Good morning everyone,
Hope your weekend was restful. I was grasping feverishly for mine after a haunted week in which my “team” at my day job (I use quotes because I’m remaining as emotionally detached from this job as possible, and calling it a team is a little too intimate for me at this point), had a summer sync in which everyone populated a deck with images of their summer and then spoke to some of the highlights in real time (because apparently we’re not ingesting enough imagery from other people’s lives as is). I’ve spent my summer battling hormonal acne and wearing the same two linen pants everyday, so as refreshing as it might have been for others to hear this, I opted out of the exercise. I gave myself permission to mute the meeting and minimize its screen so I could work on the illustrations for this newsletter instead. (I work for a very large company, so no one there knows what I look like or reads this, which at this time is a comfort to me.) My friends weighed in and agreed this summer sync was a mental health crisis and we would love to find/invent a resort for people who think too much. It might just be nature.
Anyway, onto the topic of the week: themes from my teenage years are reemerging in my thirties (and not just the fashion).
1) acne
(and this next part is in the Christmas song too:)
It’s important to the drama of this situation to note that I’d just rounded the corner on about a year and half off of birth control (which explains the uptick in hormonal side effects that I’m feeling these days now that I really stop to think about it). My decision to stop taking the pill was layered, and to avoid sending anyone down the birth control x pheromones rabbit hole I went down, I’ll just leave it at the fact that I wasn’t really feeling like myself in March 2022 and I wanted to kind of strip down to get to the bottom of that.
So, hearing that my only two options at this point were hormone medication a or hormone medication b, I felt stuck. Venting to my mom about this over the phone, she reminded me that there might be a third option: the natural route. Determined to prove my derm wrong, I’m trying acupuncture for the first time tomorrow (which apparently might also be great for my IBS?), stay tuned.
2) pms + periods
After 22 years of menstruation, my period continues to keep me on my toes with returning symptoms and even some new ones all together:
3) social events where i feel out of place
Outfits aside, bar-mitzvahs and weddings alike have made me acutely aware of my singledom. As a 6th and 7th grader, no one was really coupled up, but I remember noting how painfully embarrassed I was by the vulnerability involved in having and acting on a crush. There was a dance at bar/bat-mitzvahs that brought this sensation to the forefront. It was called “snowball”. The way it would work is that all the kids at the party would circle up around the kid who was getting bar-bat-mitzvah’d—a big circle, leaving room in the middle to dance. That kid would pick someone from the circle to slow dance with and after maybe 30 seconds or so, the DJ would announce “snooowballll.” That pair would then part and each pick a new partner to dance with. This pattern would continue (snowball out) until everyone was slow dancing. My friends loved this portion of the night, seeing snowball as a safe way to be close to their crush. Snowball is when I’d run to the bathroom and hide. I excluded it from my bat-mitzvah party and people were upset; I felt powerful and proud.
And now at weddings, a somewhat similar feeling rushes over me as I stand in a buffet or bar line alone, suddenly blinded by a flurry of engagement rings and wedding bands.
Seemingly everyone has kind of gone ahead and started doing this I guess? It’s….normal????
The difference between now and then is that when I feel behind the curve, I know that it’s simply not my curve (more realistically: I have a spiral and FaceTime my friends crying and we have an emergency dim sum brunch to remind ourselves that we’re exactly where we need to be. That was last weekend.) It’s easy to get tangled with outside expectations. There are days and moments where I start to hear a little voice poke in to say “well hurry up and get there already”—with work, decorating my apartment, my romantic life, etc., and a) I’m not racing anyone, and b) let’s say I was, thinking this way—that I’m terribly behind, will have me stalled and pacing in circles.
The return of some of this teenage angst has been a nice exercise in perspective. When I review the past 20ish years, I don’t wish I’d rushed through certain parts or arrived at stepping stones faster. I do have to share that I’m watching Felicity right now and there is a part of me that wishes I could have been at the place to have adult, vulnerable and emotionally mature relationships at 19—and the confidence to shop off all my hair—but for now, I’m very happy watching young Persian cat looking Kerri Russel do that. This is very inner child healing-y, but when I extend some compassion to sweaty and slimy teenage me, I’m reminded to appreciate and savor where 32 year-old (and apparently still pimply) me is at right now.
Have a nice week, and keep your eyes open for a diary comic soon,
💗ariella
Your art makes anything look cute, istfg. I adore it so damn much. You’ve helped me embrace *my* messy body and mind in a gentle, beautiful, quirky way. Can’t get enough of your words. 💕
my thirties have been huge for healing my inner teen - letting myself rebel and break the rules i wouldn't/was afraid to when i was a "good girl." and ugh...the adult acne!!! i had really clear skin until my mid-twenties and i've had quite a few cycles of battling it since. i thought about going back on tretinoin but picked up Differin as a cheaper/more accessible option and it's working really well!