Before I Even Brush My Teeth

A behind-the-scenes glimpse of a creator's grind, caregiving, and longing for a little peace — and a teammate.

A selfie shot at sunrise

I’d love to wake up without a to-do list shouting at me before I even brush my teeth. Before I wash my face. Before I do my sit-ups. (Yes, I still try.) Usually, the first thing I do is pee, then crawl back into bed, prop my head on a pillow, phone in hand — and start the daily scroll.

Emails. Social media. I heart some comments, reply to a few. Click the “requests” tab, skim the DMs, highlight and delete, then head to the dark corner: Hidden Requests. That’s where the links to "private" videos and group DMs full of naked promises wait. I never click — but I skim. Because wedged between all that are often heartfelt messages from real people. I don’t want to miss those.

After that, it’s TikTok. Then Facebook. Then — oh yeah — I remember I need to post something. A video. What’s today’s? If I were a smart marketer, I’d have a whole campaign calendar prepped weeks ahead. You know, all the stuff the experts tell you to do after you meditate, journal, exercise, eat breakfast. (Breakfast? These days I inhale something while hunched over a laptop.)

Instead, I edit. In bed. With my phone. I caption. I title. I know how important accessibility is — not everyone can hear or even has their volume on. Then comes the caption writing and hashtags. I tweak them a little for each platform and send the video out into the world.

Wouldn’t it be lovely if someone else did this?

Eventually, I make myself a little sandwich: sourdough bread (because hallelujah, I can tolerate that kind), my homemade hummus, a sliced egg on top. Wrap it tight in foil. Then I head out.

I can’t work from home — which isn’t really my home. It’s my 102-year-old mother’s. I’m there most of the time, taking care of her. And when I say "there," I mean there. No office. No quiet room. No privacy. Just love, noise, and interruptions. So I pack up and go work in Panera. Yes, I have the Unlimited Sip Club — fifteen bucks a month for bottomless iced tea and a table with decent WiFi. Or I’ll hide out in a library. I’ve come to know quite a few.

Beyond the work, there’s the life admin: car repairs, Costco runs, refilling prescriptions, Aldi yogurt, toilet paper, getting my mom to her card games. Then back to the laptop.

I want to pause. Just pause. Not think about what needs to be done, or what I haven’t done. I see my friends — some of them wildly successful — with their press and awards and far-flung travels. I’m genuinely happy for them. I’m not the jealous type. I’m a builder. I’m an idea machine. When I can focus, I make things. Beautiful things. But I’m drowning in the back end of it all. Websites, newsletters, funnels (I gave up on those), events, emails — so many emails.

And don’t get me started on how no one wants to talk on the phone anymore. Everything is a text or an email thread from hell. I’m working with people my age who refuse to get on a call. You know how much faster it would be if we just talked?

Sometimes I feel like I’m spinning. I fantasize about living on an island with no people. Just animals and plants. I told a friend, and he asked if he could move to the other side of the island and promised not to bother me.

I miss the days when I woke up before sunrise and went to photograph it by the ocean. When I exhibited my work. When I breathed in inspiration before responsibility.

Yes, we have fans. A lot of them. And no, I haven’t mastered how to monetize them. Then there are the DMs. Like the one I got right after I posted a video about my memoir Bullied to Besties, the story of how I forgave my mother. She was nasty, very nasty.

How do I get our fans — the ones who adore my mother — to understand she wasn’t always this funny, loving, wise woman they see on screen? For much of my life, she was the opposite. A narcissist. A tyrant. A social worker once urged me to get away from her. And I did. I left early, became fiercely independent — a "goil" (girl) as my immigrant grandmother would say — fending for myself, thriving on the outside, but burning with anger on the inside.

It took five decades to unravel that pain. And now, for the last two, the woman who was once the source of my rage has become my friend. My closest friend. We’ve become collaborators, travel companions, co-authors, mother and daughter — though sometimes, now, I’m the mother and she’s the child. You know how it goes with age. The roles shift. The balance tilts.

I’m alone. Single. Not much time or energy to seek out a relationship. Mom is my priority right now, and that’s okay. I made a few attempts. There was someone I clicked with over text — smart, funny — and I was looking forward to meeting him. But the timing wasn’t right. Life pulled me elsewhere. By the time I was ready, he’d met someone else. And honestly? I was happy for him.

My person will come. I know that. I’m not in a rush. I was just hoping for a pal — someone to laugh with over dinner, explore this new town with, maybe hold hands on a walk.

But for now, I’ll leave you with my wish —
That the universe sends me someone remarkable — maybe two someones — to walk this path with me. To help carry the load. To grow something meaningful. To build something beautiful.

I’m so grateful I still have my mom — turning 102 and in amazing shape, sharp, funny, fully herself. I’m grateful for my health — because like my mother always says, “There’s no wealth without your health.” And I trust the right person — that intern, that assistant — is already on their way. And when I’m truly ready, my beshert will be, too.

I have faith. I really do.

Gayle Kirschenbaum is an Emmy-winning filmmaker, photographer, writer, coach, and speaker. Her film LOOK AT US NOW, MOTHER! premiered on Netflix and has been credited with transforming lives. Her TED talk is “No More Drama with Mama.” Gayle co-authored Mildred's Mindset: Wisdom from a Woman Centenarian with her mother, centenarian influencer Mildred Kirschenbaum. Gayle's upcoming memoir is Bullied to Besties: A Daughter's Journey to Forgiveness.
To learn more visit GayleKirschenbaum.com.

Follow Gayle & Mildred on Instagram and TikTok @glkirschenbaum