Tips for Suriving a Broken Ankle

Before and after

My right ankle, before and after

So, you’ve broken your ankle. Do you live alone? Eeeesh. Do you enjoy exercise and outdoor activities? Ughhh. Do you prefer to plan your own meals and have control over the day to day minutiae of your life? Oy. Do you dislike asking for help for every little effing thing? Oh lordy. Brace yourself. You’re in a lot of pain and haven’t even thought about how much your life is about to change. Take a deep breath and consider this advice from a person who was NWB (non weight bearing) for 8 weeks. It will be okay. But for right now, this is your life.

IMG_4865  IMG_4903


Ask someone to get you fuzzy crutch covers IMMEDIATELY. One rugburn on your armpit is too many. You also will want to cover the handles to prevent blisters. (You will still get some blisters.) You can buy some, or use some towels or old t-shirts. It doesn’t matter what you use, just cover that rubber.


This isn’t you.

Learn how to actually use your crutches. Get a doctor or nurse or physical therapist to show you how to use your crutches properly. Make sure they’re the right height and that you’re putting most of your weight on your hands, not armpits. Find someone to explain how to go up and down stairs properly. Stairs are the absolute worst.


Get yourself a knee scooter post haste. Crutches are the devil. Two weeks after my surgery, I crutched into a McDonalds to use the restroom. It had been raining and the floor in the entryway was wet from people’s stupid wet shoes. I wasn’t even thinking and crutched right in there and completely wiped out, landing on my splinted foot. This hurt a LOT and could have jeopardized my entire recovery. (Thankfully, the screws held!) A graceful and experienced crutcher may look cool gliding down the street, but I promise you it is NOT WORTH THE RISK. Get an Rx for a knee scooter and ride that damn thing with pride.


Scooters also need fuzzy covers.

Sure, you look like a child with your backpack and sneakers (you should be wearing sneakers now – preventing trips and falls is very important) but who cares. You’ll be much more comfortable and much more stable. You’ll even have a hand free to carry things for yourself, which is very important.

Practice patience. Oh, baby this is a hard one. It’s multidimensional too. You need to be patient every moment of every day. Nothing will be quick for you anymore. Grabbing something from the fridge during a commercial? Nope. Running upstairs to get that one little thing you need? Nope. Taking a quick shower? Nope. Running a quick errand on the way home? You are not about that life. You are the turtle. Be the turtle. Every move you make is measured, thought out, and slow. Rushing is for other people. You have to become a zen master. Going to be late to work? Accept it. Not quite enough time to cross the street before the light changes? Wait for the next cycle. Need to put your boot on but the sock is still in the dryer? Chill. If you rush, you will hurt yourself. It’s not worth it. Patience.


Along those same lines, remember that this, too, shall pass. Your NWB days will end. It seriously sucks, but it is temporary. Be patient. Be patient.

Don’t get over confident, there, buddy. The minute you start jumping on and off your scooter or crutching at high speeds over uneven terrain, you will fall. Seriously. Use both hands on the scooter when you’re going backwards. Make sure your crutches have made solid, stable contact with the ground before swinging your body forward. GO SLOW. Hubris leads to re-injury.


Learn to ask for help. Sometimes it feels really awful to ask for help. On Labor Day I got a ride to a matinee showing of A Walk in the Woods. I should have realized the theater would be PACKED with the elderly and their many walkers and wheelchairs. The handicap accessible seats were all taken, and every other available seat was up or down stairs. Since I was using my scooter and didn’t have my crutches, stairs were not an option. I was trying to figure out what to do when an elderly woman with a cane got up out of her handicapped seat and and insisted I take her seat. I immediately refused. I was absolutely mortified, but she hoofed it up the steps with her cane and woudn’t take no for an answer. When I told my coworkers about the incident, they had a completely different take. They said, “She must have been really excited to have been able to help you out. You probably made her day!”  It took me a moment, but when I thought about it, I could see that being the case. This was really helpful for me to realize as I struggled to ask for and accept help. My friend James wrote a great post about that. Read it. You will need to ask for and accept help.


You will also need to stop feeling awkward about how often you say the phrase “thank you,” because it will be every other word that comes out of your mouth. These days, I say it at least nine times during every single interaction I have.

Learn to receive help graciously. This is one of the hardest parts about being laid up with a broken leg. Suddenly you can’t do anything for yourself. If you’re lucky, you will have people helping you. But the downside to that is that you have people helping you. Like when someone graciously offers to go grocery shopping for you and buys all the wrong things. (Regular Cheerios are NOT just as good as Multigrain Cheerios, Mom!) Or people sweetly offer to bring you food and keep bringing you pizza. I now know how it feels to be so freaking grateful for pizza and also so goddamned sick of pizza at the same time. It’s a strange feeling.


One of the things I struggled with the most before my knee scooter was the fact that I couldn’t carry a plate or a glass of water on my crutches. This meant that I couldn’t serve myself food. This meant that one of the most basic functions of being an independent adult – feeding yourself – was completely in the control of other people. In my case, for two weeks after my surgery, the people in charge were my parents. And let me be clear here: surrendering that level of control to your parents as a 30-year-old independent woman is INFURIATING. Yes, my parents were so incredibly generous and helpful and basically saved me during those first few weeks after my surgery because I had no one else. I am so, completely grateful for everything they did for me. But it was still really freaking hard not to lose it that time that I asked my dad for some food because I was really hungry and he said “No, it’s too early for dinner. We’ll eat later.” And I was like “AW HELL NAH, DAD. I AM A GROWN WOMAN AND I AM HUNGRY AND I WILL EAT NOW.” Except I had just had surgery, didn’t have the scooter, and I couldn’t get my own food. He refused to bring me food and I started to cry and he got upset that I was upset and that was probably one of the worst moments of this whole entire experience. Once I got my scooter, I had a free hand to carry things. It was a game-changer.


Find and revel in small moments of independence. Help is great and necessary, but sometimes you just want to do stuff by yourself. Some of the best moments of my convalescence were those that I spent alone. Like, really alone in my house for a whole day by myself. Sure, I planned ahead so that I had a fridge stocked with ready-to-eat meals, a few movies queued up on Netflix, and my scooter. (Praise be the scooter!) And on those days, I made myself eggs when I felt like it. I washed my own dishes. I shaved my other leg without anyone having to know about it. I did those things by myself, with no one watching or offering to help. It was beautiful.

(minus the dancing)

(minus the dancing)

Get out of your head. Having too much time to think is dangerous, and that’s what you have now. Way too much time to think. Try not to make any major life decisions right now. Your broken leg depression (situational depression is common for people with broken legs) will cloud your perception and poison your thinking about the state of your life. In addition to impacting your day to day concerns like eating and transportation, your injury is going to affect your relationships, your job/work, your social calendar, your creative outputs, and your community engagement. It may very well impact your sense of self. You might begin to wonder things like: “Am I still an outgoing, involved, busy person who does improv and loves hiking if none of those things are currently happening for me?” “Are my relationships as solid as I thought they were after spending an entire weekend without hearing from anybody?” “Are the melancholic, pessimistic jokes I use to manage my feelings starting to make other people uncomfortable?” “Is my life even going in the right direction?” “WHAT AM I EVEN DOING HERE?” … This shit is dangerous and it is real. On the bad days, try to remember that things are actually not as terrible as they feel. This is temporary. This is temporary.


Therapy is awesome, though. But if you can’t drive and have limited transportation options and can’t get out of the house to see a therapist, you’ll have to figure out some other strategies. Reach out to people as much as you can. Even thought it’s super inconvenient and a huge pain in the ass, ask someone to get you out of the house at least once a week. Go to a restaurant. Listen to some music. Change up your surroundings, even if only for a few minutes. You can ask someone to call you to check in every day. If there’s someone else in your life who’s struggling right now, do what you can to try to help them out. Helping someone else is one of the best ways to get your mind off your own shit. Cross off the days on a calendar. Countdown to your next doctor’s visit. Plan something really fun and special for when you’re healed. Make sure you remember the end in sight.


Make plans. I found it really helpful to think about and actually make plans for when I could walk again. For example, I’m going to dance at my friends’ wedding in a couple of weeks. I’m going to visit my parents in the city after that. Perhaps the biggest distraction/focal point has been planning a Christmas vacation with friends. After effectively missing summer (no swimming for me…) I am going spend a week on the beach in the Caribbean!!! The trip will be totally indulgent and fun, and I will have no regrets.


Continue to be patient. It’s been almost 10 weeks since I broke my ankle. I am currently walking, albeit very stiffly and slowly, with a sport brace and sneakers. I am doing physical therapy and I can finally drive. All of this is excellent. And yet, I’m not quite myself again. My ankle is still swollen and sore most of the time. I still cannot carry anything heavy. I still cannot jump or walk quickly or wear normal shoes. I’m also still feeling sad and frustrated and all of the other things you feel when you’re not okay. To others, I appear to be through the worst of it, healed, back to normal. But there’s a lot more healing left to be done for my ankle, and also for my spirit.


Remember, healing hurts. Continue to be patient and gentle with yourself. Continue to ask for help. Hang in just a little longer. We all must walk before we can run.


Sizeist Microaggressions You Shouldn’t Have to Put Up With

“Microaggression,” according to Wikipedia, is a term was coined by Chester M. Pierce in 1970. Columbia professor Derald Wing Sue, who literally wrote the book on them, defines microaggressions as “brief and commonplace daily verbal, behavioral, or environmental indignities, whether intentional or unintentional, that communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative racial slights and insults toward people of color.” Some examples of racial microaggressions include statements like “But you don’t act like a black person,” or any of these others mentioned in this Buzzfeed list, or this list from American Psychologist, and this Tumblr.

Microaggressions are definitely real things that impact the lives of marginalized people of all categories. Most discussion of microaggressions focus on race, but they play a big role in size politics too. But because size is a dynamic element for most people (i.e. it might change), sizeist microaggressions tend to impact people of all sizes – those who are fat, and those who are afraid that they are fat or afraid of becoming fat. I’m personally getting really damned sick of them.

“You look great! Have you lost weight?” 

“You look so skinny in that picture!”

“God, I am a disgusting pig at this weight.”  “…You weigh less than me….”   “I mean, just because I’m not usually this weight. It’s different.” 

“But you eat healthy. I’m talking about the fat people who eat McDonalds.”

“Wow, you look great! You lost like a million pounds!”

“Just so you know, I used real butter in that recipe.”

“I used to be overweight, but I’m happy with my body now. If I was ever a size 10 again, I’d shoot myself.”

“But I don’t think of you as a fat.”

The important thing to remember is that  these micgroaggressions are committed unintentionally. For many people, these microaggressions come from the practice of fat talk – a self-deprecating way of communicating that people use to try to assuage their guilt over their eating/exercise habits, or demonstrate their social humility. It’s really unfortunate because people who fat talk think they’re only talking about themselves, and therefore only affecting themselves with their statements. They fail to realize that every time they criticize their own body or eating/exercise habits in front of other people, their words have the same impact of a microaggression.

It’s also possible that the person doing it just really has no idea because they just don’t think about weight stuff that often. For example, laughing at a fat joke on a TV show. While sitting right next to a fat person, totally oblivious to the impact of their complicit laughter on their friend next to them.

Microaggressions can result from the environment we live in too, like when clothing brands only carry up to a size 12. They can be actions rather than words, like when someone gives out free t-shirts as prizes, but only in sizes XS-L. They can happen in academia/research, like when you’re reading a book on organizational change theory and all of the examples are compared to weight loss maxims (“Just tell your team to put down the cookie, or better yet, remove all the cookies from the office!” – the cookie here being a metaphor for whatever “bad behavior” you’re trying to change).

Do you have more examples of sizeist microagressions? Have you been committing them unintentionally? And if so, are you willing to make an effort to stop?

Growing up in the Stratus

A lot of things are happening in my life this year. This year I moved to a new state to start a new job in a new town. This year I will turn 30. And this year, I am buying a new car.

Buying a car might not be a big deal for some, but it is for me because it means saying goodbye to the car I have been driving for 14 years – the car I have been driving since I was 16 years old.


The Stratus

When I turned 16, my dad laid down the rules. If I was to get a car, it had to be American, it had to be bright colored, and it had to be big. (Bigger and brighter = safer, in his mind.) I found a 1998 Dodge Stratus that I really wanted. It was black with cool black racing tape on the steering wheel from its previous owner. To my teenage self, that racing tape was everything. Then my grandparents got involved. They wanted to give me a car as a gift and, as they put it, they “don’t buy used.” So, it was decided that 16-year-old-me would receive a new, bright red, 2002 Dodge Stratus as a present from my grandparents.

I was terrified – both of the responsibility of owning a new car, and of what my classmates would think. No one at my high school drove a new car. I was deeply afraid of being socially outcast for being a spoiled, rich kid. I was privileged, yes. Rich or spoiled? Not so much. But how do you explain that to classmates seeing you ride around in a new car? I begged for the used Stratus with racing tape that would blend in at the high school parking lot. I actually cried because I was forced to receive the gift of this new car. A few people were nasty to me, like I predicted. But my friends and my brother’s friends enjoyed the crap out of that car and it didn’t matter anymore. Since then, I’ve learned to accept my privilege and found personal ways to contribute to repairing the world. I am at peace with who I am and where I come from, and if that’s what turning 30 is all about, bring it on.

The Stratus served me well for 14 years. It was with me at college. It was with me when I moved back home to live in my parents’ basement and figure out what I was going to do with my life. It was with me when I moved to Boston for my first, real full-time job as a grownup. It was with me when I went to grad school and started my career in public health. It was with me this March, when I merged onto the Mass Pike leaving Boston to start my new life in western New York, which felt so much like that final scene from Six Feet Under that I actually listened to Sia’s “Breathe Me.”

I know it’s just a car. An inanimate object. A possession. And yet…

The Stratus was with me during my first experiences canoodling with boys in the backseat. It was with me on those completely irresponsible and dangerous drag races on the way to high school. It was with me on my first road trips with college friends, looking for adventure and mischief. It was there for me and my friends on day trips to the beach and to vineyards and hiking trails and concerts and amusement parks. It was with me during moments of pure joy, dancing and belting out lyrics to my favorite songs while my left hand surfed the wind. It was also with me during some of my lowest moments, driving home from a devastating encounter, or driving around to aimlessly to try to break the spell of a depression.

The Stratus was there when my little brother injured his hand at baseball practice and I had to drive him to the hospital as fast as possible. The Stratus was there the night my wonderful friends knew I had too much to drink and took away my keys. The Stratus made it possible to do things like visit my family, or head 30 minutes out of town just to go to the “good” Mexican place for a burrito. Freedom, in a nutshell.

The Stratus is where I discovered and enjoyed music. From 2002 to 2015, my surprisingly good speakers blasted the Offspring, the Cranberries, the Goo Goo Dolls, Aqua, Sum 41, All American Rejects, Gin Blossoms, The Shins, The Killers, Frou Frou, Lady Gaga, Amy Winehouse, Kings of Leon, Foster the People, Passion Pit, Freelance Whales, and Fun. The Stratus has seen at least 20 epic Bohemian Rhapsody sing-alongs, and one particularly memorable Panic At the Disco! front-seat sing-along that drove our back-seat passengers crazy.

The Stratus is where I listened to the NPR and learned about the world around me, and very far away from me. The Stratus is where I practiced answering interview questions. Where I rehearsed having difficult conversations. Where I collected myself before trying something new. Where I bonded with friends on long trips – just us, with everything to talk about.

After 14 full years, the Stratus isn’t looking so hot. It’s got some rust now, and plenty of battle scars. (After a certain point, you stop caring about the cosmetic stuff.)

IMG_3975 IMG_3976 IMG_3977

But it still carries my story, complete with artifacts from different times in this young person’s life.


A remnant from back when being an Apple user meant something.


HRHS parking permit.

Alma matter.

Alma mater.

The green is the permit for my first condo in Boston.

The green is the permit for my first condo in Boston, the yellow for G lot at Brandeis. Oh, G lot.

It’s really not about the car. It’s about entering a new phase of life. It’s about looking back and feeling grateful for where I started, how far I’ve come, and the amazing people I have met along the way. I am ready to embrace what my future holds with an open heart.





As for the Stratus, it has a bright future. I’ve sold it to someone who builds and races stock cars. As hard as it is to say goodbye to the inanimate companion of my young adulthood, I am comforted to know that the Stratus is moving forward too. And I am hopeful that when it finally goes, it will go out in a blaze of glory befitting the journey we have taken together.

Thoughts on “Fed Up”

wpid-fed-up-trailer-headerI finally watched Fed Up now that it’s on Netflix and here are some of my thoughts.

First of all, it’s about time a documentary took the food industry to task for their immoral lobbying practices. I do agree with the way the film compared food advertising and lobbying to tobacco advertising and lobbying. It’s deplorable. It was depressing to look at Michelle Obama’s “Let’s Move” campaign and see how it buckled under pressure from the food lobbies and reduced itself to an education/awareness/PR campaign instead of a multi-faceted public health initiative working at the individual, community, and policy-making levels. I believe policy reform is crucial; without it, any attempt to improve the state of nutrition in this country will fail.

I was also struck by the way the film gets at the issue of culture and environment – and how much change has happened to our culture and environment in the past 30 years. As a child of the 80’s, it’s interesting to learn more about the historical context of the “obesity epidemic.” I didn’t realize that I was growing up right in the midst of this new(ish) phenomenon. I think it’s human nature to assume that the culture and environment we grow up in just is. We tend to assume that things have always been the way they are.

It blew my mind to imagine a world pre-fitness culture where Americans didn’t all belong to gyms or own workout clothes or think of exercise as positive, healthy, and normal. It’s also interesting to re-examine some of my personal memories (for example, the debate about bringing Coca Cola vending machines into my middle and high school in exchange for a new scoreboard and who-knows-what-else) within the larger context of these sweeping changes that were happening across the country at that moment in time.

It’s strange to realize how different the culture and environment looks compared to what I experienced as a kid in the 80s and 90s. Now we have Crossfit bros and “fitspo” on Instagram and Pinterest. We have artificially flavored water-type beverages for sale as health drinks. We have energy drinks. We have Grub Hub and Foodler. Today we jump on weirdly specific food trends as though they could fix everything, like greek yogurt, acai berry, coconut water, kombucha, and coconut oil. At the same time, we lose our shit over KFC Double Down chicken sandwiches, Taco Bell Doritos Locos Tacos, and Cronuts. I never would have thought that fast food companies would ever be allowed into school cafeterias, and yet they have been. We must remember that this culture and this environment is something that can be molded and changed according to our values and goals, not something that “just is.”

I really appreciated that the filmmakers made a point to explicitly take the blame for obesity off of fat people. Although we can each try to improve our own health as we see fit, individual behavior change is not the solution to obesity in America. I was glad they touched on the psychology of addiction and the way environmental cues prime our brains to eat in harmful ways. I was glad that they talked about how dieting doesn’t work because it’s nearly impossible to do successfully in a long-term, sustainable way. I was glad they explained how being thin does not necessarily mean someone is healthy.

My only real gripe with this film was the disappointing way it talked about the role of exercise. While I appreciated that they showed a fat person who exercised regularly (fat people can be active too!), I had trouble with the way her failure to lose weight was equated with a failure to be “healthy.”

Some really promising studies have shown that exercise can improve health measures and reduce the burden of disease regardless of whether or not a person loses weight. So while I think it is valuable to point out that “calories in, calories out” is inaccurate, and while it is important to know that exercise does not necessarily result in weight loss, I am disappointed that they did not talk about the ways that exercise can improve a person’s mental and physical health and lower their risk for diseases often associated with obesity. Basically, the film made it sound like exercise was pointless because you’ll still be fat. This is patently false.

You can improve your health and quality of life by exercising, even if you stay fat. You can also improve your health and quality of life by eating better, even if you stay fat. This is the basic premise of the Health At Every Size approach. We need to avoid making people feel like they are doomed to be unhealthy and sick if they cannot lose weight – this can only result in worse outcomes for everyone.

This is all very similar to a recent article “You can’t ‘outrun’ obesity: Study says exercise doesn’t help weight loss.” I quote the brilliant Ragen Chastain:

What’s super messed up is that these doctors are aware that movement reduces the risk of developing heart disease, dementia, some cancers, and type 2 diabetes (the exact reasons that we’re given for losing weight,) and instead of saying “Hey, this seems like more evidence to suggest that maybe we should be more focused on evidence-based health interventions and less focused on manipulating people’s body size,” they are trying to downplay the actual health benefits because the evidence-based health intervention that they’ve found doesn’t make people’s bodies smaller…

The problem here is that we’ve become so obsessed with trying to get everyone into the same height weight ratio that we’ve taken our eye off the ball of giving people options and information that will support their actual health.

Most studies about weight and health don’t take behavior into account, which is weird because those that do take behavior into account find that behaviors, and not body size, are the best predictor of future health.  To be clear, health is complicated, multi-dimensional, not entirely within our control, not guaranteed under any circumstances, not an obligation or a barometer of worthiness.

A final thought is that I wish that the filmmakers had found a way to talk about the negative consequences of fat stigma for individuals and society in more of an intentional way. I understand this was probably outside their scope, but it is an important piece of the story.

Overall, I am glad this film was made and I think it could be a useful tool in creating change. We must remember that social change requires a multi-faceted approach. In Public Health we call this the Socio-Ecological Model.


This model states that we need to make change at each of these different levels – including and especially the policy level. It also teaches that different strategies are warranted at each level. The Fed Up film did a great job talking about the kind of change that needs to happen at the policy level, which I think was the goal of the film. But when it comes to the individual level, it’s important to understand that being overweight does not doom a person to poor health always and forever. If the statistics in Fed Up are correct and approximately 95% of Americans will be overweight or obese by 2035, it is so, so important to give people hope.

As I said before and Fed Up clearly demonstrates, policy reform is absolutely crucial. But another piece of our overall strategy for change must be focused on helping individuals navigate the world they live in. By reducing stigma and focusing on the benefits of exercise and healthful eating for their own sake, we can help people live healthy, happy and productive lives – even if they stay fat.

Connecting the dots: Nice Guys™, MRAs, mass shooters, and aggrieved entitlement

A few things happened in the last couple weeks that stood out to me because they felt connected. About a week ago someone showed me the hot new tumblr, Nice Guys of OKCupid.

Never before has Nice Guy Syndrome been so clearly illustrated.

Not long after that, I got a spike in hits recently from a not-so-feminist-friendly forum and as you might imagine, the comments coming in have been … unkind. One pointed me to a blog called “A Voice for Men.” Up for a good hate read, I clicked. This is what I saw on the site’s masthead.


Yep. Clear as day, right next to the words “compassion for boys and men” is an ad promising revenge on bitches with the graphic image of a bloody knife. So much for compassion. (This is also an example of their fine work.)

Men’s Rights Activism (MRA) is not a legitimate movement advocating for boys and men, but a vehicle for misogyny, violence, and hate. Even the Good Men Project, which has recently come under fire for their icky rape apologism, agrees that Men’s Rights is bullshit. David Futrelle wrote: “the more I delved into the movement online, the more convinced I became that, for most of those involved in it, the movement isn’t really about the issues at all—rather, it’s an excuse to vent male rage and spew misogyny online. To borrow a phrase from computer programmers: misogyny isn’t a bug in the Men’s Rights Movement; it’s a feature.”

MRA Marmoset gets it

Instead of advocating or protesting or doing anything really to better the lives of boys and men, MRAs just like to bash women and feminists in particular. And when I use the term “bash” I mean it both figuratively (complaining about them on the internet) and literally (advocating for violence against women, often supposedly “in jest”). And handy for them, MRAs’ misogyny is supported and reinforced by dominant cultural beliefs about women being manipulative, back-stabbing sluts.

Like everyone else, I’ve also spent a lot of time this week reading and reflecting on the horrific tragedy at Newtown’s Sandy Hook elementary school. I came across a great Examiner piece by William Hamby on school shootings and white, male privilege that introduced me to the concept of “aggrieved entitlement.”

Aggrieved entitlement is a term used to explain the psychology behind mass shooters, which have all been white males. It is perhaps best defined by Rachel Kalish and Michael Kimmel (2010) in their article, Suicide by mass murder: Masculinity, aggrieved entitlement, and rampage school shootings:

These perpetrators were not just misguided ‘kids’, or ‘youth’ or ‘troubled teens’ – they’re boys. They are a group of boys, deeply aggrieved by a system that they may feel is cruel or demeaning. Feeling aggrieved, wronged by the world – these are typical adolescent feelings, common to many boys and girls. What transforms the aggrieved into mass murders is also a sense of entitlement, a sense of using violence against others, making others hurt as you, yourself, might hurt. Aggrieved entitlement inspires revenge against those who have wronged you; it is the compensation for humiliation. Humiliation is emasculation: humiliate someone and you take away his manhood. For many men, humiliation must be avenged, or you cease to be a man. Aggrieved entitlement is a gendered emotion, a fusion of that humiliating loss of manhood and the moral obligation and entitlement to get it back. And its gender is masculine.

Aggrieved entitlement is the thread connecting Nice Guys™, MRAs, and mass shooters. I spent a couple hours yesterday drawing webs, diagrams, and graphs trying to figure this all out. I wanted to see if I could diagram the different expressions and mutations of aggrieved entitlement in relation to variables like aggression, perceived threat of emasculation, introversion, extroversion, isolation, etc. I wasn’t able to come up with a model that made sense to represent this whole mess, but I did come up with a hypothesis.

MRAs and mass shooters probably started out as Nice Guys™. 

Now, I realize I can’t prove this hypothesis. I also don’t want to be misunderstood — I am not saying that all Nice Guys™ are future murderers or bigots. I just believe that they have the potential to be, depending on their circumstances and the influence of certain variables.

For example, an aggrieved and entitled Nice Guy™ who experiences rejection and the perceived threat of emasculation who is an extrovert may seek connection and community on the internet, and may one day become an MRA. An aggrieved and entitled Nice Guy™ who experiences rejection and the perceived threat of emasculation who is an introvert, on the other hand, may bottle up his anger and frustration. If you factor in aggression and the desire for revenge, that Nice Guy™ could be positioned to become an Adam Lanza or Seung-Hui Cho.

Of course, an aggrieved and entitled Nice Guy™ could become a lot of things. He could become an abusive partner, a rapist, the next radio host calling Sandra Fluke a “slut,” or the next right-wing Republican congressman trying to legislate birth control. But just as likely, an aggrieved and entitled Nice Guy™ could grow out of it. He could get educated and learn to understand the problems with this way of thinking and go on to become a perfectly healthy, well-adjusted, non-misogynist man and partner.

So, how do we make that happen? What can we do to help Nice Guys™ climb their way out of that aggrieved entitlement rabbit hole?

In a perfectly timed Cracked article, 6 Harsh Truths That Will Make You a Better Person, David Wong gives some straight talk advice to Nice Guys™:

“I read several dozen stories a year from miserable, lonely guys who insist that women won’t come near them despite the fact that they are just the nicest guys in the world.”

“I’m asking what do you offer? Are you smart? Funny? Interesting? Talented? Ambitious? Creative? OK, now what do you do to demonstrate those attributes to the world? Don’t say that you’re a nice guy — that’s the bare minimum. Pretty girls have guys being nice to them 36 times a day.”

“…don’t complain about how girls fall for jerks; they fall for those jerks because those jerks have other things they can offer. “But I’m a great listener!” Are you? Because you’re willing to sit quietly in exchange for the chance to be in the proximity of a pretty girl (and spend every second imagining how soft her skin must be)? Well guess what, there’s another guy in her life who also knows how to do that, and he can play the guitar.

It’s a good start, but we need to do more than explain that being nice isn’t enough to get girls.

We need to teach boys how to be friends with women. We need to teach them that friendship and kindness are standard elements of being a decent human being, not precious commodities to be rewarded or paid for in sex. We need to teach boys that rejection is a normal part of life, and to stop lashing out at All Women Ever when they feel hurt. We need to teach boys that violence doesn’t make them any more of a “man,” and that revenge is never the answer.

The past few weeks have been full of finger-pointing and solution-hunting. Gun control, mental health, and school security are all important things to talk about in light of what happened at Sandy Hook. However, the issue is larger than Sandy Hook and larger than mass shootings.

This issue at hand is the complex web of sexism, misogyny, and violence that spawns from aggrieved entitlement. In my opinion, the best place to start this deeply important work is consciousness raising with those young, marginalized, and misguided kids who identify themselves to us as “Nice Guys.”

While Nice Guys of OKCupid is a great tool to help explain Nice Guy Syndrome and raise awareness of the problem, it’s also a vehicle to further shame and humiliate kids who already feel marginalized and rejected. It’s not going to help them, and they need help. This is the real challenge. How do we reach out to them? How do we get through to them?

We need to start thinking of solutions; the potential cost of ignoring or further humiliating Nice Guys™ is far too scary to ignore.

Sammy’s awesome dating advice: Get Yours

ImageRecently I was feeling bummed out about dating. My lovely friend C, who first considerately asked if I wanted advice or validation, passed along this gem of a pep talk that she heard from a girl we know named Sammy. And I loved it so much that I want to share it with you, and anyone who has ever felt less than because a person they liked treated them poorly. This was originally written for women, but can easily work for anyone regardless of gender/sexuality.

Get Yours

When someone treats you badly, erase them from your phone. DELETE, DELETE, DELETE.

They just don’t like you and that’s okay. I know it sucks but that’s why you erase them from your phone to symbolize erasing their negative energy from your life.

You are a strong beautiful woman. Your emotions are not controlled by people who aren’t worth your time.


After a dark time where the boy I loved most crushed me, I adopted the motto GET YOURS and from that point on every decision I made was about me and getting what I needed and wanted and it revolutionized my dating life.

And I have relayed this tale to you because I love you and want you to get yours.


You’re fucking worth it.

Drinking: What’s gender got to do with it?

One of my favorite parts of my new job as a college health educator is teaching my alcohol education class. Every couple weeks I have the privilege of working late to spend my evening in a classroom with 4-12 students who were caught violating the school’s alcohol policy. Yep, this is a mandated class. (Talk about a captive audience.)

But seriously, I love it. The first couple classes were tough since I was still learning the ropes, teaching myself everything I needed to know about alcohol, and hammering out the kinks in the curriculum I inherited. The next month was still somewhat fraught as I tried new things that flopped and continued to tweak and adjust the lesson plan. I learned a lot of things, like for example, that students don’t readily believe statistics that challenge their assumptions and that older students have a much, much bigger attitude about going to a mandated alcohol education class than younger students. (And that 20 year old boys are SO MUCH BIGGER than 18 year old boys. The difference is unreal, people.) 


Tonight I taught a really great, mixed-age group of guys (remember, I teach at a school that’s 85% male) and I finally feel like I’ve got this on lock. I love teaching this class. 

As you might expect, a lot of the class focuses on the effects of alcohol on the body and talking about standard drinks and Blood Alcohol Content (BAC) levels and the signs and symptoms of alcohol poisoning, etc., but I begin each class by giving a brief talk about the history of alcohol and the culture of drinking.

I explain that ever since Ancient Egypt, alcohol has been a part of the human experience. I say that alcohol has always been understood to have benefits when used in moderation, and consequences when used in excess. I talk about the nutritional, medicinal, and ritualistic uses of alcohol in the history of human civilization. And then I talk about our modern culture of college binge drinking and how we got here from there.

As a part of this discussion I talk about the impact of alcohol advertising and movies like Animal House (1978) and Old School (2004) and Project X (2011). And here is where it gets good because here is where, even when I’m not particularly trying, we get to talk about drinking and gender.

First I show the class this ad for Coors: 

ImageI ask what messages they think this ad is sending. What is this ad trying to say? I ask them to focus on the “credit card roulette” part, and we end up talking about risk-taking, recklessness, impulse control, and competition and how that relates to masculinity. Then we focus on the “guys night out” part, and I ask them to think about all the different things that are marketed as “guy things,” like sports, man caves, grilling, etc., and ask what percentage of those things involve drinking beer.

“Like, all of them,” a student says.

“Why do you think that is?”

“Well, guys like to drink beer,” another adds.


“It’s fun,” says one student.

“Women like to drink wine and stuff,” adds another.

“They do?”

“Yeah, they prefer wine or like fancy drinks.”

“Why? Is there a something in the female hormones or chromosomes that makes women like wine more than beer?”


“Why are advertising companies trying to sell beer as something that’s for guys?”

“To sell more beer.”

“Is there any particular reason why we think that watching sports and drinking beer go together?”

“Well, it’s fun. It’s just part of it.”

“And which came first, the chicken or the advertising?”

Then I show them the following ads for Barcardi.



“So, what message are these ads trying to tell us about drinking?”

“That it turns you into someone else.”

“That it makes you sexy.”

“It gets you laid.”

“Who is the audience for these ads?” (There is debate about the first ad and whether it’s targeted at men or women.)

“Do women wear a lot of clothing in alcohol ads?”


“In movies like Old School and Project X, when do you see female characters on screen?”

Etc., and so on.

Being an old-fashioned tech school that’s 85% men, my campus is average or below average when it comes to gender awareness. It might also be below average in awareness regarding media literacy and critical analysis. So these conversations are pretty huge, and even though they barely scratch the surface of the complexities of what there is to understand about gender, they are an important, eye-opening, first step.

As a follow-up to the alcohol class, I assign each student a reflection paper. I ask them to  write about a few things they learned that they found particularly interesting or surprising. A lot of them mention tidbits from our discussion of gender in drinking culture, and that just warms the shit of my little, feminist heart.

There have been moments in my new job where I felt disappointed that certain gender-related topics were outside the scope of my position. I am a health educator not a gender educator after all. Still, I am learning and evolving and infusing gender into other discussions in ways that are relevant and meaningful. I’m also upping the ante by serving on the Diversity Committee and helping plan programming around gender and other great things like race and religion.

My tiny revolution is brewing, and hopefully soon it’ll grow to a simmer. How many licks does it take to turn a bunch of conservative engineers into feminists? I’m not sure, but I’m certainly up for the challenge.




What the?

Yes, you may have noticed Talkin’ Reckless looks a little different. People who have followed me for a while should be familiar with my “design-restlessness.” In other words, I like to change things up from time to time. And yes, there are more changes still to come.  Thanks for hangin’ in there while I fiddle around.

New Obesity Prevention Campaign Rife with Fat-Shaming

This piece was up on Sociological Images yesterday!

The Physicians Committee for Responsible Medicine (PCRM) sponsored two new billboards in Albany, NY, warning residents that cheese makes you fat in what is possibly most irresponsible way ever. The first features an obese man’s disembodied torso and the words, “Your abs on cheese.” The second features an obese woman’s butt and thighs and the words, “Your thighs on cheese.” The images make a very clear statement: fat people are disgusting. Read more.

What do you do with a problem like Nazi internet trolls?

Last week, Talkin’ Reckless was the subject of a blog post on a Neo-Nazi website. Ever since then, I’ve been getting a lot of shockingly graphic, anti-semitic, hatemail. I’m talking “Elders of Zion”-type shit. To be honest, I was taken aback. I can’t say I’ve ever had that kind of Nazi-speak directed at me, personally, before. I’ve grown up not completely sheltered from anti-semitism, but luckily it was rare. Much more common was just ignorance, like the kind revealed in the “Shit Christians Say to Jews” video. But there’s a big difference between ignorant comments and hateful comments. And boy howdy, was I getting some hate.

Now, I know as much as the next person how important it is not to feed the trolls. And these Nazi commenters are trolls of the worst order — the angry, threatening kind. I tried to ignore the whole thing. But everyday, new anti-semitic threats and slurs kept showing up in my inbox.

Two of my grandparents are Holocaust survivors. They lived in the Lodz ghetto in Poland and were both sent to Auschwitz, although they didn’t meet each other until after the war. I always felt that they, and my dad (their son), were paranoid about anti-semitism. I mean, the paranoia was pretty damn rational for them, but it never felt like a real threat to me. Then again, I had never received emails from people saying they’d like to put me in an oven before.

I’ve taken a few days to think about it — whether I should respond, and if so, what I should say. I figured out what I wanted to say long before I decided whether I should say anything at all. I made a video. And then I agonized about whether or not to share it.

“You’re just going to bait them and get worse hatemail,” said a friend. “Why are you taunting them?” It’s true. I probably will get more hatemail. But is this just feeding the trolls, or is this a chance to say something important? To call attention to the reality that old-school anti-semitism still lives (even if it is in a small and pathetic sort of way).

In the end I thought about my grandparents. How would they feel if they knew their granddaughter was getting this sort of hatemail? They loved to say things like “I didn’t survive the Holocaust so you could drop out of high school and become a janitor.” Or maybe it was my dad who loved to say that… (“Your grandparents didn’t survive the Holocaust so you could get a tattoo!)

Well here’s what I have to say: My grandparents didn’t survive the Holocaust so that I should stand silently and be bullied by racist idiots.

It may not be the most mature way to handle internet trolls, but at least I live in a world where I’m free to express myself, free to be Jewish, and free to delete emails without reading them.

So, without further ado, this is what I have to say: