When I stopped respecting you, I stopped respecting myself. Or maybe it was the other way around.
The wig was perfect; actually, it looked better than my own hair had, and it would never need trimming, just a weekly dunk in the sink.
In the last few months the familiar itch to Run has been getting itchier. I wonder how I could prioritize it and, more nervously, what it would all look and feel like.
I was afraid that by 35 I’d be too old to play with my son. So I did something about it.
When I read about orthorexia, I think about myself and a lot of my peers who relate to these symptoms, but don’t know there are resources.
Don’t turn to “Dr. Google” to answer your nutrition questions when you can turn instead to HelloFlo and VProud’s Master Classes to get reliable, correct information.
I chose to do this swim, from Alcatraz to San Francisco, to push myself into an uncomfortable place.
Look closely, and you will find these beauty marks on every, single, mother.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped caring if I was beautiful. I began trying to make beauty instead.
I have learned that I am not perfect. Not even close. I’d like to take a moment, to make a long overdue apology. To My Body: