When the Tea Is This Hot, You Can’t Help but Sip

As someone who has spent the better part of the past 22 days away from social media (thank you, Opal app), I have to say I picked a truly unhinged week to check back in. I opened Instagram and immediately felt like I’d missed several chapters of a very loud book. The Blake Lively / Justin Baldoni situation had escalated straight into the text messages, Brooklyn Beckham had turned his Instagram Story into a family tell-all, Taylor Swift was somehow involved (of course), and everyone seemed extremely confident about which side they were on.

What surprised me is that, after catching up, I didn’t feel the urge to dogpile Justin Baldoni the way I expected to. Truthfully, I’ve kind of always been on his side — not in an “I don’t believe women” way, but in a harder-to-explain, this doesn’t sit right with me way. The kind of feeling you clock early but can’t fully articulate without sounding like you’re about to start a sentence with “I don’t know, it’s just a vibe…”

If anything, Blake Lively’s energy doesn’t land for me. She exudes a kind of mean girl confidence that isn’t just cringeworthy on paper (see: her letter to the PGA board), but shows up in subtle power moves and perfectly timed charm. The kind you’ve probably encountered at work, at school drop-off, or in a group chat you eventually muted for your own mental health.

Then Taylor Swift entered the chat, which added a whole other layer. When someone’s brand is built around calling things out, advocating for women, and naming unfair power dynamics, people notice when the behavior feels misaligned. That doesn’t erase the good, but it does make the whole thing a little harder to swallow.

Meanwhile, Brooklyn Beckham’s Instagram Story was doing something else entirely. Less polished. Less strategic. Just raw, public, and impossible to unsee. Different situation, same energy: carefully curated images cracking in real time, with no PR buffer in sight.

What I actually appreciate is that none of this is being quietly swept under the rug. People are allowed to question dynamics now. To say something feels off without being accused of betraying womanhood or missing the point entirely.

And yes — it’s entertaining. I’m not above admitting that. But it’s also revealing. Watching who gets defended, who gets dismissed, and who is suddenly untouchable says a lot about how power still works, even in spaces that claim progress.

Celebrities aren’t messier than they used to be. We’re just not willing to play along the same way anymore. The tea is piping hot, and for once, it feels like it’s actually saying something.

Ask Clara:

"Why do celebrity scandals feel so personal, and what do they say about the culture we’re living in?"

Being Proactive About Your Health Shouldn’t Be This Hard

I’m currently three months overdue for a breast MRI. Not because I forgot or decided to live dangerously, but because staying ahead of your health sometimes feels like it requires a level of coordination usually reserved for being the maid of honor at your best friend’s way too over-the-top wedding. 

I’m almost 37, which sounds reassuring until you add that I have an ATM gene mutation that puts me at about a 20% lifetime risk of breast cancer. Preventive screening isn’t optional for me; it’s the plan. Or at least, it’s the plan on paper.

In reality, this appointment has been scheduled and rescheduled five times. Some of that was logistics, some of it was insurance, and some of it was a mysteriously missing prior authorization. And yes, one of those times was on me, because the holidays happened and I am a working mom with three kids, not a robot built for medical administration.

Now insurance is saying that the MRI isn’t medically necessary, which is an interesting take given that my medical history, genetic testing, and actual doctor seem to disagree. So I need to call my doctor again, during business hours, to untangle a situation that somehow exists despite us living in an era where we can track our cycles, our sleep, our steps, and our glucose levels from our phones.

That’s the part that gets me. We have more health information at our fingertips than ever before, yet the system itself feels more confusing, fragmented, and exhausting than it should. 

Preventive care sounds proactive and empowering until you’re stuck chasing faxes, decoding insurance language, and wondering how many women fall behind not because they don’t care, but because they’re stretched thin.

I’ll get the MRI. I always do. But sometimes it feels like the real risk isn’t forgetting to take care of ourselves — it’s how hard the system makes it to follow through.

Ask Clara:

"How do you know if you’re considered “high risk” for breast cancer screening?"

The Month My Body Finally Got the Memo (Too Late)

The other day, I got my period on cycle day 30, and my first thought was: Didn’t I just have this?

Which is funny, because for most of my life, the opposite was true. Periods were rare, unpredictable guests. Ovulation was more theory than practice. And now — after eight years of infertility, anovulation, PCOS, and three IVF babies — here I am, suddenly having the most textbook, ovulatory, 30-day cycle imaginable.

Call it a Christmas miracle. Call it “just relaxing” (please don’t). Call it a sick little cosmic joke. Because of course I’m ovulating regularly for the first time in my life at the exact moment I am very, very done trying to get pregnant.

What surprised me most wasn’t the timing; it was the frequency. Even working in women’s health, I don’t think I fully appreciated how often women are just… dealing with hormonal side effects. When you really break it down, there’s maybe one week a month where something isn’t happening. Bleeding. Bloating. Mood shifts. The kind of low-grade irritability that makes you wonder if everyone else is being annoying or if it’s just you.

And then there’s ovulation cramps: a sensation I apparently unlocked in my late-thirties, just for fun.

Friends keep telling me I’ll be “that person” who gets pregnant naturally after years of infertility, and maybe I will. But honestly? I don’t know if I want to. Not just because our family feels complete, but because IVF, as brutal as it is, gave me something I never had before: predictability. Control, for lack of a better word. I have PGT-tested embryos in the freezer. I know the odds. I know the plan. Why would I trade that for the anxiety of rolling the biological dice and risking miscarriage?

This cycle doesn’t feel like a gift so much as a reminder: our bodies don’t always move on our timeline. Sometimes they show up late, sometimes they arrive when you’ve already closed the chapter, and sometimes they remind you just how much women are carrying, month after month.

Ask Clara:

"How many days in a “normal” menstrual cycle actually come with zero hormonal symptoms?"

3 Reasons to Write Your BFF a Letter (Even If You Never Send It)

Next week would have been my best friend’s 37th birthday. She died of breast cancer almost six years ago, and tucked away in my nightstand is a note she wrote me during her cancer battle — one I still haven’t opened since she passed. I don’t reread it. I don’t even really touch it. And yet, just knowing it’s there gives me a surprising amount of peace.

I was reminded of this while listening to The Correspondent by Virginia Evans, a book that makes you really think about what words on paper can actually hold. Evans describes letters as “the pieces of a magnificent puzzle… the links of a long chain,” scattered across the world like “the fragile blown seeds of a dying dandelion.” Even if those links are never put back together, even if they’re never reread, isn’t there something kind of wonderful in that? The idea that a life, a love, a soul-altering friendship, is preserved somewhere in ink.

Which brings me to three reasons to write your best friend a letter (aside from the fact that life is fragile, time is weird, and anything can happen at any moment... sorry).

First, letters slow you down enough to tell the truth. You can’t casually skip over what matters most. Writing by hand forces a pause. It asks you to sit with what you really want to say instead of skimming the surface.

Second, letters endure. In a world of algorithms and iClouds, where memories are filtered, sorted, and, let’s be honest, one forgotten password away from disappearing, letters preserve something real. They live in drawers and boxes, aging alongside us, asking nothing but to be kept.

And finally, letters outlive the moment they’re written in. As Evans puts it, “this very letter may one day mean something, even if it is a very small thing, to someone.” Sometimes the comfort isn’t in reading the words at all; it’s simply in knowing they exist.

So write the letter. Send it, or keep it. You never know how, or when, it might matter.

Ask Clara:

"What skincare ingredients should I avoid while pregnant?"

Is Too Much Content… Actually a Good Thing?

In a meeting recently, one of my colleagues was practically giddy about how much watchable, readable, and listenable content exists right now. She started listing shows, books, podcasts, even soundtracks, and instead of the usual polite nodding, everyone on the call perked up. Actual enthusiasm. In January, of all months.

With so much going on in the world and seasonal depression very much in the group chat, it helps that January is stacked in a way that feels comforting rather than overwhelming. Not everything needs your full attention or emotional investment. Some things just need to be there at the end of the day.

Emily in Paris is perfect for nights when your brain is tired, but your eyes want something colorful and familiar. The Traitors works when you’re in the mood for drama without the emotional labor, all scheming and accents with a clean ending. Landman apparently hits differently if you’ve ever worked in oil and gas, because, according to Abby, yes, people really do act like that. And Stranger Things is for when you want a little nostalgia and real stakes — a reminder of when friendship solved things (mostly).

Reading-wise, The Correspondent is one of those quietly heartwarming books that makes you want to write your best friend a letter, even though the two of you already text every day. The Four Winds is for when you’re emotionally stable enough to be wrecked, while Outlive is for a motivated Sunday that might turn into a nap.

As for me, I’m currently binging Owning Manhattan, listening to Good Hang with Amy Poehler, and genuinely excited for Bridgerton to return. Because sometimes it’s not about keeping up; it’s just about having something to enjoy.

Ask Clara:

"What exactly is cozy cardio?"

The Food Rules We Grew Up With

This might be a controversial take, but if you’re a millennial woman who grew up in the ’90s and early 2000s, there’s a decent chance body image issues were a regular part of the curriculum — whether anyone ever called it that or not.

I don’t remember my mom saying a single negative word about her body in front of me. And yet, I was on Weight Watchers in high school, which probably tells you everything you need to know about the cultural air we were breathing.

I’ve also been pretty open about my complicated relationship with food rules. The endless “do this, not that” advice cycle. The moralization of eating. The way social media keeps rebranding restriction as wellness. And now, in 2026, layered on top of GLP-1s and a renewed obsession with being visibly smaller, it’s hard not to feel like we’re back in familiar territory. Everyone is shrinking again. Victoria’s Secret even brought back its controversial runway show last year, and the stock market was thrilled. 

So when the new food guidelines dropped, I didn’t feel excitement so much as a pause.

Partly because women have good reason to be wary of “guidance” from institutions that haven’t always respected our bodily autonomy, and partly because it’s fair to wonder whether federal nutrition advice actually changes anything at all. Still, I noticed what felt different this time. The messaging was more direct. Less nutrient math, more real food.

Protein was framed as something to actually prioritize (not minimize), especially as we age. Full-fat dairy quietly made its way back into the conversation. Ultra-processed foods and added sugar were named more clearly, instead of politely danced around. Even gut health got a mention, which would’ve been unthinkable in the old low-fat, calorie-counting era.

It doesn’t undo decades of diet culture or fix access and affordability. And it certainly doesn’t protect women from the pressure to be smaller. But it also doesn’t feel obsessed with restriction in the same way past guidance often did, which, given our history with food rules, feels worth acknowledging.

After years of being told our bodies were problems to manage, clarity — and learning to trust what actually feels supportive — is at least a place to start.

Ask Clara:

"How can I incorporate more protein into meals?"

Keep Your (Witchy) Friends Close

Last weekend was full of lots of girlfriend time, which — for a mom of three — is few and far between, deeply needed, and never (ever) taken for granted. On Saturday, a bunch of us went out for wine and apps. On Sunday, we regrouped with the husbands and kids to debrief, watch football, and… casually dabble in some tarot readings.

Yes, you read that right.

One of my closest friends reads tarot, collects crystals, and keeps sage next to her bed like someone who absolutely would have been burned at the stake in the 1800s. And honestly… it tracks.

It tracks because we don’t really do typical mom small talk. We’re bad at it. We don’t want to linger on snack logistics or carpool calendars (important, but not our calling). We want to know the real you — the thing you’re circling but haven’t said out loud yet, even if it makes you a little uncomfortable.

These are newer friends, too, which somehow makes the whole thing funnier. At one point, one woman, still assessing the vibe, laughed and asked, “Is this… normal?” Without missing a beat, I said, “Welcome. We’re not regular mom friends. We’re witchy mom friends.” Everyone laughed. She stayed, which felt like the point.

Because what we were really doing wasn’t fortune-telling. It was skipping the pleasantries and creating space to say things like, “I think I want more,” or “Why does this feel harder for me than it seems to for everyone else?”

That same friend is also the one who gently helped me recognize my own ADHD: the kind of person who notices patterns before you do and says something when it matters. Looking back, it explains a lot.

Maybe that’s why none of this feels that strange. I’ve always been the kind of person who senses when something’s off before I can fully explain it, who wants to talk things through instead of letting them sit and get heavier than they need to be.

Motherhood can shrink your world if you let it. These women expand mine, reminding me that intuition isn’t mystical at all; it’s just paying attention.

So yes, keep your friends close, especially the witchy ones. They’re not here for the small talk. They’re here for the truth.

Ask Clara:

"Could my past trauma be affecting me now?"

The New Reality of Googling Your Symptoms

The other night, I did what so many of us do when something feels off: I Googled it. Not a 2 a.m. WebMD spiral; just a quick scroll while brushing my teeth. Within seconds, an AI-generated summary appeared at the top of the page, confidently explaining what my symptom probably meant. It looked polished. Official. Comforting. And still, something about it made me hesitate.

Because AI doesn’t hedge the way humans do. It doesn’t say this depends or bodies are complicated or maybe check in with someone who went to medical school. It just delivers answers — clean and authoritative — which can feel comforting until you remember how often women’s health already lives in the gray: under-researched, under-explained, and too often underbelieved.

We’re living in an era where many of us are handing our worry, curiosity, and late-night spirals over to algorithms trained on… the internet. And while the web is great for product reviews and dinner inspiration, it’s a shakier place to land for medical guidance. When AI gets health information wrong, it doesn’t just confuse people; it can delay care, minimize symptoms, or offer false reassurance when someone should be paying closer attention.

Most of the time, what women actually need isn’t a definitive answer. It’s help slowing the spiral and figuring out the next right step. Health information shouldn’t escalate fear or shut down curiosity. It should leave us supported enough to ask better questions… with nuance and humanity baked in.

Ask Clara:

"When should I trust a health answer I find online, and how do I know when it’s time to talk to a real human instead?"

Life After the Longest Wait

My third IVF baby just turned one, which feels impossible, emotional, and, if I’m being honest, slightly disorienting. There were tears, obviously, but also something else: a strange clarity. Like I just woke up from an almost eight-year-long chapter devoted entirely to building, protecting, and expanding our family.

If you saw our Rescripted reel, you know he was the result of one last Hail Mary IVF attempt — a true “this is it” moment. If it didn’t work, we were ready to close that door. But it did, and now here we are: three kids, a full house, a family that finally feels complete.

Which begs a question I haven’t really had the space, or courage, to ask until now: who am I when I’m not chasing a pregnancy, managing fertility timelines, or defining myself by whether my body is cooperating?

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the small things that somehow feel big again. What hobbies I might want to revisit. What clothes I want to buy just because I like them. Where I want to travel when logistics aren’t the main character. And alongside that curiosity? Anxiety. Because reinvention, even joyful reinvention, comes with a whole lot of uncertainty.

I recently read a novel called Buckeye that put words to exactly what I’ve been feeling. There’s a line about time, how we spend it, waste it, regret it, and wish for it back. And then this: “All we should ever want of time is more of it.” A sentiment that feels both deeply comforting and completely terrifying. 

For so long, time felt transactional. Measured in cycles, milestones, and fertility clinic waiting rooms. Now, it feels expansive again — a little scary, a little thrilling. But maybe that’s the point. This next chapter isn’t about rushing to fill the space or assigning it a purpose. It’s about sitting in it long enough to figure out who I am now... and who I want to be.

Ask Clara:

"Why do identity shifts after fertility treatment or major life transitions feel both liberating and destabilizing?"

You Can Sit With Us (At the Doctor’s Office)

We recently shared a meme on Rescripted that said, “If you saw Mean Girls in theaters, it’s time to schedule a mammogram.” It was meant to be light and nostalgic — a reminder wrapped in humor — but it struck a nerve. Which makes sense, because it’s true. Not in a scary way. More in a “wow, how did we get here so fast?” way.

Somewhere between quoting Regina George and figuring out carpool logistics, many of us entered the phase of life where taking care of our health requires actual planning. Appointments don’t just happen. You have to make them, remember them, follow up on them, and sometimes advocate when something feels off, even if you can’t fully explain why yet.

The same goes for Harriet the Spy (RIP Michelle Trachtenberg, a real loss in 2025). If that movie lived rent-free in your childhood brain (the curiosity, the notebook, the ingenuity!), it might be time to bring that same energy into your own care. Asking for a full thyroid panel isn’t being dramatic; it’s being informed and trusting that you know your body best.

What no one really prepares us for is how proactive women have to be to stay well: how much mental energy it takes, and how easy it is to put ourselves last when everything else feels louder and more urgent.

But caring for your health isn’t just a response to getting older. It's an investment in staying here, fully present, for the life you’re still building. So laugh at the meme, share it, and then do the very grown-up thing: take yourself seriously enough to make the appointment. 

Ask Clara:

"What does proactive healthcare actually look like for women in their late 30s and 40s?"