Lindsay King-Miller

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

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.

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.

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.

We’re always hardest on people who give into our own worst impulses, and I see my own shadow in those parents. I’m an over-sharer too.

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.

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

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.

Your period is a time for many things: comfort eating, getting into arguments for reasons you can't reconstruct…but it’s also a time to express yourself.

While it might seem frivolous to those who feel right at home in the titles "mom" or "dad," many queer parents agonize over what they want their children to call them.