Here is what you really need to know.

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Photo by Timothy Eberly on Unsplash

Everywhere I look these days, people are talking about confidence. Women’s magazines are advertising how to get it, and half the Medium articles and self-help bestsellers are about it. Clearly, we all want it. I mean, who doesn’t?! Confidence sounds great, so why don’t any of us seem to have it?

But the problem is, every time I read one of these articles, they’re getting confidence all wrong. And they’re getting it wrong on two levels: what it is, and how to get it. Who am I to say so, you might ask? So glad you did, because I’m a confidence dilettante. …


I like a little tough love, maybe he would too.

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Photo by Karim MANJRA on Unsplash

A year ago today, I took a pregnancy test. It confirmed what I had already known for days: yes, I was pregnant.

I had been here twice before. Those other times ended in heartbreak, surgery, some testing, and pain. This time, it was midmorning on a Thursday, a few days after my 33rd birthday. I peed on the thing, saw the line, and before I did anything else, I got in the bathtub.

I’m not entirely sure why, except that the bathtub is my “safe place.” I go there for self care and self soothing, when I’m sad, when I’m happy, when I need to relax. …


Becoming aware of the fleeting nature of life is the key to cultivating gratitude.

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Photo by Bruno Martins on Unsplash

To be perfectly honest, I think about death all the time. At least once a day the thought floats through my mind, “I could die today.” Seem dark and depressing? Yeah, that makes sense. It was at first. Sometimes it still is. But actually, like most things that happen everyday no matter how strange, you get used to it and it begins to feel normal. Like the two minutes of uninterrupted eye contact I give my dog every morning, it doesn’t seem odd til you tell other people about it.

Now, I mostly just wonder why everyone else isn’t thinking about death too. Maybe they are and this is my cry for you all to come out of the woodwork. I’m not quite sure what started my fascination with death. But I know that it’s one of those taboo subjects that we’re not really allowed to talk much about because it’s scary and brings up weird feelings for everyone. Which, as time has taught me, is a guarantee that I’ll become obsessed with it. …


Now is all you have- don’t wait to be happy.

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Photo by Preslie Hirsch on Unsplash

Don’t postpone joy. If you look that up, you’ll see the quote attributed to a few different people throughout the years. You’ll even find books written about it carrying that exact title. But lately for me, it’s become a rallying cry. A life motto. A creed to guide my actions.

I’ve always felt that I’d be truly happy when __________ (insert whatever life event here) happens. I thought I’d be happy when I got through my parents’ divorce. I thought I’d be happy when my husband got back from deployment overseas. I thought I’d be happy when I found the right job. I thought I’d be happy when I got through my depression. Now I think I’ll be happy when someday I’ve proven my body can carry a baby to term. I think I’ll be happy when I’m a famous NYT bestselling author. Or maybe when I have a bigger house. Or maybe when I finally figure out how to spell liuetenant or have a Sex and the City-esque girl gang or learn to have a good fucking attitude. …


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That’s me in Milos, Greece.

“Hope is the thing with feathers,” said Emily Dickinson.

That sounds nice. Beautiful and dainty and nice.

“And sings the tune without words,” she goes on. Yeah, I get that. You’ve got to have hope when you have no idea what will happen. I’ve been there.

“And sore must be the storm- that could abash the little bird.” Okay, hope is a tough bird. Persistent and enduring. Sounds good.

“Yet never in extremity- it asked a crumb of me,” ……… (record scratch) hold on now.

Hope asks nothing of us? Or at most, it asks a crumb? …


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photo by me cause I’m an amazing photographer, obviously

So, I’ve had a couple miscarriages. One was quite traumatic, ended with a D&C, subsequent infection, surgery, a few days in the hospital, and a near hysterectomy. And one, as my doctor likes to say to comfort me, was a “garden variety” miscarriage. Both were six weeks. I tell you all that because I like to know, too. And if you’ve had one, I know exactly what you’ll do. You’ll compare it to yours, and with that information, know how comforted or scared you can expect this story to make you feel.

When the trauma of miscarriage happens to you, especially more than once, and you’ve moved your way through the initial dark tunnel of pain and grief, your most likely next stop is the dark tunnel of “how do I make this never happen again.” This tunnel is most commonly referred to as Google. Or perhaps the seriously lacking miscarriage book section of Amazon. …

About

Liz Morrow

I write funny, practical stuff for irreverent people. It’s self improvement for the saucy ones out there. Read more at lizmwriter.com.

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