When I was 11 my best friend wore a pair of white tights to church. She had dark brown hair and Italian heritage. Thick leg hair stuck out through the tights and could be seen under them. She was so embarrassed. Everyone pointed and laughed and asked why her hairs were so long. She tearfully… Continue reading I Let My 9 Year Old Wear Makeup
I grew up knowing with absolute certainty one thing about my mother: she knew how to recognize useful people. For better or worse, she had a keen sense of who she could charm and how to charm them in order to get the most out of that relationship. My mother had a knack for befriending… Continue reading You Will Not Use Me – Being The Child Of A Social Climber
This has been a long time coming. I didn't intend to get to this point. As a matter of fact, I thought myself brave for not even considering forgiveness. It took me years to work up the courage to get justifiably angry and once I got there, it never occurred to me that there'd come… Continue reading To The Women Who Have Hurt Me: I Forgive You
I never speed. I'm religiously faithful to speeding limits. I keep my hands at ten and two and scan the horizon for traffic signs and police. I'm cautious. When I test drove a sports car the salesman told me to open her up and see what she could do. I opted not to and instead… Continue reading The Space She Held
I scroll past your vacation photos and a tiny part of me aches. Your suntanned children in life vests and floppy hats, sitting on your family sail boat, all smiles and kool-aid lips. I see the status update about the luxury tree house your husband made and I think, "Shit...I could live in that thing… Continue reading To The Mom With The Greener Grass
The first time I read the words, "pretty privilege" I knew exactly what it was. It was the reason notes from boys were never passed to me, but through me to the pretty girl next to me in class. It was the reason I was never asked to prom or homecoming and the reason I… Continue reading Pretty Privilege & Why I’m Glad I’m Fat
Layers of makeup can't hide the pain of loss.
Reminding myself not to put a price tag on quality time with the ones I love.
When grief takes on the form of a gnawing ache, rather than a sharp, stabbing pain.
Dear Mom, Yesterday you would be 58 years old. Yesterday I'd have called you first thing in the morning, trying to be one of the first people to sing you, "Happy Birthday". Your granddaughter and son-in-law would have joined us. You'd have laughed and thanked us. Yesterday I'd have taken you out to eat at… Continue reading I Have To Write Something For Her Birthday