Catherine Gigante-Brown

What Stephen didn’t know –– what no one knew –– was how weak my knees grew when I pushed through the swinging doors of the ICU.

Why, when I'm cool with being a salt-and-pepper chick, does it so clearly unnerve others?

I immediately developed a hot-and-heavy girlcrush on the wild, wacky, brash, candid, feminist, rubber-faced comedian—and you should too.

The heartbreaking saga of a 14-year-old Black prostitute who was murdered in cold blood by her (maybe) pimp on Christmas Eve in 1900 Savannah.

Wrinkles or lifelines? Chunky or curvaceous? The choice is yours.

To the tattoo artist, I was a flesh canvas that she could transform into something beautiful.

"Bring over a meal—and leave. Breakfast, lunch or dinner, from soup to nuts. And coffee. Plenty of coffee."

raunchy renaissance woman. multimedia artist. probably a slut.

Why do we venerate individuality in adults but condemn it in children?

That’s the thing about being a breast cancer survivor — it’s always there: it never goes away. The scars, the fear that lurks in the back of your mind like a boogeyman. You’re going along nicely, living your merry life, and you’re fine, until you’re not.