Jenni Berrett

At some point intellect has to make room for something bigger, for something scarier than just about anything. In order to truly learn something, you have to be vulnerable. You have to walk in and set your broken parts on the table and say, “Here, fix it. Or at least be broken with me.”

It was the night before my father’s funeral that I finally asked the tarot for help. I was incapable of imagining a future where I delivered his eulogy.

Part of me wants to write this off as innocuous and carry on with my day, because homophobia is already everywhere and there are better things for me to dedicate my words to — but then I remember 10-year old me.

"...Mental illness isn’t that exclusive. It doesn’t care how your day is going."

Marina, if you're reading this, please be our BFF.

The premise is pretty simple: We each give you one thing to watch, one thing to listen to, and one thing to read over the weekend.

I don’t think the bar is low enough. We obviously need a way to work up to the Bechdel Test. Baby steps. And we all know women love babies.

If you find yourself feeling hurt, mad, sad, etc. about the election this year, go ahead and feel it. Cry in front of your dad. Eat some queso. When it’s all said and done, feel how you need to feel. The only way to foster a healthy relationship between emotion and politics is to acknowledge that there is one in the first place, and that it probably needs fixing.

I’ve been mentally ill pretty much my whole entire life, and it isn’t something I see going away any time soon. I don’t see that as an inherently bad thing.

Culturally speaking, though, it’s pretty much set in stone. Even if I left the church entirely, there’s no getting out of my heritage. Cut me open; I’ll bleed funeral potatoes. I’m what you call a “legacy Mormon” — my ancestors migrated across the frontier and settled in Utah (then Mexico) after facing unspeakable persecution from countless communities in the United States. You probably know my ancestors best as the people with the wives.