Until the very end Natalie is steadfastly self-righteous, despite her entire belief system having fallen apart. Her mother, generally her role model, and her sister start exploring more progressive ideas. Her in-laws were never good Christians and now they despise her. But instead of experiencing a single moment of introspection her mind fractures and she goes crazy, forced to relive the events that led to her predicament, and still comes out unchanged.

Natalie’s experience is full of contradictions and holes. It would be an incredibly easy way to infuse her character with nuance. Framing what feminism means in the context of 21st century trad-wives. For example, despite Natalie’s rejection of progressive views, her life is only possible because of them. With this tension present, it opens the door for character development. But still, Natalie remains unchanged. This sort of resistance to change suggests to me that Burke wrote Natalie as intentionally immovable in her views. Especially when the novel curates the perfect atmosphere to initiate change.

This is a hate-fueled novel that lacks any clear narrative purpose. There is zero depth, the side characters (which are generally more interesting than Natalie) are never explored beyond the surface-level effect they have on Natalie. The slightest amount of doubt or uncertainty would’ve made Natalie immensely more interesting. At the end there is nothing left to dissect, everything was put on the page, with no lasting impact. The only question that I’m left with is Burke implying that conservative women are incapable of growth?

It was early January 2026. I had only started seeing this campus health therapist the month prior. She was asking me how my winter break was and if I was excited for the coming semester. “I haven’t gotten around to registering for classes yet,” I told her. My enrollment period had come and gone in November; I needed to talk to my advisor, but I kept putting it off. She told me it said a lot about my relationship with college. I knew it did, but I did have every intention to enroll before the first day of class. She asked me what was stopping me from taking a break, “I don’t think I’ll come back, I’m already behind, and I just want to get it over with.” She countered with “Would you rather leave now or be forced out if you continue to fail?” That struck me, because flunking out was a far more embarrassing option than claiming to ‘leave on my own volition.’

By the 7th of January, I had made my decision. It wasn’t something I pondered on; one second, I was a college student, and the next, I was a college dropout. I kept it to myself for a few days, only confiding in my mom. She supported my decision, which surprised me, because she was very pro-education. She grew up in a house where you got a degree, no questions, that’s just what you did. So, to have her support signaled to me that I had reached a point of no return; people were worried about me. Everyone was finally realizing how unhappy I was. However, I did not feel free or really any happier. The weeks that followed were some of the worst to date.

I spent days in bed; when I did leave, it was only out of necessity, and I made sure to go quietly so my friends couldn’t ambush me. One day, I went to pick up a prescription, my antidepressants, but instead, all I did was cry in the Costco parking lot and go home. Then I cried in my parking garage. Cried while I made my dinner, just to cry while I ate it too. I was so upset with myself, I remember thinking: “Why couldn’t I do it?” At some point, I began to think of my brain as an entity separate from myself. I thought that part of me was physically diseased, and it needed to be cut out. I started to fantasize about banging my head against a wall, or the sharp corner of my desk, or sticking it in the oven, or even a lobotomy. My mind had failed me so abhorrently, and I wanted to hurt it just as badly. In hopes of irreversibly altering my consciousness, to become something different than the one that had failed. But I didn’t hurt myself. Eventually, I went to pick up my medicine, and then figured I’d be fine.

I decided not to stick around for long. Telling people over and over about my biggest failure was a personal hell. I thought about writing a newsletter and letting everyone find out that way. But the news came as a shock to people. They didn’t know I wasn’t okay, let alone bad enough for this. I was not keen to pay inflated college town rent for any longer than I had to, so I decided to move as far away as I could. But until then, I could party.

I spent my last two months there saying yes to as much as I could. It was the last time we would all be together like this, then I’d leave, and our lives would carry on differently. I remember one night I went to a birthday party, at the pre-game, my friends kept handing me shots and toasting to “going away”. I drank too much before we even got to the party. I was floating around saying my hello’s before it really hit me. Someone gave me their sunglasses, and I felt better, then I got a beer, Irish Goodbye’d, and walked to my friend’s apartment across the street. He was playing Beerio Kart with his roommates, and I joined even though I’m historically bad at it. I texted my friends to come pick me up, “sweet treats are on me.” When they showed up, there were seven people already in the car, and we stopped at Insomnia on the way back. We went up to their apartment (right above mine), I texted my roommate that I needed an escort, and proceeded to puke in the bathroom. She came and got me. Most of my weekends looked like that until I left.

It’s been five months since I dropped out, three since I moved, and it feels okay. I work full-time as an Innkeeper at a small hotel. It’s completely unimpressive and perfect. After spending so much time suffering, it’s good to do something simple. What everyone wants to know is if I’ve forgiven myself. I know myself well and was right to assume that I wouldn’t. However, like with all guilt, pain, and grief, it does not get better; you only learn to get on with life.

What people ask me most these days is “Do you regret it?” It’s a complicated answer. I know that going to college was the wrong choice for me, but it taught me a lot about how to be a person. The feeling reminds me of a line from LCD Soundsystem: “I wouldn’t trade one stupid decision—for another five years of life.” There are things that I had to do at college: I had to get drunk and embarrass myself, I had to fight with my roommates, I had to learn how to cook, and I had to cry with my friends. Those things taught me how to exist, maybe through a different lens. I was never meant to get a degree, but instead a crash course on how to be kind.

It’s okay that all of this happened. It’s terrible to have spent so much time in pain, but it’s okay. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying not to feel the way I did in college. I will always wonder what it would’ve been like if things had been different. But I think every version of myself would’ve fucked it up.

Along with most other white women, I’ve been reading Yesteryear by Caro Claire Burke. I have not been so tickled by the premise of a book in a long time: “A traditional American woman, a beautiful wife and mother who sells her pioneer lifestyle of raw milk and farm-fresh eggs to her millions of social media followers, suddenly awakens cold, filthy, and terrified in the brutal reality of 1805”.

As a woman on the internet, I’m aware of the trad-wife influencers, particularly Ballerina Farms and Nara Smith. I can spend hours scrolling their feeds, captivated by the stark contrast in our lives. Even so, I can see what is so desirable about their lifestyles: the American West has been the center of fascination for centuries from Manifest Destiny, to the gold rush, all the way to the hit TV series Yellowstone. These influencers yearn for times when pasteurized milk didn’t exist and the average life expectancy was about 40 years old.

Over a quarter of the way through the book, I am yet to be wowed. It’s moving slowly despite Natalie already finding herself in the 1800s. I won’t make any concrete criticisms until I’m done, though I do think this book could do it for me. But so far, Natalie is nearly an unbearable main character—embodying the closed-minded culture of conservative America, and she has shown no signs of growth.

Watching:

“Slow Horses” the Apple TV Original, has been recommended to me relentlessly since season one. For whatever reason (despite knowing I’d love it) it has taken me five years to give it a shot. “A dysfunctional team of MI5 agents and their obnoxious boss, the notorious Jackson Lamb, navigate the espionage world's smoke and mirrors to defend England from sinister forces.”

I’m angry I didn’t get around to it sooner. The opening scene is what hooked me. No warning, it’s immediately tense and action-packed. The show opening scene is so compelling that it doesn’t have to establish anything prior. Immediately thrown into what you think is an undercover operation to flush out a suicide bomber, it’s impossible to tear your eyes away. I watch most of my TV while eating dinner, but I was so focused on the scene in front of me I couldn’t take a single bite. This is a very high compliment.

It’s incredibly captivating and darkly humorous, refreshing the spy genre by focusing on the scraps of MI5 rather than ultra-talented spies. We’re following a group that has already been booted from the big leagues. Despite craving career redemption, they constantly disobey ruthless orders from higher-ups for the morally conscious choice, even if it proves a greater blow to their reputation.

All in all, I am absolutely giddy to have five seasons of this show ahead of me (and more on the way).

Waiting:

My most anticipated release of May is the directorial debut of Kane Parsons with A24’s “Backrooms”. The story stems from an innocuous picture of an empty office space posted to 4chan. The post created a buzz because of the eerie feeling it gave viewers. The reaction this image gave people allowed for a viral CreepyPasta and a long running analog horror series on YouTube by Kane Pixels (the director of the film).

Despite the extensive lore behind the backrooms, people with no knowledge of its online presence are still familiar. Walking through the endless hallways of my apartment with my friends, someone says casually “what if we get stuck in the backrooms?” It has transcended into modern folklore, operating the same way as Bigfoot—most people will understand the concept without knowing the historic origin.

This is what makes the movie so exciting. Lovers of Kane’s original online story get a continuation of the narrative, while it also operates as a stand-alone, welcoming new viewers. The movie will establish a new storyline, in the same universe, with the same mythos as the ARG.

Before the movie comes out, take some time to learn about Kane’s Backrooms. Try to get a grasp on how they work, the vocab of the universe, and who or what you may find inside.