I’ve been thinking about my 25-year-old self a lot lately. I was in grad school, having fun, engaged to a good guy, envisioning a…
I’ve started hugging people again.
I used to be a shy, kind of polite hugger, but these days, I really go for it. Fully inoculated and ready to revive a connection with anyone and everyone who holds a place in my heart, I get in there, noticing and memorizing the…
The day I got my period, after almost two years on the physical journey of motherhood, was devastating. At…
It aches to look at these faces. A warm yet simultaneously sharp ache from somewhere so deep inside it cannot be defined.
Almost 15 years ago, I watched the sun set out the window of my West LA apartment, my head snuggled on the chest of my long-distance boyfriend, who was visiting from Colorado for the weekend. We had just woken up from a nap after riding our bikes all over Santa Monica that day.
I have always found immense comfort in the written word. When I was 6 or 7, I was feeling sad one day, so I wrote a poem about it…
I blankly swipe my thumb across my cell phone screen, staring at nothing in particular, too often wasting the brief evening moments I have with my little ones. The realization hits me, and I throw my phone shamefully down to engage with them, only to pick it back up again like a drug minutes later.
I always heard it from my mom—you won’t understand until you’re a mom. And I never believed her. I really thought I understood. I knew she had sacrificed. I knew parenting must be hard. I knew I was difficult to manage at times. But I was a good kid, and she was lucky.