Last week, my writing coach asked me to identify the worst possible outcome of finishing the novel I’ve been working on for the past eighteen months. That it would be bad? That people would be bored? That I would feel vulnerable?

I felt TERRIFIED of something but I couldn’t explain what.

So I sat with it.

And sat with it.

Finally, I emailed her: “have you ever seen Arrested Development?”

It’s that I would be Gob, taking myself so seriously, thinking I had written something really cool and everybody else would be laughing at me.

It’s that I would…


Why you might want to stop talking about your anxiety and try this instead

Photo of a woman putting her hand to her collarbone
Photo of a woman putting her hand to her collarbone
Photo: Kittiphan Teerawattanakul/EyeEm/Getty Images

Let’s back up 50,000 years or so. Imagine you’re a Neanderthal taking a leisurely stroll through the fields. Suddenly, in the nearby bushes, you hear a tiger. In a nanosecond, your entire body starts reacting. Your pulse quickens, your breathing gets shallow, your eyes dilate, your body starts producing adrenaline.

Everything happening in your body is good; you’re prepared to survive this tiger encounter. There’s just one small problem. It wasn’t a tiger. It was a tiny prehistoric weasel. …


Pandemic relationship repair you can tackle tonight

Photo: Uwe Krejci/Getty Images

The year 2020 has been a total romance killer. Most of us are stuck at home with our partners, juggling childcare, Zoom schooling, and full-time jobs. We’re stressed about money, Covid, and politics. Plus, we’re all wearing sweatpants… all the time. It’s no surprise that divorces are spiking.

I know of what I speak. The other day, I referred to my husband as “what’s-his-name.”

I asked relationship experts to weigh in and tell us how we can start to heal the cracks that 2020 has made in our relationships. Disclaimer: This is not going to be the hottest date of…


Wait until Alice hears this

Photo: Peter Muller/Cultura/Getty

Gossip can be awful.

Being the subject of malicious gossip is pretty much the ur-nightmare of adolescence. I still remember being 13 and having a group of girls circle me in the bathroom, insisting that I show them my breasts because they’d heard a rumor that I stuffed my bra. I didn’t go full-on Carrie at them, but needless to say, I wasn’t thrilled.

Years later, having finally recovered from the Bra Gossip Debacle, I’m going to state an unpopular opinion: I also think gossiping can be great. Really. …


For two years, every Monday night, I’ve been taking this Bootcamp class. The instructor, we’ll call him Rambo, is like a greek god crossed with Fabio.

I’m the worst one in the class.

For two years, I’ve been the last person to finish suicides, the only one doing girly pushups, a red sweaty mess struggling to breathe and taking multiple breaks to refill my water bottle.

Everyone else who comes to Bootcamp is a toned, hyper-energetic, fitness buff. When Rambo makes us do one-legged bear crawls across the floor, they act like fried Oreos are raining from the sky.

“Should we do another round of goblet squats…


When I was much younger (and much stupider), I dated a guy who was twenty years older than me.

I was eighteen. I worked at a gelato shop. I drove a Volvo that was born the same year I was. It had been my mom’s and then my brother’s and then mine. It would overheat every 50 miles, so I had to keep a gallon of water in the backseat. …

Emma Pattee

Writer from Portland, Ore. Words in The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Cut, Glamour, Marie Claire, Elle, and others. emmapattee.com

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