The Real Reason I Dyed My Hair Blue at Age 36.
The real reason I dyed my hair blue at age 36 isn’t what many people assumed. It wasn’t because rainbow hair colors are in. (I’m such a big dork that I hadn’t realized blue...
Tagged: self love
There Is No Rehearsal for Parenthood.
Loving ourselves enough to find room for failure: I watch her grip the chunky crayon, moving it strategically to form the letters of her name, the ones that I’ve outlined in dash letters with a...
I Would Rather My Daughters Use the Word F*ck than Fat.
F*ck feeling fat: My 5-year-old grabbed my hip the other day while we were in the kitchen cooking. She kind of wrapped her tiny fingers around my hip bone and gave me a sort-of-gentle...
5 Ways I Finally Learned to Love Myself.
Daily practices for self-love: I spent a large portion of my life caring what other people thought. Much of my childhood was spent trying to fit in, which is probably normal. But then, suddenly, I...
You Know What? Yes, I Am a Stay-At-Home Mom—And Damn Proud.
I am not a housewife. I made this clear one angry evening after my husband unhappily came home from work to a messy house, with dirty dishes cluttering the kitchen counter tops, and a...
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...
What You Didn’t See When You Looked at A “Skinny Mom”: A Response.
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...
What Our Relationship with Food Says About Our Relationship with Ourselves.
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....
For at Least One More Summer: A Love Note from Mother to Daughter.
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...
A Picture Perfect Motherhood.
There are days when staying present with my children is not what I want to do. Instead, I want to check out. I want to peruse Facebook or read the news or break out...
