Tag: mental health

Letters Of Healing #2 – Letting It Out Is Important Too

I have a bad habit, I’ve acquired over the past few years: I bottle things up so people don’t leave me. Hi, I’m Magz and I have a problem. A two-prong issue, actually, I am not processing my feelings, and I am irrationally concerned about rejection. It’s not good. I was taught to believe by family and society that it was because of divorce, specifically placing the blame on my dad, and to be honest, I believed that for a long time. But that answer leaves all of us who have experienced that or who fear rejection in this weird pseudo-reality of things being out of our control, which doesn’t help. It turns the intensity up all while limiting personal growth. How can you move on if this is baked into your personality, right? I mean, everyone who knows your story will instantly know your flaws – your parent or parents “didn’t love you enough” to stick around. Yeah, this is a toxic bunch of nonsense.

So what has helped me get more clarity on this, honestly, is learning about what makes my mind tick and how I can work with myself to be healthier. For me specifically, learning about neurodivergence, and specifically the possibility of undiagnosed autism or adhd, has helped me understand that there might be more to my penchant for brutal honesty than just being an off-putting person or a bad person. It might be that my brain simply processes differently, yet because I want to fit in – masking, I fall into people-pleasing patterns to “fit in” with those around me. Similar to learning about high-masking autism in females, with adhd, there is a sensitivity to rejection and difficulty with emotional regulation that makes processing the rejection more difficult. I can see these in the ways I have interacted with people throughout my life, especially family members.

I get stuck in these camps of either feeling the need to be brutally honest, especially if I feel an emotional meltdown coming on from bottling everything up, or I clam up and shove it down, no matter how much it hurts to “please” the person. All this does is create a cycle of emotional repression, overwhelm, and meltdown behind the scenes. Loneliness, anger, bitterness, shame, fear of rejection, and pain. This is not what a healthy person looks like.

For too long, I’ve mistaken being “tough” with being healthy. It’s been the one-two punch of finding Elena Carroll’s reflective essays and watching Scrubs for these to start clicking in my brain. I find myself pinballing between being like Dr. Dorian, who lets people like Elliott walk all over him, and Dr. Cox, who shoves it all down and sinks into a pit of loneliness behind the shadows because dealing with my problems makes me feel uncomfortable.

My constant dysfunctional relationship, which gets more unhinged every year, my relationship with my mom is the place where I see all these problematic habits come to the surface. I will bottle something up for a decade, afraid of the confrontation, and then one day I will just explode about something else. To be fair, when I do blow up, it’s usually after my mom has contributed to my anger with a gem of guilt or a little nugget of criticism on some part of my personality. Like recently, I was told she was intentionally withholding her health updates after two concerning ER visits, because I am too “sensitive” to handle anything after I told her it has been scary thinking of being sick because I love her. Yep, I see where I have learned to shove everything down – you can’t be weak and express emotions, that’s for losers.

So where does that leave me? Well, I can either choose Option #1 – be honest about my frustrations and stand up for myself, which comes with consequences, Option #2 – bottle it up and fake a smile, all while my shoulders knit themselves into a stress knot and my jaw clenches like a bear trap, Option #3 – I avoid the relationship for months at a time and pretend like nothing happened. Lately, I’ve been thinking, why can’t I just be honest as it comes, instead of bottling up to the point where I am furious? I don’t live there anymore, there are no consequences for being honest gently, and in the moment that I disagree? That would be healthier, and somehow, over all these years, I forgot how to do this. Because adulthood is lonely. Grief is lonely. Sometimes that fear of rejection and people pleasing is all that you crave just to keep a relationship with a loved one steady, because you miss how easy it was when you were a kid.

I think health, though, might be more important than the illusion of peace, because I have not been managing stress well over the last ten years. My mental health took a toll, and so did my physical health. I’ve stored so much stress in my body, pretending I was happy about things that hurt me because I didn’t want to hear how I was different, not enough like my mom’s family, or weak for being sensitive, or a bad person for getting angry sometimes. I’ve had the same knot at the base of my neck for 5 years, which is not healthy at all. So what am I doing with all these revelations about who I am and what is healthy and what is not? I am slowly shifting through it. I’m taking space and a break from some of my more trying family relationships to get this stress worked out of my body and find my calm again. My husband, friends, and my beloved bun deserve better than for me to let things out of my control take a toll on my mental and physical health. Especially when they are the ones who pick up the pieces when I fall apart.

How do you manage stress? Do you struggle with people pleasing or bottling up emotions? Have people ever told you to change who you are to fit their standards?

I’m Sick of the Doom Spiral

I’m not really sure how long this post is going to be, but I wanted to speak out into the void today because there is far too much darkness hanging around, and it’s honestly eating me up. I’m disappointed in my own feeling of doom, and feeling hopeless when what I am feeling afraid of is shadows on the wall. Like the Cave allegory of Plato. I think C.S. Lewis’ work The Screwtape Letters does a magnificent job of adding a new layer to the allegory of the Cave, in my opinion. (They are not directly connected by anything other than my own musings.)

In my opinion, we are living, staring at the shadows, chained by things of our own choosing. The main one I would say is social media, and the 24-hour news cycle, which in concert is keeping us chained in our own prisons, by keeping us distracted. We are stuck dwelling in the never-ending waterfall of problems, and we don’t stop to think or to choose a problem to tackle; instead, we are thrown over the waterfall, and our peace is dashed against the rocks every day. If we would pause and breathe. Stop and consider, you realize that you can either continue being overwhelmed by the world, or you can take the chains of social media off. This thing that so easily entangles us and shuts down the ever-wailing news and its dribble of despair, to seek ways to fill your cup. Therefore, you can approach the troubles of the world with renewed eyes that have hope because we have hope from within. Not the human spirit but the Holy Spirit. I think we forget that we can do that and still care about the problems in front of us. We are not apathetic but proactive. Seeking more than what seems possible from all these voices shouting hate, doom, and fear. Are things broken? Very much so. But when have they been perfect?

The world is doomed. It has been doomed since the fall of man. Even though Jesus overcame the world, there is still no guarantee of a charmed life for believers. This place of fallen things is temporary, for the world will pass away someday. It doesn’t mean it is happening now. We all went through a collective world trauma in 2020, which compounded the daily things that make the world unfair, and it also opened our eyes to injustice in our midst. Just because we are more aware of the bad doesn’t mean that we can’t fight to fix it. But I think we need to do that offline. It’s a distraction. And I think Screwtape and Wormwood have a very easy job as long as we stay divided, isolated, and helpless online. The algorithm forces us to consume things at its pace, but that pace is a complex math equation, not the inner workings of millions of human minds, each made uniquely, that process, cope, and solve at our own pace.

For my fellow Americans specifically, if the Big Beautiful Bill is going to destroy America, I think we are looking with tunnel vision because of our own privilege. How many of our marginalized neighbors have endured far worse over the history of America, and they still have hope and have fought for a better future? I’m not falling for this propaganda anymore, and I’m also not supporting the workforce blackout either. We need supply lines, and we need to provide for ourselves. Protest with wisdom, not with sabotage in mind, because not having goods trucked in is going to hurt those most vulnerable in society, not the Senate or the Executive branch.

Finally, there are so many resilient cultures around the world that we could look up to right now for a reality check. All the countries deemed “3rd World” or developing nations. They are exploited every day by 1st world nations, and have for centuries been held down for the profit of the few. Do those people give up even though this is their reality every day? No. Against every odd, they provide for their families without help. We have help, and we cry poor and ignore their struggles and worry about our first-world inconveniences. We do this to the most vulnerable in our own country, too. Look at what’s going on in our communities due to ICE, the housing crisis, the cultural genocide of Native peoples, and African peoples through the slave trade. We have always had evil running things; this is not new. If America is ruined by the BBB, our foundation was always sinking sand. So don’t give this junk another moment of worry and focus on the big picture – how can we be the light of the world and the salt of the earth? And every day, let’s focus on the solid foundation freely given to everyone through the sacrifice of God’s son.

Sorry that this is a bit of a rant, I just needed to push back against the heaviness I feel pushing down on this lovely July day. Happy Canada Day! And stay strong. ❤

Individuals Without Individuality

What does it mean to be an individual? Are you a person? A sum among parts? An island? A unique person, maybe? What does it mean to do things individually? What does individuality mean to an individual? I really wish this word, and its forms, weren’t so tricky to spell with my slightly dyslexic mind (not formally diagnosed, but it runs in the family). It’s a lot to digest, but this has probably been stewing in my mind for the past year, waiting for me to plate it up.

My culture is incredibly individualistic, and this is expressed in good ways and bad. One good way is that my country is a land of immigrants and indigenous people, meaning there are voices, ideas, and ways of doing things. But when there are people, there are forces of wanting to fit in, wanting to control and suppress, and prescribed ideas of the “best” way. I think this has been at the forefront of my mind because I see a vast amount of content being shared online saying originality is dead, or personal style has been killed by the algorithm. We are all core-ified or aesthetically boxed in, and social media has commodified subcultures. But it’s the internet, critiquing the internet, so we’re of course using broad, and extreme brushstrokes here.

Where my mind has drifted to is the sameness. I see people online discussing the boringness of everything from movies to the same cosmetic procedures, the bland landscape of interior design, and starter pack cliches for “types” of women. There is a sea of Petite Knit patterns, a galaxy of Marvel media that repeat the same formula, reboot television, and romantic tropes pushed by publishers and BookTok to make everything fit nicely in the digital marketing ecosystem. Then we fall into nostalgia, like recession pop, which I found myself listening to the other day, reminiscing about my first summer as a member of Geneva’s painting crew in 2010. Thinking about how different life was before I even had a Facebook.

What we talked about and the memories I made with the women and men of my team were tangible, not digital. We discovered what we liked based on environmental forces, like books assigned in school, books suggested by a friend, etc. Music was discovered and shared by radio play, recommendations from others, and shared playlists that your friend curated, not the music streaming platform or the algorithm. I thought a bit less about my appearance, I mean, in adolescence, you are quite aware, but not as much as the smartphone era has brought attention to the physical image of ourselves. I had fewer pictures, grainier pictures, but more memories. Strong memories are tied to tangible things, like songs, food, books, buildings, and movies. We were all very different from each other, yet we could find commonality, and this is where the gears in my mind started turning.

We were part of a group, but had individuality. Yet, nowadays I feel more like I’m in a void, of no commonality, except for how everyone is into the same things, and wears the same clothes, yet we are not connected, communicating, nor would I even consider that despite our shared things we are on a team or part of a community. It’s hollow.

I think we are missing the point of life. We are not working towards something together. We are not part of communities. We are part of aesthetics. We have become fans not of art or sport but of corporations like Target, Lululemon, Sephora, Stanley, and Tesla. Well, probably not Tesla anymore. Target is also being boycotted, so…anyways. Apple, Alo, Rhode, Kate Spade, Trader Joe’s, Labubu. That’s more 2025, phew. Why are we stanning companies? Why are we considering shopping for a hobby? This is not a way to connect; it is a way to consume and drown in stuff instead of substance. Our roots are becoming so shallow, and our debt is vast; we are plants choked out by the weeds of hyper-individualism. We have let originality become a thing achieved not by character formation and real-life community, but by the path of purchase. Purchases for ourselves. It snuck in so fast, I didn’t realize how the art of gift giving has become a self-care checklist. Yikes! It wasn’t until playing Stardew Valley and Animal Crossing: New Horizons that I was struck by how topsy-turvy my own culture has become. Our priorities are whack, and I believe it has made us lonely, shells, devoid of individual thought, buying our way to “happiness” because all we think about is our individual needs above all. We have forgotten that humans are fulfilled by the relationships and communities we are rooted in. It’s time to break the spell.

Unmasking is Hard

The term “unmasking” was new to me when I first learned of my neurodivergence. I saw it on Pinterest and Instagram, displayed in captions and little relatable memes, but what did it mean?

I felt the full experience of what it means a few nights ago when I was invaded once again by rising anxiety, flooding through my mind, and this pressure, invisible yet firm, closing in on me. I knew deep down that I was close to having a meltdown, from environmental things that a neurotypical would brush off. I also knew that I couldn’t melt down; it wasn’t safe to be me. I couldn’t stim, that would be looked down upon with pity. I had to put on that mask, the normal-brained facade I’ve studied my whole life to become invisible and just blend into the sea of normies.

I feel this pressure to mask the most when I am interacting with my family. My mom and her side, for a brief time, my dad and his side. It’s a quagmire, being the offspring of two very domineering, neurotypical, narcissistic humans.

It’s a lot of work. Why am I sharing this? Because if you feel this way, you are not alone. I see you. I support you. I am rallying for you and I to make it through these moments holding space for us to be as we are, and to feel like we are enough. We don’t need to be fixed, we need to cope with this wild world that doesn’t understand us.

Like an ill-fitting garment, the clothes are the problem not your body. Your brain is not the problem, the world favors one way of doing things and that doesn’t make it right. Being louder doesn’t make your point more correct. There is nothing wrong with who you are and who you were created to be.

I hope wherever you are, this finds you well. That you are safe, loved, valued, and being kind to yourself. The world needs more kindness. Know that I love you and support you. Take the mask off, breathe, stim, and find peace.

Until next time ❤

Phone Calls in the Smartphone Era

As a Zillennial, on the cusp of both Gen Z and Millennials, my generation(s) have been stereotyped by the older folks as being afraid of phone calls, preferring a text to a voice on the other end of the line. And for a while, I’d say, yeah, I fell into this place of preferring a text as a teenager or chatting online, in my moody, insecure teenagedom, but then the phone call became this novelty of a thing. Calling someone seemed so serious, I became apprehensive if my question or answer was “serious” enough to warrant a call.

I didn’t want to be a burden, which is such a strange upside-down world from childhood, when the phone was the only way to contact your friends. I remember in the days of late elementary school, email being another exciting tool to communicate, like letters, but now email has become an intrusive contact on my smartphone. And maybe, that’s because email felt like real mail, when you could only check it on your window of computer time on the shared family computer. There was a boundary between online and offline. My mind has been marinating on this since watching a Theresa Yea video called, Why the Internet Will Never Be Cool Again.

I’m currently stuck in an endless game of phone tag, which is quite common when I am talking regularly to one of my parents. With my dad, it was a long game of waiting for that perfect window of nothingness. His layover in a city he found boring, I’d keep him company as he complained about life. Entertaining him and supporting him in his time of boredom, because if he were home, he was on the go every single moment. If I needed him, he would usually call me back on a drive home with a small set window for his attention span or horrible service.

My mom, in a similar fashion, gets stuck in these loops going non-stop. Except she answers the phone in loud restaurants, in the car, or at events, just to tell me that she is not available. She will even talk to other people around her, making me wait, or will pass the phone to the people she is with, as if I want to say hi to them when I really just wanted to converse with her about something important.

There is nothing like being on the brink of a panic attack and having your mom pass you to an acquaintance to say hi instead of listening to your crisis. Especially when you called because you thought they were home and available, but really, your loved one is always on the go. Not emotionally available. I hate calling and being met with passive-aggressive pressure to stop talking and let her go, even though she chose to answer the phone and enter into conversation like she was available at first, only to break that illusion as soon as you answer “how you are doing”. Read the room, kid, but honestly, how can I? This is particularly confusing when my parents both let me know how they would prefer me to live closer so I would be more available, but would it matter?

The video call and the text have become two of the most intrusive manners of communication, because a text should be responded to promptly and a video call, in her mind is perfectly normal to answer in a public setting like a restaurant or car without letting me know before I speak, what I believe I am saying in private to a person who is available to talk, to be swiftly gotcha-ed by the fact that I am not alone, and my privacy is not respected. The video call is like a two-edged sword; it is nice to connect with friends and family over long distances, but it is also a tool that hinders connection. It drops in unannounced and forces conversations that should be private to be open to the room.

I crave the dedicated correspondence of my grandma’s era, when she moved to another town, which meant that calling her mom would be categorized as long distance, and so she and her mom wrote letters to each other every day. I haven’t had that kind of connection with my mom since she got remarried, and I miss that feeling of connection, of being heard. It’s something that carried through my Grandma and my Aunt Florence’s generation, my phone calls with them being so intentional and full of connection. It was a visit, a catch-up, and was treated with hard boundaries. The common thread here is the lack of a smartphone.

Phones were still seen as tools to converse, not mini-computers full of distractions. I find this intentionality coming back to conversations I have with my friends; there are boundaries and moments set aside to converse without distractions. We have planned phone calls or dedicated pauses to set aside other tasks to write longer messages, like letters, through messaging apps. It has improved our communication and respect for each other’s time, in a way that I wish I could have with my parents. I just want to connect and not be connected. I want to converse and not call. I want to correspond and not text.

It is all a pipe dream, because this is never going to happen, they are just too enamoured with technology and the endless possibilities of their boomer generation, and the financial leg up that their generation has to be on the go and do things nearly constantly. We live in two different worlds, and that makes me sad.

Structure and Flow: Sewing in Two Minds

Like I said in my 2025 So Far Has Been a Creative Slump, I am sharing the projects I’ve hidden away in my closet and the photos buried in my gallery. It’s time to catch up on this blog on what I’ve been sewing, because it’s been a journey of new discoveries.

Go With the Flow

In 2022, Kyle gave me a unique birthday present. He curated a mystery box of fabric for me to do my own “Project Runway” challenge – one of those fabrics was this sheer wheat colored criss-cross fabric. It has lived in my stash ever since. It was a fabric that scared me but intrigued me. It’s a stretch mesh burnout pattern, and for over a year, I was baffled at how to sew it without destroying it.

Even so, after I sewed it into a garment, how would I apply it? Would it be a garment that would be sewn layered on top of an opaque fabric? What would that look like? Should I use a high contrast fabric or something similar in tone? It stumped me. I lived with it a bit more in my stash, and it came with me through the move and into the fall once more. In 2024, after two years, I had an idea – sheer layering. A garment I could wear under or over other pieces to add dimension and disguise the oatmeal color that I was concerned would wash me out.

My decision was to make a shirt. I thought making it a “basic” would provide the most opportunity to style it in my wardrobe. I sewed the delicate fabric with my machine very slowly. I relaxed the tension of the thread and progressed delicately, ready to hand-sew at any moment of panic. It was not terrifying; it was possible.

Structure of a Bodice – Armor

Many years ago, back in 2021 (four years ago, what?!) I crafted a structured dress, based on Lizzie Bennet’s dress, when Charlotte Lucas announces her marriage to Mr. Collins. It was a vest and a skirt, with buttons and a collar. It was ambitious but rubbish, yet a project I can’t stop thinking about how I could have made it better.

Enter this fabric and this bodice shape. It looks like an armor piece made of vintage ditzy flower fabric, lined with muslin. I wanted to reclaim what I learned in 2021, but try again in 2025, since the failure of my early projects made me shrink back to “easy” projects. I’ve made things that have challenged me a little bit, but not a true experiment. Constant growth is painful. Think of your body after consistent workouts, you’re going to hurt. It’s part of the process of getting stronger, and it feels at times like a negative experience. That feeling ground me down. I was tired of the learning experiences that felt more like loss and waste than an expression of crafting and artistry. It’s human, it’s passion, how can we not want the fruit of our labor to produce something good?

I made this dress slowly, over several weeks, while working on other projects, while being sick. It was a slow, steady, careful process to make a dress that would bring me joy from the creation and the wearing. The other thing I had to wrestle with, in this project, was shaking off the demons of my Lizzie Bennet dress. It was a dress I felt pretty in, but that I took a lot of crap for my appearance when I wore it out. It was structured, fitted, and flowy. The waist was not perfectly matched to the small of my waist, due to my lack of tailoring knowledge. This dress prompted a stranger to ask me when I was due, and then doubled down that I looked pregnant. I wasn’t pregnant, so to her, I looked fat. Thanks lady.

It was rude and such a breach of boundaries. Don’t ask random strangers if they are pregnant; wait for them to clearly tell you. It feels like a slap in the face for so many toxic culture reasons, the main one is the unwanted comment on your body with the double standard of “pregnancy being the most beautiful,” but don’t look pregnant, aka don’t be fat, because the zeitgeist is fat-phobic. I got rid of the dress and don’t have any photos saved of the dress; that’s how much this experience ruined the dress for me. I lacked the confidence to brush it off. I didn’t understand my body’s proportions and lines, therefore, I blamed my body and myself for the dress not working, instead of my tailoring skills being the problem.

2025 Style – Layering and Reclaiming

I chose to confront this feminine dress style once again. I knew it would clash with the natural lines of my body. I don’t have an hourglass body shape, which this fit and flare dress calls for. I’ve been scared to wear it, but I am challenging myself to try. I layered the sheer shirt I made in 2024 with this dress and a belt to create balance. It’s going to take time to get comfortable, for sure.

The dress not only has this flowy skirt, but it is fully lined, and the front gathering has been tracked down with stitches to reduce waist bulk. I also added eyelets and lacing at the back of the garment to define the waist, Lastly, I added a belt to my waist, which I don’t enjoy wearing, but the effect of pulling the eye to the waist should reduce unwanted comments, I hope. I like the contrast of these garments together. They have flow and structure. Together they create a complete thought, and in my opinion, look like designs with a point of view, which is what I am aiming for in my designs 2025.

My 2025 So Far Has Been A Creative Slump

I can’t believe it’s May already, I’ve been so busy with our garden project and a follow up project of screening in our back porch, distracted by Joann’s closure and the evil running rampant in our world that I have been on a slow creative trajectory, and its really catching up to me!

Upcycling, Alterations, Mending

As of late, the bulk of my sewing projects have been preservation, updates, or reworking the garment into something new. In mid-winter, I decided to tailor every t-shirt in my closet. This meant I would be hemming every shirt to end above my hip and bringing the end of the sleeve upward, to end higher on my arm, which is more flattering to my vertical line. I’ve had to repair a few garments and mend some older pieces. I’ve also been taking some of my clothes in and tearing them apart to be upcycled into new projects I can’t wait to share. That I thought I already shared. This leads me to the next point: I have a backlog of projects I held back last fall.

The Head Games of Content

I still battle imposter syndrome, and in doing so, last year, feared that I would run out of ideas. So I slowed down my posting to keep these good ideas and projects in the tank for a rainy day, and instead of this giving me the freedom to create and write without pressure this gave my type-B nature and out to avoid writing, because I had the ideas, and so I sat on them and now it is almost a year later, without these projects having their time to shine. Grinding it out on Instagram last year definitely took my focus from me, and then these constant recession fears have kept me in a place of fear, which has stifled my desire to create, in case I can’t buy more materials in the future. I worry too much. Writing for two years, on this site, led me to a sophomoric slump heading into 2025. I lost the urgency to keep going and backslid into complacency and a lack of creativity. I have also transitioned into a slower creative process in hopes of gaining that spark again!

Hand Sewing 2: Electric Boogaloo

When I began sewing in 2020, I did so through sewing by hand through the tutorials of Bernadette Banner. I did this for two years and then acquired my Heavy Duty Singer, which I switched to using exclusively from the end of 2022 through the beginning of 2025. But this year, I am having some struggles with my sewing machine. I love the speed at which you can make things, but I fear that this boost in speed has dampened my craftsmanship.

When I was sewing by hand, I had the time to consider the project and to ponder where the design was going to lead me. With my sewing machine, I have fallen into a bad habit of making without pausing to ponder. I also started designing simpler, easier-to-sew garments for efficiency instead of art. But speaking of efficiency, I don’t think sewing machines are as efficient as we make them out to be. Mine is quite finicky. It eats fabric and thread. I go through the thread considerably quicker using my Singer than I do by hand. I have to rip seams and sew again, many times, because the machine messed up a stitch or skipped stitches altogether, and I’m tired of it. So my machine and I are taking some time apart.

Slow and Steady, A Life of WIPs

And so, here I am months later with a few finished garments, many WIPs, and a better life balance. Including a refreshed creative well. The time spent working outside with Kyle crafting our screened porch, tilling garden beds, painting, upcycling furniture, studying Japanese, drawing, reading, exercising, etc, has been a wonderful way to remember why I love creating. I find knitting to be my happy place. For a week, I barely knitted, and my mind was filled with far more rage without the needles weaving yarn into cloth. I’ve come to a place in my sewing journey where I want to learn and be ambitious again. I’ve filled my closet with good handmade pieces, but I want to create exceptional, one-of-a-kind things.

I have learned that knitting is my favorite mode of creation, and sewing is the freedom to make what I don’t want to buy or can’t find offered. The process is just as important as the final product, as trite as that is, creation and crafting are where we thrive, not consuming. I find moments of calm in working with my hands and feel satisfaction in stepping away to old creative haunts, like painting or gardening. I think the slump was an important part of growing. I hope that you find creative refreshment and know that you are loved. Stay safe out there, these are dangerous times, and know that I care about you all very much.

#71 – Caramel

Luscious, warm, a decadent note that makes a dessert sing in perfect harmony. I used to crave this in candy bars, a Twix, or perhaps a scoop of Bruster’s Chocolate Turtle ice cream.

The Great British Bake Off opened my eyes to Banoffee Pie and the simple luxury of making a caramel without instructions. The process is a beautiful as the finished product. A melting sugar and butter, finished with cream.

The Caramel Macchiato taught me what coffee can do beyond ice cream sundaes and candy confections. It can be comforting, a delight to grab between classes, or an awful first job.

But how does one enjoy something they can not eat? I’ve been stumped on how to recreate this treat since my dairy-free lifestyle began, until I picked up a pint of dairy-free Phish Food from Ben & Jerry’s. It had the marshmallow fluff (which I discovered I could eat again this past winter) and ribbons of soft caramel. Caramel that tasted like the real thing.

I began to search for knowledge on blogs and Reddit until I found a recipe so simple I had to give it a try.

  • 1 can of coconut milk
  • 3/4 cup brown sugar
  • 1/4 tsp kosher salt

It was so simple. Melt the ingredients together on medium-low, then boil and reduce for 20 minutes. Let cool in a glass jar and store in the fridge. I made it last night and it was marvelous!

I found Vanilla Bean Oat Milk ice cream at the store for a sundae, and bam, I was a kid again, making an ice cream sundae with my grandparents on a summer evening.

What is a flavor that takes you home? Is there a food you haven’t had in a while that will comfort you in these trying times? Make it, your inner child will thank you.

Nine O’Clock

I have a standing date each night. I hurry myself to keep the pace if I see the clock begin to click out of my grasp after my shower. Sometimes I feel like doing my skincare is a chore, I’ll skip the lotion on my limbs or let my hair dry as it pleases if I think I am running behind. As the months pass, I feel the wonderful weight of this schedule, something that was a number on a clock face is now an important engagement with my bunny.

It started slowly, maybe a coincidence? After my shower, I’d walk down the stairs to look for Mia. It was a greeting, then it became a moment on the floor. Now, it has grown into a tradition, an expectation that I will get settled and sit on the floor. I can do some things, other petting Mia, but it must be done from the floor. I can play a little Animal Crossing, one-handed, or find a video to play as background ambience. She’s not a fan of K-pop, though she will tolerate a girl group, with impressive vocals only.

I used to coax her over, after I sat on the floor with a little wiggle of my hand. Recently, she’s been waiting for me in the doorway. Her tail wags, her little body binkies when I open the gate, and last night I could barely find a spot on the floor with her zoomies encircling me. With how rocky our start was, did I ever think Mia would greet me with such effervescent joy? No, I truly thought we would have a distant and tense relationship. Instead, last evening, after 30 mins of pets and snuggles, she flopped next to me, waiting for more pets. She is safe here, and I feel the safety in the silence. The contentment of being with her, the love that is felt in her presence, and the tempo she creates to slow down and breathe.

The greatest thing you’ll ever know, as Nat King Cole wrote in his song “Nature Boy,” is just to love and be loved in return. This line is a key theme of Moulin Rouge, and Bowie’s version of this song was my first encounter with is this song. It’s what I think having a bunny is, to love and be loved in return. I feel her love in her morning greeting, no longer greedy for breakfast for pets, but instead trusting me that food will always be there, she runs over to say “Good Morning.” It’s a celebration of another day, another gift of life, and another day spent with the ones we love.

Crafting in 2025

To and fro my footsteps roam, upon the miles of white, fluorescent aisle – vast, void, verigated, vexing wanderings. Where to next? Weaving textiles. Fiber miles spin, spun into nothingness. A paywall of digital footprint. Add to cart.

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