In my worst moments as a mother, the moments where I am cursing my family or getting angry about how much I have to do, I often experience this extreme moment of panic.
By Elke Govertsen. I spent most of the summer on my couch working very, very hard to breathe.
I remember feeling nervous as a 9th grade girl—wanting to feel pretty, fretting over whether my outfit and hair were just right, putting on a face of confidence when I was terrified on the inside.
Somehow the word threesome had crossed his path, but we were navigating.
Giving myself a chance to breathe each day allows me to grasp the precious moments of my life.
I know that she’s growing up, and I have to accept that growing up means more than just aging and celebrating birthdays.
I am alone in a hospital room nine months later. Dana and our unborn child were just carted away by a swarm of doctors.