Life After the Longest Wait 💛

If you’re new here, welcome to Girlhood — the group chat we should have had all along, where we talk openly about our bodies, the questions we whisper about, and the everyday moments that make us pause, laugh, or rethink life. It’s everything you’re feeling, but didn’t know how to say. Let’s dive in!

Hi friend,

I’ll never forget when a high school acquaintance once said to me, “Kristyn, I love how you’ve always had your own personal style.” At the time, I don’t think I realized just how deeply that would stick. But even now, years later, it still feels like one of the best compliments I’ve ever received.

In my teens and early twenties, I was peak me. I spent whatever disposable income I had on Broadway tickets, wandered Strand Bookstore like it was church, and proudly carried faux designer bags from Chinatown. I flirted with trends (hi, Juicy suits and Air Jordans), but I never let them lead. I followed my instincts. I dressed, decorated, and lived for myself.

Then… social media happened. And not long after, motherhood followed.

Suddenly, there were rules. Influencers decided what was chic and what was cringe. Homes had to be aesthetic. Outfits had to be “timeless.” Even joy felt curated. This year, while decorating for Christmas with pieces I’ve collected and loved over time — items that don’t perfectly match but feel like me — I caught myself thinking: "Nothing goes together. What will people think?" (As if my family members were showing up with scorecards.)

That was the moment it clicked.

One year postpartum, emerging from a fog, exhausted by scrolling and craving something more analog and less performative, I realized my intention for the new year is simple: re-seek joy. Not the algorithm-approved kind — the kind that feels intuitive, personal, and maybe even slightly rebellious.

So far, that’s looked like wallpapering the back of a shelf in my very outdated kitchen, thrifting an Anthropologie dress for $52, and buying bold emerald green costume earrings just because they made my heart beat faster. It’s remembering that I’m a mom, yes, but I’m also someone with taste, curiosity, creativity, and a nervous system that still lights up over color, texture, and possibility.

It turns out, joy doesn’t have to match. It just has to feel like home again… and like mine.

🔍 Ask Clara: How do you give yourself permission to rest & relax?

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

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

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

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

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

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

🔍 Ask Clara: What does it mean if you have dense breast tissue?

📱 The New Reality of Googling Your Symptoms

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

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

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

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

🔍 Ask Clara: When should I trust a health answer I find online?

👶🏻 Life After the Longest Wait

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

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

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

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

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

For so long, time felt transactional. Measured in cycles, milestones, and fertility clinic waiting rooms. Now it feels expansive again — a little scary, a little thrilling. But maybe that’s the point.

This next chapter isn’t about rushing to fill the space or assigning it a purpose. It’s about sitting in it long enough to figure out who I am now… and who I want to be.

xo,
Kristyn

📚 What I’m Reading: The Correspondent by Virginia Evans (and cannnnot get Sybil Van Antwerp’s voice out of my head, IYKYK)