Michaela Mitchell

If someone you care about is suffering through the pain of first holidays without someone they love, there are things you can do.

Older men hooking up with younger women get a bad rap.

In a do-nothing Congress that barely manages to pass resolutions supporting cute puppies with big brown eyes (okay, I made that up), the Republican-controlled House of Representatives has managed to vote 63 times to repeal Obamacare. Oddly enough, the last vote I’m aware of was on...wait for it...Groundhog’s Day. Oh, the irony. Have they seen the movie? Bill Murray’s version was much funnier, but even he had to change his ways in order to move forward.

I don't exactly advocate divorce for anyone with a gripe about his or her spouse. Whatever I think of my own divorce, it's not something to take lightly. Divorce is serious. It's the death of a relationship, the end of something that was supposed to last forever. It must be grieved.

My journey to acknowledging my guilt and privilege while embracing my feminist view on the world has been a slow, winding trip — with no end in sight.

Ever hear the phrase, “We were poor growing up, but I didn't know it?” It was a common refrain in my family. When my mother and aunt speak about those days, they wax poetically about tomato sandwiches and bread with every meal (meant to fill an empty stomach when there wasn't enough food).

How many times have you opened your mouth only to hear your parents instead? This happens to me all the time . . .

You turn your back to deal with a crying toddler (I mean, answer a customer's question) and when you look back, every single shirt is unfolded and on the floor. Just at that moment, someone else walks by and rolls their eyes and sighs at how “nasty the store is" and wonders why they "can't they hire good people to keep it clean.”

I admit it. I have a resting bitch face. Yes, I've been told I'm intimidating. And yes, I've heard “What's wrong?” when I'm randomly existing somewhere. I'm used to people misinterpreting my facial expression and moods.

Somewhere between the birth of my first child and the first time my youngest hurt himself and I told him to “walk it off,” I lost much of my mom guilt. It helps that a very good friend of mine, who'd already raised her children years before, shared some of her own hard-earned wisdom with me.