MiTHology (4.0)

Compliments from uggos: okay or no?

May 26th, 2026

**Note: I, the writer, am an uggo myself, so don’t @ me. I’m a solid 2/10, maybe a 3 on a really good day.**

I’ve noticed a meme lately in which conventionally-attractive or fashionable individuals post about how they don’t want compliments from unattractive people. Apparently, compliments are only valuable now if they come from someone that you perceive as equal or superior to yourself.

I take issue with this.

In theory, I get it. I would absolutely rather receive a compliment on my writing from Donna Tartt than from some teenager with an AO3 account. Similarly, I’d much rather have a priest call me virtuous than your average secular rando on the street.

However, does that mean that I would turn up my nose at a compliment from a teenage fanfic writer? Does that mean I wouldn’t still appreciate the secular rando’s generosity? Of course not!

Of course I’d still be grateful. Even if I wouldn’t take advice from these people on the craft of writing or the spiritual life, that doesn’t mean that I can’t appreciate their seeing me in a positive light and going out of their way to try to be kind.

Because maybe the teenage fanfic writer aspires to learn to write better — maybe she’s trying to elevate and hone her own craft — I should be honored that they see me as an inspiration for that! Or maybe she doesn’t aim to write well herself, but still appreciates good writing. Also cool. And maybe the secular rando is quietly interested in the spiritual life and looking for a way in. To be able to point them in the right general direction by my example would be a huge privilege and honor.

Because here’s the thing. Being an uggo does not preclude one from being able to recognize and appreciate beauty and fine taste.

Personally: I don’t bother too much with my appearance. I do very minimal makeup, because I lack the confidence, budget, and frankly the motivation to do a more glamorous look. Same with my clothes. I don’t like my body, so I dress to conceal the meat-tank in an appropriate way.

But that doesn’t mean I think I’m a great dresser. My look is in no way an example of my actual taste. Just because I dress bad doesn’t mean I like bad clothes!

I am, in fact, able to recognize when someone dresses well or does their makeup well, and I love to see it! If beautifying yourself is how you choose to spend your time, energy, and money, I love that for you! You and I are different people with different priorities. I can see that you are good at something I am not good at. Why must you take my opinion so personally, as if I’m contaminating you with my respect?

Why can’t you take a simple compliment? Even if I’m not exactly Donatella Versace, doesn’t it feel nice to know that some little ordinary person appreciates your efforts?

In truth, I don’t compliment strangers anymore, or anyone that I don’t know too well. I used to do so pretty often — but now, I see it as too risky. You never know who’s gonna take it the wrong way.

So it’s not like I’m personally butthurt by these fashionistas online telling me not to compliment them. Because I don’t do that anyway. It’s more that I just don’t get it — the arrogance. You think you’re so great, so superior, that us basics don’t even deserve to form a positive opinion of you? Talk about ugly. That’s such an ugly way to be.

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One of my favorite things to see is celebrities who love and celebrate their fans. Like how Nicki calls her fans “Barbs” and Megan calls her fans “Hotties,” and so on. When they thank the fans and express love for us. As a fan, it makes you feel so uplifted! Like: yes, I am a hottie — Megan herself says so! Even if I am just a little old trash person! I love it when celebs, with all their money and power and privilege, appreciate us little plain people and are grateful for us and lift us up like that. — So why do these ordinary influencers, who aren’t even anywhere near as beautiful or powerful or rich as Nicki and Megan, think they’re above being liked by normies and uggos? You think you’re better than Thee Stallion?!

Now, I guess it’s possible that I’m just way too easily moved by compliments — by others’ feedback in general. I have AVPD, which means I have not just shitty self-esteem, but a fundamental, unshakeable conviction that I suck. So whenever someone deigns to say something nice about me, it makes me feel like I owe them something in return. (Predictably, in my youth, I was one of those sad girls who said “sure” to any boy who gave them attention, no matter how gross he was, because she felt like she owed them something for being so kind as to find her attractive.) Maybe if I had healthier self-respect, I wouldn’t see compliments from others as valuable, or meaningful at all, unless they came from above.

Maybe people who respect themselves think of compliments in terms of their usefulness. I guess if that’s how you think, I can see how a useless nicety from a nobody would be simply annoying, just an empty little gesture, whereas a compliment from a role model would be a helpful confirmation that you’re achieving your goals.

However: I still maintain that it should not be beneath you to be gracious. You don’t have to believe my compliment matters in order to say “thanks” and move on.

To be bothered by it — that actually seems to betray an essential fragility or insecurity, doesn’t it? If you think being liked by an uggo can bring you down somehow.

A truly secure person should be able to accept and move on. Would Megan really, honestly think I was a “hottie” if she saw me on the street? Lol, thats funny. But she’s also a gracious person who’s secure enough not to be threatened by respect from an uggo.

And besides: here’s the other thing: you don’t even know if that person really means what they’re saying!

Personally, I never trust compliments on my physical appearance from strangers, not anymore. I firmly believe that people don’t mean what they’re saying most of the time, and that more often than not they’re actually making fun of you.

If the tour guide at the children’s museum compliments my beat-up, decade-old $30 combat boots from Target, ain’t know way I believe she means it. It’s just awkward now. If some random teen girl at the trampoline park tells me I’m pretty, I’m flustered and embarrassed and can’t get away from her fast enough. I always wish they hadn’t said anything. Not because I think they’re beneath me, but because I don’t like small talk and I don’t trust them or their intentions.

To all you snobs who are so butthurt by an ugly person’s compliment: why do you assume they meant it? They’re probably just bored and making small talk — or quietly laughing at your weird choices.

There are just so many reasons why you are wrong. With all due respect.

In conclusion: if you’re someone who refuses to take a compliment from someone you perceive as beneath you: I’ll just leave you to meditate upon the words of the great Kendrick Lamar, “bitch, sit down; be humble.”
Is raq right?

May 24th, 2026

TW: I do not recommend checking out the profile in question here if you’re someone who struggles with disordered eating/poor body image. In fact, you might not even want to read me quoting some of the things it says in its reels — I know there was a time when it would have been really damaging for me to even read such things secondhand — so, maybe you should just skip this whole post entirely.

If you keep up with any health & fitness or “body positive” or body size-related content on social media, you may have noticed recently that a certain influencer who calls themselves “@raqisright” is going rather viral. If you aren’t familiar, I’ll summarize what’s going on:

The account has blown up in popularity due to this person, purportedly a woman named Raq (I say “purportedly” because I get the sense this whole account might be not an actual person but just a troll, using a hired actress or something, and could very well be run by some douchebag named Jayden posting from his parents’ basement or some such), posting highly incendiary ragebait about how skinniness is everything and “fat” people (130 is fat, to her, btw) are all losers who need to shut up and cover up. Her slogan is: “make America hot again” (lol). And her claim to fame, if I’m not mistaken, was a reel of her ranting about how girls need to “act their weight,” i.e. don’t you dare act confident if you’re not skinny — “take that attitude to the treadmill.”

As you can imagine, tons of content creators, especially those in the “body positive” sphere, are totally up in arms about Raq. They’re stitching her reels left and right, all enraged and in a tizzy, an absolute uproar, about this “raqisright.”

But… is Raq right?

Maybe you don’t want to hear my take. Maybe I’m not the “right” person to discuss this question, seeing as how I’m not exactly “free” from disordered ideas about eating, myself. (Those demons and I, we signed some treaties, a while ago, and we have a comfortable working relationship these days. I didn’t want to, but it was the only way, since there was no way to evict them entirely.) However, I’m pretty “recovered,” at this point in my life, and I think I actually have a pretty healthy handle on this whole topic, a healthy emotional distance from it. I don’t get #triggered about weight/body image stuff anymore, really, so I can talk about it calmly and, I like to think, objectively. And, perhaps my history — having spent my entire life (from age 14 on) in the ED/recovery world, and having been all over the map, at every extreme, both philosophically and weight-wise, finally landing somewhere in the middle in both those areas — actually might give me the credentials to say something of value on this issue.

So here goes.

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There’s one major reason why people are rightfully mad at Raq. And it’s not because those people got their personal feelings hurt by her content. It’s because they are worried about how her content could affect young girls.

People my age, we are seeing the resurgence of heroin chic (call it Ozempic chic now, I guess), and it scares us; we hoped that it was gone for good, that we as a species had moved past all that, but once again it’s rearing its gaunt and emaciated head, in the world of female beauty standards. We worry about our daughters and their peers.

I get that. I have daughters myself. I’m doing all I can to shelter them from this weight-obsessed world for as long as I can. Recently, they heard a little friend of theirs use the term “fat dumb idiot” as a joke, much to my chagrin, and now I’m over here having to try to teach them that “fat” is not an insult (on my knees, holding their little shoulders and staring into their eyes like repeat after me: all bodies are good bodies, no joke), but it’s also not something we call someone to their face because it can hurt feelings. Try explaining that nuance to a four-year-old. I hate this world. I absolutely don’t want my kids exposed to “thinspo,” to skinnyism, to this message that Raq is preaching.

We absolutely need to cancel content creators that promote EDs. We need to quietly shut them down and not give them another second of our time (which, I’m aware, is exactly what I am not doing, with this blog post, lol). So if you’re really angry at Raq, I get that.

Why am I not more angry, then?

I guess, tbh, I feel for her. I kind of even adore her. And I also don’t think she’s entirely wrong.

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Like I said, I don’t think “Raq” is an actual person, so much as a symptom. Her voice is just the voice of my ED and yours; the voice that we all know so well, and a voice that, as I mentioned, I’ve long since accepted and made my peace with. Maybe that’s why I kind of love Raq. She feels so familiar.

And my heart kind of aches for her, this pretty young woman, because when I was at a point where I fully leaned into this philosophy she preaches — a point where, if I’d had Instagram and a bit more style and confidence, I probably would have created a very similar account, saying the very same shit, tbh — I was the most unhappy I’ve ever been in my life. Letting that voice take over, it does give you a short-term emotional reward, for sure, but it destroys you internally. There is no real happiness, for someone who subscribes to those teachings.

But her account so beautifully encapsulates the short-term emotional reward that I was just talking about: the fantasy of being skinny, pretty, desirable, and better than everyone else because you work harder than everyone else, you can do what those fat slobs are too lazy to do — that high feeling of caffeine on an empty stomach, where it feels like you are light as a feather and you can conquer the world and you are absolutely deserving of everything and morally unimpeachable: that’s the exact emotion that her page illustrates.

Problem is, that feeling is a lie. It’s a mirage, and not sustainable in reality.

So yes, it’s bad to perpetuate this idea — to glamourize the ED life. She should absolutely take her page down, and I hope she does, as part of her own healing process.

But at the same time… is she entirely 100% wrong? I genuinely don’t think she is. Stick with me.

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Tbh I kind of adore this Raq, the same way I adore someone like Britney, or Regina George, or Nicki Minaj (or hip hop stars in general, for that matter). Their world is so different from my own — I don’t want my kids exposed to it, and I personally could never live like that, and have no desire to!, it doesn’t line up with my moral beliefs; but from a safe distance I find them so lovely, so entertaining, so adorable; their confidence is so impressive, and their aesthetic so pleasing, it gives me great fond feelings of “girl power” and all that, and with my whole heart I wish them all the best.

I actually really hope Raq is a real person, and that she’s as happy as she says she is. Because the alternative is that behind the username lurks either a desperately sad girl who wants to die, and/or some pathetic troll just trying to upset people. Also, I like to think that this beautiful life she describes having is a real thing, for someone. That’s a nice thought.

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Finally — and this is the controversial part, so bear with me: I don’t think she’s entirely wrong.

There was a time, not too long ago, when content like hers was just normal. We were all used to it. Nowadays, with the advent of body positivity and #awareness, we’re all so used to having our feelings coddled, that when someone speaks like Raq, without regard for our feelings, it hits like a criminal offense. How dare she! How dare anyone say anything that might offend someone!

But, actually, Raq is right, I think, in a way. Body positivity has, imo, gone too far. And while I don’t agree that heavy women shouldn’t be allowed to be confident or sassy or dress cute, I also agree with Raq that we shouldn’t be “normalizing” obesity.

There’s this fine line here, this gray area, that I don’t know if we as a society are capable of living in because we like extremes too much. But obesity needs to be de-normalized without being stigmatized.

No, it’s not good to be overweight, just the same way it’s not okay to be sick. But that also doesn’t mean that fat people don’t get to exist, to post photos of themselves, to find love, to dress however they want.

We need to stop with the “love your body at every size” thing. Loving your body is not necessary. It’s just a body.

We don’t all need to love our bodies. Nor do other people need to love our bodies. (Someone once commented: “women’s bodies are not advertisements for women’s bodies,” and I think that sums it up.) And fatness is a very normal symptom of life in 2026 America, so it’s just stupid to get mad at people for developing this condition when our society and way of life make it dangerously easy to develop.

But that was a tangent. My point is, I think that someone like Raq does deserve to be proud of themselves for being fit in a culture that promotes fatness. You don’t have to love your body, but if you do, that’s nice; congrats to you. Being healthy and pretty is not necessary, not morally relevant, but still good. I do think we should bring back beauty. I do think we should be less afraid of getting our feelings hurt.

But what about my daughters?: well, as their mom, I’m not letting them use social media unsupervised until they’re eighteen. Social media is the wild wild west, it’s a free-for-all, it’s filthy and unsafe and no responsible parent would let their kids on there. We all know this, or ought to.

If you can’t handle getting your feelings hurt, don’t go on social media. And certainly don’t let your kids on there.

Content creators like “Raq” are just trying to make a living, with their little ragebait. They’re not our babysitters. It’s not their job to protect our kids — it’d be nice, if they cared enough to be mindful of our kids’ mental health, and I’d sure appreciate seeing that; but that’s simply not how this world works. “People gotta eat,” as they say (or, not eat, if you’re Raq, lol). I do feel bad for those young girls who will stumble upon content like Raq’s and be harmed by it. I hope their mothers are there for them.

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The bottom line for me: I wish we could just shut up about bodies. I wish people like “Raq” would shut up. I wish the HAES crowd would shut up. I wish the whole health & fitness industry would shut tf up. It’s an unrealistic thing to wish for, but a girl can dream. They say humility is not thinking less of yourself, but thinking of yourself less, and I wish we could all have such a humble attitude about bodies. The moral weight that’s attached to body size, for us, is so fucking exhausting.

I wish we could talk about body size in a neutral way, that Raq didn’t have to claim moral superiority, that fat people didn’t have to fight for their right to just exist, that people didn’t see skinny women and start shitting their pants and yelling “sOmEoNe giVe hEr a ChEesEbUrgEr” and that people who prefer fat bodies weren’t seen as having some weird fetish or miswiring in their brain. Bodies come in different sizes, some healthy and some not; so what. This bizarre obsession with being able to run a mile or do a pushup or whatever, as if that’s the ultimate defining factor of health — so fucking what. I’m so tired of it.

In conclusion: Raq, if you’re real, keep doing you. Society’s gone to shit anyway, so you may as well keep shining, though I hope you find healing in time if that’s what you need. I won’t make assumptions. You’re beautiful and bold and I sincerely hope you’re okay. Best believe I won’t be letting my daughters anywhere near your circle of influence though.
The secret

May 19th, 2026

to a great marriage, if you want one stupid little blogger’s unsolicited advice, and if I may be so bold as to claim to have figured it out (the secret, I mean), after nine years married — which, despite nine being a relatively small number, I am actually quite confident (indeed, more confident than I am about most things in life) that I may — is: and I’m quite sure of this:

Dumb luck.

You have to get lucky. I’m talking stupid lucky. Absolutely idiotic-level lucky.

Because look at me. I’m a really terrible person. Every time I find myself in an irl social situation, I’m reminded of it: of how terrible I am, how difficult to get along with; of how unbearable, how agonizing is my company. I’m insufferable.

And that’s just in casual social settings. Don’t even get me started on living with me. My college roommates — I scared two of them right out of the room (they quietly requested to be relocated within weeks of getting stuck with me), and two others gradually became my sworn enemies, eventually openly hating me. And not even because of some specific disagreement over any particular thing. It was just me. I am just that annoying to be around.

This is not an exaggeration. I’m the kind of person you want to punch just because of the aura they give off, but you can’t ever quite find an excuse to do so, and in fact you inevitably find yourself mirroring my painfully awkward politeness and forcing chuckles at my uncomfortable, weakly sarcastic attempts to appear comfortable, until you’re so fucking uncomfortable yourself you just want to fucking snap.

Believe me, I am aware of this, and I hate it as much as you do — probably more tbh, because at least you get to request a room change! You get to walk away. If I knew how to not be like this, best believe I’d not. My presence is a curse, and to interpersonal connection I am anathema. That’s why I have this blog — to try and connect and communicate with people minus the crippling obstacle that is my horrible human form. It’s also why I never managed to have a romantic relationship last more than six months, for the first twenty-six years of my life, despite numerous attempts.

Now, imagine, if you can, an individual who’s not only able to tolerate such an absolute disease of a person, but to get close to them, emotionally, despite the horrors.

And more than just that, but to be able to actually crack the thick hard shell of agonizing awkwardness that imprisons the horrible girl, and, for as long as he remains around her, to alleviate for her the burden of being so horrible — to allow her to actually relax and have fun and breathe and feel semi-human. Could such a person even exist? He’d have to have a really rare gift, as rare imo as actual supernatural powers, like legitimate ESP or something, if not rarer.

Now, what are the odds that this one-in-a-billion individual with this superhuman power exists, and exists not only in the same time period as the horrible girl — being born, in fact, portentously, on the same exact calendar date as she, just four years earlier — but also in the same country? Nay, within a hundred, or even fifty, miles of her?

And that, on top of that, he also happens to be, among other things: loyal, kind, funny, smart, and attractive?

And — and this one is the least likely of all — that after being around the horrible girl he actually likes her and wants to marry her? And then, to stay married to her?

What are the freaking odds?

Just dumb luck. That’s all it is.

It actually kind of pisses me off, how dumb my luck was and is. How many people more deserving of a good relationship will never be as stupidly lucky. I wish that everyone who longs to find love could find their very own version of my husband. Unfortunately for them, they will not. Because he’s one in a billion, and I got the only one — stupid, horrible me.

I’m a nightmare of a person. If anyone were to ask me the secret to a happy, healthy marriage, I would simply shrug and point at him, my husband. Oh don’t get me wrong, I don’t just sit there and let him carry me through this marriage; I try, I do try to be a good wife, a wife worthy of him — but my best is, imo, not very good. He picks up my slack without ever a complaint (without ever even admitting, or seeming to realize, that he’s out of my league). He is the glue that holds us together, that holds my life together. He takes care of me completely. For some reason. If anyone ever deserved to have been doomed to a life of loneliness, it is I.

Dumb luck.

“No Mith,” you may be saying, “it’s not just luck! Don’t make it sound easy! The secret to a great marriage is [hard work] [self-sacrifice] [prayer] [apologizing first] [never going to bed mad at each other] [insert whatever you believe the secret to be]” — but I can assure you, plenty of people out there bust their butts and pray and make sacrifices and do all the things, and still their partner abuses them or cheats on them or leaves them. The right person won’t do that (or, I dunno, maybe they will, if that’s been your experience, but it sure hasn’t been mine, and personally I wouldn’t think of abuse/infidelity/separation as symptomatic of a “great” marriage, which is what this post is supposed to be about). And to find the right person — especially if you’re a difficult person yourself, like I am — you just have to get stupid lucky.

Plenty of people out there deserve a happy ending and never get one. Why me? I literally have no idea. It doesn’t make sense. I suspect God has big plans for my children, and really wanted them born.

Or maybe, dumb luck.

Anyway, happy nine-year anniversary this week to my husband.
Mask Off

May 15th, 2026

Hey. I have a question for some of you. And this question might seem five or six years late — but recent events in my irl social circle have brought it back to the forefront of my mind. The question is (and my fellow conservatives and RadTrads are gonna hate me for this, but):

Why do y’all take such issue with mask mandates?

Please, do explain. I’m so curious. Because never since all this started have I once heard a single intelligent, rational argument against mask-wearing.

I get it. Wearing a mask is no fun. It’s uncomfortable. I don’t even have any respiratory health issues, but wearing one of those things, I feel like I can’t breathe properly. During Covid times I got used to it, out of necessity, but still, as soon as I was alone, even if just for a moment, I’d rip the thing off my face, gasping for air.

And they don’t fully protect you or others agaisnt viruses, that’s true! They’re no guarantee that you won’t get sick! However, do masks help some? Obviously they do! I mean it’s just common sense, right? When you talk or breathe, you expel particles — and, if you are infected, germs — from your nose and mouth. Why not have a shield, a barrier of some sort, to slow the spread.

It’s the same reason we cover our nose and mouth when we cough or sneeze. Is covering your mouth perfect prevention against the spread of disease? No, but it helps some, because of the barrier provided by your arm, and it’s also significantly less gross than just coughing and sneezing in the open air! — or would you propose that we start doing that, too? “Can’t no one tell me to cover my damn mouth when I sneeze! Don’t Tread On My Right to be Fucking Gross! FREEDOM! 🦅”

Covering your mouth and nose is common sense, during an outbreak of a virus. Wearing a mask should be too. Isn’t that why doctors wear them when they’re at work?

Why do people think a mask mandate is “the government trying to control us”? Tell me, please, how does “the government” stand to benefit from us little people wearing masks?

I don’t disbelieve that the government does not have our best interests at heart, us little people, and might even be out to actively harm us — but the thing is, wearing a mask does not harm us (unless you have a serious respiratory health condition, in which case, just stay home). So how is the big bad government “winning” by me wearing a mask? In what way is me covering the lower half of my face serving the corrupt politicians and billionaires? Seriously, can anyone out there explain the logic? Even if the government is evil, making us wear masks is not, and cannot be, one of their evil ploys.

“Well it just makes you look like a stupid government pawn when you wear a mask” — stupid because I believe the empirical evidence that there is an infectious virus going around, and I’d rather not inhale your gross droplets? Stupid because I’m following the rules of whatever establishment we’re standing in? That’s like saying I’m a “stupid government pawn” for carrying an umbrella when there’s rain in the forecast, or that I’m a “stupid government pawn” for not shouting at the top of my lungs in the public library.

You know what I think is really going on? Some of y’all just don’t like to be told what to do.

And look, I get that too. I’m hardheaded and suspicious and fiercely independent by nature, too. I also prefer to not do whatever’s mainstream and normal.

But (1) it’s common sense, isn’t it? Why would you not want to protect yourself and others?, but even if you don’t care about that, there’s still (2) the whole “render unto Caesar” thing: if there’s a mandate in place (and that mandate isn’t telling us to do something sinful or otherwise harmful, which this one is not; I can already sense some of y’all about to call me a hypocrite for supporting the SSPX while coming on here and ranting about good Christian obedience — but the difference is, the SSPX disobeys because they see that obedience would actually support sin and harm souls, therefore they opt for obedience to the actual Catholic religion instead of to the individuals currently occupying the Vatican; whereas, in the case of wearing a mask where mandated, no harm is being done and no sin committed, so it’s totally different) — then we have to obey that mandate!

Which is so funny because most if not all of the mask-refusers are Christians! As Christians, shouldn’t we be the best at obedience? Shouldn’t we be okay with it? Yes, obviously if a rule or law tells us to sin, then we can’t obey it, but the mask mandate does no such thing!

Some people get way too hung up on individual freedom and personal liberties. Personal liberty is not the most important thing. God’s law is. Obeying the mask mandate is keeping the Fifth Commandment. Why do so many Christians not see that?

Obeying legitimate authorities, accepting discomfort for the sake of others — as Christians, this ought to be our MO. And Catholicism has always been pro-preventative medicine. I truly don’t understand this back-asswards crunchy culture trend that insists that modern medicine, which saves tons of lives every day and extends and improves so many more, is somehow satanic (until it serves them in an emergency, that is).

There’s nothing un-Christian about covering your face to prevent the spread of illness. There’s nothing about that little act of service that imposes on your “rights.”

“But you can’t tell me what to do” — actually, friend, as a human being living in a society, sometimes you do have to be inconvenienced; sometimes you do have to be told what to do, even if you don’t like it. Wearing a little paper mask is not even that big a deal.

Can anyone explain it to me, then, why you refuse to comply with mask mandates, why they upset you so much? I’m not being sarcastic, I’m seriously really curious. Because tbh I know plenty of individuals who are much smarter than me and whose opinions and beliefs I deeply respect who are, mystifyingly, anti-mask, and I’m dying to understand why — because it just seems like a common sense issue to me. If you think you can enlighten me, I’m leaving the comments open.
What is truth?

May 14th, 2026

Daily writing prompt
What’s a word or phrase that annoys you?
View all responses

Disclaimer: if you’re someone who uses this phrase regularly, I have nothing against you. Seriously: my favorite person in the world, my beloved husband, uses this phrase regularly. Most people don’t really think about it when they say it, and that’s fine! It’s just become a normal part of the English language nowadays, unfortunately. So please don’t take this post as an attack. I’m just taking a moment to wallow in my irritabiliy and give my inner “armchair critic” a moment to sound off, because it’s fun and cathartic, and what else is this stupid little personal blog for if not a bit of fun and catharsis and sounding off.

A word or phrase that annoys me: “my truth.” As in, “speak your truth,” or “I’m telling my truth.”

In addition to simply sounding, imo, annoying, snivelly and whiny, à la “safe space” or “love yourself” or “holding space for…” or any of those saccharine pop-psychology catchphrases that turn my stomach — it’s also philosophically disastrous.

There is no such thing as “my truth”! There is only the truth.

What I have is: a perspective, an opinion, a point of view, a version of events, a personal understanding of what things are and how they happen… but that is not the same as truth.

I get it. It’s just a saying. “My truth” is just a cute, concise, and heartfelt way of expressing all of what I just listed in the above paragraph. However, I still take issue with the phrase, because I think it betrays a flawed understanding of reality.

We say more about ourselves than we mean to. Often, the way we use language conveys things about us that we don’t even realize; there’s more meaning in our speech than just what we’re trying to convey literally with our words. When we use phrases like “my truth,” it exposes a basic belief (or at least a tolerance, a passive acceptance of the belief, which essentially amounts to belief) that truth is subjective. That there is no objective truth.

Which is of course false, and hugely problematic. I suspect that the rise of the phrase “my truth” is just another symptom of (here we go again, with Mith diagnosing grave societal ills while sitting in a recliner nursing her baby, but) this grave societal ill of “me first”-ism. “Self-love” gone haywire.

Our culture these days is so secular, and so self-centered. “Just be a good person” and “just accept everyone and let them do what they want (unless they are Christian)” seem to be the religious tenets that we live by. Celebration of the self and its carnal appetites is a heroic virtue, to us. There is no objective truth — truth is just what any individual wants it to be, and no one has any right to tell them otherwise! To believe in objective truth is offensive. It’s a violation of others’ individual freedoms. “Freedom,” not being subject to any law but ourselves — that’s what we’re all about.

Which is so far from a healthy and sane understanding of reality and our role in it. The truth exists independently of us, and we ought to serve it and be subject to it. We need to acknowledge that our faculties are limited, that we are small and dumb, that our little POV is not the be-all/end-all — far from it. Something greater than us exists, and that’s the truth… but some of us aren’t ready to hear that.

There is no “my truth.” There is only the truth. Saying “my truth” just makes you sound juvenile and flaccid of heart.

Ahem, alright, I’ll hop off my silly little soapbox now. I’ll just leave you guys with this quote from Scripture:

John 18:37-38: ” ‘For this was I born, and for this came I into the world; that I should give testimony to the truth.’ … Pilate saith to him: ‘What is truth?’ And when he said this, he went out again to the Jews, and saith to them: ‘I find no cause in him.’ “
“remember who you are, white trash girl”

May 13th, 2026

Radio ‘round these here parts typically sucks, this being one of those small Southern towns, heavy on the bro country and Prot pop (ugh); but every now & then it comes through. Internally, the radio has also not been great lately, due to recent events aggravating the ol’ AVPD, cranking up the volume on my symptoms, the paranoia heightening like spiny gray urchins of static, ballooning, blurring out even the good channels, the important channels. An objectively horrible person, tense, scattered, sleepless, this morning rushing out the door already late for an appointment I’d forgotten about, now speeding along sans caffeine or makeup, jabbing the radio buttons, seeking something, anything, to do the job of caffeine & makeup for me – when what should I hear but, of all songs, “Let’s Go” by Trick Daddy, a song they never play anymore, much less in this town, a song that I haven’t heard in many years – a song which bears the honor of being my official “coming out as a rap lover” song 20+ years ago, the one that I came out of hiding for back in high school, having pretended for so many years that I was too cool for that shit, turning up my nose at it, pretending to exclusively like the obscure, “cool”, “edgy”, “punk rock” stuff that the cool, edgy, punk rock kids would approve of, until one day I heard this one & knew that i could not, would not hide a minute longer. Windows down, volume up, sunshine, the cool spring wind in my scraggly unwashed hair! It’s ok after all! When I tell you it hit like a hefty dose of the best drug, and all those spiny edges melted, momentarily illumined inside, all fresh & soft. I know as a Catholic I’m not supposed to like this shit, but man, when I tell you it felt so healing, it felt like the Voice of God right beside me, gently whispering:
#8: “Honeysuckle” by Bar Fridman-Tell

May 7th, 2026

Caution! The book that I’m talking about contains explicit sexual content. I do not recommend this book if you are someone who struggles with lust. I do, however, recommend this book if you are a woman who’s sick of feeling trapped by the male gaze/ weary of the stupid instinctual desire to be desired by men.

Normally, I do not read books with graphic content, as a rule. Why did I make an exception for Honeysuckle? Well, because the story is otherwise exactly the kind of story that I love: a weird, dark love story with lots of psychological suspense, ruminating, and, brooding; masterfully written, each sentence a delicious and intentional work of art. And bonus fairytale vibes. So, unfortunately, by the time the story got graphic, I was already committed. Well done, Bar Fridman-Tell.

This is a brand new novel from a new novelist btw. I won’t spoil it for you, but a quick description: it’s inspired by Welsh mythology, specifically the blodeuwedd, a figure from the Mabinogion. A magical-realistic fairytale, Honeysuckle takes place in an alternate-universe Wales, where magic is taught at universities and exists alongside relatively modern technology such as trains and telephones (it’s never explicitly revealed what year it is, but the internet does not exist in this story, which is cool).

The main character is a boy named Rory, whose older sister, a university student, on a whim one day builds for him a blodeuwedd (a living doll built of flora and animated by magic) as a playmate. The story tells of Rory’s relationship with this flower-construct, Daye (who btw looks just like a stunningly beautiful but somehow-otherwordly human girl), as he grows up; he’s eight when the book begins, and nineteen when it ends. As you can imagine, their relationship goes through some intense changes, which are further complicated by the fact that Daye needs to be surgically/magically re-fashioned out of fresh flora every time the season changes, making her dependent upon Rory for her very life — and by the fact that she is bound, by her nature, to obey him. (The honeysuckle woven into her is what binds her to him, hence the title.) The perspective switches back and forth between his POV and hers.

The philosophical questions that it raises are highly relevant to today, imo, in this age of AI girlfriends and robot companions. But even more interesting, for me, than its questions about agency and intelligence and free will, was its study of romantic relationships in general.

I think any girl who’s ever felt stuck in a relationship with a controlling, manipulative, immature guy will really empathize with Daye. Or if you’ve ever been in a relationship with someone who clearly didn’t really see you for who you were, and didn’t care to — someone who was just in love with one facet of you, or some imagined version of you, and only wanted you to play the role of that character for them.

Yeah, you can tell that I didn’t like Rory, lol. In the beginning you sympathize with him. He’s just a lonely boy. Really, the elephant in the room this whole book is his parents’ absence, and his sister seems more rightfully upset at them, whereas Rory just accepts it — interesting; typical older/younger sibling stuff, I guess — but anyway, by the time he’s a teenager, you find it harder to sympathize. The author, an adult woman, has managed to write a very realistic teenage boy POV (as far as I can tell, anyway, never having been a teenage boy myself) and it’s frankly revolting: the tunnel-vision, the sex obsession, the “but I want it!” mentality, the sniveling self-pity. The way they equate lust with love and treat a girl as their “muse” and call it devotion. Ugh. Gross.

Which is why I made the above recommendation of this book to women who are sick of feeling trapped by the male gaze, who are sick of the pressure to look sexy. This book really reminded me exactly what it is that we women are enslaved to — what it is that we’re programmed to be so desperate to appeal to. Just this gross, selfish, vile, slavering appetite of males to penetrate. To put their weenies in things. That’s all. That’s what drives everything. Ugh, reading this book made me want to buzz my hair off, get fat, and quit shaving. (I’m not actually going to do those things, I’m a married woman.) But it’s certainly liberating, to see it for what it is. It makes you want to build some wings and fly away from it all. And I don’t even identify as a “feminist.”

My favorite moment in the book is when Hanna (the girl who briefly crushes on Rory before she knows him too well, but then starts to resent him after he ghosts her because she’s not Daye) calls Rory out for the sleazeball that he is in front of all their friends. Building his own girlfriend who’s unable to say no — ” a pet that he can fuck,” she says, basically, which is accurate. Even if Hanna’s jabs are fueled by booze and jealousy, she’s completely right.

And the gross thing is when Rory’s guy friend (can’t remember his name) steps in to console him like “it’s ok bro! you’re good! You’re not doing anything wrong! You know best, after all!” — EWW. My goal in life (one of them) is to raise my sons into the kind of men who will take Hanna’s side in a conversation like this, rather than enabling creeps.

I mean I guess to be fair, the way Rory sees it, he does have good intentions. He wants to make Daye independent so that they can have a real relationship. He knows it’s wrong to have a romantic relationship with someone who is unable to deny him — but, still, he’s not honest with himself, is he, and he realizes this towards the end. And he’s apparently not that put off by the notion of her inability to say no. We see him take advantage of it several times. (The licking of the lips thing — gag me.) But I mean, boys will be boys, I guess, won’t they. And he clearly never had any male role models or guidance of any kind. It’s pretty sad.

What a great ending though. I think all the women in the audience were cheering at that part: a metaphor made so beautifully literal, a perfect modern fairytale conclusion. Everything came together exactly as it needed to. I don’t want to spoil it for you, but let me know, if you read it, what you thought.
Ultimate Baking Championship Season One Final: Mith Reacts

May 6th, 2026
CAUTION: CONTAINS SPOILERS for Ultimate Baking Championship!!

Well, what did we think of the final, you guys?

I’m a bit sad. Y’all know who I was rooting for. I kinda felt like the judges were too hard on him… “I expected more”?! “The details are off”?! Complaining about those little strings of chocolate on the pips of the dice? Come on now. I was a little peeved about that. Like did they even look at his roulette cake?! With that gleaming, realistic wood grain chocolate shell? And the way that it actually functioned as a playable game?! That thing was incredible.

But as soon as I saw Molly making her little “VIP Passes,” I knew she had it in the bag. It just looked like something that the judges would simp for. And it was. Her whole design was so extra. It was so “cover of Food Network magazine.” As the kids would say: she did the most. She really took the theme and ran with it – those beautiful bonbons! The tempered chocolate decorations! Yes, she truly deserved to win.

However, I also am just kind of generally disappointed with the way this show has gone. Do you agree? It should have been Juan, Clement, and either Robert or Christopher, in the final. As far as I can tell, those four were 100% the most skilled bakers on this show!

It kind of seems like the judging was engineered to keep it surprising, to keep us on our toes. To keep the plot juicy. Not saying that Molly and Florencia aren’t deserving. They are both insanely talented geniuses. It’s just, I kind of get the sense that this show wasn’t actually about raw talent, so much as it was about “how do you perform under pressure as a TV star,” “how well do you represent the Food Network vision specifically.” Which is fair. Molly had the best story; from day one, they’ve been hyping her up as “the exciting one!” “the reckless one!” “the daredevil!” “the youngest contestant on the show!”, setting her up for an exciting victory. Not that she didn’t absolutely deserve the win tonight. She ticked all the boxes and then some! Major congratulations to her.

And speaking of Florencia, she had some guts making a pineapple dessert in the finale when she’s allergic to pineapple and can’t even taste it! Apparently she makes that dessert at her shop at home regularly, so she was confident making it. I’m with Jacques on this one, though; spicy desserts do not interest me. Dessert is supposed to be pleasurable, not painful! But I especially appreciated Florencia tonight, because she was the only one who didn’t use booze in every single one of her desserts.

Well, that’s it for this season. Has anyone heard if there’s going to be a Summer Baking Championship or not?! I need another baking competition show to watch ASAP! Please don’t tell me I have to wait until GBBO comes back in September, I will cry.

HERE’S THE RECAP:

Only One Challenge: Epic Presentation Showpiece: One main dessert and two smaller desserts. Themes chosen in order of last week’s leaderboard, so Clement got first dibs, then Molly. Six hours, points awarded out of 100 (25 points per judge)
- Clement: “Las Vegas” gambling table: chocolate-cherry entremet “roulette” cake; strawberry-champagne playing cards, and chocolate shortbread-praline-bourbon mousse dice
- Molly: “Rock ‘n Roll After Party” blacked-out entremet with stout cake and malted milk cremeux; Old Fashioned “cigar” petit gateaus; and “High Voltage” bonbons with yuzu and raspberry
- Florencia: “Carnival” circus tent entremet with chocolate brownie, spicy pineapple mousse, and guava gelee; milk chocolate flexible ganache pretzels; “candied apple” mousse desserts with apple compote and green apple mousse
Stats: Clement 79; Florencia 71; Molly 91

~*~ Ultimate Baking Champion: Molly ~*~

A dessert is called “sexy”: 0 times. Season Total Sexy Desserts: 3

Superlatives from the judges: 1, Duff telling Clement the strawberry champagne petit gateau was the “best thing he’d made.” Season Total Superlatives: 5

Dead family members mentioned: 0. Season Total Dead Relatives: 4

Duff’s gaping maw spotted: 1 time. Season Total Duff’s Gaping Maw: 16 times (an average of once per contestant!)

The dessert that I would most have liked to eat: Florencia’s faux “candied apple,” which was fascinating, and also one of the only desserts tonight that didn’t contain alcohol

Wins so far: Molly (2), Clement (2), Christopher (1), Casey (2), Juan (2)
nostaulsea

May 5th, 2026

nos·taul·sea /nəˈstôlzēə/ (n) the synchronous sensation of queasiness and homesickness, of fondness and sorrow and disgust, that one feels upon returning to their place of origin/the location in which they spent their formative years

I was back in [name of town redacted] today.

The way it all comes back to you, just flying rudely in your face, lurking around every turn waiting to attack: the cringe and the horror, hitting like a punch to the gut and leaving you breathless. (Ugh, that really did happen.) I hate it here.

But also, lurking around the very same turns, the fond memories of innocent times. The sweetness and the sadness because this place is different now, and the place where I grew up will never exist again. A ghost town even in six lanes of traffic. The ache of grief for something irrevocably lost.

The way it all comes back to you, the smell of mom’s minivan on a hot day and those blue cushions in the kids’ section of the public library that’s since relocated. the obnoxious tune of that one radio jingle you haven’t heard in decades. Realizing how old you are and how relentless is the passage of time.

An abandoned overgrown lot where there used to be kmart – the smells of Little Caesars and hiding in the cheap clothing racks, small.

The way it all comes back to you.

How immediate the past is, always, after all. It’s just time, just days and nights are all that separate us from the past, isn’t it, which sounds obvious but doesn’t always feel that way – sometimes it feels like there’s a locked door or at least some kind of barrier, but it’s just days, nights, and days. You can go somewhere else, but you can’t escape it.

The inevitability of the place.

Like looking too hard in a mirror.

I love it here, honestly. It’s objectively the best place in the world. I can’t stomach it. The nostalgia. I never want to come here again. Get me as far away as possible. How could I ever want to live anywhere else?

When I die, tell them to bury me here: to return me to what I’m made of, dust to dust. It only makes sense. The inevitability. The nausea. It never could have been any other way.
TOP 10: Things I’m Done Apologizing For (An Open Letter)

May 4th, 2026

My dear fellow TradCaths:

You guys are the best! Seriously, some of the all-around best humans I’ve met. I’m so honored to call myself a member of your community since about eighteen months ago.

You all are some of the most genuine, most interesting, smartest, most well-rounded, most sincere, and truly the kindest people I’ve ever been around! You’ve been nothing but charitable to me and my family — even while we’ve been awkward, loud, and annoying, constantly stepping on toes, making faux pas after faux pas, getting everything wrong, and breaking every unspoken rule, every time we’re there. I can’t thank you enough for being so patient and nice to us.

In fact, I feel kind of awful, in comparison. Because I’ve also noticed that all of you are not only nicer, smarter, and better-behaved, but, to be frank, much more well-off, financially, than my family is. I can see this. I’ve heard your conversations about your lifestyles, incomes, and careers, and your kids’ private schools, and I’ve seen your beautiful, high-quality apparel and accessories and your fresh, expensive vehicles. I feel intensely aware of how inferior I am to all of you.

I have this strong sense that, if you don’t already kinda look down on me (which you very well should; obviously, I don’t subscribe to the whole whiny, juvenile “only God can judge me” philosophy; humans are, of course, not only capable of judging, but supposed to judge each other’s behavior and choices, as Father was just saying in his sermon a few weeks ago; and if anyone deserves negative judgment, it is me), you certainly would look down on me if you knew me a little better.

Basically, I’m painfully aware of how much worse than you guys I am. And this painful self-consciousness — which is entirely my fault, not yours — is beginning to affect my faith life.

Comparison is the thief of joy, right? But we could also say that comparison is a great motivator. Rather than letting it get me down, I ought to be inspired by your superiority, and strive to imitate you!

Unfortunately, just being realistic: I’m never going to be like you guys. And, in many ways, I’ve realized: I don’t actually want to. Which is fine! We may be one in Christ, but our Church does not demand cultural uniformity! I’m weird and trashy, and maybe that’s not the worst thing a person can be. I’ve decided to try to stop letting it bother me.

(Keyword here being “try”… being realistic, I’m probably going to continue to be deeply bothered by it indefinitely. Sorry.)

Me, writing this post (image from Pinterest)

I’ve spent so much time and energy, over the past two years, stressing about if it’s “okay” for me to be this way, if it’s “permissible” for me to be that way, if I’m allowed to simply exist the way that I am. And it’s starting to really wear on me. It’s making being Catholic a real drag, sometimes. And it’s actually preventing me from forming genuine connections with you lovely people. I’m done trying to hide my weirdness! I’m done trying to larp as one of you. I’m done apologizing for things that aren’t sins.

So, in this spirit, I’ve compiled the following list of Things I’m Done Apologizing For, as a White Trash TradCath™️. Going forward, I will try to be less ashamed. If this is my scarlet letter, I will wear it proudly.

Keep in mind here that I’m talking not to any real-life individual, but to some imaginary amalgamation of all of you — the fictional embodiment of all the critical voices in my head, which I’ve projected onto you, and which may or may not resemble your actual opinions at all. So please don’t take my bitterness personally.

I’m no longer sorry for:

20. My terrible taste in music. I know you folks strictly listen to beautiful, edifying, worthwhile music. Not I! Oh no, not I. I’m not proud of this, which is why it’s #20/10. But I’m also no longer going to self-flagellate and wallow in self-loathing because I enjoy pop radio. My husband jokes that we should just roll up to church blasting Gretchen Wilson (“I ain’t no high-class broad!“), but being me, it’s more likely to be Future (“’cause I’m always reppin for the low life”) or some such. Don’t worry, I’m not really going to do that. I’d sooner die.

19. My occasional use of profanity. Not around kids or in “good company,” but yes, in casual settings with trusted friends, and on this blog, I will sometimes say “shit” and “fuck.” I know it’s not a great habit, but it’s also not that big a deal. I don’t break the Second Commandment (took a lot of work, but I was able to break the “omg” habit), nor do I ever curse or name-call individuals (I’ll sometimes call bad drivers “dinkus” or “butt” or “ding-dong,” but I watch my tongue when it comes to hateful speech). But if a thing or a situation merits it, so what. Sometimes it’s okay. I’m tired of being told it never is.

18. Borrowing elements of secular holiday observations. Yes, we do Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny in my house. Yes, we dress up and trick-or-treat. We even do the Tooth Fairy. I don’t love it, but whatever. It’s harmless fun. No, it doesn’t detract from our religious celebration.

17. Being a slob. My house isn’t picture-perfect. My life isn’t picture-perfect. I’m disorganized. I am a mess, and I bring the chaos with me wherever I go. You may call it sloth, but it’s just the way my brain works. I can explain it, but I can’t understand it for you.

16. Taking Tylenol. No, it doesn’t cause autism. Acetaminophen is perfectly safe and harmless in normal doses. I’ll take it for a headache. I’ll give it to my babies for pain and fever. I’ll even take it, in normal doses, while pregnant. Pain relief is a good thing.

15. Treading on your gun rights. I don’t care about the second amendment, and I’m tired of pretending to be okay with our country’s gross fetishization of guns. I’m tired of pretending to be neutral and tolerant, of smiling and nodding while folks talk about gun stuff because I don’t want to start conflict. No child deserves to die for your “second amendment rights.” Gun ownership needs to be heavily restricted in the US and I can’t be convinced otherwise.

14. My ugly tattoos. Yes, tattoos are bad. I agree. Unfortunately, I got all of mine done back when I was a Godless drunken heathen, and now they are simply scars that I can’t yet afford to have removed. And yes, I will continue to keep them covered, to the best of my ability, until Mass is over. But I’m sick of wearing a long-sleeved cardigan in 90°+ heat during coffee hour for fear of y’all judging me.

13. Smelling like a cheap, headache-inducing chemical rendition of strawberry shortcake. I don’t care that I’m 36. I will continue to wear my delicious, delightful, disgusting, pheromone-disrupting Bath & Body Works body sprays until they put me in the dirt.

12. Using screens sometimes. Screens are bad. I fully agree. But do we really need to go full Amish about it? Probably not. (I actually think kids these days need some familiarity with screens and tech, so that they aren’t completely baffled and starstruck and vulnerable when they inevitably grow up and emerge into this screen-dependent world.) Like most parents, I’m constantly trying to reduce screen use, but, as a therapist once told me: “screen time is better than scream time” — that is to say, a bit of a carefully-selected TV show can be a lifesaver for a frazzled and burnt-out mom.

11. My kids’ behavior. Of course I know that children need to be taught to sit still and quiet during Mass. I’m working on that. I see most of y’all’s toddlers are able to sit perfectly still and quiet; why is it that mine can’t? I don’t know, but I’m trying my best, and I’m so tired of the parent-shaming in tradland, and tired of feeling like an inferior parent or like I’m failing my kids because they (6 y/o and under, btw) are sometimes wiggly and talkative.

10. Vaccinating my kids. This is a big one. I know most of y’all will hate me for this. Go ahead. I’ve researched it from both sides, and while I won’t say I’m exactly confident about being pro-vax, as far as I can tell, research favors the pro-vax side, so that’s what I’ve chosen. I won’t apologize for making informed decisions to protect the health of my kids and my community.

9. Not raising chickens. Or cows, or pigs, or any other kind of farm animal, or having a homestead at all. I realize that a big reason why I don’t fit in with you all socially is because you are all, every one of you, farmers, and I’m not a farmer and don’t want to be. Noble and wholesome as farming is, I simply don’t want to wake up at 4, 5 AM every day to go trudge through the mud and manure, in all kinds of weather, to feed animals. And I’m tired of feeling like this is a moral failing on my part.

8. Not jumping on the sourdough bandwagon. Everyone makes sourdough these days! And that’s cool! But I, once again, simply don’t want to. Why would I spend my precious free time laboring over some fussy, fickle loaf that no one in my family will even eat, when I could be reading, writing, or drawing. That sounds tiresome and depressing. I’m glad it’s working out for you guys, but I’ll pass.

7. Not shopping at Azure Standard. I’m aware that this is the hot place to shop, for TradCaths. It’s where all of the cool kids get their groceries! (What is going on right now? Am I back in high school?) I’d like to be able to afford to shop there, sure, but I’m on more of a Walmart, Food Lion budget right now. Shopping at normal stores — oh the horror, right?!

6. Giving birth in a hospital. Home birth is the norm, at our parish, I’m aware of that. But I could never. Yes, a hospital birth has its drawbacks, and your freedoms might be somewhat limited — but that’s a sacrifice I choose to make for relative security in the event of a life-or-death emergency. (And anyway, maternity wards are way better and more accommodating than they were 30, 40 years ago, so I really don’t get the hospital hate.) Personally, I am not willing to risk my baby’s life in order to achieve the comfortable, picture-perfect, on-trend, “~all natural~” birth of my dreams.

5. My vegetarianism. Raising and killing your own animals for food is also very on-trend, in our religious community. Hard pass! I don’t eat meat and I don’t want to! Meat is gross and unnecessary, and slaughtering animals for our own consumption is ethically questionable at best, and I’m tired of pretending to be neutral and tolerant on this whole issue.

4. Not drinking raw milk. Pasteurization is not some newfangled, “big pharma” invention. People have been briefly heating milk to kill harmful bacteria for a really long time. It’s so simple. I don’t understand why people feel this need to drink it straight from the teat, as if that’s somehow better. Gross. I don’t even drink cow milk, I prefer soy, but I thank God for pasteurization so that my family can consume dairy safely.

3. Not mingling. Sometimes I’m so self-conscious about how painfully self-conscious I am, that I try and fake it and force myself to be more social, to pretend to be normal. To mingle. Which always backfires and leaves me with cringe to last a lifetime. It’s best if I just stay put and don’t even try. So please don’t take it personally if I sit in the corner and wait for you to approach me first. It’s not personal. I like you all. I just don’t do mingling.

2. Getting a late start. Here in tradland, we’re all about getting married young and having babies early. That’s lovely. I wish that had been me. But I’m an old mom. I had my first child at 30. Not fair to compare, I guess: most of y’all inherited good Christian values, tradition, wisdom, discipline, and money. I inherited alcoholism, debt, anxiety, and an eating disorder. (Not pinning the blame on my parents — they are awesome, and I don’t blame them for a single thing — but it’s also dumb to pretend that privilege isn’t real and that some of y’all weren’t born with the proverbial silver spoon.) We are not the same.

1. My family’s income. I know some of you probably look down on us, but I’m proud of my husband for what he’s been able to build for us out of less than nothing. He didn’t have a leg up, or a support system, or even any real guidance from anyone. We both went to public school (can you imagine?!). He’s clawed his way up from below-zero, all on his own power, to earn us everything that we have. Some of you might think we’re trash because of our current income and lifestyle. That’s fine. Go ahead and think that about us. I am done caring.

“I feel sorry for your kids,” you may be commenting — to which I would respond, thanks so much for your concern on behalf of my kids! I assure you they’re great. I feel sorry for yours, too.

And maybe this letter is, to some extent, unfair. It’s entirely possible that none of you have any beef with me or my family whatsoever! Maybe, like so much else, it’s all in my head. As I said, this letter has been addressed to the voices in my head — my imagined versions of you people — rather than any actual real-life person.

And I haven’t meant to sound hostile. I honestly do like and respect you all so much. And I cherish a secret hope that getting all this off of my chest here, anonymously — that liberating myself from my enslavement to your opinion of me — might allow us to actually start to become friends.

Or not. Maybe I’m not paranoid and you really do hate me as much as the voices in my head tell me you do. But if so, that’s none of my business. And I still like and respect you.

See you on Sunday,

Mith
#3, #4, #5, #6, #7: Sally Hepworth Book Binge

May 3rd, 2026

Oops. I accidentally read five novels in two weeks. (Maybe not a big deal for some of y’all, but as a busy SAHM, I have no business staying up late binge-reading as much as I’ve been doing lately; I’m actually physically ill, right now, as I’m writing this.) This always happens to me when I discover an author that I really like. I think I might need to slow down… Anyway, here are my thoughts:

The Soulmate. Devoured this one over the course of two days while on a beach vacation. So freaking fun. Loved it even more than The Family Next Door. Why?: because it immerses you even more deeply in the characters and fleshes them out more, focusing on just two couples instead of a whole neighborhood. I also love the way it jumps back and forth in time, circling around the hub of a single event. Very romantic, very delicious, highly suspenseful. Once again, beautiful setting, senually delightful, & great fun spending time in the world of Australia’s ultra-rich. Gabe is fascinating and splendidly-written imo, but Max is the best character by far; what a great twist at the end. I now begin to get a sense for the type of story that Sally Hepworth dwells upon, the motifs that repeat over and over in her mind. (Every writer has them; it’s almost like every writer really has just one story they long to tell.) One of hers is apparently raspberry-white chocolate muffins. I’m now wondering if they’ll make an appearance in every one of her novels. Let’s find out.

The Mother-In-Law. No raspberry-white chocolate muffins in this one! Bummer, I was kinda hoping that’d be a thing. Oh well. This one lost a few points for me due to its unfortunate portrayal of Catholicism. “Diana grew up in a Catholic family 😨,” is something we hear repeated over and over, with horror, as if it’s some kind of explanation for why her parents were so judgmental and cruel and cut her off. Those bad, evil Catholics!! What a shame, because philosophically Sally Hepworth gets a lot of things right in this book — it’s a very pro-life story, really; Diana chooses life in extremely difficult circumstances, things work out, and she devotes her adult life to helping expectant mothers in difficult circumstances. Voluntary euthanasia is considered, but ultimately depicted as unwise and tragic. Same with surrogacy and IVF: Lucy, the hero of the story, is very opposed to surrogacy and egg donation, and I wanted to cheer for her for standing her ground there. The author tells us about the ridiculous toll that reproductive technology takes on people’s lives and sanity; it’s cast in a very negative light. (Poor Nettie; TTC-induced insanity is a very real thing, and I felt for her.) I was pleased about that. If only Ms. Hepworth didn’t treat the word “Catholic” as some kind of insult. Diana might be my favorite of her characters yet.

The Good Sister. Not proud of how quickly I finished this one. 🙈 I’m beginning to see why I stopped reading. When I get into a book, my addict brain takes over. “Just a little more! Can’t stop now!” While the dishes are rotting in the sink and there’s craft supplies all over the floor and painty finger-smears on the table and walls. A few weeks into this Rediscovering Reading endeavor, I think I might actually need to slow down on reading. This one was too good though. An autistic protagonist, although the word “autism” is never actually spoken: cool! It was nice to have a somewhat unusual main character; most of Sally Hepworth’s female leads are kinda Barbie dolls (not a criticism, just an observation: she likes to write about rich, pretty, feminine, romantic, housewifey types), but Fern here is ~Autistic~ Barbie! Sally Hepworth always makes sure to remind us, over and over, how frequently her characters love to exercise, so that we understand that they are super fit and sexy. (Granted, judging from her back jacket photos, Sally Hepworth is, herself, a very beautiful, attractive, and fashionable person — write what you know, I guess.) Interesting though. I think the folks on Writer Twitter (er, X now) might have a few things to say about Sally Hepworth writing an autistic character in the first person when she herself is not autistic; I understand that’s a cardinal sin, in this day and age, in the writing world. Anyway, I didn’t mind; I liked it. Fern + “Wally” was probably my favorite romance of hers that I’ve read so far. A little too perfect, lol — he just happens to be a famous bazillionaire with no day job! They’ll never have to work a day in their lives! Life with a disability is easy when you have all the money in the world, Fern realizes at the end, when she figures out that she won’t have to do school pickups/dropoffs or birthday parties because Wally will never need to clock in for a job a single day in his life. Ah, what a dream. Anyway, on a more serious note: this one was my favorite so far. A story of two sisters with different recollections of their childhood is of particular interest to me, as my own sister and I have more than once discussed how different our perceptions are of our upbringing. Thankfully, neither of us has ever committed murder. Rose had me in the first half, not gonna lie… but by the back half I hated her! The scene in the hospital where she showed up with formula like “I’m the mom” and refused to let Fern breastfeed her own newborn… that was almost too physically painful to read! I almost needed to put it down. But couldn’t. Damn your writing skills, Sally Hepworth! I’m gonna have to avoid her books in the future, they’re too much fun for me. But, in the meantime, just one more…

The Things We Keep. This one was different than her others: slower and sadder. Lighter on the crime and mystery, heavier on the reflection and sorrow. Still really good, but not as much “suspense.” Also, I don’t think it was Sally Hepworth’s intention, and this might just be me, but this book kinda made Anna’s life with Alzheimer’s look… idllyic?! I mean: a permanent stay at what basically amounts to a gorgeous, ritzy B&B with its own fancy chef and sexy gardener… zero responsibilities, unlimited leisure time, a credit card for shopping, all expenses paid, people taking care of you around the clock, and your gorgeous lover right there with you, like an endless honeymoon? A bit fantastical, really. My one beef with this one: I’m sorry, but there is nothing “dead sexy” about a man crawling up the stairs, no matter how good-looking the man is, lol. Did give me a good laugh though, so thanks for that. And, how does he stay so “muscular,” anyway, living in a nursing home with dementia? Hmm. I take issue also with the way that, while all the main characters are beautiful and fit, the two “villains,” Eric and Miranda’s mom, are hatefully described as fat — perpetuating the stupid stereotype in fiction that “fat = bad” and “thin/attractive = good.” And also, the name Richard being used on a rich, shady, sleazy businessman. Why is “Richard” always a rich, shady, sleazy businessman, in fiction?! Has there ever been a decent fictional Richard?! Come on now. In all seriousness though, this book really toed the line between “good-sad” and “too sad,” for me. Impressive though; apparently she can write in first-person from a seven-year-old’s POV too, and it really works. No raspberry-white chocolate muffins, but we do get some orange-poppyseed ones.

Umm… I lied. Just one more:

Darling Girls. Okay, I’ll say it: this one had the most exciting, “high-concept” premise, but the least-polished execution. The story was insanely good — but the ending felt rushed, some of the last scenes a bit contrived, the big twist felt too late, and there were two or three typos. I can excuse one, but when there are two or three, I’m like: why did nobody look at this before they printed it? I feel like maybe they were rushing her to finish the novel and hand it over. My other beef: it’s mentioned that Kevin, the creep, is a D&D player. Ugh. Let’s stop maligning D&D players, can we?! I’m so over the popular portrayal of them as all slimy, smelly neckbeards and incels. D&D is a highly intricate, intelligent, artistic, and fascinating thing. I don’t play it, I’m way too stupid for that, but my husband does. Anyway. Rant over. Whatever. Still a thrilling, un-put-downable book, and honestly it’s probably just that I’ve become spoiled and nitpicky from reading 1500+ pages of Sally Hepworth’s incredible writing over the past two weeks. This one also dropped a few truth-bombs that made me pause and go “😮” and just stare and think for a minute, such as: “Even after all these years, yearning for the love and attention of someone who couldn’t give it to her was much more comfortable than actually receiving it” (96). Damn, ok! It’s these profound little moments that make Sally Hepworth’s writing more than just “chick lit” crime thrillers. Also, Holly Fairchild is 100% her worst villain yet; total nightmare fuel. I can easily see this one being made into a limited series on Netflix. No muffins to speak of, though, alas.

… Okay, that’s it. I’ve got to slow down for real. At some point I’ve got to get back to that accused middle grade fiction project I mentioned three or four months ago. I need to go read something dry and dense. And I need to sleep! Do not, I repeat, do NOT, under any circumstances, give me any more copies of any Sally Hepworth novels, no matter what I say to you, no matter how I beg. I’m in recovery.
Ultimate Baking Championship Season One Semifinal: Mith Reacts

April 28th, 2026
CAUTION: CONTAINS SPOILERS for Ultimate Baking Championship!!

I know I said a couple weeks ago that nothing on this show surprises me anymore…

but I take it back!

What did I just witness!?!

Damn! Florencia is good and all, but, as she herself pointed out, she’s the only one here who’s never been at the top of the leaderboard… how did she take out Juan?! Juan, the most feared competitor of them all! Juan was supposed to win the whole thing!

I’m not saying it was unfair… just shocking! Juan didn’t do badly at all – he just made a couple of decisions that were not bad decisions, but simply set him back in the context of this show. Kind of frustrating to see. Honestly, when he and Duff were arguing over what a glacier actually looks like, that was so cringey I had to look away. I feel like he chose some really hard flavors to work with – charcoal?! – and while his final dessert was a stunning work of art, it was also pretty simple, structurally, and lacked the “interactive” quality that Florencia’s had.

What a bummer!

Don’t get me wrong, I’m super stoked for Florencia. She’s very likeable. (She actually reminds me a lot of this one really cool supervisor that I had back when I worked in the dog grooming salon, which endears her to me automatically.) And so humble. You could tell, at the end, that she really couldn’t believe that she had beaten Juan.

What a night. Molly Yeh was there as a guest judge, and I know we all probably had some thoughts about that, after that one infamous season of Spring Baking. Was it just me, or were the contestants rather nonplussed when Jesse announced tonight’s guest judge? Everyone was mad at Molly Yeh after that season. But, really, it wasn’t her fault. It was Food Network’s. I did kind of wonder if Molly was the best fit for Ultimate Baking, though. I know she’s famous for her kind of down-home midwestern recipes (I mean, sprinkles and cookie salad, right?), and this show is all about bougie, luxurious, European-style pastry. But, whatever, she was lovely and did a great job as a judge. I don’t care what anyone says, I’m still a fan of hers.

And I felt so vindicated when Juan shared that he loathes touching cornstarch. SAME HERE!! It’s like the microfiber of cooking ingredients! It’s chalky and glassy at the same time! And it sticks to everything! Ugh, it makes my teeth hurt just to think about! Anyone else?! I lol’d when Clement said that his plan was to just cover the whole kitchen in cornstarch.

It’s just devastating to see Juan go home. This show has not gone according to plan, has it? I’m rooting for Clement next week, and I feel like he’s bound to win, but anything could happen. This time I mean it when I say nothing can surprise me anymore!

HERE’S THE RECAP:

Master Challenge: “Frozen World” desserts. Themes randomly assigned, points awarded out of 30; top two will get to skip the skills challenge and sail through to the final
- Juan: “Glacier” black sesame mochi cake w/ charcoal & buttermilk ice cream, black sesame crumble
- Clement: “Cave Ice” mango sorbet & coconut cake w/ coconut dacquoise, passionfruit gelee, & chocolate cave
- Molly: “Iceberg” blueberry pie ice cream cake wrapped in chocolate band w/ white chocolate iceberg
- Florencia: “Sea Ice” coconut yogurt sorbet w/ chocolate-tonka bean ice cream cake, marzipan
Master Final Stats: Clement 26; Molly 25; Juan 23; Florencia 18

Skills Challenge Bake-Off: Plated Desserts w/ Frozen Center in a meltaway edible shell with warm pour-over. Points awarded out of 20, judged blind.
- Florencia: Passionfruit & hazelnut chocolate sphere w/ white chocolate-passionfruit sauce & passionfruit-hazelnut-black sesame bonbons
- Juan: Chocolate, raspberry, & pink peppercorn flower w/ raspberry-peppercorn sauce, mascarpone cream cheese semifreddo & raspberry compote
Bake-Off Final Stats: Florencia 18; Juan 16

Winner: Clement

Sent Home: Juan

A dessert is called “sexy”: 0 times (running total: 3)

Superlatives from the judges: 3 (Sweet Molly was generous with the superlatives! Clement had the “creamiest sorbet” she’d ever eaten, Florencia had “one of the best chocolate ice creams” she’d ever eaten, and she described Juan’s final dessert with “I can’t imagine a more perfect combination of flavors”) (running total 4)

Dead family members mentioned: 2: Molly’s grandfather and Juan’s mom (running total 4)

Duff’s gaping maw spotted: 1 time (running total 15)

The dessert that I would most have liked to eat: There were some really good ones tonight, but I think I’d have to go with Florencia’s coconut yogurt sorbet w/ chocolate-tonka bean ice cream cake, even though it kinda fell apart. The almond coconut cake + marzipan, and those white chocolate truffle “snowballs”!

Wins so far: Clement (2), Molly (1), Christopher (1), Casey (2), Juan (2)

What are your thoughts?! Leave me a comment!