Stephany Writes

Categories: About Me

Alcohol Intolerance & How I Approach Drinking Today

I have a complicated history when it comes to alcohol and drinking in general. My grandfather (Pops) was a recovering alcoholic, so out of respect for him, we never had alcohol at our holiday gatherings, picnics, birthdays, etc. My dad would drink beer when he watched football games and such, but for the most part, I don’t remember us having beer, wine, or any other kind of alcohol in our home. We probably did, but my parents didn’t drink around us at all.

My only real association with alcohol was that it made my dad mean and angry. Alcohol made him yell at the TV when watching football games. It made him yell at my mother. It made him punch holes in the walls.

I wanted nothing to do with alcohol. After all, I wanted to be a good Christian girl and good Christian girls do not drink alcohol. Getting drunk is a sin, an abomination in the eyes of God.

So I didn’t drink. I wasn’t tempted by it, either. It just wasn’t something that was for me, and I was fine with it.

The summer after I graduated high school, I had a few tipsy nights with some girlfriends where we drank wine coolers and fruity pina coladas. It was my first time drinking and you know what? I really enjoyed myself! There was something so risque about being underage and drinking with my girlfriends. It just wasn’t something a girl like me did, and I had a lot of fun exploring this new side of me.

These few tipsy night also weren’t my pathway to sin and debauchery, as the church would have me believe. After a handful of tipsy nights, I was back on the straight and narrow.

I turned 21 and I allowed myself to have a drink now and then. It was never something that totally interested me, though. I didn’t really like the taste of alcohol and I always much preferred an ice-cold soda to a fruity cocktail.

I don’t really know when I started drinking on a more regular basis. (And let me be clear, a “more regular basis” for me means maybe one drink per month.) I think it just happened naturally as I became more comfortable with myself, started to recognize that you could be a good Christian girl and drink alcohol, and developed stronger friendships (which entailed more dinners with friends and nights out). I figured out which types of drinks I liked (ciders, fruity cocktails, margaritas) and which ones I didn’t (any kind of beer, martinis, wine). I enjoyed trying new drinks, although I never drank enough to get drunk. That wasn’t the point of drinking for me—I just wanted to drink something that tasted good, and if it did, I’d likely sip it slowly throughout the course of a meal.

It took me a long time to unlearn the lessons I had been told as a kid: that alcohol was bad, that those who drink only do it to get drunk, and that getting drunk is also bad. These were the things I learned from being in an evangelical church community and from seeing the way alcohol had nearly ruined Pops’ life and wasn’t doing any favors in my father’s life. But there are pleeeeenty of people who drink responsibly, and there’s also nothing wrong with getting drunk and enjoying yourself for a night. Sometimes, getting drunk is the best way for me to loosen up and have fun when I’m out at an event where I might feel uncomfortable and inhibited due to my social anxiety. I appreciate how alcohol can turn me into a person who is not afraid to dance at weddings, enter crowded bars, and sing loudly with strangers—all things a sober Stephany would balk at.

Sometime in my late twenties, I began to notice I was having really weird reactions whenever I drank alcohol. My head would feel like it was on fire. My face, neck, and ears would get super red, almost like I was breaking out in hives. Sometimes, I would feel dizzy and nauseous, like I had been drugged. Every now and then, my arms would break out in hives.

In short, I likely have some sort of alcohol intolerence, which is a metabolic disorder that happens when a person’s body cannot properly break down a certain enzyme in alcohol. This disorder has been known as “Asian flush syndrome,” as it affects the Asian population at a much higher rate. All of the symptoms I mentioned above are present in people with alcohol intolerance.

The only problem is, I don’t always have a reaction when drinking alcohol. Sometimes, I’m fine! Other times, I’m not. And I haven’t been able to pinpoint when it will happen. It’s not limited to a certain type of alcohol, or a certain kind of drink, or a certain time of day. It’s happened when I’m drinking on an empty stomach and when I’m not drinking on an empty stomach. It’s almost like I play a game of Russian roulette every time I drink: will I have a reaction this time, or will it all be ok?

It’s because of this semi-alcohol interolance that I decided, in 2021, to stop drinking entirely. And as someone who isn’t a huge drinker anyway, it felt like it was that perfect excuse I could give when people asked why I wasn’t drinking. (Thankfully, most of the people in my friend group aren’t huge drinkers either, so it’s never been an issue, but in dating and with other friends, it can be seen as weird.)

NGS wrote about this last month—the plight of the non-drinker in a society that widely celebrates drinking—and her post was so relatable. It can be difficult to be a thirty-something non-drinker and that’s why I’ve always loved my built-in excuse for why I’m not drinking. “Oh, I’m allergic to alcohol,” I’ll say offhandedly, if someone asks. But also, why do I need this excuse? Isn’t it enough to say, “I don’t drink” or “I don’t like alcohol” without dealing with the opinions and questions from other people?

Our society glorifies drinking to an unhealthy extent. From “Mommy’s drinking wine” to bottomless mimosa brunches to every social event being an excuse to drink, it’s all around us and it can feel very isolating if you’re someone who doesn’t like to drink. I often feel very weird about my disinclination for drinking; there’s this part of me that wants to be that suave thirty-something with a wine subscription and a bar cart in my dining room filled with alcohol. Instagram makes drinking so enticing, doesn’t it? But that’s just not who I am and, deep down, not who I want to be. If that’s your jam, I love that for you. But it’s not for me, it’s not for many of us, and that needs to be just as accepted and celebrated. Sobriety isn’t only for recovering alcoholics. It’s also for people who just don’t want to drink, too.

While I didn’t quit drinking completely in 2021—I quickly realized that I do need the liquid courage of alcohol when I’m at events like weddings, and sometimes I really enjoy drinking a cider or fruity cocktail, especially if I can’t taste the alcohol in it, ha—going through the machinations of quitting drinking helped me to become better at telling people that I don’t drink. It’s fine if you do, but it’s just not something I’m interested in. I don’t keep any alcohol at home (I once had a handful of White Claws in my fridge for at least a year, and that helped me to realize I don’t need to have alcohol at home). I don’t even own wine glasses! I’ll order a drink if something catches my eye, but I’m also just as happy sipping ice water or a soda.

These days, I’m not exactly sure where I stand with alcohol. I enjoy it, but I could also never have another drink again and I’d be completely fine. It’s not something I need, nor crave, on a regular basis. I wish it were more socially acceptable to be a non-drinker—not only to support recovering alcoholics, but also so people can say that they don’t like to drink without it becoming a conversation filled with questions and unnecessary opinions. It’s nobody’s business why you aren’t drinking, and that needs to be more socially acceptable.

My alcohol intolerance gave me a built-in excuse for not drinking, but I’ve also come to realize that I don’t need this excuse. I’m an adult that doesn’t really like to drink, and that’s enough.

Categories: About Me

The Girl I Was Then

I’m currently deep in the archives of my blog, rereading posts from 2009, 2010, and 2011 as I prepare to completely revamp my category and tag system. It’s been quite the adventure and gives me a really good look at the girl I was in my early twenties as I navigated college, work, and internships. This was also the era where I was becoming estranged from my father, so I’m having a lot of emotions as I read back through those posts and recognize the pain in that decision.

Reading through those posts, I’m startled by the amount of personal growth I’ve been through in the past decade. Logically, I know I have been through a gauntlet of growth, between coming to terms with my sexuality, deconstructing my faith, embracing and loving my fat body, becoming more independent, and celebrating career milestones. But I can really see the difference when I compare how I talked about myself then to how I talk about myself now.

The girl I was then was so very hard on herself. Perfection was the goal, and I would beat myself up over and over again when I didn’t live up to these unrealistic standards. I just want to give my younger self a great big hug and tell her to loosen up. It’s all going to be okay. Life is going to work out in ways she never expected.

At that time in my life, I was obsessed with my weight. I was only 20ish lbs overweight (although looking through the pictures of that time in my life, I think I was actually just fine), but all I wanted was to be skinny. I was a yo-yo dieter who wrote weekly weigh-in posts and trashed myself when I didn’t lose weight or have a perfect week of eating and exercise. I was consumed with wanting to become a runner, signing up for half-marathons multiple times, only to revert my registration to the 5k distance once the training became too much for me. To be fair to myself, fat positivity wasn’t really a part of our lexicon at that time. This was the era of The Office, where fatphobic language was rampant, and The Biggest Loser, where fat people were screamed at in the hopes of “inspiring” them to lose weight. It makes sense that I was obsessed with dieting, that I thought that by getting my weight under control (whatever that means), I would evolve into a happier, more fulfilled person.

At this time, I was working 20 hours a week at a preschool, taking 4 college classes, and working at an internship a few hours a week. My mom and I were struggling financially, barely making ends meet. There was a lot going on, and I really wish I could have given myself a break. I was under enough stress without adding dieting to the mix!

The girl I was then was consumed with being the perfect Christian girl and finding the perfect Christian husband. I had always struggled with my faith—not my belief in God, but in carving out quiet time to pray and read the Bible. I struggled against my “sinful nature” (i.e., reading books that didn’t exactly align with my beliefs like romance novels, my regular masturbation habit, my propensity towards cursing and getting angry when things didn’t go my way). It wasn’t until I began the process of deconstructing my faith and learning about other former Christians who struggled like I did that I realized what I was going through was normal and it didn’t make me a bad Christian. It made me human.

These days, faith really isn’t a part of my life anymore. I don’t go to church, I don’t pray, I don’t even have a Bible at home to read. I still believe in God and I still love listening to Christian music when the moment hits me. I love listening to podcasts that study the Bible through a faith-based lens (The Bible Binge) and podcasts that deconstruct Christianity and Christian pop culture (Good Christian Fun). I’m happy with where I am right now, even though 23-year-old me would probably be appalled at it.

Another thing I’ve been struck by when rereading my older posts is my idealism. There was so much I wanted from my life, and I would get so upset with myself when I didn’t live up to the arbitrary standards I set. In 2011, my word of the year was “risk,” which I chose because I felt like I was living a small life and didn’t seek out challenges that would force me out of my comfort zone. On the one hand, I think that’s a pretty normal experience for someone in their early twenties to have. We are pretty idealistic at that age and have so much hope for what our lives will look like! On the other hand, I just wish I could have sat my younger self down and pointed to all the different ways she had taken major, life-altering risks already:

  • Sending a letter to effectively sever the relationship with my father, something that took a level of courage I didn’t know I possessed and was the catalyst for improving my self-worth and life as a whole
  • Switching my major from education to communications a semester before I was scheduled to graduate, which prolonged my college career but allowed me to graduate with a major much more relevant to my skills and have a career I love
  • Seeking out challenges like half-marathon training (even if I failed at it) and a marketing internship because they sounded like fun

Hindsight, of course, is 20/20 and I know we are much more capable of giving our younger selves grace than our present selves. It makes me wonder what things I’m giving myself a hard time about now that, in 10 years, I’ll wish I had given myself a break about.

Reading through my older blog posts is not always cringe-inducing, of course. I used to run a series called Vlog Fridays where I answered questions from blog readers. Watching those videos makes me smile at the girl I used to be. I was such a cutie pie, you guys! Ooh, I just want to smoosh my younger self because she was adorable and I love seeing a time capsule of my personality at this time in my life.

This was the time when personal blogging was really big and so were blogging awards. These were just really silly awards in which one blogger would fill out a short survey or write 10 things about themselves, and then tag in a few other people to do the same. There was always a badly designed image to go along with the award, and it was so much fun to get tagged in and to tag other bloggers. Reading through the list of bloggers I used to tag, I realize just about all of them aren’t blogging anymore. But that’s just the way things go. People evolve, get married and have children, find other hobbies. For me, blogging has always been a constant in my life, something I turned to when I was lonely and in need of friends and an outlet.

I’m not always proud of the person I was on my blog back in the years of 2009-2011. But I am happy she had this space to be herself. Back then, I didn’t have a core group of girlfriends. I tried to join a young adults group at my church, but I felt very invisible and ignored whenever I went. I tried to join a Tampa-area bloggers group, but again, I felt invisible and ignored. I could never seem to grow any of the friendships I made in my college classes into anything deeper.

In my real life, it felt like my personality was just not enough for other people. I was too shy, too quiet, too Christian. What I did have, though, was my blog. This space became a haven for me. I was able to be my true, full self and people responded to it. I developed deep, meaningful friendships with people through my blog—friendships that hold true to this day. I had email chains and Skype video calls and text chains with blog friends who had different beliefs than me, different lives, but still loved me for who I was. It was only because of this blog and the people I met through it that I was able to finally go to a book club meeting in 2013 and meet the women who would become my best friends. It was only because of this blog and the people I met through it that I was able to open up my worldview, analyze my faith, take a good look at my sexuality, learn more about fatphobia, and hone my writing skills.

The girl I was then is so very different than the girl I am today. And the girl I am today will be so very different than the girl I am in 10 years. That’s a good thing, that’s what we want from our lives. To be continually growing and opening our minds and discovering who we are in deeper ways. It’s hard to recognize the girl who was writing blog posts in that time period, but she is a part of my history and for that, I want nothing but the best for her.

How would your 10-year-younger self react to the person you are today?

Categories: About Me

Living With Mental Illness

It’s been a rough start to the year for me, as I’ve been dealing with day after day of high anxiety. I like to think about my anxiety and depression on a 1-10 spectrum. When I’m at a 5, my anxiety is stable and my depression is dormant. When I drift below a 5, my depression is no longer dormant. When I was going through a depressive episode in the fall, I was operating at a 2. When I drift above a 5, I’m experiencing a state of high anxiety. On a regular basis, I think I operate as a 6. I always have just a little bit of anxiety, but it’s never enough to affect my day-to-day life.

Lately, though, I’ve been operating at more of an 8 or 9. And for one night a week ago, I was at a solid 10. (For me, a 10 is when I cannot stop my spiraling thoughts and I cannot think about anything else. I can’t sleep, I can’t read, I can’t watch TV. All I can do is curl up in a fetal position and whisper mantras to myself.)

When my anxiety gets bad like this, I’m usually dealing with anticipatory anxiety—thinking that something bad has happened that’s out of my control. And most of the time, I’m worried that something terrible has happened to my mom.

The night I was experiencing a “10” on my anxiety scale was a night when I couldn’t get ahold of my mom. I called her at 9:30pm and she didn’t answer. Then I called her twice more, around 10:30 and 11:30, no answer. How do you react when you can’t get ahold of someone? Most people can just go about their night. For me, I start imagining every worst-case scenario. While the logical explanation for why my mom didn’t answer my phone calls was that she went to bed early, I couldn’t stop fearing that something bad had happened.

And when I get into that downward spiral of anxiety, it’s almost impossible to break myself out of the cycle. It’s almost as if I think that if I imagine the worst-case scenario, it means the bad things won’t happen. I spent the entire night just trying to sleep but finding myself spiraling every time I closed my eyes. Because why wouldn’t the worst-case scenario happen? It does happen! Every day, people get the call or the knock on the door that rips their world apart. Who am I to be so lucky for it not to have happened to me yet?

And this, my friends, is why I don’t like watching or reading or listening to true crime. I know some people love it, but it just reminds me that terrible things happen on a daily basis and lives are upended regularly. I still remember a night when my mom and I were leaving the hospital after spending time with my grandfather who had just had surgery. We were getting into her car when someone parked hastily next to us, and then ran into the hospital crying. I don’t know what happened in this stranger’s life, but my heart broke for what she was going through, the grief she was going to have to endure. The grief we all have to endure at some point in our lives.

I think that’s the crux of my anxiety surrounding my mom. I know I will one day have to endure that grief. I know one day I will not be able to call or text her whenever I want. The thought of not having her in my life feels so scary. She’s the only person in this world who loves me unconditionally, who would move heaven and earth for me. And yes, I have family and friends who also love me dearly but there’s just something different, safer, about a mom’s love. Life just feels a little less scary and overwhelming because I know I have her in my corner and can lean on her when times get tough.

In the end, my mom called me on Saturday morning after 12 hours of me panicking. She was fine; she just went to bed early. It was the logical explanation all along.

Coming down from such a state of high anxiety is a process. I don’t return to a stable state immediately, especially if I’ve reached a “10” on the anxiety scale. It takes many days for my body to recover. I feel oversensitized, overstimulated. My body feels like it’s thrumming with energy. It’s almost as if I’m having aftershocks, where I still get these anxiety spikes from time to time as I remember what I just went through.

Eventually, though, my body returns to its stable state. It can take a few days or a few weeks, but it gets there. I stop living in my anxiety and rather live with it.

To be honest, I don’t have many of those high-anxiety days. My anxiety has never been something that affects my life in such a significant way. Even before I started taking anti-anxiety medication, I was a high-functioning anxious person who could live her life, get her work done, and meet her goals without too much hassle. There was just always a feeling of walking on eggshells, standing on the edge of a mountain, waiting for the next shoe to drop. With Lexapro, I don’t feel that underlying sense of dread on a daily basis. It’s just something that pops up from time to time, and there’s usually a reason attached to it (my mom not calling me back, for example). But still, it’s an illogical response to a simple situation, which is anxiety in a nutshell.

On Monday, I had my first therapy appointment in nearly two years. It was more than time to go back to therapy, but therapy isn’t exactly cheap, especially being on a high-deductible insurance plan as I am. But my work is now offering more affordable therapy (they told us it was free; it is not, but that’s a story for another day) and I was desperately in need of a professional to talk to. After spending a year and a half in therapy, I left feeling mentally well, stable, and equipped with the tools to help me through my anxiety and depressive episodes. And those tools worked for a long, long time. I even made it through the early months of COVID without falling into anxiety spirals or depression. (A feat, to be sure.) But lately, I’ve felt as if I’ve forgotten everything I learned in therapy and I’ve been letting my anxiety get the best of me. So, back to therapy I go.

And truly, truly, truly, it feels like a sigh of relief to be back in therapy. It feels so comforting to hear my therapist say, “This is completely normal for someone with anxiety. You’re not alone.” Even though I know I am not alone in my anxiety, that many, many other people suffer just like I do, it’s easy to feel very alone, very crazy, when I’m curled up in a ball on my bed in the middle of the night, my mind racing through scenarios where my mom is dead. It’s easy to feel like a nutjob when just my mom not answering my call can make me fall apart in this way. But when my therapist tells me this is very common for people with generalized anxiety disorder and there are plenty of strategies to combat the anxiety—and especially knowing I’ve been through therapy and found useful tools to help me—it was as if I was able to take my first big sigh of relief in months. I am not alone. I can fight this. And I will get better.

This is a long post. Originally, I planned to write a “coffee date” post today where I wrote a little about the anxiety struggles I’ve been dealing with (along with other life updates), but once I started writing about them, I quickly realized this needed to be its own post. I needed to get this off my chest, to talk about where I’m at with my anxiety right now. I talk about mental health, about my struggles with anxiety and depression, because it’s important. It’s important to know that even those who appear to be high functioning and mentally well may be suffering behind the scenes. It’s important to know that mental health is never static; it comes and goes in waves, and we must be diligent about reaching out and trying to get ahead of the wave when possible. (It’s not always possible.) It’s important for me to speak about my anxiety, to bring it into the light, as that is how I lessen its power over me. It’s important to continue to demystify mental health, therapy, and medication. It’s important to talk about the nitty-gritty of living with mental illness, the highs and the lows. For a long time, my mental illness was stable. Until suddenly, it was not. And that’s the way it goes for us.

Ultimately, I just wanted to bring you guys into my world, into the mind of someone with an anxiety disorder. It’s a fucking exhausting place to be, and it’s something I will be battling my entire life. But we’re all dealt a lot in life, and this is mine. I’ve made peace with it, and all I can do is continue to open up about my struggles to destigmatize mental illness and help others feel less alone.

Categories: About Me

Stitch Fix | Winter 2021

My Stitch Fix arrived over the weekend! I don’t know why it’s always a huge surprise when it gets delivered, but I always seem to forget it’s coming. It’s like a fun little present from me to me.

This was the first time I got to preview my box before they shipped it. Other Stitch Fixers have talked about being able to do this and I’ve rather liked the surprise of not knowing what was coming. But when Stitch Fix sent the preview, I decided to take a peek myself and see what they wanted to send me. The preview included 10 different items that my stylist had picked out for me, and I could select 0-5 pieces from this collection for my official Fix. (If I selected less than five pieces, which is the number of items in each Fix, my stylist would choose other items to round out the box.) A lot of the items in this preview were really similar (lots of dark neutrals and long cardigans) so I picked out three items (two pullovers and a cardigan). The one thing I really wanted in this Fix was a pair of booties, but there were none in my preview (WHY?!), so I again asked for a pair in the “preview notes” as well as for a more colorful top.

After getting four Fixes this year, one of the things I’ve noticed is that their sizing runs bigger than I expected. Originally, I asked for pants in 14W and shirts in XXL but everything I get is just a smidge big (the pants especially, as I have one pair of jeans from Stitch Fix that are constantly falling down, lol). So I finally bumped myself down into size 16 in pants (regular sizing, not plus sizing) and XL in shirts/dresses. (And yes, I’m sharing my actual sizes here because I’m no longer going to feel ashamed for what size I wear. I wear what size I wear and that’s that!) This Fix includes the bigger sizes, so I’m interested to see how things fit/feel in the next size down.

Oh, also: A fun drinking game to play while reading this post is to take a drink every time I say “cozy.” You will definitely be drunk by the end of this post. Tehehe.

Anyway, let’s dig into what I got in this box!

Market & Spruce Textured Cotton Blend Pullover ($58)

For some reason, this shirt shows up as brown in the picture but it’s actually a really pretty hunter green. I love the fun detailing and the fact that the sleeves are the perfect length. (Long-sleeved shirt sleeves are usually way too long for this shorty.) What’s also great about this shirt is that the section at the top, in the middle, and at the bottom are mesh, so it’s actually perfect for the Florida winter season—it’s breathable! This would probably be a downside if you lived in a cold climate, but it’s great for those Florida days that start off cold but quickly warm up. It felt so cozy and comfortable on me so, hopefully, the weather will cool down soon so I can wear this!

Market & Spruce Waffle Knit Cardigan ($68)

How cozy does this cardigan look? Good news: It also feels so cozy! While it’s a little long, I didn’t even question if I was going to keep it. I just love big, chunky cardigans like this. This is going to be the most Florida thing I’ve ever said but I love wearing chunky cardigans with a tank top, haha. When the weather is just cold enough to warrant something cozy, I bring out a cardigan like this so that I can be warm but not overly so. Hurry up, cold front!

Pink Clover Textured Pullover ($46)

I was so excited to see this top when I pulled it out of the box. As I mentioned above, all of the pieces in my review were black and gray and dark green – nothing colorful. I love neutral colors as much as the next person, but I want some variety in my Fix, you know? So I was happy that my stylist added this pink top to my selection. It’s a very warm and cozy pullover that feels so good on me. The length and the sleeves could be a smidge shorter, but that’s probably noticeable only to me, haha.

Pink Clover Textured Pullover ($46)

Look familiar? Sigh. My stylist sent me the exact same top, just in different colors. I was a bit annoyed by this! This is not what I’m paying a stylist to do, you know? What if I had hated both of these tops? Thankfully, I did not, but I also didn’t love it so much that I wanted it in multiple colors. What a first-world problem, eh? I really debated if I wanted to keep this top (I was thinking of just keeping the first three pieces and sending back this top and my next piece), but I decided to keep it. I’ll explain why when I reveal my last piece!

Sperry Crest Vibe ($90)

I asked for a pair of booties in this Fix, but they couldn’t find any for me. Wah! Instead, my stylist sent me an awesome pair of Sperry’s! I’ve always coveted Sperry’s, but never thought to buy them for myself so I was excited to see them in my Fix. I love the way they looked and how comfortable they were to walk around in (I’m sure they will need to be broken in, but just from the initial test, they seem super comfy!), and I wanted to keep them. The price, however, was making me hesitate. I didn’t need these shoes, to be honest. I’m not much of a shoe person; I wear the same three pairs on a regular basis (flip-flops, sandals, and TOMs) without feeling the need to deviate. But, ugh, I wanted them! But were they worth $90? In the end, when I priced out how much I would spend if I only kept the first three items and sent back these last two, it would only save me about $60. (You get a 25% discount if you keep all five items.) Rather, if I kept these two items, I would almost be getting the shoes for free with the discount. After hemming and hawing for half a day about what to do, I decided to keep all five items because there was nothing I actively hated in this Fix. I liked/loved everything in this Fix (a feat that has yet to happen!), so I decided to keep everything. A little Christmas gift to myself, you could say. 🙂

Are you a shoe person or are you like me and just rotate between a few pairs? (Honestly, a Floridian having only one pair of flip-flops is blasphemy. They might kick me out of the state with that proclamation!)

Categories: About Me

Ask Stephany Anything: The Finale (For Now)

Happy Wednesday, friends! I hope this week is treating you well. I’m returning to my Ask Stephany Anything series for my final set of questions. My answers to the questions posed by these two blog friends were very wordy so I decided to give them their own post! Let’s dive in:

Suzanne asks…

As a former copywriter, I am curious about your job. How did you get into it? What are the best and worst parts about it? Was there something else you always thought you’d do for your career? 

I got my job as a content writer for my current company after over a year of job hunting. I was working as a marketing assistant at a direct marketing company and hated it. There was never enough work for me to do and the job wasn’t challenging at all. I wanted to stay in marketing, but something that was focused more on the writing side of things than the analytical side (which is what my job at my old company had evolved into). I knew I had the writing chops to work as a copywriter, so I searched for copywriting/content marketing jobs and went through a rigorous process to get the job I have now, including writing three different writing samples. It was all worth it!

The best part of my job is that every day is different. Some days I’m writing all day, other days I’m in meetings, and other days I’m editing or publishing content to websites. Another thing that I really like about my job is that I’m not micromanaged. As long as I get my work done, my bosses don’t care about the order in which I get things done. They aren’t constantly checking in with me about this or that task. (This was a significant departure from my old job!) And it’s fun to learn new things! I have learned so much about so many different topics: replacement windows, roofing, house siding, gutter systems, foundation repair, cancer types and treatment, Covid testing, heart conditions, etc. I can now debate the merits between shingle and metal roofs as well as discuss all the different types of Covid tests and when to get which one. For someone who loves to learn, this is a great job to do it in.

The worst part of my job is that it can get monotonous at times. Even though every day is different, we work on a monthly schedule so sometimes it feels like Groundhog Day when I have to just repeat everything I did last month. More writing, more editing, more posting. It can also get very stressful, especially towards the end of the month when everything is due.

I don’t think I ever really thought about what I wanted from my career, honestly. It just wasn’t something I thought about much growing up. Well, that’s not strictly true. I definitely thought I wanted to be a veterinarian because I loved animals so much. However, I took one college-level Anatomy & Physiology course and quickly realized that a science major was not in the cards for me.

Originally, I thought I’d go into teaching because it seemed like the most obvious path for someone like me. But teaching isn’t one of my skill sets, which became quickly apparent when I was doing my teaching internships. After that, I switched my major to communications to do something that was more writing-focused and decided to seek out marketing jobs. I didn’t exactly know what in marketing I wanted to do, but that industry seemed the most interesting to me.

Anne asks…

Were you exclusively a “dog person” before getting Eloise and Lila?

We didn’t have cats in my family growing up. My grandma was allergic to them, and we were more of a dog family than anything else. My mom grew up with dogs, and I’ve had a dog in my life since I was 10. I was never someone who didn’t like cats, but I did believe in the very wrong assumption that cats are aloof jerks and dogs have way more personality.

It was during the last few years of Dutch’s life that I decided my next pet would be a cat. Those years were incredibly difficult from a caretaking perspective. He needed frequent bathroom breaks (every 3 hours) and he didn’t settle down at night very easily, which could be frustrating and very tiring. I spent many hours trying to help him get comfortable enough to sleep at night. (Eventually, he went on medication to help with his nighttime anxiety.) At the time, I was working in Tampa five days a week. It was a 40-minute round-trip drive to come home at midday to take him out. (My mom, bless her, helped out with these walks, usually 3-4 times a week.) I also had to come immediately home after work to take him out. I was happy to do it, of course, and I wouldn’t wish those years away for anything. But it was very exhausting, especially doing it all alone. My next pet would need to be much easier to care for and able to be alone for long periods. (Of course, this is way before I knew my work life would be changing drastically and I’d be home all day every day!)

Then, the more I thought about having a cat, the more excited I became! I have always loved cats; I just never had a chance to bond with one. But if I was at a friend’s house and they had a cat, I was always enamored with it. I’m equal opportunity when it comes to animals!

And now I have my girls. Eloise and Lila are not aloof jerks with no personality! They have oodles of personality (like all cats do!) and are the sweetest, snuggliest, most special babies. I love them so much!

Anne also asked…

What sparked your deep love of reading and writing? You are such a literary-minded soul, and I always love to know if it was a teacher, or a parent, or a friend, who helped make books/writing such a passion for those who love them. 

I have always been naturally inclined towards reading. I was the kid who loved the language arts/reading part of school way more than the math/science. My mom was probably the person who made me a reader, though, as she was always reading and took me to the library every single Saturday when I was a kid so that I could pick out books. I would always check out the maximum number of books I was allowed to check out (at the time, it was 12) and voraciously read them throughout the week. I think it helped that my mom encouraged my love for reading and never made me feel like I should be doing something else with my time. (I mean, I was also a nerdy student who would do my homework the moment I got home, so she never had to worry about that with me, haha.) Books are a source of comfort for me, and there’s never been a drop-off reading period in my life. I know many people read less and less in high school and college, but that never happened to me. I’ve always kept reading as my #1 hobby.

What career did you want to have growing up?