Jody Allard

Wal-Mart, home to broken dreams, poor fashion choices, and a whole lot of guns.

If you're anything like me, the only enjoyable part of shopping at Costco is the samples. It's always packed, there's nowhere to park, people push their massive fucking carts slower than molasses in January, and everything about it makes me homicidal EXCEPT for the sweet, sweet lure of the samples.

No one enters into marriage and becomes whole; there is no magical superpower that's granted alongside the marriage license. Marriage is simply two imperfect people who choose to come together in an imperfect union. That union can be remarkable and powerful, but it can also be dysfunctional and excruciating. Sometimes, it's even abusive.

Former Republican presidential candidate Bob Dole endorsed Jeb Bush for president today, leaving the world scratching their heads and expressing their surprise that Dole is actually still alive.

The thing about trauma is that it creates inherently unreliable witnesses. Victims tell as much as they can bear to tell, in that moment, and perhaps even as much as they can remember. Memories can be hazy and dim until the second that the curtain is lifted and the body is thrust back into the moment of abuse. There is no such thing as one way of processing trauma, and there is no perfectly linear path to recovery, either.

It's time to gather around the table with the family members you see only once or twice a year (for good reason) and try to avoid stabbing each other with your forks. #Blessed.

Although my underlying disease has no treatment, many of the symptoms of my disease can be treated, and even a small reduction in my symptoms can be life-changing for me. Yet, unless I really push my doctors for a treatment plan, they rarely offer any suggestions. I understand that there is no pill to cure me, and I don't feel bad when my doctor doesn't have one to offer.

You don't get to beat someone simply because you have a feeling. And that is true whether you are a mother or a cop.

In honor of National No Bra

It took five years for my daughter to be diagnosed with autism. There were dozens of red flags, beginning from the time she was about 10 months old, but her pediatrician always told me that she was fine. "She made eye contact with me," she reassured me. "She can't be on the spectrum." Besides, most children with autism, she reminded me, are boys.