Sugar Rush

So pretty it makes my stomach hurt

`Does anyone else have a really hard time with people doing nice things for you?

It’s my birthday (barf, we’ve discussed this yesterday) and my friends rented a cabin for the weekend so we could celebrate.

`I don’t really have words for how sweet this is. I only have a stomach ache.

If you tuned into my radio show (XO Radio, every Wednesday at 8pm EST on Stationhead, yay!) I did breakdowns of Taylor Swift’s music, and one song in particular, “The Archer” resonated with me so much.

Combat. I’m ready for combat, she began the song. And I mused at how true it was: I’m so good at war, and so bad at peace. I’m my most efficient self in an argument. I am Achilles at the gates of Troy, smirking at my mother who says “You don’t have to do this.”

I know that. I want to.

I will ferociously defend my territory, whether it’s Greece and King Agamemnon, or my loved ones. I think a lot of only children of single moms are like this: we’ve had to be the swords and the shields, haven’t we?

So when someone does something sweet for us it’s like…wait…this is backwards. I truly don’t know how to handle it. It feels like I’m off duty.

My friends put me firmly off duty this weekend. And I feel like I know what you’re thinking:

I mean…they’re you’re best friends and it’s your birthday, so this isn’t really that amazing of a gesture, Shallon.

But actually, these aren’t my best friends—these are my new friends.

When I moved to Montana in June, I was pretty sure that if I was in town for my birthday seven months later, I’d spend it alone. NO WAY I’d have anyone in my life who’d celebrate with me. And that was OK. I was just hoping to restart my life and I accepted that would be from the ground up.

So I planned a mega trip with the Tit Frens (my NYC crew of soul sisters, an incredible menagerie of alpha females) since three of us had a bday within the month, but Covid’s continuing fuckery made that mega impossible.

My major roadblock to leaving New York was that I’d never make new friends again. Never. The Tits were too irreplaceable and just too magical. I’d had them as the great loves of my life, I wasn’t going to get greedy.

I figured that MAYBE I’d befriend some crazy bartender named Layciee or get chatty with some elderly neighbor. And I’d be ok with that.

But Montana had her surprises. I couldn’t have imagined a group of bad bitch, funny/cool/smart/foxy chicks even existed here (if you saw this state’s droves of homely Patagonia “girls” who look like Swedish boys named Bjorn, you’d understand why) let alone like ME and accept ME.

I’m not sure if they’re getting a tax break for hanging out with me or if they’ve all got DUIs and this cabin weekend is their community service, but I’ll take it.

I call my mountain mamas the A Bombs because their names all start with A (wow I AM SO CREATIVE, THIS IS WHY THEY PAY ME THE BIG BUCKS GUYS) and like I said, I really don’t have words for how sweet it is that they’re going to all this trouble to celebrate my birthday.

I feel…guilty? Undeserving? Again, like some guard dog who’s been let off the leash.

So, I’m trying to get better at letting people do nice things. It literally makes my tummy hurt when someone is too nice. I can’t really look right at it. Trespasses against me? Oh I’ll tumble those around my mind like rocks in a dryer.

But I need to reverse those impulses. Because if I don’t, if I forever place myself in the role of the fixer, then I’ll forever be fixing friends, fixing boys, fixing little things like the moment—the song, the temperature, the filter—instead of just being present.

And if there’s one thing that we learn from one more candle on the cake, it’s that life moves so quickly. I took for granted being able to walk to meet Becca and Megan for sushi in Brooklyn, or that Katie was just an Uber away.

So, I’m going to slow down and let Alexis braid my hair and appreciate how well Abby really listens and take Aly up on her offer for early morning spin class.

Their sweetness is a rush and I’m ready for the high.