This Body is Bullshit

The New Molly

I hear it a lot: I miss the old Molly.

Well, I don’t. She was exhausted.

People say it like I’ve slipped away somewhere and they’re just waiting for me to bounce back with glittery party invites and an armful of Jell-O shots. But that version of me is gone. And if I’m being honest, I’m not sure she ever existed quite the way everyone remembers her anyway.

Yeah, she was fun. Loud. The ringleader of whatever chaos was unfolding. She threw the parties and rallied the group and made everyone cry-laugh. But she was also quietly carrying a hell of a lot. Always holding it together. Always smiling. Always on. Nobody really saw the work that took.

I’ve been through some shit. Not just the cancer — though that’s part of it. Before that it was loss, single parenting, bankruptcy, burnout, exhaustion so deep it doesn’t have a bottom. Life didn’t knock me down so much as chip away at me, slowly, for years. And I’m still here — just not the same.

These days I like quiet. I like my dogs and my husband and not much of an agenda. I’m a brunch person now. A 3 p.m. cocktail kind of situation. I still love a good dinner out — great food, great conversation, a glass of wine — but then I want to go home and put on sweatpants. I like knowing where the snacks are and who’s going to fall asleep on me.

I don’t drink much anymore either. Partly health, mostly because it takes so much to feel anything that it’s just not worth it. Like — am I having a good time or just poisoning myself slowly? That math stopped working.

I’ll still get buzzed and dance somewhere unexpected — fun annoying drunk Molly makes guest appearances — but don’t pencil her in. She’s mostly retired.

When I do go out I’d rather it be somewhere with a real vibe. An experience. Even at someone’s house I love, there’s a part of my brain quietly calculating how long until I can be back on my couch. That probably sounds antisocial. I promise I’m not. I just value comfort differently now.

I miss throwing parties though. The silly theme ones — wear something ridiculous, eat too much dip, nobody goes home early. I want to bring those back. Actually, I am bringing them back. Watch for Muumuus and Margs. That’s all I’m saying.

And when I show up somewhere and I’m not being loud or holding court — I’m not sad. I’m not checked out. I’m sitting back watching my people laugh and be ridiculous and I am completely full. That’s my sweet spot now. Contentment. I don’t need to be the spotlight. I just want to be in the room.

So no. I’m not the old Molly.

She burned out. She evolved. She went home at 9 p.m. and felt great about it.

And honestly? I like this version better.