, but because I wanted to hope that these characters would get the fate they deserved.

I felt that these shows took concepts that may have been difficult to talk about in real life, stretched them uncomfortably to get us to be invested, and then just spun into a direction that was so out of control you couldn’t even fathom the difference.

I distinctly remember watching the episode of Euphoria where it is mentioned that Rue was diagnosed with OCD as a child and wanted to find some relief from her mental health and life circumstances with the loss of her father. As someone with OCD, I felt understood that this show represented how mental health can carry such a dramatic weight on someone and lead them down paths. I wanted Rue to be successful. I guess I understand why she wasn’t, but I just wish the show had ended with the spirit that was there originally.

Maybe I get too attached to fictional characters. Or maybe I just have some weird vigilante pipe dream I can fulfill through shows. Which, in turn, makes me upset. But maybe the fact that I won’t forget about these shows proved they worked.

My best friend was born in 1920. She was a widow with white hair, a collection of hand-sewn Barbie clothes, and a pink house. She had green carpeting in the basement and a room that was full of collector Hot Wheels. She loved black-and-white movies and optical-illusion books.

Eclectic? Maybe. I thought everything about her was beautiful. I saw exactly who I wanted to be.

I grew up with lots of brothers, lots of boy cousins, and most of my friends when I was little were boys. I didn’t know how to be a girl, and I was really jealous of girls with older sisters. I wanted one of those.

One day, while shagging wiffleballs in my backyard, my neighbor, Betty, was watering her plants. In my eyes, she had the coolest garden ever. I leaned over the fence and watched her until she eventually invited me over. From then on, I was over every day. I brought my school friends, siblings, parents, and anyone over. It was my first time having a bestie.

I would come over after a grueling day in kindergarten and rewatch The Wizard of Oz or Bindi the Jungle Girl. I would give her crafts I made at art camps, and she would hang them up on her fridge next to a photo of her late husband. He died before I was born. We would eat those weird candied oranges and draw pictures together at her 1950’s dining room table. I would do crosswords in her rocking chair with my brow furrowed as she did a puzzle.

She wasn’t a grandparent figure to me; she was just my best friend. A best friend and next-door neighbor. We’d go to the grocery store - I would wear heels, and we would parade around. In those moments, I never realized how old she was. Even when she’d show me pictures of her sons in military uniforms, talk about growing up in the Great Depression, or the fact that nothing in her house was from the 21st century, she was just my friend.

The worst part about this unique friendship was, well, exactly that. She was old. I didn’t know why people went to nursing homes. I didn’t know what memory care or assisted living meant. I didn’t know why I was seeing her less and less.

I remember visiting her for the last time, and it struck me. She was old, like, old, old. 94. And she wasn’t all the way “there” anymore. I didn’t even know what that meant. Can we even pretend we can verbalize that feeling in adulthood? I felt that she didn’t really know who I was. But, in the midst of my tears when I talked to her, she asked, “Why are you crying? We’re together right now!”

She died in 2014. I was too upset at the celebration of life to look at her in the casket. I was 12, and it was the worst day of my life, and it will forever be an incredibly hard loss for me. I always felt guilty because I never got to really say goodbye. Last summer, I got a bag of Goldfish and spent an hour at her grave. I caught her up on a lot. Like a lot. All my drama, gossip, embarrassments, and achievements. It felt cathartic.

Even though I haven’t seen her in person in 12 years, I still see her every day. Her house was painted over (no longer pink, ugh!), and I don’t like candied oranges anymore; she taught me everything to know about the importance of female friendships. I see her in so many lovely and inspiring women today.

I get to hang out with my awesome, dead 106-year-old friend who only wore sweaters with birds on them all the time, actually.

I get to catch up with her when I am writing a letter to my friend, who I worked with a few summers ago, who lives across the country. I haven’t seen her in 4 years. We’ve both changed in a lot of good ways.

I get to talk to her when my friend picks me up from the airport, and we get fast food and sit in traffic for two hours.

I get to be lazy with her when I’m on my sixth episode of Vanderpump Rules with my roommate, and I haven’t gotten up once.

I get to celebrate with her when my friend gets into law school.

I get to complain to her when I talk to my coworkers about a hard morning at lunch and laugh it off.

I get to giggle with her when the girl at the bar is too drunk in the bathroom and tells me I’m gorgeous. We share her lip gloss. Betty let me wear her jewelry. It’s not that different.

I get to wave and smile at her when I see a little girl in a princess dress at the park rolling in the dirt.

I get to laugh with her when my friends are sending the dumbest Reels to our group chat, and I piss my pants a little bit.

I get to move with her when I run into an old sorority friend at a workout class. We are both sweaty and gross by the end. It’s funny.

I get her advice when I call my mom to complain about how stressed I am, and my mom puts everything in perspective and reminds me I am a little dramatic.

I get to let loose with her when I am drinking a martini out of a straw on a bachelorette trip, where I chipped my tooth while trying to do the worm, just to impress my friends.

And I think I do get to say goodbye to her when I cry to my friends, or when someone has to move, or when I reach out for help. I get to say goodbye when my friend is holding my hair back when I vomit. I get to say goodbye when I fall asleep on my friends’ couch at 3 am after a tough day. I get to say goodbye when the women in my life care about me, no matter the distance.

I feel that we place so much emphasis on finding our best friends romantically or a purpose in our careers. But, to me, nothing matters more to me than the female friendships that I have. Have I always been the best friend? Of course not. But I have always had such wonderful women in my life to help me grow (and given me a much-needed reality check). The older I get, the more I want to be my neighbor. I want to be a little weird and forgiving and forge meaning with my interests. I want to befriend women because they are women, and we have to stick together.

There are few things scarier to me than a society where women do not care about each other. My neighbor cared about me, even though I was 80 years younger and probably a handful, being a child with a rampant speech impediment.

One of my best friends let me borrow her copy of All I Know About Love by Dolly Alderton when in college, y’know, the bible of female friendships. Quintessential 21-year-old girl read.

Alderton says, “Nearly everything I know about love, I’ve learnt from my long-lasting friendships with women.” Betty taught me everything I needed to know about how to appreciate the women in my life, and the women I still have with me today help me show it. I would be nothing without the strong women in my life.

I think about the bench plaque that says “We were girls together.” Betty and I were girls together. And I am so lucky for that. And I am lucky to be a girl with so many others.

I want to smash my phone with a hammer. I want to wrap my phone in rope, attach it to an anchor, and throw it into Lake Michigan. I want to trip crossing the street, drop my phone, and get up. I cross the street, but little do I know, my phone is still on the ground. A semi-truck carrying Budweiser runs it over. It is no longer a phone; it is a trillion pieces of garbage.

I also want to tuck my social media into bed and kiss its forehead for the way it keeps my friendships active and lets me see the whereabouts of those who are far away from me. I love that technology has given me a means to express my creativity and passions, even if few can see it.

I dream of a day when I am having so much fun that I leave my phone behind and never see it again. I love to dream of not being burdened by a 5-ounce portal to hell. I come back, shrug, and put it in some paper shredder that can stomach an iPhone 17.

Then I kick my feet up and giggle when scrolling on Substack or finding new music. I text my mom a silly photo, and I can look at posts of art, ideas, and culture that would otherwise be foreign and mysterious to me. Finding a text that cheers me up.

It really is that damn phone.

When I got access to social media, I didn’t realize the repercussions it would have on my gelatinous brain. I was exposed to graphic content and things that middle schoolers don’t need to know. And I got the creepy messages and a few death threats from commenting on a Doctor Who YouTube video. (Also, Liam Payne blocked me at one point.) These factors are why I am vehemently against letting children have screens, and why our government should have much more tangible resources and stances on social media.

HOWEVER… spunky and weird 14-year-old me fell victim to something worse. I became obsessed with my appearance and how others perceived me. Others who really weren’t thinking about me at all. But I was thinking about their thoughts so much to the point that it was ruining my confidence. I was becoming insecure and self-centered at the same time. The world was revolving around my Instagram account. My self-worth was my Snapchat notifications and getting more comments than a random girl I knew on Instagram. Obviously. That’s why I was so mentally well, healthy, normal, and happy as a teenager.

I worked as a summer camp counselor for two summers, where I really didn’t have to interact with technology. And y’know what, that’s probably the happiest I’ve been. So I am trying to make tangible changes to stop being so dependent on my stupid phone.

Here are some little steps I am taking to stop from staying a screenager…

• Going outside to check the weather instead of being lazy

• Write a letter to my friend whom I miss

• Not charging my phone, so I literally don’t have a choice when it dies

• Yoga. Not to be a hippy, but an hour without a phone and finding “stillness” actually is great.

• Trying to navigate to a destination by using my own brain first

• Purchasing physical media or going to the library

I can’t reverse whatever technology did to my brain. And I don’t think that my phone is going to magically disappear. But maybe I can take that judgment that I harbored towards others and myself at 17 and direct it to my phone. Make it something I don’t want to think about. It’s a phone. It can’t love me.

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It’s so freeing listening to an angsty girl sing, especially when you don’t understand the language

Got into Wednesday this week. Haven’t listened to another artist since. This one specifically got a lot of replays.

Just came on a daylist, good song for rolling the windows down.

Okay, I just remember Phil Lester dancing to a Spoon song or something, so that image never leaves me when I listen to them. Love ‘em still

I absolutely love Blondshell and cannot wait to see her live

I think this uptick in listening is attributed to people mistyping “moonbean ice cream” in some capacity

Charley Crockett is an artist I saw and didn’t know anything about, but he blew me away.

I was always jealous of girls who had actually been to a dermatologist, had a shaving routine, and had a bra to go with different tops. Not just using my men’s deodorant and the same skincare brand my mom bought me when I was 14, and feeling like a botched underwear model with some old bra sticking out.

I felt that other girls could immediately sense it - they could look at my mismatching outfit, hear my speech impediment slip out, or see the skin picked off around my nails and diagnose me as a weird girl. I would assume that other girls had some animosity towards me.

But it made me wonder - where did everyone else get this training? Where did everyone learn where to shop, at what age to flip the channel from Disney to Bravo, when to start using retinol, and how to talk to boys on Snapchat? Was I going to be slamming myself into social cement if I showed up without a spray tan and prickly legs to the formal? What happened in the 20 years of my life where my only makeup was a tube of mascara and a highlighter palette I stole from my mom?

I unfortunately took a long time to realize that every single girl felt that way. We are not trained in shopping and social cues, but socialized to be jealous and create enemies.

I think I am improving. Not through any grand changes, but being the girl that I would want to be around. I think of this girl in my sorority who took me with her to get a spray tan. I got too nervous to get one, but she didn’t seem to care. She thought it was fun to have me wait up front for her to come back bright orange. I think of the girls whom I met in frat bathrooms who wiped my tears when I was overreacting over a boy. Or the twenty-something-year-old who helped me pick out some outfits at the store my mom brought me to, so I could buy some “high school” looking clothes before eighth grade. They didn’t think I was doing a bad job. I was learning, like how they did at one point.

I dream of a time when we are not prompted to hate other women. I wish I had realized that I wasn’t being a “bad girl.” I just assumed other women were judging me. From elementary school to the present day. And I have also been the judgmental girl.

The bond that women share is amazing. It takes a lot of trial and error to get there, but once you find a supportive community, your life changes. I wish little girls knew that finding a group of girls who understood was the goal. And sometimes those groups are going to be filled with cosmetology and bottle service. And that is wonderful. But those are just byproducts of being understood.

I was never a bad girl. It just took me a while to find people with whom I could have a mutual understanding. Nobody is a bad girl. We’re just fed that the “right” way to experience girlhood - but it looks different from everyone.

I like Chappell Roan! I like her as much as the normal 24-year-old girl does. I saw her at a music festival. I think she’s catchy! Once, I got pulled over for speeding while listening to “Hot to Go.” Despite her instant stardom, I view her as a regular twenty-something midwestern girl.

I saw the viral post about her in São Paulo and her security guard. Even after apologizing and denying intentionality for what happened, the internet is flooded with backlash and memes, which is to be expected in our age of dependence on parasocial relationships.

People took it really seriously. It’s uncomfortable watching major news companies post headlines like CHAPPELL HATES CHILDREN!! Then, the comments are flooded with people who have never heard of Jorginho before slandering Chappell for hating her fans, and worse than that, hating children.

People love to delve into this weird quasi-activist persona for children when there’s a controversy. A person hours away is shouting on his keyboard, “Think of the children, Chappell! They are our most vulnerable group!”

I agree with part of this - I think children are an incredibly vulnerable, forgotten, and ostracized group. Their human rights and respect from others are often diminished. There’s no one way to care about the world. I think children, though, especially of historically marginalized groups or those who may be experiencing hardship, deserve extra care and attention.

I bet that a lot of the people who love to criticize Chappell for her newfound hatred of children and her longstanding hatred of everyone(?) would love to say that they champion the treatment of children and respect fans of all ages. But, do you think they’ve done the following things in the past year?

• Bought some offerings from a child trying to fundraise for their activity, excluding Girl Scout cookies.

• Didn’t complain after a plane ride where a baby cried. (I’ve cried on the plane before, life sometimes sucks, and then being stuck on a plane with your thoughts? Eek.)

• Saw a group of tweens playing outside and didn’t immediately think that they were committing some crime

• Refrained from rolling their eyes at a kid inconveniencing them in a public place where the child was actually just existing and learning how to be a human.

We love to point a finger at anyone in power for making a mistake. And yes - a security guard making a little girl cry isn’t the same as rolling your eyes at a random child. But we are so critical and assume the worst when someone makes a mistake. Sometimes it’s not even a real mistake - just something we can twist into a harrowing crime of passion. We love to accuse but never sympathize. It’s silly to think that Chappell saw a child and made her security member scream at her for existing. Even if it did happen, are we any better using our own power?

I hear the names people call little boys who are riding their bikes “too fast” or girls who like to hang out at the mall all day. I see people advocate for more child-free places that are not realistic, and people gagging at the idea of having to sit next to a child on an airplane. We don’t have security guards, but we have dirty looks, head shakes, and pretending that someone doesn’t exist.

You don’t even need to be a “kid person” to respect kids. I know people who “don’t like kids,” which is objectively fine. Kids can be yucky. Kids can also be loud. (On the contrary, I think a yucky and inappropriately loud adult is several times worse.) But children are people. Just smaller.

If you’re going to criticize Chappell Roan for something that may or may not be real, maybe say yes when that high schooler asks if you want to buy a chocolate bar to help bring his team new uniforms for state basketball. You can’t change celebrities, but you don’t need to be cynical.

That did not happen. However, I had some lovely time to people watch. Here are some of my observations. My favorite observation was probably either #6 or #9.

1. Lots of kids were playing soccer. Some of them are sore losers. Nothing inspires me to be a good parent in the future more than seeing a kid throw a fit. Makes me seethe a little bit. But I was no better. I was also a sore loser and still have that quality in myself. Whoops. Cheers to hoping I do better with my nonexistent kids.

2. A large variety of dogs. Variety in size, but also in how they dressed. I watched a chiuahaha walk in front of me wearing a dress more expensive than my entire human outfit.

3. Parents running around with a stroller. That also inspires me to be a better parent, eventually. Extremely impressive.

4. Funky sunglasses.

5. I saw people type on computers in the sunlight, which I couldn’t do. The glare would make me unreasonably angry.

6. A crowd of shirtless men hugging each other.

7. Twenty different baseball games. I wish I had sat on the bleachers and cheered on some amateur adult team.

8. It was the middle of March after a blizzard, so a lot of dead grass. It was so warm when I went, and I loved the juxtaposition of someone in a bikini tanning on dirt. You go, girl! Get that UV of 7 on the rock-solid ground.

9. Another inspiration of my parenting journey - Goth parents. I think it’s absolutely wonderful. Watching a parent fix their septum piercing and wearing black platform boots while their child is in a Bluey shirt? A true, wonderful dichotomy of our culture. I know those kids are loved and will be themselves in the future.

10. Every bitch had wired headphones. I thought I was making a statement with mine - I was incorrect. I wonder if it’s an affordability choice or a fashion piece. Perhaps both. My decision is mainly based on affordability, and the fact that I can’t stop getting ear piercings and headphones irritates my cartilage.

I have discovered such an urge to travel in the past few years. I love feeling small and watching the world revolve around everyone else. It is a beautiful experience to realize that nobody really cares. And every person I focused on was due to admiration. Maybe one day I can think about myself even less and focus on the better parts of others.

However, it’s encouraged to hide these emotions. We cling to a belief that we should have a façade, and only our close friends deserve to hear the real us. It’s supposed to be a treasure hunt. Once you have found all the clues and chased someone for long enough, their true personality can rise to the surface. You can finally hear them say a bad word and talk about their bra size.

I grew up surrounded by boys: brothers, cousins, neighbors, and most of my friends. I never picked up their “boy personalities” because I don’t care about (or even believe in) gender roles. I just noticed I always acted similarly to them - loud, making fart noises, rolling in the dirt, and fighting each other for fun. That’s what I liked to do.

The older I got, the quieter I became. I felt like I was the only girl with a loud and boisterous personality. Around the third grade, I grew worried I would be made fun of or never make friends if I didn’t rid myself of this childhood shamelessness that boys got to carry around. I was always jealous. Boys were allowed to be funny, to be gross, to be silly. I wasn’t.

I attended an all-girls high school. I could go to school and throw a tampon (unused…don’t worry) at my friend across the hallway and then go into gross detail about whatever. It wasn’t weird - and I was realising, girls are funny, too! Girls can be gross, vulgar, and nasty!

People would talk to me about not going to school with boys, and always say, “But boys are so funny! Don’t you miss that?” HUH? I forgot boys existed. Girls are funny. I don’t need some dumb gender divide to decide what I can laugh at. I laugh at the gross and weird. I can laugh at jokes, I can make jokes, and I will gladly listen to anyone make them (no matter their gender identity).

Eventually, I left the bubble of an all-girls school but kept my true personality. In college, I minored in Sociology. And it dawned on me that maybe girls aren’t actually all nice and clean, but we have just been socialized over and over and over to portray an illusion. This is something heavily socialized in schools, allowing boys to have more energetic and social behavior than girls. This is a realization most people can have independently at the age of, like, 13, without being enrolled in a collegiate-level course. But not me, apparently!

Women are conditioned to hide their real personalities, which I think results in people not expecting girls to be vulgar. But every single person loves to giggle over something embarrassing.

Let’s stop pretending that we are doing someone a favor by not being our gross selves. We can be ourselves, whether that is clean, dirty, or somewhere in between. I’m not saying people who don’t cuss or make disgusting jokes are hiding their real selves - but what if we didn’t decide, for girls at such a young age, what is allowed to be funny? I am allowed to love shopping and the color pink, and also don’t have qualms about putting my elbows on the table and telling my cashier, who is a stranger, how my night out was, in explicit detail.

I put myself through turmoil and low self-esteem - and so many little girls fall victim to this due to their personalities. Nobody deserves ostracization for that. The little boys didn’t get bullied for saying the same things. It’s a double standard, even into adulthood.

Next time I cuss in front of someone I barely know, or text my friend a message so gnarly I should probably snap my phone in half, I am doing it on behalf of a part of myself that I was so ashamed of. A part of me that would have been accepted and appreciated if I were a boy. I can’t take those years back, but I can definitely be more authentic today.

also when I reference being gross and vulgar, i am obviously excluding inappropriate jokes at the expense of somebody else or at a group. those jokes should be shut down immediately and show low intelligence.

I saw a snippet of the guy who interviews people on the subway. He was talking to a boy who said embarrassment is an emotion we don’t live in enough, and we should spend time there.

I saw this after I had my pity party about feeling embarrassed all the time. About money, about how I physically look, what I wear, my stupid speech impediment that never truly got solved, how indecisive I am, how socially awkward I am, the fact that my hair never looks great, my cooking abilities, and how I can come across as a bitch so much. This is the short list. The “not crazy embarrassing things to admit that feel embarrassing.” I don’t think I have the courage in me write about the actual gut-wrenching things that I try to ring out of my brain like a wet rag.

I had the same self-esteem at 7 as I did at 14, as I did at 21. No matter my social standing, I was always embarrassed. I started thinking, what’s so wrong with being embarrassed? Why don’t we live with these negative emotions more? These negative emotions aren’t necessarily a damning reflection of who you are.

I started antidepressants about a year ago, and it made it impossible to cry. A few days ago, though, I was ugly crying. Snotty, wheezing, crying. I had a headache for the next three days. I was excited about the tears. I felt so human! I realized how much I cared about something - I felt shitty, but I remembered that I cared about myself, for the first time in a long time. It was oddly encouraging.

We have these horrible, negative emotions as a weird self-preservation process. These emotions aren’t “good,” but it’s so important to live in them. It’s so hard to sit and think when you feel absolutely down, but if it’s safe to (because sometimes thoughts aren’t safe - that is a very different story), do it. It can be hard, but sometimes they are not as horrible as expected. To me, it’s one of the signs that my biological body, my monkey brain, or maybe lizard brain - whatever the hell is going on in my subconscious, is at least trying.

I don’t think this is my sign to self-sabotage and wallow in self-pity - but instead acknowledge that I can do things that might be disappointing, scary, and embarrassing. Then if they end up making me feel upset, I can experience that emotion, and then move on knowing a little bit more about myself. I can handle the next time I feel disappointed, scared, or embarrassed.

The real self-sabotage is trying to live a life where I avoid situations that make me vulnerable. I want to embarrass myself by trying something new and failing, and I want to ugly cry in public. I want to pour my heart into something and watch it not work out. I want to get let down and be frustrated and scream and cry. Not because it’s enjoyable, but these emotions help me feel real. They make the goods matter more. They make life, life. We gotta live with these feelings and try our hardest to appreciate them.

Being human is a really cool experience. I can’t believe how lucky I am. Sometimes being lucky means having these negative emotions and being a better person the next day. In a few weeks, months, or years, maybe writing these articles will make me feel disappointed, scared, or embarrassed. They challenged me, however, so it’ll encourage me to do better, later.

When I talk about our dependence on technology, I’m zeroing in on a specific phenomenon. It’s when you go to watch a TV show or movie, but you feel like you need additional screens to get through it. You may be watching an episode of whatever, but you also have your laptop open and are scrolling through Twitter. The episode ends, and you cannot recall a single thing that happened. You are trying to listen to a podcast, but you also pause every ten seconds to scroll through a show that is in entirely one minute segmets on Instagram Reels.

However, our dependence on technology doesn’t mean we’re screwed and will never have a sliver of an attention span, even though we accepted that “fact”. The lack of focus we have is almost a prize today - it’s almost impressive to joke about how you need three screens to finish dinner, or that we got bored watching a movie. We all just accept that we are doomed to a life of no real thought processing. And in our bleak society today, it’s easy to brush it off. Who cares! A meteor is probably going to crash into us, and I’ll die before I have to attempt to memorize a phone number again.

I used to think I missed having that attention span. That my childlike wonder of the world was going to be forever absent unless I smashed my phone with a hammer and went off the grid. But there was a very simple, quick, and easy solution: actually liking things again.

We think our attention spans have melted away, but maybe we’re just consuming the wrong things. Let’s face it, most Western television and film is predictable, features the same few movie stars, probably a remake, or trying to match its competition and forefathers. We just need to find good things again. Things WE like! Not regurgitating whatever media consumption lets you fill in an aesthetic that probably has some gross capitalistic origin, even if you secretly hate it. You don’t have a horrible attention span because you couldn’t finish a book or watch a movie if it did not bring anything to you. You just got bored. Of course, you needed 8 screens to watch a show that is also consumable on TikTok bot accounts.

Take baby steps!

Even if you think it’s embarrassing (and nothing is truly embarrassing). Even if it doesn’t further you as an “intellectual” (whatever tf that means). Even if it’s the only thing you cared about since you were twelve. We are so busy trying to consume media that fits a certain aesthetic and what makes us seem smart or interesting, and that is SO DUMB.

Go read a book that doesn’t further your literary career. Watch a show that everyone else is watching because it also fits your niche. Spend a night having a movie marathon of your favorite movie series from middle school. Our brains aren’t totally mushy yet; we just need to find things we enjoy again! And while this would be a great way to segway into how we can leave technology behind, I am not ready for that. I hate having multiple screens up, but I also love consuming things. SORRY.

We all deserve genuine hobbies and ways to disconnect, but I’m not claiming to be a life coach. I just don’t want to end up hooked on screens so much that I look like a grandma at a casino, betting soullessly on slot machines. And step one to that is to be able to focus on one screen at a time.

I would probably need four screens if I were listening to a self-help podcast or watching a hospital drama. But I could forget my phone and obligations when watching a documentary on world history, like a nerd. I love watching cartoons (sue me) and rewatching the same science fiction movies. We can be super focused and into things when we like them. We just love to force ourselves to consume things we don’t like. Because we’re getting sucked into some weird aesthetic trap that nobody is immune to.

We just need to have real interests again with the media we care about. We can pretend that we’re better than that and eventually going to overcome the fact that we’re all just little sticky iPad kids with developed brains. But we’re not. So if we’re gonna stick with consuming media, let’s make it enjoyable.

It is possible to downsize. We don’t need four screens and an activity just to get through the afternoon. We just need genuine interests. And if you can’t find something you love, you can do the really cool and awesome thing - creating something!

So fight the man! Create and consume what you want. Let’s bring back being cringe, it’ll save our brains from melting.

Season 2, Episode 3 of Glee. I’m 12 and in my friend’s bed. It’s past 2 AM. She was introducing me to Glee, and I was staring at the TV, eyebrows furrowed, biting my nails.

I was in sixth grade. Glee was one of the most provocative shows I had watched as a Catholic school tween. It had everything that freaked me out in some capacity - teen pregnancies, fake pregnancies, Jane Lynch, Matthew Morrison. I didn’t even like the show, but I didn’t know how to turn her TV off.

I saw Finn make the grilled cheese with the face of Jesus. It elicited a feeling in me that was so foreign and terrifying. I had never felt anything like this.

I had a lump in my throat, I couldn’t think straight, and I was starting to cry. I was crying over a piece of grilled cheese. The spiritual aspect of that show freaked me out. Was I missing signs from God? Did I need to start eating more grilled cheese? Should I stop eating sandwiches? I started thinking about my morals and my worthiness and if I was a good person. Was I as bad as the characters on this show? What if the next time I ate grilled cheese, it killed me because I didn’t understand the hidden message in it? Am I going to get food poisoning as cosmic revenge? Why am I watching something that talks about religion in a comical sense? I bet the priest at my church would be so disappointed in me. What if the big man upstairs is disappointed? What if watching this episode tripped a wire in my brain, and I think about this forever? What if I started to develop an urge to pray every time I saw a slice of American cheese? I kept spiraling and spiraling, and I sobbed through the next few days.

That episode sent me into such a confusing feeling, and the repeated thought.

Glee will cause me to go to hell. Glee will cause me to go to hell. Glee will cause me to go to hell. Glee will cause me to go to hell. Glee will cause me to go to hell.

Which is funny. I can laugh about it now. Like, I needed to get a grip.

I was like, oh my god. I watched that episode of Glee. Matthew Morrison had banished me to eternal damnation. It took me weeks to stop reeling over these thoughts.

Turns out, Glee wasn’t the problem. It’s a weird ass show, sure. What I was actually struggling with was something called “scrupulosity,” which is an aspect of obsessive-compulsive disorder that centers around thoughts regarding morals, religion, guilt, shame, and all that really awesome, cool, fun, lit, amazing stuff. I struggled with this immensely, but I didn’t understand what it was.

I like to pretend that I am some really brave and bold mental health advocate, but I really just don’t want to miss out on enjoying life. And now, since I am not overwhelmed and embarrassed about mental health, I feel like I can talk about it more. And boy, do I love to talk!

Crying during Glee wasn’t the only weird thing I did. A recurring theme is that I constantly feel a responsibility for things I can never truly control. This was just the first experience that made me feel really weird. Everyone has their Grilled Cheesus. Everyone has that weird moment when it hits you - you do have something that isn’t clicking in your brain. That you might be experiencing something that isn’t going to be easy, or cannot be solved. My experience was having a panic attack over a fictional character eating a grilled cheese sandwich.

People love to preach mental health acceptance, until it gets weird. We can stomach our friend having a bad mood, but once things get scary or weird, it’s so easy to run away. Anyone who has struggled with their mental health in any capacity has had a moment where they thought that they were experiencing something so disgusting or crazy or shameful that they buried it. Because it’s not “normal” - it’s not what other people want to accept or talk about.

OCD is a very debilitating disorder and has very few accurate portrayals in, like, any media. I felt super ashamed to bring it up, because why would I want people to know this stuff about me? They’d think I’m crazy! Normal people don’t get panic attacks of grilled cheeses.

Looking back at this experience as an adult, I can recognize that it’s silly. But I did not treat myself with any kindness or seek any sort of help when I experienced these feelings, even when I was experiencing debilitating levels of anxiety. I didn’t have the vocabulary to talk about the distress that small things would cause me, but luckily, I have it now.

I use my ability to watch Glee as a litmus test for my mental health. Even though OCD isn’t something I can just get rid of, it’s now something I can talk to people about and feel less isolated. Maybe nobody else has had a panic attack because of Glee, but we’ve all felt weird and embarrassed about something that we should’ve shown ourselves kindness with.

This essay is heternormative and rated PG. I am not going to go into the additional hardships that we all face as teens in some capacity of loss, sickness, bullying, mental health, financial hardships, and so on. I can’t speak on those issues for every teenage girl. I’ll try to talk about some feelings that I think we can relate to in some capacity.

Here is my dumb metaphor: You are a disco ball for some reason. But you’re a disco ball at a weird party - all the music is angsty and bad. You are a disco ball, so you are constantly reflecting the people attending. Who’s in attendance? Your family, friends, that boy who doesn’t care if you live or die, your teachers, a celebrity, that weird guy you ran into on the street, and all of your classmates. And you want to do your own thing, have a good time, and figure out a personality, but you’re a disco ball. You are just reflecting what everyone else is doing. Even if you don’t want to reflect, you are. You don’t really have a choice.

And sometimes you fall on the dance floor and shatter a bit and someone kicks you and the mirrors are being held on by Elemer’s Glue. Someone else is booing. Your crush throws a tomato at you. It’s a hard time.

Okay, dumb metaphor. But it gets my point across. You are pressured into becoming what you see, and it’s so incredibly difficult to develop a personality, true interests, or find your passions. You are reflecting the ideas of society due to incredible pressure.

You just want to be liked. So you are replicating whatever should get you there.

And no matter what personality you reflect, what group you shove yourself in, or even how well you pretend to have yourself figured out, oh my god, you are going to be judged. Because somewhere in history, we decided that teenage girls are so annoying and dramatic that it’s almost enjoyable to knock them down. (But we never think about how we formed a society that sets young girls up to feel stressed and sad?)

So you try to fit in. But things keep happening! Boys didn’t give you attention when you wore what you felt comfortable in, so you dressed a little more revealingly, and then you got groped. Whoops! You were laughed at for being a pushover, so you try to be confident, but oh no! You’re now selfish. Someone comments how you’re so quiet and need to get out more, so you go to a party, and get asked, “Why are you here?” and ignored. You try, and you fail. And it happens over and over, and you become an angsty mess that probably listened to emo music and made poor decisions.

You are forced to find an identity as a nerd, a pick me, a tryhard, a square, a bitch, easy, a prude, and a lot of other mean words. Even if you don’t see yourself as that. And those negative feelings are internalized. Even though you’re making your decisions to appease others, while hurting yourself through this process, you are the one responsible for the judgment. We’re not old enough to truly express ourselves with our half-baked teenage personalities, but even if we did be ourselves completely, we’d still get judged for that. And my deepest respect to those who were organically themselves as a teenage girl. That’s impressive.

I am not absolving my teenage sins, but a lot of choices that all teen girls make that are perceived as “bitchy” or “wrong” are made of pure desperation. You are getting judged, your worldview gets skewed, you are dealing with the aforementioned “real problems,” and oh my god. You are a cynical mess. You’re given a slew of problems, learning how to manage your mental health, with a developing sense of self, a crippling Snapchat addiction, plus you are overwhelmed with school. Of course, you hate yourself!

Currently, I don’t know many teenage girls, but I respect all of them. They are a brave sect of society, and I salute them with forgiveness. I am not saying we should say that they are perfect and cannot do wrong, or that we should find a heartbroken girl with braces and two hours of sleep and give them a pitchfork and torch and tell them to charge (although…maybe we could). But maybe when we encounter an average hormonal girl, we could be a little kinder? Let them enjoy things? Take their moodiness a little less personally?

Could we just respect young women?

Maybe that’s too much to ask!

Every year I think about how society posts and perceives the new year. I think that nothing encapsulates us trying to fit into an “in-group” than by posting the accomplishments of the year, doing our recaps on social media.

We love to broadcast that we are unique and quirky, but also members of society that have friends and jobs and are on the path that any twentysomething with drive should be able to achieve. You feel like a winner when you’ve moved from your hometown or you have a “real job” or pursuing some cool higher education or you can post pictures of your best friends running a half-marathon. You can say: this year may have beat me up and pushed me down and kicked me, but I am still normal enough! The world is crumbling, but at least I traveled outside of the Midwest! I won!

I fall victim to this, too- and recognize it as silly. What I find silly is that if you talk to anyone, we’re all putting on a facade, and we are well aware of it, but still post like we’re dependent on it. Like, this year looks great on paper for me, but that is largely because I went on a hefty Prozac prescription and blocked out the first 50ish days of 2025 when I was struggling with my mental health so much, and I couldn’t eat. So when that was over, yeah, things went up! I went to Korea with my siblings, started loving my job, and bought some cute outfits, so it balances out, right? Every time I went on an airplane or had some arbitrary recognition, I felt like I was metaphorically leveling up. What is our thought process for the “good parts” outweighing the “bad parts”- and why does making those goods visible erase the bads? Or, at least we’d like to think that’s what happens.

I feel like my peers are at a point where we hate how fake social media is, but what about January 1st makes us regress to nervous teens who want to be popular? Why do we feel like we need to save all of our highlights in a folder on our phones so we can post them in an unsung competition of “who is doing the best?”

And while I know I will not fall out of the performative habits of social media, a goal for the year 2026 is to be more honest. Realizing that posting inspirational quotes means nothing if I don’t even attempt to get out of bed or give dirty looks to people after a rough day. Or that posting my friends doesn’t necessarily mean I am making an effort to reach out to them.

Nobody is really being honest online, but that doesn’t mean they’re posers or liars. It means we are humans.

Nobody is winning in life, and nobody is losing. And I don’t think I will accept that idea for a long time. But in 2026, I will try. I will try harder to acknowledge mistakes, accomplishments, complete failures, horrible days, raises, traveling, and good days in the same way. Honest growth.

The New Year is exciting because it provides a chance for us to grow. And invisible competitions don’t really help us grow. So maybe, let’s be real? Not just to others, but to ourselves.

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