How to Live in a 230 Sq Ft Apartment

For those following me on the socials, you might know I moved out of NYC this past weekend. It's a temporary move and one I'm making only because working, eating, sleeping, ugly crying, etc. in the same room for an indefinite period of time is not great for one's mental health. But before I parted ways with the space I thought I'd offer some free advice on how to live in a 230 square foot apartment.

You avoid it at all costs. Unless you live in Manhattan and then, just like with everything else this city demands of you, you adapt.

In 2018, I was finally able to move into my own apartment in the West Village - a neighborhood on the west side of Manhattan. It's a beautiful neighborhood and one I had been dying to afford ever since I moved to NYC and realized that's where all the cool kids are. The stars finally aligned and I got my own place - my very own, teeny-tiny 230 sq. ft. studio apartment.

Too Much. Not Enough.

I had big plans for 2020. This was supposed to be the year that I became a better version of me. Melissa 3.1. And then very slowly but seemingly all at once, the world stopped turning and now when we ask "how are you doing?", we mean it. 

My aspirations weren't too high. I was going to pay off the last of my student loans. Take solo cultural vacations. Start dating again. Take the GMAT. Lose that extra 10. Start writing again. 

I wanted to better myself. I wanted to BE better. 

Getting What You Deserve

One thing (probably the only thing) that's been consistent on my blog is honesty. I've always been transparent about how messy my life is and have avoided sugarcoating it. I think it's important to remember that the internet is full of filters and edits and everyone is hiding the ugly. I won't be sharing the following on social media because it doesn't seem appropriate but this is in many ways my online journal, so my thoughts live here. 

This is 30

I literally tried to write this post like seventeen times and kept pressing delete because it made me want to vom. I was trying too hard to not get emotional and it just made me sound like I was bragging about my birthday. Which, don't get me wrong, was definitely braggable but that's not why I'm here. Anyways. Unless you've muted me on all social media platforms, you may have noticed I recently turned 30. I had a difficult time with the milestone so posting about it incessantly on Instagram is how I coped - like the millennial I am. Big moments scare me. They make me feel like I'm not in control. Kind of like a roller coaster ride where you can see the huge drop coming up ahead but there's nothing you can do because you're strapped in. Life is about to change and you can't stop it. 

The After

*This is the original piece I submitted to Elite Daily which was then edited to fit their audience and published as "Going To Group Therapy After My Rape Helped Me Rebuild My Life."

The After. That's where the pain is. Everyone thinks it's in The During. But that's the easy part. In The During, you're in so much disbelief that you don't even get a chance to think about the pain. But in The After you have a lot of time. You have the rest of your life.

The Hard Stuff

I tend to write a lot about hard stuff. Some people find that depressing. But the simple truth is life is hard and it's even harder when people post their filtered lives on social media, airbrushing away all the very real pain that is surely there. I want to be honest here.

I live in New York City, a place many only dream of living and a place most can't. I have my own apartment and an amazing job. I'm in a healthy relationship. I have friends and family that would do anything for me. It would be very easy to only show you these parts of my life - the parts that aren't messy. But that's not reality.

2018: Year in Review

In 2015 and 2016, I wrote short and sweet recaps on the previous 365 days and in 2017 I turned it into a narrative. This past year's recap is going back to the crowd pleasing stream of consciousness. Here we go, fam.

Rang in 2018 in Brooklyn. BROOKLYN. Started group therapy. Thought I might not make it. Stopped writing for a bit. Interviewed for a photo essay which was featured in the New York Times. DAMN. Spoke about my assault in front of students at an event. Started a new job. YAY. Tried to prosecute my rapist. Went to Denver. Went to London. Went to Delaware. Went to Nashville. Went to Nantucket (which has resulted in subsequent trips to Newport Beach). Went to Raleigh. Went home to Northern Virginia and Myrtle Beach a few times. Ugly cried when I said bye to my roommates. Moved to the west side of Manhattan. Purged some stuff including people. Stood up beside two of my best friends as they sealed the deal.

2018, you kinda did me dirty for most of the year. But I learned a lot from you and I'm ready to see what your girl 2019 has to throw at me.

Here are 2018's most read posts. I'm only listing two because I was basically a vegetable this year and thus, didn't do much writing.

• Your GIF Guide to Sexual Consent
• This is What Healing Looks Like 

The Definitive Guide To Stuffing Your Lady's Stockings

Yes. That was intended to sound sexual. I haven't done one of these since 2016; how else was I supposed to grab your attention?

Listen up, folks. I feel like Christmas stockings don't get enough credit. While the contents of the Christmas stocking were once the only gifts children received at Christmas (filled with oranges and other super random items), they have now become an afterthought. They are the reason my parents raced to 7-11 at midnight, desperate to find useless items to shove into an oversized sock. Christmas stockings have been pushed into the shadows. We mindlessly pull goodies out of them knowing the fat man in the red suit left all the good stuff under the tree. I am here today to put a stop to this nonsense.

Are you nodding your head 'yes' enthusiastically at this point? Continue reading, my friend. I'm about to knock your socks off (obnoxious and obvious pun totally intended).

If you're dating a woman - first off, congrats because we are amazing; and also, yikes - shopping for us must be brutal. Especially when it comes to health and beauty products. So if you're a man reading this (and I haven't lost you by now), have no fear - I'm here. I'm about to tell you how to stuff your lady's stockings with the best goddamn goodies she's ever seen. Alright, I'll stop with the innuendos.

1.) RevitaLash Advanced Eyelash Conditioner - If you buy one product because you read this post, please make it this one. I've tried eyelash extensions - they are super expensive and high-maintenance. I've tried fiber mascara - it's messy. This is the only product I've come across in my 30 years of being a woman that actually gives me the long lashes I'm looking for and bonus, they are 100% mine. In fact, it works so well my guy actually complimented me on them. Whoa. 

*DEAL ALERT* at the time of this posting, this is $30 cheaper than it normally is. Seriously dudes, buy this for your lady. This shit works.

2.) Dermal Collagen Facial Mask - I'm of the age now where a solid skincare regiment is no longer an "if I feel like it" option. Slap the description "anti-aging" on literally anything and I guarantee I'll do a double-take and possibly buy in bulk from Amazon. Enter sheet masks. I love a good sheet mask after a rough day and these ones in particular leave my face soft as butter after using them. What's even better is that you can get these in a bundle of 16 for a little over $10.

3.) Batiste Dry Shampoo - Gents, I'm going to fill you in on a dirty, little secret. Does your girl have great volume? Perfect curls that stay in place? A surprisingly strong floral-scented scalp that you've never really questioned before but now in this moment it's giving you pause? It's not her. It's the dry shampoo. We don't wash our hair every day a.) because we're lazy and b.) because it is REALLY bad for your hair to strip it of natural oils and then burn the shit out of it every morning. I go through about two cans a month, three if my social calendar is empty. Buy this for your girl and save on your water bill.

4.) Invisibobble Original Hair Tie - How many of your girl's hair ties have you found on door knobs, bed posts, gear shifts, etc.? Truly there aren't enough hair ties in the world to keep us satisfied. BUT, these guys are hard to lose (look how fun they are!) and they also do minimal damage to hair compared to other hair ties. This product also claims to not leave a kink in your hair when you take it out - I think this really depends on hair type so no promises on that one.

5.) Aquis - Original Hair Towel - I feel like I should earn an honorary degree for all of the wisdom I am imparting on the male species right now. So sometimes we wash our hair. And when we do, the big no-no most women make is putting their hair up in a heavy, cotton towel while it's drying. Stop doing that! It's really bad for your hair! Use this instead. It's super light which means it's gentle on your hair. Also, for the lucky ladies with super thick and long hair, this thing promises to dry your hair more quickly than a conventional towel. I can't attest to that because my hair is basically dry as soon as I turn the water off. Pro tip: use this to cover your hair while you're doing an overnight conditioning mask so you don't ruin your pillows. 

6.) Neutrogena Makeup Remover Towelettes - Raise your hand if your lady has ruined each and every one of your towels with makeup (I think I owe my mother an entire new set). Truth is, makeup is a bitch. Putting it on, wearing it, taking it off. The whole thing sucks and if I was one of those girls who could pull off the no-makeup look, TRUST I WOULD. Anyways, makeup remover wipes do just what they say they'll do. Also, earn bonus points with your SO by leaving these in her nightstand for when she's super lazy and doesn't feel like washing her face before bed. It be like that sometimes.

7.) Cremo Moisturizing Shave Cream - Let me start this one off by saying you have to follow the directions for this to work. And once you figure out how to do that you will save so much money on shaving cream. I searched through my Amazon orders to find out when I last bought this. You guys, I've had my current bottle since mid-June. No comment on how often I shave my legs. Anyways, this isn't ordinary shaving cream. Besides the fact this stuff smells like I'm on a tropical island surrounded by no one (my dream vacation), it works by using a tiny amount of product activated by hot water (the hottest you can stand). The texture is completely different than regular shave cream so don't be freaked out by that. I've been using this stuff for three years and I'll never go back.

8.) Shhhowercap - As I'm writing this post I'm getting increasingly more aware that men just have it way too easy. Anyways, next on the definitive guide is the most amazing shower cap in existence. Yes, shower cap. Like your great grandmother used to wear. Alright guys, get over it - now that we've discovered dry shampoo we're simply not going to go back to washing our hair every day. Moving on - this thing repels water. Not in a regular shower cap way. In like, a NASA employee mastered science and figured out how to keep this thing permanently dry kind of way. Haven't won you over yet? This thing also has some kind of Harry Potter sorcery included as a package deal because it somehow blocks humidity which is the #1 enemy of a good hair day.

9.) UGG Womens Cozy Sparkle Socks - I realize that socks will go down with underwear as being the worst gifts you can give someone but, before you pass on stuffing a sock into a significantly larger sock and call it a gift - hear me out. When's the last time your lady cuddled up to you and used you as a personal heating pad for her feet? Probably always. I received these as a gift last year and they are my favorite pair of cozy socks to date. Pair with an oversized sleep shirt to complete the look.

Pretty sure I just filled my good deed quota for 2018. Good luck out there, men. If you follow this guide, I promise you - you can't go wrong. Ladies, feel free to subtly hint at wanting these items by posting this directly onto your SO's Facebook page. 

Therapy Saved My Life

I recently got a request to post something (how about anything?) lighthearted on the blog and while I agree that it would be nice to post something less heavy than my norm, it's gonna have to wait.

This time of year can be extremely difficult for many. In fact, I think this time of year is difficult for most to some degree but society tells us that we're supposed to walk around like we're lit on eggnog all the time, and so we perform. We shove the stress and anxiety and depression and inconvenient thoughts down, down, down. I get it. I am so good at that game. Which is why before I post something lighthearted, I need to post something that could potentially save someone's life. 

A little over a year ago I was beginning to spiral. I've written about my struggle with mental health in many of my previous posts so I won't do it again here, but for those who are new to the blog you can read about my sexual assault and PTSD here, here, here, and here. Yeah, I talk about it a lot because it needs to be talked about.

You wouldn't think so, but it's actually easy to recall the details of what it was like during the worst of the worst. It's easy because I can't imagine that I'll ever be able to forget those days. They are extremely vivid memories. But what I haven't talked a lot about is how I got to that really bad place.

It was happening slowly but it happened before I knew it. I began to withdraw. I would cancel on friends. Shut myself in my bedroom. Self-medicate with sleeping pills. Essentially, I wanted to "not be." I didn't want to feel. If someone would have asked me if I was suicidal, I would have answered emphatically, "no." And I truly wasn't. But I was also desperate to not feel anything anymore. To make matters worse, I was really good at hiding all of this. The "I'm too busy" or "it's too cold out" texts were frequent and the "I don't want to talk about it" reply was automatic anytime someone tried to care. By the time I realized what was happening and reached out for professional help, I was already pretty far gone. I had no idea just how bad it was about to get over the following months.

It scares me to think of what could have happened if I hadn't reached out for help. I'm not telling you my experience with individual and group therapy was easy, if you've read my posts you know I fought hard to get here. But it could have been worse. And I could have found myself in a hole so deep I might not have been able to get out. 

Let me be clear, what we're talking about here isn't some holiday sadness that Hallmark movies tell you can be cured with a puppy and a fiance (side note, I fucking hate those movies). The desperation one feels around this time of year is something that is preexisting and it is only amplified by the holiday pressure to be social, act happy, and show your love by spending thousands of dollars. In my case, I was already feeling the symptoms of my PTSD when the holidays came around.

If you are in pain now, please know that you are not alone. You are surrounded by people who are hurting just like you and you have nothing to be ashamed of. There is nothing wrong with you. You are not abnormal. 

You are brave for getting out of bed every morning. You are brave for fixing that smile on your face before you walk out the door. You are brave for making it through another day. I know it doesn't feel that way. I know you feel weak and unworthy. I know. But I promise you - I can tell you from experience - it. gets. better. 

I implore you - if you are desperate to not feel, especially if you are desperate enough to take your life, please reach out for help. You can cry. You can talk. You can get answers and most importantly, you can get help. 

You are needed here. You are wanted here. You are loved here.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 

1 800-273-8255

NYC: Two Year Review

"Was definitely supposed to write this a while ago and publish yesterday but is anyone really surprised? Because I'm not."

That was my opening line for my One Year Review so I think it's safe to say that absolutely nothing has changed because here I am, an entire month late on this post. This is an endearing quality, right? 

I've got two years under my belt in this big, beautiful city. I keep waiting for the day I wake up and hate the blaring horns, sidewalk vomit, and the smell of piss on a hot summer's day but maybe that is a badge you earn at Year Three? Here's hoping because every day I wake up in this city is completely different than the last and I love that. New buildings being constructed and your favorite deli closing -  an entire block can change before your eyes. There's a sadness in this for sure. Tearing down the old and worn down demands some kind of mourning, some kind of grief. But there's also something reassuring in knowing that change and adaptation is so natural and necessary in this city. Reconstruction is beautiful. 

I've grown up so much here. I've never felt so confident and sure of my self and what I want. Maybe it's a part of getting older or maybe this place forced me to face things I hadn't wanted to before. Either way, it's been an epic two years and I'm so excited for what's next. 

Alright, let's get to the part you actually wanted to read. 

The Rent: So I moved. I was living on the East Side and now I'm on the West Side (in my very own apartment!!!)  in the best neighborhood in all of Manhattan - West Village. When you think of a Kate Hudson movie being shot in New York, this is the neighborhood you think of. Brownstones and cobbled streets, boutiques and the best restaurants. It's like the perfect date neighborhood. Just bring a girl here and she'll fall in love with you. Promise. Also, I'll be doing a "home tour" post at some point just be warned that I live in a shoe box so the post will contain exactly one photo.

The Rats: Solid chance that I'm just not aware of my surroundings because I haven't seen a ton of rats or any A-list celebrities since I moved here. 

The Subway: Now that I actually live close to a subway station I take it all the time and if Uber is doing poorly these days you can blame it on me. 

The People: I've never met so many hard working people in my entire life. I'm constantly in awe of my friends and family that live here and fight for what they want. They don't take no for an answer. Surviving in this place can be a challenge in itself so to thrive here is incredibly admirable. I'm very luck to know so many talented people. Hoping some of that rubs off!

The Dates: You guys. I can't. Dating here is the absolute worst. I actually got rid of Bumble (the only dating app I use) because it's depressing. Can't wait for the holidays when I have to explain to family members that I'm single because the only person interested in dating me is the homeless man I greet on my way to work every day.

The Nightlife: I'm old. This doesn't exist. My night out consists of two glasses of wine at dinner before I return home to my Netflix lineup. I refuse to apologize for this. That being said though, I would never turn down a boozy brunch. Bottomless mimosas, hold the OJ.

The Food: Oh my gaahhhddd the food. Don't ever ask me for a list of restaurants to visit while you're here because that would turn into me starting another novel. There are so many amazing places to eat here. And there's something new popping up every week. If I get fat just know it was because I had to. 

The Smell: To me, New York City will always smell like hot dog street vendors and the possibility that anything could happen here. Big fan of both of those things.

Check One, Two. Check. Is This Thing On?

If you're reading this, you likely know me. If you know me well, you likely also know that my solution to just about every problem is to pretend that it doesn't exist. Don't ask me about it. I don't want to talk about it. I'm fine. I'll be okay. Let's move on. 

That defense mechanism worked really, really well for me. Up until it didn't. 

It was around this time last year that the #metoo movement started to pick up steam. At first it was just a couple of tweets here and there - individuals voicing their horrifying truths. And then all of the sudden it was an avalanche. My news feed was made up entirely of women's stories detailing their abuse, trauma, and PTSD symptoms. I took them in like an addict. I had to read every. single. one. Through sobs I reluctantly clicked on link after link, paying close attention to the comments. Reading words from the victim blamers and shamers as if they were speaking directly to me. Each word piling on top of my chest until I could barely breathe. I couldn't stop.

And just like that, the pretty facade I had spent 2.5 years building had completely imploded.

The next six months of my life would be the absolute worst I had ever experienced. My body completely turned against me - a new physical symptom of my PTSD popping up so regularly that I was visiting my doctor every other week. Multiple prescriptions. Acupuncture. Acupressure. Three hours of therapy a week. I was fighting like hell when at the time it felt like I was doing nothing but merely existing. 

I know it's been a while. I've been quiet. But I've been rebuilding. I'm not "healed." But I'm better than I was a year ago. 

Anyways, the point is - I'm not going anywhere. So if you thought you had escaped my passionate and frequently politically polarizing posts (alliteration totally intended), then I am so not sorry to disappoint you. Because I'm back and I'm swinging, baby. 

This is What Healing Looks Like

After tossing and turning for over an hour, I finally give in and check the time on my phone. It's 3:30 AM. In this nightmare, I was being skinned alive while hanging upside down from the ceiling. I feel the panic in my chest start to rise. My pulse increases and the familiar "butterflies" in my heart start to flutter. The heart palpitations mixed with my shallow breaths eventually make me nauseous and before I know it, another hour has passed. It's now 4:45 AM and I know I've gotten only a few hours of restless sleep. If I take a Xanax now it will probably provide relief but I don't want to rely on medication. Instead, I try the "conscious breathing" technique I was prescribed. Slow breaths in, slow breaths out. It seems futile. I know the palpitations and nausea will last all day. My alarm goes off. 

I roll out from my cocoon of blankets and pad barefoot into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. My doctor told me to stay away from any amount of caffeine but the migraines and insomnia have won and I'm not left with a choice. It's not until I look at my meetings for the day that I remember it's Thursday. After work I'll be in two hours of intensive group therapy for victims of sexual trauma. 

I know I should curl my hair and put makeup on today. People at work have started commenting on how unhappy and tired I look. But I don't have the energy for it. So I put my hair in a bun for the fourth day this week and turn the bathroom light off. I hate looking in the mirror. When I leave my apartment it's cold and bright and loud outside and I'm sensitive to it all. For the entire 20 minute walk to work, I tell myself that I only have to act like a human for the next eight hours. That's it.

It's 8:30 PM and I've just left group therapy. The 4 Train is crowded, even this late at night, so I try to keep my head down to hide my face. My eyes are swollen and red from sobbing for almost two hours. I feel numb and raw at the same time. I clutch my "grounding stone," running my fingertips over the smooth edges. It's supposed to distract me from my thoughts and emotions. The train jerks me back and forth and I realize that's exactly how I feel inside. 

It's Friday morning and I've finally slept with the help of Ambien. Like the Xanax, it's addictive so I only take it when I'm desperate. Desperate. That word sounds so hollow compared to how it feels. Work is almost unmanageable today and I only have time to leave my desk to go to the bathroom. For the next 24 hours I will be unable to stop crying. My office has glass walls and as my coworkers walk by I can tell how uncomfortable I make them feel. 

I look down at my phone and see the unread text message notifications. My best friend had surgery three days ago. Another is publishing a book this month. I care. I'm concerned. But I don't have the energy to have a typed conversation. Or any kind of conversation. I turn my screen off and tell myself that I'll respond later. I won't. 

I come home and spend twenty minutes sitting in the shower. It's become another kind of therapy. In addition to the group therapy. The individual therapy. The acupuncture. The prescriptions. I spend Friday night in my bedroom alone watching TV because it's easier than having a conversation with someone about how hard their day was. 

Saturday is a good day. I have a party to go to. I get a blowout and a spray tan. I put makeup on. Today I'm supposed to be happy. And I am. For almost 12 hours I am talking and laughing and drinking. Later I'll see pictures of myself and realize I don't look happy at all. I spend all day in bed the following day recovering. Not from the alcohol. From the "having fun."

This is four days. I've been doing some version of this for almost four months and I've never felt so alone in my life.

It's been almost three years since my rape and I am just now scratching the surface of what it means to "heal." The symptoms are endless and they tell me it's called PTSD. Don't ask me if I'm okay. I'm not okay. I'm not fine. 

Your GIF Guide to Sexual Consent

Many of you have read the breaking news headlines on sexual assault claims involving celebrities these past few months. They don't seem to be slowing down anytime soon. As a society, this has forced us to have a lot of difficult conversations - with others and with ourselves.

What is sexual assault? Is it black and white or are there gray areas? What constitutes a sex crime and what constitutes "bad behavior?" Am I guilty of assault? Have I been assaulted? I'm so glad you asked. Hello everyone, welcome to Sexual Consent. My name’s Melissa and I’ll be your tour guide.

via GIPHY

So you’ve got a date tonight? First time meeting? Been married for 30 years? Doesn’t matter. Here at Sexual Consent, everyone lives by the same standards.

via GIPHY

You'll notice here that a lot of dates will include the consumption of alcohol. Remember, just because your date has had a drink with you, that does not mean they want to have sex with you. A drink is not currency to be used in exchange for sex.

via GIPHY

via GIPHY

If the date gets moved to a private venue, congratulations - you might be having sex tonight.

via GIPHY

OR perhaps your date just wants to continue spending time with you and doesn't mind doing so in a more secluded setting. Sounds like they are interested in getting to know you. Very exciting stuff! Friendly reminder folks, someone can go home with you and not want to have sex with you.

via GIPHY

The mood is right. The candles are lit. And Damien Rice is crooning on the Beats speaker your mom got you for Christmas. A makeout session reminiscent of prom night ensues.

via GIPHY

So you want to get a little more serious? Folks, we've just reached our first major intersection in Sexual Consent. Before proceeding any further, please stop to look both ways. You can simply ask your date, "Is this okay? Are you comfortable?" The good news is that this isn't hard to do and it's not awkward. In fact, it's a romantic gesture which showcases your ability to be aware of your partner's thoughts and feelings and not just the blood rushing to your nether regions.

via GIPHY

These questions should be repeated throughout the evening, specifically before any sexual act. This is a nice thing to do because you don't want to make your partner feel uncomfortable or that they don't have the opportunity to tell you that they don't want to take it any further. Yikes!

via GIPHY

Suppose your date would like to take things slow. This could mean a variety of things. Slow could mean that they are only interested in kissing. Slow could mean they are only interested in heavy petting. Slow could mean they are only interested in oral sex. Slow could mean they are only interested in receiving oral sex. Slow could mean they are interested in sex just not right now. I know. The possibilities are endless. But that's because humans are complex creatures and are capable of having different and sometimes conflicting thoughts.

via GIPHY

If your date has not given their consent - whether that be verbally or through non-verbal cues (pulling away, turning their head, trying to run out the door, etc.) - then this is the point in the evening where you stop making advances.

via GIPHY

If your date has enthusiastically given their consent, buckle up friends, this is where the adult fun begins. Next stop, Pleasure Town. Unfortunately, I cannot be your tour guide for that destination because my mom reads my blog and she doesn't need to know the extent of my knowledge in this area.

via GIPHY

Thank you for visiting. And remember, sexual assault doesn't have to be gray if you get consent. This is a great way to avoid being added to shitty men lists, having your name dragged through the media, losing your career, going to jail, etc.

via GIPHY

2017: Year in Review

In 2015 and 2016, I wrote short and sweet recaps on the previous 365 days. What I did, where I went, who I met. But I’m finding it difficult to summarize this past year in a quick post.

It seems that each year, I surprise myself by discovering that I’m still learning and still growing. I realize how cliché that sounds so let me explain. I’m one year from 30 and I always thought that number was somehow magical, that it was synonymous with "knowledgeable" and "wise." It’s not. I’m still figuring out who I am and what I’m doing.

The year 2017 has taught me that grief is real. It’s painful and it’s long. Pushing past the grief isn’t easy either, but it’s the only path to relief. It has taught me that relationships don’t have to last forever to be meaningful. They can repair you or they can break you so you learn how to repair yourself. This last year has taught me that being nice includes being nice to yourself. And it doesn’t have to mean giving undeserving people second chances. The year 2017 has taught me that I haven’t quite figured this out yet and that’s okay.

Here’s to 2018 and the inevitable lessons that lie ahead. Until next year, here are some of 2017's most-read posts:

• What Nobody Told Me About Being a Rape Victim
• A Dirty Martini And A Meltdown
• Promise Me
• NYC: Six Month Review
• NYC: One Year Review
• I Know

The Best Thing About the Worst Thing You've Ever Done

Recently, I did a really, really, REALLY stupid thing. I ignored my gut. I refused to listen to sage advice. And I only listened to those who were telling me exactly what I wanted to hear. I told myself it would be fine. I'd be fine. It would even be fun. I went against something so intrinsic to my character that it literally gave me anxiety every time I thought about it. Which was a lot. I did something stupid. And then it came back to bite me in the ass. I don't want to contradict Miss Swift, but I did something bad and, you guys, it did not feel good.

I'm not going to get into details but for all my family members out there, don't worry, I didn't break the law. This time.

Let me be clear. This isn't the first time I've done something dumb. I mean, I literally moved to New York City on a whim. That one didn't turn out so bad though. Honestly, I'm surprised I graduated college and have maintained a stable career. Anyways - the point is, I've done a lot of really dumb shit in my 28 years. I'm sure I haven't even seen the worst of it yet. But every time I've f***ed up, I've cried it out and walked it off. 

I know a lot of people try to make their lives seem perfect on social media. But that's a curated life full of carefully planned moments. That's not real. A real life is messy. It's getting your heart broken. Living paycheck to paycheck. It's getting fired. It's losing your shit on your kid and it's using boxed hair dye. Being an adult is hard. These stupid decisions we make are a part of learning and growing up. 

The best thing about the worst thing you've ever done is that you learned from it. And hopefully you never do it again. Try new things. Make mistakes. Fall on your ass. But get back up again. Try a different path. Just keep trying. It's when you stop trying that you start failing. 

Someone should seriously make a post card out of that because that was some Gandhi shit. 

What Nobody Told Me About Being a Rape Victim

There is a very real possibility that you will see your rapist in public. 

Or, in my case, on a dating app. It's going to take your breath away and then you will go lock yourself in the bathroom for 45 minutes due to your immediate need to throw up and shit your brains out at the same time.

You're probably not okay

No matter how many times you say it and no matter how many times you actually really do feel okay. One minute you'll be all "the past is the past" and "I'm totally fine, I don't need therapy" *flips hair off shoulder* and then some fucking moron will post something on social media blaming victims and you'll totally lose your shit on them and promptly ask to go home early because you can't stop shaking and crying.

Some things will trigger you and some won't.

You might be able to watch a rape scene in a movie while continuing to shovel handfuls of popcorn into your mouth but then read about a massive sexual harassment scandal in the news and be unable to focus the rest of the day. *shrugs*  It doesn't make sense to me either.

People will constantly apologize for making references to rape.

There is a difference between making a reference and making a joke. Rape jokes aren't funny and reveal a lot about someone's character. If you're saying you took an Uber home from the bar because you didn't want to get raped on your walk home, that doesn't tell me you're a jackass that tells me you've got street smarts. Maybe try Uber Pool though and save a couple bucks?

Some people won't want to date you because you have been raped. 

FUCK THOSE PEOPLE. There is nothing wrong with you and the fact that you are still alive and willing to date in the first place is a testament to your resilience and strength. They should be so lucky to date you.

You might feel guilty about wanting to have sex. 

Wanting to have sex again after you've been raped doesn't mean there is something wrong with you or that you deserved to be raped or that you weren't raped in the first place. You're a human being with very natural desires. Orgasms are great (sorry, mom!). And have you heard the news? Females can achieve multiple o's! 

Assholes will react like assholes to your rape story. 

"Did you get an STD test?" and "I don't have the stomach for that" are just some of the gems I've heard. Dude - Fuck. You. Hey, if anyone was wondering about a foolproof way of responding to hearing someone's rape story, here it is. Ready? 1) Look concerned. 2) Say you're sorry (it doesn't matter that you didn't rape me, it's just a nice thing to say). 3) Try not to tell me about someone else's rape story you heard (this is about me right now, not you). 4) And thank me for trusting you with this information. 

On a very serious note, I want to put out the reminder that there isn't a textbook on how to survive a sexual assault. There is only one rule: don't harm yourself. If you're a survivor, I hope you know that you are brave and strong for not only enduring your assault, but for continuing day after day while dealing with this shit. This isn't a club I'd ever want to be a part of but now that I'm here I gotta say, we're a bunch of bad asses and I'm pretty proud of that. 

A Dirty Martini and a Meltdown

A couple of weeks ago I had a bit of an emotional breakdown. Just kidding, if you were one of the unfortunate souls that saw/heard from me that day you know it was actually a complete shitstorm. To summarize, I was having a horrible day/week and then I opened a 33oz bottle of sparkling water (necessary detail: mandarin orange flavored) which exploded all over me and my office literally one minute before I was supposed to be in a meeting. In a soaking wet silk blouse that was clinging to my body (that wasn’t supposed to sound sexual but I’m going to roll with it), I walked very calmly to the bathroom where I proceeded to lock myself in a stall and totally lose my fucking shit.

You guys, I was a wreck. This breakdown was essentially the culmination of multiple stressful situations occurring simultaneously in which I had absolutely no control. So naturally, after work I went to a bar that makes the best dirty martini in NYC, conveniently located two blocks from my apartment. It helped. 

As I was sipping on my dinner, I was thinking about all of the problems swirling around in my head and feeling sorry for myself. As one does. Don’t get me wrong, about 90% of these problems were legitimate problems. I wasn’t overreacting. But I have enough self-awareness to recognize that I am extremely lucky to be where I am in life. After all, I’m alive.

There’s been a lot of super shitty shit (that B.S. in Creative Writing coming through for me once again) going on in the world lately. Between natural disasters, (preventable) mass shootings, and our Oompa Loompa of a President leading us into a Third World War via Twitter, emotions are high.

You might be feeling the impacts of some or all of these situations. No doubt you have your own shit to deal with. Maybe your cancer came back. You had a miscarriage. Your spouse cheated on you. Your mother died. You lost your job. You lost your house. Maybe you lost everything. Whatever it is - big or small - whatever your own 33oz bottle of mandarin orange-flavored sparkling water is, please don’t give up.

I know the pain is real. It's fast and it isn't fleeting. I know what it’s like to feel everything all at once and to wish the pain would just stop. Today is hard. It's hell. I can't promise you that tomorrow will be better. Or even the next day. What I can promise you is that you can survive it. And I can promise you that there are people who are counting on seeing you tomorrow. There are people who want to help you ease this pain. They want to see you get better.

This is your reminder that it’s okay to feel pain and vulnerability. And it’s also okay to talk to someone about it.

NYC: One Year Review

Was definitely supposed to write this a while ago and publish yesterday but is anyone really surprised? Because I'm not.

Sooooo, yesterday was my NYC One Year Anniversary. WHAT?! I don't know if it's because I'm really having that much fun or if it's because I'm old now, but this year has flown by. A year ago I packed my life into a sixteen-foot truck and hauled it up to the craziest, scariest, most exciting city in the United States. The very best place on earth. Alright fine, I'm probably overdoing it. Some people say I'm still in the honeymoon phase but whatevs, I love it here and I haven't regretted this decision for one second.

Friends keep asking if I'll stick around for a while. I have no idea. I know that I can't see myself moving away from this amazing city anytime soon but I'm also excited to see how far I can push my limits. If an opportunity presented itself, I'd have no problem picking up and starting over again. If I've learned anything about myself over this past year it's that I am so much more independent and self-sufficient than I thought. 

Some things have changed since I last checked in with you all. Keep reading. If you've gotten this far, I already know you have nothing better to do. 

The Rent: It kind of hurts to write a check for that large of a sum every month knowing I have friends back home in Michigan whose mortgage is 1/3 of what I pay. Yeah, it would be nice to have a house and a yard but HAVE YOU SEEN MY VIEW?!

The Rats: Okay, I've seen one now. It was the size of a cat. And it was terrifying.

The Subway: I use it more now because Uber made me poor. It's so easy and much more efficient than staying above ground. If you're visiting NYC I'd recommend this mode of transportation over anything else. It can be intimidating but if you ask someone for help, I promise you'll be okay.

The People: Oof. This one is tricky. I think the best way to sum up the majority of New Yorkers is that they look out for #1. And I get it. This city is tough. I learned pretty quickly (or maybe not so much) that it's the ones that use you that you gotta watch out for. People keep telling me I'm too nice. Maybe they're right.

The Dates: Not telling! Alright, alright, I'll give you one little nugget. The worst date so far was when this dude made me go all the way out to Brooklyn to meet him at a movie theater. That should have been my first red flag. Then he showed up late so I had to buy the tickets. Whatever, I'm an independent, successful female; I can buy my own shit. The deal breaker was when he dropped me off three blocks from my apartment while I was wearing heels because he didn't want to have to go down a one-way street. I am here to tell you that chivalry is dead.

The Nightlife: I haven't really gone out much lately. I'm on this crazy marathon training plan so all of my calories are going towards fueling my body instead of getting drunk. Omg. Is this adulting?!

The Food: There is a difference between a NY bagel and a bagel anywhere else. Also, if I could eat Wafels & Dinges every day of my life and not become diabetic and obese, please know that I would. #alwayshungry

The Smell: There is nothing like stepping outside every morning and being greeted by the smell of a homeless man's piss. If that's the price I have to pay to live in this great city, so be it.

Promise Me

That voice inside of you. Maybe today it's quiet. Maybe today it's louder than it's ever been before. It's telling you that you can't do this. Everything is different now. You can't possibly exist in this strange place.

I imagine that the pain you're feeling must be palpable in the space around you. This heaviness, there isn't a name for it. No word, no language could possibly capture the gravity of what is inside of you. It's black and full and takes up the space between your ribs so that even one breath becomes a small victory. I can't pretend to know what that must feel like. I hope I never have to.

Death never comes when we're ready for it. There's always more life to be lived.

All at once you've lost your best friend, your partner, your lover. He knew you in ways that can't be described and in ways none of us could ever understand. I hope you cry. I hope you scream. I hope you say words you've never dared to say out loud before. I hope you listen to sad songs and have too many glasses of wine. I hope you get angry and feel sorry for yourself. I hope you feel everything there is inside of you to feel. You should. You're owed that. And so much more. But I hope you never give in to that voice.

You can do this. You will do this. Because you have three boys that need you to show them how to become men. They need you to show them how precious this life is. How short it is. How it can burn you and break you. And yet time and time again you heal. It's a test you weren't ready for, you didn't ask for, you aren't prepared to take. But you will surprise yourself.

I won't pretend that this is fair. I don't understand it and you don't deserve it. No one should have to feel the pain you feel now. But promise me, even on the darkest nights that are surely ahead of you, promise me that you won't listen to that voice saying that you can't. You can. There's always more life to be lived.

If you're interested in ways to support the Woeber family, you can do so here.

Happy Ann'y

Two years ago today I decided I was going to start writing again. I had no idea what I was doing (spoiler alert: still don't) and I had no idea what I wanted to write about. It turns out, I want to write about it all. The good, the funny, the bad, and the ugly. I've grown up a lot with you here - and not just as a writer.

I've told you stories about waking up in a trash can, moving to New York, and my inner dialogue when I have to do anything that requires being physically active. I hope you've enjoyed laughing along with me (or more likely, at me) and I can assure you that there will be plenty more of these stories to come.

You've also been there with me in the darkest moments of my life. Right now you're staring at a screen merely reading typed words but on the other side of that screen is a woman who has cried for hours in front of you, wondering if she's sharing too much but still needing to share it all. I've been told that I should be ashamed and that God is disappointed in me. That what I'm sharing some "don't have the stomach for." I've learned that my words aren't meant for these people and I've also learned to be okay with that.

As of this morning, I have 22,955 pageviews. That might not seem like a lot to some. But to me that number represents every time someone thought something that I had penned was worthy of reading. Thank you for your comments and likes and most of all, thank you for reading.