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The other day I was chatting with a friend on the phone about how we’re both in the midst of evaluating our careers (among other areas of our lives) and how ideally we’d like to make some changes on all fronts. The next day, I popped into a “life forty plus” channel in a women’s online networking group, and saw a message from a community member that said something along the lines of wanting to blow up her life to live in a van, travel around, and waitress here and there to fund her life. Then she asked if that was normal at her age; she’s in her mid-forties. About 20 other women, including me, replied to reassure her that it is and that she’s not alone. How exciting is it to be a woman in your 40s, ready to light a torch and blow shit up?

But the more I thought about it, I wondered whether we truly want to reinvent ourselves in such extreme ways—as in blowing up our lives—or if we just feel like we should because now that we’re in our 40s it’s time to shake things up or finally figure out what the fuck we’re doing with our lives?

Most of what I read online about midlife reinvention talks about doing less, saying no, listening to what our bodies really want, yada yada. I must admit, it’s relatable, but I can’t help but feel like it’s just as prescriptive as “X ways to [insert some big societal normative achievement]”.

It’s still about improving or optimizing this and that so we can feel like we’re moving in the right direction, which is usually forward or up. You spent your 20s and 30s optimizing your career, building a family, or both. Congratulations! Now it’s time to optimize your authenticity and find your life’s purpose. I don’t know about you, but I still have no freakin clue what I’m doing with my life, and the more I force “figuring it out”, the more insane it makes me feel.

That said, after turning 40—and specifically since my mom died and I began questioning my own mortality and how short life is—I’ve been reconsidering a lot of what I used to equate with life success. Things like money, climbing the career ladder, doing things to please or get approval from others, and so on. I’m not living under a rock or on water and sunshine; I understand the importance of earning enough to live your desired lifestyle, but more is not always better.

Maybe instead of blowing up our lives, it’s more about shedding what was once imposed on us, or what we chose at a specific time because it felt right then, and editing down to what we actually care about now. Perhaps there are also some things we’ve always cared about but were too afraid to admit or pursue because they might mean we were too disruptive or unconventional.

But trailblazing comes with its own challenges. There are no “normal” milestones or accomplishments that are widely celebrated when you choose a less conventional path in life, making it easy to question whether you’re doing things right. Like why isn’t anyone throwing me a baby shower when I buy a new plant baby? Just saying. I have almost 20, and they’re all still alive and thriving. Let’s celebrate!

What I wonder is if men are also bombarded with midlife reinvention headlines, or is it ok to just have a midlife crisis and get on with it? For some reason, the idea of a midlife crisis feels a lot easier than a reinvention, at least to me. Or what about calling it “midlife shedding”—a time to peel back all the layers you’ve accumulated in life so far to find out what’s really at the core, under all the armor you’ve layered on during the first half of your life. Or maybe it doesn’t need to be named at all.

Yet here I am, trying to figure out how I want to live the second half of my life, even going so far as to ask other people how they’re thinking about the second half of theirs. I just can’t help myself… I guess midlife existential dread loves company.

Has “reinvention season” just become a trend now that millennial women are sick of the hustle culture that we grew up with? You’re in you’re 40s, you’re entering midlife, it’s time to quit your job, become a solopreneur who generates passive income working only two hours a day, move to an island, start a hobby business, get divorced (unless you’re like me and you already did that in your 30s, oops), say “no” (full stop) to everything, and also look fabulous (and like you haven’t aged a day). Oh, and do it ALL at once.

When did getting older require becoming someone entirely new overnight or ever?

I think so often it feels like we need to have it all together all the time and that slowly changing and evolving without any big announcements means it’s not actually happening. Or it’s not happening fast enough or in a measurable way.

What’s next? Reinvention reveal parties? Do we really need to make some big statement or set off fireworks to announce what we’re not putting up with anymore or what big changes we’re making in our lives?

What if all it requires is pausing long enough to notice what’s essential to us right now, so we can keep what fits and discard the rest, exposing a version of ourselves that makes sense in this season of our lives. I’m not trying to be all preachy, and I’m pretty sure I’ve contradicted myself a few times already (and I will continue to do so—it’s a human condition!), but I worry that by constantly trying to figure out exactly who we’re becoming or who we’re meant to be in some distant future, we’re overlooking all the good things happening right now. I’m typing this now as a reminder to myself as well. I’m guilty of living in the past or the future at times.

So then, back to my question. Is midlife reinvention just a trap?

Not exactly. I think we become trapped when we believe that “reinvention” needs to be dramatic, or even needs to be defined at all. We are human. We are meant to change and evolve. I think most of our lives are spent in the “messy middle,” in periods of experimentation, and that’s what keeps it interesting. Whether we’re aware of it or not, I think we have many seasons in life.

So maybe this is my plea (and reminder to myself) to drop the pressure around this performative act of declaring exactly how we’re changing and reinventing ourselves today, right this second, because we’re constantly evolving in every phase of our lives, and that’s good enough.

What do you think?

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Thanks for reading,

Alexis

P.S. It would mean a lot to me if you hit the ♡ button to help others find this post. If you’re able to upgrade your subscription or share my work with a friend, I would be so grateful! Thank you so much. (Also, I don’t have an editor, so pardon any misplaced commas or run-on sentences; I’m human. 🤗)

Note: The beautiful artwork used for this piece is from artist and sculptor Juca Máximo’s Write Your Story collection.

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Name:

Age: 42

Location: Barcelona, Spain

Relationship status: Single

Hobbies: Writing, running (former Ironman & marathoner, now here for all the fun runs), reading (mostly fiction), traveling, hiking, personal development, finding the best coffee and co-working cafes, sending 20-minute voice notes to friends back home.

Personal or side projects: Not sure if it’s a “project”, but raising my daughter has been my primary focus for the last four years. Writing on Substack is a passion of mine, and I’d like to dedicate more time to it and grow.

Occupation: I’m a heartbreak and relationship coach for single women. I launched my coaching business in 2017 after going through the worst heartbreak of my life, and now it’s my mission to help other single women heal their hearts too.

At times, I get paid for my writing—ghostwriting (for Forbes), content creation (for other coaches and small businesses), articles (mostly travel-related or personal, like this juicy essay about my divorce in HuffPost).

I’ve also dabbled in business coaching, international business development, and community management. I’m always up for new projects that are 1) remote and 2) bring me joy.

Kids: I have a daughter who will be turning four soon. I got pregnant (unexpectedly and divinely) at 38. Having a child has absolutely shaped how I feel about literally everything.

Who are you, and what should we know about you right off the bat?

My divorce at 32 changed the trajectory of my life.

I went from following a very traditional American path, with all the (made-up) American rules—school, grad school, climbing the corporate ladder, striving for a ring—to someone who left it all behind for a more unconventional life abroad.

I’ve backpacked and solo traveled. I’ve had some of the best years of my life living in Mexico City and Rome. Today, I’m a single mom living in Spain, co-parenting with my ex from Italy.

It’s funny how opposite these two versions of me are. Each one had its season, but I can’t imagine going back to how things were before.

Is there a part of yourself that you’re hoping to rediscover in your second half of life?

Continuing to tap more into my creative side!

I was very into music as a child and took piano lessons through university. And then, I stopped, almost overnight. Maybe it was because I didn’t have a piano of my own. Perhaps it was because I kept moving. Maybe it was because I was so into what my boyfriend was doing at the time (lifting weights), or that I didn’t have my parents harping on me to practice one hour a day every single day. For whatever reason, I completely let this side of me go for more than 20 years. I miss it, and I’m so ready to get it back.

What do you care less about now than you did 10 to 20 years ago?

I definitely care less about my relationship status. In my 20s, I was in a long-term relationship and found myself waiting for a ring. I was even on a game show where my nickname was the “Aspiring Fiance”. How embarrassing!

In my 30s, I “finally” got married… and then we quickly divorced. You can read more about that here and here.

After this shocking event, my entire world shifted, and I found myself caring much less about the sanctuary of marriage. It took time (and a lot of work and healing), but now I find it absolutely fantastic to be single. In fact, I’ve built my entire personal brand around it.

That said, I will happily open space for someone who enhances my life. I don’t feel the need to be in a traditional relationship just for the sake of it.

What do you care more about now than you did 10 to 20 years ago?

I think about our mortality much more now, whereas I barely gave it a second thought 10 years ago. I’m not sure if this is something that came with age or with having a child, but I am painstakingly aware that my time on earth is finite.

Consequently, I care much more about taking care of my mental and physical health. I want to be around for as much of my daughter’s life as possible.

When you imagine a good life at 60, 70, or 80, what does it look and feel like?

Fortunately, I have some good role models to help me answer this question. What immediately comes to mind is freedom and family.

60s: My mom once told me she’s sad she won’t be able to read all the books ever written. She reads more than anyone I know and definitely knows how to relax! She travels internationally to visit us each year (often multiple times), and is a wonderful mom to her three daughters and Oma to her four grandkids.

is 66 and has become one of my closest friends in Barcelona. She’s a natural networker and social butterfly. (We met on Substack!) I love her story of boldly starting over and moving to a new country alone in this decade of life.

70s: My dad travels more than I do (and is not the best at relaxing). After spending most of his years traveling for work, he now travels for leisure—to a second home in Ecuador, to volunteer in Vietnam, or to visit his daughter and granddaughter in Europe. My mom accompanies him on these trips whenever she pleases, but he has the stamina for trains, planes, and time zone changes that most do not.

80s: My Nana was the matriarch of our family. As she grew older, we always came to her home in Boston to celebrate Christmas. I have the fondest memories of her sing-songy voice, her delicious Italian-American cooking, and the countless times we all gathered around the table to play games, shout, and laugh way too loudly late into the night. What a dream to be surrounded by so much joy and laughter well into your final years.

Have any major losses, disappointments, or life transitions changed how you think about your second half?

I wasn’t sure if I’d ever have kids, but after becoming pregnant at 38, my world was forever changed. Becoming a mom was a blessing in disguise, but I would be lying if I said my introduction to parenthood was easy.

Before, I was used to only living for myself. Now, I’m trying to build a happy, healthy life for the two of us and navigate it with a co-parent who is, fortunately, a very present father. Life has certainly gotten more layered and complex.

What are you no longer willing to postpone?

My book! When I was five, I said I wanted to be an author and illustrator of children’s books. I had a poem published in Highlights magazine. I wrote newsletters for my friends. I have always been a writer.

Fast forward to adulthood, where I have a near-complete outline in Scrivener on an old laptop for a book I thought I would write six years ago… I’m not sure if that is the book I will bring to life first, but I have so many ideas—from personal development to auto-fiction—that I don’t want to wait any longer. My inner child is literally screaming at me to make time for it.

What role do work, achievement, or ambition play in your life today compared to earlier chapters?

I used to think my work status and titles were the end-all-be-all. Now, my feelings around work follow a more European approach: I work to live. I don’t live to work. This has allowed me to focus more on my passions, like writing and travel, and given me the flexibility in my schedule to spend more time with my daughter.

What have you learned about happiness that your younger self wouldn’t have understood?

Chasing the job, the home, the relationship, the status… none of it leads to sustained happiness. This is going to sound cliché, but outside of your basic needs being met, happiness really is an inside job. It doesn’t come from some grand achievement.

Happiness is found in the little things, in the present moment. It’s writing from a chiringuito (summer beach bar) in the sand on a Wednesday morning and going for a dip in the Mediterranean. It’s watching my daughter get chocolate gelato all over her face and then run around hysterically on a sugar high. It’s a solo coffee date. It’s enjoying a glass of wine and going deep in conversations with loved ones.

If the second half of life has a theme or guiding principle for you, what would it be?

It’s never too late. Period.

What does growing older mean to you now?

I contemplated my response to this question as I was floating in the sea, and this is the mantra that came to me: more time for pleasure, less time for bullshit. And I think that’s beautiful.

What are you still trying to figure out?

Ummm, everything? I don’t believe we figure things out as we get older. Maybe we just get better at improvising or winging it. It’s funny. I used to think my parents had all the answers, but they were probably just figuring things out as they went along too.

What belief about life have you changed your mind about?

What home is “supposed to” look like and what it means to “settle down”. I no longer believe that home is found in one place, and I often explore this idea in my writing.

What are you trying to say “yes” to more these days?

New experiences! There is so much to discover in Barcelona: the distinct neighborhoods, the music scene, the culture, food, and art. I feel alive here.

What are you trying to say “no” to more these days?

Saying “yes” to everything! It can be easy to get caught up in all the magic that this city has to offer, and I’ve gotten better at turning down invitations and canceling plans if I’m no longer up for them.

I’m also trying to travel more consciously, instead of hopping on a plane at every invitation, and focus more on building my life here in Barcelona.

What are you learning to let go of?

Worrying, people-pleasing, fear of failure… all still a work in progress.

What feels more urgent now than it did ten years ago?

My retirement savings? Having another baby? (Just kidding, mom!) Society loves to remind me that my clock is ticking.

What would make you look back and think, “I used my time well”?

I spent quality time with my daughter through all ages and stages. I was intentional about time spent with my parents and sisters, even though the distance was great.

My life didn’t stop after motherhood: I took solo trips and girls’ trips, went on writing retreats, went on ridiculous excursions, and climbed crazy-high mountains.

I didn’t let fear of failure hold me back: from picking up piano again in my 40s, from finishing and publishing my books, from starting a new business, whatever it may be.

I continued to put myself out there and try new things, year after year after year.

What do you hope people remember about you when you’re gone?

I had so much fun with Asia! She was a positive influence in my life and was there when I needed her. She helped me feel less alone in my struggles.

She was a dedicated mother and loyal friend.

She was brave, lived a full life, and did things her way (cue Frank Sinatra).

Hopefully, I will leave people with a book or two to remember me by, too.

Big thanks to Asia for taking the time to answer my questions, and as always, thanks for reading! Leave a comment or question for her below. 💬

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P.S. If you’d like to participate in my Second Half series, fill out this form. The more the merrier! You can also answer it anonymously if you prefer.

I read an article the other day about “grief travel” and how it can help transform an aching heart, but that “griefcation” shouldn’t be used as a form of avoidance or escapism. I’m not sure what I think. Travel always helps me shake things up and snap out of my often rigid routine. If it helps you feel better, I say, go for it. There’s nothing wrong with escaping every now and then.

Books are also a great escape, at least I think so. So here’s a quick list of what I read in July, in case you’re looking for some recs. If you read Yesteryear, please share your thoughts in the comments. As you can see from my summary below, I didn’t love it, but I also can’t stop thinking about it…

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Essentialism by Greg McKeown

In a nutshell, this book is about doing less in life and work, but doing it better. It argues that by separating the vital few things from the trivial many, you can make your highest possible contribution. It’s the second time I’ve read it, and I’m sure it won’t be the last!

Yesteryear by Caro Claire Burke

I wanted to like this book, especially because I wanted to support a first-time author, and because some described it as a “cathartic takedown of the patriarchy”, but I was often confused about which time period I was in... and many other details of the story. Maybe I’m just not the right audience, though. I read somewhere that it wasn’t about actual time travel and that the main character, Natalie, was just delusional and stopped acknowledging the modern world—and believed she was living in the 1800s—while having a mental breakdown. I struggled to get through it, but at the same time I was intrigued by the trad wife influencer archetype. The ending also felt abrupt and perhaps like an afterthought, which left me scratching my head. I’ve contemplated whether I should try reading it again, but life’s too short for that! I’ll wait for the movie.

One by One by Freida McFadden

This might be my eighth Freida McFadden read. I love her mystery novels when I’m looking for something light and entertaining that I can breeze through. This one’s about a married couple that hates each other until the experience of nearly getting murdered in a forest makes them realize they’ve had something good all along. Oh, the drama! The only downside is that I usually stay up all night devouring her books because of the cliffhangers at the end of every chapter. Worth it, though!

Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka

I will definitely be reading this surreal story again! Gregor Samsa is a traveling salesman who wakes up one morning to find himself transformed into a giant insect. Unable to work or communicate, he becomes a burden to his family, leading to their growing resentment and his eventual isolation and death. That’s the story, but I want to read it again in the morning instead of while I’m in bed dozing off because all the metaphors and symbolism about alienation, roles and identity, and love didn’t really sink in.

The Grieving Brain by Mary-Frances O’Connor

I’ve read numerous grief-related memoirs since January, so this was a nice science-backed addition to better understand what’s actually happening in your brain while you’re grieving. Essentially, even if you’re not in denial about someone’s death, your brain needs time to catch up and learn to comprehend that your loved one no longer exists in the dimensions—here, now, and close—that you were previously accustomed to locating them in. 🤯

Life After Ambition by Amil Niazi

I do not have or want kids, but still, I relate to feeling torn by what feels like opposing identities and having to choose one or the other. I love that, in the end, Amil finds a way to choose both her career and raising a family while staying true to herself (i.e., doing it in a way that’s sustainable for her). Inspiring memoir for overachievers looking to drill down to what’s truly essential to them without feeling guilty for it!

What have you read recently? What’s on your TBR list? Please share in the comments!

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Take care,

Alexis

P.S. It would mean a lot to me if you hit the ♡ button to help others find this post. Also, if you’re able to upgrade your subscription or share my work with a friend, I would be so grateful! Thanks so much.

This wasn’t advice from a dermatologist or cosmetic specialist; it was ChatGPT.

I’m turning 41 in September, and earlier this summer, I found myself having a conversation with ChatGPT about whether it thought I needed Botox. I realize there are a few things wrong with getting beauty and cosmetic advice from a machine that lacks both a medical degree and emotional intelligence, but I mainly did it because I was curious what it would say, not because I think someone or something else should tell me whether I need Botox.

Botox had recently come up among a few different friend groups, and everyone’s stance was different, which is to be expected. Before I go any further, I want to say that I think people should do whatever they want to their faces and bodies, as long as they’re doing it for themselves and because it genuinely makes them happy, not because they feel pressured into it. I know that’s easier said than done, but I just want to clarify that I’m not interested in shaming anyone for getting Botox or choosing not to.

That said, I don’t see myself ever getting Botox or any other cosmetic procedure to reduce or turn back the signs of getting older. Unless it’s for health reasons, I just can’t fathom doing it. But also, who knows how I’ll feel in 10 years? The fact that I’m terrified of needles certainly plays a role. The last time I had blood drawn, at 40, the nurse had to reassure me while I explained how afraid I am of needles.

I am, however, not afraid of creams! I wouldn’t say I’m a slave to anti-aging rhetoric, but I’m definitely influenced by it. How could I not be? The anti-aging industry thrives on making us feel like we’re not allowed to age! How else would it be projected to nearly double in market size from now to 2033?1

During a chat I recently had with from How Not to F*ck Up Your Face, she raised an interesting point that there are very few people who age completely naturally. Depending on how you look at it, doing anything at all to your face—even applying moisturizer and SPF—means you’re not aging 100% naturally.

Over the last year or so, I’ve started using retinol a few nights a week, and this summer I’ve slathered more sun cream on my face than I did throughout my entire twenties. I want to look as good as I possibly can. Also, umm... I don’t want skin cancer.

Does that make me vain? Does it mean I’m falling for the fearmongering around aging out of society? I honestly don’t know. I’d like to think I’m not. But when we’re all encouraged to chase youthfulness—even as grown-ass adults—and 68-year-old celebrities somehow look 40, you start to wonder what aging is actually supposed to look like.

I like feeling good when I look in the mirror; I’m human! I’d be lying if I said I haven’t noticed more lines on my neck or the “11s” between my eyebrows (which I prefer to call my “deep thought” lines—ha!). I also sometimes miss the plumper face I had in my twenties.

Even so, I don’t want to change my face. Part of that comes from not wanting to conform to the wildly unrealistic expectations placed on modern women. Sometimes it feels like we’re expected to have everything together—physically, mentally, financially—all the damn time.

After talking with other women and going down a bit of a research rabbit hole, I realized I’ve only scratched the surface of the Botox-and-aging conversation in this piece. There are societal, psychological, and cultural angles that deserve essays of their own. But in an effort to stay focused, let me show you what ChatGPT (aka my new skincare advisor) said.

I gave it the photo below and typed: “I just took this photo. I’m 40. Should I get Botox?”

I’m shaking my head as I type this now because it feels ridiculous that I’d even ask ChatGPT something like this. But I guess that’s the world we’re living in. I tried to keep my face as neutral as possible. Lol. So serious.

I won’t bore you by copying and pasting ChatGPT’s entire response, but here’s the gist.

It said I have healthy, even-toned skin, a few forehead movement lines, a faint vertical line between my brows, and no deeply etched wrinkles at rest. It also pointed out something I hadn’t ever considered: some under-eye hollowing and mild loss of facial volume, which it reassured me “naturally happens around 40.”

Thanks, ChatGPT. I hadn’t even thought about the under-eye hollowing and shadowing, but NOW I have.

Then it walked me through my options depending on my goals, explaining that if I wanted to look less tired, Botox probably wouldn’t be the most effective tool. Maybe I could just get more sleep, but unfortunately, waking up at 3:22 a.m., drenched in sweat, only to lie awake in an endless thought loop about all THE THINGS isn’t exactly conducive to looking well-rested.

As for my forehead, ChatGPT told me: “Looking at this photo specifically, I’d put you in the category of someone who could choose Botox for maintenance rather than correction.”

Then it gave me three options:

1. Do nothing—you already look youthful for 40.

2. Try a very conservative amount of Botox.

3. Focus on skin quality first with moisturizer, SPF, retinol, and a vitamin C serum.

And then, in true ChatGPT fashion, it found a way to keep me engaged. It asked whether my forehead lines became significantly deeper when I raised my eyebrows or frowned, and suggested I upload more photos so it could give me a more specific opinion.

So, of course, I took more weird selfies while my boyfriend and I sat on a bench in a sunny park in Tribeca. See “surprised Alexis” and “grumpy Alexis” below.

“These photos are actually very helpful.” Of course they are, ChatGPT. Of course they are.

Then it went on to explain what it observed during its evaluation of the three expressions I shared in the selfies above. Apparently, I have strong forehead muscle movement and develop horizontal lines easily when animated, which ChatGPT said, “Is exactly the type of wrinkle Botox works well on.”

But most importantly, “When your face returns to neutral, most of those lines disappear. That tells me they are still largely dynamic lines rather than deeply etched static wrinkles.”

It also pointed out that when I frown, a vertical line between my brows remains faintly visible even after my face relaxes. “Of everything I see, this is the area that would benefit the most from Botox. A small amount could soften the tendency to look slightly concerned or focused when you're not intending to.”

LOL. Maybe I like my resting bitch face.

It reassured me that my crow’s feet are minimal and added, “I wouldn’t touch them.”

In the end, it gave me two options:

• Option A: Skip Botox for another year or two. You look great now, and nothing really jumps out as needing correction.

• Option B: Try a conservative treatment for my forehead and 11 lines.

It wrapped up by saying, “People with movement patterns like yours often say after treatment, ‘I don’t look younger. I just look more rested.’ That’s usually the sweet spot.”

Oh, ChatGPT’s beloved “sweet spot”!

Eventually, I got bored with the conversation, put my phone away, and applied more sun cream to my face. The irony, I know!

But as I was noodling on how to connect the dots in this piece, I realized that I never actually told ChatGPT how to measure beauty or what benchmarks or standards to use to advise on whether I need Botox or not. I simply asked whether I should get Botox at 40.

So, naturally, it defaulted to the beauty standards it has learned from the internet. When I later asked how it came to its conclusion, it explained that it was drawing from culturally familiar cosmetic standards: smoother skin being associated with youth, fewer forehead and frown lines being associated with looking rested, firmness and even skin tone being treated as markers of “good” skin, and natural movement being preferred over a visibly frozen appearance.

In other words, even though I never asked it to, it evaluated my face using categories like youthful, healthy, firm, even-toned, and signs of aging. It was evaluating my face according to the beauty standards splashed across the internet and the ones that AI is trained on. It admitted that it’s biased.

“Those standards are not neutral truths. They come from dermatology and cosmetic-marketing language, media images, beauty culture, and patterns in how women’s faces are evaluated. They privilege youth and smoothness, and they can make ordinary signs of living look like defects.”

I was able to think about this objectively. But what about teenagers asking ChatGPT for beauty advice? How scary!

I had this conversation out of curiosity, not because I dislike my face. In fact, it’s the opposite. I like my face, and I can’t imagine changing it. I don’t think I’d feel like myself anymore. But still, I can’t help feeling like we’re not supposed to age. I’m also way too cheap to spend my hard-earned money trying to look younger.

Apparently, a single glabellar (”11s”) treatment in New York City costs somewhere between $240 and $5402 and is recommended every three to four months. I’d rather spend that money on travel, making my home more comfortable, or something else that makes me feel good. But we all prioritize different things and have different spending habits. As I said earlier, I’m not here to shame anyone.

No one has ever commented negatively on my appearance, so that’s not what prompted this experiment. I think it’s simply because, as I enter my forties, Botox and aging have become much more common topics among friends and on social media. I appreciate it when women talk openly about what they do or don’t do. I want to hear both sides. I don’t want to live inside a vacuum of Botox shaming—or shaming of anything that women choose to do to their faces or bodies.

It also strikes me how differently the topic shows up depending on where I am. Back home in Amsterdam, I can’t remember ever seeing a Botox advertisement, although I’m sure women here also do it. But while I was in California this summer, I saw this massive sign.

And last year, in Florida, I noticed a walk-in Botox clinic next to the Chinese takeout restaurant where I stopped before visiting my mom at the memory care facility. I remember texting my brother that I could pick up dinner and squeeze in a Botox appointment while I was at it.

It feels much more in-your-face in the United States, which makes sense, as it’s the dominating country with the highest volume of cosmetic procedures,3 followed by Brazil, Mexico, and Germany.

What other women are doing, feeling, and thinking

I asked friends and women in a 40+ networking group about their thoughts on Botox and feeling like we’re not allowed to age. I specifically asked, “What’s everyone doing, feeling, thinking as it relates to these topics?”

Some women get Botox. Some don’t. Some tried it and stopped. Some are considering it. Almost everyone seemed to be somewhere in the middle and thinking about the same questions in different ways: How do I want to age? What should aging even look like?

I also noticed that when I asked whether I could include their comments in this piece, some women were happy to use their full names, others preferred their first name only, and several wanted to remain anonymous. So I interpreted this as: we’re told not to age, and then we’re left feeling ashamed, like we have to hide it if we do anything about it, or even have an opinion about it. There is, of course, also the possibility that some people just don’t want their personal thoughts displayed on a public forum, regardless of the topic. I get that!

Here’s what various women said, in no particular order:

“My dermatologist has suggested Botox, but seeing her completely line-free face actually made me hesitate more than anything. I’ve found that hydration, vitamin C, moisturizer, good sleep, and cutting back on alcohol have done more for my skin than expensive treatments. I also think there’s more acceptance of aging now than there was a few years ago—grey hair is everywhere!” —Anonymous 40+ woman

“I’m not anti-Botox—I just haven’t done it myself. I’ve earned this face through life, and I’m not ready, if ever, to go beyond good skincare.” —Melissa Mittelstaedt

“What shocks me most isn’t aging; it’s how strange people can look when they overcorrect it. I care more about skincare now than I used to, but I’d rather look my age than chase something that doesn’t feel natural.” —Anonymous 40+ woman

“I liked Botox, but I metabolized it so quickly that I eventually decided it wasn’t worth the money or upkeep. These days, I’d rather spend that money on hobbies—or skincare treatments with longer-term benefits.” —Lynn

“I decided years ago never to do cosmetic injections or surgery. I want my nieces to know it’s okay to age and for people to know what a forty-plus-year-old woman looks like. It doesn’t mean it’s easy to watch myself age in the mirror, but I do my best to care for myself and work through it!” —Meredith Clinton

“I inherited deep forehead lines from my dad, so I’m all for whatever helps you feel better when you look in the mirror. For example, I notice some folks are super passionate about coloring their hair, but that upkeep is not for me. Bring on the grays!” —Jessica S.

“I’m not anti-Botox at all. I’ve just seen far more people regret doing too much than too little, and it’s a reminder that sometimes less really is more.” —Lisa McClure

“Living in Southern California, it feels like everyone is expected to look 21 forever. I’ve chosen not to participate because I think we should celebrate the years we’ve survived rather than fight something that’s inevitable. Plus, everyone is going to look completely wacky in 10 or so years.” —Sarah K.

“Whether medical or other, I think it’s a personal decision, and you just do what’s best for you. Not for me now, may or may not be for me in one year or five years… Anti-aging is all society imposes on women, but I do not feel the pressure. I am confident in myself, and appearance is not a priority at this stage in life. If I were in the public eye and exposed to ridicule, I bet I’d feel different.” —Anonymous 40+ woman

“I don’t think I feel societal pressure to do things because I mostly ignore that stuff. I’m not against it; to each their own. I’m against people doing so many things to their faces that they start looking really weird. I’ve been turned off by some influencers because I’ve slowly watched their faces change, and not in a good way. I don’t think Botox necessarily does that to you, but when you add lip injections and other procedures, you get into that territory. Maybe one day I’d try it if I stopped liking what I saw in the mirror, but I’m also afraid when it comes to this stuff.” —Anonymous 40+ woman

“My priorities are exercise, healthy eating, and sleep, so I can feel good in my own skin without the quick Botox fix. But who knows, maybe at 50 I will notice that my face doesn’t match how I feel inside, and I will decide to inject something. I admire women, especially public figures, who age naturally. It’s weird to say, since aging is simply part of being human, but I see them as rebels who don’t follow the crowd and march to their own beat. In any case, women should do whatever they please with their own bodies, because right now it feels like we’re judged no matter what we choose.” —Živilė M.

"I never thought I’d be the type of person to get Botox, but lo and behold, I am. I do it once a year, but not because I equate beauty with youthfulness; I do it because, as a busy mom of two, it makes me look refreshed. It makes me feel good about myself and more confident when I look in the mirror. I encourage people to do whatever makes them feel good. I don’t think I’ll ever do more. I’m starting to see lines on the sides of my eyes, and I think they’re beautiful. I’m 41, not 18. I don’t want to turn back time. I think it’s good to see the life in my face and body, but I would appreciate it if society accepted those signs more.” —Jessica Nagel

“I’ve had small amounts of Botox every six months since I was 30 (except during babies), and I like that it’s softened wrinkles without making me look frozen. Now that it doesn’t last as long, I’m trying to accept using less and letting the wrinkles come, even though I definitely feel the pressure.” —Jacquie King

“Women today often look younger than previous generations because of prevention—SPF, less smoking and drinking, and better skincare. It’s changing our expectations of what 30, 40, and 50 are supposed to look like. I have Restylane (hyaluronic acid filler), which replaces what you lose with age.” —Chloe Alana Williams

“Growing up in Los Angeles gave me a complicated relationship with aging, and I go back and forth constantly. In the past, I have had Botox and other treatments, and as I near 56, I’m considering (natural-looking cheek, jaw, and elephant-dent) fillers, Dysport, and laser facials when finances allow. I refuse to chase the AI face, but I’m also trying to be compassionate with myself about my complicated feelings around getting older. See how this is just a see-saw? I can’t even get a sentence out without going back and forth, which is an accurate reflection of how I’m dealing with aging.” —Allison Walker

The more responses I read from women, the less I felt like this was really about Botox. It feels more like a conversation about the permission to age, to opt in or out of the pressure to preserve a youthful appearance, and—in some cases—the resulting shame of either choice. I wish society framed wrinkles and any other signs of aging as a life well lived rather than a structural defect. Like many of the women I spoke to, I too am somewhere in the middle. Grappling with getting older and how it changes us—and shifts our identity, beyond what we look like—is not always easy.

My relationship with my face

At the time of writing, my 40-year-old face has already been through a lot. In my twenties, I climbed the corporate career ladder only to realize it wasn’t what I wanted. I started a clothing brand that eventually failed, but it opened the door to building the freelance career I have today. In my early 30s, I got divorced and moved to the Netherlands, which all turned out to be a blessing in disguise. I lost my mom to Alzheimer’s in my late thirties. These are just a few highlights, but the stress and the joy of it all- that’s life.

My face is part of my life history. When I look in the mirror, I’m reminded that I’m strong and independent, and that both I—and my face—can weather whatever storms life throws at us. It also reminds me of the countless beautiful experiences that got me here.

Nowadays, I also see my mom in the mirror. It feels strange, but the thought of her being somewhere inside of me is comforting. When her Alzheimer’s progressed, she sometimes looked in the mirror and asked, “Who is that?” She knew she was looking at herself, but she didn’t like how she had aged. I thought she was beautiful until the very end.

I imagine that as I get older, I might long for the more youthful-looking version of myself, but I can’t help wondering whether that longing will come from nostalgia or because society has taught me that’s what I should miss. I already miss the version of myself who hadn’t yet learned certain things about life. There’s something freeing about naivety. But I also hope that, as the years pass, I’ll continue to feel proud of who I am—and how I look—at every stage of my life.

These days, I’m much more worried about the things you can’t see, like maintaining a healthy brain, strong bones, and good cholesterol levels. Is that too much to ask?

What my ChatGPT experiment revealed

Women account for the overwhelming majority (94%)4 of cosmetic Botox procedures, but apparently, “Brotox”5 is a thing now, too. I don’t necessarily think Botox is a feminist issue. I think it’s a personal decision, and to each their own. Feeling empowered to do what works best for you is what matters.

I’ve loved watching celebrities like Pamela Anderson embrace going makeup-free as an act of rebellion.6 But also, why do we even have to frame that as an act of rebellion? The fact that simply existing in your own face can be considered radical says something about the expectations women are still navigating. Pamela Anderson has been praised for rejecting Hollywood beauty standards, but she’s also been criticized for doing exactly that. It’s a good old case of damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

Nowadays, women have more spending power than ever before—go us! We’re earning more,7 building businesses, buying homes independently, and making financial decisions for ourselves. But of course, the beauty and cosmetic industry has noticed. There is an enormous financial incentive to convince us that aging is a problem with a solution that just happens to cost a few hundred dollars every few months.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized my curiosity about whether ChatGPT thought I needed Botox wasn’t really about Botox at all. It was about a deeper question that women, as we get older, are constantly confronted with:

Are we allowed to age?

Of course we fucking are. But then a multi-billion-dollar industry that profits from making us believe we shouldn’t would be out of business. Women wouldn’t be spending thousands of dollars each year out of fear of aging out of societal relevance, employment opportunities, and desirability,8 among other things!

Thanks for reading,

Alexis

P.S. It would mean a lot to me if you hit the ♡ button to help others find this post. Also, if you are able to upgrade your subscription or share my work with a friend, I would be so grateful! Thank you so much. (Also, I don’t have an editor, so pardon any misplaced commas or run-on sentences; I’m human. 🤗)

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I’m very excited about today’s interview! Memoirist, anthologist, and Substack superstar (who runs and ) was kind enough to answer my questions on aging and ambition, writing and editing, building an author platform, and so much more.

I suspect that most of you already know who Sari is, but if not, she’s the author of the memoir in essays, And You May Find Yourself...Confessions of a Late-Blooming Gen-X Weirdo, she was chosen by Poets & Writers magazine for the 2022 edition of its annual "5 Over 50" feature, and for five years, she was the Essays Editor at Longreads. She has also edited the bestselling anthologies Goodbye to All That: Writers on Loving and Leaving NewYork and Never Can Say Goodbye: Writers on Their Unshakable Love for New York.

In short, she’s working her ass off! And inspiring many other writers to do the same, including me.

Alexis: Your Substack, Oldster Magazine, “explores what it means to travel through time in a human body at every phase of life.” From the good to the bad to the ugly, and what “getting older” means at different junctures. What do you think people are really searching for when they gravitate toward writing (and reading) about aging, grief, reinvention, and identity?

Sari: As with every human experience that brings people to something previously unknown—that likely makes them feel unsure and vulnerable—people want to know they are not alone in their experience of getting older. At least that was the case for me, and part of why I started Oldster. I wanted to know that I wasn’t the only one struggling with changes to my body, ageism on the job front, and anxiety about retirement and end-of-life stuff. I think they also come to Oldster to learn helpful tips from contributors and commenters. The exchange of information in the comments on Oldster posts is next level.

A lot of women arrive in midlife and realize they’ve outgrown versions of themselves they worked very hard to become. How have you navigated this in your own life?

Oh, definitely! I wrote a whole memoir-in-essays about it called And You May Find Yourself: Confessions of a Late-Blooming Gen-X Weirdo. So many women who respond to The Oldster Magazine Questionnaire write about how, later in life, they are returning to a truer version of themselves, a version that preceded performing gender and professional striving. I feel like that’s happening for me, too. You reach a point where you realize how much you were pretending so that you could grasp those brass rings, and you can no longer keep it up.

You’ve edited so many personal essays over the years at Longreads, and for your two anthologies, Goodbye to All That and Never Can Say Goodbye, and now Oldster Magazine and Memoir Land on Substack. What separates the essays that stay with you from the ones that are simply well written?

I don’t know! I have a nearly photographic memory, and I remember almost every essay I’ve ever edited, which is insane, because I’ve edited a lot of personal essays! Sometimes I’ll run into someone whose essay I edited for Longreads in like 2016, and I’ll say, “Oh, yeah, you wrote that piece about X in which Y and Z happened,” and they are astounded that I remember it in such detail. I’ve always been deeply affected by personal narratives of all kinds, by writers at all levels.

There’s often pressure for personal essays to “resolve” neatly by the end. Do you think readers (and writers) are becoming more open to uncertainty, contradiction, and unresolved emotions?

Oh, definitely. I think this is a trend that has been in motion for some time. The hard part is steering writers away from artificially tying things up neatly in a bow at the end.

Your work explores aging with honesty rather than panic or forced positivity. What do you think mainstream conversations about aging still get wrong, especially for women?

Despite an ongoing movement to change the conversation, ageism, especially gendered ageism, is alive and well. There’s still a lot of condescension from younger people, and sometimes they’ll performatively try to show me how wonderfully accepting of us they are, in a way that seems self-congratulatory to them. “Look at me talking to an older person like she still matters!”

You’ve built a meaningful literary platform outside of traditional legacy media. What have you learned about creating genuine community online?

I can’t say enough good things about literary citizenship. Get to know other writers, either online, in person, or both. Go to book events, go to literary events, and join a writers’ group. These are great ways to meet like-minded friends who can support each other in a challenging creative field—although not in a transactional way. There’s no guarantee that if you support someone in some way, it will come back to you in that exact way later on. But membership definitely has its advantages, to paraphrase an old American Express ad.

How has your relationship to ambition changed as you’ve gotten older?

I’ve come around to competing with myself instead of other people. Actually, it’s not really competing with myself—it’s improving upon what I’ve done in the past, and striving further. Generally, I’m not a competitive person, and I think that helps me keep going when others around me succeed first.

What’s something you understand now about adulthood or womanhood that your younger self couldn’t have imagined?

That on some level, most people don’t feel like they are fully adults. We all seem to retain some essence of our child-selves, and we also look outside ourselves for guidance from “the real adults,” whoever they might be.

Like many writers, I often struggle with how much of myself to reveal on the page. How do you personally decide what’s too private versus emotionally necessary to share?

I’m naturally prone to oversharing. I always have been. I believe that when you share vulnerably, you do a tremendous favor to others who have had similar experiences, helping them know they are not alone. In terms of what not to share, I keep in mind this guideline from The Moth: “Write from your scars, not your open wounds.” So I mostly try to only share publicly what I’ve processed, what I’m able to make valuable sense of.

You recently announced that you’re working on a new anthology springing from your Substack, Oldster Magazine. Congratulations! Was it your goal when you started Oldster to eventually turn it into a book? Did you seek out a book deal, or were you approached because of your success on Substack and your NYT feature?

My agent and I had a book proposal for the Oldster anthology ready to go for a while. She strategically waited until after the NY Times piece was published to take it out, and that put us in a very good position. Eight publishing houses were interested.

Before we go, a few rapid-fire questions

What book have you been recommending to everyone lately?

I always recommend Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott because it’s probably my favorite book, and the one that made me a writer.

What show or movie are you binge-watching?

Season 11 of Grantchester, my favorite cozy British murder series.

What’s one piece of advice you’d give to every aspiring author?

Don’t be in a rush. Take your time and let your work evolve.

What’s one thing you wish were different about the book publishing industry?

I wish publishers would give more chances to more writers who didn’t come up with great privilege and access.

What’s your top tip on building an author platform?

Don’t be bashful or self-deprecating when sharing your work. A well-respected book publicist taught me that. She said, “Stop making fun of yourself on social media.”

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Subscribe to Sari’s Substack publications and follow her on Instagram to stay in touch!

Thanks for reading! If you have any questions for Sari or me, drop them in the comments below.

See you soon,

Alexis

P.S. If you enjoyed this post, hit the ♡ button below and/or share it to help others find it. To further support my work, consider upgrading your subscription. Thanks so much.

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I found photography equipment from when I had a clothing brand, and I taught myself how to take all the photos because hiring a professional wasn’t something I could afford as a solo business owner. Eventually, I even started offering photography services.

I found the last bin of inventory from my brand, along with another bin filled with garment patterns, business cards, and fabric swatches. I dumped almost everything except the photography equipment and the inventory (all of which I’ll donate); it felt so good!

I found my engagement and wedding bands, which I think I’ll try to sell (and probably not make much money), but I’ll never wear them again. I don’t even feel sentimental about them anymore, but I think it would be weird to start wearing them again, even if on another finger.

Coming back to this apartment and finding all these things—some of which I forgot even existed—has inspired me to do a big clean out when I get back to Amsterdam. I find the bare, decluttered space relaxing. I’m all about less is more right now.

Staying at the apartment for the last five-ish days has also been confusing. Not having a home of my own in the place where I’m originally from is scary, but from a purely logical standpoint, selling the apartment is the best financial option. I think once all is said and done, it will feel freeing not to have to worry about this apartment anymore. I’m all about doing things that scare me these days!

One thing making a big move abroad has taught me is that you never know where life will take you, but if I think about the short-term future—the next five to 10 years—I do not imagine myself living in NYC again, or in the US. Life is much more affordable and easy-going in Europe, and after dealing with delayed subway trains and a bunch of weirdos the other night, I’m looking forward to the freedom of cycling around town in Amsterdam! And the cleaner streets.

Anyway, this post was supposed to be about books, and now I’m rambling… Before I share what I read in June, have you read Yesteryear? I’m reading it now, and I’m not sure what I think yet. 🤯 Would love to discuss!

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My June reads

Famesick by

I’ve loved Lena Dunham since Girls, which was running when I moved to Brooklyn around the same age as the show’s characters. In her memoir, Famesick, she writes about her experience of “making it” at a young age and how it was not at all glamorous—taking a toll on her emotional and physical well-being. It’s not a light read, but I admire her raw and honest writing and how she manages to inject humor in all the right places

Valley of the Moms by

This mystery thriller is a fun summer read about a suburban mom who challenges her affluent town's exclusive Parent-Teacher Organization and is later found dead, which prompts her husband to dig into the community's secrets and politics to uncover the truth. I’m biased because it’s written by my soon-to-be book-proposal-writing coach, but even if I didn’t know Hannah, I’d still recommend this book if you’re looking for light summer entertainment.

No Contact: Writers on Estrangement by

I learned about this anthology edited by Jenny Bartoy via . It’s a collection of 32 personal essays, poems, and flash pieces by known and emerging writers who explore the difficulties of cutting ties with family. It’s not a light one, but each piece is well written, and I think family estrangement is a taboo topic that’s not talked about enough. I’m not personally estranged from any family members, but like everyone, I know how complex those relationships can be.

How to Be Okay When Nothing Is Okay by

Jenny Lawson does it again! This book is a collection of humorous and heartfelt essays and tips about managing mental health struggles like depression, anxiety, and ADHD, while fostering creativity. It’s inspirational and practical without being cringy.

Strangers: A Memoir of Marriage by Belle Burden

This seems to be one of this year’s hottest books. Belle Burden’s husband suddenly opts out of their 20-year marriage after she discovers his affair during the pandemic. I liked reading about her transformation, and I appreciate that she acknowledges her privilege, given her wealthy family background. But I found parts of it hard to believe, like some small details were missing. Still, Burden is an excellent writer, and I enjoyed reading her memoir.

What have you read recently? What’s on your TBR list? Please share!

Take care,

Alexis

P.S. If you enjoyed this post, hit the ♡ button below and/or share it to help others find it. To further support my work, consider buying me a coffee (on repeat). Thanks so much.

P.P.S. You might have noticed a new color palette here. I’m rereading Essentialism by Greg McKeown (found it in my apartment!), and it has inspired me to streamline my work website and my Substack. I also gave my website a long-overdue update (still fiddling with it!).

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Lately, I’ve been obsessed with exploring that question from every angle: the profound, the practical, the vain, and the funny. Through personal essays, interviews, experiments, and the occasional existential crisis, I’m trying to make sense of what it means to get older—and live life to the fullest—on my terms.

It’s something that has been top of mind since my mom died on January 1, 2026, following nearly five years of living with Alzheimer’s. The day after she died, I did what I now realize is called grief math. I calculated how many days she had lived and how many days I had already lived when I lost her. When I realized—only three months into my 40s—I’d already lived more than half the number of days she ever got, it got me thinking, and since then, I’ve been ruminating on how I want to live my second half.

Spoiler: I’m a long way from having answers! But I’m hoping that writing about it and talking to other people will help me figure it out.

Reflecting on the life you’ve lived so far, and what you want to do and experience next, is a fun and enlightening exercise. Major life events can contribute to this thinking, at least in my experience, but I’ve become so curious about this topic that I’d love to hear from more people about how you’re thinking about your second half of life and how you’d (in an ideal world) live it. I’m a realist too, so I know life has its own plan for me, but it’s nice to dream!

Read on for my Second Half Q&A. If you’d like to participate in the series, fill out this form. The more the merrier! You can also answer it anonymously if you prefer.

My Second Half Q&A

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Is there a part of yourself that you’re hoping to rediscover in your second half of life?

Definitely! I’ve noticed since my late 30s that I’m exploring some of my earlier hobbies again, like painting and jewelry-making, but I think there’s something deeper I’m searching for. I’m not even sure if “searching” is the right word, but I’m always trying to figure out how to reach the more carefree version of myself. I’m not sure if it’s possible because, of course, as we get older, our responsibilities change, and we’ve naturally been through more hard shit in life.

What do you care less about now than you did 10 to 20 years ago?

Oh, so much! But the biggest things are that I no longer feel the need or pressure to follow a conventional life path (i.e., marriage, kids, climbing the career ladder, etc.). I used to be super focused on my career and my job title, but nowadays, as long as I’m making enough money to live the lifestyle I want and doing work that doesn’t make me want to pull my hair out, I don’t really care what title you give me.

Conversely, what do you care more about now than you did 10 to 20 years ago?

I care so much more about protecting my time to do the things that help me relax and feel good. Simple things. Reading. Exercising. Going to my weekly oil painting class. Experimenting in the kitchen. Getting in bed by 9 pm! I noticed a huge shift in how I prioritized my rest and well-being starting in my late 30s. I think it was partially due to the experience of losing my mom to Alzheimer’s and realizing just how short life can be. You just never know how your life will unfold. So why spend all of it working or doing something that stresses you out? I realize, of course, that it’s a privilege to have choices and some level of financial freedom, but this has been a massive shift for me. I’ve gone from being an ambition monster to a hobby whore (I should trademark that… ha!).

When you imagine a good life at 60, 70, or 80, what does it look and feel like?

It looks like a cute apartment with a sea view and frequent travel, as long as my body and mind allow it. A partner to share it with (hopefully the same one I have now!). Lots of like-minded friends (old and new). Visits from family and friends. I hope to feel “young” physically as long as possible—fingers crossed that all the Padel and CrossFit help with this! After experiencing my mom’s Alzheimer’s, I worry that I’m next, so a good life as I age also means staying mentally sharp and independent. If not, I give my partner permission to throw me off a bridge!

Have any major losses, disappointments, or life transitions changed how you think about your second half?

Yes, 100%. Watching my mom change and disappear and eventually die as Alzheimer’s ate away at her brain and her personality has changed so much about me and my priorities. If there is anything positive that has come from the experience, it’s that I have a better understanding of how precious time is. And that doesn’t mean you need to be out and about having the most extravagant life experiences ever; it just means you need to think about what’s most important to you and do that. Whether it’s spending time with family and friends, discovering the world, or spending Saturday on the sofa with a good book, it’s up to you. Just make sure you prioritize based on your preferences and desires because you’ll never get the time back.

What are you no longer willing to postpone?

I think I’m mainly not willing to postpone doing things—anything—that scares me. I think there’s so much we hold off on because of fear of the unknown or of change, and then we end up living in the past. In my experience so far, all of the hardest and scariest experiences in my life have blown new doors wide open. Something else I’d add here is having tough conversations with people about topics I’ve been avoiding for some reason or another.

What role do work, achievement, or ambition play in your life today compared to earlier chapters?

Initially, I wanted to say they play no role at all these days, but that’s not true, and I’m just realizing it now as I answer this question. What I’m ambitious about has just changed. I used to want to have some fancy job title, like “director” or “head of” whatever… But nowadays I’m focused on writing, mainly to connect with readers, and then as a form of self-achievement. I want to write and publish a book, which I’m learning is quite ambitious, especially as I’m unknown and don’t have much of a platform. But I keep telling myself to take baby steps and, like most other things in life, I’ll figure it out, or I’ll fail, and it will be a huge learning experience and propel me into my next meant-to-be chapter.

What have you learned about happiness that your younger self wouldn’t have understood?

There is no script or guidebook. Make sure you look inward, rather than at what everyone else is doing. That’s the only way to find true happiness. This is something you’ll work on forever! Happiness doesn’t grow on trees, unfortunately. Also, it’s ok not to be happy all the time.

If the second half of life has a theme or guiding principle for you, what would it be?

Seeking novelty.

What does growing older mean to you now?

Growing wiser and realizing that I can make it through anything.

What are you still trying to figure out?

Wtf I’m doing with my life.

What belief about life have you changed your mind about?

Work is just work. It doesn’t define you. In fact, it shouldn’t! Unless you’re a writer, then OK, it can define you.

What are you trying to say “yes” to more these days?

New experiences. Essentially, anything that scares me or that I’ve never tried before, sign me up!

What are you trying to say “no” to more these days?

Anything that makes me feel tense at the thought of it. A client project, a social event, a favor, etc. I’m also trying to protect my time more. I just don’t have the stamina to socialize and be “on” as much as I did before. I used to feel bad about this, but I’m embracing it more and more.

What are you learning to let go of?

Control and the societal normative version of “success”.

What feels more urgent now than it did ten years ago?

Quality sleep.

What would make you look back and think, “I used my time well”?

At the moment, what comes to mind is if I could touch people’s lives through my writing. Make them feel less alone. And also, seeing as much of the world as possible, which is contradictory because writing requires a lot of sitting on my ass, but thankfully, I can do that from anywhere!

What do you hope people remember about you when you’re gone?

That I was kind, funny, and pleasant to be around, but what they’ll probably remember is how bossy I was. Lol. I meant well!

Thanks for reading!

Alexis

P.S. If you’d like to participate in the series, fill out this form. The more the merrier! You can also answer it anonymously if you prefer.

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Hello, hello!

I’m writing to you today from Roanoke, VA, where we stayed one night at The Hotel Roanoke, a historic Tudor-style hotel built in 1882. It’s beautiful! I will share some photos on Instagram soon.

K. and I left NYC on Friday morning and are making our way to Nashville, TN, by car, making stops along the way in Pennsylvania, West Virginia, and Virginia so far. I’m not sure where we’ll stop for lunch later today as we drive from Roanoke to Nashville. Taking suggestions! (Reply or leave a comment.)

I don’t think I’ve ever been to WV or VA before, not even a drive-through on the way to somewhere else. It’s incredibly scenic, with its mountains and valleys, which, of course, makes the long drives more enjoyable. I would love to spend more time here exploring and being outdoorsy, but we’re on a schedule so we can make it to California in time for the next Turkey World Cup match. Don’t ask me which match it is; all I know is that at some point in the next 10 days, the US and TR will play, so K. and I will be up against each other. We’re going to the game festivals in San Jose and Los Angeles. I’m afraid it will be a mob scene, but YOLO.

I was telling K. the other night that I feel like I have two settings. I’m either in full homebody mode, enjoying Sofa Saturdays (and my routine), or traveling. I suppose we’re all like this, but exploring new places always reminds me how much I love the novelty of it and that I should seek out more newness in Amsterdam, instead of sinking into the same old routine every week. Whenever I travel, I come up with ideas for new things to try, but I rarely follow through once I’m back home. This time, it’s things like working as a barista for a day at a cafe (just for fun), volunteer work, and painting more (outside my weekly oil painting class). I’m good about planning museum visits in Amsterdam, but there is so much more to discover there. I think about when I first moved to Amsterdam in 2019. I was always out and about, trying new things, or maybe it was the same old stuff I had always been doing, but it felt new because it was in a new city with new people. Either way, I miss that novelty.

Yesterday, as I was driving through winding mountain roads and listening to a country music playlist on Spotify (two things I never do), I was thinking about how exciting it would be to rent out our apartment in Amsterdam and live on the road for a while, but then I realized that’s basically what we’re doing right now. We’re doing it!

That’s all I’ve got for today, but more soon!

Alexis

P.S. If you enjoyed this post, hit the ♡ button below and/or share it to help others find it. To further support my work, consider buying me a coffee (on repeat). Thanks so much.

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Today, I’d like to introduce you to freelance travel and culture writer . She’s originally from Istanbul, but is now based in Rome, where she writes a popular Substack featuring personal essays. Her work has also been published on HuffPost, Business Insider, and more.

In this conversation, we chat about finding and creating a home away from home, changing careers, reinvention, and more.

Alexis: I read your short memoir piece about leaving Istanbul for Berlin. You wrote that you moved to Berlin in 2015, “To find a stable job that helps me afford simple things, like a place of my own, not a room at my mother’s rental, some extra clothes, maybe even furniture, the type people buy out of decoration, not necessity. My other motivations include: going on about my life without being drenched in tear gas as I move between neighborhoods. Or avoid being randomly ID-checked by the riot police carrying MP5s.”

Wow, so much in just a few sentences. Not to get too philosophical, but when you look back now, what did you actually leave behind, and what followed you no matter where you went?

Sema: It took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that the home I miss is not a physical place but rather a specific time when I experienced a set of distinct memories. Crossing the Bosphorus by ferry to get to work, having lunch with my girlfriends in Galata, the nights out that rarely wrapped up before 4 a.m. as we hopped from bar to concert to after-parties. I left Turkey when I was 23 and have since lived in six different countries.

I associate the home with the feeling of a promise of hope and expansion. I can cultivate this feeling anywhere I have relative safety, which I define by having a roof over my head and having enough food to eat. This outlook has allowed me to create many homes over the years. It also protected me from the nostalgia so many in the diaspora grapple with, and I accepted that even if I return to Istanbul one day, it will be a different city and I will be a different person.

What does “home” mean to you today, and how has that definition changed over time?

Home is definitely a feeling and not a place. It changes constantly. Currently, home is defined by my husband and my cat, who has unfortunately been diagnosed with a terminal illness and will be leaving us soon, also a set of objects I carry with me wherever I go. Some notebooks, my favorite mug, a vase I love with vibrant colors. These objects help me set the scene for my writing and give me a sense of permanence as my personal history includes a high dose of change.

Do you think home is something you find, or something you create?

I think home is something you create, and not only that but also that you keep creating. I also believe it’s relational—being home in your body, in your relationships, and with the objects you encounter every day. To the extent that they are in alignment with who I am, then I feel home.

Was there a moment when you realized you were no longer the person you were before, but not quite the person you were becoming yet? How did you navigate that in-between?

I love everything about this question. I often joke that every three years I become a new person and, to be honest, I’ve always been equally in awe of and confused by people I know who seem to have some sense of permanence in their character. Like one of my childhood best friends, whose best qualities have not changed since we graduated.

I love spending time by myself and need long stretches of alone time. I spend the majority of that time thinking about life and my place in it. Coupled with a thirst for reading and lots of therapy, this resulted in many, many ego deaths over the years. I sometimes cringe when I think about my convictions five or ten years ago and try to cultivate compassion for a version of myself who didn’t know any better but had a lot of enthusiasm for life. I also love the process of becoming, which means I probably will be a different person in 10 years. And that’s ok. Otherwise it would be very boring!

The in-between is difficult though, especially if you struggle with patience like I do. In those moments it helps me to allocate a lot of time for activities that bring me joy and ground me in my body. For instance, I’m currently working on a book, but it will probably be at least two years before it hits the shelves. Can I authoritatively call myself a writer, considering I do a lot of not-writing-related freelance work to fund my creative life? The answer is an unapologetic yes. As long as I cultivate the space to pick up a notebook and spend an hour in my favourite cafe in Rome, scribbling my little thoughts, I’m a writer.

I’m also a huge fan of visualization. I’m already visualizing the published author Sema who is connecting with readers through her book.

You’ve experienced both structured, high-performing environments when you worked in tech at Google and TikTok, and now a more self-directed life. What did success mean to you then, and what does it mean now that you’ve chosen a different path in travel writing and cultural journalism?

Today, success means having freedom with my time, not being in spaces or around people where I have to become a different version of myself to survive or be accepted, and being able to dedicate large chunks of my time to my creative life. I measure the success of my life by how often I step into joy and serendipity.

I’ve also lost any interest in accolades, titles, or traditional forms of praise. I find them empty, unfulfilling, and quite addictive. If I see myself paying attention to these kinds of things, for instance if someone asks me whether I miss working at Google, and I find myself puzzled, that often points to something that is out of alignment with myself. These days, it rarely happens.

So I find myself feeling successful on days when I wake up with the freedom to decide how I want to spend my time. These days, that might mean heading to Shell in Rome, a bookstore-café, and working on my upcoming book. Other days, it means turning up the volume on my favorite music and starting my day with a dance. Or enjoying a lazy morning snuggled up with my husband.

What finally made you take the leap? When did you realize building a successful career at tech companies wasn’t “it” for you anymore? How did it feel at the time to make such a big change?

I’ve always had a creative side, but I was in survival mode for a long time. It came to a point where I literally felt like my insides were evaporating every time I took part in an activity out of obligation, not because it was what I wanted to do with my life. They could be benign and easy tasks like attending a 30-minute Zoom meeting, but my body and mind would freeze, and I would experience physical symptoms like nausea or a migraine.

Everyone’s story is different, but for me, in terms of my personal growth, I had to experience some form of financial expansion before I took the leap. This could mean having a couple of months’ salary saved or invested, a backup plan if things didn’t work out, or building yourself an FU Fund. These numbers look wildly different for each person. I had to achieve certain milestones in my corporate career to feel safe in my body and surroundings.

This is quite interesting to me because, in creative sectors, you’ll rarely find people who want to talk about money, and I think we do each other a disservice by being guarded around this issue. I would be miserable spiritually and emotionally if I faced financial precarity because so much of my childhood was defined by that.

So it was a combination of my body no longer allowing me to be in environments or do things that only served my survival but didn’t nourish me spiritually or emotionally, and simultaneously building a safety cushion that allowed me to take the leap.

Your writing feels deeply reflective and grounded. Do you write to understand your life, or do you understand your life and then write about it?

I mostly write to understand myself, and then I write to connect.

Same here!

I say some of my best friends and mentors are writers I’ve never met in real life, and when someone responds to my writing with a profound reflection, I feel spiritually lit up.

A lot of your work touches on emotional honesty and self-confrontation. What’s something you realized about yourself that was hard to admit, but changed the direction of your life once you did?

Patience and kindness are two qualities I’m trying to cultivate more in my life. In the past, especially in my twenties, I believed that if my analysis was grounded or factually correct, it didn’t necessarily have to be delivered with compassion or kindness. I was judgmental toward people who didn’t share my political beliefs or lived their lives differently. I don’t relate to that energy anymore. I don’t want to be the cause of, or foster, more separation among people than there already is.

I’ve realized cultivating compassion and kindness for other people has also allowed me to approach myself with those qualities, and that has changed the trajectory of my life. I used to be very hard on myself and suffer from perfectionism. Not anymore. Patience is one I’m working on; please ask me in a year. :D

For women in their 30s, 40s, and beyond who feel the pull to change something big like their career, location, relationship, etc., but are afraid to disrupt what they’ve built… what would you want them to know?

I’d say that the majority of the time, if you regret disrupting your life, you can always go back to the thing you left behind with a refreshed perspective. I know many people who took a shot at entrepreneurship and actually realized it wasn’t for them. Now they have a renewed outlook on their corporate careers, which allows them to enjoy them more.

And you can’t know without trying. In my case, the cost of not trying was definitely higher than the cost of trying and failing. You can never know what’s on the other side without dipping your feet in the water. Do it, it’s not that scary.

Oh, and another unsolicited piece of advice. Don’t listen to doomsday scenarios. There are plenty out there, such as “AI is going to take your job, and the cost of living is gonna get worse”. People who throw these doomsday scenarios hold on to their negative critique as a false sense of control. We don’t know what we can’t know. You don’t have to participate in it. I think we shouldn’t be overly influenced by these overly negative scenarios. I’ve read a wonderful Substack post on AI, which made me think for a moment that we just don’t know enough yet.

And hey, if we get there we’ll have to deal with it anyway. In the meantime, we can focus on what matters, which, for me at the moment, is my creativity, writing, and building a community.

Before we go, a few rapid-fire questions

What does home feel like in one word?

The peonies in the colorful ceramic vase on my table remind me that I’m in Italy, in my new home, and living a chapter of life that feels brighter, more colorful, and a little more fun.

Is there a specific place you return to—physically or mentally—when you feel lost?

Yes, two places. Anywhere where there is a large body of green or water. Nature. Currently, my go-to places are Villa Borghese in Rome and Canetto Beach when I’m in Puglia. If I insert myself in nature, focus on my breathing, and listen to the sounds around me, I’m mostly fine.

What are you reading right now?

Is A River Alive by Robert MacFarlane on how rivers are not soulless resources for human consumption but rather living beings.

What are you working on—professionally or personally—these days?

My upcoming book is based on a viral essay I wrote on travel a year ago. It’s the most exciting thing I’ve ever done.

Oh, very exciting! Based on what you’ve learned and experienced so far in the world of book publishing, what’s your top tip for aspiring non-fiction authors?

Writing a good book proposal is key. I took this workshop by Edgar Gomez, a brilliant non-fiction writer who really studied the ins and outs of a good book proposal. We as creatives LOVE to talk about the fun stuff, which is being creative, but the way publishing works today is very business-oriented. So understanding your “comparative titles”, which are books in your genre that are similar to yours in theme and audience, is really key.

Do you have any small rituals that help you feel grounded, wherever you are?

Three things: Starting the morning with coffee. Walking, long walks. And meditation. In a new place, if I can find a park and sit on a bench to meditate for 10 minutes, I’m mostly fine.

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Thanks for reading! If you have any questions for Sema or me, drop them in the comments below.

See you soon,

Alexis

P.S. If you enjoyed this post, hit the ♡ button below and/or share it to help others find it. To further support my work, consider buying me a coffee (on repeat). Thanks so much.

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My May reads were mainly memoirs about loss and grief, but you don’t have to be in the thick of it to enjoy these books; at least I don’t think so. I’ll list them all (+ a few others from different genres below). If you have any fun summer reading recs or are looking for recs, feel free to leave a comment! For anyone who’s willing to chime in, I’m looking for some light reads for June and July. I’m almost done with Famesick by (not light, but I admire her raw and honest writing and how she manages to inject humor in all the right places). Next up for me is Valley of the Moms by (check out her interview about the business of books here).

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Lost & Found by Kathryn Schulz

Great memoir on losing and finding love (and I think also yourself) and how, although we try, we can never really experience anything in life in isolation. Love/hate, joy/sorrow, and so on.

You Could Make This Place Beautiful by

Beautiful writing, unexpected (and unique) non-chronological structure with flash essays and other excerpts as Maggie Smith navigated divorce and her version of acceptance and starting over. It felt like I was on the journey with the author; she’s still learning and isn’t trying to convince us otherwise. I finished the book feeling hopeful, optimistic, and inspired.

So Sorry for Your Loss by

Honest, funny, and practical memoir/guide on loss and grief—a topic we should all be talking about more openly! Thank you, Dina!

Margo’s Got Money Troubles by Rufi Thorpe

Margo, the child of a Hooters waitress and ex-pro wrestler, has an affair with her English professor, gets pregnant, decides to keep the baby, and then sets up an OnlyFans account to earn a living—and support her new baby—from home. Highly entertaining, and the series on Apple TV is also great! It’s impossible not to love all the characters.

Before and After the Book Deal by

I’m technically not finished with this one, but I did complete the “before” section, which is all I need to know at this point in my memoir-writing/book-proposal journey. I love that Courtney Maum writes straight to the point, without fluff, and she’s funny! It makes book publishing feel a little less daunting, but the book also sets realistic expectations.

See you soon,

Alexis

P.S. If you enjoyed this post, hit the ♡ button below and/or share it to help others find it. To further support my work, consider buying me a coffee (on repeat). Thanks so much.

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I’m writing today from Schiphol Airport. I’ve been up since 4:30 am, so I'm knackered. K. and I are headed to Pennsylvania for a small gathering to celebrate my mom at her childhood home this weekend, so it feels like a good time to share a related tiny (exactly 100-word) story that I’ve been writing and rewriting for a few weeks. It’s time to let it go! You’ll receive this while I’m in the air, but feel free to say hi in the comments, and I’ll reply soon from the land of jet lag. ♡

Her silk scarf

“You look like Granny!” my 10-year-old niece said, smiling, eyes wide.

I was showing her my outfit for my mom’s celebration of life. The silk scarf I inherited was draped over my shoulders. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I noticed my red, puffy face as I looked at my niece through my iPhone.

“Oh no,” she said. “I made you cry again.”

The last time was on another video call, when she sang a song she wrote for Granny. Something about the clouds, the sky, and being free.

“It’s OK,” I said. “I’m happy to share these moments with you.”

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See you soon,

Alexis

P.S. If you enjoyed this post, hit the ♡ button below and/or share it to help others find it. To further support my work, consider buying me a coffee (on repeat). Thanks so much.

1. Don’t do it for the money or the fame, you’ll likely never have either.

2. Do it for personal achievement, to connect with readers, because it’s therapeutic/cathartic, or for some other reason that feels good to you.

3. Don’t quit your day job (because 1 & 2 above).

4. A chronology of events is less important than writing about how you felt, what you learned, and how your experiences have shaped you. (I’ve realized that I wasted a lot of time recounting unnecessary details as I begin working on my book proposal.)

5. Identify a few key themes that you’ll focus on in your memoir, and do it before you begin outlining chapters. For example, some of mine are: loss and grief, redefining traditional milestones, emotional inheritance, and so on.

6. Once you’ve identified themes, work out how you can weave relevant stories and events into those themes.

7. Don’t worry too much about how to order chapters in the beginning; this will probably change. And it doesn’t have to go in chronological order.

8. The things that feel hardest to write are probably the things you should write about. (See 9 & 10 below.)

9. Be vulnerable.

10. Be honest.

11. You’re going to feel like an imposter and wonder who will even care about your story, but keep going! (See 1 & 2 above.)

12. Read A LOT of memoirs. They don’t have to touch on the same themes as yours, but studying the genre helps.

13. Read the acknowledgments at the end of memoirs. Most authors list their agents there, so you can look them up and add them to your list of potential agents, assuming what they’re looking for matches the type of memoir you’re working on.

14. Show the reader what you experienced and felt, don’t just tell. For example, instead of “I was scared”, show them by describing the moment, “My pulse echoed through my body like a warning sign. I had to get out of there. All signs in my mind were pointing to the exit.” (Excerpt from this essay.)

15. You don’t have to write the whole book before you seek out an agent and publisher. Start with a book proposal. More on that here.

16. There are so many different tips out there for developing the right writing routine and how first drafts are always messy, etc. I think they are, but also, just work on it/write in a way that’s sustainable for you. Morning, afternoon, at 2 am, in your notes app, in your head while taking a shower, whatever. I’m realizing that a lot of the writing happens when I’m not sitting at my desk, as odd as that sounds. I need a lot of time to ruminate, and then it just suddenly falls out of my head, usually at 4:33 am, which is inconvenient, but what can I do?

More soon!

Alexis

P.S. If you enjoyed this post, hit the ♡ button below and/or share it to help others find it. To further support my work, consider upgrading your subscription. Thanks so much.

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I’m trying out a new format with today’s letter because I’d really like to publish here consistently on Mondays, but writing something long-form each week while also working on my (first!) memoir (and continuing my freelance work) is proving difficult. What have I signed myself up for?

That said, I still want to share personal stories and dispatches from everyday life with you, so I’m doing it in 100 words or fewer at the beginning of each Monday letter. You’ll still receive occasional longer pieces, interviews, and other fun stuff as it comes up.

There’s no specific theme for these tiny stories (micro memoirs?), but they’ll always be raw and honest, and hopefully sometimes humorous, too. Writing short is hard! So it’s also a way to sharpen my writing chops, and you get to see/read the progression. How fun! (Or not, let’s seeeeeeee.)

100 words

At the OB/GYN in Holland, there’s no gown. You slip into a curtained-off corner, like a retail store fitting room, and then emerge naked from the waist down. During my first Dutch OB/GYN visit, I wore a short, fitted sweater. Recently, as I sat in the chair and propped up my legs, thinking I was so prepared wearing a long t-shirt, I looked down and realized that I was wearing two different socks! I think my doctor tried to make me feel better because she said, “Well, at least it looks like they came from the same pack.”

Side note: I wrote about this same story on Threads (still have no fkn clue how to use Threads), but it went a little viral, with 111K views and hundreds of comments from women in Europe, the UK, and the US. And, of course, a man who commented, “What is the problem?” The Internet is an interesting place! Lol.

From the memoir margins

I’m currently working on the proposal for my first memoir, so last week I set a goal to have the first—very loose—outline ready. I failed. It took me longer than expected to go back through pictures and messages with my siblings from around September 2021 until early January of this year. But I’m OK with this setback. I thought reliving the experience would be sad and depressing—some of it was hard, of course—but it also reminded me of how resilient and strong we are when life throws us curveballs, as it so often does. Or perhaps this is more like a lemons-and-lemonade situation. Still processing! I have 24 legal pad pages of handwritten notes to work from now. So that’s good, at least. I think figuring out what to include and what to cut will be difficult, and I’m realizing that I want this book to be just as much about experiencing my mom’s long goodbye as how I’m carrying on and living now that she’s gone.

ICYMI: This interview with 2x author Hannah Selinger about the business of books was interesting!

Book rec: You Could Make This Place Beautiful by

Beautiful writing, unexpected (and unique) non-chronological structure with flash essays, quotes, and other excerpts as the author navigated divorce and her version of acceptance and starting over. I felt like I was on the journey with Maggie. She doesn’t shy away from admitting that she’s still learning. She doesn’t have it all figured out, and that’s OK. It’s honest and relatable. I also admire her boundaries with the reader. She explicitly writes that she’s not willing to share—in detail—certain parts of her story, which I think is difficult with memoir writing. It sometimes feels like you need to bare all to resonate and connect with readers, but she has shown me otherwise. I finished the book feeling hopeful, optimistic, and inspired.

FYI, I’m keeping track of all my book recs here.

See you soon,

Alexis

P.S. If you enjoyed this post, hit the ♡ button below and/or share it to help others find it. To further support my work, consider upgrading your subscription. Thanks so much.

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Mera Magazine features weekly dispatches, essays, interviews, book recs, and more from Amsterdam-based writer Alexis Mera Damen. Subscribe to show your love and stay in the know!

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Happy Friday. Today, I’d like to introduce you to author Katya Suvorova. I could not put down her debut memoir, Ungrateful Immigrant Daughter. In it, she writes about her experience of being raised as an undocumented Russian immigrant—and the daughter of a mail-order bride—in Texas. Her story is sad but timely, and I admire her strength in writing to make sense of it all (and how she adds humor in all the right places).

In this conversation, we talk about how Katya’s childhood experiences shaped her, her writing routine, building an author platform, and much more. So, without further ado, meet Katya.

Alexis: Your memoir, Ungrateful Immigrant Daughter, drops us so vividly into your childhood and your experience as the daughter of a Russian mail-order bride. You write with such tenderness that I felt like I was right there with little you. How did you access that younger version of yourself without over-narrating or over-explaining her?

Katya: This is so incredibly kind of you to say. My writing process for this memoir was unlike any other writing experience I have had before. My outline was literally a list of memories—just words or phrases—of pivotal moments from my life that shaped my worldview. When I sat down to write, I pulled out that list and looked at what memory was next. Then, I closed my eyes and got deep in the memory.

If you’ve ever heard of EMDR, I kind of used this technique to write. EMDR is a therapeutic practice that stands for Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing, and the idea behind it is to make your most traumatic memories no longer hold a “charge” by exposing yourself to them in a controlled environment.

I did EMDR for about 6 months in 2020, and before each session, my therapist had me write down every single detail of whatever memory we were going to tackle that day. Then she would read the memory out loud to me and turn on a light bar, where a dot of light would bounce left and right, and my eyes would follow it until the memory was no longer triggering for me. I used a similar technique in writing my memoir, except without the light bar. I knew how to dive deep into my memories because of EMDR, and when I felt locked into the memory, I would write.

The things I was thinking and feeling as a child came back to me very clearly, because I literally felt like I was there again. After every writing session, I needed a long time to recover. Being in those memories, remembering my thoughts, feeling how afraid I was, was exhausting, and after I wrote, I would turn off my brain for as long as I could with white noise playlists or reality TV.

Sometimes I pretended to be my own mother (or, really, grandmother) and comforted myself so I felt safe enough to return to my adult self. The goal was to honor the younger versions of myself, and any degree of success I had was because I really, truly was in my child mind.

You write about painful moments with such clarity and restraint. How did you decide what to show versus what to hold back?

My goal with my memoir has always been to write the book I needed growing up, and with that in mind, I would never want to re-traumatize a child going through similar situations who may pick up this book.

If my younger self were reading my memoir, I wouldn’t want her to be triggered. I would want her to feel like I was holding her hand, that she would be cared for in the end, that when things get hard, I would protect her. I approached every scene with this idea and chose a non-chronological structure to give the reader glimpses into the future, so they know that everything will work out in the end. That being said, kids go through some really hard things. I don’t believe they ever need to be shielded from the truth, especially their own truth. Adults can provide a soft landing place for them, and I tried very hard to do that.

You dealt with a lot of hard things at such a young age: leaving your grandparents in Russia, abusive step fathers, and a negligent mother, but still, there’s a steady strength and resilience running through your story. When you look back now, do you recognize that strength in your younger self, or is that something you only see in hindsight?

I think all children start off really resilient. If you think about it, it’s a miracle that babies survive their first year, that toddlers survive their first few years. Kids put everything in their mouths, stick their fingers in every single socket imaginable, and try to jump off cliffs. It’s terrifying, but this means they are constantly learning. Being open to mistakes and growth is the most resilient thing I can think of. Children have to be resilient to make it to adulthood.

So when I look back at my younger self, I see a kid who was doing her best to make it to adulthood, where I could control my surroundings instead of leaving it up to the adults in my life and their poor decision-making. Ironically, I think kids can be even more resilient than adults. When we’re kids, we just have to push through these hard situations, but I see a lot of adults stop wanting to learn and grow simply because they think they are past the age for that sort of thing.

Writing about family, especially when the dynamics are complicated, can come with a lot of internal conflict. What felt most difficult to put on the page, and what surprised you by feeling easier than expected?

The most difficult parts of my story to write about were the good memories. Most of those good memories involved my sister and my babushka.

It is so hard knowing I won’t ever get my babushka in her 70s again. It’s also really hard knowing I won’t get to play in the sandbox with my sister again. That sounds weird, I think, but my grandmother is turning 88 this year, and she has a really hard time walking like she used to. She is almost completely blind. I want her to snorkel with fish and see beautiful birds and all these things, but she is rapidly losing that ability, and there’s nothing I can do.

I’m sorry. That’s so tough, to sort of grieve the memories you’ll never get to make with someone you love. I can relate to this regarding the future moments I’ll never have with my mom.

When I think back to my memories with my sister, I just remember being scared and stressed. I remember wanting to protect her. I didn’t get to play with her. I want to go back and play with dolls and cars, but I can’t now. She’s in her 20s. That time has passed, and it honestly devastates me because I want to know my sister without the fear of survival looming over us.

I thought I would need the most recovery from the more traumatic memories, like us being kidnapped, but I wrote those scenes pretty quickly and easily because I did not want to spend time in them. The good memories I obsessed over because I kept looking for pockets of goodness in my childhood, maybe just to make sure they were there. I was sad to find that a lot of times they weren’t.

Your story touches on identity, belonging, and what it means to grow up between cultures. How has your understanding of “home” evolved since writing the book?

Since finishing the last draft of my book, we’ve permanently left the United States, so this question is profoundly poignant to me right now. The idea of home has changed a lot for me. I think it does for everyone, but especially immigrants. If I got this question before leaving the U.S., I would say “Home” is wherever my grandmother, sister, and husband were. But I had to leave my sister in the U.S., and it’s hard for me to see my grandmother. If they were my home and I couldn’t ever come back to them, then I would have a hard time grounding myself.

My husband is definitely my safe space, but he’s not perfect. He can’t be what I need 100% of the time. I’ve realized, since moving, that home has to be within me. That sounds so cheesy, I know. But if I’ve learned anything these last few years, it’s that your circumstances can truly change in an instant, and when you need to make a fast decision, you have to be able to trust your instincts and your gut. Being put in the position where we’ve had to do that recently, I’ve realized that what has gotten me through is knowing that my actions align with my morals, which has required a steadfast, unshakeable confidence in myself.

I now know that I can be anywhere in the world, with many or few resources, and I will stand by my principles. I know I could never see my family again (which is a devastating thought), but still make good decisions that aim to benefit humanity as a whole. Living in alignment with my principles is what home feels like to me now.

This is your first memoir. What did your writing process look like? Were you writing consistently, or did it come in waves? Did you sell a book proposal first? I’m in the midst of working on my memoir book proposal, so I’m very curious!

Oh wow! Congrats! Memoir writing is the most rewarding and also the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But. But! My sense of who I am and what I believe is so much stronger now than when I first started writing.

So, here is the whole, long story: I signed with my agent for a YA contemporary fiction novel about a young girl who grew up undocumented and in an abusive situation at home, but ultimately got her American citizenship. We sent that out to like 30 editors, and they all rejected it, but one editor said she would be interested in this idea if it were in the form of a memoir. I discussed this comment with my agent, who had already sold a few memoirs, and she encouraged me to develop a non-fiction proposal based on my life.

I actually got my bachelor’s in creative writing and was always interested in memoir writing, but had discounted writing my own because I didn’t think anyone would want to read a memoir by someone in her twenties. I thought I needed to live more life (I was wrong.) My agent said most people who sell memoirs nowadays have a strong social media presence, are famous, or are already known in the literary world. At that point, I had no social media presence. The idea of being on social media scared me, but my agent is an absolute angel and was really encouraging (and remains so!). She told me I had important things to say, which I did not really believe at the time. She even offered to pay for a publicist for me so I could start placing essays (the best advice I could give you, truly, is get a kick-ass agent).

So, I started writing essays, and while doing this, I dipped my toes into the world of TikTok. TikTok was easier for me than Instagram because I didn’t know anyone on TikTok, so I felt like I could experiment without being judged. I experimented, A LOT. I posted a lot of random stuff and hoped something would stick. After about six months of truly flailing, I realized I needed to approach my social media content as though every video I created was a chapter in my memoir. Also, I realized people go on social media because they need something. Advice, or they want to feel less lonely, or they want to feel like someone understands them.

If I wanted people to hear what I was saying, they needed to be able to take away something for themselves from my content. I started making videos informing people about mail-order brides, the situations that cause someone to want to leave their country in this way, and other things I experienced or had first-hand knowledge of. When I approached my content like this, I skyrocketed to over 40k followers.

This was the number that my agent and I agreed on to start the publisher submission process. We created a proposal over 40 pages long detailing what I wanted to include in my memoir. Honestly, my memoir in its current form is remarkably different from the original proposal that got me my publishing deal. If I could go back, I would tell myself to write one draft of my memoir before writing my proposal, because I truly did not know what I wanted to say until after my first draft.

After I got my publisher, my friend hooked me up with a critique group, and I started writing the first few chapters from my outline. My critique group helped me refine the tone and voice of the first chapters, and that’s when I started using my experience with EMDR to write, and things went much smoother after that. Having a critique group helped me catch issues early in the drafting process and improve my writing, because I could incorporate insights from feedback into future chapters as I wrote them rather than in retrospect. I pretty much only stuck to a schedule because I knew I needed to turn in my chapters every few weeks. Having 3–5 people give me feedback on my writing told me what was working and what wasn’t. If it weren’t for my critique group, I would not have been consistent at all, so I am deeply thankful to them.

You mentioned that your story evolved a lot from the proposal to the final draft. What did you initially think it was about?

I thought the story I was telling was an American coming-of-age story, but I was wrong. The political landscape of the United States shifted dramatically for me while I was writing, and I realized this was, first and foremost, an immigrant story.

Looking back, I’m not sure how I got it so wrong initially, but thank goodness for the magic in writing because the words that flowed from my fingertips told the immigrant story that was there all along. I also became much more aware of how writing was a political act, simply by describing my experiences. I think it’s impossible to write nonfiction without being political in some way, and I decided to change which memories I shared to respond to what was and is happening in the United States.

Tell us a bit more about your approach to building your platform as a writer and author. Do you think it ultimately helped you sell your book to a publisher?

When I make content, I want viewers/followers/readers to take something away for themselves from whatever I’ve created. The question I ask myself before I post anything is: What can my followers get from this post or video?

I found that social media platforms are visual mediums, so I have to add that dimension on top of my writing instincts, which was new and different for me. Despite that, typically my posts that do best usually tap into the same storytelling craft at the heart of being a writer or artist of any kind.

Without a doubt, building a platform was critical to selling my memoir to a publisher. The book landscape is evolving and facing all sorts of disruptions in the current era, but for authors, this means that much more time and energy must go into personally marketing their books than in previous decades. Most authors, especially debuting ones, should know they will be expected to market their work directly. Building a platform demonstrates understanding of your own brand, what makes it unique, who your audience is, and how to expand your reach.

I’m learning about all this now—the importance of having a platform and your ability to market and self-promote your work—and I’m finding it difficult! It’s hard enough to sit down and write every day; having to develop an Instagram strategy as well is daunting. But I know it’s the necessary evil of this adventure I’m on as an aspiring author! OK, moving on!

Memoir often sits in that uncomfortable space between personal truth and public consumption. How did you navigate the vulnerability of sharing your story with a wider audience?

I definitely curated which memories to share and which to keep to myself. My husband tells me all the time that my memoir doesn’t even show half of the absurd things that were happening. Vulnerability is important, especially now, but it’s also important to know you didn’t give your audience every bit of you. With that said, while writing, I interrogated many of the things that still make me feel shame, like the fact that I had lice for over two years, and I realized a lot of people could have that same shame, and if I shared these parts of my story maybe other people will realize they don’t have to feel ashamed for things that happened to them as a child.

For readers who see parts of themselves in your story, what do you hope they take away from your book?

I want anyone who reads this book to be brave. Even when it’s scary. Even when it’s hard and seems inescapable. It’s important to be fierce and brave and have the confidence to always keep going, keep fighting for a better life. I also hope anyone who reads this book comes away with a strong sense of conviction to protect children. If the adults in my life had more conviction and less fear, I think I could have been protected from a lot of things I experienced as a child.

No one deserves traumatic experiences in their lives, but children are especially vulnerable to abuse because they cannot protect themselves. We need adults in children’s lives to have the conviction that they can and should protect kids simply because it is the right thing to do.

Before we go, a few rapid-fire questions

What book do you recommend to everyone lately?

I can’t choose just one! Feeding Ghosts by Tessa Hulls. Beautiful Country by Qian Julie Wang. Dirty Kitchen by Jill Damatac. Kin by Tayari Jones. Keeper of Lost Children by Sadeqa Johnson.

What show or movie are you binge-watching?

I am currently watching Love Island: Beyond the Villa and season 4 of Vanderpump Rules. There are about a million shows on my ledger that I need to get to, though. When I’m writing fiction, reality TV inspires me more than anything else.

What’s one sentence you wrote in Ungrateful Immigrant Daughter that still lingers with you?

I think about the line: “What was I supposed to be excited about?” a lot. This line refers to my reaction as a toddler when the man who “bought” my mother showed us his house. He wanted us to be really impressed by a tiny, kind of broken-down house. It’s a really simple line, but it’s so relevant all the time. So many products, services, and concepts are pushed on us as modern wonders when, in reality they do not truly improve the quality of our lives.

What are you working on these days (aside from promoting the launch of your book in September)?

I love this question! I’m working on a revenge fantasy thriller. I feel like the world needs a revenge fantasy where bad men get the consequences they deserve, since it’s not really happening in our world.

In one sentence, what did writing this memoir teach you about yourself that you didn’t expect?

I am proud of the child I was.

Pre-order Katya’s debut memoir, Ungrateful Immigrant Daughter wherever you buy your books! Pre-ordering books boosts first-week sales, helps authors get on bestseller lists, encourages retailers to stock more copies, and generates early marketing buzz. Let’s show Katya some love!

Thanks for reading! If you have any questions for me or Katya, drop them in the comments below.

See you soon,

Alexis

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Mera Magazine features weekly dispatches, essays, interviews, book recs, and more from Amsterdam-based writer Alexis Mera Damen. Subscribe to show your love and stay in the know!

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But this Mother’s Day was the first year that I couldn’t call or see my mom. All last week, I tried to mentally prepare myself. I was worried about how I’d feel on the day. I made plans to hang out with friends Saturday night, and K. and I planned to have a nice brunch at home on Sunday, followed by a trip to IKEA to look for a new kitchen.

I figured if I was busy, it might sting a little less. However, my Saturday afternoon was wide open, so I stopped at our local plant-and-flower shop and bought yellow orchids, which I had planted in an ombre-green ceramic pot (my mom always kept a few orchid plants on the windowsill in the kitchen of her last home). I brought it home. Sat it on the round wooden eating table in our living room, pulled out some pens and colored pencils, and made her a card while listening to a Spotify playlist titled Mom, which consists of a handful of songs she loved. The same songs she used to play at my childhood home when we had company, and the ones she’d softly sing along to in the car. I used to play them for her when I’d visit her in assisted living and then in memory care. She could no longer speak, but I knew I was getting through to her somehow because she’d raise her eyebrows and sing a few words, hum, or raise one hand like a music conductor.

Since my mom was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s in September 2021, I’ve been keeping track of the big milestones (or rather losses). Like when she began calling me non-stop because she had forgotten that she had already called, when she lost her job, then her driver’s license, the first time I noticed that she could no longer cook a meal, when we moved her to assisted living, the last birthday card she ever sent to me because she couldn’t keep track of dates anymore, and so on. There are too many things to list here.

But keeping track in this way is oddly comforting (at least for me), and not as morbid as you might think. The day after she died, I jotted down in my journal the number of days she lived (26,444) and the number of days that I had with her/how many days I’ve lived so far (14,711), and since then, I’ve also noted how many days it has been since she died—today is day 130.

I’ve wondered if this is strange behavior. Like, am I dwelling too much on all this? On losing her. I even asked about it in a therapy session. But I’ve realized and accepted that it’s not weird at all. Grief math is a way for us to wrap our heads around the permanency of death. It’s a way for us to maintain some type of connection with the people we’ve lost. Similar to how objects (which I could write a whole separate post about) help us feel a tangible connection to those we have lost.

These days, time has either felt like it’s moving at a snail’s pace or like I’m spinning around in teacups at an amusement park. It’s hard to explain, but keeping track of the numbers is grounding, and it also makes you realize how short life is, so you’re better off living it to the fullest—whatever that means for you.

From the Memoir Margins

In case you missed it, I’m working on my first memoir… On the surface, it’s about how the experience of losing my mom to Alzheimer’s in my 30s has shaped me, and it sometimes feels like a crazy idea to write a book, but if all this has taught me anything, it’s YOLO and go for it! (Whatever “it” is.)

Anyway, I think it’d be fun to share brief updates with you. I’ve set a deadline for this Thursday to work out a loose outline of the book. I’m sure it will change a gazillion times, but at least I’m heading in the right direction. Looking back through photos and messages with my siblings from the last five years (to figure out what I want to include in the book) has brought up all sorts of feelings. I even sometimes find myself giggling at the way we handled some situations. For example, there was a period around the summer to fall of 2024 when our mom began to fall quite often. Awful, I know. It was especially hard getting photos and messages of her with bruises on her arms and face, but she was unsteady, and even with great care, it was inevitable. She had become a “high fall risk”. In one reply, my brother sent me a photo of a hockey helmet that we joked we should buy for her safety. It’s morbid. But it’s funny, and sometimes humor can feel like the only way to survive.

See you soon,

Alexis

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Mera Magazine features weekly dispatches, essays, interviews, book recs, and more from Amsterdam-based writer Alexis Mera Damen. Subscribe to show your love and stay in the know!

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You’ve probably noticed that I’ve been publishing more interviews lately. I’ve been busy with a 6-week writing workshop—where I had to turn in one 1500-word essay each week—leaving very little time (or brainpower) for me to come up with something interesting (of my own) to share here. Either way, I love asking questions and spreading the word about the people I chat with, so there are more interviews in the works!

I’ll also share more of my own writing in the coming weeks. I’m thinking about a 100-word micro-memoir series that captures small, special moments, especially during the mini-sabbatical I’m taking this summer following my mom’s celebration of life at the end of May. Or maybe it will just be a travel journal, let’s see!

After a stop in NYC, I’ll be traveling around the US with my boyfriend and 10-year-old niece for three weeks. We’ll make our way by car from New York to Maryland, then to Tennessee, followed by a flight to California for the World Cup, and we’ll finish off with a family visit in Santa Fe and 4th of July celebrations in Colorado. Any tips you have for traveling with a tween, please send them my way!

I might also bring my mom along… Well, one-third of her. We divided her remains into three so she can continue hanging out with all three of her children.

The ceramic urn my dear friend is making for her is shaping up nicely. It’s touching to work on this project with a close friend.

In the meantime, I’ve been reading a lot of memoirs to get inspired and learn more about the craft of writing them (now that I’m working on my own memoir—eek!).

Most recently, I finished Between Two Kingdoms by , and all I have to say is WOW. Well, I have a lot more to say, which I’ll get into soon, but she is an amazing, strong, and resilient woman. She’s also a great writer.

While I don’t relate directly to her experience of being diagnosed with cancer at 22, and the treatment and recovery that came along with it, I do relate to the general idea of operating in survival mode while dealing with a difficult time for an extended period and then trying to figure out how to fully live again once you make it to the other side.

Since losing my mom, I’ve been reflecting a lot on what we’ve all been through as a family over the last almost five years of her Alzheimer’s journey. Sometimes when I’m working on the last bits of admin, to close up her accounts, etc., I search my Google Drive or a spreadsheet that I had created at the beginning of all this, and for a second, I can’t believe how I managed it all on top of my own life admin and while I was in the midst of starting over in Amsterdam post-divorce. My 30s were great. I’m grateful. I feel lucky for the life I’ve built, but I realize even more now that I was living in the in-between, flying back to the US a few times a year (sometimes for up to six weeks) to spend time with my mom and help my brother. I’m exhausted!

Mentally and emotionally, my mom had been gone for a while, but I thought that once she was physically gone (sheesh, that sounds bad, but it feels like the most honest way of saying it), I’d suddenly feel lighter and carefree again. I thought I’d feel inspired again to do more faraway international travel because I wouldn’t have to worry about whether I’d get a call from my brother about a new development or a recent incident, like a seizure, stroke, or fall. Or even worse, that she had suddenly died.

But I’m not there yet, nor do I feel like I need to be. I think it will likely take a while until I am, or I may never get to where I’m imagining. I’m learning that grief doesn’t come neatly wrapped with a pretty ribbon that you get to untie and boom, you’re suddenly gifted with being “normal” again. Wouldn’t that be nice?

I relate to what Suleika wrote on page 190, “Grief is a ghost that visits without warning. It comes in the night and rips you from your sleep. It fills your chest with shards of glass. It interrupts you mid-laugh when you’re at a party, chastising you that, just for a moment, you’ve forgotten. It haunts you until it becomes a part of you, shadowing you breath for breath.”

I also resonate with this excerpt from page 211, “I’ve spent the past fifteen hundred days working tirelessly toward a single goal—survival. And now that I’ve survived, I’m realizing I don’t know how to live.”

From the time my mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s until the day we lost her was a little over fifteen hundred days… Saying that I don’t know how to live is probably a bit extreme in my case, but I find myself evaluating more and more what I want to do with my life and how I want to live it in a way that I can look back on and feel like I lived to my fullest (whatever that may be!). Losing a parent really makes you question your own mortality and life purpose, at least I think so.

Suleika writes about how she struggled to figure out how to live again after she had spent roughly four years undergoing intensive treatment for leukemia, including chemotherapy and a bone marrow transplant. Now, again, my situation is very different, but I think we often hear about the challenging times people have experienced and how they “survived.” But then what happens afterward? Once they’ve made it through? I’m still figuring this part out.

She writes about how, in times of crisis, we sometimes split into three selves: the past, the present, and the future. In her case, that’s pre-diagnosis, sick, and recovering.

In my case, I don’t specifically see myself split into three, but I do find that framing my grief (and maybe also my relationship with my mom?) into three buckets helps me make more sense of it. I’m grieving the mom I once had as a child and up until her initial decline, the mom I saw wither away one tiny loss after another, and the adult relationship I’ll never have with my mom. Which, now that I write it here, is also three versions of myself… The me before, during, and after my mom’s Alzheimer’s journey. I never know if “journey” is the right word, but that’s truly what it felt/feels like.

On page 138, Suleika writes, “Maybe the challenge is to locate the thread that strings these selves together.” I couldn’t agree more, but I have a feeling it’s much easier said than done.

Once she was cancer-free, and her doctors approved, Suleika went on a solo cross-country US road trip to visit many of the people who wrote her letters and emails after reading her NYT column, Life, Interrupted, which she often wrote from her hospital bed while in isolation during treatment. Her story is incredibly inspiring and uplifting, but she doesn’t sugarcoat the challenges she faced even after she was cancer-free, like getting sick easily, sometimes feeling unsafe traveling alone as a woman, and feeling unsure of her place in the world. She had no idea what she was supposed to do next.

But slowly, she learned to embrace the unknown. She ends the book with this beautiful line, “Wherever I am, wherever we go, home will always be the in-between place, a wilderness I’ve grown to love.”

There’s so much more I could share about this book, but for those of you who haven’t read it, I don’t want to spoil it!

See you soon,

Alexis

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That’s why I’m writing a memoir. Yep, I’m going for it! It’s about the experience of losing my mom to Alzheimer’s in my 30s. But what I really think it’s about is how losing her led me to find a new version of myself. That’s the gist of it, but I’m in the beginning stages of mapping it out, so don’t hold me to it yet!

Right now, I’m excited, but I’m sure that during the process, I’m going to want to rip my hair out or even quit, especially once the novelty wears off. So I’m putting it out there into the world to help me keep going. I’m “manifesting” it. Ha!

In August, I’ll begin working with 2x author, essayist, and journalist Hannah Selinger to write my non-fiction book proposal. We recently exchanged a few emails, where Hannah kindly answered some of my questions about the business of books. I’ve learned so much from her already, and since I know some of you are aspiring authors, I wanted to share it here.

And even if you’re not a writer or aspiring author, I still think it’s interesting to get a behind-the-scenes look at how some of your favorite books came to life.

Alexis: What’s the difference in book publishing between fiction and non-fiction? How should they each be approached?

Hannah: Novels—fiction—are sold based on an entire manuscript. The protocol is that you would write the book first, then shop for an agent, then hope to sell it (it tends to be harder than selling nonfiction, especially in this market).

Nonfiction—memoir—is where a proposal would come in. If that’s what you’re considering instead, work toward that, but I’d just caution you to keep your expectations low. Memoir is hard to sell, particularly if you don’t have what’s known as a platform, which is a very established series of clips and/or a big media following. That’s not to say it can’t happen, but it’s probably not very likely in this climate. That said, I don’t think it’s bad to write this stuff out, but it’s worth thinking about what kind of story you want to tell.

What do you mean by a series of clips?

“Clips” are published pieces of work. That’s really part of your platform—but not all of it. Before a publisher (or an agent, as a first step) would want to take a chance on you, they would likely want to see that you have the ability to sell your work more broadly—particularly when we’re talking about nonfiction, where you’re selling an idea and not a finished product.

Realistically, can you make a living as an author without any supplemental income?

There are many components to selling books, not the least of which is money. When you get an advance, it works differently in nonfiction than it does in fiction. In nonfiction, that advance is split into either three or four parts, less than 15 percent of which your agent gets.

That means that if you sell your book for $100,000, your first payment, three months after you sign (because that is how long it takes to resolve a contract), will be about $28k. You’re meant to use that money to live off of while you write the book, but, as you know, that’s not very much money—and $100k is considered a very large advance for a memoir. You get the second third when you submit the draft, and the third installment on publication day.

For fiction, advances are typically divided into two. Since you’ve already written the book, you receive your first payment immediately after your book clears contracts. The second installment is paid out once your book is published. But novels are usually paid out at a lower rate, in the $20k–50k range for debut authors. So if you look at the math on that, it means you might make $20k per installment, if that.

These are hardly sustainable wages, which is why so many writers are doing other things while they’re also writing books. And these numbers reflect deeply established writers who have been chipping away at legacy media for years. I’m not saying this as discouragement, but it’s just important to be realistic about both the timeline and the amount of money that all of this actually realizes in the end. Success as an author is extremely limited.

Makes sense. I understand it’s a long game that may never work out. For me—at least at this point—it’s more of a goal I hope to achieve. I’m not quitting my day job. What has been most effective for you in growing your platform? I know you’ve had success with clips and the James Beard Award nomination, but what else helped? Self-promotion on social media? That part makes me cringe, but I guess if I want to build a platform, it’s mandatory.

My following was organic, and it came mostly from my published work. I had a number of pieces that went viral—most notably the one nominated for the Beard—and they made me more visible. My agents sought me out, so I was already pretty recognizable. I was in a position to leverage the editors and writers I knew to sell a book. Ultimately, that’s what a publisher wants to see: that you can help market yourself.

It’s not necessarily one thing. I’ve been in the field for 20 years, in one way or another, so I have deep connections. This helped me make a case for the book.

The essay I wrote for HuffPost about tricking my mom into assisted living after her Alzheimer’s diagnosis is, I think, what planted the seed for my desire to write more (in memoir form) about how losing her in my 30s shaped me. How it led to learning more about her and myself. I’m considering writing more about it on my Substack to build a platform/audience. Would that be a good approach?

A few things I’d offer when it comes to writing a memoir about grief.

1. Anything you intend to publish (short- or long-form) needs to stay off Substack. There are copyright issues, and no publisher will republish something that people have already seen. So, although there are merits to making yourself more visible and increasing your profile through a newsletter or other social media avenues, I would strongly discourage you from putting anything you intend to use in a book into a public forum, because you cannot use it twice.

2. Memoir is a tough sell these days, and the most pressing thing that publishers are looking for is that you have some kind of independent identity that would help you sell the book.

That’s not necessarily limited to social media platforms, though it can help. For me, it was journalism: people knew who I was because of my food-writing background. If you can’t sell books, it’s less likely that they’re going to take you on, because it’s a liability. That’s not to say you shouldn’t make a play for it, but I just want you to be realistic about what the process looks like.

3. The other thing about memoir is that you rarely write the book first. You write a proposal, and 1–2 sample chapters, and you send it to agents—and then, later, editors—in the hopes that they want to buy the idea. It’s the opposite of how you sell a fiction manuscript, which is sold on the entire book. So you’d have to build your architecture around the structure of a prospective book: a book that does not yet exist.

4. The marketing strategy that surrounds nonfiction has a lot to do with facts and figures, and what you think you might be able to do. Have you identified your audience? Have you figured out how you can sell this book? That’s what you should be thinking about way before you think about what the book even looks like when you approach nonfiction, as backward as that sounds.

If that kind of thing sounds like it’s for you, then you want to do a proposal, about a 50–100-page document that you’d send out that sort of outlines what your final project might look like.

Thank you for bringing me back to earth. I think like many aspiring authors, I’m probably romanticizing the whole thing... Do you have any tips for figuring out whether it’s worth it? I’m sure it’s different for everyone, but would you recommend gathering more information, doing research, and starting to put together a proposal on my own to see if I want to pursue working with a writing coach like you?

Whether it’s worth it depends on how much you want to write the book. Mathematically, I can walk you through what the numbers look like again, in more detail.

A classic book deal is divided into three payments, which you receive after your agent takes 15 percent. You receive the first third when you sign the contract (that’s usually 3–6 months after the book deal is agreed upon); the second third when your draft is accepted by the editor; and the final payment when the book is published. The typical gestation time for a book is 2–3 years, so expect these payments to be split between that timeline. Assume you’re getting an advance of $25,000, because you’re an unknown author. So that’s $21,250 after your payout to your agent, divided by three, or $7,083 per payment, which you will later have to pay taxes on.

In addition, you may have to pay out of pocket for extras like travel, meals on a book tour, and even a private publicist if you hope to promote your book effectively. (That part is up to you.)

Plus, you have to take time out of your life to write the book.

Is this resource a good example of a book proposal template?

As for a proposal template, that’s sort of what you’re looking for. You can also outsource proposals. There are proposal coaches (I am one), and there are people who ghostwrite proposals, which is more expensive.

Thank you for explaining the numbers! So I’ll be broke and a hermit. Haha. Got it. What does book proposal coaching usually entail? Does it involve connecting aspiring authors to agents and editors? Or is that a separate project?

So the liaison between the writer and the editor is handled by an agent. My coaching package includes help with query letters, and I would help you put together a list of agents, but you would send those off on your own.

If a proposal is accepted, do the agent and editor then work with the author to further shape the book (since it hasn’t been written yet)?

When you send your proposal to agents, your agent will almost certainly workshop it before sending it to editors. An editor, if he or she buys the proposal, might then also change the shape of the book, too. There are many steps involved in how a book might look before it hits the market.

Would it make sense to already have some additional chapters/pages I’ve worked on, aside from the 1–3 chapters included in the proposal (mainly for myself to make sure I can write the book), before submitting the proposal? Or does that not make sense because, upon acceptance, they could provide feedback and suggestions for the structure of the book?

As far as writing more chapters, that’s up to you. Some authors write entire books before writing a proposal, but, to me, this is extra and unnecessary work. As I see it, an editor will help shape your book regardless, and your chapter summaries, which are part of your proposal, outline how the book looks anyway, so writing an entire book before actually getting paid is work I wouldn’t necessarily do.

I agree about not doing the work ahead of time. Is there a suggested book length (number of pages) for a memoir?

A memoir is typically 75,000–85,000 words, but the sweet spot is about 80,000 words, or 300 pages. Editors work based on word count, not pages, since pages can vary and word count is standard.

I’m compiling a list of similar memoirs for research purposes to see if there’s room for my story and how it could be positioned. For this, should I look only at recently published memoirs, or can they be from any time?

When you look at comps—which are going to be part of your proposal package—you’ll want to look at books that have been published within the past two years; that are popular or that have hit the bestseller list (one good way to look for this is to search for books that have a minimum of 1,000 ratings on Goodreads); that have similar themes to yours; and that have not been written by celebrities or extremely well established authors who are likely to get big advances based on name alone.

Order Hannah’s memoir, Cellar Rat, and pre-order her debut novel, Valley of the Moms. Pre-ordering books boosts first-week sales, helps authors get on bestseller lists, encourages retailers to stock more copies, and generates early marketing buzz. Let’s show Hannah some love!

Thanks for reading! I’ll continue sharing my learnings as I get further along in writing my book proposal and discover more about the business of books. In the meantime, if you have any questions, drop them in the comments below. If I don’t have an answer, I’ll find someone who does.

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See you soon,

Alexis

P.S. If you found this post interesting, hit the ♡ button below to help others find it (and so I know what’s resonating). To further support my work, considering upgrading your subscription. Shout out to new paid subscriber, Laetitia D. Thanks so much.

A few weeks ago, I read Do Loss in one sitting after attending a book talk at The American Book Center here in Amsterdam, which was the same afternoon I stood outside the bookstore to help a stranger who was having a heart attack (I wrote about that here). It was pretty ironic, considering that the author of Do Loss, , lost her husband 10 years ago to a sudden heart attack.

The book is a practical, reflective guide to navigating grief and life transitions, helping you integrate loss rather than “get over it” and build a meaningful life alongside it.

Sue’s approach to dealing with loss and holding “both/and” in grief stuck with me, so I wanted to speak to her directly, and fortunately, she was open to chatting.

In this conversation, we talk about how we don’t “move on” from grief, about living in-between, and about what it looks like to live a full (and happy) life while carrying all types of loss.

In your book Do Loss, you write about holding “both/and” in grief. What does that look like for you on a normal day?

I have a fundamental belief that you don’t get ‘over’ your losses — you integrate them into your life, into who you are. So a normal day for me, in the both/and sense, is living a rich and vibrant life, but knowing sometimes sadness, frustration, anger, despair… that these emotions can resurface at times I cannot predict. That is both perfectly normal and okay! I don’t fight this. I don’t love it, but I don’t fight it. I’ve lived through those emotions before, and I will live through them again and come out the other side.

I think people often want to squash these hard feelings. To not feel them at all. But letting them exist, letting them do their work, is important so we can integrate them and even accept them. I both live a vibrant life and am sometimes overcome with emotions. That just means I’m human.

I agree, integration the only way through it.

Many people are grieving someone who is still alive, through illness, distance, or changed relationships. What do you wish more people understood about that kind of grief?

I love this question because many people in a situation like the one you describe are not even framing their experience as a loss. They’re just wondering why life is so hard, why they cannot adjust to this in-betweenness, and therefore, they feel even more alone.

When we give language to our specific human experience — this type of loss is labeled “ambiguous loss” by Dr. Pauline Boss — we see how universal it is. We see others whose parents have dementia, we see others who are estranged from their families, and we see others whose relationships are unsteady but unresolved. Then we can see that our own experience of ambiguous loss is neither rare nor unusual. Others are going through similar things.

I think in the case of ambiguous loss, we don’t know when it will come to some sort of “end”, and this is incredibly hard on the nervous system. When can we move on to mourn what is fully gone, rather than be in limbo, with all its jump scares and sneak attacks? I think having the courage to talk to friends or therapists while you navigate ambiguous loss is critical. The support of others as we wander through the wilderness of ambiguous loss is paramount.

There’s so much pressure to “handle grief well.” What does unhelpful grief advice look like to you?

Unhelpful grief advice is just that — advice. I think we need to approach our consoling and support in a much more open-ended way. We are here to be alongside the humans who are suffering a loss, not to make them process it faster, cleaner, or in some way more socially acceptable or palatable, so we will not get infected by their sadness.

I think, as a general rule, people’s hearts are in the right place. I think we have to take that good intent and get more focused on the griever. How can we make this day better for them? Not tomorrow, next week, next year: TODAY.

That should guide our consoling. If the griever has questions about our experiences or seeks out specific advice, great. We can offer it. But the griever gets to lead this dance, and they are often just trying to get through today. Advice does not help you get through today: a lovingly baked lasagne, an offer to carpool their kids, or do the grocery run, that’s what gets people through today.

How do you know when to sit with grief versus when to gently push yourself back into life? Is there a signal, or is it always a bit of a guess?

So many times, we grievers want a roadmap: anything to help us move ahead and move out of the pain. But grieving is an individual exercise. We have to find what works for us. I think it is important to follow our own energy. If we are feeling exhausted and in despair, I think taking to our beds is perfectly fine. But when we see that our ruminating thoughts are going in circles, we need to dip our toe in the water of experimenting with ways to break the cycle. A simple walk around the block. A coffee with a friend. A trip to the grocery store. Low-risk experiments. We note what works for us, then expand or contract accordingly.

There is a lot of trial and error in navigating grief. We wish this weren’t so! How cruel, we’ve suffered a loss, and to move ahead with our lives, we have to sometimes try things that don’t work. Ouch! But fortunately, many things DO work, and we are in the process of discovering them. To accrue some small wins on our way to finding ourselves again.

I think I’m still in the early stages of all this, but I don’t have this feeling like I want to “move on”. It’s almost like staying here a bit longer is comforting. It’s a way to hold onto my mom. It’s sort of just a new evolving normal… I like that you challenge the idea of “moving on.” What does a healthy ongoing relationship with someone who has died actually look like?

My husband Mike — ten years gone now — is an active part of our everyday life. I was just telling a story about him this very morning to my gym partner, about what a kind and giving person he was. The kids and I also have him top of mind. My son just started a new job and is thinking a lot now about who his dad was, a businessman, and not just a dad. So this active sense is that, yes, he’s no longer physically with us on this planet, but he infuses what we do and how we think, and thus we are comfortable having him as part of our thought process. As we grow and change, he still has a place in our lives, especially as we enter new seasons.

Yet, we could have done what our culture encourages: never speak of him again, put him on the back burner of our minds. But we’d miss so much that way! We’d miss keeping him alive in our hearts, honoring him, occasionally laughing at the silly things he did, even asking, “What would daddy think of this?” and then responding, “Oh, he’d hate that!” We keep him alive in our own way. This is one of the things I’m most proud of, that Mike is an ongoing part of us.

Some might think this process would make us sadder, because, you know, he’s missing. It does the exact opposite. We learn to live with his absence. We learn to ride the rollercoaster of grief that still shows up. We get to have him in our lives.

For someone in the thick of loss (exhausted, foggy, overwhelmed, feeling like everything is trivial, etc), what are 1–2 small things that, in your experience, can genuinely help (without feeling like a checklist)?

Anything that gets you out of your head. We really do need to step outside our minds. This is why “coping dirty” is one of my favorite plays in the “Cocoon: section of Do Loss. Coping dirty is finding relief or distraction. Endless rumination does us no favors. We need a break. For me, that was walking in the woods, or watching Star Wars movies, or going for a swim. For others, it might be crafting, gardening, or watching a sunset. Escaping our thoughts is sometimes necessary, and we should seek ways to do so that suit us best.

Grief often brings up unexpected emotions such as relief, resentment, numbness, and even moments of joy. In your experience, what’s the best way to make space for them?

We have to believe that no response is wrong. We are adapting; we will run through a series of emotions. Beating ourselves up just piles on to our loss. I think examining where these feelings come from, rather than rushing to judgment, is key.

I used to joke that, after Mike died, I was now free to make all the household decisions myself. I never had to confer or compromise. I labeled myself the “despot” of my household. A friend even got me a placard for my desk that said “Sue Deagle - Despot”. I enjoyed that freedom to be the sole decider! I wasn’t going to shame myself for finding some glimmer of joy and power within my catastrophic circumstance. I was going to lean into that. Into a place where I felt strong.

How has your understanding of grief changed over time? Was there a belief you held early on that you’ve since let go of?

I used to believe in closure, in grief coming to an end. In rainbows and unicorns and happiness, once you’ve made it through. Now, as we discussed earlier, I’m a believer in the both/and. I live a thriving life. I love and miss Mike. Most days, I am my energized, life-loving self. Some days — not often, but some days — I am in the ditch, missing Mike, or missing my kids now that I’m an empty nester, or even missing my friends at my corporate job that I left two years ago. This is life. We don’t close the door on our past losses. They are part of us, and so are the things we miss.

I think some losses can reshape our identities. Do you agree? If so, who were you before suddenly losing your husband to a heart attack, and who are you now?

I wholeheartedly agree! We will be transformed by our losses. The question is, are we transformed for better, or for worse? I knew what I wanted my answer to be to that question. So I searched, flailed, and found my way through. And now I am transformed for the better. How? I know the preciousness of life. I know showing our love early and often is essential. I know laughter is the best medicine. I know every day I have on this planet is filled with mystery and magic, and I’m grateful for every second of it. So, my worldview has evolved. And the thing about my journey is, I’ve found a level of aliveness after loss that I could never have anticipated. And by writing and sharing through my book, Do Loss, and my Substack, The Luminist, I deeply want that aliveness for everyone. I want that bigger life.

If someone reading this is quietly struggling with loss (any type of loss: a job, a loved one, a former version of themselves, etc) and hasn’t told anyone, what would you want them to hear today?

I would want them to know that if they feel more comfortable being alone in their loss, I do not want to force them out into the open. But one way to be in communion with others, as a first step, perhaps, is to tune in to some podcasts. I think this is a good toe-dip into human interactions. The two I would recommend are Anderson Cooper’s All There Is and Maya Shankar’s A Slight Change in Plans. Feeling not alone is a great first step. Hearing others’ stories on podcasts is a great way to let that in.

And on a personal note, I would want them to know that suffering is real, painful, and part of our lives. Just like our ability to heal, move forward, and eventually thrive. This isn’t some cockamamie idea from me. This is what the science says. Resilience is our default mode. Navigating through to thriving takes time, energy, and support. There is no timeline or stopwatch on this. We must follow our own journey. But I have 100% confidence we can all arrive on the other side.

Ok, last few questions… What are you reading right now?

I just finished reading Beth Ann Fennely’s An Irish Goodbye — a set of micro-memoirs. She’s the poet laureate of Mississippi and has such a way with words! Inspiring.

What are you working on right now, personally or professionally?

I consider writing my weekly Substack, The Luminist, as my day job, so that’s always on my mind and in a constant state of production. I just started a YouTube channel called The Loss Canon, where I publish short videos discussing books I’ve read during my ten-year journey through loss. And I’m in the outlining stages of a memoir called Midlife Pilgrim about a pilgrimage walk I did in Scandinavia in 2024. It’s a book about how we unwind all the layers we’ve accumulated over time and come back to ourselves. The opposite of a “coming of age” story. More of a journey into unknowing, unlearning, unleashing ourselves.

What’s your top tip for an aspiring non-fiction author?

Write AND Read! My Substack gives me an intentional deadline every week — I must produce something for my readers every Saturday. So that has given me a disciplined writing practice, which I think is critical. I don’t necessarily write every single day, but I do write every single week. That muscle memory sets in, and I improve over time with that practice.

Then, we must read to become better writers, too! I am a voracious reader of books, yes, but also newspapers and newsletters. Watching others write, observing their sentence structures, the way they land a chapter, their use of humor and emotion. It is an education every time we read. An education that makes our own writing better.

What did your writing process for Do Loss look like? Were you writing consistently, or did it come in waves?

I wrote pretty consistently, at least an hour or two a day. But also on the weekends, sometimes I would get inspired and just crank out an entire evening’s worth of writing. So I’d say it was a mix of discipline and inspiration.

Then I needed to do quite a bit of revising under my editor’s guidance, which made the book SO much better. Tighter, crisper. It’s a book on loss, so I did not want to linger in the maudlin and have it feel long and drawn out. I wanted to instill hope, and capture my voice, and the revision process was critical to this. It’s tough to revise! You have to accept that your drafts have a lot of room for improvement and try not to take this personally. Sometimes I succeeded with that, other times it was harder! But in the end, my editor made the book far better, and I know I’ll seek out this same kind of editor for my future books.

Was there a part of the book that felt especially difficult to write or that you almost left out?

It never gets any easier to reflect on how hard Mike’s loss was on my two kids and me in the early days. Now, ten years later, we are living rich and vibrant lives, but looking back on the early months after losing Mike will always be painful. But I want the reader to know the depths we were in, and the book is about the path forward. So sharing the vulnerability of that time is super important.

What has surprised you most about how readers have responded to the book?

I originally pictured the readers of Do Loss in two categories: those actively navigating loss, and those consoling. It turns out there is a third reader: those who have navigated loss in the past, and use the book as a reflection on all they have been through, and how they survived.

One reader noted that while she read, she realized she had created her own mindset, her own playbook, to navigate her journey through job loss, divorce, and the death of her parents. The book served as a mirror, allowing her to look back on her life and realize how strong she was.

She came away empowered. I had not anticipated this bit of magic! And I am thrilled that the book can serve this purpose too: as a moment of reflection on our strengths and abilities to navigate this universal aspect of the human condition. It gives us faith in our future, too. What a gift.

Thank you, Sue, for this enlightening conversation.

Readers, thanks for being here!

Take care,

Alexis

P.S. If you found this post interesting, make sure to subscribe to Sue’s Substack, The Luminist, and hit the ♡ button below to help others find this post (and so I know what’s resonating). To further support my work, considering upgrading your subscription. Thanks so much.

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For decades, beauty editor has had a front-row seat to the industry’s promises, pressures, and procedures. As the longtime beauty director at O, The Oprah Magazine, she reported on creams, lasers, fillers, and the psychology behind why we chase them.

Now, she writes candidly on her Substack, How Not to F*ck Up Your Face, about aging, cosmetic treatments, and the emotional complexity of watching your own face change.

In this conversation, we talk about empowerment vs. fear, the invisibility we feel as we age, what actually works for your skin, and the one beauty mindset shift she believes matters most.

Alexis: You’ve spent decades in the beauty industry; has it shaped your definition of “looking good” as you’ve gotten older? If so, how?

Valerie: I don’t think the two things are related. Being in the beauty industry when I was, and being the oldest beauty editor, I had a very different perspective from most other beauty editors, who were at least 15 years younger than I.

It was a very different experience for me going to beauty editor events, being the oldest person there, and having to listen to and often respond to proposals or PR events involving what we were calling anti-aging products. It was conflictual for me. I always felt that that was a problem, not just the term anti-aging was a problem, because what’s the opposite of aging? It’s not something we really want to think about, right? So, I always kind of had to take the platform that people were presenting with a grain of salt.

Fortunately for me, being at O, The Oprah Magazine, when Oprah was at her apex — she was the goose that laid the golden egg — meant I wasn’t beholden to advertisers in the same way that other beauty editors were. It wasn’t necessary for me to kowtow to advertisers the way other beauty editors had to, which gave me some leeway in terms of what I could promote on the beauty pages. That was different for me, but it was also more challenging, being an older person among beauty editors who were basically all in on the anti-aging narrative and youthful appearance preservation platform.

My thoughts and feelings about my appearance have both become more challenging and, in a way, more useful and helpful as I’ve gotten older. What I’ve noticed is that from 60 to 65, I didn’t really see much change. But from 65 to 70, I noticed a little more. I’m seeing a huge difference between 70 and 75, and I think what’s going to happen as I move, God willing, from 75 to 80 and up, is that it’s going to be even more challenging. I’m going to start to see way more obvious changes in my face, and certainly in my body as well.

So instead of focusing on looking youthful, I’m now trying to focus more on feeling energetic and healthy, and I hope, as I suspect it does, it will manifest in my face and my body.

I think when we see someone who looks more youthful than her age, it’s not because she’s got youthful skin necessarily, or certainly not that she’s had work done, but that she projects a kind of energy that resonates with youth, which involves curiosity. It also involves presence, meaning, taking up space, and being conscious of where you are.

I never thought this was going to happen, but it’s very easy to relax and almost hunch over rather than maintain a ramrod straight posture. So I’m almost always conscious of standing up straight when I’m walking around, and certainly when I’m talking to people.

Another thing is looking people in the eye when you speak to them, which is really, really important because, as you’ve probably heard, often when women are past their reproductive life, we tend to be (or at least feel) invisible, or ignored. And that doesn’t happen in my experience when you stand up tall.

It also helps when you can generate a commanding presence, whatever that means to you. For me, it’s standing up straight, feeling comfortable with the room I’m taking up, and looking people in the eye.

That makes a lot of sense, and I really like your holistic approach. It’s not just about what your face looks like in the mirror.

I think it’s a way of accommodating or adjusting to my realization that the face that I’ve had that’s attracted attention, or that I’ve felt comfortable with, however attractive it’s been, is changing. And to be happy, I’m going to need another approach.

Well, I think you look great, if it matters.

Thank you. But, you know, I realized that it’s important to me to think I look great. And the definition of what looking great is, I think, going to have to change for me in the next 10 years. And so I’m trying to figure out how to accommodate that.

Women in midlife are often told to either “age naturally” or “fix everything.” Do you think those extremes do more harm than good?

When people use the phrase “aging naturally,” I don’t know what that means, because I’m assuming they mean you’re aging without any aesthetic interventions, right? But I don’t know that having an aesthetic intervention is necessarily unnatural. It doesn’t make sense to me unless you’re defining unnatural aging as doing anything to yourself as you get older, which would mean you’re not taking antibiotics if you need them, you’re not using creams, and so on.

When people say aging naturally, I think they don’t know what they’re talking about, bottom line. There are very few people who age completely naturally.

Interventions range from the very minor, like having your teeth whitened, to a facial or eyebrow microblading, to a full facelift. My platform is to just do whatever makes you happy. And here’s why. At some point, in my case, it was very early on, I think I was five years old, I realized I wasn’t going to be here forever. And I realized that the Earth was a ball, spinning around in the air, and the very idea that I had no control over it freaked me out.

Wow, that’s a very young age to have that realization. I think I’ve just figured out that I have no control over most things in the last few years, and I just turned 40.

I think it might have been precipitated by something, like maybe I overheard a Woody Allen movie or something. I don’t know. But I don’t think it’s that uncommon. I have a dear friend who had a very similar experience. But the point is that from the moment we realize that, we’re conscious that it could be lights out at any second, and we have no idea when it’s going to happen.

That’s why I think it’s best to just do whatever gets you through the night. I don’t care what it is. You know, if you want to have another eye put on your forehead, go for it. You want another ear, have the ear put on. Do whatever you need to do, as long as it’s helping you, and as long as you’re doing it for healthy reasons.

I don’t support a woman who might choose to have a facelift because her husband wants her to, but I don’t think it’s a bad thing for women to do whatever kind of aesthetic intervention they believe they need or want, as long as they understand what’s generating their desire.

And they’re doing it for themselves, essentially, is what you’re saying, and not because of some other outside influence. I agree with that.

What’s your stance on Botox?

I do Botox about twice a year, not for my crow’s feet, but to get a little lift to my brow.

Is it best to start that early — in your 30s or early 40s — for the best results?

If a 30-year-old asked me if she should start getting Botox, I would probably tell her no. There are doctors who say that if you do it in your 30s, it prevents your muscles from moving in a way that can cause wrinkles. So if you keep your muscles from doing that, you won’t get wrinkles. But I don’t know that they understand what long-term Botox in the forehead does.

I don’t love that I’m developing lines between my eyebrows (I think it’s called 11 lines), but I’m afraid of needles, ha! So I think I’ll just live with it.

I recently also had a little filler injected in my lip because I had skin cancer on one of my cheeks, so it’s raised one of my lips, and I was trying to get it to be even.

When I wrote about my lip filler, a reader replied that she was really disappointed in me for having it done. I tried to explain, and she laid out the reasons why she was disappointed. It was a very loving response, I have to say. And when I laid out the reasons I had it done, she persisted, and said yes, but you can’t make me believe that there wasn’t some aspect of paternalistic misogyny that pushed you in that direction. I can’t deny that because I was raised in this culture, so could be. But I still think consciousness changes everything. So once you’re conscious of what you’re doing and thoughtful, the outcome of whatever you choose becomes more positive.

This brings me to my next question. You’ve written honestly about cosmetic procedures. How do you personally decide when something is about empowerment versus fear?

I think it’s very hard. One of the big challenges, especially of becoming older in our culture, is that we live in a culture that prizes youth, slenderness, and hypersexuality. The best we can do is ask ourselves what our motives are, what’s driving the desire, and how much we want to think about it.

I have at times recommended to readers that, when they feel disappointed with their appearance for whatever reason, one thing that makes me feel much better is going to a museum. I look at beautiful art, and what happens is it’s as if I somehow imbibe it, or, by osmosis, experience it in a way that makes me feel more beautiful myself.

That’s a great tip, to look outside of yourself. I love going to museums, and I never thought of it that way, but it usually does put me in a better mood.

Or look at photographs of the moon, then at your face. You’re like, well, this is a face, and those are eyes and a nose and a mouth. And isn’t that weird and spectacular that these, these little wet things in the middle of my face, you know, what they allow me to do? Then maybe you don’t care whether you have bags under your eyes or if they’re a little puffy.

Yeah, life’s too short! Is there a cosmetic procedure or beauty choice you regret, or one that surprised you emotionally?

Yes. When I was in my teens in high school, I tweezed my eyebrows too much, and the hair didn’t grow back, so now I’ve had them microbladed. It helps, but I really regret doing that.

Tweezing your eyebrows off must be a rite of passage; I did that, too, in middle school. They were thin and way too far apart.

I remember my mother saying to me, “Oh, my God, what are you doing?”

The only other thing is that I didn’t use sunscreen when I was a youth, and I’ve consequently had two basal cell skin cancers, and I really regret not being more careful. The one thing I always, always tell readers is to wear sunscreen every day.

That’s something I also need to get better at. I live in Amsterdam, so it’s often cloudy and rainy here, but still, I’m trying to be more on it.

The Bioré sunscreen is really affordable. I often recommend it on my Substack. It’s inexpensive, but it’s a very good sunscreen.

I always feel that most sunscreens feel sort of heavy on my face.

It’s light, so try it.

Many women say they feel more invisible as they age. Do you think beauty rituals can sometimes be a way to reclaim visibility?

Well, it’s interesting the way you frame it.

It depends on how you define a beauty ritual, right? If you think that buying an expensive moisturizer will make people notice you more. I don’t think that’s going to work, probably, right?

If you enjoy playing around with cosmetics, discreetly applied makeup can make you look attractive, adding a touch of vividness to your face.

I think if you enjoy wearing a little makeup, it can make you feel like you’re more visible. But as I’ve gotten older, it’s been more and more important to me to be the looker, not the look-ee.

When I decided to be the one looking out and not thinking so much about how I’m presenting to the people looking at me, it opened up an entirely new world for me. It was like walking out of the murk into the daylight, because there is so much to see and so much to experience. I wrote about this here.

I get that. And if you’re focused outward rather than focused on whether your hair looks good, it’s freeing.

The only other thing I have to say about that is that I have a cowlick on the back of my head. Nora Ephron wrote about this. She called it something like her own private Aruba, because Aruba is very windy. I’m really conscious of not walking out with bed head. When a woman is well-presented, and she walks away with this big cowlick, it’s like lipstick on your teeth or toilet paper on your heel or something.

If you had to simplify skincare for women in their late 30s, 40s, and beyond who feel overwhelmed, what truly matters, and what is just marketing noise?

99.9% is marketing noise. On my Substack, I share my skincare routine.

Number one is sun protection. You absolutely always want to wear sunscreen every day unless it’s pouring.

Use a non-soap, gentle cleanser; a drugstore brand is fine.

Something like CeraVe or Cetaphil?

Yeah. Those are great.

I often encourage readers to avoid spending any money on a cleanser because cleansers and the people who make them often suggest they’ve got actives. But you wash it off, so how is that helping? Except for salicylic acid. If you have breakouts or acne, a salicylic acid cleanser is helpful.

A moisturizer, if you need it (a drugstore one is also fine).

I use a prescription retinoid almost every day, but sometimes switch to every other day if my skin gets dry. You can get a fairly gentle prescription retinoid (a vitamin A derivative), which has been proven for over 30 years to help diminish fine lines and wrinkles and build collagen and elastin.

Is it the same as retinol? I’m a bit confused about retinoids versus retinol.

It’s my understanding that retinoid is the word that encompasses the whole family of vitamin A derivatives. So, I think, retinol is a non-prescription retinoid.

I use this CeraVe retinol serum a few times a week (at night). I wonder what the difference would be if I got a prescription retinoid?

A prescription retinoid is likely to help more and faster than an over-the-counter one. But still, over-the-counter retinols are very good now.

OK, so to recap, a non-soap cleanser, moisturizer, sunscreen, and a prescription retinoid or over-the-counter retinol cream.

Yes, and there are various new topicals that look promising, but nothing has the kind of robust research behind it that retinoids have, so I’m just not convinced.

Do you do this routine morning and night? Obviously, no sunscreen when you go to sleep.

When my skin is dry, I just splash water on it in the morning, but I typically wash it with a cleanser. The sunscreen I use is also a moisturizer. At night, I just wash my face, apply moisturizer, and then the retinoid.

What are the most common mistakes that you see women making with their skin, especially in their late 30s through 50s?

Spending too much money on products that offer hope and nothing else.

Ugh, guilty. I’ve learned not to do this, though, because I always revert to my basic routine of CeraVe products.

And then some women, I think, overdo it. I was among those when I was younger. For example, combining things like glycolic acid and a retinoid at the same time. You want to be as gentle with your skin as possible. Also, you can use expensive products, thinking you’re taking good care of your skin, but if you’re not using sunscreen, you might as well just be flushing your money down the toilet.

I not only suggest sunscreen for health reasons, but also to protect against the aesthetic damage the sun does to your skin. If you don’t do any nude sunbathing, take a look at your ass. The skin on your face would look like that if you had protected it from the sun.

On your Substack, you share philosophical and practical advice for anyone who’s ever looked into a mirror. How has your relationship to your own face changed over time?

Well, bottom line, you know, I love my face because I love the person I am.

It’s the only one you’ve got, right?

Yeah. And I’ve worked very hard to be forgiving toward this person who wears this face. So that has helped enormously.

Still, I have mornings when I get up, and I look in the mirror, and I see there’s a dog in the mirror looking back at me. That happened one morning after I saw the Barbie movie. I’d spent two and a half hours looking at Margot Robbie’s perfect face. When I woke up the next morning, and I looked in the mirror, I was so disappointed. But when I thought about it, I realized it must have been because I had stared at that beautiful face for two hours. And I felt disappointed with my very regular kind of face.

Context has so much to do with how we feel about how we look. So we’re really screwed: All day long, we’re getting messages from beauty marketers about how this and that should look, and what a beautiful face is. No wonder we don’t feel good about the way we look. No wonder we feel sad about our faces. I mean, the beauty industry thrives on our yearning and dissatisfaction. And sadness and insecurities.

Yes! Also, with social media in general. It’s so curated. Even beyond looks, just the whole thing. I often delete Instagram from my phone because of how it makes me feel (and the amount of time I waste on it). But of course, I’m guilty of sharing the best snippets of my life too.

Yeah. Very, very, very damaging.

Do you think our culture is getting better or worse about how it talks about aging?

Worse. Maybe there are pockets of improvement because of social media, and then there are loudmouths like me and other women my age who are out there saying, you know, the hell with you. This is what it’s like to be this age. We don’t fit the paradox of what 75 or 80 looks like. So in that way, I think it’s good. There’s more opportunity for platforms with a more positive message.

But in my experience, ageism is still predominant. Again, social media really is fucking people up. I’m working on a piece for Allure that was inspired by a video of Demi Moore looking like a skeleton. I then looked at a few websites and a few influencers who were talking about icons for young women and how they’re all frail and bird-like now. We’re in a bad place once again, where models at fashion shows look like sticks. We’re not headed in a good direction.

If you could give women in midlife one piece of beauty advice — not about products, but about mindset — what would it be?

Again, I would focus on looking outward. Try to take your mind off your appearance as much as possible, because focusing on it will only feel limiting. I also think being curious, present, and open will almost guarantee a happier experience than spending a lot of time just looking in the mirror and trying to figure out how to fix the flaws you see, or the supposed flaws.

Well said. I think this ties into the idea that we should always ask ourselves if we’re doing something because we want to or because we think we should. For me, this applies to everything, not just my physical appearance. I really love your emphasis on mindset. It’s so important!

What’s the most overrated skincare ingredient?

The trendy thing now is exosomes.

I don’t even know what that is, so I looked it up. Readers, in case you’re curious, exosomes are microscopic, nano-sized vesicles or “bubbles” released by cells that serve as essential messengers for intercellular communication.

Basically, exosomes are simply packages that can carry anything. There’s a whole skincare line that’s based on the brilliance of exosomes; it’s just BS, is what it is.

In your opinion, what’s the biggest lie the beauty industry tells women over 40?

I can’t choose one, but if I have to, the whole idea of the fountain of youth would be a good one.

What’s one thing you’ll never do to your face?

Tattoo it. Except, oops, now that I think of it, I have tattooed my face, as my eyebrows are microbladed. But it’s very, very subtle.

And before we wrap up, what are you reading, watching, eating, etc., these days?

I’m in Tokyo right now and don’t have a VPN, so what I can watch is fairly limited, but I’m rewatching The Crown. Which I’m just loving, and especially John Lithgow playing Winston Churchill.

The last book I finished was Strangers by Belle Burden.

Did you enjoy it?

I did, but I have questions about it. She’s a good writer, and it was very honest and open, but I just don't understand how she saw nothing. You know what I mean?

Yeah, I read her NYT Modern Love piece, and then I read a review about the book. The book’s on my list, but I was also wondering how there were zero signs…

I would love to hear what he (the husband) has to say about it. Although when I mentioned that to a friend of mine, she told me about two of her friends who had basically the same experience.

I actually read something about it on Psychology Today. Apparently, there’s a phenomenon called Wife Abandonment Syndrome. Not sure what I think about that…

And sorry I interrupted you, you were going to tell me what you’re eating in Tokyo.

A lot of sushi.

I bet it’s very good there, too.

Yeah, and it’s inexpensive!

Thank you, Val! Your perspective feels especially refreshing in a culture that profits from making women feel bad about their faces. If there’s a takeaway here, it’s that aging well has a lot less to do with chasing perfection and a lot more to do with presence, curiosity, and self-awareness.

Thanks for reading, and take care!

Alexis

P.S. If you found this post interesting, make sure to subscribe to Val’s Substack, How Not to F*ck Up Your Face, and hit the ♡ button below to help others find this post (and so I know what’s resonating).

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I’m writing to you today from a flex desk at my coworking space in Amsterdam. I’m on the second floor of a canal house that faces the Herengracht, one of the main canals in the center of the city. It’s sunny — finally! The streets are swarming with tourists, and there are little green leafy buds on the tree branches.

This city is so beautiful in the spring, summer, and fall that it makes up for the long, dark, and wet winters. I’m actually wondering what I’m doing here, typing on my computer instead of roaming the streets or sipping a cold beer while sitting at a café terrace, but here we are.

I’ve been in a bit of a reading frenzy lately, which I’m not mad about. I recently discovered worldofbooks.com, where you can buy secondhand books at really great prices, and it has reminded me of my preference for paperback books (rather than reading on my Kindle). I like underlining sentences and leaving notes in the margins. I just ordered a handful of used books on the topic of loss and grief because a) it’s relevant to me right now and b) I’m doing research to see if there’s space in the market for my story.

For a while now, I’ve been toying with the idea of writing a non-fiction book, but with very little knowledge of how book publishing works and good old imposter syndrome, I haven’t gotten very far. Like, who would want to read my story? Also, what is my story, really?

I recently learned that with memoir/non-fiction books, you don’t actually write the book up front. You (attempt to) sell it with a book proposal, which is essentially a business plan for your book, outlining its chapters, audience, where it fits in the market, and why it matters, and you include a few sample chapters in the hope of finding an agent. Then they tear apart your idea and help you shape it into a book people would actually want to read. Just kidding, I have no idea if they tear it apart, but I think they probably influence how it shapes up.

Anyway, Things in Nature Merely Grow by Yiyun Li has been on my list for a while. If I’m into a book, I usually read it quite fast. Like, within one to three days, depending on how long it is. This book is 172 pages, and I could have finished it in one sitting, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to take my time. I wanted to sit with it. I wanted to soak it in because Li’s approach to grief — at least from what I learned from this book — is that, in short, we’re approaching it all wrong. And maybe “grief” isn’t even the right word?

On page 154, Li writes:

“We like to set our hearts on a finish line, hoping to take the right actions so that we can reach that finish line fast and with the least hassle or pain. Perhaps this urge reflects a desire to mark time in a different way: to harness time for gain. And yet in life, time cannot be harnessed.”

When we think about grief, we think that it starts, there’s a messy middle, we get through it, and then we move on. But I think we have an ongoing relationship with it and the person we lost, so can you really move on?

It’s continuous, and I feel like it could always be there, so you need to accept it and live with it, and actually that’s not so bad… It’s even enlightening at times.

Things in Nature Merely Grow is introspective but unsentimental. It’s about radical acceptance. Rather than offering a narrative of healing or resolution, Li writes about literature, philosophy, and daily life. It feels like she’s sitting with her sadness, pain, and guilt — and allowing us to pull up a chair — rather than trying to explain it. Li resists the idea that loss can be transformed into meaning or growth; instead, she writes about endurance and how we must learn to continue to live alongside what cannot be fixed.

Her story is quite devastating — she lost both her sons to suicide, six years apart — but still, she writes about her losses in a way that feels almost anti-performative. She doesn’t make any big declarations; there are no tidy narrative arcs. She even adds touches of humor in the chapter where she writes about all the wrong ways that people tried to console her.

So I guess this was my long-winded way of saying that I loved the book. I will read it again and again. And for anyone who likes memoirs, if you can handle the topic of losing a child (I don’t blame you if you can’t), I recommend reading it. Now I’m off to enjoy some sunshine!

See you soon,

Alexis

P.S. If you’ve read Things in Nature Merely Grow, I’d love to know your thoughts!

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