Kelly Burch

“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.

Posting about my miscarriage on Facebook was the most cathartic thing I could have done for myself. It allowed me to validate my feelings.

I’ve been waiting years to celebrate my undying love of all things Christmas with my child, but now that my toddler is old enough to understand the joys of the holiday season I’ve realized that there are some things about the holidays that only a parent can understand.

*/

By introducing my father’s illness as a fact during a time when his mental health had no negative effects on my life, my parents enabled me to live without stigma, which in turn empowered me to advocate for my father’s treatment when his health took a turn for the worse my freshmen year of college.

A family's day of celebration became a nation's day of mourning.

Can you name an elite female athlete? If you asked me to name someone other than Venus or Serena Williams I’d have a tough time.

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

My daughter nursed (and was supplemented with formula, then milk) for 18 months, and when we weaned, it was because we were ready. After that first bottle, I should have realized that supplementing was great for both me and my daughter.

“Her face is beautiful. Beautiful,” Tiegs said.