Chelsea Cristene

Wanting a child and wanting to experience childbirth are two very different things.

This article first appeared on Role Reboot and has been republished with permission. 

I was a band geek in high school. In exchange for the Saturdays we spent at various competitions all over the state, we would get an occasional “down” day to watch a movie or just hang out in the band room. These were lazy days filled with giggles and gossip, and on one day in particular, kisses with my friend Jessica.

Jessica was cute and kind and one year younger than me. “I don’t see anything wrong when girls kiss girls,” she said as we sat cross-legged on the tile floor: something that you’re never supposed to think let alone say out loud in a small conservative town. “Neither do I!” I agreed. And there it was – a smooch!

I see no such kerfuffle over straight men at gay bars, so it appears that this brand of exclusivity is Dicks Only.

Illness is intensely personal, but it never affects the person diagnosed alone.

Chipping away at the problem of bisexual erasure starts with living truth out loud.

I reject the insistence that a woman can’t choose what makes her feel beautiful without regard for the judgement of others.

Knowing a few compulsive liars over the course of my life has taught me some things. Living during Trump’s presidency has reinforced them.

If Trump is right (there’s a first time for everything) and we need to state what a problem is before solving it, then let’s state it now. Radical white terrorism.

That’s the thing about perfectionism. When you chase something unattainable, you complete a self-fulfilling prophecy.