Tamarah Rockwood

Typical advice: Go out there and find yourself...on the precipice of death overlooking a valley of broken dreams, student loans, and tears.

Occasion: You are invited to your friend's wedding. YAY! WEDDINGS! You want to go. But then you can't. Bummer.

Was I hungry? Was it low blood sugar? Were my feet falling off? Was I crazy? Was I dying?

My brain seems to have stopped functioning at its full capacity, and I am simply going through the motions of loading the car and unloading the car at this point. Kids? Check. Purse? Check. Shoes? Check. Towels? Purely optional. Sunblock? Check.

"If I am holding an amber beer in my hand, I am not talking about naptimes. If I hear shop from your lips, I am ordering you three more martinis and getting you shitfaced..."

Yet, there is life beyond just t-shirt and jeans. There is more to an ensemble than denim and scarves.

I don’t like my old friend Guilt very much. We are not BFFs. She smells funny, and I don’t appreciate her company.

I worry about the food I give them. I worry about the clothes we have for them. I stress over the amount of time I spend with them . . . or don’t spend with them. When is it enough, and when is it overpowering?

You are being a dick if you intentionally create drama in a friendly conversation. You argue about everything from politics, to career choices, to shoe choices, to the quality of people around you to the quality of the pizza you ordered. No one cares about your opinions regarding pepperoncinis on pizza.

Before I discovered I had celiac, I ate whatever I desired. Since discovering this autoimmune blessing (yes, blessing), I research what food I am, not only putting into my body, but into my family’s as well. I taught myself how to cook nutritious food from scratch that actually tastes amazing (these two do not always go hand-in-hand).