Adiba Nelson

Shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t get so sassy right now.

Want to go on a carbs and wine tour of Italy? Break out the leggings and go for it. This time is yours.

It was the weirdest thing. I looked at this tiny human and felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. No overwhelming joy at finally meeting this person I’d been so excited for in months prior, no lurking sadness about no longer being pregnant and relishing in those shared “inside mommy’s belly” moments. Just... nothing. My brain said, “You have a baby now,” and that was that.

Then we had that talk that made my eye twitch: the budget talk.

There wasn’t going to be any sparkle. There wasn’t going to be any new mommy magic.

Nicely done, MAC. Nicely done.

My father was an abusive man, plain and simple.

That wasn’t all he was, but to my mother, that's who he was. He was a controlling individual who perhaps took the scripture, “Wives, submit to your husbands” a tad bit too literally — and when my mom didn’t submit, she paid the price. Often with a blow to the head.

In my mind, I was Beyoncé, and she was Becky. She was the one he needed to run back to. She was the one who could have his ass, because I was leaving and I wasn’t sorry about it.
Then Lemonade came out and the light bulb came on.

It is made up of women that I've known since I was 8, and women I met last week.

Where did you even get that statistic from? Did you make it up?