Lucky Girl Syndrome™
Disclaimer - I realize how insensitive the title of this post is given everything going on in California right now, this was more so to describe my state of mind at the moment (very limited to my reality) and not to be ignorant to the devastation that is occurring. With all that being said, there are so many resources out there to donate/support so please think of doing so!!
At one point, writing what seemed to be the inner workings of my mind, provided solace in a time I needed it most. The vulnerability was a near-constant reality check in which I seemingly could control the thoughts and epiphanies coming from what I defined as the “beyond.” However, in retrospect, these discoveries felt a bit more forced than that given I was so desperately searching for answers, meaning, realizations, anything that would give me some peace at a time I needed it most. I was complacent in my life, and yet controlling of my mind and emotions under what I deemed to be “radical self-acceptance.” My mind was in a constant state of unease and I’m sure that’s why I had a moon face (or at least that’s what Instagram wellness girlies tell me). As I continued to write, and get praise, I almost gamified this platform.
Back in my single days, I would speak about my substack as if it were my personal diary. I think that was a form of my desire to be seen and heard by people who likely were never going to text me back, talk to me again, or worse yet, not even have my number saved or remember my name. I played this game where I would gauge if someone had found me yet (given how truly challenging it is to find me given my VERY public Instagram) by asking pointed questions vaguely reminiscent of pieces I had written. I got weirded out when someone felt as if they knew me, warning me about sharing so much online (bc let’s face it.. I date.. men). But, on the flip side, I would continue poking and prodding alluding to this *thing of mine* until I could guarantee they would look later (or at least that’s what I thought in my mind).
I had vulnerability whiplash.
The newsletter became performative.
A year of sharing so much of myself that it felt as if I had no more thoughts to share. No more breakthroughs that would keep me interested or keep people attached. You knew enough of me, so what would keep you coming back? That’s when I fell out of love with writing. I felt myself pushing and pushing to do something worthy of a story or, dug myself so deep into my mind to come up with something seemingly revolutionary. Needless to say, I was at a very low point guised by this false, forced optimism driven by my desire to have control of every aspect of my life, my brain, but most of all my feelings
Things that used to feel so natural to post online like the fact that I clutch on to the waistband of my boyfriend’s shorts every night before we go to sleep (stage 4 clinger); or the fact that I cried every day for 4 days leading up to my leaving California this past trip; or the fact that on an almost weekly basis, I am swallowed up whole by my imposter syndrome, thinking about how confused I am to have become the person I am and have the friends that I do, feel less natural to post online.
It feels scarier because I don’t have some optimistic, succinct way to describe these thoughts. I can’t tie a pretty bow on them and pretend I’ve healed myself entirely from some of these insecurities that come along with being a girl, or a human. I was forcing myself into this box of self-discovery and self-assessment when, in reality, I was just figuring it out. And, most of the time, was even more confused once I let it all out there. Writing provided me with such a sense of comfort for so long until it didn’t. No longer giving me the high I craved. The high that brought me feelings of confidence I was unable to find on my own. The sense of accomplishment I felt each time I saw a heart or a like or a new subscriber.
Not writing has genuinely felt like a small hole formed in my chest. I would begin to consider sitting down in front of my laptop but instantly be met with blankness. A depth of emptiness that rarely exists in this VERY active brain of mine and that scared me. Instead of pushing through, and making writing something I would soon hate, I decided to give myself the time I needed to feel inspired again. I was getting more and more complacent in my reality, and I was desperate to give myself some time to exist amongst my peers; pushing myself to grow habits, and routines, and read things that furthered my mind, but mostly just rejoin the ebb and flow that is life (without white-knuckling my way in). I took the time to realize that not everything needs to be perfectly crafted or wrapped in metaphor to show depth and intellect. Instead, things could be simple.
Well, here I am, in bed, writing yet again. Sentences running through my brain, scratching the itch that needed to be scratched and feeling marginally more sane than I did the first time. I started this newsletter because I wanted an outlet to express myself, my voice, and my mind, and it quickly turned into something that I saw as a competition. It took the fun away when I started to compare myself to the version of myself shown on the internet. The version of myself that felt the need to revolutionize every thought, and feeling and find definitions for the things that didn’t quite need to be defined just yet.
I’ve come to love those things. The ones that don’t have descriptions. The moments that you kind of just need to sit back and be present in. And, in this lack of pressure, I’ve been able to experience some more of those.
I was talking to Natalie last night about what a difference three weeks away from the city can make. Three weeks away from work travel, from the bitter winter winds (because of my California rehab I return to), from thinking about when to make dinner, or fit in a work out, or the best times to beat the dreaded Trader Joe’s line, from the insane polluted air that surrounds us here. I don’t think I ever really actually remind myself of the absolute necessity that is leaving New York City. For a place that I can love so dearly with nearly every fiber of my being, it really gets to a point where it drains you to a point of what feels like no-return.
I jokingly talk about the fact I have “lucky girl syndrome” in regard to the most simple, mundane things that bring a smile to my face.
On New Year’s Day, I walked to the Gowanus Whole Foods with my boyfriend. Just hours prior, I was crying in the San Diego airport wishing my family goodbye feeling such a wave of nostalgia, gratitude, and sadness knowing it would be some time until we all reunite again (one of my many gripes with adulthood), but feeling an overwhelming sense of excitement knowing I was returning to the place that’s molded me into my proudest version of myself yet. This walk, among many other little things throughout the year, has become our yearly tradition and nothing brought me more joy than helping him pick out the sumo oranges we would snack on when we later got home, bracing each other on our very cold, very windy walk.
This morning, I watched a man run shirtless (in 14-degree weather) belting out a Radiohead song through the Lower East Side. I greeted anyone who made eye contact with me with a Devon-Lee-Carlson-esque-smile pasted on my face. All I do is giggle and laugh and dance around my boyfriend and make silly faces, make even more jokes at work, and genuinely feel present around my friends (even trying to make some new ones!). And, I may not be sleeping as well (from a yet-to-be-confirmed source), but my skin is glowing (thank you to my supplements and even more rigid skincare routine) and my hair is starting to grow back (shoutout Rogaine and fewer stressers). Candidly, I feel like myself and I’m feeling pretty damn lucky.
Tasty Morsels: (I almost called these Tiny Morsels - that’s when you know it’s been FOREVER)
I must admit to you all that I am JACKED - this is a recent occurrence as of the past few months and I really love my sleeper build. This is thanks to a combination of Melissa Wood Health, running, and ballet (and non-eating-disorder-related activities) - cannot recommend enough. Mostly, I am proud of being “jacked of the mind” since I am VERY mindful of my movement and my body
My skin has been LOVING VaniCream... Like the tub you had when you were a kid that was kept under the sink? It has a pump, it’s clean, and it is OH so hydrating
I’m Ms.Bakerito forever and always, but this past holiday break we were kind of laying low on baking given a gelato vendor I worked with at art week gave me 12 gallons of gelato. BUT, we did make these amazing almond cookies and I was so pleased with how they turned out
ICYMI (Paloma Elsesser’s home)
I believe I have shared this before, but as we all are aware sweet potatoes are a main food group of mine and the Miss Ada’s sweet potato hummus is one of my favorite foods. I’ve made it a handful of times and it’s great because it saves well AND makes a really pretty side dish for a party!
I read 31 books in 2024 (so now y’all know what I was up to!!) and my top 3 (in no particular order) had to be:
Cleopatra and Frankenstein - SO relatable and yet profound - laughed, cried, did it ALL!
The Bee Sting - I think about this book daily
Commonwealth - quickly became a favorite author with this one!
The books I disliked the most are below (because I don’t care if you know this and we should all be more honest when literature is bad):
Pure Colour - SUE me!
Good Material - she’s done SO much better (part of me thinks it’s because it is a male protagonist and I am SO sorry to say that..)
Yellowface - unnecessary BIG time
OK WOW!!! That’s it from me!
xoxoxo, Delaney
Glad you're back, Delaney!