Lindsay King-Miller

People talk about skin care like it’s fun — a way to relax. But for me, the very idea opens onto a black hole of self-loathing.

Someone I have never met donated a large sum of money, for no other reason than they felt it was the right thing to do, to help my family feel safe.

Asking for help is the hardest part. The truth is that asking for help is uncomfortable, even when we’ve been repeatedly reassured that it’s welcome.

For queer parents like me, meanwhile — although I know that my whiteness and my class affords me a degree of protection from scrutiny and interference — the threat of being deemed an illegitimate parent also serves to silence any discussion of mixed feelings.

I just tell my daughter the truth about my period: I have PMS, my back is killing me, and we’re going to eat a lot of chocolate.

I keep waiting for the wane of the “gender reveal party,” one of the most widely-disparaged-on-social-media parenting trends.

I never want my child to doubt herself the way I do myself. I never want her to feel the anxieties that weigh me down, though I know she already senses it.

I am a compulsive memorizer. I am terrified of making a mistake, ever. But I'm learning to let go of my perfectionism.

The fact is that trans-exclusionary feminists and misogynists are, despite some trivial differences, basically on the same side.

The decision to terminate a pregnancy is often informed by the needs of the children a pregnant person is already raising.