parenting

To blame [my mother] for all parts of me that are broken wouldn't be kind. She isn't responsible for who I am today. That said, on a subconscious level, I am the mother I am because of the mother I had.

When we are left to make sense of the senseless, how do we help our children navigate the same waters we tread? When the fear of the unknown incapacitates us, how can we help them to be less afraid? How can we help them to go on, even when we don’t want to? Especially when we don’t want to.

By introducing my father’s illness as a fact during a time when his mental health had no negative effects on my life, my parents enabled me to live without stigma, which in turn empowered me to advocate for my father’s treatment when his health took a turn for the worse my freshmen year of college.

She was beautiful; I wanted to love her. But there was this nagging voice inside me: "What if I can’t love this baby as much as my son? Is there enough love for both of my children?"

Now, I would love to sit down and watch a movie without interruptions as well. But alas, motherhood brings with it many occupational hazards.

I cannot believe I have already raised my young children to conform to such gendered stereotypes. It's particularly striking when it comes to their confidence.

I've been checking out Flex Form technology and Radiant designs where I can get Aztec stripes on my tampon wrappers. But what I really need to know is if there is an overnight pad that doesn't have freaking wings attached to it. I hate wings. These flypaper-level stickiness, rip-the-color-off-your-undies flaps should not be called wings.

Growing up, travel was a luxury that was simply out of reach, so I know firsthand that travel is a privilege that not everyone can enjoy.