Kelly Burch

Last week, I did something reckless. I went out for Mexican food, and drank a margarita. The server didn’t ask for my ID, and she didn’t even ask for proof that my ovaries were on lock down.

As my own home ownership dreams were delayed, I was able to look back on my parents’ decision to rent with a lot more understanding. My parents sometimes struggled to keep the electricity on, but they always made sure that the rent was paid, and that my siblings and me had a wonderful home, no matter whose name was on the deed.

Don’t talk politics. Do. Not. This old adage is more important than ever this year, with an election that started off bad and has gotten consistently worse.

“You have nine new messages.”

No having a community rally in support, like it is supposed to during a crisis, can make a family in mental health crisis feel shamed and stigmatized.

I clearly remember the first time that I was forced to accept that something was wrong.

I certainly still have moments of self-doubt, but I make a conscious effort to change my internal monologue at those times. Instead of saying, "If only you were good enough to write a book," I tell myself "You're doing great accomplishing small steps to get there." Instead of berating myself for always splitting my attention between my daughter and my work, I congratulate myself for juggling writing and motherhood.

Any woman living in the United States can submit a campaign for consideration. The team reviews the application and works with the campaign creator to put her story forward in the most compelling way.

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“How many time have I asked you….” I say in frustration, and then it hits me. The real question I should be asking is how many times I’ve uttered that phrase.