My daughter called me after finishing Strangers by Belle Burden, a memoir about a woman whose twenty year marriage collapsed without warning, and the devastating financial and emotional fallout that followed. She’d devoured it in one sitting and called me breathless. “Mom. I cannot believe what he did. I cannot believe any man would do that.”

I paused. Then I said, very calmly: “Baby, it happens more than you think.”

Silence.

Then: “I’m terrified of marriage.”

And here’s where I had a choice. I could have reassured her. Told her that most men are wonderful, that love is worth the risk, that she shouldn’t let a book scare her. All of which may be true. But instead, I said something that I think serves her better:

“Good. Stay a little terrified. And let’s talk about money.”

Because that’s really what the book surfaces, underneath all the heartbreak, what happens to a woman financially, socially, emotionally, when she outsources her security to someone else. It’s the thing nobody names out loud. I’m going to name it: it’s the love tax. The quiet, compounding cost women pay, in earnings, in credit, in career momentum, in options, simply for loving someone and building a life around that love.

Most of us don’t even notice we’re paying it. Until the bill comes due.

How My Mother Built Her Own Ground

My mom was 25 when she became a single mother. Twenty five. No safety net. No trust fund. A whole lot of “I am figuring this out myself.” She worked. She hustled. She made choices that prioritized her ability to call her own shots, pay her own bills, and never, not once, have to ask anyone’s permission to live her life.

She didn’t raise me to be helpless. She raised me to be dangerous. In the best way.

Financial independence wasn’t a feminist talking point in our house. It was a survival skill. It was: know how much is in your account, know what you owe, know what you earn, and never fully outsource your financial reality to someone else. Even someone you love. Especially someone you love.

She’d already paid the love tax. She wasn’t going to let me inherit the bill.

The Choices We Make and Why They Can Still Terrify Us

Here’s the complicated part. The part I don’t think we talk about enough.

I got married. I had kids. And there were seasons (long ones) where I stepped back from earning and building my own financial world because I wanted to focus on my family. That was my choice. A real choice. Not a sacrifice I resented. Something I genuinely wanted.

And yet.

There were moments (episodes, honestly) where I would spiral. Where I would feel completely destabilized by the math of my own life. What if something changes tomorrow? What if the thing I’ve built my security around just... stops? What would I do? How would I take care of myself and my kids?

I wasn’t being paranoid. I was being a woman who understood history.

Because here’s what I’ve been watching for years, and I want to say this plainly: intelligent, accomplished, clear-eyed women making financially blind choices. Not because they’re naive, but because they believe in their partner. And I understand that. Love asks us to believe. But it’s more than belief that gets women into these situations. It’s conditioning. It’s the way we’re still quietly taught that managing the money is his job, that asking too many questions signals distrust, that being “good” in a marriage means not needing to know. Women are constantly asked to make sacrifices, to put aside our interests, our earnings, our professional identities, and sometimes we even want to. But wanting something and being financially protected while you do it are not mutually exclusive. They should go hand in hand.

The love tax isn’t always collected all at once. It comes out in installments. A few years out of the workforce. A retirement account that never got opened. A credit score in his name, not yours. A business idea that got quietly shelved because the timing wasn’t right for the family. Small payments, made with love, that add up to something much larger than anyone planned.

I’ve seen marriages unravel in ways that shocked everyone in the room except me. People who seemed like one person became someone else entirely when money was on the table. Fear does strange things to people. Desperation does stranger things. And I’ve watched women, brilliant, loving, trusting women, find themselves with no leverage, no resources, and no runway because they believed completely and planned not at all.

I don’t want that for my daughter. I don’t want it for any woman reading this.

The Financial Independence Playbook for Women At Every Age and Stage

This isn’t about distrust. This is about dignity. Here’s how to build financial independence and stop paying the love tax, whether you’re 19 or 49, single or married for decades.

If you’re young and just starting out:

• Open your own accounts and know what’s in them. Sounds basic. Do it anyway. Your money should live somewhere you control, where no one else can access without your knowledge.

• Build credit in your own name. A credit card, used responsibly and paid off monthly, in your name only. Your credit score is your financial reputation. Protect it like you protect your actual reputation.

• Start a retirement account the moment you have income. Even $50 a month at 22 becomes something real by 45. Compound interest is not exciting to talk about, and it will absolutely change your life.

• Know what things cost. Rent, groceries, insurance, utilities. If you’ve never had to pay for something yourself, you don’t actually know what your life costs. Find out.

If you’re in a relationship or marriage:

• Keep something in your own name. This is not a betrayal of your partnership. This is insurance. A savings account, an investment account, something that is yours. My rule: always have enough to cover 3-6 months of your life if you needed to start over.

• Stay involved in the finances. Even if your partner manages the money, you should know where the accounts are, what you have, what you owe, and what the passwords are. Joint finances should be transparent to both people. Always.

• Don’t completely exit the workforce if you can help it. I know this is complicated, especially with children. But there’s a real cost to gaps in employment in earning potential, in Social Security credits, in professional relevance. Even part-time. Even freelance. Stay in the game.

• Have your own income if at all possible. Even something small. Because income is independence, and independence is options.

• Know your legal rights. If you’re married, you likely have rights to marital assets. Know what they are. Estate planning, beneficiary designations, joint property, these are not morbid conversations. They are adult ones.

If you’ve been out of the workforce for a while and need to rebuild:

• Don’t panic. Audit. What do you have? What do you owe? What skills do you have? Start from the actual reality, not the fear.

• Update your financial education. A lot has changed. Index funds, high-yield savings accounts, I-bonds, and even an hour on YouTube can change what you know. Ignorance is not a personality trait. It’s a solvable problem.

• Find your people. A fee-only financial advisor (not commission-based — important distinction) can help you make a plan. So can a smart friend. So can a community of women having honest conversations about money, which I intend for this to be.

What I’m Giving My Daughter Instead

She’s 19. She has her whole life ahead of her, including probably at least one relationship that will require her to make hard choices. I can’t protect her from the love tax entirely; it’s woven into the way the world still works. But I can make sure she sees it, names it, and goes in prepared.

Whatever she chooses, career, partnership, children, any combination, she goes in with her eyes open and her own financial foundation under her feet. Not because she doesn’t trust love. Because she understands that love and financial independence are not in conflict. They never were.

Because here’s what I know: love is better when you’re not afraid. Partnerships are healthier when both people have options. And you can only truly choose to stay somewhere when you also have the ability to leave.

That’s not cynicism. That’s freedom.

My mom taught me that at 25, in a small apartment, with a toddler and a whole lot of uncertainty. I’m passing it on.

I hope you do too.

xx-Sasha

Some Books to Explore:

• Smart Women Finish Rich by David Bach, specifically written for women, covers everything from values to investing.

• Women & Money by Suze Orman, practical, no-nonsense, and written entirely with women’s specific financial challenges in mind.

• The Automatic Millionaire, also by David Bach, is less gender-specific, but the systems he outlines work beautifully for women managing their own finances

• Worthy by Nancy Levin tackles the psychological and emotional blocks women have around money.

• Mind Over Money by Brad Klontz gets into the deeper money stories we inherit from our families.

• The Feminist Financial Handbook by Brynn Burger intersects feminism and personal finance directly.

Have you paid the love tax? Are you paying it right now? Drop it in the comments. This is exactly the conversation we need to be having?

I have always been a mover.

Tae Bo in the living room. Tracy Anderson Method before anyone else was awake. Dance classes, cardio everything, that specific kind of workout high that made me feel like I could run anything. Dancing and movement have been part of my identity for as long as I can remember, not because I was chasing a number on a scale, but because it genuinely made me feel like myself. Alive. Clear. Happy.

And then perimenopause arrived. And my body, very politely but very firmly, told me that what we had been doing was no longer going to work the way it used to.

Let Me Be Honest With You First

Before I get into what changed and why, I want to say something real.

I am not here to sell you a perfect routine. I go through ups and downs with my energy, some weeks I’m consistent and strong and some weeks I am absolutely not. My weight shifts. I deal with perimenopause fatigue in a way that sometimes makes the couch feel like a very reasonable life choice. I have been, at various points, genuinely lazy about this.

And I’ve made peace with that.

I am not counting every calorie like I’m preparing for a Victoria’s Secret fashion show. I am not. I am a woman and what I want is to feel good. Happy. Energized. Mentally clear. That is my priority. Not a number, not a dress size, not some version of myself from fifteen years ago.

The goal has shifted completely. And honestly? It feels like the sanest relationship I can have with my own body right now.

So take everything that follows in that spirit. This is not a prescription. It’s just what’s been working for me and what the science, it turns out, actually backs up.

Why Perimenopause Changes Everything About How You Should Exercise

Here’s what’s actually happening in your body and why it matters.

During perimenopause, estrogen and progesterone levels begin to fluctuate and decline. Estrogen, it turns out, is metabolically protective in ways most of us were never told about. When it starts to drop, several things happen at once: the body becomes more prone to storing fat, particularly around the midsection. Muscle mass begins to decrease, we lose roughly 1% of lean muscle per year starting in our 30s, and that rate accelerates with hormonal shifts. Bone density starts to decline. Sleep gets disrupted. Perimenopause fatigue sets in. And the metabolism slows in ways that cardio alone simply cannot address.

Perimenopause weight gain is one of the most commonly searched topics for women in their 40s and for good reason. The hormonal changes of menopause tend to redistribute fat toward the abdomen rather than the hips and thighs, and that shift happens even when lifestyle hasn’t changed at all. It’s not your fault. It’s biology. And knowing that actually helps.

The cardio-everything approach, the one many of us were raised on, the one the fitness industry sold us for decades was designed around burning calories. And it works for that. But it does very little to build and preserve muscle, support bone density, or stabilize the hormonal shifts happening underneath the surface.

Research shows that two to three sessions per week of progressive resistance training can halt or reverse muscle loss and preserve your resting metabolic rate. Load-bearing exercise improves bone mineral density, reducing the risk of osteoporosis and up to 20% of bone density loss can occur during the menopause transition. Resistance training also improves insulin sensitivity and reduces cortisol supporting hormonal stability, better sleep, and sharper mental clarity.

In other words: what your perimenopausal body is quietly asking for is strength. Not more cardio. Strength.

What My Workouts Look Like Now

I do circuit training three times a week. (non negotiable) And it has genuinely changed everything.

The focus is on compound, load-bearing movements, the best exercises for perimenopause, that do multiple things at once: building muscle, supporting bone density, and keeping my metabolism working without overdoing it and staying consistent. We start with a little bit of cardio to warm up the body either on the treadmill or on the rower. Here’s what we typically focus on:

For bone density and strength:

• Squats to overhead press

• Deadlifts (Romanian)

• Reverse Lunges with rotation and split squats

• Overhead press

• Bent-over rows

• Chest press

• Glute bridges and hip thrusts

• Step-ups with weights

• Resistance band work for hips and glutes

• Planks and core stability work

• Bicep curls and tricep extention

• Latteral raises for shoulders & Reverse Flies for back of shoulders

The American College of Sports Medicine recommends full-body resistance training at least 2-3 times a week for women in perimenopause and menopause, with exercises challenging enough that the final reps feel genuinely hard. Not punishing, but not coasting either. That’s the sweet spot.

But I Also Still Dance. And Walk. And Play Pickleball.

Because here’s the thing: I didn’t give up joy. I just stopped letting cardio be the whole story.

I still dance, because dancing makes me feel like myself in a way nothing else does. I walk with a friend a few times a week, which is good for my body and genuinely good for my soul. And pickleball snuck up on me and became one of my favorite things. These aren’t my “workout.” They’re just how I move through my life.

The most important thing when it comes to perimenopause and exercise is to move consistently, in whatever way you actually enjoy. The best workout is the one you’ll keep doing. That’s it. That’s the whole secret.

A Few Things Worth Knowing

If you’re in perimenopause and feeling like your body has changed the rules on you it has. And that’s not failure. That’s information.

A few things that have genuinely helped beyond the workouts:

Protein matters more than you think. Building and preserving muscle during perimenopause requires adequate protein, most women aren’t getting enough. More than you think you need is usually closer to right. I start the day with some type of protein like egg or chicken sausage.

Rest is not optional. Overtraining in perimenopause is a real thing. Your body needs recovery time more than it used to. Two to three focused sessions a week is genuinely enough, more is not always better. I love these Arrae Creatine gummies which help recovery as well.

The mental health piece is real. Perimenopause symptoms like brain fog, anxiety, and low mood are directly connected to hormonal changes and strength training has been shown to improve all three. Every small win in the gym is a reminder that you have more left to give, even on the days when perimenopause fatigue makes it feel otherwise. Electrolytes help a lot (Cure Watermelon Flavor is my favorite) and also protein shakes and lots of water all day. I fill up my water bottle and carry it with me to make sure I stay on it.

Talk to your doctor. If your perimenopause symptoms are significantly affecting your life, sleep, mood, energy, weight, have the conversation. There are options, including hormone therapy, that are worth understanding properly rather than dismissing.

The Thing I Want You to Take From All of This

My body asked me for something different. It took me a while to listen. But when I did, something shifted, not just physically, but in the way I think about what movement is actually for.

It’s not punishment. It’s not penance for what you ate yesterday. It’s not about earning the right to rest or eat dinner.

It’s about feeling like yourself. Strong, clear, present, alive.

I want to feel like the best, happiest version of myself, in this body, in this chapter, with this life. Not a body from fifteen years ago. This one, right now, doing its best.

That’s enough. That is more than enough.

xx — Sasha

ps- The right Soundtrack can make all the difference. Choose songs that make you happy and want to move.

I used to believe, genuinely, deeply believed, that empathy was universal. That at the core of every person was some fundamental capacity to feel for another human being. That cruelty was the exception, not the rule. That people, when it came down to it, cared.

It was a sad day when I learned that wasn’t entirely true.

And lately, that sadness has been harder to shake. Because we are living through a genuinely strange and painful moment as human beings. On one side, artificial intelligence and automation are quietly threatening the future of work, of creativity, of what it even means to be human. And on the other, as if in answer to that existential anxiety — we are watching some of the deepest cruelty play out in public, daily, almost casually. In our politics. In our comment sections. In the way we talk about people we disagree with. In the way we talk about people we’ve never even met.

Have people actually gotten meaner? Or has ambition, the pressure to win, to compete, to survive in a world that feels increasingly zero-sum, pushed people to a place where cruelty feels justified? Where softness feels like a liability? Where empathy, that most human of qualities, has somehow become a weakness?

God forbid you don’t win.

I was at my son’s soccer game recently when a mother in the stands (warm face, looked like a sweet woman) became so consumed by her son’s team losing that when a player on our side went down injured, she screamed across the field: “Just replace him.”

A fifteen year old boy. On the ground. And she wanted him replaced like a broken part.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it because something had taken over in that moment that was more important to her than a hurt child. Winning. Or the fear of losing. And I thought: if a mother can’t find empathy for a child the same age as her own son, what is she teaching him? What are any of us teaching the people around us when we choose that?

What are we living for, honestly?

That question sent me somewhere unexpected. It sent me looking at how cultures around the world have always approached this, how they have, for centuries, found ways to deliberately teach empathy. To build it into the fabric of daily life. To treat it not as a personality trait you either have or you don’t, but as a practice. A skill. Something that has to be tended.

Because I do think most people have it in them. I haven’t given up on that. But I think it gets buried. Under pressure, under fear, under the noise of a world that rewards aggression and punishes vulnerability. And I think the only way back is to teach it — consciously, consistently, starting young.

For our family, that started at home. In the conversations we had, the values we tried to model, the way we talked about other people and their lives. My kids attended a French international school, where children came from every religion, every faith, every corner of the world. What they absorbed there, quietly, just by being around it every day, was that everyone carries something beautiful in them. That difference is not a threat. That the kid who prays differently or speaks differently is still, underneath all of it, someone worth knowing.

My son now has a Life Skills class at his high school, a weekly hour where kids sit together and talk through what’s actually happening in their lives. No grades. No right answers. Just the slow, unglamorous practice of being heard and learning to hear someone else.

I watched him recently pull a kid he’d never met into his friend group within an hour — include him, read the room, make space and I felt something I can only describe as hope. Because it is working. Not perfectly. But it is working.

I didn’t know until I started pulling on this thread that Denmark has been doing something remarkably similar since 1993. Or that cultures all over the world have each, in their own way, been quietly and deliberately teaching empathy in children for centuries.

Empathy is not something we are simply born with or without. It is something we build. Something we choose. Something the world already knows how to do — if we are willing to look.

Denmark: The Country That Made Emotional Intelligence Mandatory

Since 1993, Danish schools have dedicated one hour a week, mandatory, for every child aged 6 to 16, to something called Klassens Tid, or Class Time. It is, in essence, a weekly empathy class for children. And Denmark has consistently ranked among the happiest countries in the world ever since.

Students gather and talk through whatever is happening — conflicts, worries, feelings about school, things at home. The teacher facilitates but does not lecture. The goal is not to fix or instruct. It is to listen. To practice seeing the room from someone else’s chair. If there’s nothing to resolve, students simply spend the hour together — resting, connecting, being in each other’s company without agenda.

There is even a word for what that feels like: hygge which is intentional warmth. The deliberate creation of closeness. Denmark made a decision that emotional intelligence in children deserves the same curriculum time as mathematics. Imagine what it would mean if your child came home each week having genuinely practiced the skill of listening without judgment, or if someone had taught you, early, how to sit with another person’s feelings without immediately trying to fix or defend.

Africa: Ubuntu “I Am Because We Are”

There is a philosophy originating with the Zulu and Xhosa people of South Africa that may be the most quietly radical idea about human connection I have ever encountered.

Ubuntu. “I am because we are.”

It is not a motivational phrase. It is a complete worldview — and one of the most powerful cultural approaches to raising empathetic children that exists. Your humanity is not separate from mine, it is bound up in it. We do not become fully ourselves in isolation. In communities rooted in Ubuntu, children are not raised to compete with each other. They are raised to notice each other. Conflict resolution is not about winning — it is about restoring relationship. Bringing people back to each other rather than declaring a victor.

Not: how do I win this argument? But: how do we come back to each other?

Japan: Omoiyari. The Empathy That Doesn’t Wait to Be Asked

In Japan, there is a concept called Omoiyari — the practice of anticipating another person’s needs before they have to voice them. Of paying such careful attention to the people around you that you sense what they need and offer it quietly, without being asked.

It is empathy as attentiveness. As a kind of love that does not announce itself.

This shows up everywhere in Japanese culture — in the way hosts prepare for guests, in the consideration given to how words will land before they are spoken. For those of us raised in the West, where explicit communication is prized above all else, Omoiyari can feel counterintuitive. But there is something in it worth sitting with: that truly knowing someone means paying close attention. That presence itself is a form of care. That teaching empathy to children isn’t always about words — sometimes it’s about modeling what it looks like to notice.

Indigenous Cultures: When Empathy Extends Beyond People

In many Indigenous traditions — from Māori communities in New Zealand to First Nations peoples across North America to Andean communities in South America — empathy does not begin and end with other people.

It extends to the land. To water. To animals. To the seasons.

You cannot truly care for your community while ignoring the health of the ecosystem you live within. For children raised with this understanding, empathy becomes something much larger than a social skill — it becomes a way of moving through life. And it offers something we urgently need right now: the idea that care for the world and care for each other are not separate things. They are the same practice.

Latin America: The Kitchen Table as the Original Classroom

In many Latin American cultures, connection is not something you schedule. It is the texture of daily life. Extended family gathered for meals that last hours. Neighbors treated like relatives. Children present at adult conversations, absorbing the rhythms of how people talk to each other, repair things, celebrate, grieve.

Empathy here is not taught through a formal program. It is caught and absorbed through proximity. Through watching how the adults in the room handle someone’s sadness, or disagreement, or need. Children develop emotional intelligence not primarily through instruction, but through being present when real human things happen and watching what the adults they love do next.

What All of This Is Telling Us

Every culture here has arrived at something Western culture is only now beginning to say out loud: empathy is not innate. It is built.

Through dedicated practice. Through a philosophy of interconnection. Through the quiet discipline of attention. Through relationship with the living world. Through the ordinary magic of the shared table.

Raising empathetic kids doesn’t require a perfect parenting strategy. It requires something simpler and harder: showing them, every day, what it looks like to truly notice someone else.

A Few Books Worth Reading

The Danish Way of Parenting by Jessica Alexander and Iben Sandahl — a genuinely warm read about raising children with emotional intelligence at the center.

Nonviolent Communication by Marshall Rosenberg — the foundational text for understanding how we speak to each other, and how to do it better. Recommended by everyone from therapists to CEOs.

Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer — a botanist and member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation writes about Indigenous wisdom and our relationship with the natural world. One of the most quietly affecting books I have read in years.

The world has always known how to teach this. Culture after culture figured it out — in classrooms, around tables, through philosophy, through relationship with the land.

I think about that mother at the soccer game sometimes. I don’t think she’s a bad person. I think she’s someone who forgot — or maybe was never taught — that the child on the ground was someone’s whole world. That winning was never the point. That we are all, every single one of us, on this planet together.

That is what empathy is. Not a feeling. A choice. A practice. Something we build in the people we love by showing them, every day, what it looks like to notice someone else. To stay in the room when things get uncomfortable. To look at the person across from you — whoever they are, wherever they come from — and decide they are worth your full attention.

The world gets kinder the same way it got meaner. Quietly. Slowly. One person at a time.

xx — Sasha

Let me set the scene.

There I was, doing what all good, self-aware, emotionally intelligent people do when a relationship starts to feel completely unhinged, I was blaming myself. Replaying conversations. Asking myself what I could have done differently. Showing up softer, kinder, more understanding. Basically contorting myself into a human pretzel trying to figure out what magical combination of words and behavior would finally make things okay.

Spoiler: there wasn’t one.

I’m writing this because I wish someone had handed it to me when I was a young adult. It would have saved me a considerable amount of therapy, heartache, and frankly, time. If you work in show business, understanding narcissistic personality disorder should honestly be required reading before you’re allowed on set. [But let’s be clear, this is not just a Hollywood problem. This is an everywhere problem. Your office, your family, your group chat. They’re everywhere.]

Because what I didn’t know, what nobody had actually told me clearly, is that I was dealing with a narcissist. Not the casual “ugh he’s so narcissistic” way we throw the word around. I mean a real, clinical, textbook personality disorder. And that distinction matters more than I can tell you.

First: what narcissism actually is

Narcissistic Personality Disorder is not just someone who takes too many selfies or talks about themselves at dinner. It’s a genuine psychological condition characterized by a deep lack of empathy, an insatiable need for admiration, and a pattern of manipulating the people around them to get it. It’s not a mood. It’s not a phase. It’s a personality structure that drives behavior consistently, persistently, and regardless of how much you love them or how hard you try.

Which brings me to the most important thing I want you to hear.

It has nothing to do with you.

Nothing. Not your tone, not your timing, not how you worded that text at 11pm. They are not reacting to you. They are operating from a disorder that exists completely independently of anything you do or don’t do. I know that’s hard to absorb. Read it again anyway.

The advice that changed everything and why it sounds wrong at first

I was lucky enough to speak with a renowned psychologist about what I was dealing with. And the advice she gave me stopped me cold.

No empathy. Only boundaries.

I’m sorry…what now?

Coming from someone who genuinely believes empathy is one of the greatest human superpowers, someone who has spent a career literally walking around in other people’s shoes, being told to switch off my empathy felt almost offensive. That’s not who I am. That’s not how I operate.

But here’s what she meant. And the moment it clicked, everything changed.

Narcissists don’t just benefit from your empathy. They weaponize it. They know you care. They know you want to understand their struggle. They know you’ll twist yourself into knots trying to accommodate their needs because that’s the kind of person you are. Sound like anyone familiar? That’s the tool. Your compassion becomes the very thing they use to keep you exactly where they need you, confused, guilty, and endlessly trying harder.

So the answer isn’t to become cold or unfeeling. It’s to become boundaried. Set limits based on your needs. Based on what you are actually comfortable with. Not to manage their feelings. Not out of guilt. Because you matter too. Full stop.

Grey rocking: the technique nobody talks about enough

If you haven’t heard of grey rocking, write this down.

The concept is simple: you give a narcissist absolutely nothing to feed off. No reaction. No visible hurt. No anger, no tears, no drama. You become the most boring, unremarkable, grey rock they have ever encountered in their life.

Why does this work? Because narcissists are fueled by your response. Your pain, your confusion, your desperate attempts to make things right, that’s the supply. When you stop supplying it, you become genuinely uninteresting to them. Not immediately. Not without some escalation first because they will absolutely turn up the volume when they realize the usual tricks aren’t working. But eventually? They move on.

Become the grey rock. It works.

The hard truth at the bottom of all of this

If they cared about you, truly cared, they would behave differently. They don’t. And that is not a reflection of your worth. It is not a consequence of something you did or failed to do. It is simply who they are.

You are not crazy. You are not too sensitive. You are not asking for too much. You are an empathetic, caring person who got tangled up with someone who does not operate the same way you do. Those are not character flaws. Those are actually your greatest qualities, they just need protecting.

So protect them.

Set your boundaries. Grey rock when you have to. And when you’ve done everything you can — exit. Cleanly, quietly, and without looking back.

Your peace is not a luxury. It’s a necessity. Treat it like one.

xx-Sasha

Has any of this resonated with you? Drop a comment below. This is one of those conversations that deserves more than a scroll.

Some great books: Stop Walking on Eggshells, It’s Not you, The Object of Affection is in my Reflection, The Covert Narcissist

I woke up this morning feeling unsettled.

Not dramatically. Not in a crisis way. Just… off. A low hum under everything. A heaviness I couldn’t quite name. Maybe it’s the state of the world. Maybe it’s the constant noise. Maybe it’s just what happens when you’ve been moving quickly for too long.

So I called a friend, the kind who tracks the moon the way some people track the stock market.

She didn’t hesitate.
“There’s a full moon in Virgo tomorrow. And a total lunar eclipse.”

Ah. Of course.

Tomorrow night the moon will darken into a deep, copper red, what’s often called a blood moon. It happens when the Earth moves directly between the sun and the moon, casting a shadow that temporarily transforms its glow.

Eclipses have always carried a sense of pause. Not panic. Not drama. Just interruption. A reminder that even steady things can dim for a moment and then return.

Virgo, in particular, is associated with refinement. With tending to details. With quiet adjustments. It’s not flashy energy. It’s thoughtful. Practical. Clean-the-drawer, clear-the-mind energy.

Maybe that’s what this one is asking of us.

Not a reinvention.
Not a dramatic release.
Just a gentle recalibration.

An honest look at what feels aligned and what feels slightly out of place.

When the moon shifts color, it doesn’t disappear. It changes tone. And then, gradually, it restores itself.

There’s comfort in that.

If You’re Feeling It Too

If you’ve felt more sensitive lately. More aware. More easily tipped off-center, you’re not alone.

Whether you believe in lunar energy or simply appreciate the symbolism, this is a beautiful time to slow down intentionally.

Not because something is wrong, but because tending to yourself is powerful.

A few small rituals if you need them:

• A warm foot soak with magnesium or salt to ground your body.
• A nourishing mask (face or hair) something tactile and kind
• A cup of tea you drink without multitasking.
• Dancing it out always helps the nervous system.
• Cooking your favorite meal with music playing
• Going to bed earlier than usual and not apologizing for it

Virgo energy isn’t dramatic. It’s devoted. It’s about caring for the small things so the larger things don’t unravel.

You don’t need to “do” anything under this moon.
You don’t need to purge your life or journal your way into a breakthrough.

You can simply notice.

Notice what feels heavy.
Notice what feels complete.
Notice what you’re ready to set down.

This week, I’m choosing to take it easy. To dim the lights a little earlier. To move slower than usual. To let the eclipse pass without trying to force meaning from it.

If the sky is shifting, we’re allowed to soften.

So wherever you are tomorrow night, maybe step outside for a moment. Look up. Take one deep breath.

And then come back inside, make something warm, and let yourself rest.

The light always returns.

And so do we.

xx - Sasha

Ps- I love this moon calendar too in case you want to know more.

For years after my father died, I kept his contact in my phone.

I couldn’t delete it.
As if pressing that small gray “remove” button would mean losing him all over again.

Sometimes my fingers would move before my mind could catch up. I would go to call him, to share something small, something ordinary and I would realize… He’s not here.

I was 32 when he passed. It was the first real loss of my life. The first time I understood how death doesn’t just break your heart, it rearranges your reflexes.

This month, we lost a wonderful actor and human, James Van der Beek, someone the world watched grow up on Dawson’s Creek and a fellow friend I had the pleasure of working with. We also lost Catherine O’Hara and Eric Dane, both actors we have had the pleasure of watching for years.

There is something uniquely disorienting about losing someone who feels woven into your formative years, which is how so many of us felt about James, Catherine and Eric.

When we grow alongside someone, whether in our real lives or through a screen, they become part of the architecture of our memory. Their youth lives inside ours. Their growth mirrors our own.

And when their life ends too early, it forces us to confront not only mortality, but time itself.

But here is what I have come to understand about grief.

It is not the end of the relationship.

It is the beginning of a different one.

The body is gone. The voice on the other end of the phone is gone. But what they gave us remains.

My father lives in the way I move through the world.
In the advice that still echoes in my head.
In the instincts that surface when I least expect them.

The sharp edge of grief dulls over time. It doesn’t disappear, it transforms. The ache becomes warmth. The tears become stories. The absence becomes a quieter kind of presence.

We carry them differently.

In photographs. In memories. In old contacts we’re not quite ready to delete.
In the quiet moments when we feel them beside us, even if we can’t explain how.

If you are grieving right now, whether privately or alongside millions of others, I hope you know this: the love does not disappear. It changes form. It settles into you. It grows roots in unexpected places.

It is not the ending we would have chosen, but it is the beginning of a new way of loving them.

And one day, you may look at that contact in your phone and instead of shock, feel gratitude.

Not because they are gone.

But because they were here.

xx-Sasha

In a recent Convos & Coffee conversation with John Macnutt, a therapist who works with ancestral healing and somehow makes lineage feel less intimidating than it sounds, we started talking about generational patterns.

Not in a heavy, incense-burning way. More in a practical one.

The kind we inherit quietly through family systems.
The kind that shape our beliefs about power, gender, ambition, and authority long before we realize we’ve absorbed them.

Listen To Our Conversation

Ancestral Healing

Ancestral healing, a phrase that can sound mystical, is really about awareness. About noticing generational trauma and inherited conditioning. About asking whether the emotional patterns we carry, especially those shaped by masculine influence and hierarchy, are actually ours… or simply passed down like family china no one remembers choosing.

Because not everything we carry belongs to us.

John described this work as untangling invisible agreements with our lineage, loyalties we didn’t consciously choose, emotional postures we inherited before we had language.

But what stayed with me wasn’t the terminology.

It was the question:

Is this belief actually mine?
Or was it handed to me?

And I couldn’t help but think about the rooms we’ve been watching lately. The rooms where women rise. The rooms where empathy can feel like liability.

What if the question isn’t, “Why would she turn away?”

What if the deeper question is, “What did she inherit about power?”

Most of us grew up negotiating male authority in some form. I did. My father was a kind, funny, hardworking man who grew up in a family of seven brothers, basically their own fraternity. He believed sincerely that women belonged in a very specific role. That belief wasn’t malicious. It was generational. It was inherited.

If I hadn’t questioned it, I might have lived it.

Generational Cycles

Because we all inherit something. Beliefs about power. Beliefs about gender. Beliefs about what strength looks like. Beliefs about who leads and who softens. Some of those beliefs were spoken clearly at the dinner table. Others were absorbed quietly, through posture, tone, silence, and who held authority in the room.

That’s how generational cycles continue.

Not because we’re malicious. Not because we lack intelligence. But because what feels “authentic” rarely gets examined.

If we don’t examine what we inherit, we perform it.

We marry it.
We parent with it.
We lead with it.

And sometimes, we carry those same patterns into positions of power without even noticing.

Unexamined wounds don’t disappear, they echo.
Silence becomes culture.
Hierarchy becomes instinct.
Detachment becomes armor.

Breaking ceilings isn’t the same as breaking cycles. A woman can rise into power and still carry the blueprint of the structure she entered. A man can speak about reform and still operate from unquestioned loyalty to hierarchy.

Shift With Awareness

John said something that hasn’t left me: “You can’t transform what you refuse to see.”

That applies to families, institutions, nations and to ourselves. This work doesn’t require a label. It begins with noticing. With the willingness to question your own story.

What did I inherit about strength? About obedience? About power?
About what women are allowed to be?

Breaking generational patterns doesn’t mean rejecting our parents. It means recognizing that what shaped them does not have to shape us in the same way.

Inheritance is powerful, but it isn’t destiny. What felt normal growing up does not have to be what we normalize for the next generation.

Change doesn’t have to be dramatic. It can be quiet.

Choosing empathy where detachment was modeled. Choosing presence where avoidance once felt safer. Choosing awareness instead of reacting on instinct.

That is healing.

Just the quiet interruption of the automatic.

And maybe that’s how rooms change. Maybe that’s how families soften. Maybe that’s how power slowly evolves.

We can’t choose what built us.

But we can choose what we carry forward.

xx Sasha

Sunday’s Super Bowl was… not exactly about football.

A dear friend invited us over to watch the game, partly for football, but mostly because her boyfriend is a very good cook. He made homemade chicken wings that deserved their own postgame analysis, an inspired baked potato skins bar, and genuinely excellent guacamole. It perfectly set the tone.

Seven women (and two men) gathered around the television. We ate. We talked. We half-watched the game. We fully watched the commercials. We perked up for Bad Bunny (what a performance). And in between plays, we did what women do best, we went deep.

While the guys were sincerely watching the game, one of my friends launched into a very candid update about her single life, including the words “getting laid” delivered at a volume the whole neighborhood could hear. It was hilarious. It was uncensored. It was… not your classic Super Bowl experience.

Somewhere between the chicken wings and the guacamole, it hit me.

Female friendships have a very specific magic.

They are part therapy, part comedy show, part crisis management team, and occasionally, part FBI-level investigative unit when someone is dating someone questionable.

They are the women who:

• Remember who you were before life got complicated
• Hold space for who you are becoming
• Let you unravel without trying to fix you immediately
• Celebrate wins like they personally negotiated them for you
• Text, “I had a weird feeling about that guy,” months after he proves them right

Friendships evolve in chapters. There are the college friends who watched you invent yourself. The work friends who witnessed your ambition…and your burnout. The mom friends who saw you function on three hours of sleep and goldfish crackers. And then there are the friends who arrive later, sometimes quietly, and somehow feel like they’ve been there all along.

What I’ve learned, especially as life gets fuller and more complicated, is that friendships are less about constant proximity and more about emotional continuity. Some friends you speak to daily. Others you pick up with mid-sentence after six months and somehow land exactly where you left off. (I have a very special place for the friends I don’t see year-round but who reappear as if no time has passed at all.)

There is also something incredibly powerful about friendships during seasons when life feels uncertain. Romantic relationships can shift. Careers can pivot. Kids grow up and need us differently. But friendships often become the steady architecture underneath it all.

They are the witnesses to your life. Here’s a clip from my Convos & Coffee podcast from one of my long time besties and witnesses, Jessica Capshaw.

Our Full Interview

And witnessing matters. Being seen in your joy. Being seen in your mess. Being seen when you don’t have a polished version of yourself ready to present.

Galentine’s Day, in its most sincere form, isn’t really about matching pajamas or themed cocktails (although I fully support both). It’s about acknowledging the women who show up in the middle of ordinary Tuesdays. The ones who sit beside you during life’s most unglamorous moments. The ones who remind you who you are when you forget.

So if you’re celebrating Galentine’s this year, here are a few small but meaningful ways to honor the women in your life:

• Send the text you’ve been thinking about but haven’t sent
• Mail an actual handwritten note (we all love to receive stationary)
• Plan a standing annual dinner (no rescheduling allowed)
• Create a shared photo album called “Proof We Survived Everything”
• Or simply tell a friend, very directly, “You make my life better.”

Here are a few more little surprises that would make beautiful gifts for the friends who hold your life together:

This Creamy Blush, this Lipstick, this Candle, this Moon Calendar, these Pajamas, this Perfume, this Banana Bread

💗 Happy Galentine’s, ladies.

Truly, what is life without you.
And who else would eat all the chicken wings with me?

Xx Sasha

My husband Edoardo’s mom is a movie star. It’s Sophia Loren. When people find that out they always need details. Not only because she’s very Italian, glamorous, admired by most of the world but because she is the kind of woman people assume must be a nightmare—because how could she not be? It must be a Monster-in-Law situation. (great film written by a dear friend who actually DID have the psycho mother in law.)

So let me start by saying something that may immediately disqualify me from certain group chats: my mother-in-law is nothing like that. I remember the first time I met her. I was nervous in that very specific way you are when you know this person matters. And then she opened the door, pulled me into the biggest, warmest hug, and that was it. From that moment on, she was loving, respectful, and completely uninterested in meddling in Edoardo and I’s relationship. She doesn’t interfere. She doesn’t hover. She doesn’t compete. She is, in every way, the opposite of the stereotype.

That said, I’m not naive. I know not everyone gets this experience. There are mother-in-laws who overstep, who insert themselves where they don’t belong, who confuse concern with control. I definitely don’t support that either. But here’s the thing that feels missing from a lot of the current conversation: grace. Especially when it comes to mothers and their sons. Until you have a child, in this case a son, you simply cannot understand the depth of that bond. You raise this boy, shape him, love him fiercely, worry about him endlessly… and one day, he falls in love and starts a new life. That is beautiful. And also emotional. And also, let’s be honest—a little destabilizing.

So when I see grown women acting as though a mother having feelings is some unforgivable crime, it genuinely rattles me. The outrage over a mother being “too much” at a wedding, or emotional at an engagement, or God forbid wearing something sparkly or dancing like she’s having fun? Please. You are marrying the man. You’re going home with him. You’re building the life, sleeping in the bed, having the babies. You’ve already won. Why is there no room to let the woman who brought him into the world have her moment too?

There’s a particular kind of youthful entitlement at play here, the belief that love is a zero-sum game, that respect for a mother somehow threatens the wife. It doesn’t. Respecting a mother-in-law doesn’t diminish you; it actually says something very generous and confident about who you are. It acknowledges that before you, there was a woman who loved this man first, who shaped him, who sacrificed for him, and who deserves a little dignity in the process of letting go.

So maybe the radical take isn’t “cut them off,” or “protect your peace at all costs,” or “it’s your wedding, it’s your rules.” Maybe it’s this: let her dance. Let her cry. Let her wear the sparkly bra. Offer grace instead of judgment. Because one day, if you’re lucky, you might be the mother standing on the other side of that equation, hoping someone shows you the same respect.

xx -Sasha

I started this year not feeling quite right.

Midlife has a way of making things very clear, very fast. What I can tolerate. What I can’t. What exhausts me. What quietly restores me. Somewhere between travel fatigue, hormonal shifts, endless notifications, and the low-grade hum of worrying about everyone I love, I realized I wasn’t having a productivity problem or even an immunity problem, I was having a nervous system problem.

So instead of pushing through, I slowed down.

Lately, I’ve been thinking of it as a kind of love story, one with my nervous system. Less intensity, more attention. Treating it like a relationship I want to thrive.

When I’m Not Feeling Well, I Go Warm

The first thing I do is keep everything warm, especially what I drink.

I live on tea when I’m recovering. Lemon ginger is my favorite, always with really good honey and fresh lemon. I sip it throughout the day, not as a cure-all, but as a steady source of comfort and hydration. My Fellow teapot brings me so much joy.

It’s simple. It works. And it signals to my body that we’re in repair mode.

Clean Food, No Sugar, Lots of Soup

When my immune system feels low, I eat very clean.

I stay away from sugar completely and lean into soups, brothy, nourishing, easy to digest. I don’t overcomplicate it. This isn’t the time for extremes or discipline masquerading as wellness. It’s just food that supports healing rather than stressing my system further.

I’ve learned that immunity isn’t built during a crisis, it’s built in the quiet weeks you think you’re fine which is why I take probiotics daily during these germ-y months and clean my hands a lot. These Biom wipes smell good and I have them in the office and at home for everyone to use frequently.

Rest Isn’t Being Lazy.

I sleep more. I cancel things if I need to. I give myself permission to rest without explaining it away.

At night, I love an Epsom salt baths especially when my body feels heavy or overstimulated. It’s one of the quickest ways I know to release tension and calm everything down.

Movement stays gentle: short walks, fresh air, light stretching. Enough to circulate energy, not enough to drain it.

Mental health, I’ve learned, isn’t separate from any of this. When I’m glued to my phone, mainlining bad news and other people’s opinions, my body reacts before my mind does. My sleep suffers. My patience thins. My immune system feels it.

So I take breaks. I leave my phone in another room. I stop checking headlines past a certain hour. Being unreachable for stretches of time feels less indulgent and more necessary.

The Daily Things I Come Back To

When I’m rebuilding my energy, I return to a few steady supports:

• Super greens from Live It Up, which I take daily

• Protein shakes, where I add Cowboy Colostrum, greens, and fresh fruits.

• Saint Supply Olive oil shot. Always gives me an energy boost.

Nothing fancy. Just supportive.

Caring for Skin When Everything Feels Depleted

When I’m run down, my skin always shows it first.

I focus on moisture and repair, nothing aggressive. Lately, I’ve been loving the Vinter’s Daughter serum. I put a lot on my face and neck and then use the Theraface Pro device for 15 minutes while watching I Love LA on HBO. (hilarious for those of us who live here.)

There’s something grounding about slowing down skincare when everything else feels tender. Oh and I love to wake up to a cold Current Body Cryo roller. It wakes me up immediately.

Easing Back Into Routine

Once I start feeling stronger, I gently reintroduce structure. Journals, planners, light workouts, comfortable clothes that make movement feel inviting rather than obligatory. I have been living in my SPRWN sweatshirt and I got new leggings from Alo.

And then there’s soccer.

Something I never expected to become part of my wellness routine. Standing on the sidelines in a sweatshirt, coffee in hand, cheering, chatting with other parents, watching my son sprint under a big open sky. It grounds me. It pulls me out of my head and back into my body. Sports can do that.

This time of year, between travel, weather shifts, and the push to “start strong” is actually a moment to be delicate. Our bodies are adjusting. Germs are everywhere. Energy is still settling.

A softer approach isn’t falling behind.
It’s how you sustain yourself.

Because I’ve realized something simple and profound: my nervous system is my most important relationship. And the more I honor it, the better everything else seems to function.

If you’re easing back into routine after travel, illness, or just a lot of life, consider this permission to go slow.

Sometimes the most effective way forward is to meet your body where it actually is, and let it lead. Stay healthy and positive everyone!

xx Sasha

Some years arrive with clarity and leave behind neat conclusions. Others arrive quietly, rearrange everything, and refuse to explain themselves. 2025 felt like that kind of year. One that asked me to sit longer than I wanted to, shed more than I expected, and trust that meaning would come later, if at all.

And now, at the beginning of a new year, I feel less interested in decoding what happened and more interested in how to move forward without overthinking it.

2025 was the Year of the Snake. A year of shedding, transitions and risk. The Snake doesn’t announce its growth. It outgrows its skin quietly, letting it split only when it’s no longer livable.

That’s how this past year felt: old versions loosening, stories I’d been carrying no longer fitting, expectations cracking - not because they failed, but because they were finished.

It wasn’t a year of answers.
It was a year of reflection.

Looking Back on 2025

Passport Stamps & Perspective

When I look back now, what stands out most are the moments of movement. Cities that held me differently than I expected. Long walks in unfamiliar places where no one knew my name or my résumé. Travel that wasn’t about escape, but perspective. Italy felt slower this year, more intimate. Normandie felt relaxed, yet expansive. Madrid reminded me how much clarity can come from distance. Each place gave me something subtle but lasting, a reminder that life feels lighter when you allow yourself to be elsewhere for a while.

The Business of Real Life

Business wise, 2025 was a year of newness, challenge, and learning. Besides pushing ahead with my acting and producing projects, I launched Real Life Co. in June. My idea was to give students and families a one stop destination for everything they need for college and young adult life. I worked long, relentless hours in an entirely new space than I’m used to. Web design, business strategy, product fulfillment, and beyond. I’ve learned so much over the past year and can’t wait to continue our journey in 2026.

I started the year performing on stage in Chekhov’s The Seagull, which was a dream in so many ways. After that I spent a few months filming Netflix’s Lincoln Lawyer which will premiere its new season in February. I loved working on the show and can’t wait for you to see it.

A Few Personal Notes

This year asked so much of me in new ways. It required boundaries I had previously avoided, conversations I used to soften, and a willingness to disappoint people in order to stay honest with myself. I learned how much peace exists on the other side of saying no. I learned that rest is not a reward, but a requirement. I learned that I can hold ambition and tenderness at the same time.

There were moments of grief for versions of myself I had outgrown (more than a few moments) and moments of pride for staying when it would have been easier to run. I became more patient with my body, more protective of my time, and more trusting of my intuition. Not because everything worked out perfectly, but because I stayed present enough to feel it all.

And now, we step into a new year.
The Year of the Horse.

The Horse carries a very different energy. It doesn’t linger or over-process. It moves. It trusts its legs. It carries wisdom forward without dragging the weight of the past behind it.

Before rushing ahead, I want to mark the transition. To acknowledge what’s been shed without dragging it into what’s next. Not a resolution. Not a reinvention. Just a pause to recognize that the work was done, even if it didn’t look the way I expected.

The Snake taught me depth.
The Horse reminds me of momentum.

I don’t need last year to make sense anymore.
I just need to trust that it did what it came to do.

I’m entering this year with fewer explanations and a little more faith in my body, in motion, in what comes next.

If you’re standing in a similar place, unsure but willing, I’m glad we’re here together.

xx Sasha

I was out on a quiet Saturday afternoon, standing in my friend’s brocante, admiring vintage cake stands and colorful scarves, when the phone rang. It was Edoardo.

His voice was steady, but I could hear what he wasn’t saying.

“Lucia is in a safe place,” he told me, “but there is an active shooter on campus.”

Those words pull you out of your life in an instant. The world around me blurred. Providence, usually an idyllic college town wrapped in finals-season stillness, suddenly felt like the center of something dark and senseless.

And yet… I wasn’t shocked.
Not really.
Not anymore.

We have grown so accustomed to this reality that even as I rushed home, heart pounding, I kept thinking: How is this normal? How is this our world?

My daughter and three friends hid in a dark bathroom with the lights off, whispering updates, waiting for the alerts to stop. Across the street, chaos unfolded. And like so many parents across the country, I sat in the quiet, waiting for a text, a call, a sign that the world was still intact.

What surprised me most wasn’t just the fear.
It was the silence.

People I consider close friends… family members… didn’t reach out. Maybe they assumed it didn’t involve us. Maybe they didn’t want to think about it. Maybe they’ve gone numb to all of it. I don’t know.

But that silence said something about where we are.
About the deeply selfish nature we’ve all learned to tolerate.
We care when it is us.
We care too late.
And sometimes, we don’t care at all.

Violence like this is not a misunderstanding. It is not a moment of weakness.
It is hate, acted out.
And hate, no matter its origin or excuse is never justified.

Ancestral trauma is not an excuse.
Political rage is not an excuse.
History is not an excuse.
Nothing is.

Because look at where we are now:
We have opportunities.
We have beauty.
We have community.
We have the ability to build and rebuild, to learn from the past instead of reenacting it.

Yet here we are.
Again.

So I’m asking you today, tomorrow, whenever you read this, to take a moment and pray for peace. I don’t care what religion you practice, or if you practice one at all. This is not about belief systems. It is about humanity.

Pray for the people grieving.
Pray for the people living in fear.
Pray for the people who have been taken too soon.
Pray for the people who witnessed terror from Bondi Beach to Brown University.

Make no mistake: this is terror.
And terror ignored is terror that grows.

We cannot pretend this is normal.
We cannot look away until it touches our doorstep.
We cannot wait until it is our child in the bathroom with the lights off.

So step up.
Do what you can.
Pray.
Act with compassion.
Choose peace over rage.
Choose connection over indifference.

Because right now, we all need it.
More than ever.

xx Sasha