If I had to give a name to the era of my life, I’d be in the carbohydrate, chai and romance period.

I think this phase of life begins for a woman when she’s been on her own long enough to know she can trust herself and her decisions. Of course this period only arrived for me after approximately 18-25 years of terribly toxic decisions (usually involving men), low self-esteem, long days of corporate work and half a lifetime of retail therapy. And, of course, there’s the childhood trauma that existed before that - but we won’t get into that right now.

It came on the heels of a lifetime of dieting, eating Skinny Cow Ice Cream Sandwiches for 1 point and watching Oprah yo-yo diet. It came on the heels of only wearing black one piece bathing suits because they, “have a real slimming effect, don’t they?” - alongside an excitement that perfectly shaped plus sized models like Ashely Graham can wear two piece swimsuits so “maybe I am worthy too?” It came on the heels of long work days and wondering if “is this what I’m really here for?” after nights of Netflix numbing and one too many glasses, erm bottles, of solo Santa Margarita on the couch.

And, after 18-25 years, I arrived, shipwrecked, on my own island of mass destruction filled with stuff - there was no longer room to breathe. It was as though I woke up one morning buried alive under a mountain of late night, after work and bad-date recovery, “I deserve this” - packages. The closets and drawers of my home were filled, including every corner of my cabinets, every square inch of my window sills, the tops of my dressers and under the bed, too.

100 black shirts because I had none
117 purses because the other one was too big, then too medium, then too small
31 tubes of red lipstick because every shade was different and had a purpose for each corresponding 1 day of the month
17 off the shoulder tops in various colors because each shoulder hole was distinctly different and draped a certain way on my shoulders based on the mystical math of my menstrual cycle
63 tank tops - ribbed, layering, cropped, seamless
72 pairs of jeans - skinny, straight, bell bottom, boot, boyfriend, flare, wide leg, girlfriend, hi-gh rise, low rise, medium rise - all purchased based on whether or not my ankles or waistline felt fat on any given day
49 pairs of hoop earrings, shockingly, all managing to be different sizes
10 watches with different width bands and faces in case my wrists felt bloated
113 different bracelets - bangle, cuff, mantra, leather, rose gold, silver, white gold, platinum, friendship, beaded - why? Taylor Swift - Era and life’s errors - there’s never enough
23 pairs of black boots in leather, suede, vegan leather, flat, high-heeled, kitten and wedged so as to meet the respective height of your online date who likely lied about his height anyway
5 different gadgets to make coffee ranging from a stovetop Moka pot, to a percolator, drip, french press and pour over but I never sprung for the Keurig because I liked “the process of making coffee”
12 set service of dishes but I lived alone and worried if I had guests, I must be prepared
11 decorative plates for food photography because people like “pretty plated food and I’ll get more likes, right?”
48 cloth napkins because I cared about the environment sooooo much
24 cloth napkin rings because “what if I really do have that epic dinner party one day?”
19 wooden spoons because “they remind me of grandma and making Sunday sauce”
2 food processors, 1 Kitchenaid, 6 graters, 2 veggie noodle makers, 7 large salad bowls
40 plants, 20 plant macrame holders
12 extra plant pots
4 watering cans
2 comforters, one for fun and one for serious bedroom selfies
6 sets of sheets
10 hand towels, 10 bath towels, 6 washcloths
12 throw pillows
6 throw blankets
211 hangers
12 coats - 2 faux furs, 1 long leather, 2 windbreakers, 1 down, 3 mid-weights, 3 wool - black, olive and cream to cover colors for varying functions

I realized that time was something I couldn’t buy and that I had spent the better half of my life giving it away - spending time away. I woke up one day and wanted my time back. I realized that time was only all I ever really wanted. And to know what cake really tasted like when it was not eaten out of stress, sadness, happiness, depression, drunkeness, or another solo wedding or baby shower attendance. I just wanted to taste it for what it was.

Then one day, it happened, one day out of the blue. I realized that time was something I couldn’t buy and that I had spent the better half of my life giving it away - spending time away. I woke up one day and wanted my time back. I realized that time was only all I ever really wanted. And to know what cake really tasted like when it was not eaten out of stress, sadness, happiness, depression, drunkeness, or another solo wedding or baby shower attendance. I just wanted to taste it for what it was.

So I decide to take back time. I donated almost everything I ever bought and saved only the things I made, wrote or read.

And coming out truly was like Diana Ross promised, well, after I wrote 23 journals in an effort to exorcise my childhood trauma and the last 18-25 years noted above. THEN arrived the period of liberation, one where I no longer thought in terms of marriage, children, calories, weight gain or work - but about experiences. And time. And then, somehow, I was able to eat cake for breakfast in peace. At peace. And actually taste it.

Despite having left my home in New York and having donated all of my belongings, working freelance and teaching English classes in a juice shop for free in Mexico - the majority of the population in the United States might refer to this as 1) my homeless period 2) the WTF is she doing period or 3) her Eat, Pray, Love period

I resent all 3.

“Fuck you. I am in my carb , chai and romance period, dammit.”

I’d like to think that leaving my life and stuff behind has been my greatest investment - to be sitting here right now. I’d like to believe that this is exactly where I am supposed to be. In a place where food trauma no longer exists, cake can be eaten for breakfast - without judgement - the body moves because it’s meant to, not forced to, and life has a taste. One lipstick is sufficient, as is one device to tell time and, ok, 4 bracelets. Knowing that work or what I do is not my identity, but how I make people feel and how I love is.

As I am safely sitting in Mexico, in a cafe, and staring at the most beautiful wall, I sit with a rebanada de panque (a slice of loaf cake - lime and chia to be exact). I trust myself enough to stop eating when I’m full or to eat the cake over a period of 4 hours as I write. I’d like to think of this as my period of liberation. I’d like to think that leaving my life and stuff behind has been my greatest investment - to be sitting here right now. I’d like to believe that this is exactly where I am supposed to be. In a place where food trauma no longer exists, cake can be eaten for breakfast - without judgement - the body moves because it’s meant to, not forced to, and life has a taste. One lipstick is sufficient, as is one device to tell time and, ok, 4 bracelets. Knowing that work or what I do is not my identity, but how I make people feel and how I love is. Who knew I didn’t need a full kitchen with 100 objects, gadgets, cloth napkins and 6 different sized glasses to make incredible meals? Who knew 1 pan, 1 pot and a few plates would be enough?

Leaving things behind created space for me to exist without trying to fit or stuff myself or another thing in.

Doesn’t that cake look beautiful? She tasted beautiful too. Food can taste beautiful. I know so. Notice how the light hit her every curve before she met my mouth? Sitting alone never felt so powerful and possibility never felt more promising as it does today. We are taught stuff and our bodies are meant to be beautiful, over time and noticing moments.

Everyone says, eat the cake, but no one ever tells you that the secret to tasting it and enjoying it takes work. I can say it’s been worth it. I can also say that not every day tastes beautiful, but the majority of days do. I can’t say for sure if you also need to get rid of all of your shit to feel free because experience is non-transferable, but it will take some time alone, and quiet, that much is true. Reflection is the antidote for change. And, well, I suppose, a slice of good cake.

The Era Of ... End of May Journal Entry