Erin McKelle

I feel like indirect communication is a common thread amongst women. Since women are socially conditioned to not make a fuss, ruffle any feathers or have permission to speak our minds, indirect communication becomes inevitable. Or conversely, if we communicate directly, we’re often labeled in a negative manner, like bitch.

I propose going back to basics, back to what self-care is supposed to be about. Instead of this new flashy and expensive self-care movement.

When you're single and surrounded by engagements and romantic holiday occasions, you need this Singles Guide To Sex & Dating During The Holidays.

I began to see my mental health go completely downhill. This led me to seek out a psychiatrist, who raised an interesting concern: she thought my birth control was messing with my depression. It’s not like I hadn’t been aware of the link between hormonal contraception and depression before, but it never occurred to me that these two personal realities could be connected.

I had known many people, and even had friends in college, who were in open and non-monogamous relationships. Things always seemed to work really well for them, and I had noticed that everyone was usually on the same page about what was happening in the relationship, which seemed to be a rarity, at least among straight couples.

I decided to stop searching for an MMA platform that was going against these norms, since one did not exist, and create it myself.

For long time, I wondered why the people I dated, people I was friends with, and jobs I was taking on were temporary or weren't ever interested in a long-term commitment. It seemed like every opportunity I had was for a short-term assignment or position, every person I liked only wanted to date casually.

We’ve been telling researchers, doctors, and anyone who will listen that we’re not satisfied with the birth control pill because of its side effects for years, but maybe this latest study from Sweden will make them actually listen.

[CN: sexual assault] No more sex — no touching, fondling… Nada. I was done. I had a new mission: to heal.

I’ve said I was “good,” “fine,” or “doing well” after crying for hours, lying in bed all day with no motivation, and even experiencing suicidal ideation. My worst days are when the temptation to mask my pain with a smile is the strongest.