Category: Lifestyle

The little life things: cozy habits, personal essays, rituals, daily magic, and observations from the burrow.

Posted in Lifestyle

Airports: The Good, the Bad, and the Stressful

Posted on by Eryn 🐰
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What’s the best and worst airport you’ve been to?

Honestly, the worst airport I’ve ever been to is Sacramento International Airport. I feel like I get lost every single time I’m there. They also lost my checked bag once, and I’m not sure if that was the airport’s fault or the airline’s, but I blame both.

The only airport I would rank below Sacramento is LAX. However, I don’t think that’s entirely fair because I’ve never actually flown out of LAX. I’ve only ever driven there to pick people up. Between the traffic and the fact that I’m not the best driver, it’s always been a stressful experience for me.

As hectic as it can be, I actually do enjoy the Las Vegas airport. It’s busy and can be chaotic, but for some reason, I don’t mind it nearly as much as Sacramento or LAX.

My favorite airport is Long Beach Airport. I love it because it’s so small that it’s basically impossible to get lost. I also feel like I can get through TSA in seconds. There’s a bakery inside the airport that is absolutely amazing, and I make a point of stopping there every time I fly. They have another location in Seal Beach, but that location only takes cash. Since I know I can use my card at the airport location, it’s become part of my routine whenever I’m flying.

Honestly, dealing with Sacramento Airport is what made me learn about taking Greyhound and FlixBus. I would rather take a bus than deal with that airport. The first time I took FlixBus, I went to Sacramento, Vallejo, one of those and I remember thinking that I would much rather take the bus than deal with the airport or figure out the public transportation system up there.

Posted in Lifestyle

They Met Five Minutes Ago. Calm Down

Posted on by Eryn 🐰
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What’s the most annoying trope in books or movies?

There’s something about the instalove trope that makes me want to throw my book across the room.

Don’t get me wrong—I love romance. I love the tension, the stolen glances, the awkward conversations, the moments where two people are clearly attracted to each other but neither one wants to admit it. I love the slow realization that oh no, I actually really like this person.

But when two characters meet on page twenty and suddenly they’re convinced they’ve found their soulmate? Please.

And it’s not just books. Movies do this all the time, too. Two people meet, have one meaningful conversation, stare deeply into each other’s eyes for approximately twelve seconds, and suddenly we’re supposed to believe they would die for each other.

Romeo and Juliet is probably the OG example. They meet and fall for each other almost immediately, despite knowing virtually nothing about one another. Twilight gives us Bella and Edward, whose attraction becomes an all-consuming, life-or-death romance remarkably quickly. The Princess Bride gives us Westley and Buttercup’s legendary devotion, while movies like The Notebook and Titanic also move very quickly from meeting to intense romantic attachment.

And books are absolutely guilty of it, too. Twilight, Romeo and Juliet, Outlander, and even The Princess Bride all have some version of that immediate, overwhelming connection.

I understand why people love it. There’s something incredibly romantic about the idea of meeting someone and just knowing. No doubts. No awkward getting-to-know-you phase. No wondering whether they actually like you. Just: There you are. I’ve found my person.

But personally?

I need the middle.

What happened to the build-up?

Give me awkward conversations. Give me unresolved tension. Give me stolen glances and accidental touches. Give me meaningful moments that make me slowly realize these two people actually understand each other. Give me the period where neither character is quite sure how they feel, but the reader absolutely knows something is happening.

I want to watch them earn each other’s trust. I want to see them learn each other’s weird habits and flaws. I want them to discover why they’re compatible instead of the story simply announcing, These two are soulmates, trust me.

That’s why instalove often feels like a shortcut to me. Instead of showing us why these characters belong together, the story tells us they’re obsessed with each other and expects us to feel the same way.

And maybe that’s the difference for me: I don’t want to be told that I’m supposed to root for a couple. I want the story to make me root for them.

Give me the painfully slow burn. Give me the tension that makes me want to scream, JUST KISS ALREADY.

I will take that over “I met you three days ago, but I would die for you” every single time.

Posted in Lifestyle

2015

Posted on by Eryn 🐰
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If you could relive one year of your life, which one would it be?

If I could relive one year of my life, I think I would pick 2015.

At the beginning of the year, I was a senior in high school. After summer, I was 18 and had this little period where I got to figure out who I was. I took yoga classes, photography classes, and a few community college classes, but nothing too serious.

I was single, working some little part-time job that I honestly don’t even remember, and living my best life.

My biggest problem at the time was that I couldn’t figure out how to make my own fondant.

That’s how carefree I was.

I also had an iPhone 7, and I swear nothing has ever compared. The iPhone 13 Mini came close, but I still have a ridiculous amount of love for that phone. Maybe because I associate it with that time in my life.

I was listening to music I thought was the best music ever made, watching movies I thought were the best movies ever made, and generally just enjoying myself.

Looking back, I don’t think I realized how peaceful my life was.

I didn’t have everything figured out, but I also wasn’t worried about having everything figured out. I could take a photography class because I thought it sounded fun. I could try yoga. I could take a random community college class without wondering how it fit into some five-year plan.

I just existed.

And maybe that’s what I miss most about 2015.

I don’t necessarily want to be 18 again. But I would love to have that feeling back.

The feeling that my life was wide open and my biggest problem was something as ridiculous as not being able to make fondant.

Give me the music, the movies, the iPhone 7, the random hobbies, and the little problems.

Just for a day.

I’d like to remember what it felt like to be that carefree and peaceful without knowing how special it was.

Posted in Lifestyle

California, I’m Coming Back. Unfortunately.

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It’s sad that I’m going back to California in a week.

And honestly, I didn’t expect to feel this way about leaving Vegas.

It’s nice here. Maybe because, for once, no one really expects anything from me. I get to sleep. I get to eat. I get to try new snacks with my parents. I get to just exist.

Today, my dad and I had a movie marathon. My mom and I have been watching TV shows together. I’ve been teaching my mom how to understand Gen Z and Gen Alpha slang, which has honestly been one of the more entertaining things I’ve done lately. And my dad has his growing collection of digital cameras.

That last one made me realize something.

I think my dad is the reason I love taking pictures and videos of mundane things.

Not just the big moments. Not just birthdays, holidays, vacations, baby showers, or celebrations. The forgotten moments.

The random Wednesday moments.

Like baby Eryn practicing the violin. Eryn sitting on the floor playing with her Barbie dolls. Things that happened so often that they were completely repetitive to me. I couldn’t tell you what specific Wednesday I was practicing violin or which afternoon I was playing with my Barbies because, at the time, none of it felt important enough to remember individually.

But seeing those pictures and home videos now is different.

Those are the moments I actually want to remember.

And I think that’s why I document so many random little things now. Because eventually, the mundane becomes the memory.

So, yeah. I’m sad to leave.

Going back to California feels like another sacrifice I have to make, and I’m not exactly excited about it.

Of course, my friends are there. I love my friends. But let’s be honest: most adults don’t see their friends nearly as often as they think they will because everyone is working, exhausted, busy, or dealing with their own lives.

So going from this calm, relaxing environment where I can sleep, eat, watch movies with my dad, watch TV with my mom, and generally do absolutely nothing to a much more tense environment is not something I’m looking forward to.

Especially because we still don’t have a place.

Hopefully, before this year is over, I’ll be able to tell you honestly whether moving two separate times while heavily pregnant was better or worse than moving with an infant.

Because apparently that’s a comparison I’m going to get to make.

And listen, I’ve found a lot of places out here in Vegas that are bigger and cheaper. But if Hector wants to struggle in California, then I’ll be a supportive wife and struggle in California with him.

And when shit hits the fan, I will gladly say, “I told you so.”

Because I’m not just being dramatic when I say California is expensive.

$1,000 out here can get you a two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment.

Meanwhile, $1,400 in Long Beach can get you a studio.

So when I say we’re going to struggle in California, I’m not exactly making up some hypothetical worst-case scenario.

The numbers are literally right there.

I guess that’s the frustrating part. I know what we could have here. More space. Cheaper rent. A little more breathing room.

But sometimes life isn’t about picking the option that makes the most financial sense.

Sometimes it’s about making a choice to follow your partner, supporting them even when you’re not convinced it’s the right choice, and hoping like hell it works out.

So I’ll go back to California.

I’ll unpack whatever we’re able to unpack.

I’ll figure out where we’re living.

I’ll have a baby.

And maybe, someday, I’ll look back at this whole period of my life the same way I look at those old pictures of little Eryn playing with her Barbies.

Something that felt repetitive and stressful and completely ordinary while I was living it.

Something I couldn’t imagine wanting to remember.

And then one day, I’ll realize it was one of the moments that mattered.

Posted in Lifestyle

What Happened to Choice?

Posted on by Eryn 🐰
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So, Gloria Steinem. Sad day for feminists.

I was trying to explain to Hector who Gloria Steinem is.

I was telling him about A Bunny’s Tale, where she went undercover at the Playboy Club in New York to expose what it was actually like to work there. I was trying to get him to remember Mrs. America, the show we watched during COVID about the fight over the Equal Rights Amendment and the women’s movement in the 1970s.

And somehow, in true Hector-and-Eryn fashion, that conversation completely derailed.

Because apparently trying to explain Gloria Steinem to a Honduran man at the end of a long day is how you accidentally end up having a philosophical argument about feminism, motherhood, gender, money, safety, and what the fuck women are actually supposed to want.

And here’s where I’m going to piss some people off:

I don’t care how much of a feminist a man says he is.

He will never fully understand what it is like to be a woman.

He can’t.

And that’s not an insult to men. It’s just reality.

Hector has two sisters, and whenever we talk about women’s experiences, he brings them up.

“But I have sisters.”

Yes.

You do.

But having sisters doesn’t magically download the female experience into your brain.

Because Hector can get off work at 3 a.m. and decide he wants to go sit in a diner.

He can decide he wants to go to the gym at 3 in the morning.

He can decide he’s going to go for a morning run before work when he has to be there at 5.

And he doesn’t have to think about it nearly as much as I do.

Could I technically do all of those things?

Of course.

I have legs. I have a gym membership. I can go outside. I can go wherever the hell I want.

But freedom to physically do something and feeling safe enough to do it are two completely different things.

When he goes running at 4 a.m., he’s probably thinking about his run.

If I go running at 4 a.m., I’m thinking about my surroundings.

Who’s behind me?

Who’s driving past?

Is that car slowing down?

Is someone following me?

Is my phone charged?

Did I tell someone where I’m going?

Should I have headphones in?

Should I not have headphones in?

Do I look like an easy target?

And yes, men can get attacked.

I’m not denying that.

A man can absolutely get robbed, beaten, assaulted, or killed.

But there is a different calculation that women are taught to make.

A man might be thinking, “Someone could beat the shit out of me.”

A woman is thinking, “Someone could beat the shit out of me, rape me, and kill me.”

And we’ve been taught to think that way for a reason.

That fear doesn’t disappear because your boyfriend is a feminist.

It doesn’t disappear because your dad raised you to be independent.

It doesn’t disappear because you know self-defense.

It doesn’t disappear because you can technically do whatever you want.

And that’s what I mean when I say a man can support feminism and still never completely understand it.

Because you can sympathize with something you’ve never had to live through.

You just can’t experience it the same way.

And then somehow we got onto motherhood.

Which is where things got even more complicated for me.

Because I consider myself a feminist.

I really do.

But I also wanted to stay home with my baby.

And apparently those two things are still treated like they’re contradictory.

I don’t want to be barefoot and pregnant in somebody’s kitchen.

I don’t want to be financially trapped in a marriage.

I don’t want to have to ask my husband for money.

I don’t want to give up every part of myself and become nothing but “Mom.”

But I also don’t want to have a baby and then immediately hand that baby to somebody else because our society decided that six weeks is enough time for a woman to physically recover, emotionally recover, figure out breastfeeding or formula, sleep deprivation, diapers, hormones, and the fact that her entire fucking life just changed.

I wanted time.

Not forever.

Time.

I wanted to stay home with my baby until they were closer to two.

I wanted to see the first steps.

The first words.

The tantrums.

The ridiculous little phases.

I wanted to be the person who was there for the boring Tuesday afternoons that nobody takes pictures of.

I wanted my baby to know me as more than the person who leaves for work every morning.

And yes, I know that’s a privilege.

I know most people can’t afford that.

That’s actually the fucking problem.

Because feminism was supposed to give women choices.

Not just different obligations.

Hector grew up in a one-income household. His mom stayed home, and his dad worked.

And he doesn’t like the idea of me being financially dependent on him.

He’ll tell you that’s not what he’s saying.

And maybe, technically, it isn’t.

But sometimes you don’t have to say something directly for your actions and your conversations to make it obvious.

His biggest issue is that he doesn’t like how dependent his mom is on his dad.

And I actually understand that.

I really do.

If you watched your mother become completely financially dependent on your father, maybe you grow up terrified of recreating that dynamic.

But here’s the thing:

That’s his experience.

It’s not mine.

I’ve only ever known two working parents.

My mom worked my entire childhood.

The only time she didn’t work was when she was sick.

And she and my dad made it work.

Their schedules were opposite, so someone was always home.

And I had a huge family.

There were people around.

Grandparents. Aunts. Uncles. People who could help. People who knew me. People who could step in.

My baby will have Hector’s parents.

We’ll have friends, and people who love us.

But let’s be honest about what that actually means.

Do I really want to leave my infant with a woman I can’t communicate with?

A woman who doesn’t drive?

What happens if something goes wrong?

What happens if my baby gets sick?

How am I supposed to get updates?

How am I supposed to check in?

How am I supposed to sit at work and not lose my fucking mind wondering how my newborn is doing?

And then there’s the fact that I don’t even know if I can survive living in somebody else’s house for an extended period of time.

I can’t cook for myself.

I don’t speak the language.

I don’t have my own space.

I don’t have my own routine.

And I’m supposed to bring a newborn into that environment and somehow just be fine?

Maybe I’m being selfish.

Maybe.

But here’s the thing:

I don’t think wanting to be with my baby in my own space makes me selfish.

I think wanting to be with my baby makes me a mother.

And I’m angry that wanting that is something I have to defend.

Because I know I’m going back to work.

At this point, I’m basically preparing myself for maybe 30 days to recover from giving birth before I have to start figuring out work again.

And if that’s what I have to do, then I’ll fucking do it.

Because if Hector hasn’t found us an apartment, I’m going to make sure I have the money to help us get one.

Because I know myself.

I will go insane living with other people forever.

So I’ll work.

I’ll make money.

I’ll contribute.

I’ll do what needs to be done.

But I’m still allowed to be fucking sad about it.

I’m allowed to wish I had more time.

I’m allowed to wish I could have stayed home until my baby was six months old.

Or a year.

Or three years.

I’m allowed to want that.

And here’s where I think we’ve completely fucked up the conversation about feminism.

Somehow, we’ve taken “women should have choices” and turned it into “women should choose independence in the exact way we think is acceptable.”

A woman wants a career?

Good.

A woman wants to be a CEO?

Good.

A woman wants to work part-time?

Good.

A woman wants to own a business?

Good.

A woman doesn’t want children?

Good.

A woman wants children and wants to work?

Good.

A woman wants children and wants to stay home with them for a few years?

Suddenly everyone has an opinion.

“Don’t become financially dependent.”

“Don’t lose yourself.”

“Don’t let a man control you.”

“Don’t give up your career.”

“Don’t set women back.”

But what if she fucking wants to?

What if she isn’t being forced?

What if she knows exactly what she’s giving up?

What if she wants to spend three years raising her child and then go back to work?

Why is that automatically considered anti-feminist?

I don’t think women should be forced into the home.

I think women should be able to choose the home if that’s where they want to be.

That’s the difference.

The women fighting these battles in the 1970s weren’t fighting so that every woman would eventually have to work full-time.

They were fighting so women could have options.

And that’s the part I keep coming back to.

Choice.

Actual choice.

Not “you can choose, provided you choose the option that doesn’t make anyone uncomfortable.”

Because I want to work.

I want my own money.

I want my own career.

I want independence.

But I also wanted to be a mom who got to stay home with her baby for a while.

And I don’t think those things should be mutually exclusive.

Maybe I’m greedy.

Maybe I am.

Because I want more than six weeks.

I want more than a few months.

I wanted until my kid was old enough to mostly use the fucking toilet before I had to hand them off.

I wanted the messy years.

I wanted the exhausting years.

I wanted the years where they need me constantly.

And maybe that’s not realistic.

But wanting something unrealistic doesn’t make me anti-feminist.

It makes me a woman who wishes she had more choices.

So, yeah.

I started this conversation trying to explain Gloria Steinem to Hector.

And somehow I ended up realizing that maybe the thing I needed to explain wasn’t Gloria Steinem at all.

Maybe it was that feminism isn’t supposed to tell women what kind of life they should want.

It’s supposed to make sure women are actually allowed to choose.

And right now?

I’m realizing that I don’t have as many choices as I thought I did.

And maybe that’s a conversation Gloria Steinem would have appreciated.

Posted in Lifestyle

Becoming a Mother Has Made Me Think About My Own Parents

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I’ve shared a few times about my relationship with my biological dad, my relationship with my stepdad, and the fact that my biological dad and I have been estranged for a long time.

I don’t really have anything new to report on that front.

But the closer I get to becoming a mother, the more I find myself thinking about it.

And not just my relationship with my dad.

I keep thinking about my mom, too.

Because my mom actually had a very similar situation growing up, except hers was worse.

Her mother took her from California and left my grandfather behind. Then, at some point, my mom was left with aunts and uncles in Texas while my grandmother continued on to Mississippi. My mom has three other siblings, and from what I understand, pretty much everyone was dropped off at different points between California and Mississippi.

Eventually, my grandfather got his children back and gained custody.

My grandmother wasn’t really in my mom’s life for a very long time.

And as a kid, I was furious about it.

Not necessarily because my grandmother had done anything directly to me, but because I was angry for my mom.

I remember thinking, How could you do that to your own child?

Then my grandmother came back into my mom’s life when I was a teenager, and I remember still carrying that anger. I couldn’t understand how my mom could let her back in after everything.

But my mom forgave her.

And eventually, so did I.

I think I’ve always understood forgiveness as something you do for the other person, but I’m starting to understand that sometimes forgiveness is really just putting down something you’ve been carrying for way too long.

It doesn’t mean what happened was okay.

It doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

It doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences.

It just means you don’t want that hurt to own you anymore.

And now I’m pregnant.

And somehow, pregnancy has made all of those old family wounds feel a little closer to the surface.

Because suddenly I’m thinking about my mom as a teenager.

And I’m thinking about myself as a kid.

And I’m thinking about my dad.

There was a point when my mom connected really deeply with “I Just Called to Say I Love You.” She eventually sent the song to her mother because it was her way of saying, You hurt me. This is how I feel. I don’t know how else to say it.

And honestly, I wish I had done something like that.

I wish I had the courage to have sent my biological dad the song that would have said everything I couldn’t.

Because there are things I wish he knew.

I wish he understood how I felt.

I wish he knew what his absence felt like.

I wish I could have explained the parts of growing up without him that I didn’t know how to put into words at the time.

And maybe that’s why I connected so strongly with Kelly Clarkson’s original version of “Piece by Piece.”

Not the rewritten version after her divorce. The original 2015 version.

The version where she’s singing about her father and the way that experience shaped her.

At the time, I didn’t even know that Kelly Clarkson was pregnant when she sang that version on American Idol.

Now I’m sitting here pregnant myself, and that detail feels almost surreal.

Because I understand that song differently now.

I’m not just hearing it as someone’s daughter anymore.

I’m hearing it as someone’s mother.

And that’s a completely different kind of gut punch.

Because I’m about to have a daughter.

And I’m suddenly thinking about all of the things my parents did right, all of the things they did wrong, and all of the things I desperately don’t want to repeat.

I’m thinking about the kind of mother I want to be.

I’m thinking about what my daughter will remember about me.

I’m thinking about whether she’ll ever sit in her room as a teenager and wonder why I did something the way I did.

I’m thinking about whether she’ll ever be angry with me.

And honestly, I hope she is.

Not because I want to hurt her, obviously.

But because I want her to feel safe enough to tell me when I’ve hurt her.

I want her to know she can be angry with me and still be loved.

I want her to be able to tell me that I fucked up.

I want to be the kind of mother who can hear that without making her feel like she has to protect my feelings.

Because I know what it feels like to have things you don’t know how to say.

And I don’t want that for her.

At the same time, I’m not trying to stir up drama with my biological dad.

He has said that he wants to be there for the baby.

And we’ll see.

I’m not going to deny him the opportunity to have a relationship with his grandchild.

The same goes for Hector’s family. I’m not going to deny them the opportunity to know her either.

But I will say that, in both situations, I want to be present for the interactions.

I don’t trust either side enough to leave my child alone with them.

I know some people will disagree with that.

And honestly, that’s fine.

People can have whatever opinions they want about how I handle my child and my family.

But I’m not willing to gamble with my daughter’s safety or my own peace of mind just to make someone else feel comfortable.

Maybe that changes someday.

Maybe it doesn’t.

I don’t know.

And that’s the thing about becoming a mother.

I suddenly have all of these questions about the future that I can’t answer.

I don’t even know if I’m going to have another child.

Everything is expensive. Life is expensive. Babies are expensive.

And getting pregnant wasn’t exactly as simple for me as I thought it would be.

I didn’t get pregnant when I expected to.

For a while, I wondered if it was even going to happen.

And then I ended up pregnant without even knowing I was pregnant.

I wouldn’t change that for anything.

I truly believe it happened in God’s timing, even if it wasn’t my timing.

But being grateful for this pregnancy doesn’t mean it has been easy.

It hasn’t.

There have been a lot of stressful moments.

There have been health concerns.

There are things I haven’t really talked about on this blog because, frankly, they’re scary.

There are some things that become a lot more frightening when you’re not just worrying about yourself anymore.

I’ve been on bedrest.

I’ve had to deal with not being able to work the way I normally would.

I’ve had moments where I’ve been scared about what was happening with my body and what it could mean for my baby.

And I think that’s part of why all of these thoughts about my family have been coming back.

Because when you’re sitting still, literally forced to slow down and spend a lot of time inside your own head, you start thinking about things you normally keep moving past.

I’ve been thinking about my grandmother.

I’ve been thinking about my mom.

I’ve been thinking about my dad.

I’ve been thinking about the little girl I used to be.

And now I’m thinking about the little girl I’m about to meet.

It’s strange realizing that I’m carrying not only a baby, but so much family history with me.

There are things that happened before I was born that still affected me.

There are things that happened when I was a child that shaped who I became.

And now I have the opportunity to stop some of those things from continuing.

I can’t change what happened to my mom.

I can’t change what happened between my parents.

I can’t go back and send my dad a song when I was younger and say, This is what you did to me. This is how it felt.

I can’t make my childhood different.

But I can make choices now.

I can choose to communicate.

I can choose to listen.

I can choose to apologize.

I can choose to give my daughter room to have feelings that make me uncomfortable.

I can choose to love her even when she’s angry with me.

I can choose to break whatever pieces of this cycle I can.

And maybe that’s what becoming a mother is really doing to me.

It’s making me look backward at the same time I’m looking forward.

I’m grieving some things.

I’m forgiving some things.

I’m questioning some things.

And I’m realizing that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.

But I do know one thing.

I want my daughter to grow up knowing that she was wanted.

That she was loved.

That she was safe.

And that no matter what happens in her life, she will never have to wonder whether her mother showed up for her.

Maybe I can’t change the family history I was given.

But I can decide what I hand down.

Posted in Lifestyle

What I Do Differently From How I Was Raised

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What’s something you do completely differently from how you were raised?

Something I do completely differently from how I was raised is how I practice my religion. Growing up, going to church every Sunday and attending Bible study were important parts of my life. My family taught me that being involved in church was a way to grow closer to God, learn about the Bible, and connect with other people who shared the same beliefs.

As I have gotten older, my relationship with religion has changed. I no longer physically go to church every Sunday, and I do not attend Bible study anymore. Instead, I have found my own ways to practice my faith and maintain my relationship with God. Even though my religious routine is different from the way I was raised, I am still a religious person. I believe that faith is personal, and it can look different for everyone. For me, being religious does not necessarily mean being in church every week.

Posted in Lifestyle

My Phone’s Greatest Hits

Posted on by Eryn 🐰
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What are your favorite 5 apps on your phone?

If you ask my screen time to round it up, it would probably just say Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook.

I know the prompt says FIVE favorite apps, but let’s be real… those are the main three I’m constantly bouncing back and forth between. Instagram → TikTok → Facebook → back to Instagram because apparently I have nothing better to do with my time.

At this point, that’s basically what I use my phone for anyway. So I guess my five would be those three plus Calls and Texts, because apparently I’m a very exciting person with a very exciting phone life.

Honestly, if there’s an app I forgot, it’s probably because I haven’t opened it in six months.

P.S. I’m pretty sure I’ve answered this prompt before, and I’m positive my answers have changed. Now that I’m not working, barely leaving the house, and am basically on pregnancy quarantine, I don’t even really use my music app anymore. And my music app was my favorite app because we have Apple Music which I do not play about.

I used to listen to music when I was driving, working out, going on walks, or even reading. And apparently I haven’t really done any of those things since June, so… that explains a lot about my current screen time.

Posted in Lifestyle

Apparently, Saying “Thank You, Jesus” Is Indoctrination Now

Posted on by Eryn 🐰
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I am not the most Christian person you are ever going to meet.

Yes, I am religious. Yes, I try to go to church. But if we are being completely honest, most Sundays I pick work over church. I drink too much. I cuss too much. I have tattoos. I have had crazy-colored hair. I am not walking around with a Bible tucked under my arm, quoting scripture to everyone I meet.

And I am okay with that.

I also don’t believe in reading the Bible and then turning around and preaching something completely different from how I actually live. I don’t trust a lot of these newer pastors either. Sometimes it feels like everyone wants to build a megachurch, become famous, sell something, or turn God into a personal brand. And honestly, when you don’t have enough talent of your own, sometimes it feels like you use God’s name as your platform.

I also think a lot of people online have made a hobby out of demonizing regular people who are just trying to live their lives.

None of the things I just listed make me less of a Christian than anyone else.

But here is what I will say about being a Christian:

Me mentioning God or talking about my relationship with Christ is not indoctrination. And it is not me giving you religious trauma.

If I mention something that happened to me and say, “Maybe this was God’s timing,” or “I really believe this was God’s plan,” or simply say, “Thank you, Jesus,” I am not pushing God onto you.

I am talking about my own life.

I have never hidden the fact that I am religious. It has always been a part of who I am. Just because I don’t practice my faith exactly the way someone else does doesn’t mean I have to pretend it doesn’t exist to make other people comfortable.

And there is a very big difference between sharing your own faith and forcing your faith onto someone else.

I know not everyone believes in God.

I’m not going to force you to sit there and pray with me over lunch or dinner when I know you don’t believe. I’m not going to make you go to church. I’m not going to send you church service videos because I know that isn’t something you’re interested in.

I understand boundaries.

But I also think those boundaries have to work both ways.

You don’t get to tell me that I can’t mention my own faith simply because you don’t share it.

So what caused this rant?

I showed my friend a video from the Merrill Twins, specifically Ronnie’s pregnancy journey.

At one point in the video, she realizes that they had posted the pregnancy announcement and forgotten to pray. So she stops and says a short prayer.

That’s it.

Her prayer was maybe a minute of a 23-minute-long video.

And somehow, my friend’s partner got upset about it and basically accused me of forcing God down their throats.

I’m sorry, but… how?

I didn’t make you pray.

I didn’t ask you to pray.

I didn’t even show you a church video.

I showed you a pregnancy video.

And I showed it to you because I am currently pregnant.

I didn’t get pregnant when I thought I was going to. Hector and I spent almost an entire year trying to get pregnant. So watching another woman, who is literally my age, finally get pregnant after dealing with her own fertility struggles hit me in a very specific way.

I was watching her journey and thinking about how incredibly grateful I felt.

I was grateful that I didn’t have to go through the hormone and thyroid issues that she dealt with. I was grateful that my own journey looked different. And at the same time, I was genuinely happy to see that the things she was struggling with were eventually addressed and that she finally got the pregnancy she had been hoping for.

That was the part that resonated with me.

And my friend has a child too. It took her a while to get pregnant, so this wasn’t some completely random video that had nothing to do with either of us. She may not follow these YouTubers as closely as I do, but she’s seen enough of their content over time. More importantly, she’s a woman and a mom. She understands what it feels like to want a baby and to finally get that positive pregnancy test.

So when I showed her the video, the point was the pregnancy journey.

Not God.

Not religion.

Not conversion.

Not indoctrination.

And definitely not me trying to make anyone believe what I believe.

There just happened to be a one-minute prayer in a 23-minute video.

And apparently, that was enough to turn it into some kind of religious assault.

I think what bothers me most is how quickly people can take someone else’s genuine expression of faith and turn it into something malicious.

If someone is constantly telling you that you’re going to hell, telling you that you need to accept their religion, refusing to respect your boundaries, or pressuring you to participate in their religious practices, then yes, that’s different.

But someone saying, “I believe God had a hand in this,” when talking about their own life?

Someone saying, “Thank you, Jesus”?

Someone praying for sixty seconds in a video?

That isn’t automatically indoctrination.

Sometimes people are just talking about what they believe.

And you are allowed not to believe it.

I don’t need you to believe in God for me to respect you. I don’t need you to pray with me. I don’t need you to go to church. I don’t need you to agree with my theology.

But in return, I would like the same respect.

Let me have my faith without turning every mention of God into an attack on you.

Because I can respect your right not to believe without pretending that I don’t.

And if saying “Thank you, Jesus” makes you uncomfortable, I genuinely don’t know what to tell you.

Because I am probably going to keep saying it.

Posted in Lifestyle

A Southern Accent, a Boston Song, and a Whole Lot of Questions

Posted on by Eryn 🐰
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If you don’t spend your time on TikTok, there’s a good chance you have absolutely no idea who Stella Lefty is or why people are suddenly talking about her.

So let me catch you up.

There is a singer named Noah Kahan, who became incredibly popular over the last few years, especially because of his song “Stick Season.” Even if you don’t know the name, you’ve probably heard the song. It was EVERYWHERE, especially on TikTok.

Now there’s another singer, Stella Lefty, who has been promoting her own song, and people started pointing out that it sounds very, very similar to “Stick Season.”

And listen…

I am TERRIBLE at recognizing when two songs sound alike.

People will play two songs for me and say, “Can’t you hear that they’re basically the same?”

And I’m like, “No? They both have instruments?”

I am not musically trained. I don’t know anything about chord progressions. I don’t know what key something is in. If you asked me to explain music theory, I’d probably just start making things up.

But even I can tell these songs are damn near identical.

I’ve been around for plenty of celebrity copyright-infringement drama over the years. Look at Ed Sheeran. Look at Olivia Rodrigo. I know these situations can get complicated, and I’m definitely not a copyright lawyer.

I’m just saying that if you played these songs for me and asked whether I thought they sounded similar, I wouldn’t even need to think about it.

Yes.

These songs are damn near identical. Like, I’m sorry, but at some point you can’t just put a slightly different outfit on the same song and expect me not to notice.

And then there’s the accent.

Stella sings the song with this very thick Southern accent, which is… a choice.

Especially because the song is about Boston.

Boston.

Massachusetts.

Girl, why are we singing about Boston like we’re about to tell me about grandma’s sweet tea recipe?

Maybe there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. Maybe that’s just how she sings. I don’t know.

But then I started thinking about the bigger picture.

Stella Lefty has been heavily promoting the song on TikTok. And when I say heavily, I mean I swear I’ve seen her mention or post about “Stick Season” approximately one million times trying to get people to listen to her song.

And now?

People are listening.

People are searching for her.

People are comparing the songs.

People are talking about her.

And now she’s being talked about outside of TikTok too.

Which brings me to my conspiracy-theory-adjacent thought:

Is this actually a marketing strategy?

But honestly, the more I see this whole situation, the more I start wondering if the controversy itself is the point.

Because let’s be real: no publicity is bad publicity… until suddenly bad publicity is GREAT publicity.

If you’re an unknown artist trying to become famous, getting people to argue about your song online is still getting people to listen to your song.

Before this, I had never heard of Stella Lefty.

Now I know who she is, I know about her song, I know about the comparison to Noah Kahan, and I’m writing a whole blog post about it.

And now?

People are talking about her.

People are searching for her song.

People are comparing her song to another song.

People are making videos about her.

And now I’m writing an entire blog post about her.

So whether this was intentional or completely accidental…

So congratulations, I guess? You got me.

Maybe I’m giving her too much credit. Maybe she genuinely had no idea people would compare the songs. Maybe there is a perfectly legitimate explanation for everything.

I have no idea.

But I do know that I went from knowing absolutely nothing about this girl to sitting here thinking:

“Stella Lefty, what are we doing?”

And honestly, if the goal was to get people interested in her, it worked.

P.S. I also got into a VERY serious argument in the TikTok comments about this yesterday because someone compared the situation to Olivia Rodrigo and I was like, oh no.

You can compare a lot of things to a lot of people, but I will defend Olivia Rodrigo until the end of my days. 😂

Apparently this is where I draw the line.