The space between us.

Photo by Mark Claus on Unsplash

“I will not be muzzled,” read the woman’s placard. “I am a free human.”

Rage in the comments ensued. Yes she is right, no she is wrong, we’re all doomed—the posters echoed their fears and feelings into the void of a social network’s empty spaces.

I wondered if a mask is really a muzzle. If the intent of wearing one is to stop the wearer from freely communicating or if it could be something else: A filter to soften the damage of free-flowing threats that leave our mouths. Both the virus kind and the viral kind.

Through all of the…


The distinction makes all the difference.

Photo by Alwin Kroon on Unsplash

There are questions that are meant to ring in our ears. Ones where the answer isn’t as important as the asking itself. They function as a check-in—a course corrector for your life’s journey.

At a time when we keep looking above and below for answers, imploring leaders, government officials and experts to tell us the thing to do, I think it’s time to look within. While it’s much easier and more convenient to blast the accountability horn outward, sometimes it needs some internal tuning to make sure that you’re playing in the right key. Because somehow in the “No you’re…


An open letter to a meal bigger than brunch.

Photo by Gor Davtyan on Unsplash

Hello Dinner,

I know it’s been a while. Technically, any meal had in the early or later evening can be called “dinner” but, at least right now, it is not “Dinner” with a capital D. No, you are a special kind of experience—one full of friendship and cocktails and apps and ‘zerts.

While brunch has made a sizable dent in the celebration category, everyone knows that Dinner is the real deal. You invite your coworkers to your birthday brunch, but family? Family comes to Dinner. And we all miss our family right now, even the ones we’re stuck at home…


And a bunch of other stuff, too.

Photo by Kristopher Roller on Unsplash

Today is Thursday.

At least, I think it’s Thursday—it might be Wednesday or Friday, but from my calculations based on when the Schitt’s Creek finale aired, it should be Thursday today. I’m still uncertain about that, though. I’m uncertain about a lot of things at the moment. Namely: When things will resemble “normal” again; what our world will look like when this is over; if this will ever be actually “over”; and if my son is going to go back to sleep in the short nap he just woke up from. This is not an exhaustive list.

When I examine…


Surf each wave as it comes.

Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

A historian from the University of Virginia put out a suggestion that people should write about their life amid the coronavirus pandemic. I’m taking that advice to heart. Each week, I’ll post a new story about life during this wild time.

Shortness of breath. Gasping for air. Ventilators. Respiratory distress.

I don’t even have to close my eyes to picture this reality because I have seen it up close. It floods back into my brain and immediately overwhelms my capacity to function. I guess I get a bit of a look on my face because every time this happens my…


Bridging the gap while maintaining social distance.

Photo by Dollar Gill on Unsplash

A historian from the University of Virginia put out a suggestion that people should write about their life amid the coronavirus pandemic. I’m taking that advice to heart. Each week, I’ll post a new story about life during this wild time.

I don’t think there’s a better example of how we’re all connected than what’s happening right now.

Sure, it’s not the most positive example—a virus handshaking its way across the world from person-to-person—but it is effective as a reminder.

From the literal proximity required to the economic impact, the lesson here is something we’ve already known: We depend on…


How the hell do you parent during a pandemic?

Photo by Daiga Ellaby on Unsplash

A historian from the University of Virginia put out a suggestion that people should write about their life amid the coronavirus pandemic. I’m taking that advice to heart. Each week, I’ll post a new story about life during this wild time.

I am terrified that I’m going to get coronavirus and that my husband is going to get it, and I have no idea how we would care for our baby if we did. That is my top-of-mind, wake-me-from-a-dead-sleep worry right now.

I waited a lifetime to have a baby. 14 years of marriage, the death of a parent, a…


Please stop telling me I should feel fine.

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

If I see one more well-meaning person post something to chide people about “overreacting” or “panicking” I’m going to scream. Silently and in my own home, but still. (Elaine on the subway vibes.)

With all that’s going on in the world (pandemics and stock market pandemonium) even the most even-keeled among us are experiencing a little flush of anxiety. For the rest of us—the ones with clinical anxiety—this is the Big One. And on behalf of the latter group I’d like to ask you to stop telling us to calm down.


Why Lizzo’s “Soulmate” is the perfect Valentine's Day song.

Photo by Laura Ockel on Unsplash

The greatest love song ever written is Lizzo’s “Soulmate.” Fight me.

No, wait—please don’t fight me. It’s Valentine’s Day. Let’s focus on love instead.

Self-love.

The kind of juicy, reciprocal, sweatpants and champagne kind of love. The kind of love that laughs because you farted and doesn’t care if you have on makeup or cologne. The kind of love that shows up: Love that you have for yourself.

Today, regardless of if you’re coupled up or not, ask yourself this very important question: Are you in love with yourself?

“I figured out I gotta be my own type”

There is…


I had no idea motherhood came with a change of clothes—and perspective.

Photo by bantersnaps on Unsplash

I dropped down into a deep squat and hoisted my son off the playmat and onto my hip. When people say that mothers can lift a car off of their child it’s not just because of love—it’s also straight-up physical strength. About 100 times a day, I deadlift a 20-pound potato who has just learned to flail his arms and legs. Underneath these yoga pants and this sweat-wicking top, I’m ripped like a farmworker. These are not “show off” muscles, they’re manual labor muscles. And that labor is a ballet of not dropping a baby while doing everything else one-handed.

Sarah Gabbart

Ghostwriter, live wire. I’ve written for other people—CEOs, former first ladies, TV networks—for almost 20 years. Now I’m writing for you.

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