Do you want pancakes or chicken wings?

The best advice I have ever read on the internet is to ask the question, “will this make my life bigger?” And if the answer is yes, go for it. Because ultimately that is what living is.

So I am moving jobs to a place where I will have to learn how to build a book of business. And I will have to learn new office politics and procedures.

All because of one answer. Yes, this choice will make my life bigger.

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But not all questions are big.

Part of weighing options and adjusting to change involves limiting my choices in my day to day life.

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Because the older you get, the easier it is to align yourself spiritually then to remember what simple foods you actually enjoy eating for lunch.

Because it depends, doesn’t it. Do we even have syrup?

Why does changing jobs feel so big? Why does trying to go on an affordable diet feel equally big? How am I almost 40 and I don’t know the best way to style my hair!?

Because there is no answer. We move forward on yeses and nos. Not routines. So my hair changes and my lunch preferences get oddly expensive and I have to figure it out all over again.

Because pancakes are never going to make my life feel bigger. And we can only get chicken wings if they have falafel. And that’s just a complication none of us need while the kids are sad.

Today is just a reflection of garble and nonsense. Because everything needs cleaned out for summer, even our minds and hair product collections.

The Natasha Hour is Your Place to Start Believing Life Doesn’t Have to Be So Hard. Series on Tuesdays. Reflections on Saturdays.

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I get it.  You’re frustrated.  How many times have we been here?  They seem like they’re winning at life because they still get to go to Disneyland and you’re the one who is changing diapers at 3 a.m.  And they’re the ones who cheated and smoke weed on a Tuesday morning while you’re juggling daycare and getting to work.

And then you go to court and finally stand up for yourself and what do they do.  They twist your words.  They make you seem crazy and unwell.  And then they lie about “how it really happened.”

Why is the judge even listening to them.  This is so unfair.  And you start seeing red.  Once the red-hot anger comes, the frustration erupts, and you start thinking in terms of winning and losing. Wrong and right. Fair and unfair.

Which is precisely the kind of thinking that keeps your lawsuit going on.  I hear it all the time. They haven’t apologized yet.  They haven’t taken responsibility for their actions. Why do I always have to be the bigger person?

The answer isn’t in those questions.  The answer is, “get out of the corner.” 

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We tend to get upset when we feel like the deck is stacked against us.  It’s not that we’re now allowed to have feelings, but if we are so stalled out and stuck to our feelings that we can’t move on from our inner four-year-old selves repeating, “this isn’t fair, I want to cry,” then we never feel right about what we’re doing. 

So how do we lower the temperature? Turn down the noise? Stop barking because we’re on the other side of the fence?

We start appreciating that maybe we’re not the only ones in the room with a good point.  And we start trusting the process.  Before focusing on “winning,” the question, “what is the court case even about?” must be answered.

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Divorces are about property.  Custody is about kids.  Orders of Protection are about staying safe.  That’s my world.  I know there are other worlds.  Impaired drivers.  Personal injury.  Employment discrimination.

We talk about getting a judgment like it’s the Judgement Day, a day of reckoning, a day of atonement.  But it rarely is.  Instead, it’s a day when a judge decides that two people should adjust their relationship to live with a little less. 

I used to get so mad when people would misunderstand me or misquote me or get mad at me for something they didn’t catch.  All law school did was teach me to separate my feelings from the explanation so that I stopped seeing red as I argued my way out of a corner. 

And it turns out that’s all a lawsuit is.  Learning to listen to a point of view and deciding if that point of view objectively has any merit to it.  Then all of a sudden, the feelings have somewhere to go.  And you can see the whole room again, and not just the corner you backed into.  

 The Natasha Hour is your place to start believing that life doesn’t have to be so hard. Not Legal Advice updates Tuesdays.

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One of my favorite arguments about history is that the Asian and European middle ages didn’t end until WW1.

The renaissances of the world that reopened Islamic knowledge and classical Greek and Roman didn’t change the framework of the middle ages, it just shifted the focus.

Just like art didn’t get called something else just because the camera oscura changed how portraits were made, invention alone doesn’t reclassify an era. The European middle ages regrouped a people.

It took 1000 years for child sacrifice to be replaced by different methods of prayer and hope. It took just as long for people to stop thinking in terms of empires.

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But what comes after the fall of the Ottoman? The fall of Prussia? The fall of countless European (and other!) languages, consolidated for the purpose of fighting a common enemy?

Going to the moon, of course. And AI. We talk of the world as if the decade-long trends and current politics are lasting history.

In 1000 years, will leg warmers be remembered as iconic, or simply the relic of a time when people started wearing mass produced socks.

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Imagine a time when there was a land grab. A power grab. The world religions were shifting. Kings rolled in and rolled in again. And look at where we are now. A power grab. An informational jumble and grab for knowledge and consolidating the world’s truth to be uncovered by data archeologists in the future that we can’t even imagine yet.

So no wonder we feel unwell. The horses keep coming and we are the peasants and whatever side we get captured by to fight for, the other side keeps coming in to burn our wheat. And we’re not sure who to pray to. Because the gods are shifting. And we don’t feel settled, because the time we live in won’t be named until after we’re long, long gone.

The Natasha Hour is your place to start believing that life doesn’t have to be so hard. Series updates on Tuesdays. Reflections on Saturdays.

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Lawsuits and Scarface-level shootouts have a lot in common. You have to go into the room knowing all the facts. Read: you know what arsenal you’re packing. But do you know theirs? And if you think you do, what’s your exit strategy?

If you file a lawsuit, they can file a suit against you. And they can ask for what they want. Even if you change your mind, you can’t drop their suit against you.

It’s like when you see someone shoot someone on TV and the character shooting doesn’t see the bodyguards in the back of the room. Soon everyone is going down. Even if you stop shooting, they might keep shooting at you.

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(Excuse the gun metaphor. I live in the USA. Some stereotypes are real.)

And it’s exhausting. Apart from high drama, there’s the mundane stress that drags everyone down into unknown depths of exhaustion:

Court dates that interrupt nap time.

Childcare.

Parking meters.

Uber rides.

The fear of having to say something terrible about a person you have to coparent with. (That you’ve known since forever. Who has been violent and scary towards you in the past.)

And when things heat up, I commonly hear the following:

Make it stop. Can you please make it stop? I just want it to go away. I was overreacting. I feel like we can work things out ourselves.

Sometimes it is possible. You weren’t overreacting, but from what you’re telling me, you can work it out yourselves.

If you want to safety plan around dropping your case, that can certainly be a way forward.

And other times, it’s not your case to drop. They’re asking you to drop against them, but they’re the ones who filed first.

If they were interested in coming to an agreement, they could drop their weapons and surrender.  (And so begins the standoff.)

Family law seems accessible. Because you can go in and fill out forms yourself, it almost feels like you should.

But not all unhealthy relationships need court involvement. Talk to a lawyer to see angles you might not have considered before.

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Most things you do, the other side can do, too. And some things are done purely out of spite.

Ask your attorney what could go wrong. Ask them what happens if you change your mind. And ask them to check for bodyguards that might be lurking just around the corner.

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Disclaimer: This article isn’t meant to scare anyone from seeking the help and support they need. Sometimes people do just agree to their orders against them.  And the fight can be worth it. But this is for my clients who found themselves stuck in a room after filing paperwork they didn’t quite know the repercussions of because they didn’t talk to anyone first.

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If you have a topic or question about what it’s like to meet with an attorney or go through the court system in general, feel free to share and I will address it in a future post!

The Natasha Hour is your place to start believing that life doesn’t have to be so hard. Not Legal Advice updates on Tuesdays.

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That means we have to know if you have the evidence to prove you have a case. Not that you will win the case. But that you even have a case to begin with.  Can you back up what you’re asking for?

Back to recipe speak: you can’t make an apple pie if all you have is oranges.

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Lots of people worry because their phones have been stolen or broken, or they didn’t get pictures right away.  Turns out, testimony is evidence. In regular terms, your story matters. But you have to bring it with you.

That means, you have to be prepared to share your story. And if you want the best chance of getting what you ask for, that means sharing it to the judge and the other party.

Major rule: your ingredients have to be fresh!  You can’t start cooking with expired or rotten food. And you can’t bring evidence or a story that is past the statute of limitations.

Yes, you can bring your own flavor to the lawsuit.  Cardamom instead of cinnamon. Firm demeanors or soft ones. (Onions vs. chives.)

But the other side isn’t going to cave just because you think you’re right.  Think of when families think they have the best recipe for a dish when you know your family makes it better. What would it take to change their minds?

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So what do you do with all your evidence (your ingredients)? You have to construct your lawsuit carefully. Papers need filed. The other side needs time to answer.

Then you can ask them for evidence. And they can ask you for yours.

But you have to follow directions. It’s quite hard to have a lawsuit you don’t show up for. That’s like leaving your pie in the oven and letting it burn.  Courts might even close your case.

All in all, the initial meetings with an attorney are the gathering and discussing of evidence, of facts. What your attorney doesn’t know, they can’t help you with. If you want to use evidence in a hearing or trial, your attorney has to have it ahead of time.

After a trial, that’s it. You can appeal in some cases, but even then, appellate judges don’t usually look at evidence that existed at the time the original trial took place (even if the judge never saw it).

Recipe speak: after the pie is baked, you can’t go back and add the sugar!

So, be prepared to give your attorney your story. Your evidence. And be prepared to follow a complicated recipe, one step at a time.

And keep showing up.  The more you practice, the better you’ll get at sharing your story and remembering all the ingredients when it matters most.

If you have a topic or question about what it’s like to meet with an attorney or go through the court system in general, feel free to share and I will address it in a future post!

The Natasha Hour is your place to start believing that life doesn’t have to be so hard. Not Legal Advice updates on Tuesdays.

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Last Christmastime, a lady working the checkout line didn’t want to serve me because she said I had too many items in my cart. I sassed back and counted them aloud to her. I almost lost it. I apologized. My baby had been up sick that night. At the end, she apologized, too. We were humans, feeling like shit, doing our best. We left it like that.

When I worked retail, I chatted with everyone. I learned about their grandkids, their kitchens, which sheets they preferred on the bed. I got asked out. I listened to jokes. I listened to woes.

Today, I grocery shopped in my usual haunt but not on my usual day.  The person working checkout was a victim of their time: coming of age during covid meets commodity-based-identity-politics. They didn’t think much of me.

Not that they have to. I get it. It’s a social statement not to like babies. (It’s okay to hate babies. But she doesn’t deserve actual stink eye).

It’s now a social statement to not engage in small talk.

(a lot of people are bad at it and nervously chat their little hearts out and other people are either shy or disinterested, how did small talk get politicized one way or the other)

It’s now a social statement to disregard anyone without fun-dyed hair, because we’re square AF.

(people of a certain age were so much friendlier towards me when I had pink curls, but I did get followed by security guards more)

A couple weeks ago when I chatted with a bubblier young soul… She said her boyfriend’s family didn’t care for her dyed red hair (it was vibrantly amazing!) Her eyes popped out of their sockets when I told her my hair journey.  How I went from red to blonde to pink to my now “tired-mom-grey.”  We eventually vibed better than I did with the person today, but the initial sentiment was there: you look boring, so you must be.

It used to be that people made an effort not judge books by their cover. How did we fail so badly that we have labels for being unlabeled?

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Sometimes people in line talk to me about their relationships. Strangers cry to me. I get asked about my dietary preferences. And I answer back. Because they might be lonely. Or they might be awkward.

And if I want people to meet me where I am at, I have to do my best to offer the same grace to others.

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(Even when my baby is up sick all night and I make mistakes at work and feel like rabidly growling at everyone I see.)

I enjoy trying to capture what it means to be human in 2026.  And collecting conversations and interactions with others is an enormous piece.

The Natasha Hour is your place to start believing that life doesn’t have to be so hard. New pieces on Tuesdays. Reflections on Saturdays.

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A lot of settling has to do with the questions we ask. The question I always ask my client when coming to an offer is, “what can you live with?”

We’re not asking about what winning looks like. We know what that looks like. But we’re not interested in best case scenarios when preparing a settlement offer. We’re looking at what world can you move into that is doable and realistic for both of you?

When settling always has a bad rap, life, in the courtroom and out of it, skews perception of what settling means. Settling is not an all or nothing proposition.

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If someone decides that they want to go forward with a case, and it makes legal and ethical sense to do so, we do it. But that doesn’t mean we can’t pause and see if we can come to an agreement within the structure that we’re fighting for.

Other times, settling looks like choosing to stop fighting.

(Why? Because you don’t think you’re in the right, you don’t think we’re going to win? Why would anyone suggest this if they have a good case?)

Sometimes people have won and don’t even know it. They didn’t get everything they asked for, so they reopen cases and try to modify existing agreements.

It can be hard to tell if we’re truly struggling, or if we’re merely caught in the vortex that an unhealthy relationship creates when it consumes us. And we sometimes forget that we’re in charge of our own inner peace, even if we cannot control every aspect of our lives.

Not all “settling” is giving up. We breathe deeply, pause our systems, become stable, and then assess. We can’t know how we feel if we’re always ready for battle.

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When a lawsuit is resolved outside of a courtroom, it usually ends with a settlement. Someone decides that it’s more likely that they will win more or lose less than what they would get after a trial or hearing.

The questions we ask aren’t, “what’s the coolest thing you hope will happen right now?” or “What do you deserve?” It’s not that those aren’t valid questions. But when we’re trying to negotiate terms, they’re not exactly the point.

And I don’t mean big picture deserve. Everyone deserves to be treated with love and respect. Please don’t “settle” for less than that.

But little picture. Can you live with life not happening 100% your own way, why or why not?

Maybe the quest for perfection makes us afraid to settle, but I doubt it. I think our fear in settling lies with our fear of permanence.

How long will we have to put up with this? What if it doesn’t work out?

And it lies with our fear that we’re getting steamrolled again by someone who’s good at making us walk away feeling a little bit greasier than we like.

If I “give in,” am I weak? Playing into their hand again? Will anyone respect me if I don’t fight for everything all the time?

If we throw away the idea of settling in, settling down, settling for less, we might never find peace because we’re always sure that the good life, the big win, is just around the corner.

And sometimes it’s so worth it not to stop.

But other times, coming to an agreement (or arrangement) you can live with, for now, can help you regain your strength for future battles.

The Natasha Hour is your place to start believing that life doesn’t have to be so hard.

Not Legal Advice updates on Tuesdays.

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I don’t know what other people were feeling. This piece isn’t about other people. It’s just about me.

Who am I?

I’m someone so scared of life that I became an attorney so that I never had to try to do anything and fail. I’m usually employable. I have deadlines that other people set for me. It’s safe as long as I’m dependable (within reason of having a slightly decent economy).

Why does this matter?

Because of the five people I was sitting next to in the floor seats, I knew three of them. Other attorneys. No, we didn’t go as a group.

But we all came to be impressed and inspired by people who went for something. For people who fell on the ice and got up and kept going like nothing had happened. (Sure, some Olympians go on to be professionals, yes, but look at me, clarifying, afraid to be misunderstood. Ew.)

One of the champions, Alysa Liu, you may have heard of her by now, grew up close to where I grew up. I can’t tell you how it felt knowing that someone from Oakland was killing it on the world stage. Like no, you don’t have to be from a fancy suburb with your Mercedes to do well on ice.

You can be from the Town and have an immigrant dad who worked his way up from being a bus boy to become an attorney and raise a daughter to be a world class ice skater because that’s what, and really only what, this country is for. Finding your street paved with gold.

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So, we watched the Olympic Team skate. It was funny. It was tragic. It was so moving that sometimes the energy was so charged that someone would spin and spin and spin and it was so impressive that we forgot to clap. The aura was that huge.

Walter Benjamin wrote about the role of auras that art pieces have, keeping visiting museums relevant in the age of mechanical reproduction. Videos cannot capture aura any more than a computer can copy the essence of the Mona Lisa. Everything is there, but it’s flattened. The air isn’t cold. The crowd isn’t electrified.

And some people chanted USA, USA, USA. Almost timidly at first, not wanting to be misunderstood. But excited that for the first time in a long, long time, there was something to celebrate. That young people could feel something so beautiful and share it with us. Not educate us. Not call us out. But share their art and their joy. For a moment, there was generational peace.

And nothing to do with politics.

Classical music is elegance itself. It is the written music that encapsulates the imagination perfectly. Meant to evoke the timeless “classics” of Greek and Roman myths and legends, classical music is now considered old and timeless in itself. Perhaps the underlying electricity of evoking old gods is why.

And when they danced on ice to it, I cried a bit. Not only because it was so beautiful and inspiring, but I had a memory of when I was ice skating on clunky hockey skates with my dad and brothers and these girls were in a coned-off area in the ice rink and they were skating in outfits and skates and practicing turns and jumps and I realized that Olympians started as kids.

I had plans to be like Michelle Quan when I grew up, you see. And I didn’t realize that you really had to start some things when you’re a kid. But if no one thinks of you, you miss the boat.

So, I thought about my kids while I watched Quad Guy do four back flips in a row. And I thought about my kids while I watched Jason Brown skate/dance on ice to Friend Like Me. And I thought hard about what the difference was.

Not everyone who dreams of being an Olympian figure skater gets to be one. Some get close and then get out-competed. Some dance on ice and realize they prefer medicine. And some skate and realize they would prefer to swim competitively instead and switch to that.

What’s my point?

At a young age, someone thought it would be cool if their kids grew up to be fucking awesome.

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And those young people skating in front of us on Tuesday were the product of hard work, sweat, tears, pride, failure, and above all, someone believing in them.

And I realize that it took me until I was 38 to watch someone succeed in the arts and not feel envy, but to feel pure joy for them doing well. Maybe that’s a long time. I don’t know how other people get through the disappointment of realizing they can never do something because it’s waaay too late to get started. But for me, it took some doing.

And I’m going to try to do my best to living up to the promise that I will keep my mind open to a world that doesn’t quite exist yet. And when I ask my kids what they want, or if I enroll them in programs, I listen to their interests, I’m there for them.

Because those moments when they skate and keep their heads, it’s like when you write and the page writes itself until you notice you’ve been writing and then you lose it. The moment they realize they’re skating in front of a crowd, they fall. And they get back up again. But that takes practice, too.

I’m leaving in that ramble. And ending with love for the young artists on ice and all the splendor I felt while watching them. There were no score cards, just claps. And then there were those moments we were too in love to clap, and that’s when it got good.

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People go to court all the time and fill out forms themselves. And they even speak with a judge. Sometimes it works, and sometimes we roll in afterward, offering our legal services to do recon.

I always say we’re the figure skaters in law. The athletes are just as fit, if not fitter, than the ice racers and skiers. But they wear flashy costumes and make it look easy.

We’re real attorneys. Same education, same training. But we work with people, not businesses. And we work in a world that people think they understand.

“You need to fill out these forms. You need to file an Order of Protection. You should file for custody.”

Did you know that telling people to fill out forms is legal advice? And you’re not allowed to give legal advice without a license.

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It’s hard to hear that every case is different, but every case is different. Some people break their ankles, and some people have bad sprains. The treatment is different.

So, some people have different lives going on inside their homes and their case outcomes are going to be different. Would you tell someone who fell and had a hard time walking that they just have a sprain, because that’s what you had, or would you tell them to go to the doctor?

Because telling someone to fill out custody forms without knowing the nuances behind their case is like telling someone with a possible fracture to buy an Ace Bandage and slap on some Icy Hot.

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What happens when people don’t consult a lawyer?

They can file a sped-up emergency custody case that doesn’t give the judge time to really see why they were scared for their children’s safety. Faster-moving cases don’t always lead to a better outcome.

They can file for an Order of Protection without hitting all the standards and be granted a restricted-contact order instead of a stay-away order.

Of course, we can’t predict outcomes. Just like not all bones heal the same way, we can’t promise that even after all this work, you’re going to find the peace you were hoping for. And that’s a hard part of my job.

But another hard part is explaining that there is usually time to get it right. Time to ask for help from a qualified professional. Time to slow down and take those x-rays and make an educated and informed decision of your plan.

It’s okay to designate your friends and family as your cheerleaders, not your strategists. And it is always easier to build a case from the beginning rather than fix a half-litigated mess!

The Natasha Hour is your place to start believing that life doesn’t have to be so hard.

Not Legal Advice updates on Tuesdays.

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What do we think of when we think of boundaries? Fences, brick walls, keep out signs? Of setting them in our own lives, these lines in the sand that keep shifting depending on how we’re feeling?

Get in a boat and explore the boundary waters, instead.

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I realized my boundaries are like the waters that separate states and countries. The kind you can swim in, fish in, boat in, and with some effort make it to the other side, but you have to slow down and explore a bit to get to where you planned on going.

Humans are notoriously terrible at boundaries. In my work as a shelter advocate and beyond, experts always insisted that people in crisis lack boundaries and you can tell by how open they are with you in what they share.

Isn’t that an awful diagnosis? What about the people who are naturally open, less private to the world? Or open to specific people because they trust you?

Is it possible to trust people you don’t know? Or do we trust them because we don’t know them?

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This week, I was chatting with someone about my work. After sharing about her work, she said, point blank, “I was that kid in the closet, hiding while my parents fought. Keep doing what you’re doing.”

So, boundaries aren’t just what you keep out, they’re also what you let out.

Boundaries are also what you keep in. Was it fair that I didn’t also share about my childhood?

I share openly that I became an attorney after being a shelter advocate, but I rarely share why I became an advocate for survivors in the first place.

And when I do, the conversation nearly always changes, which feels unfair. Like I’d not doing this out of the goodness of my heart anymore (is anyone), but because I know what it’s like to tense up afraid of getting hit when someone screams. And that’s unsettling. I’m allowed to do this work for whatever reason I please.

We like our “others” on the other side of the fence. How dare lawyers and doctors and account specialists have trauma and mental health and anything other than daily stressors and a socially acceptable alcohol problem?

When our boundaries act like fences or walls or stone palaces, they have doors. And we don’t always know when to shut them.

Sometimes I read absolutely ridiculous advice about setting boundaries. Cancel that plan, because you need boundaries. Stop talking when someone says something you don’t like, because boundaries.

Um… no. These oversimplifications lead to discontent. Sure, some people might need to set that boundary, in some specific settings. But as a rule, how can you have a rule of cancelling all your plans ever or never speaking to anyone who upsets you? That’s not helpful.

We really need waves, not walls. Waves come and go. Some you need to catch to surf, and others you need to get go by without mentioning.

The boundary is knowing that you could say no to that plan to begin with. The boundary is giving yourself the right to say, “that made me uncomfortable.” And what does that take? It takes slowing down and assessing yourself in the moment. Because that’s what cancelling plans really is. It’s what happens when you slow down and ask yourself what you really want. Saying I’ll think about it, instead of yes.

Sure, cancel that plan if you have two competing events and need to make a boundary of saying no instead of trying to split yourself in half. But that’s a different conversation.

It’s a practice, not an instant gratification. And it’s a slow, nonaggressive communication style, like a day chatting by a lake, rather than a wall with a huge keep out sign.

The Natasha Hour is your place to start believing that life doesn’t have to be so hard. New pieces on Tuesdays. Reflections on Saturdays.

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So many of my clients say that they wish they had been able to stand up for themselves in the moment and say the right thing. They feel guilty that they’re not like the feminists in modern movies.

I hate movie monologues that exist to slam another character without an actual conversation attached. As if that’s communicating.

I equally hate monologues where the character spits out exactly the right thing at the right time, in the ultimate retort.

I tell my clients who regret their lack of wit the absolute truth: those movie moments aren’t real. They’re fantasies.

Someone thought of a great response in the middle of the night, to a conversation they were having the day before, and got to put it in a movie.

Real life isn’t full of mic drops.

We have to listen to other people, get hurt, and then come back from that. And we have to hear other people out, even when we don’t want to. Hearing both sides doesn’t mean believing both sides.

It just means that everything gets put on the table and the judge gets to choose from a buffet of statements to decide what likely happened.

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Sometimes I have to ask my clients what the other side would say about them. Not because it’s true and not because it’s not true. But because I have to know.

I’m not a TV lawyer. If you say something on the stand, I’m not going to be able to come up with a spot-on monologue and fix it. But, I add, if you tell me something about you that might hurt your case, we can come up with a plan together.

Sometimes that plan looks like saying the bad facts first, before the other side does, so that the judge hears it from the softer side before hearing them exposed as potential lies. Sometimes the plan is to let the other side bring it up and then to balance the facts with the reasons behind those facts. We have to smash our brakes if someone runs out in front of us, even if the person behind us rear ends our car.

Either way, it comes down to knowing that behind the scenes is what matters in a case. There is no room for on-the-spot theatrics. Believe me, those guys who seem “natural” practice their lines.

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By this point, the disclosures start coming. I learn eerie facts about the nature of what went on in the home. Deep stories. Scared secrets.

Fighting back is not glamourous. And it can get you arrested, even if you were just trying to save yourself.

And everyone has had moments where they were not at their best.

Because no one is perfect and most people who walk into my office have spent a long time trying to show that their lives are perfect so that they don’t have to face the hideousness of the harms they suffered.

So we have to talk about it.

And no well-timed monologue can replace that.

The Natasha Hour is your place to start believing that life doesn’t have to be so hard.

Not Legal Advice updates on Tuesdays.

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And then we’re surprised to see while that strategy works for buying products or maybe even choosing where to take a vacation, we don’t really “know” at the end of most of our lists. Because life is more than pros and cons.

I thought about getting a new job.

My work is incredible. My office space is not always kind.

I took a meeting.

The manager I met with said everything right. My resume was impressive. I’d get more autonomy quickly. I had the right experience. The team would benefit from someone like me. There are good training opportunities.

But we don’t graduate from our jobs like we do school.

We have to think about what we feel is lacking in our current jobs, what growth we hope for, and what is best for our sanity.

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So, I spent the weekend thinking I was deciding about a job. I thought it was time to get out that pen. But, talking it over, I discovered I wasn’t even close to wanting to switch jobs, I just wasn’t happy with my everyday life.

Instead of choosing between jobs, I realized I still don’t feel like myself since the baby. Minor issues were starting to crawl and live under my skin.

And I haven’t been commanding my usual presence in the room. I’ve been self-conscious and insecure.

We do this all the time.

We think that we’re solving a problem by deciding which is better. Which job, which partner, which toothpaste.

More often, the foundation is fine, our walls are just faded.

And maybe we just need to adjust to our new selves and find out what makes us confident and poised and ready to negotiate with demons with ice-cold blood in our veins.

And no pros and cons list could ever come close to helping with that.

The Natasha Hour is your place to start believing that life doesn’t have to be so hard. New pieces on Tuesdays. Reflections on Saturdays.

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And your friend/sister/mom/cousin/nail technician knows the whole story.  Actually, they can answer the questions better than you can, and, for a long time, they’ve been running the show.

Slowly answering for you like they’re ordering for you off of a menu.  

It’s not meanness, but you have your hands full. And maybe they stepped in when you needed it.   

But part of this empowerment journey is learning to use your voice again.  Learning to put what you personally experienced into words. 

Afterall, a judge isn’t going to let a support person come in and testify for you.  They need to hear it from you.  If we go to trial, we will practice.

(And if you can’t tell me your story, we have a whole other issue to address first, which means you might not be in the right spot.)

But the first step is practicing telling your story to me now. That way, you get used to telling it.  Nothing about it surprises you, scares you, or worries you, because you’ve said it so many times.  Almost like rehearsing for a character in a play. 

Besides, I need to get to know you.  The real you.  Not the you who is overshadowed by your aunt’s outrage.  Not the you who has been told who you are and how to feel by everyone close to you. 

Maybe you’re less angry than scared.  Or maybe you’re less scared than tired.  Only you can tell me that. 

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And while we’re talking, let me explain something that you might not already know. 

This isn’t a private conversation.  It’s confidential.  Yes, there’s a difference. 

Some attorneys have to report child abuse or elder abuse and others don’t.  A good attorney will let you know if they do as part of your contract together. 

But most attorneys who work in an office will have to share a little of your case with their supervisor, with their assistant, and with other office gurus who know about procedure and issues that arise that might be outside of what I normally do. 

And that’s it.  I am not allowed to share our conversations with anyone else. 

If you don’t share about your lawsuit with anyone else, no one will know about it before you get started. 

No one else holds that privilege.  Sure, if your friend were here, it might feel like a private conversation with no one listening in, but it wouldn’t be confidential.  

Your friend or family member is not bound by the same privileges that attorneys and their clients are bound to.  One conversation where they let slip, “I told their lawyer that…” and it’s all over.  Now everyone knows you met with a lawyer.  And what was said. 

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So my office space is just for us. And if you need more time to answer questions because you have a lot going on, that’s okay.  

This isn’t the only time we’re going to talk.  So if you remember something later, or remember certain details about an incident, you can always call me or email me later. 

You’re not wasting my time.  This is what I’m here for.  

The Natasha Hour is your place to start believing that life doesn’t have to be so hard.

Not Legal Advice updates on Tuesdays.

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When death does come for us, it is individual, and almost anomalous. Compared to when only 2 out of 8 or so children would live to grow up in a regular family. Or compared to fearing a cut on a rusty nail in peacetime. Or diphtheria.

The deaths in my family and of friends are not the deaths of my grandmother’s generation. They died because they did not have modern healthcare or vaccines.

I am here because of modern medicine and modern surgeries.

And still, we like to believe death cannot catch us by surprise.

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We pretend death is somewhere lurking to prey on those who smoked cigarettes or overdrank or had high cholesterol. Or it happens to unfortunate people in other parts of the world. Or people from other parts of the world.

So, the shock that someone I know, a friend not five years older than myself, has stage 4 breast cancer and is waiting for results on how far it has metastasized is not the shock of my ancestors.

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It is the shock of the 21^st century that cannot be translated into any other moment in time.

Can shock be selfish?

There is so much death and fear and famine and war in the world and I’m shocked that one person might have to leave her tween and her teenagers behind her before she was ready. Oddly, her husband survived cancer not 10 years ago.

This is not the first shock I have had about my law school friends.

Six and a half years ago, another law school friend’s life was cruelly ended, as was her brother’s, when someone decided to slam on the gas and drive into the sidewalk they were walking on. Another friend and the siblings’ dad also almost died.

One man woke up in the hospital alive to find his two children gone forever.

Was the gift of life laughing at him? How can someone live, be vaccinated against childhood diseases, travel the world, study, pass the bar, and then get hit by a car while walking on the sidewalk and just… die.

Shock.

And we are so unprepared for death in these modern times.

So unprepared most people don’t know what to say or how to reach out to someone or know that it doesn’t matter what you say, it’s important that you said it.

Bring food and sit there for an hour. No talking required.

But the time between, the knowing, the reaching out to say you know and that you’re sending love but you both know there is nothing to do but say, how are the kids and hang in there…

I had to press pause today and sit in the grass. Because I had a shock.

And now I have to wait and hope modern medicine can cheat death again.

The Natasha Hour is your place to start believing that life doesn’t have to be so hard. New pieces on Tuesdays. Reflections on Saturdays.

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It’s so you trust me.

By the time you’ve stepped into my office, you’ve already made a decision. You’ve already made the phone call to admit that things were too much.

And you’ve realized something has to change, even if you’re not sure what yet.

So yes, come into my office, and we’ll talk and come up with a plan.

The advocate you spoke to on the hotline thought you might need an attorney. The intake assistant’s role is to make sure you are a good fit for our program.

My job is to share your story with the judge in a way they will understand.

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For me, starting this work as an advocate and not as an attorney was my saving grace to connecting with survivors on a human level. I once had a boss shadow a client meeting and express confusion that I spent a whole five minutes talking about what my client wanted to talk about. Sure, we got to what I needed to say and know, without going over time.

But those five minutes meant everything to her.

Did you get here ok? How was parking. How are you feeling? What’s new?

I stressed this issue in the client interview presentation I gave to other attorneys. Connection is more than a buzzword. We can’t do our jobs if our clients don’t see that we value them as people.

Everything we write now feels a little cliché. Quiet smiles. Gentle rhythms. Even mindful breathing. Perhaps they’re cliché because we stopped thinking about what they mean before saying them.

In my office, I have my own cliché platitudes. You’re not alone. You’re not stupid. A lot of people feel like this.

Everyone cries in my office. It’s okay. I’m not afraid of you being emotional in here.

Turns out, platitudes serve a purpose. They let moments sit still.

Instead of immediately trying to solve problems, the phrases let us feel familiar to each other, almost friendly.

Timing is more important than saying exactly the right thing.

Knowing when to press on, asking for more information, and knowing when to hold your hand and sit in the weight of living makes all the difference.

No word describes everyone. Some people identify with being a victim. Some say they feel they are a person who has been victimized. Others call themselves survivors.

Allowing others to identify themselves serves a purpose. It lets someone who has been behind the mask of control choose, at least this once, who they are in a room.

**************

Hiring an attorney is like hiring backup: you no longer have to figure out everything on your own.

So, please. Take a deep breath and let me know what brings you in here today.

And thank you for trusting me with your story.

               The Natasha Hour is your place to start believing that life doesn’t have to be so hard. 
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                             New posts for this essay series, “Not Legal Advice” arrive each Tuesday. 

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I got better at cleaning up after myself. Better at listening to others when they don’t absolutely love everything about me (I know).

And yet…

The fear that I was disappearing into material identities (partner, lawyer, mom) and less of being “me” (the girl who read naked under a blanket on the couch after a shower) scared me.

I panicked. I stayed myself, but who I was changed. I didn’t take time off work because I’d had a bad dream.

It’s weird how even showing up changes who we are. For better and for less.

And my old, uninvited, identities (sufferer, sister, survivor) are still inside, but their roles have diminished to make room for the new crew.

And then there’s me.

The girl who stayed up all night to paint and still made it to school. She wasn’t late like the girl who came later. She never let anyone down but herself.

And then, unpacking that suitcase, folding the socks into teeny-tiny drawers, I see it.

The scribbles of dresses that litter my notes in work meetings.

The slightly uncontrollable laughter.

My recent writing has been the lozenge I’ve needed to cure the hoarseness.

And I wrote the poem below because I suspect a lot of us still have smoldering embers underneath, ready for another round of toasting marshmallows.

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Campfire Dreams

Beneath the white, fire-tired logs
and pine needle crisps seeps the
tell-tale smoke that
inspires the whisper of a daydream: perhaps the fire
isn’t fully burned out!

Can it reignite at a moment’s notice
into that explosive, uncontained yet hypnotic 
valley of failure to recognize the poisonous chance
that could, if not cautious, burn down the trees?

Or is it a suaver fumigation, 
one that beckons alluring migration 
of patience and chimeras breathing
aliveness into alligator skeletons,
evoking moonlit revelry
with the spicy smugness of having
survived an attempted suffocation of
abject storms and sand.

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But when you’re short with me, it ruins my day. And keeps me up at night, wondering why you lost your patience with me.

One time I was on the bus and saw this guy looking at me in a way no one my age at the time really wanted to be looked at by a guy that age. My first thought was to think stink-eyed thoughts about him.

Then I looked at him again.

He was young once. Probably lost his virginity to someone he thought he loved. Probably had a mom he called on Sundays.

It was at that moment I realized. Everyone has a backstory.

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I have to laugh a little at myself for it taking 18 years to know that. And I have to cry a little bit because we forget it every day.

We forget that the person who shoved us has a life of their own.

They are not just there to exist in that moment in time, a mere photograph, to annoy us.

Once we were sitting in a circle, having a post-retreat pow-wow, and everyone raised their hand to complain about the event (ahem, share their experiences).

Most people spoke only about their personal struggles. They said no one could understand them because they hadn’t gone through what they went through.

In that moment, I understood. The lightening flash of recognition cowed me, and I was back on the bus again, looking at that stranger who was looking at me.

One girl cried because no one had invited her to the party (only 1/3 of the group had a private get-together, the rest of us just hung out in small corners of the lodge space). She had social anxiety and wasn’t outgoing enough to join groups without an invitation.

How could we not ask her? Surely none of us also felt left out. And no one else in that room had social anxiety, naturally.

Another person talked about why she was the way she was because of the violence in her home and said that other people couldn’t understand what she had gone through because they weren’t there.

Of course we weren’t there. We were in our own homes experiencing violence.

And yet, where is my compassion for their backstories now?

I am allowed to vent about a bad moment, but if others do it, they’re being judgmental.

So, I have to let myself see me as that frozen photograph of what exists in the moment.

And when I have the misfortune of interacting with someone who doesn’t respect my time (when I was late because I just hit traffic) or was rude (while I was just tired) or flippant (while I was just overwhelmed) …

I have to remember that they have a story behind their actions that stretches back to our ancestors and all the way back to the mystery of life starting in the sea.

And I have to remember that just as my story doesn’t begin and end in this moment, neither does theirs.

The Natasha Hour is your place to start believing that life doesn’t have to be so hard.

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Please read this and tell me it’s terrible. That I can do better. And that I deserve to try again as less of a free spirit but maybe with more mystery.

The girl at the bottom is me 10 years ago. (She was dating a loser but had great style).

I’m feeling a distinctive wind of change. And am daydreaming that it leads me to uncover something new.

Stolen Allure (Jun. 28th, 2007 at 2:18 AM)

The deceptive cadences of un-manufactured sidewalk cracks
Bare feet broken feet, glass ceilings I have cast my stone

Sequins on the wave crests
Shooting stars and simplicity shattered by the sand

Train tracks and marble staircases,
A midnight menagerie of see saws cigarettes and high school boys

The cross is lit but the lights are off, even god is sleeping
Solitude surrenders to human cravings

Orgasms on the phone

************************************************************************************

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Apr. 19th, 2007 (12:23 AM)

Wednesday Morning

The next day, el día proximo,
Te veo.
from across the room

mira a la izquierda
mira a la derecha
feigning oblivion, indifference
¡tus ojos!
they flickered when I glanced your way

The pause of a marionette
the hands tired of pulling strings? or NO!
the puppet is tired of playing

¡Te dije parar!

yet continued to reach

on autopilot, inhuman
commotion unearthed:

a Dali dream, the central highway
a poster of Yellow Submarine

small talk
large talk

Middle Names

¿Besos en mi estomago?
molded, folded, and ironed

la manipulación más última

Yo quiero cerrar mis ojos, pero tengo miedo
I will see anyway

¿es un sueño? fantasmas.

¡sí! just ghosts

y si yo camino con los ojos cerrados,
maybe it didn’t happen

****************************************************************************************

Death and the Hummingbird (Sep. 2nd, 2007 at 12:52 AM)

Where did your heartbeat go
Your body is but a mockery, an experiment to mimic vitality

Sun glints gold embraced in emerald on dust-ridden path by concrete curb
Engines glide by and slow to stare at me stare, to them your lifeless stare’s unnoticed

I saw your heartbeat tonight glow: a sudden whir of pearl swallowed in a second’s time
I forgot to wish

a fleeting lapse of future invitations flooded in greeting cards of envy
Innocent pawn I’ll trade you stops, carry my soul on your rotting wings

****************************************************************************************************

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Water cleans crevices of our souls that a dry rag cannot scrape. And is so alien in nature that it acts like nothing else we have ever encountered, or likely ever will.

Waterfalls. Fountains of Youth.

Humans used to relish water, daydream of it restoring our lives and preserving our souls.

Oceans.

We used to feel humble next to water. Gods controlled the water. We felt and feared the force of water.

Cleanliness. Ritual. Respect.

In the United States, images of people bathing in rivers, in lakes in streams are for another time, another era. Or it gets pictured in National Geographic as one of the quirky things other cultures do, with their outdated, unsanitary customs.

When bathing in water that is still living is the most honest thing a human can still do.

Our children know this as they splash in every puddle they can find on our walks.

Our babies know this as they smile when they see their baths, anticipating the warmth and the ducks they get to chew on as the yoghurt is gently released from their hair with efficiency no dry brushing could ever dream of.

Hand sanitizer. Dry shampoo.

The market, in its quest to divest you from your humanity, implores you to forget the memory of water.

The warmth it brings while scrubbing your hands. The relief and wellbeing that sings within you during a good session of shower singing.

If you feel well, you stop buying things to make you feel better.

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Bottled soda. Bottled water.

Did you know that in Bolivia, there was a government mandate to privatize water back in the day? I saw a documentary on it in college. People had to submit the rainwater they collected.

In a drought, individuals may not shower for more than 5 minutes. But Nestle may still bottle water from the cleanest springs. I’m from California. I’ve lived through this.

Others live through thirst so profound, they die, while Coca Cola bottles on and on and on.

But I don’t buy bottled water.

Yet, the reusable bottles water goes into have been overblown and distorted and oversold and packaged for gain and publicity, haven’t they?

Cities gushed water through them and died of cholera when mixing water with wine was lost to the ages.

How can we possibly have gotten bad at drinking water?

Drink eight glasses a day.

When delighting in salads and fruits and other comforts that hold water, dream of water, and shimmer in morning dew is also a way to absorb water without the confines of a chart.

We are so afraid of water we buy umbrellas to shield ourselves from the rain. When water immortal cleansed us of our sins and renewed our souls so loftily it once allowed us into heaven.

Believe in nothing. But believe in water.

Believe in it in drought. And believe in it in flood.

The wrath of water spreads with each drop that evaporates uselessly on concrete before nourishing the soil. It is angry with us for treating it as if it always will be here.

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