When life says "Nope" (again and again)

A month of chaos, courage, and unexpected punchlines

Welcome back to Behind the Mic — raw reflections from a writing coach, author, and event producer who believes everyone has something worth sharing. A newsletter that puts courage and creativity at center stage.

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So…um…yeahhhh. Our basement was flooded this month, and here’s what it looks like right now.

I started this month with a plan. (Mistake No. 1, right? God was like, “She has a PLAN?! Bahahahaaaaa!!”)

After celebrating one year sober and turning 41, I was feeling bold. Ready. I even had a “part 2” newsletter brewing about how I finally got to one year with no drinking. I was also gearing up for “40 Days of Courage” — a daily challenge for Lent where I’d pretend I was Eleanor Roosevelt and do one thing every day that scared me.

Then March said, “Oh, you want courage? That’s cute.”

A month of chaos (and chicken)

March 4. The day before Lent. The washing machine flooded the basement. David was in London. And funny enough, the events leading up to this catastrophe felt big enough on their own. I even said, “Why, God? Why today?” out loud that morning. It felt like nothing could top the excess of errors that kept stacking against me.

But that night, as JeeWoo played quietly with Legos and I dotted a pan with slices of chicken sausage, I oh-so-gratefully reflected on all the good-hard things that happened that day. I even whispered to myself, “Life isn’t about what happens to you. It’s how you respond to it.”

That was a helpful mindset to have when I opened the refrigerator to find a shattered jar of Kalamata olives inside the door. It had basically been beheaded. As I wiped up this pungent crime scene, I noticed an expired bottle of this, a forgotten can of that, and, and, and. Then, as I carried the heavy trash to the garage, I saw what had happened in the laundry room: The Great Flood of 2025.

There was an inch of water across the whole room and seven minutes left in the cycle, which meant our washer had been hemorrhaging for well over 40 minutes.

PSA: If you have the pleasure owning a stackable washing machine (Gosh, don’t you just love the maintenance and recurring odors?), and you actually drain the nasty water out of it, make sure you twist that basket thingy back in “right and tight,” or it’ll leak. Need a visual or more accurate lingo? Let this guy explain.

After somehow stopping JeeWoo from treating it like an indoor splash pad, I soaked up yet another wet crime scene with 10 full-sized towels. And upon my return to the kitchen, not only did I find that dinner was burnt, but someone had been hopscotching on oven mitts.

Imagine how those scorching slices and smoldering sweet potatoes felt as they watched JeeWoo through the oven window — just hopping away and unknowingly taunting them.

Finally, it was time to sit down, take a load off, and chew around the char. I felt so accomplished for stopping the leak and getting the room all dried up.

“After dinner, let’s see if anything happened in the basement,” I told JW.

Let’s see.

Those words haunt me.

Because what we saw is now $33,000 worth of impending repairs.

Not only did the ceiling look like it had boobs and bulging veins, but one of the vents had a fun little stint as a waterfall — leaving our couch and carpet absolutely soaked.

Is that not a boob? (Thanks, Cassie, for telling me to poke it with a pin so the water could drip! And for telling me and my melted brain that I needed fans. And And a shop vac. And more towels.)

After JDub fell asleep, I rallied my neighbors for large fans and anything that could help suck up the water, and then went to work til 2 a.m. (OK, fine, it was 10:30 p.m., but anything after 9 these days feels like sorcery.)

The next morning, I had a “med check” appointment at 8:30 a.m., which meant our exit from this damp house had to run according to plan. (“A PLAN! HAHAHA!!” God laughed again. And nothing like discussing how your anxiety medication is going the day after your house floods, am I right? I was ready to ask for a couple Xanax!)

So, it just made too sense that as I was trying to buckle a screaming, flailing, barefooted JeeWoo into the car, I got kicked in the face. I’m pretty sure smoke was coming out of my ears on that drive to school. But as soon as we were parked, I was in that backseat crying with him.

After that crisis was averted, I made it to the doctor’s office right in time for them to tell me that — wait for it — my doc was out. Lovely. Missed my chance for Xanax. Had to “raw dog” this thing called life.

About a week later, after everything was stripped, dried, and cleaned — no more loud fans, no more people in and out of the house — I thought, Finally. A quiet moment to eat a quiet lunch and polish my jokes for tonight’s open mic.

Then, of course, at that VERY moment, the deck guys came back. (Yes. Before the upheaval inside our home, our backyard was already in complete disarray.) And by came back, I mean started drilling so loudly it sounded like a dinosaur was getting a root canal back there.

I sent a Marco Polo to a friend of me trying to eat through it:

And get this: When I showed David this video, he actually thought I was farting. I mean, the gas I pass is sure known to pack a punch, but that’s a next-level assumption right there.

Hours later, I did the open mic (which, according to my sweet mom, got the most laughs and got me grounded for taking her to such a thing — too many penis and polyamory jokes for Deb). But then, that night, as if on cue, I was hit with TWENTY STRAIGHT HOURS of abdominal pain.

Three days in bed. Emergency ultrasound? Normal. Bloodwork? Normal — except for the fun surprise that my testosterone is abnormally low again and my egg count is so low it can’t even be detected. (I’ve known my reserve has been low since 2018, but the fact that Google told me it was “undetectably low” is just cruel!) Urine test? Normal. Every doctor: Hmmm, interesting! Me: Cool cool cool, love this for me. (If Wednesday’s CT scan comes back normal, I’m gonna break something.)

Oh, and about that quiet lunch before the open mic? It included a giant chicken breast, which I now know — according to yet another test — I’m moderately averse to. Chicken. CHICKEN.

Which may or may not be accurate because apparently, those food sensitivity tests are wildly unreliable. But still. Of course chicken is the enemy. At this point, why not?

The funniest part of all of this? My stand-up set is me becoming unhinged over perimenopause and my body’s mysterious betrayals. Meanwhile, my precious vessel said, “Oh, you want material?” and turned my entire month into an extended bit.

My internet even joined in on the fun the other day when I sat down to be interviewed by Courtney on the Hot Flash Health podcast (Could the topic be any more fitting?!?!), and my connection completely failed. I had my mom come over to watch JeeWoo so I could focus, and instead, I spent the whole time restarting my router.

When Just Existing is Courageous Enough

Sooo, yeah. I set out to do something brave every day for Lent. Turns out, simply getting through March has been enough of a challenge and writing about how I got sober has been, well, not top of mind.

And yet.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, while God was snickering at my need for control, He was also weaving great goodness into it.

The flood? A logistical nightmare, yes. But it also meant I got to take the lead with USAA, something David would normally handle before I could even blink. (And I say that with so much gratitude.)

It made me so grateful for my neighbors and how I didn’t hesitate for one second to ask for help. It meant so much that they showed up for me.

And now that I think about it, the day I returned the shock vac to our newer neighbors, I ended up in tears as I told the husband (and impending dad!) that I am here for them every step of the way with the little one they’re expecting.

Perhaps our exchange made him want to run for the hills, but to me, it was an opportunity to grow closer — which wouldn’t have happened if my house didn’t pee itself!

That morning with JeeWoo? That was a disaster. Definitely a Top 5 Blow-up. But somehow, it cracked something open. It inspired me to draw tiny hearts on our wrists. And that tiny act? It turned the whole morning around. Later that day, when I picked him up from school, we had the BEST hug. A hug that was extra tight because of the rupture we had that morning. That sounds weird. It sounds like I’m glorifying conflict. But there’s something to be said about how tension can most certainly bring us closer.

This was inspired by the book, The Kissing Hand, which is sooo helpful for separation anxiety. Thank you for telling me about it, Ashley. Your timing was impeccable.

And the open mic? The one thing I actually planned for? Even though I kept checking my notes and messed up a line or two, people still laughed. Maybe at me, but I’ll take it. Here’s a snippet I’m proud of, which is, of course, about…GAS!!

The stomach pain? While I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, it did give me some serious time to pause and reflect on the pace at which I’ve been moving (What happened to my slower, softer Anti-Boner Year?!) and the unnecessary pressure I’ve been putting on myself.

It also got me hooked on a new show: Younger. Instead of hopping back on my laptop or returning texts whilst David gets Cutie Boy ready for bed, lately, I’ve been crawling into my bed and savoring a couple quick eps. I don’t watch TV solo unless I’m sick, so this is a huge self-care leap for me.

In short (HAHA!!! In short?!?! Brit said never!), things have kinda sucked. But they’ve also been SO rich. Messy and meaningful. Exhausting and full of grace.

And while I would like to unsubscribe from “character-building experiences” for a bit, I’m also grateful. Grateful to have a house to flood, to have health to complain about, and to have a kid who stretches me. Grateful that when shit happens, even better stuff happens.

Life gets hard, but I’m convinced that it pushes us to live harder and show up for each other.

So, maybe the real challenge wasn’t about chasing big, bold acts of courage. Maybe it was about learning to stay open even when — especially when — things don’t go as planned.

Which brings me to April 3. Because, naturally, after this circus of a month, I’ll be standing on stage for my comedy debut. Just me, a mic, and a brain that I pray doesn’t go blank.

But hey. At this point, if I do bomb, at least it’ll be on brand!!

Tickets are $20 and can be purchased here.

Since January, the one and only Zoe Rogers has been leading me, Dominique, Priscilla, Brandy, Nitsan, and Kari through comedy class, and THIS is when we’ll finally share the sets we’ve been working SO hard on. (Hard-on. Ha.)

We’ll be joined by some national headliners as well. Ariel Evans is even flying in from New York! It’s gonna be awesome.

Get your tickets here.

Also. If comedy has been a long-time, secret dream of yours but you don’t think you can do it, that means you have to TRY it. Zoe and I have been talking about doing another class over the summer or in the fall, so if you’re even remotely curious, talk to me.

Until next time,

P.S. As you’ve probs seen, I now host monthly writing + sharing workshops at Mint & Serif in Lakewood, and they’ve been sooo transformative. Here’s what one of the recent attendees had to say:

“If you’re looking for community, incredible women, and an opportunity to put it all out there (but especially on the page) I couldn’t recommend Brit’s writing workshop more. Nurturing and connection are the name of the game, and Brit leads with compassion and ferocity that will truly help you bring out all the beauty you have waiting under the surface. 12/10.” —Shelly D.

Next one is April 15. Get all the deets by clicking the image below.