Joni Edelman

I don’t think of myself as fat. Not inside, anyway.

Now that I've embarked upon the decade I once considered "old," there are a few things I'd like my 20 (and 30) year-old self to know.

When I was little, any time I got an insect bite or stubbed my toe, I had to ask my mom, “Am I going to die? If I was going to die from this, I’d already be dead — right?” I also had a 30-minute prayer that I needed to say at each meal or else everyone would be poisoned and die. And corners. I had to check all of them before I went to bed.

When I heard about accusations that Lena sexually abused her sister, I was astonished. And my visceral emotional reaction prompted powerful questions.

My husband and I recently traveled together without our kids for the first time . . . in a while. And it was a brand-new ball game.

The Interent is ugly sometimes. And raising kids using it doesn't always make it easier.

I was told that feminism is man hate. That abortion is murder. And then I thought, "What am I doing here?"

Nutritionists have weighed in on what to order at McDonald's. Here's what I think you should get instead.

Having kids doesn't have to mean the death of your sex life.

Compassion for myself is not a thing I do. It is not a thing I have ever done. It is not a thing I feel comfortable doing. It's time I stop for compassion.