When Your Moods Change Like 'Florida Weather'

I didn't feel like writing on Monday. So I didn't.

Well, I did. But I didn't write anything here. Then I didn't feel like writing on Tuesday because I was tired and in a sour mood. I had no real reason. If anything, life is actually kind of good. I got a new work contract. I'm still meeting and interviewing some fascinating people. A few new freelance writing gigs came through. I'm at almost 10,000 followers on Threads. My editor is back working on the latest podcast episode. I got paid.

In fact, nothing "bad" happened other than my ankles were swollen and I felt fat. This was largely because I am fat. In the lead-up to the midterm elections, I gained about 20 pounds of stress weight, and I haven't worked out consistently in months.

It's not great.

Still, I left the house that Tuesday, even though I didn't want to engage with anyone. I shot a quick video about the midterms for work, then went to a luncheon full of chatty journalists.

I maybe talked to five people, when normally I'd at least try to work the room. If it weren't for meeting award-winning independent journalist Georgia Fort, the primary reason I wanted to be at the luncheon, I would have stayed home.

The International Women's Media Foundation honored Fort alongside four other journalists for their work in the face of intimidation and government prosecution. She was the only journalist who could attend the ceremony, as the other honorees were either imprisoned or in hiding.

It was a sobering reminder that despite the midterm's ultimate outcome, this administration's actions have already harmed or destroyed so much. For many folks, it was too late. The same day I watched Fort be honored, I read that the Online News Association canceled next year's annual conference and paused their live events. This came on the heels of Salon shutting down, a site I've read and enjoyed since college. It was another reminder that whatever journalism looks like over the next few years, for most of us, the die has already been cast.

This realization, and my mood, ruined the day. I wore pants for "comfort," then was deeply uncomfortable in my own body, so it didn't even matter. Then it took me three trains to get home, and even though they were blessedly empty because I traveled in the middle of the day, I was annoyed the whole time. When I got home, I angrily ate a kale chicken Caesar for dinner and lamented the state of my ankles, now propped up on a pillow. I did not call my boyfriend or text him at any point that day because I didn't want to burden him with my increasingly awful mood. Then I went to bed at 7 p.m. because I realized there was no point in prolonging the inevitable (or the angry). Clearly, I needed the rest... and a restart.

"Tomorrow will be better," I said in bed with a pillow wedged under my knees.

I dozed off before the new episode of The Real Housewives of New York came on, falling into a dreamless slumber.

And you know what?

Nine hours of sleep later, I woke up feeling like a million bucks.

Tabula rasa, baby!

My ankles still swelled up shortly after I started puttering around the house, but that's fixable. I basically need to stop eating like a rat rifling through a bag of Flamin' Hot Doritos and get back to exercising. I already got checked out by a doctor last week, so I know I don't have a blood clot, and my organs aren't failing. I just gorged on too much salt, sugar, wine, and snacks for six weeks straight while sitting on my ass all day, thinking I'm 29 instead of 49.

My mother, who died in 2018, used to say, "Tomorrow is a new day; nobody's ever used it before." Whenever I was down, whenever I had bad days, she would remind me that tomorrow is always a blank slate—a chance to start over.

Which is why I always try to remind people closest to me not to get caught up in my mood swings. As someone who has bipolar disorder, anxiety, and ADHD, my moods change as quickly as Florida weather. Most days it's clear skies, bright, warm, and sunny, but when it rains? It's sudden and furious, and a hurricane might blow through. But it always goes back to being sunny and pleasant, as that's my baseline.

Now, will I do a lot of writing this week on THE BLACK SNOB? Probably not. I've been writing nonstop since August. I was bound to hit a wall eventually. But I know with some rest, I'll bounce back because I'm a happy person living with a mood disorder, not a sad person defined by my illnesses and ailments.

Plus, it's a sunny day in Brooklyn. So I'm going to close the laptop, get up, and go for a walk.

These cankles won't go away on their own.