I had slammed a door on the purest part of my soul. And for what? Like a baby crying out for its mother, I had denied its outstretched arms, turned the key, and plugged my ears to the cries.
I’m writing this letter to you. What happens when you, only you, define your self-worth?
Exactly 22 years ago, July 23, 1993 , was the first time I realized that my mom could die one day. Which meant that I could die too.
I exist beyond biology....I am a warrior and my cause is honesty...I choose to feel everything.
Somehow, we learn that modesty is about externals. About hemlines. About shame. About sex. Yet is it?
My husband regularly goes out of the country for business (like now) and when’s he’s gone, my life is a...
I am eight years old, lying in my parents bed. In another room, my parents are arguing. I drift away feeling this was all my fault. That somehow, I am responsible for the pain and rage around me. That somehow, I have to fix things. That somehow, I am only lovable if I am perfect. It's a heavy, heavy burden to bear. And now I am a mother of four, still bearing this weight.
Why we need to reclaim the most important conversation we could ever have with our chidren.
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