With the final hours of Halloween coming to an end, I sit in the Mom Loft  thinking about what Halloween means to me. Sure, I love spooky stuff, skulls  and witchy shit (cue Stevie Nicks), but Halloween is so much more to me. Some say Halloween is when the veil between our world and the next is at its thinnest, allowing us to connect with loved ones who have passed. Día de los Muertos is another holiday this time of year that revolves around connecting with our dearly departed. The way they build ofrendas for their deceased family is so beautiful to me. I do something similar in my home, displaying pictures of my ancestors on the wall. It makes me feel connected to the bigger picture.  This year, Halloween just hit differently. It was one of my Grandma B.’s favorite holidays. She would always dress up at work, with her quirky earrings and funny costumes. I ended up inheriting most of the earrings, and wore them proudly the last few weeks.  I miss my Grandma B. so very much, it hurts

**Trigger Warning (TW): Discussion About Alcohol & Disordered Eating** After living with type 1 diabetes (T1D) for the past 23 years, I’ve come to realize there is so much more to this condition than blood sugar checks, insulin doses, and carbohydrate counting. Mental health is a huge component, and one I do not feel is discussed enough in the diabetes community. Once I started working as a Registered Dietitian at a Drug & Alcohol Rehab, I discovered that being diagnosed with a chronic illness like T1D is actually considered a trauma. This in turn can lead to a host of mental health struggles, including anxiety, depression, eating disorders, and addiction. Growing up, I was always an anxious child and when I was diagnosed with T1D at 11 , it definitely exacerbated it.  (Circa 1999: Diagnosed with T1D) After my diagnosis, every move I made now required extra thought and care. One misstep could lead to a dangerous hypoglycemic episode, and any high made me fear potential long-ter

As I prepare to take another trip around the sun, entering my 34th year on this wacky planet, I’ve been taking a lot of time to reflect. The past year has had a lot of ups and downs, but my ability to be mindful of my reactions and coping mechanisms to the low moments has been huge. I’ve been alcohol free for a little less than a year, which is weird for me to say honestly. Other than being pregnant, I’ve never gone that long without alcohol. I’d have spurts here or there, but never anything substantial. To some it may sound insignificant, but if you know what it's like to find comfort in that glass of wine after a long day, or the warmth of a beer boosting your confidence in social situations, then you know it’s a BIG DEAL for me. On top of it, I’ve been addressing my eating disorder in full earnest, in part by increasing my therapy to weekly sessions. Before this, whenever life got too hard, I would either drink or eat. With those two options off the table (mostly because recover

Lately I've been feeling like I’m lost in the woods, or in some sort of weird limbo. This is the best I have felt in a long time, but it’s not what I had been anticipating. There are these fleeting moments when I start to feel like a true human being. Not the shell whose life is dictated by so many external factors: the Zombie Jess . Sure, I am better able to talk through and then go into situations that generally give me severe anxiety, but something is missing. I’m not entirely sure what. I’m making small, but sustainable changes in my life, while also celebrating bigger milestones, like being alcohol free for almost 8 months . That should be a bigger deal, but I’ve been hesitant to celebrate it. Not that I plan to drink again anytime soon, if ever. But I guess I thought I’d be “better” by now.  "Cured". I’d finally heal what had been ailing me. Anxiety. Depression. Self-loathing.  Sadly no, they were there the whole time, alcohol just suppressed them, allowing the woun

When I’m struggling with my anxiety or depression, tasks like cleaning are a BIG deal. The anxiety kicks in, and the task becomes overwhelming. I shut down and do the bare minimum, because it is all my brain can process in that moment. When depression rears its ugly head, it depletes me of my energy. I give what little I have left to the essentials: managing my diabetes, taking care of Lucy, and work, leaving barely any mental resources to handle the rest of life. I describe this dark shell of a human Zombie Jess. She’s the sick science experiment when you combine diabetes, disordered eating, and mental health struggles. Anxiety attack. Zombie Jess. Low blood sugar. Zombie Jess. Crushing self loathing. Zombie Jess. Postpartum depression. ZOMBIE JESS ON STEROIDS.  Pregnancy and postpartum life were not kind to me. Like A Series of Unfortunate Events, every step I took to become a mom dragged me deeper and deeper into the depths of depression. Down the rabbit hole. I stopped taking my

Trigger Warning (TW):  Discussion About Alcohol & Disordered Eating Alcohol was a big part of my identity for a good 16+ years of my life. Through most of junior high and high school I was “Straight Edge”, with a t-shirt stating it boldly to the WORLD in Coca-Cola Style Print. I thought it was ironic because I have diabetes and didn’t drink Regular Coke (GASP), so teenie bopper Jess thought it was SO funny. Before: Straight Edge Jess But towards the end of junior year, into senior year I started to think “I should at least TRY before I decide” And so, my alter ego “Shotgun Jess” was born. In the beginning, Shotgun Jess was the cool, new grown up Jess. She was ready to party and dance the night away. It melted away my insecurities, of which there were many, allowing me to finally throw caution to the wind. But without at least some caution, there were most definitely consequences, most of which was throwing up and/or making a fool of myself. While attending undergrad at Penn State,