Not Ozempic, Just Trauma: Notes from the Rebuild
If you haven’t seen me in a while, you might notice I’m smaller—and no, it’s not Ozempic. It’s the trauma diet. Way less fun, but a lot cheaper.
Well… actually, probably not.
It only cost me losing my house—but hey, that’s “covered by insurance,” right? LOL. Most of us were underinsured, dropped entirely, or stuck on the California FAIR Plan (aka insurance of last resort). Meanwhile, Ozempic isn’t covered by any insurance… so I guess this is the cheaper option. HAHA (and also crying).
I’m back. It’s been a minute. The honest reason for my hiatus is this: I’ve been really depressed. Not constant—more like waves. So I’m either sad and skinny. Or happy and fat. But at least I get something.
My 5-Month Writer’s Block
I started this entry in September. Rewrote it countless times. Nothing felt right. The truth is, since coming back to LA, I’ve been struggling.
Not to sound dramatic, but I’ve been mourning the life I had in the Palisades.
It feels like it should feel like home—and in some ways, it does. I love my friends. I love this community. But everything is different. We are all displaced. And the distance is real.
My old 3-minute preschool drop-off is now 30 minutes. Every errand reminds me of how easy my rhythms used to be. Seeing friends, planning playdates—it’s logistical warfare now. If I drop the kids in Santa Monica at 9:30am, I cannot also meet a Palisades friend in Manhattan Beach AND be back for an 11am office meeting in Brentwood. Impossible.
Plus the unofficial LA rule: Never go east of the 405 after 2:30pm unless you’re committing to dinner. We have a 3pm architect meeting in West Hollywood tomorrow… so guess where we’re eating.
It reminds me of the first Valentine’s card I gave Eric (may that card’s ashes rest in peace): I would get onto the 405 at 5pm for you.
For the girlies who also measure love in freeway sacrifices — linking the card here.
👉 “I would get onto the 405 at 5pm for you” card
Being physically far from your people is its own grief.
My first weekend back, I randomly met another displaced Palisades mom in our apartment building. She walked into the game room and said, “Palisades—I know you.” Because that’s what our tiny little town within LA used to be. Everyone knew everyone.
Now, I often feel lonely. I work from home a lot, and while there’s a nice camaraderie at the Compass office, my real sense of social connection used to come from bumping into people around town: running to Gelson’s every Friday morning because they had the best challah (insider tip: I just learned Viktor Benes is now at Vicente Foods), Village music classes, spontaneous loop walks, last-minute playdates.
Life there was idyllic. And we knew it.
I worked so hard to build a life I adored, and now it feels like I’m starting over.
Authenticity, Depression, and the Herculean Task of Being Funny
I always wanted this blog to be real. To be an outlet. A journal. A place to process while also offering a little levity and escapism.
When I go through bouts of depression—because it really does come in waves—I’ll start writing and then suddenly… I can’t. I’ll stop mid-sentence and disappear from the draft for days. My writing just isn’t where I want it to be during those stretches. It feels impossible to get the words out. And it’s not just the writing—everything starts to feel like a Herculean task. Things that should take 5 minutes take an hour. Things that used to be easy suddenly feel impossible.
And social media… it can be hard. Not the posting—I’ll still share a story here and there, something sweet about the kids, or anything exciting happening. I respond to friends, support my people, and then I log off. What’s hard is lingering there. It’s the comparison game—staring at everyone’s highlight reel while you feel like crap. Everyone else looks productive, glowing, thriving, eating those perfectly photographed, influencer-approved lunches… and meanwhile I’m like, “I feel stuck.” It messes with your head. It makes everything feel worse. So I try to keep it light and move on.
The to-do list multiplies by the hour. Everyone seems to be handling things better than me.
But here’s the truth: If you’ve felt depressed, exhausted, paralyzed, or sad—you’re not alone.
I’m Wildly Obsessed with My Kids
Whenever I feel myself unraveling, my kids are the thing that brings me back.
Leo just turned 5, and he is truly the sweetest soul—you can’t teach that. I wish I could take all the credit, but he just has the kindest heart. I’ll never forget his second year of preschool when his teacher, who had been teaching for over 30 years, told me he was the most empathetic kid she had ever taught.
One night I was crying in bed and he found me. I told him, “Mommy is sad because I miss our house. Sometimes mommies get sad. And if you ever get sad, that’s okay.”
He immediately hugged me, burst into tears, and said:
“I miss our house too.
I miss our car.
I miss my toys.
I miss my food.”
And in that tiny, devastatingly sweet moment, the rumination loop just… stopped. His empathy pulled me out of my head and into the present. He got me out of my hole without ever trying.
I’ve heard this from so many fire moms—we all just want more time with our kids now. The trauma cracked something open. It deepened the bond. A lot of my friends, myself included, have even reduced nanny or childcare hours just to be with our kids more. There’s something about the way children love you so unconditionally that pulls you toward them. And watching Leo and Ava become so deeply connected through all of this… it feels like the biggest blessing we could’ve been given in the middle of so much loss.
And Now… Something Lighter
I can’t only write about the fire.
If I did, I would actually lose my mind.
I need breaks. Joy. Humor. Escapism. I need to write about the things I’d talk about with a friend—the random stuff, the rituals that keep me sane, the products that make my life easier, the playlists Leo forces me to play on the 30-minute school commute.
While I was on hiatus, I had a lot of time to think about what I wanted The Palisades Mom blog to be.
Introducing: #ThePalisadesMoms
When I started this blog, I didn’t totally know what I wanted it to be. And while the blog is still The Palisades Mom, in real life I’ve found myself describing the energy of it as #ThePalisadesMoms (plural) and tagging any event I would post on social media with it—the IRL vibe that feels less like “here’s Alicia talking into the void” and more like this weird little club of moms who share the same trauma, the same identity shift, and the same “I can’t believe this is my life now” moments.
It’s not about me.
It’s about all of us.
And honestly, I’ve been craving something that brings us back together again—something that feels like what life used to feel like. Casual. Fun. Connected. Not emotionally heavy. Not logistical gymnastics.
So: Sip, Swap & Shop
A little preview of what we’re bringing back — proof this is not a sad meeting in folding chairs.
After the fire, we rebuilt our wardrobes with generous donations and… let’s be honest, expiring fire-victim discount codes and 4am retail therapy (sorry, Eric). My once-minimalist closet is now a curated archive of “beautiful things I don’t wear but someone else should.”
And listen, I got some good stuff—which I’ll be bringing. ALC, Reformation, Mother, L’Agence, Alo… I’m only brand-dropping to convince you to come—and because I want these pieces to go to another fire mom. Hence, the swap.
Plus, we’ll have a jewelry pop-up with Bareket Fine Jewelry, who is donating 15% back as store credit so the support goes directly to Palisadian fire moms replacing what they lost.
Last year we sent the proceeds to support Israeli hostages. This year, when Danielle asked where the donation should go, I said honestly…
“Give it directly back to the fire victims.”
Especially after the FireAid Benefit Concert scandal, which left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth, I love the idea of keeping it hyperlocal and actually beneficial.
Fire moms are the Olympic athletes of putting themselves last. We replaced the pots, the sneakers, the lunch boxes, the emotional-support Stanley cups… and THEN remembered: Oh right, all my jewelry literally turned to ash.
No one needs jewelry, obviously, but it’s always the sentimental stuff that gets pushed to “someday… maybe… after I deal with everything else.”
This ring was my push present, designed with Danielle of Bareket Fine Jewelry. It’s deeply personal—and a reminder that it’s the sentimental pieces that hurt most to lose. We’re working on a Palisades necklace inspired by Dior’s iconic “Oui” collection—timeless, understated, and full of meaning. Linking the inspiration here.
This feels like a tiny, spicy little nudge for moms to finally replace something that was just for them.
Date TBD—last year we did it over the holidays, but this season is chaos. I literally just hung our giant family calendar because December is unhinged.
Stay tuned.