Let me take you back to a hot spring day in LA—a Sunday if I recall—at a tiny woman-owned thrift shop on Glendale Blvd.

Sweat curling behind my thighs, I wondered if choosing to wear a fur-collared sweater in the LA May heat was a faux-fur-pas.

Marta (who was the owner of the thrift shop I’d stepped into in hopes my fuzzy flare would pass the dress code somewhere), complimented my outfit and said, “I dressed just like you up until my 50s”.

She told me she couldn’t wear heels anymore. Now she wears platforms. That she used to wear shorts like mine, but her legs would get looked at now, and for all the wrong reasons.

I wanted to tell Marta she could wear anything she wanted--that age shouldn’t matter and it was her body after all. But we’d just met, and I wasn’t sure she’d appreciate unsolicited life advice from a stranger in a faux-fur-collared sweater.

After leaving Marta’s shop with a collection of weather-appropriate pieces (each of which Marta had taken her time to hand-wrap with tissue), my brain began to Bradshaw:

How old is too old?

I knew Marta wasn’t the root of this thinking. She was, like me and so many other women, reacting to a culture of obsession with age, and the power that comes with looking young.

Welcome to the age of anti-aging.

Where girls are policed for their skirts being too short. Women are shamed for not dressing provocatively enough. Then, at some arbitrary age that must be written in a rule book I haven’t read, women are too old to wear just about anything.

Translation:

Young women shouldn’t dress “older” than their age, and older women shouldn’t dress “younger.”

Only those in the magical, made-up-middle may dress the way they want.

And even then, we’re sure to get feedback.

Since entering my late 30s, people have a lot to say about my age.

Comments on my instagram range from “you’re too old to be wearing that” to “you look like a hooker.”

The underlying message is this: being young is better.

And if you can’t be young, you better look young if you want to act (and dress) the way you want.

Since I have no plans to stop wearing what I want, I anticipate the age-shaming will only get worse the older I get.

Which got me wondering in my most Carrie-coded, dressed way: how in the absolute fuckery did we get here?

“Youth obsession” isn’t new. In fact dare I say, it’s old.

I had to.

From a biological standpoint, youthfulness signals prosperity: higher chances of fertility, peak physical health for labor, sharper mental faculties for survival, etc.

Sure, we aren’t fending off tigers or foraging for berries to stay alive anymore. But staying young, whether we are consciously aware or not, is still about survival.

We’re fighting systems, climbing social ladders, networking online until our eyes bleed and drowning in a digital sea of potential lovers, friends, and financial security.

Chronically online-ism has made us perpetually self-aware (and not in a psychological way).

Since COVID, more people have sought cosmetic surgery to alleviate self-consciousness associated with seeing their reflection in Zoom calls.

Facial plastic surgeon Dr. Amanda Goslawski says, “patients tell me they see themselves on a work call and think, why do I look so old?”

As if needing to look younger wasn’t good enough, we’re now seeing a rise in “prejuvination”: procedures that are meant to, I don’t know, stop time?

But wait, there’s more! Why stop time when you could reverse it?

Celebrities are “aging backwards” and using peptides to “reverse” aging, and consumers are eating that shit up.

Social media, unsurprisingly, has not just glamorized aging backwards, it’s normalized it.

Anti-aging trends and reverse aging content is rampant on Gen Z feeds. Botox to prevent wrinkles. Facelifts before the age of 30. Peptides for losing weight and looking 10 years younger.

Nothing like a viral “before and after my laser treatment” from an influencer to take self-care from journaling at home to spending thousands of dollars at a clinic.

And no—I’m not immune to this impact.

I’ve spent thousands of dollars on botox and fillers, beauty products, my hair, my nails—you name it. I drank the Kool-Aid, and I’m still trying to recover from its poisonous effects.

After the release of the Epstein files, I had to take a hard look at how deeply that poison ran through me, and who offered me the Kool-Aid in the first place.

Mall culture of the early aughts was owned by men associated with Epstein. Stores that sold primarily to young women and children. Epstein was a driving force behind the obsession with prepubescence and the sexualization of young children.

-Ileana Justine

In a world where big name brands run by big bad men informed beauty standards, women learned from an early age that their status was intrinsically connected to their appearance. And not just a pretty one—a youthful one.

Women, whether they knew it or not, were dressing not just for the male gaze, but the pedophilic gaze: one whose orientation perversely strayed from “looking young” to “looking like a child.”

Naturally, capitalism said “let’s monetize!”

Leave it to the men in charge to turn humans into a product.

The $698 billion beauty industry rakes in roughly $46 billion per year on cosmetic procedures alone. Beauty companies spend upwards of $300 million on advertising, with consumers spending up to $10,000 on beauty products per year.

If you’re a data-junkie like me, here’s some wild stats to chew on:

• Women made up 86.5% of people getting cosmetic procedures between 2018-2024, while only 13.5% of men did.

• According to data from 2020, 82% of people receiving Botox were white, while under 7% were Black, Asian, Pacific Islander, and Hispanic.'

• Similarly, other “youth-enhancing” procedures like filler and chemical peels were performed almost 10x more on white people (78%) than people of color (<10%).

Data is sparse for trans and non-binary folks. This is sadly unsurprising, and we desperately need more inclusive research. Since the data that does exist tends to clump gender-affirming care and aesthetic procedures into the same category (which they aren’t), it’s difficult to know what percentage of people getting “youth-enhancing” procedures are trans or non-binary.

Turns out, looking young has its perks.

Romance. Career. Self-worth. Youth is desired, rewarded, and prescribed.

In a 2025 study of 4,500 blind dates, both men and women preferred to date younger. Theoretically, by looking younger someone’s dating pool expands simply by passing for a demographic that has more singles.

A 15-year-long study of almost 50,000 MBA students called “When Does Beauty Pay,” found that “attractive” people were 52.4% more likely to have well-paying jobs after graduating college.

The rich stay young, the young get rich, and the rich get richer.

“Youthfulness,” at least from an aesthetic standpoint, is a privilege.

Procedure costs that keep people looking young range from $100 to $500k, and most require maintenance or repeat visits.

These procedures are not something a person with an average salary can afford without racking up some Manolo Blahnik Carrie-credit-card debt.

Women of color (whose salary is on average half that of a white woman in the U.S.) are less likely to be able to afford these procedures. We’ve seen the data—people of color aren’t getting even close to as many cosmetic procedures as white women.*

From pedophilic predators shaping beauty standards to cosmetic procedures signaling status, looking young is now linked to power: youthfulness has become a cog in a classist, sexist, racist system, and we can’t ignore it.

*Obviously what I’ve deduced is based on statistics, which doesn’t account for cultural differences in how people view the aging process. If you have more insights, I’m all ears.

I know that Marta and I are not the problem, we are the product.

As someone deeply in love with fashion and putting together an outfit, I am altogether in a midlife Carrie-crisis trying to parse out which part of my style is rooted in Rachel, and what’s rooted in the big bad system.

I’m working really hard on embracing aging and cleansing myself of the notion that “younger” is more attractive.

I’m not great at it (yet). I’ve been getting botox since I was 26, and the older I get, the more obsessed I become with “looking young.” I’m a work in progress—but not in the aesthetic ways I’ve been attached to for so long. It’s a new shift, and I imagine it will take time.

As for the comments I get about being old—they don’t hurt my feelings or send me running to my injector. They’re a different kind of jab. A tiny incision where I actually need work done: on the part of me that knows aging is the real privilege, and if I’m getting older, it means I’m staying alive.

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In an effort to bolster this belief and collect mantras or wisdom or glimmers or what-have-you for when I find myself slithering down the anti-aging drainpipe, I posted a reel asking my instagram audience to share what they’d tell someone in their 20s about getting older.

The responses echoed one overarching sentiment:

Be yourself, let go of external validation, and wear whatever the hell you want.

❤︎ BNTO ❤︎

I’m glad that before I left Marta’s shop, sticky skin still clinging to my sweater, I was able to hold on to these reminders.

On my way out, I thanked her and asked her name. We awkwardly shook hands. I wanted to hug her, but that would have been a sweaty hug for Marta.

Sheepishly, but with as much confidence as I could conjure, I affirmed what I believed to be true:

“I’ll be back—because I hope to dress like this until I’m 50, and for a whole lot longer.”

XX RACH

❤︎ before you go!!!

References:

https://www.bbc.com/worklife/article/20210503-how-looking-young-can-shape-your-career

https://www.informs.org/News-Room/INFORMS-Releases/News-Releases/New-Study-Unveils-Career-Impact-of-Attractiveness-Higher-Salaries-and-Prestigious-Roles-Over-Time

https://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/social-trends/article-gen-z-skincare-social-media/

https://www.plasticsurgery.org/documents/News/Statistics/2020/cosmetic-procedures-ethnicity-2020.pdf

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/no-more-fomo/202502/the-rise-of-cosmetic-surgery-in-the-social-media-era

https://www.pnas.org/doi/10.1073/pnas.2416984122

https://www.uhhospitals.org/blog/articles/2026/02/why-younger-patients-are-opting-into-cosmetic-procedures

Pull up a chair. Light a cig. Grab a blankie.

I’m gifting you the analogy I’ve used for 10+ years to explain mental illness, trauma, and recovery to people who don’t quite get it.

side effects may include:
more self-compassion and patience for yourself when you’re not managing as well as you *should be*

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I’ve struggled with my mental health for 20+ years (read more about that in my memoir).

When I was diagnosed with an eating disorder in 2005, NOBODY was talking about mental health (therapy was for people in straight jackets! looney bin! lock her up!). Years later when I finally opened up about my ED/depression/anxiety, people responded…well…poorly.

Social media didn’t exist back then (who remembers Myspace???).

People didn’t have the language, education, or basic understanding of mental health. Most people (myself included) were well-versed in shoving our feelings deep down, acting like everything was ok, and pushing through pain in order to keep up with life.

After going to eating disorder treatment in 2015, I desperately wanted to destigmatize mental health.

Naturally (as I have a tendency to do), I turned my passion for spreading awareness into my work, and started studying psychology and advocating for mental health.

What I discovered was how unequipped the majority of our society was to hear someone say, “I’m struggling with my mental health.”

Responses I’ve received to “I’m struggling with my mental health” have been infuriating:

"Something must have happened to make you feel this way” and “everybody gets down sometimes” and my personal favorite, “well what are you doing to fix it?”

The most paralyzing experiences I’ve had with my mental illness are not the onset or when it hurts, it’s when other people don’t understand why, how, or what it’s like to have the experience at all.

So, in an effort to explain mental illness, recovery, trauma, relapse—what have you—to people who just don’t quite get it, I developed an analogy.

This is an analogy I’ve used for years, and it does two things:

1) Teaches other people to understand mental health, mental illness, and recovery in a way that clicks, and;

2) Provides me with self-compassion and patience for times I’m not managing as well as I “should be.”

Welcome back!!! Ok, without furthur adieu, THE ANALOGY:

The Analogy I use to explain mental illness to people:

“The Broken Bone Analogy”

Yes, I’m going to compare mental health to physical health.

This might seem rudimentary to some or apples-to-oranges-y to others, but stay with me. If at the end of this post you still think it’s a silly or an un-useful analogy, that’s ok! Please give me a chance, oh pretty please just go on this journey with me????

Ok, let’s begin with our little analogy, which I’ve turned into a story of sorts.

The “Broken Bone” Analogy

Let’s say you broke your knee. Ouch.

Immediately after the break, you’d need serious medical attention: maybe surgery, maybe a cast, maybe physical therapy--and definitely time to let the injury heal.

Over the years, you’d need to be extra mindful of this prior injury.

You’d possibly avoid certain sports or activities that might aggravate it. You’d take extra precautions to protect your knee with braces or warm ups or ongoing PT. You’d strengthen surrounding muscles to keep the ligaments and bones safe.

Despite using precaution and no longer having the original injury, you might encounter unknown variables or do activities that aggravate the old injury (because life is short and you chose to walk in the heels), causing pain.

You might compensate for the weakness on one side of your body with the other, creating other injuries or referred pain in other parts of the body.

One day (maybe it’s a Tuesday?!) you notice severe pain in your knee.

You proably wouldn’t ignore the pain (I hope). You might spend a few weeks icing and elevating, removing strenuous activities, focusing on mobility, or returning to PT. You’d give yourself time to rest and recover, knowing the pain wouldn’t last forever.

After giving yourself time to rebound, you’d return to your life.

While f*cking annoying and upsetting, you wouldn’t assume something was inherently wrong with your body (well maybe you would but that’s for another post).

Your friends and family wouldn’t have judged you for taking down time or suggested you “snap out of it” (because nobody questions if a physical injury is real, and they certainly don’t debate with you on how long it should take for the pain to go away).

Your mental health (specifically trauma)—though different—is not much different.

Something happens: your brain, body, and/or nervous system sustain an injury.

You seek professional support to prevent further damage (which you cannot prevent on your own because you’re not a medical professional and you’re INJURED).

Ideally, you’d take time to rest, rehab, and recover (access to care/time off work barring—again that’s a whole other post).

You’d use the tools you learned to safely return to day to day life. You’d know you may be more vulnerable or prone to re-traumatization early on so, you’d choose activities mindfully.

And if you get triggered, relapse, or experience symptoms again, you’d slow the f*ck down and go back to basics.

Mental health awareness is close, but no cigar.

While I believe we’re getting closer—that we’re closing the gap between treating physical and mental health the same and allowing for more space to get help, recover, and re-integrate—we still have work to do.

Obviously physical and mental health are not identical. I know that.

But there also isn’t a singular treatment for the entire physical body: we don’t treat broken bones the same as torn ligaments the same as kidney failure the same as heart disease (you get it).

While physical and mental health may seem like two separate, siloed concepts, they’re not.

The entire body is one entity, and each individual issue (while treated differently) is still part of the whole. Our physical health impacts our mental health and vice versa, and to consider one more important or real than the other is absurd.

I hope this was helpful :)

You are welcome to share this post or use it as a script at your next delightful dinner table talk (fun)!

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If you have metaphors or analogies you’ve successfully used to help other people understand mental health, PLEASE share them in the comments for us all to benefit from.

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If you liked this post, you might also like this one:

Or this one!

You are so stinkin wonderful, and I’m so glad you’re here.

All my messy love,
XX RACH

Apparently, “Yap Content” is on the rise. I’m fucking screwed.

If you’re a chronic social media loser (I meant user) like myself, you’ve probably noticed a lot more creators making “yapping” videos.

Instagram trend boi Tom Boyd pulled some inception shit and made a yapping video about yapping videos, suggesting “Yap Content” is ChatGPT-proof which is what makes them stand out in an AI-saturated social feed.

Here’s the video, feel free to watch BUT MAKE SURE YOU COME BACK.

To summarize, he says:

“Yap content is usually based on lived experience. Lived experience is ChatGPT proof. Specific, messy details that only you could know…I just left a meeting where my boss said this exact thing… beats generic advice. ChatGPT couldn’t have experienced that meeting.”

Talking head videos aren’t new, but we’re no longer seeing the super structured scripted style circa TikTok 2020.

Nowadays, people are grabbing their phones on the fly, yapping about their chaotic family dinner or their juicy take on the most recent episode of Love is Blind (which, by the way, I haven’t watched so don’t spoil it).

While these videos seem easy to make, let me tell you that as an experienced content creator, trained actress, and certified introvert, THEY ARE NOT.

Despite having a large social media platform, ya girl does not enjoy talking on camera.

I’ll dabble in a talking head post here and there, but filming these suck the life out of me. I am much more comfortable telling a story through visuals and voiceovers (like this one).

And while social media is *sadly* crucial for the survival of my writing career, it is exhausting trying to keep up with new trends, an influx of creators, and an ever changing algorithm.

Whenever I attempt to keep up with the insta-jones’ I burn the absolute fuck out.

Constantly trying to switch up how I film, how I edit, what font to use what song to use what hook to use what not to use I BLOW A FUSE. (Thank you for indulging my desperate desire to rhyme just now).

Not only that, but it confuses the hell out of my audience (and the algorithm). Replacing consistency with conformity is a risky game. I’m not suggesting there isn’t room to adapt and pivot--girl I’m the QUEEN of a content pivot.

Read more about being a pivot-queen in this post⤵

You don’t have to pivot just because the algorithm said so.

Maybe there’s a world where as creators or artists or writers or what have you, we have creative ownership over our content and don’t have to sacrifice our personal aesthetic to be seen.

Adapt, don’t adopt. Bend, don’t break.

Sometimes I think to defy the social media gods I have to be anti-trend (there was a moment I committed to “anti-viral” content, in which I only posted things that couldn’t possibly go viral. Guess what, they didn’t lol.)

Other times I wax nostalgic for simpler times on instagram. Where we posted little square pictures of a flower from our walk and our feed was organized chronologically. When we actually saw our friends’ posts and our followers saw ours. When the only strain we felt when posting was whether to use X-Pro-II or Lomo Fi.(NEVER LORD KELVIN).

Again, I’m not the only one.

The problem is valid.

AI is terrifying, we can’t tell what’s real, we would like it to be obvious.

Yes, people are craving “real” content.

Consumers want videos that feel unedited, random, human. In a sea of AI-generated content, it makes sense that we’re thirsty for blood (ok I didn’t have to phrase it like that, but do y’all think ChatGPT bleeds???)

But the solution isn’t siloed: “Yap Content” isn’t the only way.

Humans are multifaceted, creative, innovative creatures. In fact, the most anti-AI thing we could do is create our own, unique, only-you way of staying “real” online.

If we all keep copying and pasting “what works” or “what’s trending,” are we really any better than AI?

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So, to the rise of “Yap Content” I say this:

No thanks.

i think instead, i’ll keep making art.
i think instead, i’ll write.
i think instead, i’ll watch the video my friend posted from their trip to san diego, the one without any fancy edits or text and the song they played on the drive down
i think instead, i’ll read the news and try to learn about the world from books and scholars
i think instead, i’ll yap in cafes or facetimes, on first dates and last dates and in solitude where only I can hear me

i think instead, i’ll find my own way to stay human.

I hope you find your own way to stay human, too.

Share your favorite content in the comments. Whether it’s a video, Substack article, short poem, TikTok, your work or someone else’s. Flood me with content that is unique, creative, and human.

All my messy love,
XX RACH

Racial equity, gender identity, grief, and inclusive mental health care all have one thing in common: WOMEN

From early psychologists to advocates battling their own mental health, these are women who have shaped the world of psychology as we know it (some of whom you may not have heard of).

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Here are some lesser known queens who pioneered change in mental health

Nelly Bly (1864-1922)

While I wouldn’t advocate for “feigning mental illness” to falsely admit oneself into a mental health facility, I’ll grant Nelly a pass.

Bly’s editor Joseph Pulitzer (yes, the Pulitzer Prize was named after Joe) shut down her pitch to write about the immigrant experience in the United States. Instead, Bly went undercover for ten days at Blackwell Island, New York’s largest mental asylum, to expose inhumane conditions and abuse.

Known for her articles exposing perverted systems in the late 1800s (like corruption in state legislature and the black market for buying infants, YIKES), Bly’s critical series Ten Days in the Madhouse shook the public into re-thinking mental health care.

Bly ‘s reporting laid the foundation for what we now know as investigative journalism, and sparked institutional improvements for patients in mental health facilities.

Karen Horney (1885-1952)

(horn-eye, u pervs)

Horney makes me horny for mental health history.

This queen actively rebuked Sigmund Freud’s narrow views of female psychology, specifically his “penis envy” theory, which suggested women’s neuroses were rooted in wanting a penis. *sigh*

Proposing “womb envy” in opposition, Horney suggested that “men experience feelings of inferiority because they cannot give birth to children” (Verywellmind.com).

Horney’s theory of neuroses rejected Freudian perspectives (you’re unwell because you were born that way), and offered a systemic, cultural lens (neuroses is not biological, it’s reactionary).

Her theory expanded the psychological landscape of nature vs. nurture, in which pathology should be conceptualized as coping mechanisms for dealing with life circumstances.

Dr. Mamie Phipps Clark (1917-1983)

Ever heard of “The Doll Test”?

In the 1940s, psychologist Dr. Mamie Phipps Clark used her research in child development and racial prejudice to study internalized racism in African American children.

Using “The Doll Test,” Clark would show four dolls (two white skinned and two brown skinned) to school children. She then asked the children to do three things: identify the doll’s race, their own race, and which doll they preferred to play with.

By a landslide, most children chose to play with the white doll.

Clark concluded (based on this and other variables in the study like attributing more positive traits to the white dolls) that as early as age three, African American children experienced racial identity and connected that identity to negative traits.

Mamie’s “Doll Test” ultimately influenced the Brown v. Board of Education decision, in which the United States Supreme Court ruled that racial segregation in public schools violated the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment.

Clark’s work in child psychology paved the way for integration and was a pivotal step forward in the Civil Rights Movement.

Elisabeth Kübler-Ross (1926-2004)

“PIVOT! PIVOT!” Turns out the reason you can’t just “move on” isn’t about willpower, it’s about grief.

If you’ve ever mourned a loved one or experienced loss, you’re probably familiar with the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.

You can thank Swiss-American psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross for that. Her work in near-death studies gave us a language and blueprint for understanding (and moving through) grief.

Kübler-Ross is recognized as one of Time magazine’s “100 Most Important Thinkers” of the 20th century. In 2007, she was inducted into the National Women’s Hall of Fame, and her book On Death and Dying remains a literary legacy.

Leave it to a woman to understand that the loss of connection is at the center of what makes us human.

Christine Jorgenson (1926–1989)

After receiving a ton of publicity (the 1952 New York Daily News headline grossly read, “Ex-GI Becomes Blonde Beauty”) for undergoing gender-affirming surgery in Denmark, Christine Jorgensen used her fame to shape public perception around transgender rights.

Jorgenson’s advocacy advanced gender-affirming care and laid the groundwork for the concept we now know as gender identity. Her public transition challenged binary views of gender, in which “psychological sex” had nothing to do with biological sex.

Her story became a beacon of hope for people experiencing their own gender dysphoria, giving language to those who might not have been able to voice their desires to transition or identify as they chose.

Bebe Moore Campbell (1950-2006)

BB said “NO MORE”!

Moore Campbell drew from her own experiences with mental health to advocate for people of color, highlighting the need for inclusive and equitable mental health care for underserved communities.

Hitting the New York Times bestseller list thrice for her books addressing the intersection of racism, mental health, and culture (Brothers and Sisters, Singing in the Comeback Choir, and What You Owe Me), Bebe also co-founded the Urban Los Angeles sector for the National Association for Mental Illness (NAMI).

This is certainly not a comprehensive list—there are infinitely more baddies who have shaped psychology and mental health advocacy.

If there’s anyone you’d like to share with us, add to this list in the comments!

ADD A BADDIE ⤵️

Leave a comment

And as always, THANK YOU FOR READING!

It’s an honor to share this space with you and discuss all things mental health, social justice, and being human.

XX,Rachel

Sources:

https://www.nami.org/stay-connected/events/awareness-events/bebe-moore-campbell-national-minority-mental-health-awareness-month/about-bebe-moore-campbell-national-minority-mental-health-awareness-month/

https://www.ekrfoundation.org/elisabeth-kubler-ross/

https://www.womenshistory.org/education-resources/biographies/mamie-phipps-clark

https://www.womenshistory.org/education-resources/biographies/nellie-bly-0

https://www.verywellmind.com/karen-horney-biography-2795539

https://wams.nyhistory.org/growth-and-turmoil/cold-war-beginnings/christine-jorgensen/#:~:text=She%20and%20Howard%20never%20married,1989%20in%20San%20Clemente%2C%20California.

https://psychiatryonline.org/doi/10.1176/appi.focus.18302

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It’s officially been three years since I moved back to Seattle.

WOAH. I actually do not know the last time I’ve lived somewhere for three whole actual full years. Maybe when my ex-husband and I lived in West Seattle? Nope—we definitely moved apartments every 1-2 years. College? NOPE. Y’all maybe not since high school???

Anyhoo. Looks like I’ve beat my “staying put” record, so it makes sense it’s time to go.

Ok, serious talk: when I moved home three years ago, I was in desperate need of stability.

I was coming off a year of living/traveling abroad, and had fallen into another deep depression that required me (once again), to drop everything and take care of my mental health.

Ya girl felt a lot of shame for having to come home (again).

I’ve had to drop out of school twice, quit jobs, let go of goals or projects, and leave places I thought I might call home because my depression and eating disorder were so bad that if I hadn’t pressed pause, I probably wouldn’t have survived.

Seattle will always be home and the place I come to when I need stability and structure.

My family is here, I grew up here, and the familiarity breeds safety.

But Seattle has never felt like home.

I’ve had fantasies of one day living somewhere warm, building a life in a new city, and putting roots down in a place to call my own for years, and I think (omg I hope) it’s time!!!

How do I know if I’m ready for change???

Since getting sober, I’ve been able to find internal stability that wasn’t previously present. I feel financially secure (enough) to make a move. And I have built a solid enough community here that I’m confident my relationships will survive the distance.

I’m also approaching change differently: I have a tendency to do things like move/buy plane tickets quite impulsively, so I wanted to try something new this time.

fantastic werk rachie, fantastic

When I got the inkling to move to LA, I didn’t immediately alert my landlord and sell my furniture. I let it simmer. I waited six months to see if I still had the desire to go. I told friends and family about my idea so I could talk to them throughout the process, instead of thinking I have to figure it out all on my own (she in hyper-independent recovery babyyyy).

FAQ that no one has asked: “But why the heck are you picking LA gurl?”

While I don’t see LA as my long-term home (but who knows, maybe it could be)… it checks a lot of boxes:

❤︎ WARM

❤︎ similarly priced to Seattle

❤︎ queer-friendly

❤︎ tons of shit to do

❤︎ way more stylish than Seattle (yes, this matters to me lol. I don’t feel like I fit in/belong when I’m in Seattle, and a lot of it is how I express myself through fashion)

❤︎ people my age/singles/creative peeps

AND, it’s low risk:

✿ I’ve lived in LA before (if you can call an 8 month stint at a co-living space during COVID “living”) so it’s familiar terrain and I won’t feel like I’m totally starting from scratch

✿ quick flight home to visit family and friends

✿ many opportunities to find work/play if needed

✿ domestic, meaning no need for visas

And so, last week I flew to LA and gave myself the chance to gather data. No attachments or expectations, just information.

I wanted to see if my fantasy was just that—or if I could see myself actually living there.

The entire trip, I felt at peace. I became a repeat-coffee-shop-attender (NOT OFFENDER! COFFEE ON REPEAT IS NOT OFFENSIVE!). Being outside, in the sun, almost all day, felt like a stroke of GOD. I felt, for the first time in a long time, like I fit in. (I can’t say I felt belonging, because that requires community and real connection, but I felt like myself). But I belonged to me.

On my flight home, I thought to myself, “if I don’t at least try this out, I’ll feel like I’ve settled, and I owe it to myself to try.”

And so, it’s happening.

I’m moving to ~Los Angeles~

(scary! exciting! help! (but i won’t ask for it!))

Seattle will always be there, and I can always come back.

But if I’ve learned anything from having to start over so many times, it’s that life is short, and also long. And if I have the chance to make a fantasy reality, I’m damn well gonna do it.

I can’t wait to bring you along for the ride :)

All my messy love,
XX RACH

Hey, you little messy gremlins :)

It’s been a minute.

We have a lot to cover, and I am ACUTELY aware that the majority of us (myself included) have the attention span of a 12-year-old girl at a Claire’s clearance sale.

Let’s ease in with a vibe check—HOW ARE YOU?

The world is a shitshow and the horrors persist.

I would be remiss if I didn’t admit I am finding it ridiculously challenging to see the point in responding to emails or taking my silly little health walks while the government tears families apart and witnessing an elite trafficking system go unpunished.

And yet, I maintain a shred of hope that life is still worth living. How, I really do not know, but if I’m going to choose to try, you better believe I’m gonna drag you up with me.

For this reason (and a few others), I am re-dedicating myself to writing.

I know what you’re thinking.

“Ok Rach, so you’re gonna keep writing. Why do you need to write about writing. Just write. Yew write we wread. Write it make sense.”

Great question.

Because:
A) I’m an over-communicator (ask my boss at );
2) Your feedback matters, so as I refine editorial tweaks, I want your rlly good & smart opinionz; and
iii) A great writing teacher once told me “work begets work,” meaning the more I write, the more I write.

And so, without furthur adieu, it is with GREAT joy and IMMENSE anxiety (will I ever be free of self-doubt???) that I announce: I am re-modeling, re-branding, re-constructing, re-vamping, re-booting, [insert more re-words here]…The Messy Middle.

Yes. The Messy Middle is getting a much needed makeover.

OK—let me rephrase that.

The Messy Middle is already perfect. She’s beautiful inside and out. 10/10 no notes. (except for the ones I post on Substack. Here’s a recent one in case you missed it):

And while I love what I’ve started here, I’ve changed, and so has Substack.

Substack started as a space for writers looking to escape the algorithm.

A taste of the good ‘ol days of Tumblr and Livejournal (please tell me y’all remember Livejournal) where we had total freedom to write long-winded sentences with poor syntax and silly GIFs, along with the occasional (and very exciting) anonymous comment from username920953.

Now, Substack has rolled out new features like Livestreams, posting long and short-form videos, notes (Substack’s version of a tweet), chat features, and probably something else I should know about by now.

For a while, this overwhelmed and frustrated me.

💾THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE MY BLOGROLL!!!💾
THE ANTI-SOCIAL MEDIA!
LONG POSTS AND LATE NIGHT DIARY ENTRIES!

But I’ve turned a new leaf. I’ve healed my Substack wound. I sat with mother Sub and she revealed to me her true nature: that we are all one in the Sub, and together, we make the stack.

Rachel, like Substack, too has changethed

While I’m not growing new features like livestream capabilities (yet, scary), I am growing new moles and perfecting my inner-algorithm.

Dearr self-algo: show me more kindness

I have always been my brand.

My brand = me. AKA, I write about my life, lived experience with mental illness, and ideas about this whole human thing.

Since starting my Substack in 2022 (who remembers my first post about talking to sheep in Scotland???) I have become a totally different version of Rachel. While I care about the same things (mental health, advocacy, you), I communicate it differently. The road is the same, but I’m operating a different vehicle (it’s a pink corvette with teddy bear rims, btw).

My internet presence has evolved over the years.

Considering the majority of my content is inspired by my life, it makes sense that my content would reflect just that: a living, growing, (hormonal AF at times) organism.

This is why my writing goes through seasons of totally flopping (experimentation, risk-taking, self-discovery are part of the growth cycle). It is also why (usually after a season of flop), I have a better understanding of who I am and the direction I want to take my writing.

So here we are: in a post-flop season of embracing the stack, exiting Substack puberty, and entering a new phase of adolescence.

And so, as I take off my Substack braces (pinky promise I’ll wear my retainer), you better believe I’m going to re-vamp the wardrobe to show off the new grin.

Here’s what WON’T change in the remodel:

1. Your subscription price or what you have access to.

If you are a paid subscriber, you will still have access to all newsletters, a spot in the chatroom, and ability to comment on posts.

👉🏼If you are a free subscriber, you will still have access to most newsletters, an open invite to upgrade and join the chat, and a big fat space in my heart just for being here.

2. My undeniable and crushing self-doubt amazingness.

Just kidding. Not really. But I will remain completely MYSELF. That means unfiltered, slightly chaotic, sometimes depressing, always hopeful, relatively unpolished, and thoroughly researched.

3. Pieces that aim to destigmatize mental health (and support you with yours)

All my posts will reflect my ongoing mission of helping one person feel less alone, with an expansion into dedicated op-ed pieces, topical updates in the world of mental health, and intersectional concepts that broaden our understanding not just of our own wellbeing, but the collective.

Here’s what WILL change:

1. Branding and visual aesthetic

She’s leaving soft-girl healing and entering pop-girl feelingz. We’re talking:

🌸 MSN pop-up energy
🌸 MTV chyron captions
🌸 Glitter text + existential dread
🌸 90s mall + 2003 blog + feminine rage
🌸 AIM chatroom (WAIT EVERYONE COMMENT UR ASL👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼)

*~*~*ASL*~*~*

2. Additional newsletters on additional topics by additional people

~say additional again~

I would LOVE—

—and I say would, because every idea is subject to unexpected curveballs and I have learned from all of my many therapists over the last 400 years that it is much better to hold a vision loosely than get too attached and clutch it so hard I puncture it and end up with Swiss cheese dreams—

—LOVE, to write consistent, weekly newsletters that have unique themes, purposes, and styles*

🕹️(scroll down to let me know what you’d read (or not read))

There is also a world in which YOU (or other writers) contribute to this publication. If you’re a writer and have any interest in posting guest articles to The Messy Middle, message me below!

Here’s what COULD change, and I’d love your input.

1. Newsletter Themes

As I said above, I want to offer more variety on my Substack. More flavor. Add spice. Spicy level 5. Siracha that bitch. I think I’m hungry.

The renovated Messy Middle will remain ~messy~ in energy, but [clear] in content. If that’s not clear, let me clarify:

My swiss-less wish is to rotate through 3-4 DIFFERENT types of newsletters.

Those could be…

Whats new in Mental Health (data-driven + oped) news
+ breaking research
+ therapeutic findings
+ gaps/problems in the system

Stories (Rachel falls apart, falls in love, falls in general)
+ current struggles with mental health
+ revelations/what’s working
+ travel/shit i like/daily life

Explainers (think tips, think trips, think how to be depressed AND go to the coffee shop)
+ how tos
+ specific therapy skills
+ toolkits

📠Writing Tips (for introspective journalers and prospective journalists alike)
+ journaling prompts
+ book writing
+ content writing

As I brainstorm, I’d LOVE your input:

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As always, THANK YOU.

Your support means the FRIGGIN WORLD TO ME. I’ve said this before, but without you, I’d be writing into the abyss. Which is also sort of fun and it’s own kind of outlet, but for job and feeding Milo purposes, not so good.

My goal is to release the new and likely unimproved Messy Middle in March, so if you’re reading this before then, YOUR FEEDBACK STILL HELPS!

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Ok I love you alot. I hope you have an ok day. Drink water. Hug a tree. 5 minute dance party. WE GOT THIS!

All my lurv,

RACHIE

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I’ve officially been sober for a little over 5 months.

I’m finally ready to share more about this experience and what I’m learning along the way.

There are many things I THOUGHT would happen (read more about that here), like an insane energy boost and wild clarity. The truth is, not drinking has been really hard. It’s also been incredibly rewarding.

Here are 5 things nobody warned me about (the good and the bad) before getting sober.

1. You’re going to lose friends.

Since I’ve stopped drinking, my social life has significantly diminished.

A lot of my extracurricular activities revolved around drinking—that meant going to bars, parties, or events where alcohol was involved. Now that I’m not drinking, I’m not seeing my friends as much, and slowly, I’ve felt like I have fewer of them.

I don’t believe that any of my friends no longer WANT to be my friend, rather I’m simply not involved in the same scenes as much, so by proxy, I see them less.

2. It’s going to get worse before it gets better.

The first three months of sobriety were hard.

Obviously, because I still wanted to drink every day, and the simple act of not drinking was difficult. But also because suddenly I didn’t have my main coping mechanism anymore. I started to feel all of the feelings I had either been suppressing for a long time or numbing with alcohol.

My anxiety was higher, my depression was higher, and I felt a lot of grief.

Grief for the life I no longer had, grief for missing out on social experiences, grief for future events I’d no longer be able to drink at. And grief for once again having something “wrong” that I needed to change.

Somewhere around the fourth month, the weight began to lift. My mood stabilized, and I no longer wanted to drink all the time. And now, I feel my sh*t when it comes up, my anxiety and depression are manageable (still there, but I’m not falling apart), and I feel so glad to wake up every day not hungover.

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3. You’re going to save so much money.

The amount of money I was spending on alcohol is embarrassing. A night of drinks easily could rack up to $100 or more, and doing that several times a week added up.

Not to mention the money I’d spend on late night snacks, drunk online shopping, or buying other people drinks because I was feeling generous.

I now have so much more spare cash for other things that I used to think I didn’t have money for, like travel, thrifting, and finally taking art classes again.

4. Nobody will care that you don’t drink.

I was really afraid of how not drinking would impact the way people saw me.

Specifically, I was worried about dating and how I would approach telling people that I didn’t drink.

The truth is nobody gives a sh*t.

It’s really common now for people not to drink, and I haven’t had a single person pressure me, question me, or give me any reason to believe they think differently of me.

And if they did, that would be a pretty good indication that it’s not someone I want to be around anyway.

5. You’re going to love yourself a lot more.

When I first stopped drinking, I felt a lot of shame. Here I am again, having to fix something about myself. I felt like a failure for being the kind of person who didn’t have a handle on my own life.

But every day that passes that I don’t drink, I respect myself more. I’m so f*cking proud of myself for making a choice that was in service of bettering my life. And by making that choice and taking actionable steps every day to take care of myself, I love myself more and more.

If you’re thinking about getting sober or changing your relationship with alcohol, let me know in the comments.

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You can ask me anything you want about sobriety, about when I was drinking, and anything in between. I don’t believe there’s a right or wrong way to go about it (ask me how I feel about AA) and I also don’t think that sobriety is for everyone.

I love you and I’m so glad you’re here.

Sending all my love and gratitude,

Rachie

• Order my new book, “LOOK UP” here

• Download my free guided journals here.

• Take my Writing Masterclass here.

I have struggled with perfectionism since I was a kid.

And in a society that rewards productivity, wanting to succeed benefited me for a long time, until it started to physically and mentally harm me.

Years of overworking myself, having poor boundaries, and refusing to rest led me to chronic fatigue, nervous system collapse, and burnout.

It has taken me many years to learn how to balance my time, energy, and productivity, and it’s still a practice.

What if I told you that a lot of your stress isn’t because of how much you are doing, but how fast you’re doing it?

The speed at which you choose to operate is a direct reflection of how fast life will feel like it’s coming at you.

LET ME EXPLAIN: Let’s say you get an e-mail at 7pm on a Friday and you respond right away.

(This is assuming you work a 9-5, so adapt the timeframe to mean “outside your normal work hours”.)

There is now a 50% chance you will get a reply the same night or over the weekend, even if you’re not working. If you didn’t respond and waited until Monday, there’s a 0% chance of a reply* (unless it’s urgent or the person emailing you doubles down and sends a follow-up, in which case, they are definitely operating from a place of stress, which you don’t need to match).

*I am not a mathematician; this is metaphorical math. you’ve heard of girl math and gay math. this is metaphor math.

MORAL: By acting with speed, you’ve opened the door for speed to come your way.

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The same is true with our social life, physical movement, creativity, and anything that we can alter the pace of.

If we talk quickly or interrupt others in conversation, they’ll match this tone to get a word in. If we race through a workout and try to do multiple exercises at once or without rest, we’ll probably injure ourselves. If we don’t wait for the paint to dry before adding another color, the pigments won’t wait to blend and change color.

In order for our lives to unfold at the pace we want (and maybe for you that’s rapid fire which is fine), we have to set the speed.

• If I want to feel heard and understood in conversations, I too need to listen, wait my turn, and speak with patience.

• If I want to paint a big landscape painting, I need to take the process one step at a time, from stenciling, to base colors, to shading.

• If I want to experience less career stress, I need to set good work boundaries, reduce multitasking, and not take on the urgency of my coworkers.**

• If I want to improve my physical health, I need to listen to my body during movement, rest appropriately so my muscles can recover, and focus on proper form over intensity.

**obviously if you have a deadline I’m not saying this is an excuse to be laxadaisical or not do your job. But if you have a coworker that is always stressed about something, you don’t have to match their stress or take on their worries.

Personal pacing is not about creating discipline in the pursuit of productivity—it’s about redefining how you pace your daily tasks to improve your wellbeing.

If you want to start creating a personal pace but don’t know where to start, here are three gentle check-ins you can try:

1. Notice urgency.

Ask yourself, “Is this actually urgent—or do I feel rushed because I’m afraid of falling behind?”

Urgency is often emotional, not factual.

2. Track your energy, not just your output.

Instead of asking, “What did I get done today?” try asking, “How drained or regulated do I feel after doing it?”

Sustainable pace protects your energy and your mental health.

3. Practice pacing without justification.

You don’t need a dramatic reason to slow down. You don’t need to be burned out, sick, or overwhelmed to choose a gentler speed. “Because this works better for me” is enough.

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Creating a personal pace isn’t about doing less forever.

It’s about doing life in a way your body doesn’t have to recover from.

When you move at a pace that feels safe and supportive, progress stops feeling like pressure and starts feeling like something you can actually stay with.

Let me know how you plan to redefine your personal pace in the comments. You never know, your plan could help someone who is stuck creating theirs.

Happy pacing!
Rachel

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MESSY NEWS: Starting in 2026, I will be hosting writing workshops, providing journaling prompts, and helping you improve your writing skills in my new writing community, THE REWRITE.

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On Monday, I turned 37.

I normally would write a long preamble about how it feels to get older, but at this point, I don’t think it matter anymore. Not in a “life doesn’t matter” kind of way, but in an “I’m always getting older” kind of way.

Because as long as time keeps doing it’s thing, getting older is inevitable. And instead of thinking about being older, I’ve started thinking about being. How this moment, now and for forever, I am simultaneously the olderst I’ve ever been, and the youngest I’ll ever been. That I have the most wisdom I’ve ever carried, and the most naive perspective on what’s to come.

I like to honor milestones with reflection and care.

While I’ve stopped doing New Year's resolutions (I do this instead) and don’t journal as frequently as I used to (remember when I was the journaling queen?) I do find it valuable to treat milestones as an opportunity to transition purposefully.

The last time I shared a list of lessons was for my 35th birthday, and I often look back to that list.

Some lessons still strike me and remain true.

Others seem like obvious bits of knowledge, which is a sign they’ve transitioned from discoveries to beliefs.

This, to me, is proof that we do change without feeling it. That when we allow ourselves to write down all that we’re learning, even if it’s not ingrained in our bones just yet, that someday, when we’re not looking, it becomes a truth.

To honor being the wisest I’ve ever been, here is a list of life lessons I’ve accrued in the last 37 years.

As I wrote this list, I realized there are hundreds more lessons than the 37 below. These are not the only lessons I’ve learned, nor the most important (how do you rank a life lesson?).

But the last two feel big to me. They’re probably the hardest to hold, but have the biggest payoff.

Ready? Here we go.

37 Lessons From 37 Years

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1. People who love you want you to thrive.

Pay attention to who celebrates your wins. The people who stick around when you succeed are just as important as the ones who stayed in your darkest times.

2. You will make mistakes. A lot of them.

You’re going to make them whether you want to or not, so you might as well do something courageous.

3. Ask for what you need.

Nobody can read your mind. If you need space, ask for it. If you need more communication, ask for it. If you need to be held when you’re sad or distracted when you’re stressed, ask for it. People want to know how to love you; don’t be afraid to teach them.

4. Being a different weight or pant size is not going to make someone love you more.

Nobody gives a crap what you weigh or what your pant size is. And if they do—if the people you’re seeking approval from do care—you’re setting yourself up for a lifetime of never being good enough for someone who doesn’t have your best interest at heart.

5. Relapse happens.

It is not a reflection of your willpower or character. It is a reflection of challenging circumstances around you, and your brain reverting to more familiar and comfortable coping mechanisms.

6. Be brave enough to make the first move.

Whether romantically or platonically, at work or on stage. If you want something, ask for it. You might get rejected, but you also might get more than you could have dreamed of.

7. Learn how to budget.

Pay your credit card bills. Nobody teaches us how to do this in school and it’s one of the most fundamentally important skills. If you can get a handle on managing your finances early on, it will pay off (literally and figuratively) in dividends.

8. Consistency > perfection.

If you’re learning a new skill or want to pick up a hobby, commit to practicing x times a week without worrying about how well you perform. If you let “not being good” stop you from showing up, you’ll never start.

9. Sleep is stupid important.

When you sleep, your brain removes toxic proteins, processes and stores memories, produces immune cells, and repairs cells. More often than not, if you feel like garbage, you likely aren’t getting quality sleep.

10. Tell people how you feel.

Even if it’s scary. Even if it hurts. Especially if you love them.

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11. Read whatever the hell you want. Listen to music you like.

You don’t have to minimize your interests or pretend to enjoy things you don’t—loving what you love is what makes you unique and that is far more interesting than trying to be like everybody else.

12. Getting older is a privilege.

Instead of being scared of getting old, be scared of having less time. When you direct that fear towards making the most of this life, you’ll spend more time investing in experiences, instead of ways to prevent inevitably aging.

13. Treat yourself like a small child you’ve been appointed to protect at all costs.

Did they get rejected? Hold them. Did their boundaries get crossed? Stand up for them. Did they accomplish something? Celebrate them. As soon as you see yourself through this lens, you’ll be surprised how easy it is to act like the person you want to be.

14. It’s ok to change. It’s ok to stay the same. Life is not a series of befores and afters—let yourself be exactly where you are.

Happy you’re still here. Let’s continue, shall we?

15. “No” is a full sentence.

You don’t owe everyone an explanation.

16. Sometimes you do owe people an explanation.

When you’ve hurt someone you care about, apologize. When you’ve been absent or distant, reach out. Own up to your mistakes and take responsibility if the relationship is one you want to keep.

17. Take photos. Write in your diary. Tell stories and share videos. Or don’t.

But if you want to take stock of your life and build a scrapbook to look back on, we have the technology to do it, so memorialize your experiences however you want to.

18. Ask your parents questions.

You’ll be surprised how much they can teach you—about that funny skin tag on your arm or how to sew a patch. Ask about their childhood. Their favorite memory from their 20s. Because when they’re gone, you’ll be flooded with all the questions you’d wished you’d asked, and it will be too late. And in the process, you might discover that your parents, just like you, are people too.

19. If you want vulnerability, open up.

If you want to feel understood, be curious. If you want clear communication, speak truthfully.

When you start acting in the ways you want to be treated, you either weed out those who aren’t ready to reciprocate, or are met with that which you desire.

20. Human connection is the most healing tool on the planet and it’s free. Find it.

21. Boundaries don’t mean cutting people off or barricading all access to your world.

They mean treating your world like a castle, where boundaries are bridges that open and close so people can safely visit.

22. Not all friendships last, and that’s okay.

Don’t be afraid to form new connections despite a history of loss.

23. There is no such thing as being “healed.”

Life doesn’t stop happening. Instead, focus on finding wellness and stability and building a toolbox so that when life happens, you have the tools and support to move through it.

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24. Grief has no timeline.

Give yourself grace for how long it takes you to recover.

25. Surround yourself with people who act like your personal cheerleader.

This doesn’t mean your people should like everything about you—it means they want you to succeed and are rooting for you to rise.

26. Don’t be afraid to begin again.

27. Two opposing ideas can be true at the same time.

Replace your “buts” with “ands” and watch your world open up.

28. Balance vulnerability and privacy.

Use discernment with when and who you share your intimate world. It’s good to open up. It’s good to be vulnerable. It’s good to take off the mask you wear and be seen. That doesn’t mean you have to enter every space completely bare. You’re allowed to take your time undressing your heart.

29. Hug people more.

30. You’re allowed to date casually, but that doesn’t give you an out from having clear communication.

There are all kinds of relational dynamics, and you get to choose what you want or have capacity for. But wanting something casual doesn’t mean you automatically are excused from treating people like human beings. Be clear about what you want and co-define the relationship, rather than labeling it “casual” to avoid difficult conversations.

31. More often than not, you’re doing enough.

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32. Unfortunately, feelings find a way.

You can suppress, avoid, or numb all you want, but eventually emotions rise. As much as it hurts and as inconvenient as it might be, try to let yourself feel whatever is coming up. Emotions only last about 90 seconds when we really feel them. You’ll be surprised how much less suffering you experience when you ride the wave when it comes, instead of building dams until they all flood out at once.

33. Life post-divorce or breakup is not an intermission; it’s just life.

While there’s a clear beginning, the end, and how you get there is entirely up to you.

34. Life without discomfort isn’t living. It’s avoidance.

To have meaningful relationships and grand adventures, you’ll have to take risks. You’ll fail often. You’ll get rejected, triggered, and feel deep discomfort. But you will also succeed. You’ll experience belonging. You’ll be accepted, loved, and feel deep satisfaction. Don’t live the rest of your days isolating, lonely, and wondering “what if” because you’re afraid of pain.

35. When you want to give up, rest.

Life is really f*cking hard sometimes. You might want to plow through or throw in the towel. You might wonder how anyone else manages or think you’re just not cut out for this “living” thing. Rest. Wait. Nobody knows what the f*ck they are doing. I promise. You are just as cut out for this living thing as anyone else, and it’s ok to take a break so that you can live it out completely.

36. Believe in something. Anything. Whatever you want.

If you care about something—truly deeply care—every action you take will be infused with love. The way you treat people, the way you work, the way you make your bed and cook your food. If you don’t know what to believe in, believe in that: “I do not know, it is all so mysterious, and I do believe it will be one grand adventure.”

37. Life is worth it. Even when it sucks. Even when it goes wrong. Even when it scares you.

From someone who has not wanted to be here and tried to leave, I cannot promise you life is always beautiful or that “it gets better” means “it stops hurting.” But I can tell you this: it does keep going. And while it might feel like life is happening around you or you’re not in control, you are in the driver’s seat. Life keeps going, but the direction it moves is entirely up to you. It’s ok to rest and be in the passenger’s seat while you recover. But for the love of god, when you have the energy, take the wheel.

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I’m incredibly grateful to all of you for holding ME so tenderly for the last 6 years.

There were many times I wanted to give up, and you graciously allowed me to rest. And because of that, I have the energy today to take the wheel.

I finally feel like the driver of my own life. Like I have direction and a full tank to get me there (wherever there may be, because as I’ve also learned, it’s good to hold the destination loosely).

I am so grateful to be here for another year of lessons.

Here’s to 37 being a year of a long and winding road.

Sending all my love and gratitude,
Rachie

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MESSY NEWS: Starting in January, I will be hosting writing workshops, providing journaling prompts, and helping you improve your writing skills in my new writing community, THE REWRITE.

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Today I am 6 weeks sober.

I wasn’t sure if this would be something I’d share publicly. So I let myself wait to make that decision and focus on sobriety for the first 30 days.

I’ve known for a long time that one day I would have to stop drinking—my relationship to alcohol has never been positive, and I was fully aware of that.

But for a long time, I wasn’t ready to stop, and I didn’t want to.

I’m still not ready to dive into the reasons why I chose to get sober or what that looks like, but I do know from experience that talking about change—no matter how big or small—and especially when it’s under the umbrella of recovery, keeps me accountable.

I also know that there may be people who subscribe to my Substack who are exploring similar paths, and hopefully, this can be a new thing for us to explore together.

When I finally decided to stop drinking, I thought a lot would change (and it did).

But what I have discovered so far is that a lot of what I thought WOULD happen when I stopped drinking DIDN’T.

I am keeping this post behind a paywall because it is still a very fresh topic for me. It means so much to have your readership and support, and, I want to maintain some privacy as I am still a baby on my sobriety path :)

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If you are someone who struggles with depression, or if you are a loved one of someone who struggles with depression, this post is for you.

Disclaimer: I first want to make a disclaimer that I am not a medical professional. Everything I share here is based on my personal experiences with mental illness, alongside things I've learned in 20 years of therapy and my master's in psychology.

As someone who has struggled with depression for about 20 years, one of the most difficult parts has been seeking support.

I was diagnosed when I was 15, and that was back in 2005, when mental health was super stigmatized. Representation of mental health looked like gruesome depictions of celebrities on the cover of STAR Magazine or US Weekly, and “talking about your feelings” was about as common as a high-speed dial-up connection.

Nobody was talking about mental health, and there was not a lot of awareness about mental illness.

People didn't have the right language or tools to navigate those kinds of conversations. So it took me many years—and when I say many years, I mean like maybe 10 to 15—to finally learn how to talk to my family and loved ones about my mental health, how to ask for what I needed, and how to educate them or give them resources so that they could educate themselves on how to support me.

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Here are three things that you can do to support someone who is struggling with their mental health, specifically depression:

1. Educate Yourself

One of the most frustrating things for someone who's experiencing mental illness or symptoms of their mental health is the feeling that they have to educate others on their experience.

Chances are, if someone's experiencing depression, they are already experiencing a lot of difficulty doing day-to-day things.

So the effort and energy it takes to then educate someone on why they're struggling or what they're struggling with can feel like an extra, even more challenging task.

By educating yourself—whether that's reading books, researching online, or talking to people in your life who have experienced depression—you can show up for people from a place of knowledge. Then, you can actually hold space for them without it being an interrogation.

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2. Listen to Understand, Not to Change

As humans, we have the urge to help others by fixing or solving. And while the intention is lovely, it can often make someone who's feeling sad, overwhelmed, or already feeling quite broken, feel like they are extra broken.

When I'm depressed, I feel like I am broken.

When someone is trying to fix or solve my mental state, it can make me feel like they perceive me as broken as well, and as something that needs fixing.

If I'm depressed, I already know something has to change. So what's helpful for me from people that love me (who are not my therapist) is not providing solutions/options or “have you tried this?”

I just need a safe space to share what's going on.

What I need is for someone to sit with me and say, “Look I can't change or fix this, but I'm going to sit with you while it's hard.”

Another helpful approach is to sit with someone while they are searching for solutions.

For example, if I'm experiencing depression, perhaps I know I need to go back to therapy.

If a friend, loved one, or family member says to me, "Would you like me to sit with you for a couple of hours while you look up different therapists?” I feel a wave of relief.

It is so overwhelming to sit down and do it alone when depressed. But if someone is sitting with me while I do it, that creates a space for me to take action myself, to feel like I'm an agent of my own change, and to do it with the presence and support of someone who cares about me.

📚read more about my experience with depression in my memoir, “where the river flows.”

📚where the river flows

3. Check in Often and Check in WELL

People who are depressed are more likely than not isolating.

They're probably not socializing or reaching out as often as they normally do.

It is still really, really lovely when we are struggling to know that someone is thinking about us.

Check-ins, especially frequent ones, can be like touchpoints for folks who are struggling with depression.

@rachelhavekostReplying to @mrscrystalbenitez

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When I say check in often and check in WELL, this is what I mean:

Check in with the intention of offering something or simply providing some love.

This can be as simple as a text that says, "Hey, just wanted you to know I'm thinking about you.”

Check-ins don't have to be, “What can I do for you?” or “how can I help?" Because, again, someone who's experiencing depression is not going to have a lot of clarity to provide answers of “this is exactly what I need from you” or “can you do X, Y, and Z?”

Make sure to fill your cup before filling others.

If you're going to offer something, ask yourself if you have the capacity to follow through.

You are also your own human being. If you don't have the bandwidth to offer more than a text check-in, don't. You don't have to.

If you do have the capacity, you can offer to help with small tasks like, “hey, love, I know that you've been struggling. How about I bring dinner for you tonight,” or, “hey, I know that it's been a rough week. Why don't I come over and help you with your dishes.”

Offering to support somebody with a simple task can oftentimes feel like an incredible gesture. It communicates: I see that you're not feeling well, so let me do something for you that I know might be really hard right now.

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Bonus Tip: Use the Physical Illness Reframe

If someone you loved was really sick—let's say they had the flu, broken a limb, or just had surgery.

How would you show up for them? What would you do?

You’d probably check in and let them know you’re thinking of them. You might offer to help out with things that you know are harder for them to do because they're sick or they've hurt themselves.

And you wouldn’t try to fix anything because you’re not a doctor.

You’d just be there.

I hope this was helpful, or at the very least, affirming if you are someone who is struggling right now.

Take what resonates and leave the rest: this might not be a catch-all for everyone, but it is definitely something that has worked for me in the last 20 years when it comes to how people can show up for me. And hopefully, it can help you.

I love you. You matter.

Stay;

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As always, please consult with your own professional team when it comes to your mental health. Talk to someone who's a doctor or a therapist if you have access to that.

I love you little messy gremlins.

I am so eternally grateful you are here. Without you my writing means nothing, and you keep me going. I could not be here today if it weren’t for your support, readership, and shared vulnerability. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

All my messy love,
Rach

• Order my new book, “LOOK UP” here

• Download my free guided journals here.

• Take my Writing Masterclass here.

  

If you’re not yet ready to be a paid subscriber, here’s a 7-day trial:

Get 7 day free trial

Take your time reading the archive once it’s unlocked in your trial and see if the Full Mess is for you. Whether it is or not, know that I fully love your mess, and am so glad you’re here.

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If you’re new here, HI! I’m so glad you’re here. My name is Rachel, and I’ve been sharing my experiences with mental illness, grief, and life as a single 36-year-old. If you’d like to support my work, it would mean so much if you became a paid subscriber (only $5/month). If that’s not in the budget that’s ok! There is a free subscribe option, too.

Content warning: mention of suicide and eating disorders.

Last week, my best friend and I spent a week in Italy—our first big trip together, and my first vacation in a year.

Days before we left, I had called an eating disorder treatment center to schedule an intake. I was relapsing.

I’ve been in recovery for 16 years and treatment twice. Read more about my eating disorder in my memoir. Over the last several months, my symptoms increased to a concerning level. My depression followed suit, and in the weeks leading up to our vacation, I had lost the desire to live.

“It’s like I’m slowly killing myself,” I told my best friend before we left.

“I’m not actively suicidal, but I’m not doing anything to stay alive. I’m being reckless with my life. I’m not eating enough, I’m drinking too much, and it’s as if I couldn't care less if something bad happened to me. And please don’t take this personally, because I love you and my friends and my family, but it feels like I have nothing to wake up for.”

She nodded and held my hand. She didn’t judge or shame me. She didn’t make it about her or take it personally. She listened, waited to offer insight, and did what she does best: leaned in.

It is always a risk traveling with a friend or partner for the first time.

Will we communicate well? Travel the same? Want to do the same things or abide by a similar schedule? Pace together? Argue? Suppress? How will we handle problems or when something inevitably doesn’t go to plan? And furthermore, how will we navigate each other’s every emotion along the way?

As someone who has traveled extensively with partners and friends, I know that being together 24/7 is undoubtedly going to bring up conflict, opportunities for deepening connection, and our own vulnerabilities or triggers.

Read more about my 10 month motorcycle trip with my ex husband in my memoir

Hunger, fatigue, new environments, constant change…these are simple recipes for an emotional reaction, and you see it all. So does your travel partner. It is hard to hide, impossible to always be “on,” and challenging to balance meeting your own needs and the needs of another when you’re glued to one eachother.

My friend and I have always valued communication, so we made it a priority to check in before our trip and ask what we felt were important questions to set us up for an intentional experience.

Still, there is only so much one (or two) can prepare for, and we couldn’t have anticipated the majority of what happened during our travels.

Nor could I have expected what I was going to learn, and how much it would change me.

Here is what I learned traveling with my best friend.

1. Asking for what you need—no matter how simple—goes a long way

Something I have been practicing/learning in therapy for the last year is asking for what I need in relationships. I grew up in a household where nobody asked for what they needed. Either we experienced resentment or rejection for not getting what we wanted, assumed our loved ones would just know how to be there for us, or get shamed for even asking.

I learned that it wasn’t ok for me to ask for what I needed. That it made me selfish. A burden. Annoying or hard to deal with. As a result, I became hyper-independent. I did everything on my own—from solving simple life problems to navigating my depression. When something bad happened, I didn’t ask for help. When I was burned out or depleted, I simply kept going until I had a meltdown instead of asking for a break.

Try my free 7-day needs journal

This often left me feeling unloved, unsupported, unseen, and unsatisfied in relationships. But that was not the fault of my partner—they can’t read my mind, so how could they know how to love me unless I tell them?

On this trip, I was practicing asking my friend for what I needed. Whether it was that I’d need to eat soon or I’d get cranky, needed a break after a long day before dinner, or needed to check in on a day I felt disconnected from her.

When I did ask for what I needed, I felt seen, supported, and nourished. When I didn’t, I felt resentful, frustrated, and almost invisible. This taught me how powerful it is to ask for what I need—it helps my partner or friend know how to show up for me, and it gives them the opportunity to say they can’t if they’re running on empty. Either way, I get to be seen, and at least know that whoever I’m with understands me a little more.

2. People who love you want to know what’s happening in your life, even if you’re ashamed

On our last night in Rome, my best friend said something to me that no one has ever said to me before.

That morning, she had asked how I was feeling about going home and where my mental health was at. She knew I had been feeling suicidal and relapsing in my eating disorder before leaving, and was checking in on how I felt after a week away from home.

“I honestly feel so much better. I really think I needed a true break from work, to be away from my usual routine, and a chance to get some perspective.”

At dinner, she wanted to follow up:

“I wondered if I should say this to you, and maybe it’s selfish, but I want you to know that when we go home, if you start to feel bad again, you can tell me. If you have urges to go drink alone, you can tell me. I’m never going to try to control you or talk you down unless you ask me to. I just want to know what’s going on.”

Historically, I don’t tell people when I’m struggling. MORE historically, if I have the urge to binge or drink alone, I don’t tell people. Because telling people would be the start of interrupting the behavior, and in times when those urges arise, the voice that wants to engage overpowers the part of me that doesn’t.

And then she said something I’ll never forget:

“I know you think you have to do everything alone, because you always used to. But I’m here, and so is your entire support system. You’re not an island anymore.”

For a few minutes I stayed silent, my pasta getting sticky in the Rome humidity. I’d never had someone care about me and see me. Love me and let me be free. Hold me and remain separate. She wanted me to know that her role, as my friend, was to know me, to hold our her hand, and to be present if and when I was ready to take it.

I’m not an island anymore.

3. Gratitude does, in fact, heal the mind

One thing I was struggling with before taking this trip was a sense of hopelessness. My depression was at an all-time high (or should I say low?), so most of what I observed during the day was through a lens of darkness.

Whenever I travel, I find I am forced to see everything as if for the first time. My senses are alive: new flavors and scents are like novel experiments; sunsets look different and greetings are foreign; each street corner is alive with something fresh, and it’s as if every breath is my first.

Being a beginner is a wonderful way to rewire the brain. Mindfulness activities hone in on this phenomenon and ask us to see the world with childlike wonder, as if experiencing each moment for the first time. And in turn, we start to see the beauty, nuance, uniqueness, and special qualities in simple spaces we once wrote off as mundane.

For more practice in beginner’s mind and childlike wonder, take my Inner Child Healing masterclass

Every day, I experienced awe. Each meal tasted like my first. Italian accents sounded delightfully romantic. Moment by moment, my mind turned towards appreciating the little things.

As a result, I was accidentally practicing gratitude. Exercising a muscle I haven’t exercised in months, and one that does, in fact, strengthen the entire mind.

By the end of the week, I was seeing most of my day through a lens of gratitude. Despite being constipated for a week, I felt grateful for the tiniest of shits. Despite the heat and being covered in sweat all day, I felt grateful for the sights we saw. Despite feeling full or bloated after meals, I felt grateful for the privilege to taste local flavors.

When I got home, these glasses stayed with me. And I hope I can keep them on.

Practice gratitude daily with my Self-Healer’s Journal

In the end, the greatest lesson I learned was that I do, in fact, want to live.

That even when my eating disorder or depression try to trick me into thinking life isn’t worth it, I have experiences that remind me how very worth it life is.

Perhaps these revalations are fleeting. Or contained to a vacation mindset when all my other problems or responsibilities are halfway across the world. Maybe it’s temporary. Or, as I often discover, it’s a seed that I can choose to plant and grow right here at home. A chance to bring new life into my existing garden, to try again, to try anew, to try, to try, to try.

Here’s to planting seeds, to growing something new, to life.

I’m going to try.

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I love you little messy gremlins.

I am so eternally grateful you are here. Without you my writing means nothing, and you keep me going. I could not be here today if it weren’t for your support, readership, and shared vulnerability. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

All my messy love,
Rach

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• You can read chapter one of my memoir free here.

• Join my girl’s trip to Colombia in 2026 here

• Order my new book, LOOK UP, here.

  

If you need ED-specific support, here are some resources:

@NEDA for information
@alliancefored hotline: 866-662-1235
📚my memoir, “Where the River Flows” to feel less alone

If you’re not ready to be a paid subscriber but want access to the full archive, here’s a 7-day trial:

Get 7 day free trial

Take your time reading the archive once it’s unlocked in your trial and see if the Full Mess is for you. Whether it is or not, know that I fully love your mess, and am so glad you’re here.

For almost two days, I let it sit on my couch unopened.

I was too anxious to open it.

What if they're not good quality?
What if the poems suck now that all this time has passed since writing them?
What if I feel nothing at all, and discover I really am numb inside?

Every day I'd walk by "THE BOX OF BOOKS," debating whether to open it, then decide to wait.

Wait until...I was in a better headspace. Until I didn't feel depressed. Until I had a glass of wine and could quiet my negative thoughts. Wait until....I was ready.

The truth is, I'm never ready. None of us is. At some point, we just make the next right step, or any step, in some direction, even if we have no idea where we are going, even if we have no idea how to get there, even if we're terrified of leaving what's behind us.

Lately, I've been asking myself a lot of questions about my life.

I don’t know what I want for my future. I don’t know if I can keep writing or using social media for work. I don’t know what steps to take for my mental health because I feel like I’ve taken them all. I feel incredibly stuck and in limbo, with no direction, and truthfully, no energy to move.

THE BOX OF BOOKS seemed to mock me like a metaphorical and cosmic joke: a physical manifestation of my stuckness.

Do I open the book before I'm ready even though I don't know how I'll feel or what I'll find?
Do I wait for a sign or some internal knowing that opening the box will bring me relief or joy?
Or do I keep it taped up and hide it away in some closet somewhere, never to be opened, never to discover what happens if I open it.

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Today, I decided to rip off the band-aid and open THE BOX OF BOOKS.

I'd have to eventually--unless I wanted an empty table of books at my book launch this weekend.

"I suppose that wouldn't be a good look," I thought.

I tried to ceremonialize the opening: I put on my current favorite joy-cry song, prepared myself to accept however I felt, and recorded myself peeling open the flaps of the cardboard box--for the memory.

THE BOX OF BOOKS revealed a small but bright bundle of my books.

Immediately, I burst into laughter. They were really in there--no snakes or hoaxes, no SURPRISE WE DIDN'T PUBLISH YOUR CRAP envelope--just my books.

Pride started to swell into my chest and bubbled in my throat--I still felt a pang of doubt.

What if what I wrote is simply not good?

I flipped through the book to see the inside and landed on a random poem.

It read:

The bubbling in my throat curdled and I coiled into a ball on the floor.

Those were the words I needed to hear today, and somehow past me knew to write them.

Which means that somehow, today's version of me doesn't realize it but she's going to help future me someday, too, if I let her. If I let myself take the next right step, any step, and move forward, I'll have more moments like this when I can look back and say,

"Oh, I see now, I was just in between."

LOOK UP is a collection of poems & short love notes offering encouragement in times of uncertainty, transition, & grief.

With gentle reminders to stay hopeful and find comfort in life's small moments, the words on these pages will you: This is not who you are; it’s something you’re going through.

Reminders, that no matter how heavy, no matter how dark, no matter how stuck, to look up.

Pre-Order LOOK UP

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being here, for reading my crap and the good stuff, and for supporting me no matter where I’m at in life. I could not do this work without you, and I am eternally grateful.

All my messy love,
Rachel

Hi Pretty Humans,

If you’re new here, HI! I’m so glad you’re here. My name is Rachel, and I’ve been sharing my experiences with mental illness, grief, and life as a single 36-year old for the last five years. Ok, so I guess as a single 31-36 year old. At this point I just tell people I’m 29 because I really like to imagine Schmidt from “New Girl” saying “29” to pump me up.

Despite being in therapy for 20 years, I still struggle. A lot.

Not just with my mental health but with being a human, being a woman, being bisexual, being single, being in my 30s, being a friend, being an adult….the list goes on.

Below are 6 things I am currently struggling with that sometimes make me feel ashamed. I’m sharing them with you in the hopes that either

A) One person feels less alone reading them, or;

B) I can reduce the shame by saying it outloud.

1. Using substances to cope with big feelings/numb/avoid responsibility.

It’s like I think that partying is a symbol of youth and I abuse that narrative to reinforce a “live big while you can” mindset. There are so many other ways to “live big” and I don’t love how much I center going out as a way to feel alive.

Read more

You’re not lost.

I know. Plot twist.

What if instead of being a lost-ie you’re a sprouting little flower. A phone charging it’s battery. A cigarette almost sucked out of it’s last puff. Another metaphor for on-the-way or on-the-way-out. Either way, you’re HERE! No like really, you are HERE. And I’m so glad you are.

OK HERE IS MY THEORY

You’re not lost.

You don’t believe me. You’re skeptical. You have no idea what you want to do with your life or what kind of relationship you want. A part of you desires a monogamous partnership and another part of you wants to be an exploratory polyamorous lover to a couple. You think you want a career but you also see yourself living off of coconuts and beans in South America. You’re half heathen half angel. A dichotomy of altruism and super selfishness. Who you are is a mystery because you refuse to define it—at the same time you know exactly who you are and refuse to abandon it.

You are, lost.

But you’re not.

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Ok gremlins. Here it is. The cold hard truth.

In order to truly appreciate this cold hard truth, I must highly recommend listening to this song while reading what you’re about to read.

THE SONG:

Ok. Are you listening?

You will feel lost in life.

You’ll say you don’t know what you want. That you don’t know who you are. You’ll say this with some veil of shame, as if it’s a bad thing.

But most people are lost.

Most people have no idea what they’re doing. For the most part, people are making it up as they go.

As soon as you think you have a grip on life, it will change in ways you could have never predicted.

The older you get, the more you’ll realize it’s fruitless to hold on to what you think life should be or how it will go, because you’ll know this only leads to disappointment or feeling like a failure.

You’ll stop berating yourself for feeling lost and cherish your outlook for choosing curiosity.

You’ll try new things, again, and wonder what this life thing is all about.

You’ll have deep chats at bars and read philosophy in parks.

You’ll feel more comfortable with your life.

You’ll say you know what you want and that you finally know who you are. you’ll say this with some veil of hope—as if nothing is bad or good, as if you’ve finally realized that “lost” is not a place to run from, but the place between what’s known and unknown.

That being lost is a sign that you were brave, and you’re on your way to something new.

You’ll realize you weren’t lost at all: you were living.

And that’s my theory :)

For more silly little life reminders and a wee taste of “oh I’m just a human,” might I suggest, MY NEW book: “LOOK UP”?!

pre-order LOOK UP

LOOK UP by Rachel Havekost

A collection of poems and heartfelt reminders, offering encouragement in times of uncertainty, healing, & change.

With gentle reminders to stay hopeful and find comfort in life's small moments, these words remind you:

This is not who you are; it’s something you’re going through.

Don’t be afraid to look up.

snag your copy here!

xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
-RACHIE

I have a super exciting announcement! I am hosting a girl’s trip to Colombia in 2026, and you're invited!

Learn more about my Cartagena trip

Before you say "Rach, this is next year I don't even know what I'm having for dinner tonight"--

GIRL SAME.

One thing I've learned in the last few years is that my mental health is hugely dependent on whether or not my life has meaning.

During some of my darkest depressions, my mind gets stuck in a "I have no reason to wake up today" state.

When I'm trying to come out of these headspaces, I know something that really helps me is having something to look forward to. Whether it's a date with my best friend, a creative project I'm excited about, or a vacation.

Travel has always been a way for me to give myself a massive mental health gift because it accomplishes so many needs: it gives me something to look forward to, a financial goal to work hard towards, and the experience itself is rejuvinating, perspective-shifting, and inspires me creatively.

Whether you're currently in a mental health rut or find yourself there from time to time (or often, like me), I really hope you consider joining me in Cartagena next winter.

learn more here!

Here is a brief overview of the trip:

February 2026: The girls have gone wild

Join me in Cartagena, Colombia, for four days of sun-bathing our white buns on white sand beaches, cultural exploration with a side of shoving our faces with street food, and dancing until our feet hurt (bc chances are none of us wear appropriate footwear).

Consider this your official invite to start making your life a living scrapbook, and to do it with me and other therapeutically exhausted yet ready to live-out-loud girlies.

I want to come!

Day 1: Touchdown + Turn Up

Arrive in Cartagena, where the cobblestone streets are hotter than your ex’s texts (sorry I had to).

• Explore the old city

• Sunset rooftop vibes (SLAY)

• Welcome dinner with your new crew (girls-girls who speak mental health AND are in a season of living out loud)

Day 2: Dance, Snack, Repeat

Get lost (on purpose) in the streets of Cartagena:

• Taste-test local street food (we EAT ladies)

• Learn Champeta dance from locals (DUH WE ARE DANCING DUH)

• Photo ops that say, “I just found myself” (or "I'm not coming home lol")

Notify me when spots open up Råch!!!

Day 3: I'm On a Boat (and)

This is the “holy shit I’m alive” day bb <3

• Private boat to Rosario Islands (you need to Google these, the pics are unreal)

• Beach hop to hidden white sand coves omggggg

• We're talking fruit baskets, cocktail buckets, saltwater in our nose, and girly chaos (the wholesome kind)

Day 4: Treatleave (the act of treating yourself while leaving)

We hold space for what this trip gave us (and make sure to give ourselves something on the way out).

• Lovefest circle (yes we WILL be complimenting eachother and creating a big old gratitude moment)

• Shop, treat ourselves (and eachother) on our last day

• Head home with a full belly, full heart, and fuller group chat notifications

GIRL LET ME KNOW WHEN I CAN SIGN UP

How to Join:

• Spots open up at 9am PST on June 12th

• The first 8 people to book will get early bird pricing

• If you are seeing this before June 12th, Click here to be notified when spots open.

• If you are seeing this after June 12th, Click here to reserve your spot!

Get notified when spots open

I witewally wove u so much and weally hope you come :)

XX
Rachel

P.S. if you have any questions about the trip just drop a comment!!

Leave a comment

Hi Pretty Humans,

Today is World Eating Disorder Action Day, and as someone who has been battling an Eating Disorder for 20 years, here are 5 unconventional actions I wish I’d known about when I was first diagnosed.

If you’re new here, HI! I’m so glad you’re here. My name is Rachel, and I’ve been sharing my experiences with mental illness, grief, and life as a single 36-year old for the last five years. Ok, so I guess as a single 31-36 year old. At this point I just tell people I’m 29 because I really like to imagine Schmidt from “New Girl” saying “29” to pump me up. If you’d like to support my work, it would mean so much if you became a paid subscriber (only $5/month). If that’s not in the budget that’s ok! There is a free subscribe option, too.

1. People with Eating Disorders might not be struggling with food

We often associate eating disorders with, well, eating. The truth is, there is often an overlap of anxiety, depression, or PTSD. Many folks who are diagnosed with an eating disorder may not seem to present with what we perceive or classify as severe food-related symptoms: they may be struggling with social anxiety and fitting in, how their body experiences intimacy, or feeling worthless/losing hope.

2. Someone can be in remission & still have symptoms

Just because someone has been to treatment & is technically "in remission" (they no longer meet diagnostic criteria for an ED) doesn't mean they won't experience symptoms. Think of it this way: if you broke a bone, you'd wear a cast for a period of time & perhaps go to physical therapy to rehab. Even though the bone is no longer broken, you'd still have weakness, pain, & be more vulnerable to re-injury. The same is true for ED recovery.

Read more about my experience in treatment and relapse here:

3. Anybody--and I mean any BODY (size, age, gender, race) can have an Eating Disorder

There is more awareness around this now but eating disorders do not present in any specific body alone. You do not need to present physically in any certain way to get the help you deserve. Someone you love might not be what you stereotypically have seen in media as someone with an eating disorder, but that doesn't mean they aren't struggling.

4. The most loving thing you can do for someone who is struggling is educate yourself

Educating yourself on your loved one's mental health condition is the ultmate act of support: it says, "I know you're exhausted, I know this is real, and I'm going to spend time learning about it so I can advocate for and with you, and we are going to fight this thing together."

5. Eating Disorders are not just restricting/bingeing/purging

It's hypersensitivity to how something feels against our skin. It's fixation on the tiniest detail to the point of unravel. It's being convinced that one small mistake will end us. It's the fear of getting older & hating ourselves for caring. It's wanting love but not having the tools to experience it. It's all consuming, & sometimes we just wish others understood us so we didn't have to explain ourselves ever again.

📚read more about my eating disorder my memoir, “where the river flows.”

📚where the river flows

As someone who has been in treatment twice and therapy for 20 years for my own Eating Disorder, I can honestly say this has been the most stigmatized, misunderstood, and exhausting battle of my life.

I would like to think that one day I will be free from the voice/symptoms/urges/constant reinforcement around me to look a certain way. Maybe I will--maybe I won't. I am more free now than I've ever been, and, I'm still in ED prison.

I've learned SO MUCH in therapy on how to manage my stress, anxiety, grief, insecurity, and just life in general in other ways, and, I still hyper-fixate on my appearance, dissociate during intimacy/intentionally check out with substances, avoid certain situations for fear of being seen, get uncomfortable with vulnerability (my own), and panic when I lose control. I'm still a person, and, I'm still handcuffed to my eating disorder.

If you're struggling, please know you're not alone--whether this is your umpteempth year fighting or you're just beginning the recovery journey. It does get better, and, it will still be hard. No matter WHAT, you are not on the path alone, and I love the crap out of you for trying.

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I love you little messy gremlins.

I am so eternally grateful you are here. Without you my writing means nothing, and you keep me going. I could not be here today if it weren’t for your support, readership, and shared vulnerability. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

All my messy love,
Rach

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• You can read chapter one of my book free here.

• Download my free guided journals here.

• Take my Writing Masterclass here.

  

If you need ED-specific support, here are some resources:

@NEDA for information
@alliancefored hotline: 866-662-1235
📚my memoir, “Where the River Flows” to feel less alone

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Take your time reading the archive once it’s unlocked in your trial and see if the Full Mess is for you. Whether it is or not, know that I fully love your mess, and am so glad you’re here.

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Look Up is a collection of poems and short love notes:

Encouragement for times of wild uncertainty, loving reminders for recovery and change, and ultimately, small moments of great comfort: this is not who you are, this is something you are going through.

Reminders, to look up.

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Why this book?

You will have seasons of life when you’ll wonder if anything will ever work out. You’ll doubt yourself or feel stuck. You’ll question if it’s worth trying to get up again when you’re just going to fall once more. You’ll feel seasons of hope and recovery and forget the painful ones. You’ll lose sight of how much you’ve grown and when the stuckness comes again, you’ll feel defeated. These seasons will come and go, rise and fall, and just like you, they’ll persist.

I find myself in this cycle often. Despite decades of therapy, research, and spiritual study, I return to a state of overwhelming loss. These periods can lead me to feeling hopeless and disgruntled, as if I’ve failed myself by coming back.

At times these cycles have kept me stuck long enough to wonder, will I ever emerge, or will I always find myself back here?

I remember (as I do every time I’m in this season of stuckness) that even though it feels like nothing is happening or coming together, and even though I have no idea what direction I’m going or how to get there, that one day I’ll look back on this time and say, “oh yeah, it was all working out, I just couldn’t see how then because I was in it.”

The truth is, we will find ourselves back here: in the doubt, in the stuck, in the loss. It is life’s natural balance: life and death, love and loss, pleasure and pain…to know one is to know the other, and it would be foolish to chase a life absent of any discomfort. Still, these seasons of pain have the ability to break us. Without the right support, tools, or compassion, our pain becomes suffering and we become truly stuck.

I hope this book finds you when you’re stuck. I hope this book finds you when you’re afraid. I hope this book finds you when you’re doubting that good things will come or when you’re seeped in grief or on the precipice of change. I hope this book can serve as the companion you may not have right now. The compassion you may not have access to. Wisdom you may feel too clouded to see or the tools you may feel too tired to reach for. I hope this book finds you when you’re ready to shift in the cycle and move forward in life.

When you’re ready to Look Up.

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Samples from Look Up

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It is an honor to finally bring this collection of pieces to you.

I have put my heart into this book and hope that in its pages, you find relief, hope, and a gentle reminder that you are oh so not alone.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being here, for reading, and for looking up.

XO

Rach

This morning I had a menty-b while applying for a new apartment.

I’m in the process of looking for a new place to live—my current lease is up in March and the rent, once again, is going up.

Yesterday I viewed an almost perfect place: it fit so much of what I’m looking for:

• Tons of natural light, check.

• Decrease in monthly rent, check.

• Funky, old, unique space with character, check.

• Outdoor space for me and Milo, check.

Despite a downsize in space (which would mean selling the majority of my living room furniture as it wouldn’t fit/needing to buy new furniture) and a bathroom sink that constantly drips (I’ve had bathrooms with doors that don’t close from being so small) and living a little further from my natural habitat (I’m a big walker), it was a pretty wonderful unit.

After a small conniption at my friend’s house—

“I just feel like I’m doing that thing where I’m either putting pressure on myself to find the perfect thing so I’m not applying when something good enough comes around OR doing that thing where I’m forcing myself to find something better when where I live is just fine.”

And my friend’s gentle reminder—

“You are putting a lot of pressure on yourself, and, you did say you wanted to find somewhere with less rent and all these other things. What does your gut say?”

My gut says WTF ARGH THIS IS SO OVERWHELMING!

My brain was overshadowing my gut’s attempts to communicate with me with a swirl of thoughts:

• What if they deny my application because my income is so scattered?

• I should be further along by now—I’m 36 and need to downsize because I can’t afford this rent, shouldn’t I have my life more figured out?

• Why do I have so much shit anyways? I need to be a minimalist.

• How come I struggle so much with basic responsibilities?

• I’ve started over so many times I just can’t believe I’m here again.

"I think what’s making this so hard isn’t the actual moving or choosing a place or applying. What’s making this hard is that it’s reminding me of how many times I’ve had to start over. It reminds me of how inconsistent my income is because my work is inconsistent. It reminds me that in so many ways, I feel like I’m 26 again and just starting to figure out how to be an adult. It reminds me of how inadequate I feel, and it’s the inadequacy that’s making my gut hard to hear.”

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this post comes from chapter four in my memoir, “Where the River Flows.”

I’ve struggled with negative body image since I was 11 years old.

I remember from an early age noticing the difference between my body and the bodies of other girls. I’d stand in the locker room at gym time, staring as they removed their shirts, wondering how their stomachs looked so hard and flat. Questioning my own body and feeling that mine was somehow wrong in comparison.

I spent the summer between my freshman and sophomore year of high school dieting to no avail. I couldn’t seem to shed the belly fat I so desperately despised. I just wanted to be thin like my friends. I wanted a flat stomach like the rest of the girls at school. What was so wrong with my body that it couldn’t take the shape and form of everyone I saw around me?

I was certain that the shape of my belly was preventing me from finding love. That the boys at my school didn’t want a round stomach, and that unless I looked like my friends or the girls I saw on TV, they’d find me disgusting.

One day in summer, right before my sophomore year of high school, I was at my friend’s condo laying by the pool. We were catching the last few rays of Seattle sun and gossiping about the boys we couldn’t wait to see come September. Her younger brother came to sit with us, and within moments of arriving he pointed at my stomach, and with a snickering grin said, “nice pooch.”

I was mortified. He saw it. It wasn’t in my head. The pooch wasn’t some dysmorphic thing I’d imagined—it was real, and just as I feared, it was disgusting.

Weeks later after school began, I found out that Adrian, a boy I’d become romantically involved with, told his buddies , “One day Rachel will grow out of her baby fat.” I sickly took this as a compliment. That he’d seen the potential in my body, hiding under all this baby fat I, too, was convinced didn’t belong.

The boys in my high school were always rating our bodies. Who had the nicest butt. The best abs. The prettiest eyes. We were like show dogs to them, parading in circles around the common area of our school, waiting to be selected and rated, hoping to go home with a ribbon.

I went harder on my diets and started cutting out food groups. I stopped drinking soda, reduced breakfast to a single grapefruit, and increased the times I went running each week.

When cabbage soup and “Slim ‘N Six” DVDs didn’t give me the slim-‘n-six-pack I wanted, I started to grow frustrated with my body. I started to think something was inherently wrong with it—my other friends could work out and get fit, why couldn’t I? What was so wrong with me?

My breasts hadn’t yet developed, and I’d only ever had one period, so I was also convinced my body was somehow behind, somehow not advanced, not ever designed to be fully woman or fully beautiful. I was a pudgy adolescent, doomed to be small, soft, and round unless I found the secret that I was certain everyone but me possessed.

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