Why Self-Love Is Not Narcissism.
I have to declare something loudly: loving oneself is not the same as being a narcissist. We’ve gotten so used, especially as women, to being expected to either be full of self-loathing or arrogant...
I have to declare something loudly: loving oneself is not the same as being a narcissist. We’ve gotten so used, especially as women, to being expected to either be full of self-loathing or arrogant...
This is an open rebuttal to an extremely damaging article currently making its rounds via Scary Mommy. I’d like to first openly suggest that had this original post been written from a “skinny mom’s” perspective...
I can often tell how I feel emotionally by the foods and drinks that I consume. Granted, I’m largely a healthy eater. When I say healthy eater I mean that I’m a balanced eater....
I had the strangest day. I’m not sure that I can even begin to go into it, really—it was so weird. But I was standing at the counter in a chiropractor’s office—who isn’t my...
Facebook and social media can be addicting. Studies have actually shown a similar activation within the brain as with drugs. Yet many of us aren’t necessarily addicted to, let’s say Facebook, as we are...
There’s a new “it” word that seems to be everywhere lately. That word is “empath.” An empath is someone who can feel the emotional and mental state of someone else—an empath isn’t entirely separate...
Are you there, yoga? It’s me, Jennifer. Sometimes I subconsciously, and consciously, avoid my yoga practice—moving my body in a myriad of other ways—simply to not have to look in the magic mirror of my sticky mat....
Have you ever noticed that memories often have hazy, golden fogs around them, and that Instagram’s editing filters are often hazy or blurred? I’ve noticed lately that we’re all over-using the haze, y’all. And dreams,...
My husband said to me yesterday that it’s called Facebook and not Assbook—because everyone is putting their best faces forward. Yet, here’s a “real-life” story: I go to the zoo all the time with...
The feel of tender, young grass between her squeezed-tightly fingertips was primal. The tug, uprooting them, connected her with a fiery anger that she didn’t know her belly housed. Then, momentarily afterward, she’d feel regret...