#8: is it anxiety or generational trauma?

and a list of home items I've recently purchased

Hi everyone! Hope you’re having a nice weekend. 

I know the Met Gala has been overly discussed this week, and while I very much have *a lot* to say on the topic (which you can read more of if you’re a paid subscriber), I’ll add here only a very specific contribution to the influx of headlines, stories, and analyses you’ve probably also over-consumed this week:

Shawn Mendez’ chipped nails.

I can’t.

I know it might be painful to watch the entire video (it was *so cringe* for me), but I highly encourage you do. 

But to the important stuff! This week, I’m sharing a personal story about generational trauma. It’s a word that gets thrown around a lot, but what does it actually look like? The story down below is about me trying to navigate the murky waters of my own generational trauma. 

Also, a list of home items I’ve recently purchased down below. Not groundbreaking, but I always enjoy seeing what people are spending their $ on so I thought why the hell not! Lastly, Mom Tingz. The theme: asking for help. 

See you next week! 

ONE LOVE, 

Alex 


In this week’s LETs TALK, we talked about the Met Gala and celebrities. Do they even matter anymore?

“My mind has shifted lots since becoming a first time mom. I’m so hyper aware now of time and my own emotional real estate and I sometimes wonder how the actual f celebrities of that money making caliber aren’t doing better things with their time and money. And maybe deep down I’m annoyed with myself for even scrolling and pouring my energy into being annoyed where it could be reserved for something else.”

noted: be mindful of your emotional real estate, comment by Jenny

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Is it anxiety or generational trauma?

Have you ever heard the saying, When you heal yourself, you heal seven generations back and seven generations forward? 

I first heard about this concept when I lived in LA six years ago. I never gave it much thought until my physical therapist and mentor in Sedona mentioned it to me during one of our first sessions, two years before Rocky was conceived. “Your body stores all of the unhealed past, and it is asking for you to heal it, for yourself and your lineage, both past and future,” she told me. 

I’ve read a lot of books on generational trauma since then, but I never had any tangible examples of how healing my own traumas could impact the past and future. Until recently. 

When my daughter was born, I was one of the lucky ones who didn’t experience any issues breastfeeding. My milk came in immediately, which I later found is rare after a caesarean birth. She latched right away, and all of it was pretty seamless. And I loved it. I loved feeding her. It immediately felt like I had always imagined it would feel: a bonding experience. 

Fast forward a few months later, I started getting insane anxiety, seemily out of nowhere, over my ability to feed my daughter. As my breast engorgement started to cease, my fears around losing my milk increased simultaneously. I turned nervously to Google: 

How do you know you’re making enough milk? 

Can your milk dry up? 

How do you keep your milk levels up?

I read endless articles and anxiously messaged friends about their experiences. My immense fear (and how it was manifesting in my body) was intense and also irrational, but it was all I could think about, no matter how many reassurances I’d get from friends and online forums. Nothing about my breastfeeding journey indicated that I should be concerned. And yet, my inner dialogue convinced myself I wouldn't be able to feed my daughter; that it was something I must prepare for somehow. And it struck every nerve in my body. 

I knew I needed to do something about this, about all the fear and anxiety that was overtaking me mentally, physically and emotionally (I was a hot mess). I’d learned in working with my mentor in Sedona to address my anxieties instead of pretending they didn’t exist. And so I decided to confront myself, confront the fears of not being able to feed my daughter, and sat down to meditate and explore. In a meditative state, I asked myself:

Where does this fear come from?

Why am I so obsessed with this?

What is the anxiety trying to show me?

As I closed my eyes, connected to myself and my body, within a matter of seconds I saw an image of my mom as a baby. I saw her in a crib in the orphanage in Pakistan, where she was dropped off by her mother shortly after birth. I saw her crying, screaming almost. No one was tending to her. No one was holding her. And she seemed hungry. 

Without any control, tears streamed down my face. Every baby deserves to be loved, to be fed, to be held with care. And the image of my own mother not receiving these basic human rights caused me immense heartache. 

When I opened my eyes, I cried endless tears. For my mother, the baby version of her. And for my adult mother, and all the ways she had to carry that pain with her her whole life.  

“I know that my mother’s pain lives in me on a cellular level. And that by healing myself, I’m healing the past and future; for me, for my mother, and for my daughter.”

Moments later, my daughter woke up from her nap. I ran to the bedroom and gently placed my daughter’s face near my breast. Suddenly, feeding her felt so different. As the dots connected in my mind, I felt ridden of all of the anxious thoughts that previously consumed me. I felt so much relief and grief siminoustanely. 

As I looked down at my daughter’s face, and watched her beautiful eyes stare back at me, I thought of my mother and felt so connected to her. As though every time I fed my daughter, in some inexplicable way, I was also feeding my mother. Like I was helping ease her pain somehow. 

I truly have no idea if my mom was held and loved as a baby. I don’t know how accurate the vision I had of her as a baby really was. But I know that my mother’s pain lives in me on a cellular level. And that by healing myself, I’m healing the past and future; for me, for my mother, and for my daughter Rocky. My fears have fully dissipated since that day, and helped heal something in me. And maybe even on a spiritual level, I hope it helped heal something in my mom too. And that in some mysterious way, it alleviated the burden my daughter will no longer have to carry. It wasn’t her trauma anyways, as it shouldn’t have been my mother’s to experience either.  

LET’S TALK: Do you have any examples of when you realized certain anxieties were passed down? Or any stories around the topic of generational trauma? Any books or videos on this topic you’d like to share? Do you want to know more about it? I could write about this for dayssssss.

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12 things I recently bought for our new home

I’m painfully conflicted about promoting materialism but I always love reading these types of lists...so here we are. Hope you like it, but also, 🖕🏼@ capitalism.

I could write an entire article on my love for these glasses. Best money I’ve ever spent. I feel like a badass French boss bitch who is forever disappointed in her team while drinking out of these, with my red-stained cigarette somewhere closeby. 

This cookbook. I’ll report back. 

I’ve eyed this Ikea outdoor couch for literally three years (maybe four?) and I can’t believe we finally own it. P.S Why the fuck is outdoor furniture so goddamn expensive?! I also got this Hay outdoor chair

I’ve had this blanket in my cart for a solid 14 months and I finally caved. It’s not as soft as I would like it to be but whenever my eyes catch the mushrooms, I experience mini heart explosions. 

Also, I’ve almost purchased this print 10,000+ times over the last three years and it’s finally mine. The mental process of deciding when it’s time to purchase something is a really, really fascinating part of being a modern human nowadays. How many times do you put things in your cart to only close the browser? Anyone?! 

This thrifted frog vase. I’m *obsessed* and life will never be the same.

A bamboo mattress for my cutlery. 

I’ll cry over this chair for a long, long time. I love thinking about this being a piece that will travel with us from home to home forever. I’ve *never* spent this much money on a CHAIR, so it definitely feels like a forever investment. 

I thrifted this bamboo candle holder, and suddenly I feel the need to change my name to Alma. Or Rozalin. A name which embodies a recently divorced spiritual boho woman who lives out the rest of her days listening to nature and painting watercolors with a glass of homemade kombucha in her hands at all times.

This $40 Amazon shoe rack which Urban Outfitters is selling for $100. The audacity. 

There aren’t enough words in the English language to describe how soft this bath mat is. I imagine this is what it feels like to be held like a baby in Tom Hardy’s biceps. 


MOM TINGZ: asking for help

It takes a village. It’s a sentence that thoroughly annoys me. Mostly because we don’t have a village. But more honestly, because we don’t want our village. Respectfully, of course. But even as I write this, I must admit that no matter how we feel about our available village, it is true that it DOES take a village. *Sigh.*

While the newborn phase was pretty fucking intense, lately Rocky has been demanding a different part of my energy, both physically and mentally, and most days I feel like I’m running on empty. Especially as I start pursuing different projects and consulting gigs. It’s been *a lot* and I’ve had a hard time admitting I need help. But, I do. We do.

Luckily, we found the sweetest 21-year-old in our town who is coming a couple of times a week to help out. She came on Wednesday for the first time, and it was so interesting handing over my baby to someone I barely know. Because of the pandemic, Rocky really hasn’t been around that many people (both a blessing and a curse), and I was surprised by how well she did with her. Our babysitter held her for a solid 30 minutes, which is the longest Rocky’s been in someone’s arms. She also confidently and reassuringly offered to take Rocky to the park “whenever I feel comfortable,” and I told Kevin later that evening I don’t think I ever will. There are microscopic parts of parenting that no one talks about. Like deciding who you trust to drive your child around. The answer: no one. Ever. Lol. But it is an interesting topic to think about, and one I'm not quite prepared to delve into just yet. 

I’m very grateful to have found someone who Rocky seems to like, and who genuinely might be the sweetest person I’ve ever met. For now, I’m so happy she’s our village.


IRL UPDATE in photos