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

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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

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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

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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

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. Shout out to new paid subscribers, Carol S. and Michael G. 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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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

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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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

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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.

Quick note! This post is on the longer side, so if you have the Substack mobile app, you can also listen to it while you’re walking, cooking, or staring out the window. Just open the post in the app and click the play button at the top of the screen. It looks like this. 👇

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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Last Friday, I went to a book talk at The American Book Center, an independent English-language bookstore here in Amsterdam. It was my first time attending this type of event, but I figured if I hope to write a book one day, I’d better start learning more about how all this works.

The author, , wrote a short, digestible guide for dealing with loss — the loss of a job, an opportunity, your home, a relationship, a dream, a loved one, or yourself. It’s called Do Loss, and I read it in one gulp that night in bed. Wild Friday night, I know.

I like how Sue framed the different stages of grief as cocooning, adapting, and emerging. She also reassures the reader that you might dip in and out of the different stages. There’s no right way to do it. I think it’s important to accept that you’ll never be the you that you were before. You’re learning this new version of yourself.

She also reminds us that two things can be true at once. Both/and. It made me feel better — or more normal — about the fact that while losing my mom recently was one of the saddest, hardest experiences of my life, I’m also allowed to be relieved that her suffering and our living in limbo is over.

Sue writes:

“You’re transformed and you’re still you. You honor what was lost and embrace what’s new. You can feel joy and still have moments of sadness. You’ve grown stronger and the hurt doesn’t vanish. This isn’t emotional confusion — it’s emotional maturity.”

I think letting duality exist and learning how to hold both feelings is important not only in grief and loss but in most areas of life!

♢♢♢

Before the event, while waiting for a friend in front of the ABC, I noticed an older man who didn’t look well. He stood next to a garbage bin, his right forearm resting on it, and his left hand on his chest. He looked stunned. He wore a dark blue velvet blazer, glasses, and khaki pants. His face looked pale, but I also had no idea what he looked like when he was well. I observed for a minute to avoid crowding him. Then he walked a few feet to a bench and stood, leaning against its back. I thought he might keel over, so I approached him.

“Are you OK?” I said.

“No,” he said.

“Would you like me to call someone?” I said

“What did you notice?” he said.

“You looked unsteady, and you were touching your chest,” I said.

“Yes, I don’t know what’s happening,” he said.

Then he put both hands on his chest to indicate where he felt pressure. His face grew paler, and I noticed moisture developing near his temples.

“Who should we call?” he said.

“Your family? 112?” I said.

“112,” he said.

I called 112 (the equivalent of 911 in the US). Once someone answered, he reached over and asked for my phone.

He held my phone to his left ear and explained his symptoms to the operator. He spoke in Dutch, so I didn’t understand everything, but I got the gist. He was feeling chest pressure and tingling in his arm. He also mentioned his age: tweeënzestig (sixty-two). Holy s—! This is serious, I thought.

In the 10–15 minutes that we waited for the ambulance to arrive, he was calm. He asked my name and what I do in Amsterdam, which I appreciated, but it also felt trivial to talk about. Like most things have felt for me in the almost three months since my mom died. I am definitely still in the cocooning phase of grief.

♢♢♢

I asked again if he wanted me to call someone. A family member. He said his son was working until 5 pm and that he didn’t want to bother him. That surprised me; it was only 45 minutes until then. I would want to know if my dad was experiencing chest pains and waiting on the street for an ambulance. But then again, why worry your family if they can’t control the outcome?

“Do you have a piece of paper?” he said.

I pulled out a notepad from my backpack, and before I could tear off a sheet of paper, he said, “No, leave it like that,” and reached for it.

He jotted down his name, email, and phone number, using a felt-tip pen, then passed it back to me to do the same. I tore off the bottom half with my information and handed it to him. He folded it and put it in the inside left pocket of his dark blue velvet blazer. The other piece, with his info, remained attached in my notebook.

It felt very old school, sharing information on paper when we both have iPhones, but it was also endearing.

We stood there together in silence on a beautiful, sunny spring day. Two strangers, sharing this scary moment. I didn’t know what to say, or if I should say anything at all. I also didn’t want to make him use his energy on small talk.

“I’m sorry I’m not more communicative,” he said.

“Oh, please, do not worry,” I said. “That’s OK.”

Then I offered him water, pulling my half-full, light purple Nalgene bottle from my backpack. He took a few sips, let out a few burps, and then apologized. Again, I told him not to worry.

Poor man, I thought. This must be scary, but he was still so calm. Concerned, but holding it together.

The irony was that I was heading into a book talk about loss, and the book was written by a woman who had lost her husband 10 years ago to a heart attack.

♢♢♢

When we heard the ambulance sirens coming around the corner, I ran out to the street looking for the bright yellow vehicle with blue flashing lights, waving my arm, like I’d hail a taxi in New York.

After I passed my new friend off to the ambulanceverpleegkundige (ambulance nurse), I ran into the bookstore, up the two flights of stairs to the room where the book talk was taking place. All the seats appeared to be full.

“Sorry, I’m late!” I said. “There was a man outside having chest pains, so we called an ambulance, and I wanted to wait with him.”

“That’s the best excuse I’ve ever heard,” the bookstore employee said. A man, whom I assume was in his 40s with dark hair and round glasses with a black frame, kind of like an older, attractive Harry Potter.

“It sounds like you saved his life,” he said.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” I said.

Then he found me a seat so I could watch the rest of the book discussion. Sue talked about writing Do Loss and explained that after working in corporate America for over 30 years, this was her calling. She read a passage that was a note her husband had left in a box, explaining that he wanted her and their kids to be happy and carry on even if he were gone. If something happened to him.

They handed out pens and a piece of paper, while Sue instructed us to draw a diagram — essentially a continuous line with peaks and valleys — to illustrate the highs and lows in our lives. It shows us how resilient we are. It’s our default to bounce back, and we always recover, eventually. We fear hitting rock bottom, but the beauty of that is that the only way is up.

♢♢♢

The next morning, I couldn’t stop thinking about the man in front of the bookstore. I wondered if he was OK, so I sent him an SMS.

He replied:

“Hi alexis. I am at the IC still. But if all goes well tomorrow back home. I will let you know then. Thank you so much for being there at that time. Have a great day.”

I was relieved. I wasn’t expecting to hear from him again, but on Monday, I noticed an email with the subject “Kindness of a stranger” in my inbox.

He wrote:

“As you can probably imagine, your alertness, especially in retrospect, has been the subject of much thought. I am not sure what I would have done if you had not stopped and inquired about my wellbeing and been so kind as to stay there with me for the next 12 minutes.”

I smiled at the fact that he remembered — even in a moment of distress — that it was exactly 12 minutes. It feels like a very Dutch thing to be so precise. He also confirmed that he was indeed having a heart attack, but that the damage was minimal since everything went quickly.

Then he wrote:

“I hope we will get a chance to maybe meet once again - but this time intended - so I can thank you over a coffee in person.”

I’m glad I was paying attention to my surroundings that day instead of doomscrolling as I waited for my friend in front of the bookstore, because if I hadn’t, who knows what would’ve happened.

Helping a stranger in need felt small and insignificant at the time, but now I realize I was part of a brief moment that could have gone very differently.

A lot has felt pointless, muted, and trivial lately, but standing there with him, in those 12 minutes that he remembers so precisely, I was pulled out of my own head and planted back into the present. Into someone else’s life. Into something that really mattered right then and there.

Maybe that’s part of the both/and, too. You can be deep in grief and still show up for a stranger. You can feel the weight of loss and still be part of something that keeps another person here a little longer.

When I think back on that day — the diagram of life’s peaks and valleys, the note Sue’s husband left about carrying on, helping the man in a velvet blazer — I’m reminded that life keeps moving. It pulls you back in, even when you feel like you’re watching from the sidelines.

♢♢♢

Thanks for reading this random story, and in case you missed it, I recently shared some other loss and grief-related books here.

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 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 love how travel disrupts my routine. Certain habits follow me wherever I go, but when I travel, I read way more and binge-watch a lot less TV. Groundbreaking, I know. Don’t get me wrong, I still spend a lot of time sitting on my ass, especially during this trip that I was hoping to use as a bit of a reset since life hasn’t exactly been all rainbows and sunshine lately. Is it ever?

I guess with more time spent outdoors and offline while traveling, I’m less inclined to feel like I want to stare at a black box and zone out when the sun goes down. The sunshine, something Amsterdam winters don’t bless us with, obviously helps. I need to get out more at home, clearly!

For a long time, I’ve been trying to accomplish a 4-hour workday (mainly to decrease screen time), which should be possible, given that most of the content marketing and writing I do requires deep focus, and realistically, my brain can’t handle more than 4 hours of that in a day. Apparently, full-time employees clock about 2–3 hours of deep focus work per day, with the rest spent in meetings or responding to emails and messages.

I’m a freelancer, so I don’t deal with all that, but there are still these invisible, self-imposed chains that keep me at my desk during “normal” working hours. I often find myself sitting at my desk, doing busywork to fill the time. I think it’s a case of my brain wrestling with good old should-versus-want. Am I doing this because I want to, or because I think I should? Such a simple question, but it’s often hard to decipher. Anyway, this was supposed to be a quick intro to this week’s issue of Things Worth Sharing, and now it’s becoming a bit of a philosophical work-life balance ramble… Welcome to my brain. Lol.

1. Weekly conversations with my 10-year-old niece are bringing me so much joy right now. The other day, she called and asked if she could sing her chorus songs to me. All four of them. It was the cutest thing. She stood in front of her phone camera, held up the sheet music, and did a little performance just for me. Our budding relationship makes me feel connected to my mom and my past. Like a full-circle moment. I can’t quite explain it. Her mini-concert reminded me of when I used to spend hours practicing gymnastic routines and then perform them for my mom in our living room. My niece also asks me questions that I once asked my mom, like “How old were you when you got your period?” I suppose motherhood/parenthood involves this type of love times a million, but I’m still fine with aunthood. Sissy, in case you’re reading this, you are raising an amazing girl.

2. There were so many great nuggets in Wintering by , but my main takeaway is that it’s normal and OK to have seasons in life. We shouldn’t fight our “winters”, but embrace them instead. Ease into winter and let it run its course because eventually the grey, cold, and snow will clear and spring will come again. Winter will also come again and AGAIN, but each time you’ll be better prepared to deal with it. Have you read it? What did you think?

3. I was a little skeptical about A Year of Nothing by because I feel like “a year of nothing” is a privilege that most people don’t have, but I like that Gannon acknowledges that. Even though a year of nothing is not in my cards, as someone who often feels like I need to do, be, or achieve more, this book feels like a little nudge to slow down and acknowledge that you’re doing enough and you are enough.

4. The Light of the World by Elizabeth Alexander is a beautifully written memoir about the author’s experience of suddenly losing her seemingly healthy husband to a heart attack. I like that she writes openly about her grieving process, and while reading her story, I couldn’t help but wish that my mom would appear in my dreams in the same way her deceased husband often did. One thing I missed, though, was more about the complexities of their relationship. Clearly, there was deep love, but there were a few instances when she mentioned they had hard times too (naturally). I wanted to know more about that side of things. Like, we lose someone we love, and of course, we’re flooded with loving, happy thoughts about them, but there are other thoughts and emotions, too. There’s unfinished business. I feel like that should be normalized and talked about. Or maybe I’m just trying to scratch my own itch, which brings me to the next point…

5. The three books I just mentioned have inspired me to write more candidly about this time in my life. I touched on it a bit in this post, but since writing helps me understand things better, I’m working on creating a space within Mera Magazine where I’ll write to untangle the complicated grief of losing my mom to Alzheimer’s in my 30s. My hope is that it resonates with others, too, which is something I found touching when readers wrote to me and shared their similar experiences after reading my HuffPost Personal essay about tricking my mom into assisted living. Maybe it will be my own memoir in progress, although I’m not sure how it will shape up yet. That’s the beauty of it! More on this next week.

6. I’m in the midst of reading Furiously Happy by , who makes me laugh (in my head and out loud), even when she’s writing about her struggles with mental illness. I love how she takes you along on the ride of a particular time in her life, but also of the writing experience itself.

7. On a completely different (lighter) note, this sun cream that was recommended by two friends for a previous (skincare) edition of Things Worth Sharing is a winner. It’s the first sun cream that I haven’t wanted to scrub off my face immediately.

8. Have you seen Vladimir on Netflix? Steamy. But also, it made me want to buy yellow legal pads and lock myself in a cabin to write. (I’m proud of myself, this is the only series I binge-watched on holiday — ha!).

9. In case you missed it, earlier this week, I shared 10 books that helped me through my mom’s Alzheimer’s and long goodbye. Aside from one practical guidebook, they’re all nice reads, regardless (at least I think so).

We’re starting our descent into Amsterdam Schiphol airport, so I’ll leave it at 9 things worth sharing this week, but I have a question for you guys! I’m looking for some light, fun reads, and I imagine I’m not alone. Share your book recs in the comments, please! Thank you.

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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 are able to upgrade your subscription or share my work with a friend, I would be so grateful! Thank you so much.

Now I feel like I have so much knowledge about caring for an aging parent (or a person with a terminal illness), from the emotional to the logistical to the administrative stuff that, honestly, I wish I never had to learn. But I suppose we all go through this someday.

Something that helped keep me sane over the last four and a half years was reading other people’s stories about love, loss, and grief. Regardless of the type of loss, grief is complicated. It tugs on your little heart when you least expect it, but in some weird way, it’s also manageable and even, at times, enlightening.

Alzheimer’s comes with a very particular type of anticipatory grief and ambiguous loss, but even stories about other types of loss have helped me feel less alone during and after my mom’s long goodbye. So I’ve compiled a list of books in case you’re interested. I think many of them are enjoyable reads (aside from one practical one that’s specific to Alzheimer’s), even if you’re not in the midst of it.

1. Goodbye, Vitamin by Rachel Khong
This deep yet funny novel is about a daughter moving home as her father’s memory slips away. I love that it’s formatted like a journal and reads more like a memoir. It captures that strange mix of absurdity and heartbreak that comes with watching a parent slowly disappear while you’re still trying to live your own life. Note: Thanks again for the rec, reader, and friend, Kadine!

2. All the Way to the River by
In this memoir, Liz Gilbert writes in a very raw, open way about caring for a loved one through illness and addiction; it’s not for everyone. I admire her devotion right to the end.

3. How to Lose Your Mother: A Daughter’s Memoir by Molly Jong-Fast
This witty, complicated, and somewhat unsentimental memoir explores what it’s like to lose your mother long before she’s gone. It made me feel less alone in some of the confusing grief of having a parent who is physically here but emotionally unreachable.

4. I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy
While I am not glad my mom died, I found this one darkly funny and brutally honest. McCurdy writes about an enmeshed, controlling mother and the complicated relief that followed her death. It’s not about Alzheimer’s, but it highlights the messy truth that mother loss is rarely simple.

5. Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End by Atul Gawande
In this one, surgeon and writer Atul Gawande examines how modern medicine approaches aging and death, and what it often gets wrong. It made me think deeply about dignity, autonomy, and what “a good end” actually means.

6. The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion
Didion’s account of losing her husband captures the irrational logic of early grief. It helped me understand how the mind tries to bargain with the unbearable.

7. The 36-Hour Day by Nancy L. Mace and Peter V. Rabins
This practical guidebook walks through the realities of caring for someone with dementia. It’s not poetic, but it’s useful when you need real answers.

8. In Love: A Memoir of Love and Loss by Amy Bloom
Bloom writes about her husband’s decision to pursue assisted dying (at Dignitas in Switzerland) after an Alzheimer’s diagnosis. It’s both courageous and devastating, but I think we should have the ability and freedom to choose what type of life is worth living.

9. Ten Thousand Joys & Ten Thousand Sorrows: A Couple’s Journey Through Alzheimer’s by Olivia Ames Hoblitzelle
This memoir follows a wife caring for her husband with Alzheimer’s while searching for meaning inside the chaos. It’s spiritual without being preachy, and reminds you that even in decline, there can still be moments of connection. In fact, an even deeper connection than before, in my experience!

10. Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner
Zauner’s memoir about losing her mother to cancer is as much about identity as it is about grief. It captures that longing to hold onto someone through food, memory, and culture, even after they’re gone.

Are there any books you’d add to this list? Please share in the comments! I’m always looking for recs. (I also just finished Wintering by , which I’ll likely write about separately!)

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See you soon,

Alexis

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

(Note: I only include genuine personal, reader, and guest recommendations. If you buy something through the links I share, I may earn a very small commission. This is one way to help me keep Mera Magazine alive. And in the case of this post, it’s a great way to support independent book shops!)

Today, I am writing to you from an Airbnb in Luz, Portugal. I played a padel tournament this morning, with a group of retirees, and now I’m wrapped in a fuzzy blanket looking out at the Atlantic Ocean as I type this letter. K. and I are going for a spa circuit and massages in a few minutes. Life is good.

Before we get into this week’s things worth sharing, here’s a beautiful sunrise from last weekend…

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1. I just finished She Wanted More by and loved it! Immediately recommended it to a friend. I particularly appreciated Poorna’s honesty about sometimes questioning your purpose when you live outside of the conventional things like marriage and having kids... But also, the book covers all angles of womanhood for women in all walks of life.

2. I recently discovered these challenges from the NYT to spend 10 minutes looking at a piece of art. Relaxing! (If you can find it in yourself to focus long enough.)

3. If you’re into dark humor/comedy, please check out How To Get To Heaven From Belfast on Netflix and then let me know what you think! Here’s a nice write-up about it in The New Yorker.

4. I’m not a mom, but this caught my attention and includes some great book recs that I’ve added to my list. I think the idea of embracing mediocrity and being “good enough”, as discussed in the article, is universal, whether you’re a mom or not.

5. This article in The Atlantic titled “The Longevity Scam” had me at, “A better — and more achievable — goal would be to extend healthy longevity, adding life to years instead of years to life.” Agreed!

6. Ever since my mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, I’ve wondered if I’ll be next. I’ve read various (inconclusive) studies about the impact of hormonal changes and menopause on women’s brain health, but nothing is clear. This episode of The Diary of a CEO digs deep into brain health, Alzheimer’s, and how it affects more women. I like that it explains how it’s not specifically due to the hormonal changes that come with menopause, but the symptoms of menopause that could eventually cause cognitive decline. For example, hot flashes and night sweats disrupt and fragment sleep in women, so we don’t get the rest we need to wash away Amyloid plaques in our brains. Anyway, I’m not a doctor or a scientist, so I’m not trying to give anyone advice; I just found the conversation interesting. The podcast episode also talks a lot about creatine and brain health, but I’m always a bit skeptical of these wellness trends and fads, especially when they say that EVERYONE should do it. We’re all so different. If you take creatine, please tell me more in the comments!

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7. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about legacy. Like, what (if anything) do I want to leave behind? It’s been swirling around in my head for a few weeks now. I think it might have something to do with processing the loss of my mom. Sometimes I wonder if this is what draws me to writing, and why I hope to eventually publish a book. It’s something that I can leave behind. Something that could hopefully touch at least one person. Anyway, I’m looking for books on the topic… fiction, non-fiction, just not too self-helpy, so if you have any recs, please share in the comments! (Of Women and Salt by Gabriela Garcia sounds like it could be a good one.)

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8. In case you missed it, earlier this week, I published a lovely interview with , the author of Help Me! and Love Me!. We discussed the downsides of self-help, dating, burnout, and the relief of realizing you’re enough. Give it a read here! ;)

Ok, over to you. What’s been on your mind this week? What’s worth sharing?

See you soon,

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.

I’m fangirling a bit right now because I got to interview an author I admire. I discovered here on Substack and subsequently plowed through both of her books in the same week. She’s raw, honest, and funny — all qualities I appreciate in a writer and author (in humans in general!).

She thought, like many of us, that if you just read the books, heal your attachment style, fix your mindset, wake up earlier, try harder, and so on, you’re guaranteed to experience a transformation.

For a year, Marianne followed the instructions of the self-help industry to a T — from budgeting spreadsheets to confidence boot camps, stand-up comedy, and skydiving, all in pursuit of becoming “better.” The experiment became her bestselling memoir, Help Me!.

In her follow-up, Love Me!, she asks another question: what happens when we treat romantic love the same way we treat other projects, as another thing to optimize?

In this conversation, we talk about dating in the age of therapy-speak, burnout disguised as empowerment, the pressure to be healed before being loved, and realizing that we’re not actually broken, we just believe we are. We are good enough.

Enjoy!

After immersing yourself in extreme self-help for Help Me!, what belief about “fixing yourself” did you have to actively unlearn?

In many ways, I think it’s admirable to want to improve ourselves, to address our weaknesses, and to stretch ourselves to do better. But I look back now and see how much my self-help project was driven by a feeling of being broken, and that makes me sad. I was never broken, and I did not need to be fixed. I can also see more clearly now that I was the product of a world where women are constantly told they are not good enough, not thin enough, rich enough, pretty enough, kind enough, successful enough. Again, that makes me sad. I was always good enough, and so is anyone reading this. That said, I am also very proud of what I did, what I learned, and the book that resulted.

In Love Me!, you explore romantic love as a kind of self-help project. Do you think modern dating has become another form of personal optimization? If so, at what cost? Or, in other words, has modern dating culture turned love into something we have to earn through healing and self-optimization rather than mutual effort?

There is so much awareness now — of red flags, attachment styles, trauma responses — that sometimes we risk pathologising ourselves out of relationships or just fun. We can become so fluent in the language of therapy that we forget how to simply enjoy each other. It’s also easy to ascribe bad motives to someone who is, in fact, just a flawed human being — like us.

I don’t believe we have to have all our shit together in order to be loved. Love is not a prize for someone who has read all the books and done all the therapy, and I have read all the books and done all the therapy!! Ha!

At the same time, self-understanding matters. It really helps to know yourself well enough to explain yourself — where your weak points might be, where your crazy can show up, and also what you really need.

For example, I need a lot of space. I know that now. Instead of trying to override it — by overgiving or squeezing myself into someone else’s idea of what a girlfriend or friend should be, I can say it out loud. I can explain that I am someone who needs a lot of time alone, and it’s not because I don’t like the other person. Not at all. It saves a lot of hurt and confusion when I can just say this. But it took me until my forties to understand that this was a real need, and that I was allowed to voice it.

Yes, I couldn’t agree more! I am just now (at 40) feeling like I’ve finally figured out how to understand and clearly articulate my needs without losing my shit.

A little self-awareness, held lightly and with humour, goes a long way. So does finding people who genuinely want to hear what life feels like for you, and repaying them by wanting to hear what life feels like for them.

We are all flawed and worthy of love. Few of us were given great examples of how to do this. We’re taught equations and history, but not how to have difficult conversations, ask for what we want, or repair after conflict. These are essential skills. And I’m glad that we live in a time when we can now learn these skills. But it would help us to realise that we will always get things wrong, and that’s OK too.

Yes, a little self-compassion goes a long way. You spent a year reading self-help books that promise transformation. How do you now tell the difference between genuine growth and performative self-improvement?

There can be a lot of performative wisdom on social media — many of us aren’t living by the quotes we share online. I am certainly guilty of it. I think we know deep down when we are pretending. In my experience, real growth often happens at the times when I feel least together, when everything seems to be falling apart. That is when messy, real change is happening.

I often don’t see that growth at the time — I usually feel like I’m failing. It’s months later that I can see, wow, you have changed from that. You learned a lot. That said, the buzz of going for a walk or meditating regularly does not need to cause a big disruption. It can improve our lives in gentle ways. I have always been an all-or-nothing person. I would like to learn to go more gently, to do the small things that build a better life, to eat well, exercise, meditate, enjoy friends and nature, and sleep well.

I love how you frame it as going more gently. I think we have different seasons in life, and I’m entering the more gentle one, too. Or, at least trying.

Self-help often places the entire responsibility on the individual. Where do you think that narrative fails to account for trauma, luck, privilege, or timing?

Absolutely, it does. Some of us were brought up with great advantages that others never had. I grew up in a stable family, I went to private school, and I never once had to worry about being fed. I was never sexually or physically abused. I went to university. I had so many advantages that enabled me to do what I have done. Yes, I applied personal effort, but the reason I could make those efforts was because of all the support I already had. We are not all starting from the same place, and it feels cruel not to acknowledge that.

Was there a moment during your reporting where you realized self-help had become another pressure rather than a relief? What did that feel like in your body, not just your mind?

About 10 months in, I felt like I was having a breakdown. I felt like a computer crashing, my head was spinning, and my thoughts were loud and urgent. I felt the more I tried to improve myself, the more aware I was of all my flaws. The more perfect I tried to be, the worse I felt. I was putting myself under such extreme pressure to do new things, and I was not giving myself time to rest or integrate. I kept telling myself I wasn’t doing enough, even though I was (literally) jumping out of planes, doing stand-up comedy, and chatting up strangers! It was madness. I stopped sleeping and was also crying a lot. I now see that when I get into that urgent feeling that I’m not doing enough, I need to do less, not more.

That’s a great learning. I have that as well, where I spiral out and get obsessed with doing or achieving something. I’ve learned to tone it down as I get older, but it’s still a struggle that often keeps me up at night.

Both your books blend humor with vulnerability. Do you see humor as a defense mechanism, a truth-telling tool, or something else entirely?

I am Irish, and humour is a very important part of how we communicate. I am so glad for my humour. It allows me to take big, deep questions and to make them light enough for people to enjoy.

If someone read Help Me! or Love Me! and felt worse (i.e., more aware of their flaws or more behind), what would you want to say to them?

Both books can be confronting and uncomfortable to read, especially if you relate to my struggles. They can feel like a mirror. I have heard from several people who could not read the money chapter in Help Me! because it was too close to their situation, or those who read it and felt angry at me for being so irresponsible. I also have a friend who wants to shake me because she wishes I would just get on with things and stop analysing everything. All of those reactions are fair. I think anything that makes us think and reflect on ourselves has value, and both books try to do that.

How has writing honestly about your own messiness changed the way you now approach intimacy, both romantic and platonic?

I am a pretty open book, and I am very lucky to be surrounded by people who live in a similar way. I have been relieved and moved by how much people relate to my insecurities around love and sex. A friend from university emailed me to say it was like reading about herself. She is married and was the girl all the guys wanted at university. She was never single, while I was always single. I thought our lives were completely different, but they were not. No matter how things look on the outside, many of us have hang-ups around sex and self-worth. So I would say the way I write — very openly — has helped me to be very open with others in the real world, and for them to be open with me. I don’t imagine anyone feels like I will judge them because I have been so open with many of my flaws and struggles.

I agree so much with this! I haven’t written about sex, but I have shared other personal stories, and it has led to deeper conversations and connections with people I’ve known a long time, and with readers! It’s scary to be vulnerable, but more rewarding than I ever imagined.

Do you think the self-help industry benefits from keeping people in a constant state of “almost better”? Why or why not?

Yes, I do. That can even be part of the appeal. If we are almost there, we never have to fully engage in life as our flawed, gorgeous selves. It becomes a way of putting life off, which is less scary than showing up and really trying right now, as we are.

If you were to write a third book, what human experience do you think we’re still trying (and failing) to solve with advice instead of acceptance?

My next book will be about money. I think money and our ideas of success are fascinating. I believed I needed to be successful to be a worthwhile human. I became successful, but it never felt like I was. Then I burned out and got long Covid. I am now in debt, and I feel a lot of shame about that. But why? Why such shame? We live in a very expensive world that requires us to earn a lot just to stay alive. Animals do not have to pay to exist. We are also seeing how horrendously rich people can behave.

So, can self-worth be found through money and success?

I don’t think so… not for long at least. I keep thinking about the line by Henry David Thoreau, “I make myself rich by making my wants few.” I would like to embrace the idea that we do not need much to be happy. A roof, some food, and some love can be enough. I am trying to unlearn the other narrative that says I need the designer wardrobe and the big house. The people I know with big houses often seem very stressed by them.

We’re on the same page. I recently read an entry in The Daily Stoic that essentially said that the enemy of happiness is yearning for more, better, someday. I should tape it to my bathroom mirror because, as you said, we don’t need much to be happy.

Thank you for reading, and see you soon!

Alexis

P.S. Marianne has kindly agreed to answer your questions in the comments, so don’t be shy!

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P.P.S. To keep in touch with Marianne, subscribe to her Help Me! Newsletter, follow her on Instagram, and buy her books!

I started drafting this letter as a list of 40 things I still don’t know at 40. I wanted to take a different approach and highlight that, even at 40, I still have no idea what I’m doing, but I didn’t get very far. It’s not because I have it all figured out (far from it!), but hindsight is everything. I realized that it’s hard to list off the things I still don’t know because, well, I still don’t know them!

So instead, I looked back at a list that I created when I turned 39, mentioning all the things I had learned up until then. It’s interesting to see how my mind worked even just 12–18 months ago (I’m almost 40.5 now 😅). I didn’t change anything below that still resonates, but added a few notes in bold and italic. I also added #40 to the end of the list. So, without further ado, welcome to my brain. Ha! I’m curious what’s relatable to you, regardless of your age, so feel free to join the comments section!

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1. What other people think or do doesn’t matter; do what makes you happy. But also, accept that you may never feel like you’ve found your life’s purpose, and that’s okay. Cliché — I know, I know.

2. The things you worry about are never the things that actually happen. Don’t worry so much!

3. Exercise is good for your mental health; the physical benefits are a bonus.

4. Work and climbing the career ladder are less important than you think. There are other ways to be “rich” in life, but don’t lose awareness that this is a privilege.

5. Living an unconventional lifestyle might come with some challenges (mainly from people who can’t comprehend it and your own self-doubt), but staying true to yourself is more important.

6. Caring for an aging parent (especially one with Alzheimer’s) is hard as fuck. Probably the hardest thing you’ll ever deal with. I can confirm that eventually losing them is the cherry on top.

7. Always put yourself first — take care of yourself. I still agree, but sometimes I do question my purpose outside of myself… I occasionally wonder if motherhood fills that space, even though I’m 100% positive that I don’t want kids. Like, what’s my legacy? Just thinking out loud here…

8. Getting divorced feels like the death of an idea, but it can also be the best thing that has ever happened to you. Yep!

9. Nothing (good or bad) lasts forever.

10. Living in another country benefits your mind, body, and soul.

11. Spending Saturday on the sofa is amazing, and you shouldn’t feel bad about it. Do it more often.

12. You’re more resilient than you think.

13. Disconnecting from people who make you feel like shit is okay (and necessary). This applies to everything, not just people.

14. Good things really do take time.

15. Slow down and pay attention.

16. People pleasing will just make you feel like shit. Stop doing it. Ugh, thanks for the reminder.

17. Taking time and space alone is okay.

18. Getting older is a blessing.

19. Exploring creative outlets and sharing them with the world can bring you joy, but remember, it’s more about the process than the results.

20. You can do whatever you want if you set your mind to it (like your recent desire to write a book) — go for it. Ha! Still working on this one. But writing here is a good start.

21. People will disappoint you. Get used to it. Amen.

22. Your parents did their best. Dad, I know you read all my letters. Love ya!

23. Corporate 9-to-5 life is not for everyone, and it takes a lot of courage to leave it behind.

24. Having a plan is good, but life usually takes over, so get used to it.

25. Solo travel is amazing and lonely in the best way possible.

26. More is not always better. It’s the enemy of happiness, which was brought to my attention while reading The Daily Stoic (February 17th entry).

27. Being vulnerable has more benefits than you thought.

28. Letting go is hard, but always being in control is exhausting.

29. Some friendships don’t make sense anymore, and that’s fine.

30. Long-term romantic relationships are hard as fuck. But the deeper friendship that develops is also really nice.

31. Dealing with obstacles by always moving forward is a good approach. But sometimes you need to stop and sit with it.

32. You don’t have to get married and have kids [insert more societal norms] just because everyone else does.

33. Stay curious and always be learning.

34. Pushing through the novelty of new things and sticking to them is where the magic happens. Yep. Still working on it!

35. Slow and steady (usually) wins the race.

36. Houseplants can change a space, and you know how to keep them alive. True. I love my plant babies! But I’m not sure how much this would have changed my life if I had become a plant mom earlier. Replace #36 with: Spending more time outdoors (like you did as a kid) improves your wellbeing, especially your sleep! I think I could write a whole post about the things I’m doing (slash trying) to get a better night’s rest in my 40s. Meantime, this piece about failing my mental load test is related. Shout-out to my gal pal Josephine for suggesting we spend the day wandering around Zuid-Kennemerland National Park. Look at this cute, shaggy highland cow!

37. Seeking out therapy when you feel you need it is a positive thing. Don’t feel bad about wanting or needing help. Also, developing a daily journaling habit can be a form of self-guided therapy.

38. Regretting things you’ve done is better than wondering “what if”. Still my favorite!

39. Do what makes you happy and fuck the rest. Okay, but let’s be realistic. Money doesn’t grow on trees, and this is almost the same as #1 above. Replace #39 with: Don’t make things harder than they need to be; “good enough” is just fine.

40. This quote about the grief of losing someone by Jamie Anderson is 100% true: “Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.”

Thanks for reading, and see you soon.

Alexis

P.S. Regardless of your age, I’d love to know what you’d add to this list of things you’ve learned during your time on this planet!

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As I get older, being “rich” is no longer just a question of How do I make more money? It’s more about building a life that feels rich right now, and that can sustain me into the future. But I’m still working out exactly what that looks like…

I dream of early retirement, or at least I can’t imagine still doing what I’m doing now when I’m 50, but I also love working. What would I do with my time? I’ve been thinking a lot lately about part-time work. I don’t have kids to support, so why not do less freelance work and enjoy life more? Should we be normalizing part-time work in midlife? (I think so.)

It feels a bit frivolous to even say that, especially because I’m 40, which means I should be at or approaching my career peak, according to societal norms. But that point of view feels antiquated to me, or maybe it’s just that I’m currently (and happily) in a slower phase of life.

Anyway, my curiosity about this topic led me to , a money psychology specialist and the writer behind Money Feelings.

In today’s Q&A, Pauline shares her thoughtful take on financial independence, work-life balance, burnout, and the psychology behind how we plan for our future selves.

I hope you enjoy it!

Hello, hello! First, could you tell us who you are? How old are you, where do you live, what do you do? Are you single, living with a partner, married? Do you have kids? What’s your story? I don’t mean to be so direct, but this part is obviously important because it affects how you plan for the future.

Hi! I’m Pauline, I’m 42, I’m French, and I live in Amsterdam. I’m married to a wonderful Belgian man whom I met in Luxembourg and married in London. We have two boys (5 and 8) who were born in the Netherlands and mainly identify as Amsterdammers.

I’m a personal finance educator specialised in behavioral finance and money psychology. I write Money Feelings, the Substack newsletter on the psychology of money. I’m a member of Snowball, the French collective of personal finance newsletters, where I write (in French) the behavioral finance newsletter for investors, Snowball Thérapie. I also consult for companies in the personal finance and mental health space, helping their clients spend better, invest better, and feel better.

I studied law, and after getting my degree, my first job was researching legal frameworks for gambling, and more specifically, which frameworks minimize problem gambling the most. That was my first step into the world of money and money psychology. I was later hired as an editor specialised in financial education for an investment platform whose mission is to democratize investing. That’s where I discovered the topics that truly made me passionate about my work: financial health, financial psychology, women’s financial independence, sustainable investing, and, more generally, money as a tool for health and social change.

It also makes sense when you know that my dad worked in accounting and finance his whole life, and my mom is a therapist — classic apple-falling-right-between-the-two-trees kind of situation.

Interesting! My career has been quite different from my parents and step-parents, who worked in finance, law, and medicine. I think I know the answer to my next question, but when and how did you learn about money, saving, investing, and financial planning in general?

I learned a lot from my dad, who regularly talked about these things with me, even when I was a kid. I know I’m considerate about where my money goes thanks to him. He taught me how to use it as a tool for fun and pleasure, but also in a way that takes care of my future self.

I learned the more technical aspects of investing when I was hired as an editor for an investment platform. The learning curve was very steep, but incredibly rewarding and useful.

When you hear the phrase “early retirement,” what does it mean to you?

Early retirement for me means not relying on earning new income to live the life I want to lead, before my 60s. It’s also not something I’m actively pursuing, btw. I don’t feel the need to retire early. What matters much more to me is having a very healthy work/life balance while I’m still working.

What do you see as the biggest misconception about retiring early or stepping back from full-time work? In other words, what do you think we often get wrong when we talk about financial independence or “retiring early”?

Two things:

First, I often hear people tell me they can’t imagine not working anymore, that they enjoy working too much. But you can be “retired” or financially independent and still “work” in a way, contributing to society. The difference is that you no longer need the money. It opens up a really interesting conversation about our relationship with work. I completely understand the need to contribute, but do we really need financial compensation to feel that we contribute? How much of our sense of usefulness and self-esteem is tied to being paid? And one of my favorite questions: if income disappeared from the equation, what would we choose to work on?

Second, if people find the right balance for themselves and reach financial independence early, I think that’s wonderful. The one thing I’d be very careful about is making work the one and only focus of your life to get there. Again, I’m extremely careful about my work-life balance.

The last thing I want is to overwork now so I can retire early later. I want to enjoy my life at every stage — my husband and I are very much in our “parenting era” right now, so spending time with our kids is our absolute priority. Of course, I need to work, but I never want to overwork during these years (whether or not I plan to retire earlier down the line). I care about making the most of my life right now. For my husband and me, that means finding the right balance between working enough to sustain our lives and having as much time as possible to enjoy our family life. And it’s not like I see work time opposed to fun time. I LOVE my work. But I want my life to be “rich” and, for me, that means experiencing a lot of different things, trying new things, learning new things, and discovering new places. It means I’m forcing myself not to work all the time and make space for all these things.

I’d like to be “rich” in the same way… What life experiences have shaped how you think about money, work, and long-term planning?

I grew up in a financially secure environment. We never experienced scarcity, and when there were some money tensions, I know my parents didn’t overshare their anxiety with my brother and me. I’m very grateful for that. I was also able to see my parents enjoy their money while staying mindful of their future and their kids’ futures.

One belief and habit I’ve clearly adopted from them, and that my husband and I really share and cherish, is that time, health, and experiences are the most precious “things”. Through my work, my conversations with clients and readers, and my training with the Trauma of Money Institute, I’m very aware of how lucky I am to have had this experience growing up. A lot of what we call “good” money behaviors are just the result of a privileged starting point.

How realistic is “partial retirement” for you, and what would it look like in practice?

I’m currently far from a “partial retirement” situation, but I’m a solo entrepreneur, and one of my business goals each year is to slowly reduce my working time. Right now, I’m able to take many of my kids’ school holidays off to spend time with them, and I’m already really proud of that. Over the next few years, I’d like to drop something like half an hour to one hour of work a day every year.

I recently read On Writing by Stephen King, and he describes his work routine as working only in the mornings, which for him meant focused writing, and then walking, reading, or doing other things in the afternoon. That felt like a wonderful goal to work towards for me.

Great book. I’d love to reach that goal as well — we have a lot in common… In your opinion, what are we actually craving when we talk about leaving full-time work earlier?

I can’t speak for everyone, but for me, it’s a few things.

• More creativity, especially doing things with my hands. I LOVE CRAFTS! (Caps needed.)

• More disconnection, less screen time, whether it’s phone or computer. We talk a lot about problematic phone use, but I really wish I wasn’t on my computer screen so much either.

• More movement. I hate the idea of sitting in a chair so much. Sedentarity is killing us, and I just want to work less or differently so I can get back to what my body should be doing = Not sitting all the time! I’ve invested in a standing desk and a walking pad, but working less for me will definitely mean moving more.

  

I love crafts too! My friends and I try to organize a monthly craft night. Cheers to less screen time and more movement. Let me know once you’ve cracked the code on all that. Meantime, what small shifts do you think we can make in our 30s or 40s to have a meaningful impact on how flexible our lives can be by our 50s?

Connect with your 50-year-old self today! Like, really think about her/him.

As humans, we’re incredibly good at imagining the future, but something we almost never do is imagine ourselves in the future. And that’s why we often treat our future self worse than we treat our present self. Because we don’t really know this person, our brain treats her/him like a stranger and therefore with less empathy.

I loved reading Your Future Self by UCLA psychology professor Hal Hershfield. His research shows that connecting with your future self helps you take better care of it. Very concretely, people who feel more connected to their future self tend to have better eating habits and save more!

I talk about this a lot on Money Feelings, but for instance, you could ask yourself: what would an ideal day look like when you’re 50? How would you like to move? Who would you like to spend time with? Where would you like to go? Even picturing what you might look like in your 50s helps. All of this will give your brain a clearer image of the future you and help you treat her/him with more empathy and kindness!

I’d like to imagine that I’d be somewhere warm (with access to padel courts), working part-time from a beach chair, and sipping a cold beer — just throwing the idea out there into the world!

What emotional or psychological factors do you struggle with most when planning for retirement or financial independence?

I don’t really struggle with emotional or psychological factors around this anymore. Through my work, I develop exercises to help my readers work through things like fear of the future, procrastination, disconnection from their future selves, or difficulties delaying immediate gratification, and I apply those exercises to myself as well.

For instance, the vision board exercise focused on imagining my retirement years worked so well for me that whenever I think about that phase of my life, my brain immediately goes to the images I pictured and planned for myself. Thinking about retirement doesn’t bring me anxiety anymore; it brings up very concrete images of joy and (swimming) adventures, and it’s so motivating to actually do concrete things, like putting extra money into my pension pot when I can.

Do you think dreaming of early or partial retirement could be rooted in burnout versus a genuine desire for a different kind of life, in some cases?

100%. How can we work all the time, and for so long, in a society that still glorifies overwork, constant availability, and productivity at all costs, while we’re also now expected to reply instantly on WhatsApp, be constantly exposed to distressing news from all over the world, keep up with new trends on social media, deal with endless notifications, and still juggle family life, friendships, health, etc? It was so tiring writing this sentence.

Oof, yeah, I feel that. I love how easy it is to stay connected with family and friends, especially living abroad, but sometimes I want to throw my phone and laptop out the window…

What trade-offs do you consider making when imagining early or partial retirement?

The biggest trade-off for me is choosing time and flexibility over maximising income. That’s a conscious decision I’m comfortable with.

What’s one question that you think we should be asking ourselves about money and the future — but we usually aren’t?

What kind of life am I actually trying to create with this money?

I love that, mainly because sometimes it just feels like we’re “supposed” to follow a conventional path, but we’re not all aiming for or working toward the same things. On that note, what money topics do you wish more people would talk about?

The incredible feeling that financial well-being brings! We don’t talk enough about the joy of being financially healthy. I’m not talking about financial independence or being “rich”. I’m talking about feeling financially secure, like knowing that if something comes up, you’ll be able to deal with it, not feeling constant anxiety about your future self, and feeling calmer and more in control of your choices.

Also, money topics are always framed through fear and anxiety, and dealing with your finances is seen as such a burden. But we forget to say something really important! Handling your money actually feels GOOD. It’s not a choice between dopamine-inducing activities and the misery of managing your finances. Money management also brings a lot of dopamine, because you’ll feel proud, knowledgeable, and powerful! It’s also one of the most long-lasting acts of self-care you can give yourself. Your future self will still be benefiting from it years and decades later.

That’s a great way to frame it. What financial management and planning tools, platforms, communities, etc., do you use and recommend?

Money Feelings, obviously. :)

Otherwise, on Substack, I highly recommend Healthy Rich by and The Purse by . If you read in French, Snowball is the best personal finance media I know. And I’m not talking about the newsletter I write for them. I’m proud of my work, but I’ll let others comment on that. Snowball is a collective of newsletters, and the quality of the writers I work with is, honestly, incredible. I read in French, English, and more and more in Dutch, and it’s genuinely the best personal finance media I’ve encountered across languages.

If you really want to get to the root of your relationship with money, I also can’t recommend the Trauma of Money program enough. It’s a psychoeducational and certifying program for professionals, and I learned an enormous amount in the safest and kindest atmosphere surrounded by incredible people from all over the world.

Thanks so much for reading this Q&A on money and retirement (more interviews on this topic and others are coming soon). A big thank you to for answering all my questions!

Readers, here are a few prompts from Pauline’s interview to encourage further discussion in the comments section of this post. Would love to hear (or rather, read) your thoughts!

• If income disappeared from the equation, what would you choose to work on?

• What would an ideal day look like when you’re 50?

• What trade-offs do you consider making when imagining early or partial retirement?

Leave a comment

See you soon,

Alexis

💬 P.S. Have personal finance or money psychology questions for Pauline? She has kindly agreed to answer your questions in the comments, so ask away!

Since my last few letters have been on the heavier side, I thought I’d lighten the mood with some relationship humor from the archives. Hope you enjoy it, and Happy Valentine’s Day!

Don’t let this be another year where you forget Valentine’s Day and scramble for a last-minute gift. With the beloved Hallmark holiday approaching, now’s the perfect time to figure out how the fuck you’re going to wow the pants — or skirt — off your lucky lover. Even better, this guide will help you choose the perfect gift for your honey based on their love language.

Wait, what’s a love language? I thought you might ask!

Maybe you’ve been living under a rock, or you’re just a regular human who struggles to understand your own feelings, let alone someone else’s ideal way to give and receive love. Let me introduce you to Gary Chapman, the genius behind The 5 Love Languages. His book helps you understand how you love so you can (attempt to) explain it to your partner. The ultimate goal? Getting what you need from them — assuming they understand, which they probably won’t, because their love language is likely the polar opposite of yours.

Here’s the rundown on the five love languages — in my words (warning: I’m not a psychologist):

1. Acts of Service. You want someone to pick up your socks, cook your dinner, and basically parent you.

2. Receiving Gifts. Love equals expensive shit, obviously.

3. Quality Time. You demand undivided attention. Friends? Hobbies? Nope — your time now.

4. Words of Affirmation. “Tell me I’m amazing. Again. No, like again.”

5. Physical Touch. Hold my hand. Always. Even when I’m peeing.

The perfect V-Day gift ideas based on your honey’s love language

1. Acts of Service ideas

For him

This one’s a no-brainer — a BJ. But also, if your back is sore or you just don’t feel like it, do we ever? You could spend the day picking up the random pairs of socks he’s left under the bed, in the bathroom, between the sofa cushions, next to the microwave, washing them, and neatly tucking them into his drawer. It’s a win-win. You did something nice for him, and your home is organized.

For her

You could pick up all those random socks and put them in the washing bin. No, not on the floor next to it. In it! I repeat, in the bin. You know, that round canvas container or square plastic bin sitting next to the washing machine. You could also clean up the rest of the clutter around the house, offer your woman a massage, and then maybe she’ll feel relaxed enough to offer your favorite act of service, just saying. And again, win-win.

2. Receiving Gifts ideas

For him

Get him something truly unforgettable: a subscription box for fancy socks. That way, when he leaves them all over the house, at least every room will look stylish. Bonus points if they have little hearts on them — he’ll cringe but secretly love it.

Side note: I went down a rabbit hole and actually found a cute subscription sock company called Say it with a Sock (love that they donate socks to schools and the homeless). 🧦 Also, not a subscription box, but another charitable sock company with some nice designs is Sexy Socks.

For her

Jewelry? Meh. It’s overdone. Instead, try a “Wine and Whine Kit”: a fancy bottle of wine, a cozy blanket, and noise-canceling headphones. Nothing says “I love you” like supporting her peace, quiet, and ability to ignore whatever nonsense you’re up to in the other room.

3. Quality Time ideas

For him

What does your guy like to do? What are his hobbies? Make a list and then pretend to care about whatever he’s into — even if it’s PS5 and Dungeons & Dragons (or whatever it’s called). You don’t have to enjoy it, but acting as you do will make him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

For her

Curling up on the sofa for a 30-minute episode of whatever sappy series she’s watching isn’t enough. Quality time means at least 12 hours of Sofa Saturday. Queue up The Holiday, Notting Hill, You’ve Got Mail, and When Harry Met Sally. And if that doesn’t win her over, add Love Actually and Sleepless in Seattle to the list. With all the snuggling and unrealistic romance, it might even lead to a happy ending.

4. Words of Affirmation ideas

For him

Wake him up on Valentine’s Day with, “Honey, you’re the best dick I’ve ever had.” He won’t care if you’re lying.

For her

When you wake up together on Valentine’s Day morning, gaze into her eyes, place a hand on her cheek, and say, “You’re beautiful inside and out. I love you more each day.” Pro tip: Prepare for her to get the ick and ask if you hit your head on the nightstand.

5. Physical Touch ideas

For him

Oops, I confused acts of service with physical touch… but we’ve already made it this far, so there’s no turning back. See how long you can run your hands through your man’s hair before he gets fed up and tells you to knock it off, assuming he still has hair. But don’t stop there. Poke his “cute little butt” every time he walks by, and to top it off, hold his hand all day long. Seriously, all day. Make sure you do everything together on Valentine’s Day.

For her

Two words: Massage oil. But first, refer to point three above (quality time). When you’re done, follow up with a relaxing full-body massage. Start with her shoulders, work your way down, and make it all about her. No shortcuts. No expectations. Just her. Trust me, you’ll thank me for this one — eventually.

Wrap it up

Oops, I mean, wrapping up. Now you’ve got the cheat sheet for Valentine’s Day success. Just remember, it’s the thought that counts. So no matter how wrong your gift is, the fact that you remembered and tried to make your corn muffin feel special will mean everything. (But seriously, I hope you get laid. If not, there’s always next year!)

See you soon,

Alexis

P.S. If you enjoyed this piece, let me know by tapping the ♡ button below and leaving a juicy comment.

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Today I’m answering a reader’s question about dating after divorce. I’ve had this piece queued up for a while, but I have been hesitant to share it, as in answering Asia’s question, I’ve had to reflect on my own ways and my past, which isn’t always easy (but it is enlightening). So here goes nothing! Make sure you keep reading after my response because couples and sex therapist kindly answered a few questions on the topic.

Do you have any tips for getting back into dating after a longgggg post-divorce hiatus? I’m thinking about it, but haven’t acted on it yet.
— from

Truthfully, after I divorced, I didn’t wait very long to date. While I felt relieved that my marriage had ended, I also felt a bit lost and scared that somehow I’d end up alone, which, in hindsight, is silly. But I was 33, many of my friends were married, some were having (or had already had) kids, and I was starting over. It was scary!

Rather than sit with the discomfort, I revisited a past relationship. After quickly realizing that was a mistake (well, not a mistake per se, but a safe, comfortable choice that wasn't the right one), I created a Bumble profile just to see what was out there. But really, I think I did it to feel better about my situation and to feel like there would eventually be someone else out there for me.

There was one date that ended terribly, with the guy basically telling me it wasn’t worth it because I didn’t want to hook up. I reported his ass to Bumble immediately, and then closed my account. I think I was just unlucky, but after that, I tried to focus on living my life and doing what I enjoyed. I focused on hanging out with close friends and tried to change my mindset. If I were meant to meet someone, I would.

From that point on, I didn’t really think about whether I should or shouldn’t be dating. If I met someone organically and wanted to get to know them better, I was open to it. I’ve never actively chosen to be on a dating hiatus, so it’s hard for me to relate 100% to that part of your question, but I think it would be helpful to figure out why you’re only thinking about it and haven’t acted on it yet. Do you really want to date someone? Or, perhaps you think you should be dating?

There are loads of perks to being single, too, as I’m sure you know. When I met my now-partner about seven months after my marriage ended, I thought it was too soon. I had also just moved from New York City to Amsterdam, and I felt like I should be dating around before getting cozy with someone. We met through friends, and of course, it happened when I wasn’t really “looking”. After hesitating for a while, I realized that there’s no right or wrong time to start dating after divorce or to start a relationship, regardless of your situation (assuming you’re personally in a good place). If you’re enjoying your time with someone, it’s worth exploring.

That’s my two cents, but because I think your question is likely relatable to many, whether they’ve taken a break from dating after divorce or for other reasons, I consulted a professional as well. I asked couples and sex therapist a few related questions. Read on to find out what she said.

Dating after divorce Q&A with couples and sex therapist Kate Engler

How can you know if you’re ready to date after a divorce? What signs should you look for?

I think you will know when you are ready to date after a divorce when you feel ready. I don’t mean that to sound glib or in a “duh” kind of way. I just meant that it’s different for everyone, and I don’t know if there’s really a measure or readiness. Some people jump in immediately, and that works for them; some people wait years. Some start and quickly realize it’s too soon, and others wish they had started sooner. All of that said, some of the things you can be on the lookout for are:

• Are you thinking/fantasizing about dating a lot? If so, is that because the idea of it is offering an escape or an indication that you’d like to get back out there?

• Have you noticed yourself immediately post-divorce paying more attention to people and/or finding people attractive in a way that you might not have before? For most people, divorce makes you get a little tunnel-vision-y. You spend a lot of time mired in the hurt and pain, or simply processing the experience. It requires a ton of mental, emotional, and physical energy to process a divorce, and so you likely aren’t paying much attention to other people. If then, you suddenly notice that your head is on a swivel and you are clocking every attractive person that walks by, you may be ready to date.

• Some time has passed, and you still find yourself dreading the idea of dating. This one is a bit tricky and individual. Sometimes that dread is a clear indicator you are not ready, but sometimes it’s a sign that you are just scared and avoiding it. There is no rule that someone should ever have to date again after a divorce, but if you know you want a relationship or companionship, and the dread is getting in the way, it may be a sign to push through it.

How can you know if you’re not ready to date yet after a divorce? What signs should you look for?

Back to the feelings of dread — if the dread you feel is rooted in deep grief or unhealed wounds, dating isn’t necessarily going to be helpful. The type of dread you are feeling is highly subjective, though, so it’s important to take the time to really reflect and sit with the feeling to get a clear sense of what’s driving it. And it’s totally ok not to get it “right”. You may think you are ready and then go on a date and quickly realize you are most definitely not ready. For some people, that’s how they figure that out.

Oh yes, that was me.

I wouldn’t say this is a reason not to date at all, but if what is driving your decision to date is based on fear (e.g., I don’t want to be alone, no one will love me, what if my ex finds someone before I do), I’m not sure that you’ll really get what you want/need from dating. Ideally, the motivation to date comes from a desire to add value to your life through connection and maybe partnership rather than scarcity and fear. I always tell people, only date if it’s a value-add.

Do you have a suggested timeframe to wait? Or is it highly individual?

I truly think it is highly individual. I have clients and friends who met their long-term partner just a couple of months post-divorce, and some had been divorced for years and haven’t dated. Neither is happier nor unhappier than the other.

What should you do if you feel so devastated that you never want to date again?

Honor that devastation and give yourself time to heal and grieve. The process of grieving a loss is a bit messy and nonlinear. If you try to rush it or ignore it, it will just sneak up and bite you in the ass. Try to trust that your process. It is uniquely yours, and it will take as long as it needs to take.

What are some good (non-overwhelming) ways to dip your toes back into the dating scene after a long post-divorce dating hiatus?

One of the first and most gentle things you can do is just spend some time getting used to the idea of getting back into dating. Be intentional about imagining yourself on dates, talking to people, planning dates, etc. Focus on what would be good/positive/nice about dating. (You don’t need to be intentional about focusing on the negative stuff. Our brains do that automatically!) Notice what thoughts and feelings come up when you do and attend to anything that needs it. This is like a warm-up exercise for your brain.

Join an app and commit to being an observer only for X amount of time. This helps to minimize expectations and lower the pressure.

Treat dating as a sociological or anthropological experience. You are just meeting people and learning what they are all about — that’s it. I have a friend who took this approach after her divorce and actually created a “field notes” journal for herself. She had several categories (e.g., who, how they met, where they went on the date, what they talked about, if they hooked up, initial impressions, and then thoughts a few days later).

She approached her dates as data collection opportunities, and it took so much of the weight off, and even the bad dates became interesting data. (I told her she needed to publish her notes as a book!).

OMG, I want to read that book! One last general question. I’m curious, what are your thoughts on dating apps?

I, like most people, have mixed feelings about dating apps. They are helpful in that they offer a pretty low-stakes way to get back out there if you want to, and the reality is that is how the overwhelming majority of people date.

You don’t have to leave the house; you can get your bearings before you take action, and you can observe long enough to get comfortable. However, I think they can also be tedious and weird, and leave too much room for ascribing meaning to people’s behaviors without all of the necessary info.

I have so many clients who will talk to me about a messaging conversation they are having with someone on an app, and they report something like, “This person’s slow response means they aren’t interested,” or “They’re entitled and giving me the runaround.” Then I’ll have another client tell me, “I was slow to respond because I was busy with work, and this person assumed I was giving them the run around or I wasn’t interested.”

My preference is always that people get out in the world and actually meet people, especially post-divorce. Sitting alone in your house swiping can get really depressing! I encourage people to get involved in something they already enjoy or have wanted to try; that way, they can meet people in real time and have a baseline of shared interests.

💬 Over to you, readers! Do you have any advice on this topic? Or related questions? Let’s chat in the comments!

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See you soon,

Alexis

P.S. To submit a related (or completely different) question to my advice column, reply to this email or write to me at alexismeradamen@substack.com. Whether you’re looking for real advice, a new perspective, or an absurd answer to a silly question, nothing is off limits! (If I don’t have an answer, I’ll find someone who does!)

It’s quick to make and easy to store in the fridge for a grab-and-go snack, breakfast, or post-dinner treat, with just the right amount of sweetness and a dense, moist texture. Give it a try, and let me know what you think.

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Happy cooking and eating!

Alexis

The recipe: baked banana oat bites

Ingredients (serves 2–4)

• 2 extra ripe bananas

• 4 tbsp oats

• 2 medium–large eggs

• 3 heaping tbsp Greek yogurt (10% fat)

• 1 tbsp cinnamon

• 1 tbsp vanilla sugar or vanilla extract

• Optional: honey, for drizzling

Cooking instructions

1. Mash. Slice bananas into a bowl and mash, leaving a few small lumps.

2. Mix. Add oats, eggs, yogurt, cinnamon, and vanilla. Stir until blended.

3. Bake. Pour into an oven-safe dish (I used the 23x15x5 cm version of this oven dish from IKEA). Bake at 220°C / 425°F for 30–40 minutes, until a toothpick comes out clean.

4. Cool. Let it chill in the fridge for a few hours or overnight.

5. Serve. Slice into squares and enjoy as an on-the-go breakfast or snack. I don’t recommend rewarming this or eating it warm from the oven. I enjoyed it much more when it was cold! Drizzle with honey for a sweeter taste, or enjoy it with your preferred nut butter.

Quick tips

• Keep slices in an airtight container in the fridge for up to 4 days.

• Friendly reminder: use extra ripe bananas!

OK, ENJOY!

I share new recipes once a month or so to inspire you (and me) to experiment more in the kitchen, but I also publish personal essays, humor pieces, and writing on wellbeing, travel, and more. I have many interests. 😉 Thanks for reading!

P.S. If you know someone who might like this recipe, why not share it?

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