Fed Is Best.

Keep feeding yourselves; whatever that looks like.

My therapist gently suggested that maybe, in lieu of knocking myself out to produce my annual holiday cards and letter, I might instead focus on feeding myself three meals a day. Imagine an old-school record scratch paired with a snarling cartoon wolf with the text bubble, “THE HELL I WILL!”

I could not let go of the holiday cards. I hastily created and ordered them. They are subpar (did you accidentally read that as “super?” No. They are not super). Instead of my usual full-page printed letter, I shortened it and put it on the back of my formerly two-sided photo card. Compromise! But it’s sort of like how, although I could have reasonably abandoned my #25DaysOfCarols daily Christmas song videos and I’m sure people would have understood, I clung stubbornly to my tradition, as though showcasing my competence and fortitude. See! I’m still standing! In fact, not only am I standing (insert joke about also doing stand-up comedy? No good? OK, cutting room floor it is.), I’m also singing and writing and making this stupid fucking card with pictures taken on my iPhone set on timer. (Do you guys want a holiday card? Message me and I’ll email you one if you aren’t on my paper card list already. 😉)

Sometimes I’m surprised which things I choose to keep and which abandoned pursuits instead make the “keep me up at night” failure list. Yesterday I missed trash day. My trash is now overflowing after a weekend purge. If anyone braver than I am would like to haul my garbage to an illegal dump spot under the cover of night, by all means, have at it. Ragey though I am about my oversight, I live in constant fear of getting in trouble; I couldn’t even teepee a house. I was the getaway car driver and I prematurely evacuated—true story.

Also, my bedroom door has broken off the hinge (please, no low-hanging fruit, cheap shots about how I am unhinged. Only I can make those jokes) and I think the downstairs bathroom sink is clogged because of beads and glitter a member of my family inexplicably put in there, and just, “Daaaaaaaaad!” These are the things that make me question, for the millionth time, my competence as an adult.

Anyway, my therapist reminded me about my 4-square journal technique I developed under the umbrella of Neurotic Self-Care: Basically I make four squares at the bottom of my daily journal (where I also diligently record what I ate, how I felt, my energy, my vocal health, my cycle, you know, the essentials) and write the ways I cared for myself based on four categories: Physical Health/Body; Spirit/Emotional Health; Career/Purpose/Passion; Household.

See below. I realize you guys can’t read it; it’s better that way.

I told her that I indicated whether I cooked a meal in the “household” category, where I typically list such gems as “unloaded dishwasher and transferred Roomba from floor to floor.” She thought that, you know, feeding myself, might be better classified as care for my body. Jesus, the nerve. She was right, of course. Now I write, “Ate 3 meals” in the top left square. I mean, if I actually did that.

I was talking to my close friend about my guilt about not cooking the way I used to. Then I compared myself to her—I know her to be a Pinterest board goddess who makes healthy, inventive, delicious meals on the regular. Then she dropped the bomb I had not expected—SHE DOES NOT DO THAT SHIT ANYMORE (at least, not all the time). I’d been envisioning her masterfully juggling a full-time job, single motherhood, social life, and fitness routine all the while preparing sweet potato enchiladas for meatless Monday and rotating batches of nutrient rich, colorful soups every week. Meanwhile, I’m lamenting that on Monday I fed my youngest and her BFF a shitty frozen pizza, heated up a bowl of Chipotle leftovers for my oldest, and ate a bowl of Cheerios alone while standing at the kitchen counter, weeping.

She reminded me about the “fed is best” campaign that helped alleviate the guilt and stress of mothers who didn’t or couldn’t breastfeed, offsetting the infamous “breast is best” disaster responsible for so many maternal mental health crises. She told me this has once again become her motto—Fed. Is. Best. Maybe “fed is best” means fewer made-from-scratch soups and more frozen grain-free ravioli with Costco sauce dinners. Maybe it means Noodles and Chipotle are weekly options. Maybe it means taking advantage of the rare bursts of cooking inspo to batch-freeze a fuckload of meals for the weeks when despondency takes over after teaching voice lessons every evening and realizing I have neither the time nor the groceries to make homemade meatballs.

And maybe “fed is best” also means we are feeding our entire selves. Body, mind, soul. Maybe it means cooking kits instead of cookbooks so that you can work the hours you want and need to work; leaving the dishes in the sink so you can finally get to yoga; taking an entire week to do the laundry process because you are immersed in a project you truly love.

But maybe it also means this: Forget the obsessive chronicling of all the household care tasks and taking on unnecessary shit if it means you are not actually, LITERALLY FEEDING YOURSELF.

So for the next few weeks, I’m going on a hiatus from this column and most of my other work. I’m going to feed myself by allowing my mom to help me prepare as many meals as my freezer can accommodate. I’m going to feed myself by being with the people I love and doing the things that feed my soul. With my daughter’s permission, I’m sharing this video of us singing “Hallelujah,” as a December wish for peace and grace and catharsis and breakthroughs. Keep feeding yourselves, my friends, whatever it looks like. Fed is best.

XOXO + Happy Holidays,
Steph

---

Other cool things:

• My first comedy show was a sold-out success! (To be clear, it wasn’t just *mine*—my amazing teacher and classmates and a few badass real live comics performed in an all-female lineup. I loved it! You can watch my video here, but be forewarned: This is NOT a PG set, guys. So if you have pearls to clutch, I would sit this one out.

• Remember my aforementioned remark about my bathroom sink destroyed by glitter and beads? Have you heard me complain about food trash, my Shitchen, or Carbage? My Mother Plus co-host and I are teaming up with Parent Coach Cindy Shuster to present a 90-minute Zoom workshop on January 8th called “It’s Good For Kids To Help: Move beyond guilt, whining, and chore charts.” The best part is it’s only $20 and will be recorded, so there’s nothing preventing you from signing up to learn how to get to the root of the household responsibility battles that bring you to your breaking point. Sign up here.

• Are you a CO local interested in crafting a story that’s perfect for a live performance? My LTYM co-producer Megan Vos and I are presenting “From Page to Stage” on Saturday, January 24th in Boulder, just in time for audition season. Learn more here.

• My paid subscribers have helped me SO much during this new season of single parenthood while juggling work and writing a book. If you have the means, consider an annual subscription of just $30 to support my work on this column.