daughter

She insists I sign the form she brought home from school right now even though it’s not due for five more days.

I’ve built my life from ashes, and I’ve filled it with intentional kindness and trust. My parents stole yesterday. I won’t let them take tomorrow.

The jig was officially up. My daughter knew Santa isn't real. Had I ruined Christmas? Destroyed her sense of childlike wonder? Killed her holiday spirit?

I’ve shared my struggles in navigating when your kid is struggling with their sexuality, at the end of the day, this is my daughter’s story.

The truth is, I have no idea where she is. I don’t even know if my mother is alive. I haven’t spoken to my mother for eight years.

As long as I give my daughter the space to talk, I feel like my alcoholic ex can strengthened my relationship with her. I hope she knows that I'm here.

After my mother’s suicide in 2009, I was left with a gnawing sense of guilt. My mother had suffered from an undiagnosed delusional disorder.

From the beginning, mothering and being mothered are both brutal. One day you’ll hurt your mom, I thought. And she’ll hurt you, somehow, without knowing it.