Every week, I like to bring you something that looks ordinary on the surface but has a hidden story worth paying attention to. This week’s topic is one that almost everyone has in their closet, garage, or front entryway: those lightweight foam sandals and clogs sold in every big box store. They’re marketed as affordable, practical, and perfect for everything from gardening to running errands. But there’s a side of these shoes most people never think about: what they’re made of, and what that means for your health.
It turns out EVA foam footwear isn’t just harmless plastic. These shoes are often made with additives like plasticizers, phthalates, synthetic dyes, and sometimes heavy metals. Because your feet are one of the most absorbent parts of your body, wearing these shoes barefoot could mean absorbing hormone-disrupting chemicals directly into your bloodstream. It’s a small daily exposure that adds up fast, especially for kids who wear them nonstop in the summer. The good news is that there are better options. In this week’s feature, I explore EVA foam footwear and the best non-toxic alternatives you can feel good about wearing.
This Week, We Made Salsa Verde and Enchiladas!
| This summer, I put in the work to grow my own tomatillos, and there’s nothing quite like the satisfaction of picking them fresh off the vine. Instead of letting them sit, I canned the harvest so we’d have a stash of vibrant, tangy tomatillos ready for any occasion. One of my favorite ways to use them is in a classic salsa verde—bright, zesty, and perfect with just about anything. And since salsa verde deserves to be more than just a dip, I also turned it into the base for cheesy, gluten-free chicken enchiladas that are every bit as satisfying as they sound. |
Blog Spotlights
Is EVA Foam Footwear Toxic? Here’s What You Need to Know
Walk into almost any big box store, and you’ll see aisles stacked with brightly colored foam shoes. They’re marketed as lightweight, easy to clean, affordable, and comfortable. The marketing often highlights how practical they are for summer, gardening, the beach, or everyday errands. But behind that convenience is a reality..…
Are You Accidentally Making Your Child’s School Lunch Toxic?
Packing a school lunch should feel like one of the simplest, healthiest ways to care for your child. Instead of relying on cafeteria food, you’re sending them a meal from home, something you can control. But here’s the catch..…
The Most Toxic Item in Your Kitchen Might Surprise You
When people think about toxic items in the kitchen, they usually think about nonstick pans, plastic food containers, or chemical-laden cleaning sprays. The plastic spatula is another culprit sitting in nearly every drawer that most people never consider. Especially the black plastic spatulas in almost every big box store..…
3 Easy Swaps to Ditch Microplastics in Your Kitchen
Most people don’t realize that some of the most common items in their kitchens are quietly contaminating their food. Plastic mixing bowls, plastic strainers, and plastic food storage containers are everyday tools in almost every household. Still, when they come into contact with heat, oils, or acidic foods, they can release microplastics and harmful chemicals into what you eat....
Non-Toxic Tip of the Week
Easy Ways to Avoid Microplastics at Home
👉With clothing: Apart from EVA foam footwear, synthetic fabrics like polyester and nylon release microplastics in the wash. Opt for natural fibers such as cotton, wool, or hemp, or use a microfiber-catching laundry bag when washing synthetics.
👉Extra tip: Replace synthetic sponges with natural fiber scrubbers and filter your tap water to reduce microplastics in drinking water.
Non-Toxic Recipe of the Week
Joyful Microplastic-Free Lunchboxes for Back-to-School
Back-to-school season is here, and it’s the perfect moment to rethink what our kids eat and how we pack it. Many everyday lunch ítems, plastic containers, single-use sandwich bags, and cling wrap, can introduce microplastics into meals without us even realizing it. These tiny particles have been linked to various health concerns, from inflammation to hormone disruption. This week, we’re sharing a joyful, hands-on “recipe” you can do with your kids to pack lunches that are healthy, fun, and completely microplastic-free.
This Week on Social Media, I talked about:
Before You Go…
Thanks for joining us this week, Non-Toxic Friends!
Remember, small swaps at home, whether in the kitchen, in your laundry, or even in the shoes you choose, add up to big wins for your health and the planet. Back-to-school season is a perfect time to make these mindful changes fun and interactive for your kids, turning everyday routines into lessons in conscious living.
Keep experimenting, learning, and celebrating every step toward a microplastic-free home. See you next week for more tips, recipes, and ideas to make healthy living simple, joyful, and non-toxic.
*Not what you're looking for? Go to the HTML version for the fancy stuff and content. OR: I need to ask you something.. How tightly are you holding on? Now don’t just answer with your mind. Feel it. Feel the grip inside of you, the tension, the way your heart clings to things, the way your mind grabs at control. I’m asking because this story is about letting go. Not in theory—not as some idea to think about. But as something to do. Right now. Let me explain. There was a man who lived his life as if he were holding on to a rope. The rope was long and frayed, tied to all the things he thought he needed to survive. He gripped it with both hands and held on for dear life. He thought that if he let go, he would fall into an abyss. He didn’t know exactly what was down there, but he knew it would be bad. He’d lose everything—his family, his job, his sense of self. Without the rope, he was certain, he would be nothing. But holding the rope was exhausting. It burned his palms and cut into his fingers. Sometimes it felt like the rope pulled him in different directions at once—one end tied to his need for people to like him, the other to his fear of failure. Sometimes the tension on the rope was unbearable, but still, he held on. Because to let go? That was unthinkable. One day, the man met an old woman sitting on a bench in a park. She had a peaceful glow about her, as if she carried no burdens at all. The man was jealous of her ease. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that way. “How are you so calm?” he asked her. The woman looked at him and smiled. “I let go of the rope,” she said simply. The man frowned. “What rope?” “The one you’re holding,” she said. “You can’t see it, but you can feel it, can’t you? That tightness inside of you. That fear that if you let go, you’ll lose everything. But the truth is, the rope isn’t saving you. It’s strangling you.” The man was quiet for a long time. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know how to imagine a life without holding on to the rope. “But if I let go,” he said finally, “won’t I fall?” The woman’s smile deepened. “That’s what you think,” she said. “But the only thing you’ll fall into is freedom.” The man didn’t believe her, of course. How could he? Letting go went against everything he’d been taught. He’d spent his whole life being told that survival depended on holding on—holding on to people, to possessions, to control. Letting go felt like giving up. It felt like failure. So I ask you again: How tightly are you holding on? Can you feel the tension in your chest, the grip in your heart? And more importantly, can you let it go? You don’t have to do it all at once. Just open your hands a little. Just loosen the grip. And when you do, you’ll find that you’re not falling. You’re floating. You’re free. Let go of the rope. Trust me. You don’t need it. The Labyrinth of Light The dome was a living sun. Its translucent panels, segmented like a beetle’s shell, refracted the noonday radiance into a thousand glittering shards, each shard sliding and shimmering along the smooth, white walls below. Everything gleamed with antiseptic brightness, unmarred by the stains of weather, time, or emotion. This was Aurorium, the City of Light. It had no shadows, and, officially, no doubts. Here, under the ever-shining dome, humanity had left behind its fumbling uncertainties, its endless agonies of self-questioning. Gone were the abstract struggles of philosophers and the ceaseless murmur of poets. In their place stood the Ministry of Illumination, with its shining creed: “Meaning is not found—it is assigned. Meaning is not sought—it is delivered.” At the Ministry, every citizen was given their Lumen Pathway by the time they reached their eighteenth year. The system was flawless, or so the Ministry claimed. Each person’s psychometric profile was carefully analyzed; their neural maps scanned and cross-checked against the Collective Consciousness Index. By the end of the process, the result was inevitable: a tailored life-purpose, as precise as the color of one’s irises or the number of lines on one’s fingerprints. And yet, here was Elias. Elias Lorne, Citizen #71184-17, stood at the base of the Ministry’s grand atrium, staring at his Lumen Certificate. The holographic display shimmered faintly in the sterile air, the words inscribed in perfect golden light: "Your purpose is to tend the Reservoirs of Radiance." The Reservoirs. He had heard of them—a vast network of subterranean pools where the city’s refractive crystals were immersed and cleansed, their radiance replenished to ensure the eternal glow of Aurorium. It was honorable work, no doubt, necessary for the city’s unbroken illumination. And yet, as he stood there, holding his future in his hands, something in Elias’s chest remained unmoved. “Is this all there is?” he murmured under his breath. Behind him, a low hum of activity filled the atrium. Young citizens, fresh from their assignments, buzzed with nervous energy. Some smiled, others wept with joy at the clarity of their destinies. A girl beside him held her certificate like a talisman, her voice trembling as she whispered, “I’ll be a Vision Architect!” Another boy punched the air triumphantly, announcing to no one in particular, “Harmonic Technician. Exactly what I wanted!” Elias’s fingers tightened around the edge of the hologram. It wasn’t that he objected to the assignment—not exactly. He understood the necessity of the work. But somewhere deep in the cavernous recess of his mind, a quiet question flickered like a match held too close to the wind: Wasn’t there something more? The next morning, Elias descended into the Reservoirs. “Dangerous?” “Restlessness is a crack,” Mara said. “And cracks are where the darkness seeps in.” Elias hesitated. Then, without meaning to, he said: “Do you ever feel like there’s something missing?” For a long moment, Mara was silent. Then, to Elias’s surprise, she smiled. “Come with me,” she said. That night, Mara led Elias to a hidden passage at the edge of the Reservoirs. The corridor was narrow and dim, its walls streaked with stains of rust. At the end of the tunnel was a door, heavy and ancient, unlike anything Elias had seen in Aurorium. Mara pushed it open. Inside was darkness. Not the faint, shimmering darkness of the city’s shadowless corners, but a true, unbroken blackness that swallowed light whole. For a moment, Elias was overwhelmed by it. The silence was absolute, the void pressing against his skin like a living thing. “What is this place?” he whispered. Mara’s voice was quiet, reverent. “This is where the light comes from.” Elias frowned. “What do you mean? The light comes from the crystals.” Mara shook her head. “The crystals only reflect it. But the source—the true source—is here. In the dark.” She gestured toward the center of the room. There, faintly visible, was a single point of light, no larger than a grain of sand. It pulsed softly, irregularly, like the heartbeat of some distant, unseen creature. “The Ministry doesn’t talk about this,” Mara continued. “They want people to believe the light is infinite, self-sustaining. But it’s not. It comes from here. And it’s fragile.” Elias stared at the tiny light, his chest tightening. “Why are you showing me this?” “Because you’re asking questions,” Mara said simply. “And questions can’t be answered in the light. Not the real ones.” In the weeks that followed, Elias found himself drawn back to the dark room. He spent hours staring at the tiny light, his thoughts unraveling in its faint glow. What was it about the darkness, he wondered, that made the light seem so alive? In the Reservoirs, surrounded by radiance, the light had felt hollow, artificial. But here, cradled in shadow, it was different—fragile, imperfect, and undeniably real. Perhaps, Elias thought, meaning wasn’t something the Ministry could assign after all. Perhaps it wasn’t something that could be given at all. Perhaps meaning had to be carved out of the dark.
