my book is better than my tweets

It’s here! It’s here! “Eyes On The Road” is officially available for purchase. Writing this book changed my life—I hope it helps you, too.

every ending is proof that beginning again is possible.

the question isn't "how will I be a perfect parent?" you’ve already made mistakes. and you will, again. the question is "when I mess up, will I be honest about it?"

some of the people you labeled "toxic" were just honest at a time when you couldn't receive honesty that challenged your self-image. some of the people you labeled "safe" just told you what you wanted to hear. comfort isn't the same as care. and discomfort isn't always a red flag

You're not lazy for needing more rest than a system designed to extract maximum productivity from human bodies. You're not antisocial for craving solitude in a world that commodifies attention. You're not broken—the expectations are.

I’m curious: do you create better when you're happy or when you're struggling? I used to think pain was the only fuel for my writing. now I think peace might be a better one. but the honest answer is I don't fully know yet.

Have you spent so much time identifying what you're healing from that you haven't named what you're healing toward? "I don't want to be like the people who hurt me" is a direction--but it's not a destination.

the apology you owe yourself is more significant than the one you're waiting for from somebody who refuses to acknowledge your worth.

What's a skill you developed out of survival that accidentally became your superpower? Mine is the ability to write through emotions that I never learned to name out loud.

I owe my twenties an apology. I spent most of them running–away from home, towards shifting goalposts–that I failed to realize that I was already in the middle of a life worth living.

working out taught me about progressive overload–gradually increasing demand on my body so that it becomes stronger with time. chronic pain taught me about progressive surrender–gradually learning what my body can’t do anymore, and building a beautiful life within those limits.

the secret about marriage that nobody tells you: the person you married will become someone else. and then someone else again. and your job is to keep choosing them–version after version, while trusting that they will continue to choose you, too.

I owe myself an apology for every time I called my rest "laziness." for every time I pushed through pain because stopping felt like quitting. for every time I said "I'm fine" when I knew that I wasn’t.

My first essay of 2026. I tried to put words to the ways that postpartum depression impacted me as a father. open.substack.com/pub/michellccl…

In a town where the major newspaper doesn’t have a beat reporter for the professional basketball team you’re probably looking for a column on why the Wizards did the Trae Young trade. Don’t fret, I got you covered!

I've spent years struggling to prove that the sunk-cost fallacy isn't actually a fallacy. No sense in giving up now, though.

@_anupa this shit took me forever

I'm tired of mental health advice that ignores the fact that we're living through unprecedented collective trauma while being told individual self-care is the solution. Sometimes anxiety is a rational response to irrational circumstances.

every time you apologize for having needs, you reinforce the lie that your existence is an inconvenience. you don't owe anyone an apology for being human.

write the thing that scares you. write the thing you think no one will understand. write the thing you're afraid makes you too much. that's where your actual voice lives—inside of the thoughts you're afraid to say out loud.

how many times will you explain yourself to people committed to misunderstanding you? how much energy will you waste on those who refuse to see you? when will you realize their perception is their problem? save your breath for people who want to listen.