Catherine Gigante-Brown

Even when I explained to my son that he came from a long line of short people, it didn’t help. David still felt bad about being small. How could a five-year-old possibly get this type of size-shaming message? From other people, mostly insensitive adults. They gave him the idea that bigger was somehow better.

After I got over the initial devastation, I pulled myself up by my big-girl panties and got on with it. Chemo was no picnic—but it was do-able.

A midtown Manhattan studio was recently the site of liberation-both on and offscreen-when Shenshean

I’m boycotting you until you start recognizing breast cancer survivors like me by carrying mastectomy bras.

I’m sure you’ll find it a delicious and well-stocked place. There are just a few rules

I try. I really do. But whenever I attempt to embrace my husband Peter’s Cuban culture, I always screw up.

“It’s almost as though this niche was patiently waiting for us to find it.”

It sounded too good to be true: comfortable, attractive bra inserts for breast cancer survivors like me. I got on the computer, checked out their website, and immediately put in for one.

I know it’s not a politically correct one, but I’ve got a confession to make: earth-friendly hotels stink. There, I said it.

Although I tried to convince myself that I wasn't racist, if the truth were told, I didn't like Muslims. Especially after 9/11.