Guess who’s back – and she’s not taking any more bull poo.

Hello, sparklemice. My goodness, how i have missed you all terribly. But i promise, my temporary leave of absence was entirely for your sake. As some of you can relate to, i am currently in atrocious steroid withdrawal. The whole nine yards, shaking, mood swings, breakouts, pain…you get it. Had i posted during my last downswing, my blog would have consisted of a string of incoherent swear words, and maybe an occasional cheesy sad Tumblr quote.
But fear not, my loves. So much has changed since our last encounter, and this badass’ journey seems to have a turn for the sparkly-er.  As i write this i am sitting on the quad under a deliciously shady tree at my choice college, watching my group of lovely new friends play ultimate frisbee while we wait for open mic night, where i will be performing (EEK!) My secret music career dreams (PLOT TWIST,) have actually seemed to slide into the realm of possible…for the first time in a loooooong time, i have my voice back. I’m ready to write again. So while my heart is full of regret that the lupus took over for a while there, i am so ridiculously happy to be myself enough again. Which brings me to this post.

Failure. We all, sick or not, have to deal with failure. Whether it’s not landing the promotion,or letting the disease win for a little bit, or not finishing the marathon…we all fail. FAILURE…the big scary pit we are taught to delicately teeter around, looking down at those unfortunate enough to lose their balance. Well i have a secret: the goddess Athena, my current income, and failure all have something in common. They are MYTHICAL. Failure is not a real thing. Totally made up and then accepted into society as some concrete concept and ultimate reality. Which is really quite the tragedy, if you think about it. Following in the human trend, we have created a problem for ourselves where there is none.
We think that when we attempt something, and the outcome isn’t our goal, we have failed. And that’s not our fault, we were taught to believe that just like we were taught to believe we will one day die.  It’s terrifying and inevitable and a part of life.

But this past sh** show has taught me something…or rather coming out the other side of it has.

Failure isn’t a reality, it’s a perception fallacy. An attempt doesn’t end until you’ve succeeded in what you were trying to do, or realized that it wasn’t what you’re meant to be doing. What we perceive as failure is just a part of trying. It’s research on how to do better next time, or research on whether or not what you’re pursuing is right for you. There is no failure, there is only a process. But because people believe in this “failure” bullsh (my personal favorite curse word abbreviation,) they stop mid process, and then hate themselves. And it’s a tragedy. So let’s debunk the myth, yes? When i went radio silent on you for the past few months, i thought i had failed. And i was stuck in my sad little failure bubble of netflix and solitude. But then guess what happened? The tunnel ended. And as the light fell across my sweatpants and sadness- clad body, i realized that every dead end i thought i had hit during that run through the tunnel was actually just a turn. Failure isn’t real, and we don’t have time for lies up in here. Only truth or fairytales 😉

stay badass, my loves. SO glad to be reunited.


“The Meryl Streep”

This light smoothie, much like Meryl, is versatile, delicious, and a universal crowd pleaser. Also like Meryl, it’s my mom’s favorite. I personally love it for breakfast,(paired with a green tea,) but it makes for a great poolside snack as well. Tastes best when paired with a bowl of watermelon and a tiny umbrella 🙂

The Meryl Streep

1 cup vanilla yogurt

1 cup frozen peaches

1/4 cup filtered water

1/2 cup frozen strawberries

1/4 cup your favorite pure fruit juice (I use Ceres Boisenberry.)

If you happen to have mango on hand, ADD IT. Swoon. Not a necessity but SO GOOD. 

Sprinkle finished product with pomegranate seeds or 1 tsp of chia seeds for a little crunch.

stay badass ❤

The Secret to Being Really Actually Happy, For Real This Time.

I am forever balancing on this tightrope between catering to my Autoimmune- readers and my, uh, non- Autoimmune readers. So here’s the deal. This post is the golden ticket out of WHATEVER is currently bothering you. I confess, my lovely little badasses, that i have been slacking on my blogging duties and for that i am eternally, deeply apologetic. However i must also confess that the rage-laced emails demanding my return and threatening to “come find me,” if i stop posting were more then just a little flattering, and so i’m not really THAT sorry. There’s nothing like being missed. 😉 However I do have a valid excuse for my leave of absence. In addition to my Lupus, Fibromyalgia, POTS, and Celiac, i have been stricken with an atrocious case of writer’s block. Between that and the Prednisone induced ANGER, my brain has been stuck in a tailspin. Had i attempted to blog in that state, the resulting product would have read like the fight scenes in a Quentin Tarantino movie. Think F-bombs and incoherent grunting. So really i was just sparing you guys. You’re welcome.

However, thanks to the very thing that this post is about, i am back in the game. Ready to deliver to my beautiful sparklemice. Now what, you may ask, could have gotten Leah out of her rut? What made her haul her sweatpants-clad butt out of bed, into the world, and on the search for the metaphorical chainsaw to rip through her mental dam? Four letters. One word. But before i tell you the word, you must promise me that you will not see it, panic, and click the little red ex on the upper right corner of your screen. Because (un)fortunately, the internet is overflowing with love/hate letters to this one word, and i assure you, mine is different. I’m taking your silence as a promise. Do not click ex. Do not.

Namaste with me here for a sec, i promise you this post applies to you (Could. Not. Resist. Yoga. Pun.) For AGES, Yoga has been attracting people from varying walks of life for millions of  reasons, the most popular of which include weight loss, flexibility, instagram likes, and the license to wear Lulu Lemon. In this post, i am going to tell you why this ancient art form is  not just some sepia-toned social media fad, but actually your pass to a happier, healthier, sexier, more fulfilling life. I’m not saying “you,” in general. I’m speaking to you specifically, reader. You. YOU. The one looking at the screen.

Reasons that Yoga is the Answer To Whatever is Making You Such A  Sad, Self- Pitying Grouchypants:

1) Looking Good = Feeling Good-  Unlike other workouts, it is IMPOSSIBLE to do Yoga without seeing physical results. While quick paced cardio has the reputation for creating that Victoria’s Secret Angel body, really it’s just weight loss as a result of high calorie burning. Sometimes that weight loss isn’t even fat loss, just water retention fluctuation. Yawn for flat booties and bony bellies. Yoga aids in making you feel gorgeous by burning calories through muscle development and stretching, resulting in toned limbs, a longer appearance, a muscular core, and a lighter footstep. Cardio die- hards don’t tune out just yet, a vigorous Vinyasa flow focused around inversions and seamless transition will have you out of breath wayyy faster then your treadmill ever could. Extra points for glowy skin (a result of heightened organ function,) and detoxed blood (same reason.) With a clean, balanced diet and a few studio hours each week, there’s literally no way to not up your Kate Upton factor. Much of the weight management is also due to a mental shift. You start to view food as something amazing, that gives you the strength to become lighter and more agile, not an evil adversary trying to take up residence on your thighs. Binge eating becomes less and less appealing as you learn to listen to your body,not your brain. and this just AUTOMATICALLY happens. No assembly required. Plus, you get to wear cute leggings and matchy patchy sports bras. It’s like an instagram filter FOR YOUR LIFE.

2) Yoga Makes You Think Like A Badass– Yoga is the physical manifestation of everything we strive to mentally be. We want to become stronger, braver, more stable, more kind, and less breakable. Every time you get on the mat, you get to work towards PHYSICALLY becoming those exact things, on a much more manageable, tangible, scale.  Yoga is more then just the practice of pushing yourself to your physical limit, it’s the practice of forgiving yourself once you’ve reached that limit. THERE IS NO BODYSHAME IN YOGA. It’s different from other forms of fitness in that it’s not about reaching specific external goals, wherever you are in your practice is where you’re supposed to be. Its about learning to accept your current physical state for exactly what it is, so that you can improve it. And forgive yourself when you fall short of your own expectations. Wanting to be better doesn’t have to mean disliking where you are. I would love to be a published writer with a big shiny book on the New York Times’ Best Selling list, AND i love being a blogger with approximately 80 readers. See? Yoga brain. That “i wish i looked like,” voice in your head gets quieter and quieter, and gets replaced by a lovely, peaceful silence.

3) You Time- Whether it’s the boyfriend/girlfriend who needs constant validation, the sticky handed toddler tugging at your shirt all day,or the workload that refuses to ease up, we all have something that’s a consistent drain on our energy source. This is a good thing, as life is ABOUT draining your energy into something you care about. However we have this tendency to totally forget that energy, just like money or time, runs out. The thing about getting on the mat, is that every time you do it, you do it alone. Nobody else is there with you. No significant other, no kids, no boss. It’s time that you give to YOU, to improve on your own physical well being and mental outlook, and it’s not about anyone else. It’s like a spa that you have access to all the time. Ironically, this selfishness is also ridiculously beneficial to the people around you, as it’s scientifically proven that mental-clarity makes you less bitchy and more helpful. When you turn into a grouchy toddler, give yourself a yoga- time out. I find that i’m usually only a few poses in when i realize that the world is not, in fact, a horrible dark hellhole of destruction that’s out to get me personally.

4) Battery Recharge-  A good Yoga class is like an espresso shot. Once the practice becomes a part of your routine, you’ll find that you’re at your clearest and most YOU as your rolling up your mat after a session. We play ten million different roles during the day, (parent, child, teacher, student, boyfriend, girlfriend, the funny one, the flirty one,) depending on who we’re with and what we’re doing. That makes it really hard to remember who we actually are to ourselves, when nobody else is around. While your focusing on your breathing, and the minute positioning of every little vertebra in your body, all of those layers get miraculously stripped away, and you are left with your realest, purest, most relaxed you. You are also left with a tight little yoga booty and a better body image.

5) Its the Foundation of Overall Health-  So if the tight butt, nice abs, happy brain, shiny hair, clear skin, and flexibility aren’t enough of a reason to try rolling out the mat,  try this. Yoga poses were created to enhance organ function and reduce inflammation. Not only that, but it gives attention to crucial things that we never would have thought about prior to Yoga, such as toe flexibility and cartilage health. These things don’t SOUND important, but, (listen up my little autoimmune bunnies,) take it from the girl with the wackadoodle Lupus joints. When your toes are too tense to bend, you can’t put on your shoes anymore. And when your cartilage is crumbly, everything hurts. Inflamed connective tissue feels like walking through an unpredictable thornbush. You may not think these things apply to you, and maybe they don’t. YET. But eventually, humans get old. And i was (un)lucky enough to have a peek at what creaky joints and weak bones feel like, and how much they disable you. Keeping the body flexible and strong is a more worthy investment of your time then anything else you can be doing during that hour, i assure you. Because no matter what you achieve, no matter how much money you make, or how many tests you ace, you only get one body. That’s it. Always. Just one. And you have to live in it. It goes where you go. You want to be comfy up in there, no?

So that, my loves, is where it’s at. In a rut? Yoga. Not in a rut? Yoga. Hate your teenage daughter? Yoga. Hate your body? Yoga. One size fits all, and all sizes fit.

Namaste, sparklemice.

Stay badass.

The White Horse Theory (Featuring Prince Charming, and the Worst/Best Thing I Ever Realized)

You know those days where you wake up, and you somehow miraculously look like you gained ten pounds, and your hair is flat, and every positive physical feature you have has decided to take the day off? You don’t have to answer that. Unless you’re Meryl Streep, (in which case, i’m SO sorry for even asking, your majesty, thank you for gracing my blog with your presence,) you know exactly what i’m talking about. The days where you accidentally turn on your selfie-facing camera instead of your regular one and audibly gasp at that swamp creature staring back at you. Nobody is immune to monster-face days. Nobody.  So you’ll all be able to relate to what i’m about to say, auto-immune problems or not. Read on.

The semi- honest among us will admit that we experience monster-face days. The truly honest among us will admit that we have monster-face months. Hell, most of us have had monster-face years. Regardless of the stretch of time, ALL humans (except Meryl,) experience segments of their lives where they feel inadequate, and insecure, and out of control. Whether it was dialing an ex after a particularly lonely viewing of “Titanic,”  or crying in the shower (shut up, you’ve all done it,) or staring in the mirror and actually feeling angry at your reflection, we’ve all tasted a little bit of rock bottom. We’ve all been there.

Now as a general pattern one thing i’ve noticed we ALL do (myself very much included,) is pin our unhappiness, and all of our future happiness, on one external thing. I call it “The White Horse Theory.” We revert to Disney princesses waiting for something to rescue us.  Weight, money, relationships, college acceptance, health, social acceptance…choose your poison.  It’s the waiting game. I can’t feel happy or secure or confident until i get/become *insert goal of choice here.*  I don’t mean to be dramatic, but unfortunately, most people are stuck in this  “waiting game,” till they die.   We promise ourselves that once we lose the weight, we’ll feel all secure, and radiant, and confident. Once we land the promotion, we’ll be validated. Once we find the soul-mate, we’ll feel complete. Once i get *insertname*’s approval, i’ll finally feel like this was all worth something.  Someone, someday, is gonna swoop in and make me complete. Something, somehow, is going to make me feel secure. Whether it be the guy (see my post: Fifty Shades of No Thank You,) the girl, the job, the scale- number. We vow to ourselves that once we hit some external goal, life can REALLY start. But until then, we’ll just keep waiting. And feeling insecure. Quietly making ourselves promises, and then waiting some more. And during the entire waiting process, we feel like sad, lonely hermit crabs who do not want to be seen. Because we’ve convinced ourselves that the reason we feel so incomplete, the reason we feel so insecure, is that we haven’t reached that goal yet. And that goal is our ticket to happily ever after. Inevitably, we get stuck in a downward spiral of self-loathing when we don’t immediately accomplish our goals, and it starts all over again.


Now lupus is the epitome of monster-face days. Oh yes. Prednisone makes you sweaty, and your hair gets thinner, and some days your eyes are a weird color. Sometimes you’re super bony-skinny, and sometimes your super swollen, and neither extreme feels cute.  So obviously post diagnoses, i threw myself into this insecurity whirlpool.  “Once i feel healthy, i’ll be myself again. Once my face is less puffy, i’ll feel confident. I’m going to work out, and read studies, and do everything right. One day i’m going to feel like a confident badass again. Until then, i am going to hide in this room so nobody can see me until i have deemed myself flawless enough for the public eye.” So i waited.

and waited.

and waited.

Like an insecure 12 year old standing on the corner of the dance floor cause she didn’t want to be called brace-face.

juuusttttt waited.

and then i realized something. Something that sounds wildly depressing, but was actually the most freeing thing I’ve ever realized. Achieving goals is much less in our control then we think it is. Sometimes you can give it all you got, you can follow every rule, you can push as hard as you can, and you still won’t get what you were fighting for. Pretty bleak, right? But here’s what that (horribly depressing,) realization lead me to…if i waited until i looked/felt how i wanted to to enjoy life, i was surrendering all of this time i could potentially be using to laugh and hike and connect with people. For all i knew, i’d never be un-puffy again. Was i giving up being happy forever?  I realized that my behavioral patterns were akin to that of a high school girl, waiting in my room for the boy to call me so i could feel whole. I was Rapunzel, waiting for prince charming in my ivory tower. I was pinning my entire life on something that i had limited control over. 

It’s stupid to wait until you’re the dress size you love to buy the dress you love. It’s stupid to wait until he calls you beautiful to believe it. It’s stupid to wait until you look like Beyonce to act like Beyonce. You have no idea when OR IF those things are going to happen. We waste so much time hating what we are. This isn’t to say throw in the towel on what you’ve been working towards, goals are really important. It’s just that  what i’ve learned from being the sicky is you don’t control the results.  So i decided that instead of choosing to work towards results, i was going to choose something else. Something harder. I kept the goals, but fighting for them wasn’t so much about actually getting there anymore. It became about learning to enjoy the ride.

You control the journey. I know, journey is a really lame word, but hear me out. Again, this isn’t to say that goals aren’t worth having, they are. Goals are what make us human. But life doesn’t start after you achieve your goals, life is the space in between them. And you can either spend that time waiting, and moping, and torturing yourself because you haven’t hit your target yet, or you can…well…you can be a badass. You can laugh at your failures and let them push you to try again. You can use your weakness to make you relatable.  You can let your frustration give you a voice.  All that time where you’re waiting and hitting yourself in the head for not being perfect? That’s when life is supposed to be happening.  But if we force ourselves to wait until we’ve achieved our goals to start living, to start being confident and loud and OURSELVES, we  cheat ourselves out of so much time. We cheat ourselves out of so much happiness. I am an 18 year old, tired, puffy-eyed  girl going through steroid-withdrawal. I don’t start school again till September, my gym game is way off, and almost all of my friends are in a different country. I don’t look as adorable as i usually do. I can’t do as much. But this part of the ride is as real as the healthy parts are, and damn it, i am going to enjoy it.

Stay Badass,


Fifty Shades of No Thank You (A thank-you note to my Lupus.)

I always hated the term “falling in love.” Now bear with me, dolls, this movie/book review is deeply saturated with autoimmune goodness, just wait.  I will get there.

Now I love love. I think love is awesome. This is not a jaded, angry, anti-hollywood post. This is just a problem i always had with semantics. “Falling,” never sounded like a good way to approach love. As i saw it, “falling,” is a result of tripping, and “falling in love,” just sounded like stumbling over your own insecurities and into the arms of whoever would be willing to catch you. To love should be something you choose, and “falling,” is not a choice. “Falling,” is for those who are shaky, and out of control. That is NOT how you want to enter a relationship. I was not game for the whole losing solid ground, being slammed downward in a death-spiral by gravity thing… But then i realized something. I know a lot of really brilliant, deep, independent people who are in love. They fell. They are not stupid, or insecure, or weak. But they did the whole “falling,” thing. How is it, that all of these badass individuals, who i respect so much, fell subject to the whole stumbling-tripping, falling process? Weren’t they focusing? Why did they trip?! And then it hit me.  Tripping isn’t the only thing that leads to falling…

You can also jump.

Now i know this seems like a pretty small realization, but for me, it changed my entire perception of “falling,” for someone. The people to whom I’m referring didn’t fall because they stumbled, they fell because they met someone who made them so excited about life, about their own potential, that they felt brave enough to jump for it. Jumping leads to falling, too. But falling because you jumped is the good kind of falling. It’s the kind of falling you choose.

So where am i going with this psychobabble? Very nice leah, you made up a cute analogy. 332 words later, your sparklemouse readers now have a cute little metaphor. Woohoo? Not to worry, dolls, this is where the badassing begins.

In the book “50 Shades of Grey,” we meet Anastasia Steele, a mousy, nervous, “accidentally” sexy young woman who’s supposed to be a relatable portrayal of all us normal ladies out here.  Now after a chapter of us reading about her insecurities, (her thighs are too slim, her eyes are too large, and her hair is too “tousled and messy,”…yup mhmmm that’s totally what i’m insecure about too, ana. Kindly shut your face,) we watch her meet the dazzling, famous, exciting, psychological disaster zone by the name of Christian Gray. As she falls deeply in love, (the tripping kind, not the jumping kind,) with this man, she begins to uncover his latex and leather coated past. You all know the story. I don’t have to get into specifics, but it involves whips, chains, and alot of really, really mentally unstimulating conversation (not to mention grammatical errors to make any bibliophile, or third grader, cringe.)

Grey is what today’s society deems the ultimate romantic find. He took boring, plain, tiny anastasia, and allowed her to play a supporting role in his big glamorous life. (Did we not JUST do this with twilight?) Oh yes, ladies of 2015. According to what we’ve (whether intentionally or not,) crowned as the love stories of our generation, the ideal relationship involves being swept away from your own boring life and absorbed into someone else’s cooler one. Emotional stability? Lame. Mutual respect? No thanks. All we’re told to want by society is to hitch our wagons to a super shiny star. Edward Cullen. Christian Grey. The literary studs of our time.

In real life though, we all know this is the kind of boy we need to avoid, right? RIGHT?! No girl in her right mind would ever tolerate someone so controlling, so tirelessly disrespectful, so incredibly possessive  outside the pages of her books….right? Wrong. I’ve seen this exact culture weighing in on so many of my friend’s perceptions of what they need and it’s TERRIFYING. We are blurring the lines between whats sexy and fun to read about vs. what we actually need to live happy, fulfilling lives.

Now let’s play a little scenario game, shall we?

Let’s tweak Anastasia steele, in one teennnyyy tiny way. Same big eyes, same mousy demeanor, same rockin bod that she keeps saying positive things about, while pretending they’re negative (damn my embarrassingly glowy skin!) Let’s just give her one tiny thing. Five little letters. Let’s give her lupus. If it’s more your cup of tea, we can give Bella Fibromyalgia or R.A…whichever. Imagine her telling Christian Grey, in her husky voice, that she has an autoimmune disease. SCREEECCHHHH. Hear that? that was her whirlwind romance screeching to a reality-induced halt. Do we think his reaction would be the supportive, loving reaction a good badass needs to thrive? Do we think he’d care about smith numbers and SED rates and white blood counts? Do we think he’d remember which kind of organic strawberries she likes for her smoothies, or what time she wakes up for yoga, or what day she takes her methotrexate and can’t move? No. He would not. Because boys like Christian and Edward are really fun TO PLAY PRETEND WITH. But when it comes to real life, they are paper. Flimsy and one- dimensional. That’s why they only thrive IN BOOKS. REAL GIRLS NEED REAL BOYS. Because, brace yourself, ready for the kicker? At the end of the day we’re ALL going to be focusing on things like that, autoimmune problems or not. Not just the sickies. Doctors appointments and scans and groceries and health are what MAKE UP LIFE. These are problems we’re all going to have to deal with, the only difference being those of us pushed out of our fairytale youth a bit early (by disease,)  have to deal with them NOW. But most people aren’t thinking about REAL things like that when hitching their wagon. Oh no. Most people think about what the books tell them they need to love. This is why I AM SO THANKFUL FOR MY LUPUS.

what did she just say? What. Did. That. Crazy. Ass. Blogger. Just. Say. THANKFUL?! Thankful for this craptastic disease that makes you think about your mortality? This disorder that forces you to grow up way before you should have to?
You heard me right dolls. I am thankful every, single day. Here is why.

The first time post diagnoses i was into a guy, i had no idea when i should tell him. Should i tell him? Do people want to date the sick girl? Is he gonna panic when I’m at doctors for problems he’s never even considered? Am i going to be a burden? Am i too much? Pleaaase don’t let this make him run for the hills.  And then it hit me. There’s only one way to find out. You drop the bomb. You just say it. “Oh, by the way, i have an autoimmune disease called Lupus.” What you can see in that minute, in that flash in their eyes, will tell you so, so much about this boy’s life skills. You heard it here first ladies and gents, lupus is a TOP NOTCH filter for the dating pool. Because the people who will want to be with you, bloodtests and all, are the same kind of people who will wake up to take care of your screaming baby in the middle of the night. They’re the same kind of people who remember to take out the garbage, and Tivo the Oscars for you, and call you beautiful even when you have puffy lupus face. They are the gems that 18 year old you overlooked, and 30 year old you will fantasize about. These are the anti- Cullen/Grays. These are not paper boys. These are the REAL ones. And you have a secret weapon to finding them.

Speaking from personal experience, having my disease has stopped me from hitching my wagon to “stars” that i am now SO THANKFUL I AM NOT STUCK WITH. I’m not waiting around for someone to take me into a big leather room of pain (that actually sounds like a nightmare,) or take me away into a life of eternal, immortal, vampire bliss (also, kind of a nightmare.) Nope. Lupus has taught me, with it’s bitchy, honest voice, to wait for other things. For patience, and kindness, and depth. For compassion, and emotional strength, and psychological stability. For respect, and love, and someone who is willing to SACRIFICE for the person he loves. Someone who understands that Methotrexate day REQUIRES that grey’s anatomy be recorded and the freezer be stocked of Gluten Free ice cream. Someone truly badass.

And for that, Lupus, i am forever in your debt.

But not for the hair loss. I am not in your debt for that, you jerk.

Stay badass,


The Gap Year (Featuring Brain Fog Stifled Flirting, Bambi Eyes, Sexy Katniss, And a Very Hungry Celiac.)

The Gap Year

10 months, 60 girls, one dorm building, and 0 personal space. Like many other Jewish teens, I’d been dreaming about my Israel year for as long as I could remember. In my family’s social circles, it’s basically a right of passage. You finish high school, you spend the summer breaking up with your boyfriend (because you want to “find yourself,”) you pack your lulu lemon leggings in the suitcase that your sister used, and you get on the plane. “This is the year that changes everything,” they tell you. “This is when you get to grow up.” So as you can imagine, despite having only been diagnosed in June, I was laser-point focused on that September 7th departure date. There was no way in hell I was going to let everyone I know go on their magical eat pray love journey in a beautiful foreign country while I read pamphlets about monthly colon screenings in the waiting room of my Rheumatologist’s office.  I challenged those doctors to keep me away from the country full to the brim of waterfalls and mountains and eligible, cute, 18-21 year old guys that my mother would approve of. Staying home was not an option. As I saw it, it would completely derail my whole life. I was going. End of discussion.

Because of this desperation, I was willing to let the doctors try whatever they wanted to get me there. Doped up on high doses of Prednisone (little did I know…) and a prescription to start on Methotrexate (bad,)  upon my arrival, I got the green flag. Despite my swollen eyes, tired brain, and lack of functional intestines, I was standing in that group of overexcited college kids at JFK international airport on September 7th. Now in my previous post, “What They Don’t Tell You But You Need To Know, AKA: The Golden Rules Of Badassing,” I mention a few things that the Doctors failed to warn me about upon my diagnoses. Being the autoimmune newbie that i was, there were some questions i had failed to think of until…well…my arrival.

Questions I probably should have asked PRIOR to leaving, that i instead only asked as the situations arose:

1) Wait, how do doctor appointments work here? What do you MEAN do i have my insurance card? I have insurance???

2) What the HELL am i supposed to be eating? (At the time, my system couldn’t tolerate gluten, chemicals, preservatives, dairy, or any form of animal protein. That diet is difficult to maintain when you live across from a trader joe’s and have a full kitchen at your disposal. Imagine living in a dorm building, that was located on a horse farm, that happened to be 45 minutes away from the nearest grocery store.) My fellow gap year adventurers were living off chocolate bars and Doritos…andddd i was screwed. oops.

3)  Do i tell people that i’m sick? If i don’t, how do i explain away those days that i have to stay in bed? Or my random puffy face days, when i look like a sad bloated chipmunk? Or those times that i can’t play my guitar cause my fingers don’t bend? What do i tell the doe- eyed megahealthy blonde, who is supposed to be my peer, about my body’s internal functioning drama if she’s never even had a cold? Do people treat the sick kid differently? Holdup, am i the sick kid now? Is that a thing?!

4) Can i party? Will that work? Or like, do people with Lupus not do that? What do i do when everyone’s…well…being freshman in college? Like, do i just go to yoga or something?

All of these little things are second nature to us well seasoned autoimmune badasses, and before making a decision we calculate every little special thing we’ll have to do pertaining to our illness. Well, not newly diagnosed leah. Oh no no no. Newly diagnosed Leah DID NOT THINK THIS THROUGH. She had her glitter turquoise- lined eyes on the prize, and she would not waver. Silly little future badass. Didn’t see it all coming.

*As i’m writing this, i’m eating the most amazing Raw Paleo Brownies EVER that i made in like, ten minutes. Remind me to post the recipe. OhMyGoshSwooooon…*

Anyway instead of gracefully floating into my life the way answers sometimes do, the answers to these particular questions slammed me in the face like a ton of very unwelcome, methotrexate coated bricks. One month in to dorm life, and I had a very rude awakening. Here’s what i discovered, in order, pertaining to the questions i had failed to ask:

1) The answer to question one came from Darla. Ohhhh  Darla. The lady on the phone at my new Rheumatologists office. “Yes, darling you have insurance. You also have  a whoooole policy, dedicated just to the care of your Lupus. HOWEVER, being a grouchy, sadistic, angry insurance lady who you’re never going to meet in person, i’m not going to explain it to you. Oh no. Here in insuranceland, we just throw fancy pants terms at unsuspecting sickies until they break down and end up badgering Siri about tax subsidies with no pants on.”  The terminology swirled around my head like a tornado. Factor in the brain fog, and i didn’t stand a CHANCE at keeping my own medical stuff together. But i was supposed to be a grown up now, and i wasn’t about to call my parents and ask how to book an appointment…so i just made my self look like an idiot repeatedly until eventually someone pitied me and gave me my weekly slot.

2) What will you eat, you digestion- challenged celiac?  You will eat gluten free oats, sparklemouse. 3 times a day. If you eat anything else, you will projectile vomit. And being the big baby you are, you will then cry, because you HATE throwing up. Good luck fueling your workouts, sunshine. Woohooo. Oats.

3) Should i tell the other people in my program that i’m sick? Will that be a stigma? Being the open person i am, it took about 4 seconds (upon someone asking me “what was up with the pharmacy,” in my carry on,) for me to casually say, in the tone that one might admit to ADHD, “Oh, i have lupus.”   By some weird, evil, karmic miracle, all 60 of my fellow travelers decided to tune into my conversation at JUST that moment, and proceeded to bombard me with the largest group of pity-swollen Bambi eyes i have EVER seen. EVER. It was like this was the hunger games, and they all just realized i was definitely dropping first. The odds were not in my favor, and the deemed Katniss of the group (the healthy, annoyingly gorgeous girl with the yoga mat strapped to her side and upper thighs that are so far apart they’re probably INCAPABLE of touching each other,) instantly responded with, “Oh you poor thing. My uncle died from that. Can you like, be here?”    ……..Thank you Katniss. No really, that was helpful. Thanks.

4) Can you party? Later on in your life, partying will be an option. But for now, HELLS TO THE NAW. Take a shot of tequila. See what happens. (the answer was fainting in the bathroom, by the way. One. Shot. Out cold and woke up shaking like a leaf.) Didn’t work? Well why don’t you go check out that awesome music festival at the dead sea? (Oh, um, because you’ll get hit on by a GORGEOUS, toned, tanned soldier, but your brain fog will take over and you’ll end up FORGETTING YOUR CELL PHONE NUMBER WHEN HE ASKS YOU FOR IT. YOUR OWN NUMBER. Anyway after stammering and trying to explain how you forgot your own number, he will see Katniss, and he will be gone with the wind. (* Insert mockingjay whistle/hand signal here.*) Ohhh fine. Well if you can’t drink, or rave (neither of which are really my scene anyway, by the way, i’m more of a red wine, netflix, sweatpants kinda chica, ) why don’t you just go to that really upscale black tie roof party? because if you do, you will sweat through your dress (thanks, prednisone,) lose a clump of hair DURING A FLIRTING SESSION (thanks, methotrexate,) and look like a chipmunk in every. single. selfie. that. you. take. the. whole. night.

After a little bit though, i got my footing. I was loving my classes, i was running six miles a day, i was doing yoga every morning at dawn, and people started coming to ME for advice on adjusting to being in a new country. I felt pretty badass. All was well.

CUE THE METHOTREXATE. *Jaws theme music*

Despite my perceived thriving, my bloodwork wasn’t showing up quite right. So my international doctor, who barely knew my case at all, decided to up my dosage of the metho. Two pills, once a week, he said. You’ll barely feel it, he said. Did anybody else have the HELLACIOUS experience that i did? Theres something about the outside of your body not reflecting how you perceive yourself that can drive you crazy, you know? I didn’t look like the smart, put together person i was trying so hard to be. I looked puffy and swollen, and my metabolism had slowed enough to spark a little weight gain, despite my eating almost nothing. It was really alienating, to see all of my friends pass out at 4 am, wake up at 7, eat dorritos for breakfast and look like beautiful, toned, tan supermodels while i was spending my entire day working on my body’s health, and looked like i wasn’t taking care of myself at all. It made me insecure (NOT an emotion i was previously in tune with, i’m what some might call delusional- confident. a few extra pounds? whatev man. I like this bikini and i’mma wear it allllll day.)It made me jealous. It made me all the things i always loved myself for NOT being. Approximately ten minutes upon swallowing, i was a vomiting, shaking, crying mess. My chemicals were so wacked out that i literally couldn’t listen to music because of how emotional it made me. My stomach was hard as a rock (not like, sexy toned hard. Like dead, bloated goat hard. Not cute, not comfy,) and my previously, thick, caramel main was dwindling faster then you could say “Tresemme.” Also, it made me mean. Like really mean. My poor unsuspecting roommate would cough, only to have me respond with something along the lines of “WHY ARE YOU SO LOUD YOU NARCISSISTIC PSYCHOPATH KEEP IT TOGETHER FOR ONCE IN YOUR SORRY PATHETIC LIFE.”  (It was actually her who ended up sitting me down and telling me to listen to my body, because “these new drugs are eating your personality alive.”) She was right. After calling my Rheumy (crying, actually, and telling him I would stop taking it myself if he didn’t agree to wean me off safely that day,) they began the process of getting me off of the Metho, and slowly but surely i became normal again. And i had another healthy few months.  Thanks to CraneoSacral Therapy and acupuncture, my roller coaster was at an all time high. I felt like Beyonce, i looked like me, and finally, FINALLY, i was thinking like me too. I hadn’t even realized the anxiety and probably depression, in retrospect, i’d been experiencing the whole time.

On top of all that, i really didn’t want to be a burden on anyone. I didn’t want my new friends worrying, or the staff of my school panicking, or anything like that. So i hid it. I wore big sweatshirts (during a little weight-loss spell that had me lookin kinda bony,) and sunglasses (to hide the puff,) and drank green tea all day to trick people into thinking i had food. I lied. I lied SO much. I told everyone i was feeling great, pushed myself to hike when they hiked, told them that the stomach pain was PMS. The highs were high, but the lows were LOW. Certain days i would just hide in my  stuffy dorm room and PRAY that nobody would come looking for me.

So how does the story end, you ask?  During one of my higher highs, (think teaching a daily yoga class and essentially being the school therapist,) i felt a crash coming on. A big one. All of a sudden my mood swung Miley Cyrus style, full on WRECKING BALL. I was throwing up somewhere near 5 times a day (whenever i tried to eat,) and waking up in the middle of the night from uncontrollable twitching. I tried to laugh it off, but my parents could tell from phone calls that something was off. It was soon discovered that i had what my homeopath called “an accumulative overdose,” on the prednisone. I had been on too much for too long, and it was getting dangerous. I needed to start the weaning process ASAP. Unfortunately, that’s not the kind of thing my American doctor was comfortable conducting from overseas. So 6 months in, starving, tired, but very emotionally fulfilled, i booked my ticket back early. It was hard, and i knew i was going to miss those huge Saturday night jam sessions on the beach, but every muscle in my body relaxed the minute i clicked “book ticket.” It was like my immune system knew it was going back to my blender and whole foods, and i felt the adverse effects of the drugs winding down. Its funny how your body sometimes knows what you need better then you do. I feel really satisfied with that time, anyway. I learned a lot about myself, and accomplished what i went there to.

So that’s where i am now, dolls. Still unpacking my suitcases, I’ve just gotten home and am currently in the beginning phases of the coming off the steroids process. Sweating? yes. Crying? yes. Shaking? ohhh yes. But at least i have my easily accessible, bountiful organic produce, my yoga studio, my car, and my American doctor. Commence operation get strong and bendy again. Plus, in my free time, i started this blog and met my currently 37 (and growing,) devout, glittery badasses. And for that, i am uber thankful. *sniffle*  You guys are totally worth the Prednisone drama. A little autoimmune- driven fate, perhaps? 😉

Stay badass & stay tuned,


“The Mindy Kaling” -Sweet Tooth Smoothie

Much like what my parents say about me, this smoothie was the best accident that ever happened. I was out of ingredients for my usual sweet tooth stopper, so i decided to just scavange around my house for whatever i could find. What ensued was possibly the second best thing i ever did by accident, (the first best thing  was this one time, while i was trying to find the newest episode of Grey’s Anatomy, i accidentally clicked on “The Mindy Project,” and stumbled upon my Guru.) Actually, much like Mindy this smoothie is sweet, quirky, and dressed in a smokin shade of pink-purple. It also couldn’t care less about convention (the ingredients get weird.) Try reaching for this as a dessert option instead of that bowl of ice cream, and your system (and abs, actually,) will be singing your praises.

So without further ado, i present to you, dolls, the Mindy Kaling (Omg, celebrity named smoothies? I feel a theme coming on…)

The Mindy Kaling

Handful Frozen Strawberries

(BIG) Handful Frozen blueberries

Half a Banana

Pure 100 percent Pomegranite Juice

As much kale as your brave heart desires

Half a Cup Ceres- Litchee Pear Juice**- If you don’t know what this is, close the laptop you’re on right now and smack yourself over the head with it. This is the best line of juices ever to be created, as they never ever add sugar and its just fresh fruit purees and juices. No added anything. They are swoon-worthy alone, and UNREAL when artfully used in a smoothie.

**If you don’t have access to this, i would use fresh pear or maybe a pure mango juice. Something with a high natural sugar content.

Top with Unsalted Slivered Almonds for a little craving-smack-down protein kick.

Try not to pass out from the sugary perfection.

Stay badass,


Rants, Raves, Stories, and other bad-assedness.

Hey Dolls,

This is my post section, my personal favorite corner of this blog. This is where i’ll be writing my stories, rants, and engaging in other general bad-assery. Other then laughing at my expense and maybe learning a thing or two about autoimmune disorders, this is where the real magic happens. This is where my daily (weekly? monthly? randomly? i’ll figure it out,) general posts are going to live. As I’ve mentioned previously i am deeply and tragically technologically challenged, so bear with me while i figure out how to properly organize this bloggypoo in a way that all of you lovely sparklemice will be able to navigate.

In the meantime…stay badass,


“The Beyonce”

One of my most favorites, i call this smoothie “The Beyonce,” due to it’s timeless, simplistic elegance and it’s ability to make you feel like the Queen Bee herself. One sip of this and you won’t care whether or not there’s a ring on it…smoothies are the only love you need.  This is my go to breakfast or post gym snack, and even my junk food junkie friends lap it up.

The Beyonce:

About one cup liquid base of your choice ( I use coconut water, but almond milk, regular water, or really whatever floats your boat will do. It’s a really flexible recipe.)

One cup Kale (You won’t taste it, i promise.)

1/2 cup Fresh Blueberries

1/4 avocado- (You wont taste it, but it makes this TO DIE FOR creamy consistency and adds a little calorie-good fat value.)

One cup frozen mixed berries (Try to get the ones that the ONLY ingredients are frozen mixed berries.)

Half a fresh banana (I usually eat the other half during smoothie prep. )

A drizzle of honey

Optional add ins:

Chia seeds- (for protein, usually my after-gym add in.)

Extra ice- (For more of a slushie, less of a smoothie consistency. Not my cup of tea but little kids seem to prefer it this way.)

I usually top it with pomegranate seeds and fresh raspberries for a little crunch and antioxidant boost. Swoon.

Stay badass!!

Screw Diamonds, Smoothies are a Girl’s Best Friend

Ohhh smoothies. Revered by all as the ultimate “fit girl food,” these low cal, high nutrient, dessert-like masterpieces are something i might be just a little bit TOO passionate about. They also happen to be the  unsung heroes of nutritional value. No matter how much credit they get, no matter how many instagram accounts are dedicated solely to the purpose of worshiping them, they will always be underrated to me. As someone who, to put it lightly, sucks at eating, i will be forever in the debt of these lovely little nourishment super drinks. Because of the blending process, the nutrients are all ready to be absorbed by your body, without you poor gut having to do any of the dirty work. They also have the benefit of giving you all the energy of a full meal (when done right,) without any of the belly ache or time consumption. Don’t get me wrong, i am a TOTAL foodie. I love food. I’ve had romantic feelings towards chocolate before that far surpass anything i’ve felt for another human. But on those days when i want to feel like a rockstar, hit the gym, ace the exam, and come out swinging, it’s all about the blend for me. SO, without further ado, i present to you the section of my blog dedicated to my one true love. Smoothies. I intend to add new recipes on the daily, (as i discover them,) and also post my classics for specific symptoms or goals. Whether it’s curing a headache, shedding a few pounds, shedding more then a few pounds, gaining a few pounds, fixing a mood, a little detox or just a craving, there’s a smoothie for it. And i intend to master them all.

Every day (hopefully,) you’ll see a new smoothie recipe added to the drop list.  Explore away, sparklemice. Revel in that smoothie feeling.

Stay badass,