The Nuance Diaries

Originally from Chicago, Torrie trained extensively in classical ballet at Ruth Page Center for the Arts. After graduating from high school, Torrie began a ten-year run touring as a Radio City Rockette in the Christmas Spectacular before performing annually at Radio City Music Hall in NYC. Torrie has danced for the Lyric Opera of Chicago, Central City Opera Company, and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. Dance has led to various opportunities in television and commercials, although she’s the most proud of the award-winning short horror SPORE, created with her partner during the COVID-19 lockdown.

After a devastating shoulder injury which led to a dependence on Pilates, to rehab, Torrie became a passionate Pilates instructor in the LA area. With a philosophy that movement should be both a practice from the inside out and freely available to everyone, Torrie created a series of gentle movement rehabilitation flows on YouTube called Balance_by_Bogda.

Proud owner of two dogs and engaged to the best person she knows, Torrie strives to achieve that balance of effort and ease in art, in fitness and in life. 

IG: @Balance_by_bogda

YouTube: @Balance_by_bogda

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That time I listened to "There's Gotta Be More To Life" a thousand times on the subway ride home from a temp job I hated, and quit two days later.

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I’m SO excited to bring you this week’s What Authenticity Means To Me conversation with Brenton!

This series is one of my favorite things ever. It is truly the gift that keeps on giving, and today’s conversation is a prime example of that.

Brenton Guice (he/him) is a provisionally licensed professional counselor based in Kansas City, MO. After spending 11 years as a dental hygienist, Brenton followed an intuitive calling to become a therapist. He now owns and operates his own practice, The Mental Hug, where he specializes in helping individuals navigate trauma, grief, and LGBTQIA+ journeys to rediscover their inner light and authenticity. When he's not working, you can often find Brenton singing his favorite songs on repeat with an iced coffee in hand, talking his husband's ear off, or snuggling with his fur babies.

More at https://thementalhug.com/

A Few More Things…

1. Interested in exploring authenticity even further? Check out my downloadable workbook, Authentic by Alexa, on SALE now through July 9th. Over 100 pages of journal prompts, visualizations, and stories to guide you through your reflection for just $8! Available at https://www.alexajuanitajordan.com/myshop

2. If you’re interested in being featured in the What Authenticity Means To Me series, just reach out at [email protected] - always happy to chat about collaborating!

3. I currently have just 4 coaching spots left on my schedule. If you’ve been on the fence/curious about what it’s like to work with a coach, maybe this is your sign?

See you soon!

xo Alexa

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My brain is amazing at picking out one seemingly inconsequential detail about a person and then using that detail to spin an entire imagined narrative about why their life is better than mine. 

That girl in the matching athleisure set jogging in Central Park? She works out every single morning; she’s more disciplined than me.

The construction worker laughing with his buddies? He has more joy in his life and doesn’t sweat the small stuff.

The really friendly cashier who compliments me on my choice of wine? He has a weekly dinner night with his best friends. 

That couple in the window across from my apartment, with the really pretty string lights? Their apartment is immaculate, and therefore their life is more together than mine.

(That last one was an even bigger stretch than the rest — I don’t even know if a couple really lives in that apartment. All I’ve ever seen are the twinkly lights. My brain took the reins from there and decided that a really chic couple lives in that apartment. And that their lives are better than mine.) 

Of course, I don’t actually really believe that any one life is “better” than another.

Except if I’m feeling particularly depressed or anxious. In that case, I really will write you an English essay on why a girl with longer hair than mine has a better life than me. Sure, I only saw her for .5 seconds as we were crossing the street in opposite directions. But I could just tell. Her life is better. I’ll build a thesis from there.

Anyway,  it’s all subjective. Even the person who I think has the “best life ever” is likely longing for something more. 

Maybe the girl with longer hair wishes that she could pull off a bob. And the woman I see jogging in Central Park is recovering from an injury that kept her from running the marathon. And the construction worker laughing with his buddies secretly hates his coworkers. And the really friendly cashier who compliments me on my choice of wine hasn’t talked to their best friend in months.

Everything I just wrote could be true or false. I made it up. We all walk around making up stories about strangers, every single day.

We also make up stories about ourselves.

I sometimes tell myself that I’m not a disciplined enough writer, even though I’ve been writing an essay every week since May (almost 30 in total.)

I recently told a friend “I wish I was better at having fun.” One of my clients recently called me “the patron saint of fun” and wrote a gorgeous testimonial (excerpt below) about how I helped them re-incorporate fun into their life.

I had a major breakthrough a couple of hours after our fourth session. I realized that what I really want for my 30s is to have a lot of fun. That might sound silly to you, but for someone who spent his 20s worrying and working for his future and the issues he cares about, it's kind of a life-changing discovery. Alexa picked up on this realization and helped me think through how fun can become a part of every aspect of my life, from my style to my job to my relationships.

When people ask if I’m a good cook, I have to stop myself from saying “sort of!” I am a really great cook. I made restaurant-quality shrimp scampi a few weeks ago. My cousins couldn’t stop raving over my slow cooker apple crisp at Thanksgiving. I have never made a bad plate of pasta in my LIFE. At Friendsgiving a few years ago, I made mushroom gravy, butternut squash mac and cheese, and vegetarian meatballs from scratch. 

The stories we tell ourselves, about ourselves, are important. 

We are so quick to put ourselves down and so quick to assume the best in others.

What if we started extending ourselves some of that grace?

I went to a panel a few weeks ago, where Nina Brandt and Sharon Varghese Chan left us with the simple and impactful takeaways below.

“When asked for their final takeaways for the night, Nina responded “Be kind to yourself” while Sharon noted, “We’re all doing our best.” Two reminders that I know we could all use right now, and always.”

Another beautiful reminder from the panel that I loved, and have been implementing in my own life this past year, is – 

Keep a record of things that are going well/nice things people say to you so that you can look back at them in moments of vulnerability and self-doubt. (ex: compliments, nice e-mails, etc.) Give your brain some positive data points to fight negativity bias.

-from My first [Gather] Event

Here are a few gems from my compliments jar this year (yes, I have a physical jar! It’s a cleaned-out candle jar.)

“That’s you. Taking care of people.”   

- My friend turned to me and said this during a viewing of Mamma Mia, during the scene when Christine Baranski and Julie Walters are consoling Meryl Streep while they sing  Chiquitita. 

“Your risks are beautiful.”

-A friend said this to me on a FaceTime catchup a few months ago, as we discussed a recent shift I made.

As I wrap up this essay, my brain is telling me that I should’ve “worked harder” on this essay. That it isn’t good enough. That it could’ve been better.

Maybe it could’ve been.

And maybe it’s just fine the way it is.

Maybe I’m just fine the way I am. More than fine.

And so are you.

P.S. If you enjoy my blog, consider becoming a paid subscriber! ALL of my paid subscribers (at every level!) will receive two 1 hour coaching sessions, now - January 31st. You can use the sessions yourself or gift them to someone else, or do a combo. You’ll also have access to future paid content (which could include anything from more coaching offers, to long form writing, to a sneak peek at some of the creative writing projects I’m working on - both playwriting and my very first novel.) Check out my essay, Why I Became A Life Coach, and learn more about this offer below. Always happy to answer questions.

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This is another, I wanted to wait until I was ready, kind of post.

One of my friends referenced the opening line of my very first essay over here at substack during class last week. The sentiment resonated with her, and many of our peers. 

I decided to become a life coach shortly after starting this blog. I hit publish on my very first post over here in May, and started class at the end of June.

It isn’t something I’ve been building up to for a while. It isn’t something I even fully had a grasp on before I started researching it. There are definitely times in my life when I’ve thought of coaching as a little out there and made up. I couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

For the last few months, as I’ve gone on these two journeys, I’ve wondered, “okay, how am I going to write about life coaching? How should I talk about it? Will people think it’s bad that I only started a few months ago? Does that discredit me somehow? Should I hide the fact that I just got certified?”

No, I shouldn’t. Because that wouldn’t be authentic in the slightest. It wouldn’t be very wild, cozy, or free. My cocktail party, representative self doesn’t get to tell the story of why I became a life coach, and when I became a life coach. 

“How am I going to prove myself?”

I’m not here to prove myself. I’m just here to tell the truth.

The truth is, if you had told me that I was going to be a life coach at any point before mid-June of this year, I would not have believed you.

Somewhere around this time, my mother announced that she and my dad had decided that I should go to grad school. Not those exact words, but that was the gist. I’m sure she remembers the conversation differently, and has a much different take, and will text me to say so the minute she reads this.

Me: “I don’t think I want to.”

Her: “Maybe just go anyway.”

For many reasons, I decided that it would be easier to entertain this idea than to shut it down. I’m a recovering people pleaser. It’s what we do best. 

And yet, the idea of giving away my freedom (dramatic, I know.) and going back to school willingly for grad school was absolutely a non-starter unless I LOVED what I was studying and could really see a career advantage. 

Essentially, I needed a compelling reason to invest the time and money. And my parents’ thinking that I should go was certainly not a compelling enough reason.

Right around the time that my mom eventually independently realized that “maybe I shouldn’t go to grad school if I wasn’t 100% committed”, I ironically took a trip to surprise one of my friends at her graduate school graduation ceremony. 

It was an incredibly emotional, beautiful, fun weekend. And also incredibly exhausting. I felt like a CIA agent trying to pull off the surprise and coordinate things in the exact right way. Later on in the weekend, once we were reflecting on the surprise and all the logistics that went into things, my friend's fiancé (another close friend - we all went to college together!) jokingly admitted that he decided to stop responding to my texts at some point, while we were planning. Honestly, I support that decision. I was trying to plan things on a granular level, down to the exact minute we would surprise my friend, and the exact words we would say.

After the graduation festivities were over, I decided to stay in Chicago for a few extra days. The timing of the trip worked out really perfectly, because another friend of mine was actually starring in a production of Pippin at the time! I asked if I could stay with her, and she recommended that I stay with her parents who live in the neighborhood and have more space as empty nesters. I didn’t want to impose, but I gratefully obliged.

You’re wondering what all of this has to do with life coaching? We’re getting close - don’t worry.

I fell asleep on top of the covers in a dress at 9pm the night I arrived at my friend’s parents’ house.  I literally don’t even remember sitting down. That’s how tired I was from the graduation festivities.

The next morning, my friend’s parents made me a delicious breakfast and excitedly offered to take me on a walk in the neighborhood or go for a nice bike ride. All I had the energy to do was chat over coffee and lie in the sun on the back porch of their gorgeous garden. I was seriously wiped, and was so looking forward to some chill time before heading to see more friends in the area. 

Around midday, my friend’s mom came outside to have lunch with me. I was writing my weekly essay (I wrote Runaway that day) and put down my computer to chat with her and catch up more.

Linda ended up telling me about her unexpected journey into fitness coaching. (She’s a lawyer as well!) She vulnerably shared about insecurities she felt at the beginning of her coursework and how fulfilling her journey has been. She talked about her mentor and all of the friends she made along the way. How much this new career has added to her life.

And then out of nowhere, I heard myself say,

I’m thinking about looking into life coaching.

It was truly out of the blue. It wasn’t something that I had been consciously thinking about. The seed must have been planted somewhere along the course of my personal graduate school exploration, along with my friend’s recent graduation. I hadn’t even typed the words “life coach ” into Google yet. I did so that day on my friends’ parents’ porch. 

“You would be so great at that,” Linda replied, smiling as she said it.

She sat there and encouraged me as the words started pouring out. I told her how I’d also been naturally curious and love listening to others. How genuinely passionate I am about helping people. How I love writing, but I miss the intimacy of acting and having that 1:1 connection with others. How I love diving into people’s emotional states, and being the friend who jumps into deep questions at dinner parties. I didn’t know a lot about this field at all, but I was just feeling a nudge towards it.  

When my friend’s mom, Linda, mentioned her career shift into fitness, everything unspoken inside of me rose to the surface. And she created a safe space for me to lay it out and untangle my deepest desires right there on her back porch, on a sunny Monday afternoon. 

I got back to New York and started seriously researching programs a week later. And a week after that, I took my first class online at The Life Purpose Institute. 

I don’t think I’ve ever made a decision this quickly in my life. And no decision has ever felt as right as this one either.

I’m writing all of this about an hour after our last class. For the last 20 minutes of class, as we shared what we learned and how much we’d all grown, many of us wrote “we have to stay in touch!!!” over and over again in the group chat. The bond I have formed with these people who were strangers just four months ago, is unlike anything I’ve ever known. 

I don’t fully have the words to describe how much I love coaching. How transformational and magical it is. 

I’m still processing the personal growth I experienced throughout this course, and I think I’ll be processing it for quite a while. Definitely more on that later.

But here’s what I know for now.

I didn’t think I’d ever find anything else in life that feels as natural to me as writing does. I was wrong about that. 

I write on my website that I used to think a great coach would have all the answers. I was wrong about that too.

A great coach empowers you to realize that YOU have all of the answers. And I really do believe that’s true.

Here’s a testimonial from one of my recent clients:

My first life coaching session with Alexa was a month before my 30th birthday. I had just graduated from my master's program and needed to make some important decisions about my future, quickly. Here's the problem -- I was working so hard to fulfill all of my responsibilities that I felt completely out of touch with myself. I had no sense of what I wanted, or what decisions to make. Bad timing for someone on the cusp of a new decade and a new chapter.

During our time together…

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TW: explicit discussion of eating disorders and body dysmorphia. It’s okay to skip this week if you need to ❤️

My ‘Oy with the Poodles Already!’ Gilmore Girls T-shirt no longer fits me comfortably. Neither does my ‘In Omnia Paratus’ one. They’re tight in the sleeves, and cling to my forearms.  I want to snap my fingers and shrink my torso so that I can fit into them like I used to. 

But I can’t do that. I’ve outgrown them. And that is a bitter pill to swallow.

I refuse to part with these beloved shirts. I’ll save them for my future children, or turn them into artwork, or maybe just keep them as a souvenirs.

But I can’t do that with all of the clothes I’ve outgrown. All of the old clothes that don’t fit my new body. My new, healthier, bigger body. The body that holds more weight because I am eating healthily for the first time in my adult life. The body that I am building each day, as I recover from an eating disorder that I thought I left behind years ago.

I developed an eating disorder in late middle school that lasted through early college. I read about the struggles that Hannah faces with bulimia in the book and television series, Pretty Little Liars. I was curious. I loved the idea of control. I quickly gravitated towards the ideals of thinness.

I didn’t have bulimia though. I had what was referred to as a Not Otherwise Specified Eating Disorder, at the time. It’s now called an Otherwise Specified Feeding and Eating Disorder.*

*I wrote all about my thoughts on this diagnosis, in a playwright’s note here. Bear in mind that I wrote this in 2018 - there has been a lot of development on how we view these kinds of disorders - both in society and in the DSM! (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders)

For years, I starved myself and closely obsessed over everything that I ate. I even went so far as to become a vegetarian so that I would have a justifiable excuse to cut out more from my diet. I was weak; I came close to fainting several times. I would throw a fit if I didn’t fit into a size 2 in every single store I shopped in. I worked so hard to control my hunger that I actually lost the sensation of being hungry. I was so proud of myself, for stomping out my hunger with the help of all kinds of dietary supplements from CVS. I felt horrible. But I loved the way I looked. I loved my sick, frail, thin body. I loved being small.

I saw multiple therapists during this time, and a nutritionist for a minute, but for the large part, life went on as usual during these years. There were months when my doctor and family focused on my eating disorder intensely, and months when I got to slide under the radar and pretend all was well. I didn’t eat breakfast or lunch for the majority of 10th grade. When I did eat, I became a master of small portions. One summer, I became addicted to high intensity Zumba workouts, so I let myself eat a little more than usual since I was exercising so much.

Somewhere between freshman and sophomore year of college, I decided that I didn’t have a problem anymore. I was pretty depressed for the duration of sophomore year. In some ways, I was so distracted by that issue that I didn’t have as much energy to focus on thinness. I stayed thin nonetheless. And I was pretty happy about that.

(After eventually recovering from that depressive episode, I also thought that I would never be depressed again. Think again, 19 year old Alexa.)

There are many, many factors that went into my depression recovery, and my focus on healthier eating, that I’ll get into another time. But for now, all you need to know is that by senior year I thought I was cured, healed, and every other cliche you can think of. Ironically, a big part of my recovery from depression included exercise. Who doesn’t love endorphins? Give me all the endorphins! Because I didn’t love the idea of fainting after every workout, I actually became obsessed with properly fueling my body. In my head, I was the picture of health.

Little did my younger self know, that you can actually go from being completely unhealthy to being too “healthy”; I was still holding myself up to an unrealistic set of ideals. I still wanted to be thin, but I tricked myself into thinking that excessive exercise and hyper focus on a healthy new age diet was actually what was best for me. I drank so much green juice. I was obsessed with being the best rider at my spin class, and needed my teacher’s compliments and approval like Tinkerbell needed applause to live.

On the outside, everything was fine. I convinced myself, and everyone around me that I was fine. And I didn’t think it was a lie. I really believed I was fine.

And then, a little under a year ago, I offhandedly told my somewhat new therapist about my spin days, and how I used to frequently work out 2x in one day, back to back like it was no big deal.

I slowly revealed more and more about my eating habits, that I had somehow never mentioned to her before. Things that my past therapists had never blinked an eye at.

And that’s how the cracks slowly but surely began to show. I realized pretty quickly that I had actually never recovered from my eating disorder. I just got really, really good at hiding it.

I typically listen to every single Glennon Doyle episode the day that it drops. But when she came out with one about her own eating disorder recovery this past January, I didn’t listen to it for about a month. I think it was because I knew that there would be no going back, once I heard her speak about this topic so vulnerably, as I knew she would.

But eventually I listened. And I held my head in my hands. And the waves of realization washed over me, like a summer storm that comes out of nowhere and looks like it could truly go on forever.

This section in particular, shook me to my core.

I have gained weight, like just factually I have gained weight…I had this amazing day that I want to talk about now that I went to get dressed and I tried to put on one of my pairs of jeans and they wouldn’t fit. And I looked at my closet and I just had this moment of, “Oh my God, everything in my closet is so fucking tight. All of my jeans are so tight.” At this point, I’d probably gained five pounds or something, and I couldn’t wear any of my clothes…I gained five pounds and I couldn’t wear any of my clothes. Why? I looked at my closet and suddenly it turned into this nefarious line. My jeans were lined up. I was like, “They’re like a line of fucking police people.” I have created my closet in a way that reminds me every single damn day don’t you step out of line.

-Glennon Doyle

Sitting on the edge of my tub in the bathroom, where I have most of my breakthroughs, I realized that my pants also felt too tight. They fit, but they were really tight. And if I entered real recovery, with real accountability, my tight clothes would only get tighter. My clothes would feel smaller. And I would feel bigger.

I was devastated. And at the same time, amazed that I could even make this observation. Because it felt like awareness. It felt like embodiment. It felt like the first step towards waking up from the disembodied state that I’ve been for years, and years, and years.

Luckily, I found a dietician who I clicked with pretty quickly. (Perhaps karma from the universe, in return for some of the bad luck I had with therapists in my adolescence.) And oh man, did we have a lot of work to do. A lot of negative self talk to examine. A lot of habits to break. A lot of food to incorporate back into my diet.

My dietician very quickly learned that my harshness and judgment and restriction only applies to me. When she tried to explain to me that size does not correlate to health, I quickly agreed with her and told her that we could “skip this part.” That I know that there are many people who weigh more than me who are stronger than me, and healthier than me (both physically and mentally.)

So if I feel this way about people I don’t even know, why was it so hard for me to look in the mirror when I my…

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I’ve loved the phrase “God of the bathroom floor” ever since I heard it. It’s used by Glennon Doyle and Elizabeth Gilbert (in Love Warrior and Eat Pray Love, respectively)

I used to say, people say that God is everywhere, but I think that God is in the bathroom because of the moments of rock bottom I’ve had on bathroom floors. That’s like my altar.

-Glennon Doyle

The bathroom has always held space for the emotional weight of al of me, time and time again. Small or large. Simple or fancy. Ever since I was little, I’ve loved to lock myself in and unfurl my wild, cozy, free self. Imagine my delight when I found out that girls bonding in the bathroom was an age-old tradition. I fit right in.

When I was a preteen, I would bring my headphones and iPod in, and dance wildly to the music. I spent so much time in there that my parents were definitely concerned. It didn’t matter that I was an only child and had my own room; there was just something about the privacy and containment of a bathroom. I’d lose myself in fantastical scenarios, based on the lyrics and mood of the songs. Sometimes I’d place myself in a favorite musical. Other times, I’d imagine myself as a character in a dramatic television show where I’d first heard the song. I even started a playlist of future ‘first dance’ songs for my wedding, inspired by the love ballads I’d sway to.

In my adult bathroom, in the apartment I share with no one, the bathroom is still a raw and sacred place for me. I fill it with candles and cozy towels (don’t ask me the last time I cleaned the tub, though.) I sometimes like to meditate right after a shower, or just sit quietly on the ledge of the tub in my towel. And there’s still quite a lot of dancing and daydreaming.

My favorite aunt, Eileen, died when I was in high school, and you can guess where the first place I wanted to go was. My grief was enormous and frightening. My whole world had changed in an instant. I knew she was old, but I had no idea that she was sick. I had an inmate need to be alone with a pain that I couldn’t put words to. I drowned out my sorrows with cathartic songs. I played ‘My Wish’ by the Rascal Flatts over and over again. It was the soundtrack of a card (the ones that play music when you open them) that I had given my Aunt for a holiday years ago. She told me how much she loved it and inquired about who sang the song. I remember her being quite amused by the name “Rascal Flatts.”

*I wrote this piece back in 2023, long before the Rascal Flatts 2025 inauguration performance for Trump. While I am no longer a fan and in no way support or associate with anyone who endorses Trump, I want to be truthful in this recollection, which is why I chose to keep this section about the Rascal Flatts,

My wish for you is that this life becomes all that you want it toYour dreams stay big, your worries stay smallYou never need to carry more than you can holdAnd while you're out there getting where you're getting toI hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too

Yeah, this is my wish

A while ago, I couldn’t figure out whether or not I wanted to go to a fun rooftop party in Brooklyn. Mentally, I really, really wanted to check it out. Physically, I couldn’t fathom hauling myself down there on the train.

I had just gotten back from an amazing trip that was very go go go. I made the most of every minute, excited to catch up with friends who I don’t get to see often. I walked a lot. I stayed up late and got up way earlier than usual. By the end of the trip, I wished that my flight would be delayed so that I could stay one more day. Deep down, I’m glad it wasn’t. My spirits were high, but my social battery was nonexistent. I fell asleep at the gate before we even boarded.

And yet, I couldn’t definitively decide that I wasn’t going to go to the party in Brooklyn. Even though no one would be mad if I didn’t. It causes me literal anguish to say no to plans, or worse, cancel them. Any recovering people pleasers relate?

Let the soft animal of your body love what it loves

- Mary Oliver

Pasta.

Sitting in my bathroom, scrolling through Instagram, I knew that I was craving pasta the minute I saw a recipe blog post.

The want bubbled up inside of me. That hunger — undeniable and ever-present

I couldn’t figure out if I wanted to go to this party in Brooklyn. But I knew I needed pasta. And I didn’t want to scarf it down and hop on the train. I wanted to savor it slowly and finish whatever book I was reading at the time.

And so I heated the water.

And threw in the pasta once the water boiled.

And returned to the bathroom for a few more meditative moments as the pasta cooked.

And it was delicious. All of it. Every bite of pasta. Every second of embodiment. Every second of listening to my desire, and trusting it to lead me to the right choices.

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I’m back with another poem! I actually technically wrote this as a song, but it also works as a poem. You can listen to the voice over if you’re curious about what the melody sounds like. Here we go!

The pain bubbles up inside me 

In ordinary moments 

When I’m wearing a dress 

Headed home from a party 

-

Or the next morning

When I’m on my own drinking coffee

-

Unspoken wounds  

Heavy like tombs 

Carrying all I don’t say

 -

Like “how are you?” I’m fine 

Well surprise, that’s a lie

Even when all is well

But you’d never tell 

-

It’s all very cliche

The feelings I write away 

And lock up behind wall and key 

-

Can you carry the weight 

Can you even wait 

For what I’ll say behind closed doors?

-

Will it be enough 

To explain, or too much 

Or will you wish I had said more?

-

This was probably too much 

This was probably too much 

-

I drink coffee for heat 

More than caffeine 

It helps me know

I’m alive 

I’m alive, I’m alive 

I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive 

And everything will be “fine.”

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