Carrie Saum

Here’s a crash course on self-talk. Self-talk is the voice in your head, the invisible responder, the captain of your brain ship.

Babes, I am ready to be done with all of the treats. I love the treats. Who doesn’t love waking up and eating cookies for breakfast? I know I do.

It was a life-altering mouthgasm of flavor explosions, and I totally wanted to pack my bags for India and Bali to have my own Eat Pray Love experience.

This probably won't come as a surprise, but taking care of yourself is probably going to piss some people off.

By 13, I clearly understood: Thinness was next to Godliness, and I could never achieve either without extraordinary means. Jesus loves skinny people.

We have all been there before. The stuck place. Your body feels heavy, your feet glued to the floor. Maybe you have a hard time getting out of bed. Maybe you feel sad about a relationship that is deteriorating or has completely dissolved. Maybe you just feel completely spent and worn out, and lack the energy to move at all. Or maybe you have this great big beautiful life you're afraid to step into and the fear has you paralyzed.

Next, juice your blood oranges. Or skip this and buy the juice from the spendy little corner market that sells $8 fair trade chocolate made from cocoa beans harvested purely through meditative thoughts generated by unionized zen monkeys in Thailand. They also sell blood orange juice. You’ll find it next to the $15 cashew milk.

Heating up a kitchen while you are doing your level best to not become human molten lava is always the goal during summer, no matter where you live. I prefer batch cooking if I can make that happen, and never, under any circumstances, do I turn on my oven. Unless I'm baking a birthday cake or maybe some hand pies.

When I tasted creamy jalapeño dip for the first time, I had to figure out immediately what was in it and how to make it. I was instantly addicted to the herby-creamy-spicy hit with just the faintest vinegary undertone. And by addicted, I mean that I wanted to drink it through a straw.

The shame was overwhelming. Why was my body broken? What had I done to my baby? I began to spiral into self-loathing. Gestational diabetes felt like a failure.