I was up at 2 AM with a face mask on, stress-eating leftover queso and doom-scrolling through client revision requests when I thought—you know what? I deserve chaos that isn't mine. So I put on Laura Clery's Idiots, and by 2:47 AM I was laughing so hard that Diego jumped off the bed in pure disgust and Frida gave me that look. You know the one. The "you're unhinged" look.
This book felt like getting wine-drunk with your most honest friend—the one who tells you about the time she flung a "butt burrito" (her words, not mine) at her doctor's face during a postpartum checkup. The one who will casually mention nipple-twisting orgies in one breath and then make you ugly-cry about her son's autism diagnosis in the next. Laura Clery has zero filter, and honestly? It's refreshing in a world where everyone's curating their trauma for Instagram aesthetics.
She Livestreamed Her Birth and That's Not Even the Wildest Part
Look, I knew Laura Clery from those viral Facebook sketches—the ones where she plays unhinged characters that somehow feel more real than most people I know. But hearing her narrate her own chaos? Different experience entirely. Her comedic timing is impeccable. She knows exactly when to pause, when to let the absurdity hang in the air before hitting you with the punchline. When she describes the mom brain fog, the placenta pills (yes, she went there), and the very specific hell of trying to manifest a vibrator into existence, you can hear the self-deprecating grin in her voice.
But here's what got me: she doesn't just go for laughs. She earns them. The humor comes from a place of "I survived this ridiculous thing and now I can laugh about it" rather than performing for approval. When she talks about her postpartum depression, about the fights with her husband that felt marriage-ending, about cheating and forgiveness—the shift in her voice is subtle but devastating. This is a woman who has done the work, you know?
The Whole Foods Parking Lot Breakdown Energy
Abuela would have GASPED at some of this. Like, clutched her rosary and muttered prayers for Laura's soul while secretly loving every scandalous minute. There's a rawness here that reminds me of sitting in her living room watching telenovelas—that same energy of "we're going to talk about the messy stuff because pretending it doesn't exist helps no one."
The essay about her son's autism diagnosis wrecked me. I'm talking tears-streaming-down-my-face-ruining-my-face-mask wrecked. Laura doesn't do the inspirational parent thing where everything becomes a beautiful journey of acceptance. She sits in the fear, the confusion, the grief for the future she'd imagined—and then she finds her way through it without making it feel like a TED talk. The way her voice cracks just slightly when she talks about choosing love over fear? My heart. MY HEART.
And then five minutes later she's making jokes about unsolicited dick pics and I'm snort-laughing again. The emotional whiplash is intentional, I think. That's just... life. Especially motherhood. Life captures that same relentless oscillation between grief and joy, though with less queso involved. You're crying into a diaper one minute and laughing at the absurdity of your existence the next.
Who This Is (and Isn't) For
Content warnings are real here. Sexual assault, addiction, trauma—all discussed with candor that might be too much for some listeners. Laura addresses it upfront with her "TRIGGER WARNING: TORN EVERYTHING" disclaimer, which—yeah. She's not kidding. If you need your memoirs wrapped in soft focus and gentle lessons, this ain't it. Skip this one.
But if you want to feel less alone in your mess? If you want someone who will tell you the stories she was "too scared to tell" in her first book and make you feel like your own chaos is survivable? I'm Still Standing gave me that same "your mess is valid" reassurance, though with a different flavor of survival story. This is a rainy Sunday book. Or, apparently, a 2 AM stress-eating book. Same energy.
The 8-hour runtime flew by. I listened at my usual 1.0x because rushing through this felt wrong—like speed-eating a really good meal. Laura's voice has this quality where even the most outrageous stories feel intimate, like she's telling you specifically, like she trusts you with this. That's hard to manufacture.
Queso-Stained and Emotionally Compromised
I added her first book, Idiot, to my queue before I even finished this one. And yeah, I cried four separate times. Spreadsheet updated.
