Welcome To The Bitchery
Welcome To The Bitchery

Bonjour, y’all. It’s your favorite former demi-vièrge who used to be super-active here and then inadvertently did a slow fade.

Hope y’all don’t mind the most jumbled update of all time.

Yesterday marked two months since my mom died. She entered hospice care at the beginning of June, just thirteen months after her initial cancer diagnosis.


I miss her every single day. I no longer get hit with the overwhelming, can’t-breathe, can’t-think, heartwrenching grief daily, but it still shows up.

It showed up again Saturday night. Beau and I were out in the Midwest for a week visiting his family and our friends. (We moved to the Atlanta area earlier this year). Beau’s brother and SIL had a baby eight weeks ago who we finally got to meet. He’s our first nephew, and I’m absolutely smitten. I spent as much time with the little tyke during our stay, but saying good-bye to him Saturday night was too much.

Part of it is how much I want a baby, but I need to wait until my Crohn’s gets better.

Most of it was just the painful reminder that my children will never know my mom.


Before my mom died, she and I did get to spend more quality time together. I basically moved back in with my parents this summer. Mom and I cried together when she confessed that one of her only regrets is that she won’t be there for me during my future pregnancy, and that she won’t know her grandchildren.

Support when you’re grieving slowly fades away after a week or two. I can’t blame anyone. My family felt incredibly loved all summer. We received so much food both while Mom was in hospice and again after her death that we had to throw some of it away. (Pro-tip: grieving families want restaurant gift cards and freezer meals). Our house was filled with so many flowers that it was like living in a floral shop. While mom was still alive, she received visitors daily.


But that all slows down and stops after a week or two.

But I’m still grieving.

I had a really bad day a few weeks ago. I don’t even know what triggered it, but I could barely function. I wrote one mandatory blog post. Then I changed into my pajamas, fixed a huge soy ice cream sundae, and cried while binging on Netflix the rest of the day. My dear dear husband came home with roses and chilled sparkling wine for me. He then went back to the store when I said I wanted pretzels with beer cheese for dinner, which we ate while watching The Prince & Me. Of course I cried during that, initially because I’m a softie for romcoms, but then because I remembered my mom liked that movie. She and I used to watch silly romcoms together when they came on TV.


In less-sad news, I quit my day job in May to write full-time/start my own business. Except I put everything on hold when my mom entered hospice care. Basically I’d gotten to the point where I was working 60+ hours each week between my day job and writing, and I’d stopped applying for freelance jobs that I would be really good at doing because I just didn’t have time. Beau told me he was willing to support us financially while I got started with my own business and freelance writing reputation. I would normally have feminist squirms over that, but I supported us financially when he was fired last year.

It’s going okay. I’m getting some cool paid blogging opportunities from brands, which is a step in the right direction. I didn’t get the bookish feminist freelance writing job I’d applied for, although the editor told me to apply again, adding an extra note that she really meant that and wasn’t just saying it. I have one client who has me rewriting his website copy for three different websites. He didn’t even try to negotiate down my hourly rate! It was my first time setting an hourly rate, so that was pretty cool.


My Crohn’s is much better since I started on Remicade and on 6mp. Remicade is an infusion, aka I spend a few hours hooked up to an IV every 8 weeks. 6mp is a daily pill. They’re both immunosuppressants, aka my immune system is shot. Yay.

Anyway, that’s me. If you want to see where I’m writing under my own name, leave your email, and I’ll send you a link. Or you can look up stuff about women keeping their own names when they get married, since I’m semi-famous-ish for writing on that topic.


I’ve missed you guys.

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